COUNTRY 
 BOY 
 
 ^K EDGAR 
 SELWYN
 
 3. 
 
 WESTMINSTER GARDEN*
 
 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 OP CALIF. LIB^AFY. T-OS AKCF.TJBS
 
 THE 
 COUNTRY 
 
 Charles 
 Sarver 
 
 it>m the play b^ 
 
 Edgar 5elwyn 
 
 N E.W YOR.K 
 THE H.K.FLY COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 THE H. K. FLY COMPANY
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS . n 
 
 II STEEPLES AND SKY-SCRAPERS . . . . 18 
 
 III THE JUDGE HAS A BAD COLD .... 24 
 
 IV FIVE DOLLARS A WEEK 30 
 
 V THE JUDGE SIDE-STEPS 40 
 
 VI " KEEP OFF THE GRASS " 53 
 
 VII A TRIUMPH FOR WOMAN SUFFRAGE . 66 
 
 VIII JANE EXERCISES THE FRANCHISE ... 73 
 
 IX THE PROMISED LAND 93 
 
 X MILK AND HONEY 103 
 
 XI AMY LER.OY 118 
 
 XII JIMMY MICHAELSON SCORES . . . .127 
 
 XIII UNEXPECTED MEETINGS 140 
 
 XIV THE VERDICT 154 
 
 XV Miss DUNSTAN'S WATERLOO . . . .161 
 
 XVI FRIDAY, THE THIRTEENTH 171 
 
 XVII MERKLE MAKES CONVERSATION . . .181 
 
 XVIII A LETTER FROM HOME . . . . . . 190 
 
 XIX TOM ASKS QUESTIONS 198 
 
 XX THE GAS ROUTE 208 
 
 XXI THE ARGUMENTUM AD HOMINEM . . 220 
 
 XXII MERKLE'S SHIP COMES HOME .... 243 
 
 XXIII THE INVASION OF FAIRVIEW .... 249 
 
 2132637
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 XXIV 
 XXV 
 
 XXVI 
 
 XXVII 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 TOM GOES WALKING .... 
 BELKNAP SENDS His COMPLIMENTS 
 JANE MAKES A DISCOVERY . 
 BY A TWO-THIRDS VOTE . . . 
 JANE MAKES IT UNANIMOUS . . 
 
 PAGE 
 . 260 
 . 271 
 . 282 
 , 292 
 , 300
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " I'm not engaged to Hez, and " . . . Frontispiece. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 " I give my boarders the very best there is for the 
 
 price," she qualified . 130 
 
 " If you want to talk, you'll have to do it in the dark " 246 
 " Will you let me kiss you ? " she faltered .... 297,
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS 
 
 FARMER HEMINGWAY draped his lean body 
 over the barnyard gate and gazed expectantly 
 down the main road towards the lake. At a re- 
 spectful distance from Farmer Hemingway's heavy 
 boots, a gaunt black sow and her puny black nurs- 
 lings grunted in various keys of impatience. The 
 black sow kept a ravenous eye on an ear of corn, 
 which protruded, big, yellow and tempting, from 
 the rear pocket of the farmer's overalls. The ten 
 runts manoeuvred for position along her flanks as she 
 moved uneasily to and fro. 
 
 It was a perfect morning in mid-autumn, a morn- 
 ing fit to charm the hearts of pigs and men from 
 temptations of hunger and avarice. Clear up to 
 the turquoise horizon rolled pasture and stubble- 
 field, dotted with white farmhouses. Here and 
 there the low hills were crowned with woodland, 
 where brilliant ochres and deep purples blended 
 softly under the yellow rays of the October sun, al- 
 ready some hours high. A smell of baked earth 
 rose to the nostrils. Across the road a flock of red- 
 winged blackbirds wheeled and lighted in the 
 meadow with great chattering.
 
 12 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 Shifting his eye ever so slightly, Farmer Hem- 
 ingway, from where he leaned, might have centered 
 in his field of vision the rippling, blue lake, five 
 miles to the eastward. Over his left shoulder lay 
 the pleasing prospect where the village of Fairview 
 notched the sky-line with its dozen steeples, three 
 miles away. 
 
 But Farmer Hemingway's senses were not at- 
 tuned this morning to the harmonies of Autumn. 
 He had other fish to fry. A mile from the barn- 
 yard gate, the road ran for a short distance along 
 a hillside in plain view, then dipped down again out 
 of sight in the valley. It was on this stretch of 
 road that Farmer Hemingway strained his keen, 
 gray eyes. Each moment his ears assured him of 
 the continued attendance of the black sow and her 
 litter, unconscious accomplices and destined victims 
 of a dark design, in making ready for which, he had 
 robbed the sow of her breakfast. His olfactories 
 were occupied, with the full flavor of plug tobacco. 
 
 Long minutes passed. Farmer Hemingway's 
 satellites grew more hungrily obstreperous. A! 
 frown gathered on Farmer Hemingway's brow. 
 He drew from his pocket the big silver watch, by 
 which existence on the Hemingway acres was meas- 
 ured. His lips moved as he conned the formula on 
 which his plot and his hopes of booty were based. 
 
 " Five miles to the lake. Six miles around. 
 Five miles back at thirty miles an hour." That
 
 SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS 13 
 
 was Tom Wilson's average gait, and Farmer Hem- 
 ingway, his ambuscade all prepared, had reckoned 
 on it. What could the matter be? 
 
 It was more than half an hour since Judge Bel- 
 knap's shiny, new automobile had passed, outward 
 bound from Fairview, with Tom Wilson at the 
 steering wheel and the Judge's pretty daughter at 
 his side. If Tom and Jane were taking their usual 
 morning spin around the lake, they were over-due 
 back. Farmer Hemingway knew. He had made 
 it his business to observe their motoring habits. 
 
 Up the silent valley floated a low rumbling, faint 
 as a distant drum. Farmer Hemingway's weary 
 eyes brightened. By that token he knew that Tom 
 Wilson had thrown out his muffler to take the hill 
 at speed. The sound came sharper. There was 
 a flash of red along the brown hillside. Farmer 
 Hemingway's loosely hung members assembled 
 themselves for quick action. There was no time to 
 waste, for Tom Wilson was driving furiously. 
 
 With one swift motion the rickety gate was 
 thrown open. The black pigs looked up in alarm, 
 ready to stand or bolt as his next move should de- 
 termine. He flung down the fat, yellow ear on the 
 spot where he had been standing. 
 
 For a moment the black sow eyed him with sus- 
 picion. Then hunger triumphed over maternal 
 misgivings. With sharp grunts of satisfaction she 
 bore down upon the tempting morsel, her ill-fated
 
 i 4 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 progeny tumbling after. Fan^.r Hemingway cir- 
 cled to the rear, half-crouched there and waited, 
 with both ears cocked. 
 
 From around a bend in the road, screened by 
 foliage, came the hum and splutter of a motor, a 
 sharp Honk-Honk, hardly one hundred yards away. 
 A moment longer and then, waving his long arms, 
 Farmer Hemingway charged down upon the doomed 
 family. 
 
 The litter scattered before him. The black sow 
 grabbed up the ear of corn and rushed after, out 
 into the highway. The automobile, clear of the 
 bend, thundered down upon them at top speed. 
 
 To the ears of Farmer Hemingway, crouching 
 behind the gate, came a shout, a girl's shriek, a 
 chorus of appalling squeals, cut short by thuds as 
 the car swept by under brakes. The air seemed 
 full of flying pigs. Almost at the moment of con- 
 tact, Tom had swerved into the ditch, thereby avoid- 
 ing collision with the heavy sow, but multiplying 
 her items of bereavement. He straightened out his 
 machine and, as it slowed, looked over his shoulder 
 to take note of casualties. The girl jumped from 
 her seat, and, standing with her hand on Tom's 
 shoulder, stared back with a white face. 
 
 Farmer Hemingway rushed out into the road with 
 an oath. 
 
 " You'll pay for this, Tom Wilson. You'll pay 
 well for this," he screeched in well simulated anger.
 
 SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS 15 
 
 " The finest bred Berkshires in New York State, and 
 you've killed " he stopped to count heads and to 
 catch his breath. Five pitiful little black bodies 
 were scattered along the roadside. The five sur- 
 vivors had fled to their mother's side. The black 
 sow was munching the last of the fatal ear. 
 
 Tom Wilson grinned sweetly at the irate farmer. 
 Tom couldn't pay for anything and nobody knew 
 it better than Hemingway. 
 
 " Come and see me," he cried amiably. " And 
 be sure you come during office hours. And by 
 the way," he went on, his face sobering, " your al- 
 leged Berkshires came mighty near wrecking Judge 
 Belknap's new machine. Better keep them off the 
 public highway, or you'll have a score to settle with 
 him." 
 
 Farmer Hemingway strode up to the rear of the 
 automobile. 
 
 " My hogs were safe on these roads long before 
 you new-fangled road-hogs came," he cried, his 
 voice shrill with real anger now. " And here they 
 stay. And if I did wreck Belknap's machine, and 
 he could prove it, I reckon I could pay the damage 
 a dern sight quicker than you can pay for them 
 hogs." 
 
 Tom's smile vanished. It was odiously different 
 this thing of not being able to pay the way 
 Hemingway put it. The farmer saw he had 
 scored. He went on:
 
 16 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " You pay for them Berkshires I Haw ! Haw ! 
 I'd be an old man waitinV He leered maliciously 
 at Jane, who had resumed her seat, turning her back 
 to him. " I guess she don't pay you much in the 
 way of salary for drivin' this machine around, and 
 I never heard that you could do anything else." 
 
 Tom Wilson was on the ground before Heming- 
 way had fairly finished, his fists clenched, his face 
 scarlet. He was furious, not so much at what 
 Hemingway had said, as at the evil suggestion of 
 the man's tone and manner. Besides, he had just 
 been humiliated before Jane, and it was no less a 
 pleasure than a duty to pummel the detractor. 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" he demanded 
 hotly. 
 
 " Oh, nothin', nothin'," stammered Farmer Hem- 
 ingway, backing away before the athletic youngster. 
 " I never expected you to pay for them hogs. No, 
 sir-ee. I expect Judge Belknap to pay. He's al- 
 ways paid before and he'll pay again or I'll have 
 the law on him. You tell him for me I'll be around 
 this afternoon to collect." 
 
 Tom controlled himself with an effort. 
 
 " You manage your own collections, and keep a 
 civil tongue in your head while you're about it," he 
 said shortly, and climbed back into his seat. 
 
 The girl had heard everything in silence. She 
 hadn't even turned her head when Tom leaped from 
 the car.
 
 SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS 175 
 
 The car started, gathered speed, disappeared 
 around the next curve, leaving Farmer Hemingway 
 to gather up his dead and curse the survivors, and 
 Tom, and the luck which had deprived him of half 
 the expected profits of his coup.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 STEEPLES AND SKY-SCRAPERS 
 
 TOM WILSON drove on toward the village at 
 a moderated speed. 
 
 " Poor little black things," said the girl presently. 
 " Do you know, I more than half believe Heming- 
 way drove those pigs out into the road on pur- 
 pose? " 
 
 The youth did not reply. For the first time in 
 his two and twenty years, Tom was submitting him- 
 self to the ordeal of five consecutive minutes of 
 hard thinking. Like Jane, he had considerably 
 more than a vague suspicion of the trick Heming- 
 way had played. The farmer, in his anger, had let 
 slip more than he intended. Besides, this would be 
 by no means his first successful assault on Judge Bel- 
 knap's pocketbook. Several days before, certain 
 fancy-priced chickens had appeared, as if by magic, 
 near that same barnyard gate. The Judge had 
 paid the bill in a manner somewhat emotional. 
 " And it must be the last," was his ultimatum. 
 
 But it was an unprecedented sense of his own im- 
 pecuniosity, rather than the impending impoverish- 
 ment of Judge Belknap's purse and temper, that 
 18
 
 STEEPLES AND SKY-SCRAPERS 19 
 
 now sat heavy on Tom Wilson's soul. The feeling 
 of dependence had never been a pleasant one. To- 
 day it rankled. Farmer Hemingway's scornful 
 " Haw! Haw! " was still tingling in his ears. To 
 be held fair game by Hemingway ! Tom's blue eyes 
 clouded with anger at the humiliating recollection. 
 
 And Jane! Tom dimly remembered that she 
 had made some remark, to which, in his pre-occu- 
 pation, he had failed to reply. What must she be 
 thinking? He had an uncomfortable feeling that 
 she was looking him over with those calm, contem- 
 plative eyes of hers. He hazarded a swift side- 
 long glance. Jane was discreetly absorbed in the 
 familiar scenery ahead, on the lookout, maybe, for 
 more irruptions of pigs or chickens. 
 
 Tom looked ahead too, and beheld Fairview, 
 dozing in the morning sun a village where noth- 
 ing happened. He took cognizance of its dozen 
 steeples and groaned in spirit. 
 
 Now Fairview, to the unprejudiced eye, was, and 
 is, a prepossessing village enough, one that lived up 
 to the promise of its name. With its one wide 
 business thoroughfare, where the life of the village 
 centered; with its quiet, shaded residence streets, all 
 laid out at decent right angles and lined with pretty 
 cottages and green lawns and beds of flowers; with 
 its ornate library (Judge Belknap's gift), its com- 
 bination town hall and opera house, and its sub- 
 stantial schoolhouse not forgetting the dozen
 
 20 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 steeples and their attached churches Fairview 
 was, and is, as charming a village as the hearts of 
 its five thousand villagers could desire. 
 
 But Tom Wilson was not a villager at heart. 
 Fairview did not count for much in his dreams of 
 the future. It was a good enough place to be born 
 in, or, perchance, to bring up one's mother in. But 
 it was, beyond dispute, a humdrum, unenterprising 
 place; no place at all to carve one's fortune out of. 
 So Tom had never tried. It had been his ambition 
 to go to New York and do " something big," where 
 big things were a part of the day's work; where, to 
 see a steeple, one must climb on top of a sky- 
 scraper and look down, and then around. Fair- 
 view presented no opportunity to a man of parts. 
 Tom panted for a larger arena. 
 
 As he grasped the steering wheel in his strong, 
 bare hands, Tom could feel under his arm a letter, 
 which crackled in his inside pocket. It had come 
 yesterday from an old friend of his father's, Dick 
 Kennedy, now Richard B. Kennedy, general pas- 
 senger agent of one of the great trunk railroads 
 stretching from New York half way across the con- 
 tinent. Dick Kennedy had been a Fairview boy. 
 To Richard B. Kennedy, G. P. A., Tom had writ- 
 ten ten days before, asking for a place in his office. 
 To his father's old friend he had confided his vi- 
 sions of a metropolitan career and offered first 
 chance to finance it in its launching.
 
 STEEPLES AND SKY-SCRAPERS 21 
 
 The reply had been kindly, even encouraging in 
 tone, but disappointing in its figures. Tom had 
 quickly decided that the cheap clerkship it offered 
 was hardly worth considering. When the time 
 came to go to New York, he would sooner take his 
 chances. He hadn't even mentioned the letter to 
 his mother. Tom did not remember his father. 
 If he had been alive, Tom would have liked to talk 
 it over with him, for the letter had been rather 
 puzzling. Now he wondered what Jane would 
 think about a metropolitan debut at $15 a week. 
 
 That young person suddenly woke out of a rev- 
 erie of her own, and said: 
 
 " Tom. Please drive to the house. I must get 
 a book and return it to Bessie Caldwell, at once." 
 
 "All right," replied Tom. "Bessie Caldwell 
 shall have her book as soon as gasoline can fetch 
 it." 
 
 " Guess I'd better speak to mother about Ken- 
 nedy," he said to himself, and so put the whole af- 
 fair comfortably out of mind. He knew his 
 mother would never willingly consent to his going 
 to New York. 
 
 He threw open the throttle. " Easy," said Jane, 
 as they raced into Main street, " we've killed 
 enough animals for one morning. Beware the 
 dog." 
 
 The dog dodge'd and Tom chuckled, his serious 
 mood vanished. " I'd like to be around when
 
 22 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 Hemingway calls on your father this afternoon," 
 he said. " I believe that was all a game of Hem- 
 ingway's, and the Judge is likely to lay down the 
 law to him. It would be worth hearing." 
 
 " Yes, and we -may both be put on the witness 
 stand," said Jane, in tones of reproach. " Better 
 not be too eager about it," she warned him. 
 
 Tom smiled at her cheerfully. 
 
 Now Tom, even in his moments of humiliation, 
 was not a figure to inspire austere and unforgiving 
 sentiments in the breast of any maiden still in her 
 'teens, let alone Jane Belknap. Humiliation, be it 
 ever so cruel, does not instantly mar a fine profile, 
 and Tom's profile was of a sort that any driver 
 his eyes on the road, his lady at his side might 
 use to his advantage. Five minutes of self-abase- 
 rnent, be it ever so bitter, does not materially im- 
 pair the hue and texture of fair, wavy hair, or mot- 
 tle a summer's coat of healthy tan. With such was 
 Tom endowed. 
 
 But Tom's smile was his best asset. It was 
 sunny, appealing, irresistible. When he turned it 
 on Jane, she melted, and gave it back to him. 
 
 " Never mind, Tom," she said. " It wasn't 
 really your fault. It was only your clever driving 
 that saved the machine, and maybe me, too, and 
 father shall know it. I guess he'll save his breath 
 for Hemingway." 
 
 And they drove up to the Hemingway mansion
 
 STEEPLES AND SKY-SCRAPERS 23 
 
 it v. as the only dwelling in Fairview that fulfilled 
 the Fairview definition of a mansion merry over 
 the prospective discomfiture of Farmer Heming- 
 way.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE JUDGE HAS A BAD COLD 
 
 AT about the time Tom Wilson was holding bit- 
 ter communion with himself out on the Fair- 
 view road, Judge Belknap, alone in his house, was 
 exercising some neglected brain cells on his own ac- 
 count, and finding the effort more interesting than 
 agreeable. 
 
 " Confound that doctor," he growled. " Why 
 couldn't he keep his mouth shut? " 
 
 The Judge had been kept in the house for a day 
 or two by a severe summer cold. He was bearing 
 his confinement impatiently, and Dr. Downing, 
 when he called that morning, had thought it ad- 
 visable to admonish him. 
 
 " Your illness is nothing to be alarmed about 
 now," said the physician in a tone that suggested 
 that it might, in good time, become very alarming 
 indeed. " It is a simple indisposition, very simple, 
 indeed; but, if neglected" he held up a warning 
 hand " I say, if neglected, it may result in seri- 
 ous complications." He took up his hat to go. 
 " Very serious, indeed," he added, and went. 
 
 The Judge was guilty of no neglect, but compli- 
 cations resulted, just the same, and they proved sur- 
 24
 
 THE JUDGE HAS A BAD COLD 25 
 
 prisingly contagious, which Dr. Downing with all 
 his science could never have prognosticated. They 
 involved several persons more seriously than the 
 Judge, who dutifully took advice, and came off 
 rather easily. Tom Wilson, who never took ad- 
 vice, was hit hardest. 
 
 For it was his doctor's words that had set the 
 Judge thinking, and a process of introspection 
 started by one's physician is likely to lead a man 
 to take stock of things that he usually shoves away 
 back in his head. The Judge was fifty-five years 
 old, a robust, tireless man still, but still fifty-five. 
 And he had to admit to himself that he was feeling 
 pretty mean that day. It was the first time in his 
 busy life that the passing of the years had occurred 
 to him as a matter of supreme personal interest. 
 
 1 It was also the first time, he reflected, that he had 
 felt it necessary to obey a physician's injunctions 
 and stay away from his office. 
 
 At thought of his neglected business, the Judge 
 rose impatiently from his easy chair. It seemed 
 to him that one of his knees creaked a bit and that 
 his back was a trifle stiffer than he remembered it. 
 He sat down again, rather slowly and dismally, and 
 hated the doctor. 
 
 He let his glance wander slowly about the famil- 
 iar living room. The forenoon sun poured warm 
 through the three French windows that opened upon 
 the front veranda, but the apartment seemed op-
 
 26 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 pressively chill and cheerless. His eye came to rest 
 on a mirror, which hung in the shadow near the 
 door. 
 
 It was years since the Judge had consulted a mir- 
 ror except razor in hand. Hardly since his fancy- 
 scarf and boutonniere days, had he felt the temp- 
 tation to appraise his personal appearance. Now 
 he hesitated, frowning to himself. He looked 
 about. No one was near. 
 
 The glass had been hung with a forward tilt, to 
 suit the convenience of one of smaller stature than 
 the Judge. He put out his hand to flatten it against 
 the wall. The loud Honk-Honk of an automobile 
 cut short a promising inspection, and he turned away 
 quickly with a guilty grin. What would Jane have 
 said if she had caught him in that pose before her 
 mirror? 
 
 The Judge knew that that Honk heralded 
 Jane's approach. In fact the village of Fair- 
 view boasted of only one automobile, and Judge 
 Belknap, Fairview's leading citizen, was its envied 
 owner. 
 
 The automobile came to a sudden halt, which 
 made the driveway pebbles fly, and Judge Belknap, 
 at the window, saw Jane spring lightly down from 
 where she sat beside Tom Wilson. She waved to 
 her father, who was smiling now over his escape, 
 and ran into the house. She was out again in a 
 minute, a book under her arm, and in less than an-
 
 THE JUDGE HAS A BAD COLD 27 
 
 other, had disappeared down Main street in a cloud 
 of dust. 
 
 The Judge sat down again, more comfortably. 
 If anything did happen to him a remote contin- 
 gency, at worst his daughter would be well pro- 
 vided for. Jane would be ten times over the rich- 
 est girl in Fairview, as well as ten times the pret- 
 tiest. He felt pleased to remember that he had 
 made his will long ago, purely in the way of busi- 
 ness. Making one's will on a physician's tip is a 
 depressing ceremony, always. He had assisted at 
 several such, as an attorney. 
 
 "The richest girl and the prettiest." He said 
 it aloud, almost boastfully, then added, somewhat 
 dubiously: " And the most sensible." 
 
 Now the Judge no more doubted Jane's good! 
 sense than the solidity of his investments, which 
 should be hers. But it had occurred to him, even 
 as he boasted, that, while he was ripening at fifty- 
 five Jane had blossomed at nineteen. She was no 
 longer a child, but an altogether charming young wo 
 man, of marriageable age, the catch of the country 
 
 and motherless. 
 
 The Judge pondered. Yes, Jane Had good sense, 
 plenty of it. But she had one alarming weakness, 
 
 Tom Wilson. 
 
 Jane seemed to be very fond of young Wilson, 
 and he of her. They were constantly in each 
 other's company, had, indeed, been inseparable
 
 28 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 since first they had been able to toddle toward each 
 other. And now Tom was old enough to have 
 voted once or twice and he was still toddling. 
 That's just what Tom was, a toddler, an irrespon- 
 sible kid. Why, he'd never earned a dollar in his 
 life, or wanted to. It was high time he began. 
 
 The Judge began to pace the room, his own dis- 
 comfort forgotten in his anxiety for his daughter. 
 There was no room for reasonable doubt. Jane 
 certainly was very fond of Tom. In fact the two 
 of them probably looked upon their affair as a set- 
 tled thing. Jane had never said so, but it was the 
 only fair inference. If only her mother were alive ! 
 He must manage it somehow himself. He sat 
 down again to think it over. 
 
 After all, what insuperable objection was there 
 to Tom Wilson? 
 
 Tom had a good head on him. True he never 
 used it, but then Satan had never found any partic- 
 ular mischief for his idle brains to do. His char- 
 acter was unexceptionable. There wasn't a youth 
 in Fairview who would go farther than Tom, or 
 half so far, if only Tom would settle down and get 
 busy. 
 
 And then, the boy had grown up fatherless. He 
 had never had a fair chance. Perhaps Belknap 
 himself might fairly be held responsible for that. 
 The Judge could not forget that Jim Wilson, dying, 
 had left him the boy " to make a man of him."
 
 THE JUDGE HAS A BAD COLD 29 
 
 His word to Jim had not been kept. He must re- 
 deem it now, for Tom's sake, as well as Jane's. 
 
 The Honk of the returning automobile made him 
 start to his 'feet. Judge Belknap, his mind once 
 made up, was not a man to dally. He would take 
 the boy in hand at once. He strode to the open 
 window. 
 
 " Tom," he called. " I want to see you." 
 
 Tom and Jane eyed each other uneasily. 
 
 " Gee I " said Tom, under his breath. " Hem- 
 ingway's beat us to it. Guess he must have 
 'phoned."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 FIVE DOLLARS A WEEK 
 
 TOM entered steeled for the expected fray. 
 He found Belknap seated at his table, exam- 
 ining papers. Unconsciously, perhaps, the Judge 
 had assumed his best professional manner for the 
 interview. The youth, unfortunately, mistook it 
 for the pose of righteous but suppressed wrath. 
 Unconsciously also, perhaps, he played for time. 
 
 He tossed his cap and automobile goggles into a 
 chair by the door, nodded a defiantly cheerful good 
 morning, and paused before the mirror to smooth 
 his ruffled hair. He found it necessary to adjust his 
 neat blue four-in-hand, too. Then he tilted back the 
 mirror, stood at arm's length, and frankly admired 
 the general effect. 
 
 The Judge laid his letter down and sat waiting 
 with a sour smile. Tom deposited himself in the 
 chair across the table, crossed his legs and said, 
 with studied politeness : 
 
 u I'm sorry to see that you're no better to-day, 
 Judge. What can I do for you? " 
 
 The sufferer looked at him hard. " Not much," 
 he rasped. And added, after a moment's consider- 
 ation of the invidious accent on Tom's " you " : 
 3
 
 FIFE DOLLARS A WEEK 31 
 
 " Not much for me and not much for anybody 
 else." 
 
 Then the Judge was sorry, and tried to soften 
 the glare which had accompanied the words. Poor 
 Tom, taken aback, began to apologize, though ig- 
 norant of just how he had offended. 
 
 " I only wanted to help, Judge Belknap," he 
 stammered. " You see, when a man of your age 
 gets knocked out in this way, there are lots of things 
 he can't look after himself, and, if I can be of any 
 " he was going to say " any assistance," but 
 stopped in time. He received a vague impression 
 that, by so doing, he had just dodged an explosion. 
 
 The Judge's temper had not been sweetened any 
 by his short term of adversity, and Tom had put 
 his blundering finger on the raw. The Judge 
 spoke, very slowly, for fear of speaking too fast. 
 
 " I shall not require your assistance," he said, 
 "but I thank you just the same." Then dryly: 
 " In fact your kindness makes my own duty easier. 
 I sent for you, not to ask assistance, but to offer it." 
 
 Tom sprang to his feet. " Why, what's the 
 matter with me ? " he asked, perplexed. 
 
 The Judge told him. Tom had given the lawyer 
 the exact opening he needed, and Belknap wasted 
 no time in choosing soft and pleasing terms with 
 which to picture Tom's wasted past, his useless pres- 
 ent, and his unprofitable future. 
 
 The boy took it all in good part, at least without
 
 32 THE COUNTRY BOY> 
 
 protest. He sat there in a maze. " Now just 
 what is my venerable friend driving at?" he asked 
 himself. Of course, what that infernal farmer 
 had said but this was different. He had never 
 heard the Judge talk with such lack of restraint. 
 Perhaps his illness had made him a bit light- 
 headed. 
 
 He listened attentively and with a growing look 
 of concern that quite misled Belknap. The Judge 
 relented. " Come, the fellow has some sense after 
 all," he thought. " I should have taken him in 
 hand before," and, much mollified, passed from di- 
 agnosis to prescription. 
 
 It was perhaps due to the Judge's lack of sympa- 
 thetic imagination, that he now proceeded to fill 
 [Tom full of vain and fanciful hope. He began by 
 saying, in a fatherly way, how important it was for 
 every young man to choose the right profession or 
 business. He dilated, almost with enthusiasm on 
 the pleasure and profits of the law from the 
 lawyer's point of vantage taking, as an attractive 
 example his own highly successful career in Fair- 
 view. As if to make amends for his late excori- 
 ation of Tom, he was pleased to assure that young 
 man of the good opinion he held of his natural abil- 
 ities. He was quite sure Tom would make a suc- 
 cess of the law, if only he would apply himself to 
 the task. 
 
 Tom began to have an inkling. It was with a
 
 FIFE DOLLARS A WEEK. 33 
 
 smile of complacency that he permitted the Judge 
 to continue, without interruption: 
 
 " Now, I want you to come into my office. I will 
 teach you all I know about the law. It will be three 
 years before you can take your final examinations, 
 but it would take three years to enter any profession 
 anywhere, and, if I do say it " here the Judge ex- 
 panded his chest after the manner peculiar to self- 
 conscious affluence " if I do say it, there isn't a 
 law student in Western New .York who mightn't 
 envy you the place that will be yours in my office." 
 
 Generous words, indeed! At last it dawned 
 fully on Tom just what the Judge had been " driv- 
 ing at." How could he have been so obtuse? 
 The Judge was getting along in years. What he 
 most needed was a hustling, young partner, of course 
 a man who could relieve his aging shoulders of 
 the burden of detail incident to his ever-increasing 
 practice. Preferably a young man, of good natural 
 abilities, whom he could train to meet the precise 
 needs of the situation, who could grow up with the 
 business. 
 
 Tom could easily see why the mantle was to fall 
 upon him. He was hampered by no previous ex- 
 perience. He had nothing to unlearn. The Judge 
 had stated that explicitly, almost brutally by way of 
 leading up to his proposal. 
 
 But could he accept the offer? Could he afford 
 to accept it? Tom did some rapid thinking while
 
 34 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 the Judge dallied over details. It was a liberal 
 offer, truly, but then it was Fairview against 
 New York. Tom has seen visions, and a country 
 law practice held out few allurements to him. 
 
 But again, there was Jane. In whatever princi- 
 pality of the air Tom had built his castles, there had 
 never been any mistress for them but Jane. Per- 
 haps his patron had Jane in mind too, as he dis- 
 coursed of office hours and duties, taking Tom's ac- 
 ceptance quite for granted. Certainly the Judge's 
 partnership plan would fit well into the general 
 scheme. It would please mother, too. He would 
 never be able to reconcile her to the New York 
 idea. 
 
 And so, with' a sigh of relinquishment, Tom thrust 
 aside his vision of metropolitan glories, abandoned 
 his dream of " something big," and, as the Judge's 
 monologue seemed to be nearing the end, gave ear 
 to his final words with the austere mien of one who 
 sacrifices himself for the common good. 
 
 And this is what he heard : 
 
 "Well then, everything is well understood, and 
 no more time need be wasted. Let me see, this is 
 Friday. Report at the office next Monday morning 
 at eight o'clock, ready to pitch in. You will get five 
 dollars a week." 
 
 " Five dollars a week! " 
 
 Tom sat up in his chair with a jerlc ami echoed 
 the offer in tones of agonized surprise. Then, by
 
 FIVE DOLLARS A WEEK 35 
 
 way of reply, he gasped. Words adequate 
 words would not come. For the first time in his 
 life, Tom's effervescent vocabulary failed him. He 
 stared across the table with an expression of utter 
 bewilderment, which sat so ludicrously on his frank, 
 boyish face, that, had Judge Belknap so much as 
 half-noticed it, his own unsmiling countenance must 
 have relaxed in sympathy. 
 
 But the Judge was intent, or seemed to be, on a 
 document he had taken from a drawer in the table, 
 and both gasp and stare went for naught. If he 
 did notice them, they only hardened him in his de- 
 termination to put the boy through the severe 
 " course of sprouts," which, he was sure, was the 
 first thing Tom needed. It would be a fine thing 
 for this spoiled youngster to learn just what he was 
 worth in the world of dollars and cents. 
 
 The matter-of-fact lawyer was far from suspect- 
 ing that, with four words, he had degraded a po- 
 tential partner to the rank of an office boy. If he 
 could have read Tom's inmost mind, it wouldn't have 
 made any difference. He was quite satisfied that 
 he was doing the right thing, and the fact that his 
 own ultimate hopes of Tom were not far out of line 
 with Tom's too-previous apprehension of them, 
 wouldn't have mattered. Tom must first show that 
 he had the stuff in him. That Tom might refuse 
 his offer was a possibility that never entered his 
 head.
 
 36 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 So the Judge 'dropped that end of the business as 
 settled. Before Tom could recover breath or 
 speech, he went on, rapping the table with the folded 
 paper to give due emphasis to his words. 
 
 " This," he said, " is a copy of your father's will, 
 of which I have the honor to be sole executor. 
 Now that you are about to try making your own 
 way in the world, it is necessary that you know ex- 
 actly where you stand. Your father and I " 
 
 Tom had ceased to listen. He knew all he cared 
 to know about that will, or thought he did. Every- 
 body in Fairview knew that his father and Belknap 
 had been bosom friends. Bah! That only made 
 Belknap's conduct all the more miserable. 
 
 " Five dollars a week." The words buzzed in 
 his head like four flies in a bottle. He could hear 
 nothing else. 
 
 The Judge went on explaining. Tom, deaf and 
 dumb with rage, paid no heed. The more he 
 thought the madder he got. " Five dollars a 
 week ! " Why, the colored boy that drove Mad- 
 dox's grocery wagon got six. Judge Belknap him- 
 self paid ten to his carroty-headed secretary-sten- 
 ographer, Hez Jenks. Suddenly Tom found his 
 tongue. He jumped to his feet to tell this cheap 
 village magnate just what he thought of him and 
 Fairview. 
 
 He opened his mouth, stopped, sputtered. Prov- 
 idence, in the form of a pretty girl, had intervened
 
 FIFE DOLLARS A WEEK 37 
 
 to save the unsuspecting Judge from a disagreeable 
 surprise. It was Jane, who, anxious for her fa- 
 vorite chauffeur, had sauntered down the piazza and 
 stopped in front of the open window just in time to 
 halt Tom's blistering words between tongue and 
 lip. She silently waved her veil, and passed on. 
 Her father's back was turned to the window, and 
 he neither saw nor heard. 
 
 The Judge gazed up inquiringly at Tom's hang- 
 ing jaw. Tom sputtered again. He could cheer- 
 fully have annihilated Hiram Belknap on the spot, 
 but he couldn't destroy Jane Belknap's father. His 
 jaw trembled under the Judge's keen scrutiny. 
 Something had to be said. The words came stam- 
 meringly: 
 
 11 Five dollars a week? " 
 
 He was ready to burst with chagrin, but he could 
 think of nothing else. And, since his tone this time 
 was weakly interrogative, the Judge deigned to re- 
 ply. 
 
 " I began on less," he said. " So did your 
 father/' he added slowly, looking at Tom. 
 
 Tom had no reply to that. He knew tKat Hi- 
 ram Belknap treasured his friend's memory and 
 never spoke of him without deep feeling, and he 
 felt that his present reference was not an idle one. 
 He remembered, too, that Belknap had been his 
 mother's trusted friend and adviser, and that she 
 would be deeply grieved if her son affronted him.
 
 38 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 Nevertheless his own position must be made per- 
 fectly clear. As he hesitated, the Judge came to 
 his aid. 
 
 " Well, then, we shall regard the matter as set- 
 tled," he said. 
 
 Tom's muscles stiffened. He threw back his 
 head. " No," he ejaculated. 
 
 His throat was dry. He paused. The Judge 
 stared, incredulous. 
 
 " I can't afford to be a piker," Tom said. 
 
 It was the Judge's turn to be stunned into silence. 
 He looked at Tom a full half-minute. Then he 
 broke into a contemptuous laugh. 
 
 " You don't think the job worthy of your abil- 
 ities? " he asked. " May I inquire if you have any- 
 thing better in view?" 
 
 The Judge's tone was bitterly sarcastic. Tom 
 thought of the letter in his pocket, but did not trust 
 himself to reply. The Judge arose. 
 
 " You mean you do not care to accept my offer. 
 Very well, I do not wish to force it on you. I shall 
 be glad to learn that you have succeeded elsewhere. 
 From what I have told you of the condition of your 
 father's estate, you must realize that it is up to you 
 to 'make good, and soon. There is another thing, 
 too, which your course in this matter makes it neces- 
 sary to say. I do not wish to be hard on you, but, 
 until you do make good, you cannot expect " he
 
 FIVE DOLLARS A WEEK 39 
 
 broke off awkwardly as Jane appeared again at the 
 window, a letter in her hand. 
 
 "Can't Tom come now?" she asked. "We 
 just have time to drive down to the post-office be- 
 fore the mail goes out." 
 
 " We will speak of it again, 1 ' said the Judge to 
 Tom. 
 
 Tom left the room in troubled silence. He had 
 missed what Judge Belknap had said about the es- 
 tate. And he had a shrewd notion of what it was 
 the Judge had reserved for future discussion. 
 
 The Judge sank wearily into his chair. He 
 heard Tom grunting as he wrestled with the crank 
 of the automobile, and Jane gleefully mocking him. 
 Then, at some remark of Tom's, which he did not 
 catch, both voices rose in laughter as the machine 
 glided away. To the Judge, with their recent in- 
 terview in mind, the remark and the laugh came as 
 fresh proofs of Tom's flippant irresponsibility. 
 
 " I'm afraid Jim's son isn't going to make goo'd 
 very soon," he said.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE JUDGE SIDE-STEPS 
 
 JANE BELKNAP fully merited her father's esti- 
 mate of her as a sensible girl. Jane was as sen- 
 sible as she was sweet and pretty, and no reason- 
 able person could ask more. Of medium height 
 and trim, full-modelled figure, her tanned cheeks 
 and wholesome face told of outdoor life and 
 abounding health. Her hair was dark brown, 
 brushed smoothly back over a shapely head, except 
 where it clustered in little, rebellious curls about her 
 white forehead. Thick, curling lashes shaded eyes 
 so soft and brown that, from her childhood, her 
 father had never been able to withstand their coax- 
 ing. Jane's eyes were her chief charm, and de- 
 mure Jane knew it. 
 
 But it was the quality of Jane's chin, rather than 
 of her eyes, that disconcerted the Judge as he faced 
 her at the luncheon table, two hours after his inter- 
 rupted interview with Tom. Gentle and affection- 
 ate as she was, Jane had a self-reliant habit of doing 
 her own thinking. It was this self-same trait that 
 had earned her father's golden opinion of her good 
 sense, but it might prove an embarrassing factor 
 in the present situation. 
 
 40
 
 THE JUDGE SIDE-STEPS 41 
 
 Judge Belknap's jaw was of the squarish, granite 
 type. Jane's chin was rounded and softly feminine, 
 but a connoisseur in physiognomic values might 
 have noted that it was set as firmly as the Judge's 
 own. Just at present she was employing it exclu- 
 sively on the viands before her, her silence leaving 
 it to be inferred that she was doing a heap of think- 
 ing. 
 
 The Judge wavered. He had fully made up his 
 mind to send for Tom that afternoon and have it 
 out with him. He was quite certain of what he 
 wanted to say to Tom. He wasn't quite so sure 
 how Jane would take it. 
 
 It was Hezekiah Jenks, the Judge's lanky secre- 
 tary, who unwittingly brought things to a crisis. 
 Dr. Downing had allowed Belknap to transact at 
 home such urgent business as was necessary " to 
 keep him from worrying himself to death while he 
 was getting well." Among the letters brought to 
 him from his office after luncheon, the Judge found 
 one addressed in the angular hand-writing of Hez 
 Jenks. 
 
 Mildly wondering what Hez could have on his 
 mind that required this formal means of expres- 
 sion, the Judge opened the letter. It began with 
 humble protestations of zeal and 'devotion to the 
 Judge's interests; dwelt at length on the writer's 
 industry, faithfulness and length of service. " He 
 wants more money and picks a time I can't well do
 
 42 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 without him to ask it," thought the Judge, and 
 frowned impatiently as he turned the page. Then 
 a sudden, sulphuric syllable escaped him. In 
 courtly terms Hez Jenks had begged permission to 
 pay his addresses to the Judge's daughter. 
 
 Judge Belknap's first thought was to send for his 
 impudent factotum and indulge himself in the 
 pleasure of kicking him out of the house. Better 
 still, send for Tom too, and kill both birds with one 
 stone. No, that wouldn't do. Somehow Hez's 
 pretensions provoked him as Tom's did not. The 
 idea of this gawky, uncouth piece of office equip- 
 ment's aspiring to the possession of dainty, bewitch- 
 ing Jane, was offensive to the last degree. 
 
 Yet Hez's letter told the truth, as far as it went. 
 Hez was faithful, zealous, industrious all the ad- 
 mirable things that Tom Wilson most emphatically 
 was not. Hez would make good in Fairview. But 
 for a son-in-law! Never! 
 
 Still the Judge thought it best to ignore his im- 
 pudence for the present. Perhaps it might even be 
 turned to advantage in the case of Jane and Tom. 
 He would temporize, choose the easy line of attack. 
 Meantime he decided to take counsel with Tom's 
 mother. He wrote her a note, inviting her to take 
 tea with him at five o'clock that afternoon and ask- 
 ing her not mention it to Tom. 
 
 When Hez Jenks arrived shortly before that 
 hour for the brief afternoon business session that
 
 THE JUDGE SIDE-STEPS 43 
 
 Dr. Downing sanctioned, he found the Judge in no 
 agreeable mood. Hez, who studied his employer 
 more diligently than his law-books, seated himself 
 silently in the chair Tom had found so uncomfort- 
 able that 'morning. The Judge began dictating re- 
 plies to several letters. 
 
 The master eyed the man with eyes of disfavor 
 as Hez bent his head over the pad of paper he held 
 on his knee. Hez had yellow hair, too, but it was 
 of a faded straw color, and fell lank across a nar- 
 row forehead, which sloped straight back from a 
 beak-like nose. He had blue eyes, faded too, with 
 sparse lashes, which could not conceal their shifty 
 alertness, so unlike Tom's friendly, candid gaze. 
 Hez's desirable qualities seemed to be strictly lim- 
 ited to the undeniable ones catalogued in his letter. 
 
 " That will be all," snapped the Judge, as he 
 laid down the last letter. 
 
 " .Yes, sir," said Hez meekly, but he lingered a 
 moment half-expectantly before he rose. 
 
 "Where's Jane?" asked the Judge abruptly. 
 He had not intended to mention her. It was no 
 part of Hez's business to know where Jane was. 
 Hez was too artful to take the accidental opening. 
 
 " I haven't seen her since noon, sir," he said. 
 " I think she went out with Tom Wilson in the 
 automobile." 
 
 The Judge was grateful for an opportunity to 
 vent his spleen on some legitimate object of wrath.
 
 44 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " That automobile was a mistake," he said testily, 
 " a frightful extravagance. I'm sorry that I ever 
 bought it." 
 
 " Guess the town would miss it if you gave it up," 
 said Hez. " It's the only one we've got." 
 
 " It does give us a little tone," said the Judge, 
 appeased by the sly tribute to the only one's owner. 
 " That's why I bought it. But I didn't count on 
 the reckless slaughter of animals involved in run- 
 ning it. Upon my soul, we've killed enough chick- 
 ens and pigs with it to keep the town in fresh meat 
 for a year." 
 
 " Nobody kicks about that so long as you pay 
 for them," replied Hez, who knew Tom had offi- 
 ciated at most of the killings. 
 
 The Judge eyed him with irritation. " I don't 
 intend to pay for them much longer," he said. 
 " If this town wants an automobile, it will have to 
 stand for the accidents. Here," he added, hand- 
 ing Hez a bundle of papers he had signed, " take 
 these back with you to the office. Tell everybody 
 that calls that I won't be down till Monday. If 
 it's anything that can't wait, send them over to me 
 here. Understand?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." Hez walked slowly towards the' 
 door, as if he hesitated about speaking further in, 
 face of this dismissal. He stopped half way, 
 turned and said awkwardly: 
 
 " 'Scuse me, Judge Belknap, but have you
 
 THE JUDGE SIDE-STEPS 45 
 
 thought any on what I wrote you about about 
 Jane?" 
 
 The Judge was taken unawares. " No," he said 
 at last. " I do not wish to influence her in any 
 way." He thought of Tom and added, almost 
 with a smile: "At least, I don't want to be com- 
 pelled to do so." 
 
 " But you don't object to me," persisted Hez. 
 
 " Why should I? " asked the Judge. " You are 
 faithful, energetic, ambitious. You'll make your 
 imark some day. No, if Jane wants it that way, by 
 all means don't let me stand in the way." 
 
 There was something in the Judge's reference 
 to Jane's wishes that Hez didn't quite like, but he 
 had gained his chance. It would be his own fault 
 if he failed to profit by it. Before the Judge could 
 say more, he replied: 
 
 " Thank you, sir. I can come back and see her 
 a little later?" 
 
 The Judge gave him a hard look. For a mo- 
 ment he was sore tempted. A vision of Hez, cata- 
 pulting off the toe of his boot, danced before his 
 eyes. Sarah, the neat housemaid, entered. " Mrs. 
 Wilson, sir," she announced. . " Any time after 
 you're through your work," said the Judge to Hez. 
 To Sarah : " Show her in." He rose quickly and 
 went towards the door. 
 
 " Come in, come right in, Mrs. Wilson," he cried 
 warmly.
 
 46 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 A sweet-faced, motherly-looking woman of forty- 
 five stood in the door and looked diffidently from 
 the Judge to Hez and back again. Her face ex- 
 pressed deep concern. Judge Belknap hastened to 
 her, and said, as he grasped her hand: 
 
 " I hope I haven't put you to any trouble. I 
 would have come over to see you, but I am not al- 
 lowed to leave the house." 
 
 " I'm sorry to hear you're not well," said Tom's 
 mother. 
 
 " Oh, nothing serious," replied the Judge, with 
 an effort at cheerfulness. " Just a cold, but at my 
 time of life, I can't afford to be going against the 
 doctor's advice. You'd like some tea. Jane isn't 
 here, but I'll have Sarah bring it." 
 
 He crossed the wide room to press a button. 
 Hez had lingered, uninvited. The hint of distress 
 in Mrs. Wilson's manner, the Judge's elaborate 
 cordiality, had not escaped his alert senses. He 
 approached Mrs. Wilson. She turned to him with 
 a start. 
 
 "Oh, how are you, Hezekiah?" she asked. 
 " You're getting so big I didn't know you. Are 
 your folks all well?" 
 
 "Yes, thanks. All except dad. His back has 
 gone out on him again, but otherwise he's all right." 
 
 " Remember me to your another, won't you ? " 
 said Mrs. Wilson, as Hez labored to frame a ques- 
 tion.
 
 THE JUDGE SIDE-STEPS 47 
 
 "Yes, thanks, I will," said Hez. The Judge 
 came towards them with a frown of annoyance. 
 " I've got to go to the office now," Hez added, and 
 made for the door. 
 
 Left alone with his guest, the Judge seemed em- 
 barrassed. " Sit down, Mrs. Wilson," he said. 
 " No, this chair, it's more comfortable." An awk- 
 ward pause was broken by Sarah's entrance. It 
 was Mrs. Wilson who ordered the tea. 
 
 The Judge bustled across the room for a small 
 tea table, which he placed at Mrs. Wilson's arm. 
 " It's a great pleasure to see you again," he said. 
 He drew up a chair across the table. " We don't 
 see you nearly often enough these days," he com- 
 plained. 
 
 " I'm sure it isn't my fault," said Mrs. Wilson 
 gently. 
 
 He hastened to reassure her. " It's the fault of 
 conditions. We busy men, you know, Mrs. Wil- 
 son," he added. 
 
 Another pause. " It must be very gratifying to 
 Have all the railroad's business to look after," ven- 
 tured Mrs. Wilson. 
 
 Few railroad lawyers care to take their business 
 home with them. 
 
 " Every little helps," replied the Judge, noncha- 
 lantly. Then, in tones he strove to make impress- 
 ive : " That's been my motto for a good many 
 years. Nothing so small but what it's worth at-
 
 48 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 tending to. I think that accounts for what little 
 success I've had." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson did not get the meaning the Judge 
 intended. Tom had told her nothing of his offer. 
 But she was duly impressed. 
 
 " You've had more than a little success, Judge 
 Belknap," she protested. " Aren't you the only 
 man in Fairview known outside of it? Haven't we 
 watched you climb from a dingy little law practice 
 to the pinnacle of public office? You've been very- 
 successful, indeed." 
 
 " It's very kind of you to say so," responded the 
 Judge. The pinnacle referred to had been an ad 
 interim appointment as county judg'e, whence his 
 title, but Mrs. Wilson's earnestness was pleasingly 
 sincere. 
 
 " It's quite a change from the old days," she con- 
 tinued, in a lower voice, " although I suppose I 
 ought not to mention them now." 
 
 " Why not? " asked the Judge, with' bluff hearti- 
 ness. " Those days are always dear to us for their 
 associations." 
 
 " When I think of the time when you and 
 Jim -^" Mrs. Wilson faltered. 
 
 "Tut, tut," said the Judge. "Why think of 
 that now? You have your health, your son." He 
 felt that he had approached his subject clumsily. 
 Sarah entered with the tea things. He welcomed 
 the diversion.
 
 THE JUDGE SIDE-STEPS 49; 
 
 " I'll have to ask you to pour, Mrs. Wilson," he 
 said. " It's not quite in my line." Sarah placed 
 the tray and was dismissed. Mrs. Wilson poured. 
 The Judge squared around to face her. He be- 
 gan, half to Mrs. Wilson, half to himself. 
 
 " Now then," he said. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson looked up. She had quite recovered 
 Her composure. 
 
 " I had supposed that you wished to see me 
 about" 
 
 " About Tom." The Judge completed the sen- 
 tence for her. " I have had a talk with him." 
 
 Tom's mother looked worried. " What has he 
 done now ? " 
 
 " He has disappointed me," said Belknap gravely. 
 
 Tom's mother was in distress. " Oh, I'm so 
 sorry," she said. 
 
 The Judge set his cup down with nice exactness 
 in the center of its saucer. 
 
 " Mrs. Wilson," he said slowly, " I've always 
 been taught that a man should earn his own bread; 
 that a humble beginning was the proper road to suc- 
 cess; at any rate, that a modest start was nothing 
 to be ashamed of. Such a start I offered to your 
 son. I am sorry to say that your son does not agree 
 with me." 
 
 "You say you mean he refused the position," 
 faltered Mrs. Wilson. 
 
 " Wouldn't even entertain it," said the Judge.
 
 go THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " Of course," he added, touched by Mrs. Wilson's 
 distress, " the salary I offered him was small. But 
 it was meant only as a beginning and I agreed to 
 take him into my office and teach him the law, all 
 I know of it at least. He couldn't see it." 
 
 "What did he say? " asked Tom's mother. 
 
 The Judge smiled a sour smile. " That he didn't 
 want to be a piker," he replied. 
 
 " What did he mean by that? " The word was 
 new to her. 
 
 Judge Belknap was in no mood to elucidate. He 
 waved the offensive term away with his napkin. 
 
 " Oh, I presume he meant the job wasn't good 
 enough for him," he said indifferently. Mrs. Wil- 
 son turned her face aside. She was trying to keep 
 back the tears. The Judge changed his tone, but 
 not his programme. 
 
 " Of course you understand how I am placed," 
 he went on, half-apologetically. " I'd do anything 
 in the world for Jim's son, but I can't afford to neg- 
 lect my own interests." He paused. There was 
 no reply. " You see, there's Jane." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson's hands fluttered, but she was silent. 
 He went on relentlessly: 
 
 " I believe they are very fond of each other. 
 They probably consider themselves as good as en- 
 gaged. But I'm sorry to say that the boy isn't 
 what I thought him. My daughter's husband must 
 not be ashamed to work." 
 
 It was out now, and the Judge rose from his
 
 THE JUDGE SIDE-STEPS 51 
 
 chair with an air of finality. Mrs. Wilson's eyes 
 were tracing the pattern of the Judge's carpet. 
 
 " Judge Belknap," she asked timidly, " what do 
 you think IS the matter with Tom? " 
 
 The Judge was vastly relieved. He had feared 
 recrimination, tears, a possible scene. This was a 
 vindication of his attitude. He could afford to be 
 generous with advice. 
 
 " Mrs. .Wilson," he asked, u you won't mind if 
 I speak frankly?" 
 
 " I want you to be frank," she said. 
 
 11 You've kept Tom too close to your apron 
 strings.'* He put out his hand quickly as Mrs. 
 Wilson attempted to rise. " Oh, I know what you 
 are going to say. Your only child, can't do without 
 him a mother's love. I understand exactly how 
 you feel. It's natural enough, but, in Tom's case, 
 it's been a mistake. You should have made him 
 realize that you were 'dependent on the little his 
 father left you. Then he might have made a stab 
 at something. As it is, he has been thinking that 
 you had nothing to worry about that he could af- 
 ford to wait for something big to happen some- 
 thing big. That's his trouble. He wants the har- 
 vest without the bother of planting the seed." 
 
 " He wants to go to New York," said Mrs. Wil- 
 son weakly. The Judge's arraignment ha'd been 
 crushing. Her conscience smote her. Perhaps she 
 hadn't considered Tom. 
 
 " Let him go," said the Judge. " Let him go.
 
 52 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 There's nothing like a big city for taking the con- 
 ceit out of a youngster." 
 
 " I'm afraid I couldn't do without him," she ob- 
 jected feebly. 
 
 "Have you tried?'* 
 
 " Once, when he went to visit at Cousin Mary's 
 at Buffalo." She mustered a wan, little smile. " It 
 was very lonesome." 
 
 " Of course it was," rejoined the Judge. 
 " That's the very thing I mean. He's become a 
 habit with you. But you'd get over it, just the same 
 as any other habit. Besides, it isn't fair to the boy, 
 if he wants to go. If there is anything in him, give 
 it a chance to come out." 
 
 " I'll think about it a little longer," said Tom's 
 mother, doubtfully. 
 
 " Just as you like," conceded the Judge. " I 
 only wanted you to understand my attitude in this 
 matter, that is, where my girl is concerned." 
 
 "Have you spoken to Jane about it?" asked 
 Mrs. Wilson. 
 
 " Well, no," the Judge confessed, " at least, not 
 so frankly as I have with you." He wasn't fooling 
 Mrs. Wilson, and he knew it. " I have every con- 
 fidence in her discretion," he added, rather lamely. 
 
 At that moment the street door was thrown open, 
 and the object of her father's confidence entered the 
 room and bore down upon Mrs. Wilson with a rush.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 OME on in Tom," called Jane over her 
 shoulder, as she grasped Mrs. Wilson's 
 hands affectionately. " Here's the runaway, in 
 here." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson's hands trembled in the girl's warm 
 clasp. Her eyes turned apprehensively towards 
 the door. Jane chattered away cheerfully. 
 
 "Well, now, what do you think of this?" she 
 cried. " We've searched the cottage. We've been 
 looking everywhere for you," with mock severity to 
 Mrs. Wilson. " Nobody seemed to know where 
 you were. And here you've been visiting us all the 
 time. Why" 
 
 Jane's voice died away on the top note of a rising 
 inflection. There was something amiss. She took 
 a swift inventory. Her father stood aloof. Mrs. 
 Wilson was pale; her lips were trembling. With 
 hardly a break, Jane rattled on : 
 
 " Why, how cold your hands are ! You are not 
 feeling well. You shouldn't have walked over from 
 the cottage; it's too far. Why, you have hardly 
 tasted your tea. You should have let me know you 
 
 53
 
 54 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 were coming. You know I can make tea just the 
 way you like it." 
 
 " I suppose I should have left word where I was 
 going, but " Mrs. Wilson fibbed falteringly 
 " but I didn't think, I that is, I didn't expect to be 
 gone long." 
 
 Tom, who had lingered outside to look to his gas- 
 oline, entered while his mother was stumbling over 
 her excuses. He paused at the door, and, as he 
 listened, a look of comprehension and anger wiped 
 from his face the smile with which he had hastened 
 to greet her. There was a silence as he walked to 
 her side and placed his hand on the back of her 
 chair, his eyes fixed all the while on Belknap's ex- 
 pressionless face. 
 
 " This looks suspicious to me," he said, in a voice 
 so unlike his usual careless tones, that his 'mother 
 started up nervously. He turned to her. " What 
 has Judge Belknap been saying to you?" he de- 
 manded. She winced, and was silent. 
 
 The Judge cleared his throat. " We've been dis- 
 cussing you," he said. 
 
 Tom placed his arm caressingly about his 
 mother's shoulders. 
 
 " You can't make my mother dislike me," he said 
 belligerently. The little woman smiled up at him 
 re-assuringly. She was slightly bewildered, rather 
 pleasantly bewildered, at this new aspect of Tom. 
 She couldn't quite understand why Tom thought it
 
 "KEEP OFF THE GRASS" 55 
 
 necessary to announce something so obvious in a tone 
 so aggressive. 
 
 The Judge eyed the two of them for a moment, 
 then shrugged his shoulders. " I'm not fool 
 enough to try it," he said, and turned away. He 
 caught Jane's questioning eye and bethought him- 
 self. 
 
 " But I felt it my duty " he spoke impressively, 
 looking at Tom, but measuring his words for Jane 
 " I felt it my duty to tell her that I had offered 
 you a position in my office, and that you had refused 
 it" 
 
 Tom did not grasp the Judge's purpose, but he 
 had a vague feeling that he was being put on his de- 
 fense. 
 
 " Yes, five Hollars a week," he said, with a slight 
 grimace. 
 
 Mother, Jane, the Judge, man of humble begin- 
 nings, all gazed at him in a crescendo of disap- 
 proval. 
 
 " Times have changed." He laughed lightly. 
 41 The cost of living has gone up." 
 
 There was no answering gleam in Jane's brown 
 eyes. His mother looked grieved. 
 
 " Product and labor have always been rated ac- 
 cording to the law of supply and demand," quoth 
 the Judge, ponderously. 
 
 " There doesn't seem to be much demand for my 
 labor," said Tom. Jane's face was changeless.
 
 56 THE COUNTRY. BOY 
 
 "How about that, mother?" he asked, his smile 
 seeking hers. 
 
 " I am very sorry you did not accept the Judge's 
 offer, she answered gravely. He turned to Jane. 
 
 " What do you know about that? " he demanded. 
 " Even mother doesn't think me worth more than 
 five dollars a week." 
 
 Jane avoided him. Her eyes dwelt sympathetic- 
 ally on Mrs. Wilson. Tom shook himself impa- 
 tiently, walked to the window and gazed across the 
 lawn with an air of great interest, at a dog-fight out 
 in the street. 
 
 "Did you have a pleasant ride?" asked Mrs. 
 Wilson. 
 
 " Perfectly bully," said Jane. " The country is 
 as pretty as it can be, with the leaves turning to yel- 
 low and gold. And Tom is getting to be a splendid 
 chauffeur." 
 
 " Humph ! " said the Judge. " Have any acci- 
 dents?" 
 
 " None this afternoon," said Tom over his shoul- 
 der. " A bunch of hogs got in our way this morn- 
 ing. I fear some of them didn't live to regret 
 
 it." 
 
 " Whom did they belong to? " 
 
 " Hemingway, I think," said Tom. " He acted 
 like it." 
 
 " Hemingway ! " exclaimed the unfortunate 
 Judge. " Good Lord ! He may be down on me
 
 "KEEP OFF THE GR4SS" 57 
 
 any minute with a bill big enough to raise the mort- 
 gage on his farm.'* 
 
 Jane rushed to the rescue. " Don't be angry, 
 Dad," she pleaded. "It wasn't Tom's fault. 
 The pigs ran right out under the wheels, and, if it 
 hadn't been for Tom's good driving, the machine 
 would have been smashed and we might both have 
 been killed." 
 
 " But," stormed the Judge, " I've had to pay that 
 man nearly two hundred dollars for animals that 
 I've never seen. It's outrageous. I'm not going 
 to submit to it any longer. I wouldn't care if the 
 machine were smashed." 
 
 " If you feel that way about it, you'd better give 
 up automobiling," suggested Tom. 
 
 " I will," cried the Judge. " And I'll give the 
 confounded machine to anybody that'll haul it 
 away." 
 
 Tom clapped his hands together.. " lYou're on," 
 he said. " The car is mine." 
 
 " Why, Tom," said his mother, wonderingly. 
 " What will you do with it? " 
 
 Tom was enjoying Belknap's discomfiture. " Ask 
 the Judge, mother," he said. " He'll tell you you 
 shouldn't spoil the first business chance I've ever 
 had. If he'll leave the gasoline in it, I won't 
 even have to haul it away." He turned to the 
 Judge. " I'll take it with me." He made for the 
 door.
 
 58 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " Come along, mother," he called. " I'll* drive 
 you home." 
 
 The Judge barred his way. " Don't be hasty, 
 young man," he said. " You've forgotten one im- 
 portant essential." 
 
 "What's that?" queried Tom, innocently. 
 
 " The money to pay for it." 
 
 " You said you'd give it away," insisted Tom. 
 
 " I'm not quite a fool," retorted the Judge, who 
 was beginning to get red around the ears. 
 
 Tom threw up hands, limp with resignation. 
 "Oh, well" he began. 
 
 The telephone in the next room rang briskly. 
 Sarah, the maid, entered. 
 
 " Mr. Hemingway wishes to speak to you, sir," 
 she announced. 
 
 " I knew it," stormed the Judge. He shook an 
 angry finger at Tom. " What did I tell you? " he 
 demanded. He started towards the 'phone. Jane 
 interposed. 
 
 " Let me speak to him, Dad," she said. " Hem- 
 ingway has no right to leave his gate open as he 
 does. I think he does it on purpose when he sees 
 our car coming, and I mean to tell him so." 
 
 They went out together. Sarah whisked up the 
 tea-tray, and followed. Tom turned to his mother. 
 
 " Well, mother," said he, " we came near having 
 an automobile in the family. If he hadn't asked 
 me for money, we would have had it."
 
 "KEEP OFF THE GRASS" 59 
 
 ," said his mother earnestly, " I wish you 
 wouldn't be so flippant. Can't you see the impres- 
 sion you are making on Judge Belknap? " 
 
 " Goodness gracious, mother," said Tom, taking 
 her face between his hands, " what's come over you 
 so suddenly to make you look so serious? " 
 
 " I've been talking with Judge Belknap," she ex- 
 plained. 
 
 " That's enough to make anybody look serious," 
 laughed Tom. 
 
 " He has made me realize that I haven't been 
 fair to you," she continued. 
 
 " Absurd," said Tom. 
 
 But the Judge's accusation she felt it to be 
 such had stirred her deeply. She would spare 
 herself nothing. 
 
 " No, it's true, dear," she went on in a voice she 
 strove to hold firm. *' I've been very selfish to keep 
 you near me so long. I can see that now. YouVe 
 grown up without my knowing it. I mustn't stand 
 in your way any longer." 
 
 She stopped short, dreading to say what must 
 next be said, fearful lest the tears in her voice 
 should rise and drown her utterance. Tom's 
 anger rose against the man who had caused her 
 distress. 
 
 " See here, mother," he said, with affectionate 
 severity, " you mustn't let Judge Belknap worry you 
 about me. He has an idea I'm going to the devil
 
 6o THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 simply because I won't take the position he offered 
 me." 
 
 " But you must start somewhere," she insisted. 
 
 " But it would be a mistake not to start right. 
 Now, don't you worry. I'll get something soon, 
 and it will be something worth while something 
 big." 
 
 "Something big!" If Mrs. Wilson had cher- 
 ished any covert doubt of the wisdom of Belknap's 
 advice, it was driven out by this re-echoed phrase 
 Tom's own expression, last heard from the Judge's 
 lips, now from Tom's again. She placed her hands 
 on the boy's shoulders. Her voice was quite steady 
 now. 
 
 " Tom, "dear." She paused. " If you really 
 want to go to New York, I'm willing." 
 
 " Mother ! " exclaimed Tom. He stepped back, 
 surprised, a trifle hurt. 
 
 " I'm willing, dear," she repeated. " In fact, I 
 want you to go." 
 
 " You want me to go to leave you and go to 
 New York! " Tom mistrusted his ears, an injustice 
 to those faithful servants, but then Tom had no no- 
 tion how heroically the maternal conscience can 
 stretch in an emergency. But he rightly imputed 
 his mother's attitude to the Judge's influence. He 
 met the issue squarely. 
 
 " I'm never going to leave you, mother," he said 
 decisively, " so put that idea out of your head.
 
 "KEEP OFF THE GRASS" 61 
 
 When the time comes to go to New York, we'll go 
 together." He gave her a kiss to silence her, and 
 a hug to boot. She started to leave the room. 
 
 " Not going home? " he said. 
 
 " I might as well," she replied hopelessly. Be- 
 fore she could gain the door, it opened, framing the 
 ungainly figure of Hezekiah Jenks, gorgeously ar- 
 rayed. 
 
 Office hours were over, and Hezekiah had wasted 
 no time in availing himself of his new entree to the 
 Belknap mansion, equivocal though it was. He 
 had lingered only long enough to envelop his long- 
 drawn person in its Sunday best. Tom eyed him 
 critically. 
 
 Light brown trousers, with large black checks, 
 napped about his legs as he strode into the room. 
 His black coat was of the cutaway type, dear to 
 rural dandies. Both garments had been built to 
 meet the demands of the average customer, and they 
 failed to measure up to the extraordinary require- 
 ments of Hez's ankles and wrists. The brevity of 
 his trousers served, however, to display a length of 
 pink stocking, which might otherwise have blushed 
 unseen. His satin necktie was pink, too, and a lus- 
 trous rhinestone nestled in its folds. 
 
 The pink articles and the jewel, be it remarked, 
 were supplementary adornments, variations from 
 Hez's usual sober scheme, such as might invite the 
 delicate fancy of the Belknap heiress. A flower
 
 62 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 in Hez's buttonhole owed its station to a similar 
 chance. 
 
 Tom marvelled at this irruption of finery. Then 
 an incredible suspicion smote him. Suspicion grew 
 almost to the stature of certainty when Hez, without 
 a word, with hardly more than a glance at Tom or 
 his mother, stalked across the room toward a door, 
 behind which the voice of Jane at the telephone 
 could be distinguished. 
 
 " Hello, Hez," Tom hailed. Hez kept on his 
 way. 
 
 " Hello, Hez." Tom's tone was peremptory, 
 challenging. Hez halted. He turned to Tom 
 with a grin. It was a disturbing grin, a grin just 
 as significant as Hez dared to make it. 
 
 Tom looked him over disdainfully. " How's the 
 messenger boy? " he asked. 
 
 " I'd rather be a messenger than not have a job," 
 retorted Hez, his nose in the air. 
 
 Tom laughed unpleasantly. " That's one on 
 me," he conceded. " Thought maybe you'd come 
 to see Jane." 
 
 " I did," Hez avowed. 
 
 Tom took a swift step nearer. "What for?" 
 he demanded. 
 
 Hez shrank in his clothes, but stood his ground. 
 " What do you come to see her for? " he asked. 
 
 " Look here," blazed Tom, his face thrust almost 
 into Hez's. " There's one thing I want you to un-
 
 "KEEP OFF THE GRASS" 63 
 
 derstand no poaching. Take my tip, and keep 
 off the grass." 
 
 Hez backed towards the door, his arm crooked in 
 front of his face. " Judge Belknap has given me 
 permission to walk where I please," he protested, 
 with what spirit he could. 
 
 "That's all right," retorted Tom. "Walk 
 where you please, but mind you keep on walking." 
 
 " You ain't got no right to object so long as the 
 old man is willing," stammered Hezekiah. 
 
 " Perhaps we'd better see about that right now." 
 Tom leaned forward. He made a motion to pull 
 up his sleeves. 
 
 " Tom," interposed his mother swiftly, " you 
 mustn't hurt him. Remember where you are." 
 
 Tom righted himself. His hands dropped to his 
 sides. Before he could speak the door opened, ad- 
 mitting Belknap, followed by Jane. The Judge 
 glanced keenly at the rivals. Hezekiah he surveyed 
 from stocking to cravat. 
 
 " Why, Hez ! " he exclaimed wonderingly. 
 
 " You said I could come back, sir," Hez hastened 
 to remind him. 
 
 Belknap looked uncomfortable for a moment. 
 
 " That's all right," he said gruffly. " I'm glad 
 you did. Here! Run over to the office and bring 
 me all those back bills of Hemingway's. All of 
 them, from the time we first got the ujtomobile. 
 Get back as soon as you can. Understand? "
 
 64 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Hez, and hurried to the door. 
 
 Hez was back in his natural role of messenger 
 boy. He was a gaudy messenger boy. Tom 
 smiled. 
 
 "And, Hez" called the Judge. 
 
 Hez stood motionless, his hat half way to his 
 head. 
 
 " Have that car put up in the garage and see that 
 it isn't taken out again. Understand? " 
 
 Hez grinned widely, widely enough to include 
 Tom, who was standing apart. 
 
 " By nobody, sir? " His tones vibrated with un- 
 holy joy. 
 
 " By nobody," growled the Judge. " Is that 
 plain enough? The car's for sale. Tack up a 
 notice in the post-office to that effect. Hurry 
 now." 
 
 Hez hurried. He shot one malignant, madden- 
 ing glance at Tom, and vanished. 
 
 The Judge addressed himself to Mrs. Wilson. 
 
 " Hemingway won't stick me again," he threat- 
 ened. "Jane assures me that he opens his gate 
 and shoos his live stock into the road whenever he 
 sees my car coming, and that's a prison offense." 
 
 " That's exactly what he does," said Jane. " He 
 ought to be put in jail." 
 
 Tom forced a laugh. " You've got the right 
 idea," he chimed in. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson moved uneasily toward the door.
 
 "KEEP OFF THE GRASS" 65 
 
 " I'm sorry I can't stay to see what happens," she 
 said. " Coming, dear?" she asked Tom. 
 
 " I want to talk with Judge Belknap a minute," 
 he responded, deliberately. " We both have some- 
 thing to say to each other, I believe." 
 
 His mother hesitated. 
 
 " Please don't wait," said Tom, quickly. " I'll 
 be along pretty soon." 
 
 " I'll go with you as far as the street," said Jane. 
 " I want a little walk, anyway. I'll be back shortly, 
 Dad." 
 
 She drew Mrs. Wilson's arm through hers, and 
 led her from the room.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 A TRIUMPH FOR WOMAN SUFFRAGE 
 
 TOM at the window, watched his mother and 
 Jane half way down the drive before he turned 
 to confront the Judge. Belknap seated himself be- 
 hind his table, armed himself with a sheaf of papers, 
 and retired into his professional shell. Thus forti- 
 fied, he awaited the onset. Tom stood before him. 
 The Judge went on reading. Tom opened hostil- 
 ities with a cough. The Judge couldn't hear. Tom 
 coughed again, insistently. 
 
 The Judge looked up. He put down his papers 
 with a frown of annoyance. 
 
 "Well, sir," he demanded sharply, "what do 
 you wish to see me about? " 
 
 It was Tom's day of battles, and one more didn't 
 matter. The Judge's manner failed to abash him. 
 His eyes challenged the Judge's frown. 
 
 " What's your idea in getting my mother worried 
 labout me? " he asked. 
 
 The Judge was not prepared for this simple di- 
 rectness. He hastened to interpose a disclaimer. 
 
 " I hope I haven't worried her," he said. 
 
 " But you have," declared Tom. " She's up in 
 the air a thousand feet. What have you been tell- 
 ing her?" 
 
 66
 
 TRIUMPH FOR WOMAN SUFFRAGE 67 
 
 Belknap took refuge in generalities. " Only 
 what I felt it my duty to tell her," he replied. 
 " She says you want to go to New York." 
 
 " I do, but " persisted Tom, " I don't want my 
 mother made unhappy about it." 
 
 " It's not a question of her happiness, but of your 
 future," Belknap replied. " I think she realizes 
 that now." 
 
 Tom stuck to the question. " I'm not going to 
 New York till I can go right," he declared. " Just 
 at present I'm satisfied where I am." 
 
 " What do you mean by ' going right '? " asked 
 the Judge, with sarcastic emphasis. 
 
 Tom's plans for his mother were his own busi- 
 ness, he reflected. He contented himself with re- 
 plying: "When the proper opportunity presents 
 itself." 
 
 " You don't seem to think much of the opportu- 
 nities here in Fairview," observed the Judge. 
 
 " Yes, for some fellow that wants to be the town 
 constable. Now Hez " he paused and looked the 
 Judge full in the eye " Hez would regard that 
 job as the pinnacle of success. I " another em- 
 phatic pause " want something better." 
 
 He took a turn up and down in front of the 
 Judge's table. 
 
 " This town's good enough in its way." Tom 
 wanted to be perfectly fair to his birthplace. " But 
 there's a lack of enterprise."
 
 68 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " And how do you make that out? " asked Fair- 
 view's leading citizen, with the air of one who 
 thirsts for enlightenment. 
 
 " Take yourself for instance," advised Tom. 
 The Judge stiffened. " You are by far the wealth- 
 iest man we have. When there's anything to be 
 done, everyone looks to you." The Judge let down 
 a trifle. 
 
 " Yet what have you done? " 
 
 Tom propounded this delicate question in the tri- 
 umphant tone of one who clinches his argument. 
 The Judge gripped the arms of his chair and looked 
 at Tom while he swallowed hard, twice. Tom's 
 face was as unconscious as a baby's. The Judge 
 tamed himself. 
 
 " I've done my share, I think," he said, in a voice 
 from which any trace of irritation had been care- 
 fully filtered. 
 
 " Oh, yes," Tom acknowledged, " you've given 
 us a soldiers' monument that's increased taxation 
 and a library filled with books that nobody reads. 
 Why don't you give us something worth while? 
 Something," he added, " that the town really 
 needs?" 
 
 "For instance?" asked the Judge. 
 
 " A newspaper," elucidated Tom. " Why, there 
 isn't another town of our size in the State that hasn't 
 a local sheet." 
 
 " We are too near the large cities to need a paper
 
 TRIUMPH FOR WOMAN SUFFRAGE 69 
 
 of our own," objected the Judge. "We manage 
 to get the news." 
 
 " National and world news, yes," admitted Tom. 
 " But what of the local stuff? I should think you 
 would want one, if only to advance your own inter- 
 ests. You've exhausted the political possibilities of 
 Fairview," he argued. " Soon you'll want to go 
 farther. With a live newspaper behind you " 
 Tom's tone was enthusiastic now " you might go 
 to Congress. Why not? But a newspaper, the 
 right kind of a newspaper, is absolutely essential." 
 
 Tom was walking up and down excitedly. The 
 Judge halted him with a question. 
 
 " How would that bring opportunity to you? " 
 
 " I'll run the paper for you," explained Tom. 
 
 The Judge allowed himself to smile. " What 
 makes you think you are qualified for such a posi- 
 tion? " he asked. 
 
 Tom took a card from his pocket and handed it 
 to Belknap. He stood with his hands in his pockets, 
 a satisfied smile on his face, as the Judge read: 
 
 This Is To Certify That 
 
 THOMAS WILSON 
 Is The Fully Accredited 
 
 Representative Of 
 THE BUFFALO HERALD 
 
 For Fairview 
 And Immediate Vicinity
 
 70 THE COUNTRY, BOY 
 
 (The Judge tossed the card on the table. 
 
 " I don't think we need discuss the subject any 
 further," he said. 
 
 " That's up to you," said Tom. " But there's one 
 thing I wish you would do." 
 
 " What's that? " asked the Judge. 
 
 " Let mother alone. She has troubles enough 
 without worrying her about me." 
 
 " You mustn't forget that I have a personal in- 
 terest at stake," said the Judge. Tom braced him- 
 self. " My daughter's welfare," added the Judge. 
 
 Tom had felt it coming. " Oh, I'm not worrying 
 about Jane," he said, airily. 
 
 " Neither am I now," said the Judge. He 
 rose to take the offensive. 
 
 "You mean, it's all off?" 
 
 The Judge was puzzled. Tom took it so gently. 
 
 " I think it is better to let the matter rest till 
 you've shown what you can do," he said, not un- 
 kindly. 
 
 " You 'don't think I can take care of her. Is that 
 it?" asked Tom. 
 
 " I've only your word for it," replied Belknap. 
 
 " Five dollars a week wouldn't do it," Tom re- 
 minded him. 
 
 " Can you do better in New York? " 
 
 " I should say so ; three times as well." Tom 
 drew from his pocket Kennedy's letter. The Judge 
 was taken by surprise. He had meant his question
 
 TRIUMPH FOR WOMAN SUFFRAGE 71 
 
 about New .York for a poser, and this prompt and 
 substantial reply impressed him. He knew Ken- 
 nedy well. He looked at Tom with less disfavor. 
 
 Often as he was provoked with Tom, Belknap 
 really liked this handsome, blue-eyed son of Jim 
 Wilson's, and he would have been genuinely pleased 
 to learn of his success. Now Tom had shown a dis- 
 position to do something; all might yet be well. 
 Even his conduct during their morning interview 
 was shown in a better light. 
 
 " You see, it isn't just what I want," Tom was 
 explaining, " but it will help me to get really 
 started." 
 
 The Judge smiled, encouragingly. 
 
 " Take it, by all means," he advised. 
 
 " Well, I haven't quite made up my mind," said 
 Tom. 
 
 This answer displeased the Judge. If Tom had 
 been diplomatic, he might even now have accommo- 
 dated himself to the swing of the current and ridden 
 on the flood tide of favor. But diplomacy was 
 never an endowment of youth. The Judge hard- 
 ened his heart. 
 
 " Just as you please," he said. " But meanwhile, 
 I want you to understand that any arrangement you 
 think you have had with Jane, is at an end." 
 
 " Don't you think she ought to have something 
 to say about that? " demanded Tom. 
 
 Belknap hesitated. " Perhaps she has," he said.
 
 72 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 He was thinking of Jane's demeanor during the dis- 
 pute a few minutes before. Her taking away of 
 Mrs. Wilson, her delayed return, too, had a signifi- 
 cance that had not escaped him. After all, Jane 
 was a sensible girl. Why not let her and Tom have 
 it out? It might well result just as he wished. It 
 was worth trying. 
 
 " Perhaps she has," he repeated. " Would you 
 like to talk with her?" 
 
 " I'd like to find out where I stand," said Tom. 
 
 The Judge stepped to the open window. 
 
 "Jane," he called. "Jane." She answered 
 from down the drive. " Come here a minute, 
 please," he cried. 
 
 The Judge walked to a side door. He turned 
 and bowed permissively to Tom. 
 
 " Go ahead," said he, and went out, closing the 
 door behind him.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 JANE EXERCISES THE FRANCHISE 
 
 UTI7HY, where's Dad?" asked Jane, looking 
 VV around the room with surprise, as she en- 
 tered and found Tom standing there alone. 
 
 " In there," replied Tom, jerking his thumb over 
 his shoulder in the direction of the door Belknap 
 had taken. He put himself in her path as she 
 started towards it and looked down upon her with 
 a funereal face. 
 
 " Your father wants me to talk to you," he ex- 
 plained. 
 
 If, either by Tom's explanation or by some rapid 
 intuition of her own, Jane's surprise was lessened, 
 neither her looks nor her speech betrayed the fact. 
 
 "Talk to me? ^ What about?" she inquired 
 wonderingly. 
 
 " About you," said Tom. 
 
 Jane laughed. The youth was so divertingly sol- 
 emn. " That will be very interesting," said she. 
 
 " I don't think it's any joke," rejoined Tom in a 
 voice that reeked with reproach. He stepped 
 closer. 
 
 " Jane," he demanded, his blue eyes searching 
 73
 
 74 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 the brown depths of hers, " do you care anything 
 
 for Hez Jenks?" 
 
 "Why! " She drew a quick breath. This was 
 a genuine surprise. "What do you mean?" 
 
 " There can be only one meaning to that ques- 
 tion," said Tom, with mournful earnestness. " Do 
 you?" 
 
 Jane's poise had been disturbed only for an in- 
 stant. There was an amused gleam in the brown 
 eyes as she replied: 
 
 " No, not in that way." 
 
 The bare words were enough for Tom. 
 " That's all I want to know," he declared, with an 
 air of great relief. " Gee, but they threw a scare 
 into me just now," he added, " first Hez, and then 
 your Dad." 
 
 And, with this scant explanation, he two-stepped 
 gleefully across the room. Jane's curiosity couldn't 
 stand the pressure. She followed. 
 
 " What did they say? " she asked. 
 
 " Hez told me that I had no right to object to 
 his attentions to you." Tom could laugh now at 
 his recent anxiety. Two tart words cut his merri- 
 ment short. 
 
 " You haven't," said Jane. 
 
 Tom stood agasp. " I haven't? " he echoed. 
 
 " No." 
 
 Tom was getting befogged. 
 
 " Then you do care for him," he stammered.
 
 JANE EXERCISES THE FRANCHISE 75 
 
 " I didn't say that." 
 
 " You mean you don't care for me? " 
 
 " I didn't say that, either." 
 
 Tom's bearings were wholly lost. 
 
 " See here, Jane," he exclaimed hotly. " I want 
 it made absolutely clear. Am I being turned 
 down?" 
 
 " Why, Tom! " said the girl, shocked at his out- 
 burst. 
 
 The note of pain in her voice sobered Tom. 
 He had never heard it there before. It made him 
 feel like a brute. 
 
 " I can't go on living in a fool's paradise," he 
 said, contritely. " You know I haven't made any 
 secret of my love for you. I thought you felt the 
 same towards me. If you've changed your mind 
 for any reason, or if you think you've made a mis- 
 take, I want you to say so frankly." 
 
 " Have your feelings changed? " Jane asked him. 
 
 " Good Lord, no," he exploded. 
 
 " Then why do you want me to say that mine 
 have?" she pursued. 
 
 " I don't want you to say so." He regarded her 
 wistfully. " Unless it's true," he added. 
 
 " It isn't true," said the girl, softly. 
 
 Tom hardly knew whether to feel pleased or 
 abused. He thought of his needless display of tem- 
 per. " Then why was it necessary to get me all 
 worked up about it?" he demanded.
 
 76 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " I didn't mean to do that," Jane answered. " I 
 merely want you to understand that you haven't any 
 rights as yet." 
 
 The brown eyes met the blue ones steadily. A 
 bewildered expression crept into Tom's gaze. 
 
 " What have I got? " he asked at last. 
 
 Jane contemplated him with a perplexity almost 
 equal to his own. How could she, without over- 
 stepping the bounds of maidenly convention, put 
 this preposterous lover in his place? She motioned 
 him to a low divan. 
 
 ** Sit down, Tom," she said. He seated himself 
 grudgingly on the edge of the cushion, his elbows on 
 his knees, his fingers locked. Jane stood over him. 
 
 " I want to speak to you seriously," she prefaced. 
 
 Tom bounced from the divan. " Then all you've 
 been saying so far is a joke," he cried, in a fresh 
 outburst of remonstrance. 
 
 " No," said Jane, " but I haven't explained what 
 I want to." 
 
 She laid a soft, restraining hand on Tom's coat- 
 sleeve. Tom sunk reluctantly back into his former 
 attitude. 
 
 " I'm glad to hear you admit it," he grumbled. 
 
 Jane's perplexity grew into embarrassment as she 
 looked down upon Tom's irresponsive occiput. 
 Tom could feel her gaze on the back of his head, 
 but he sat moodily silent.
 
 JANE EXERCISES THE FRANCHISE 77 
 
 " You say you love me," Jane began, at last. 
 He looked up at her blankly. 
 
 "Do you?" she asked, with an inflection that 
 might have denoted slight impatience. 
 
 " Well! " cried Tom, in high dudgeon at this ab- 
 surdity. " What do you suppose I've been raving 
 about all this time ? " 
 
 Jane tranquilly ignored this protest. She had 
 committed herself now, and was not to be swerved 
 from her course. She seated herself on the divan. 
 Inconsiderate Tom had failed to notice that the seat 
 to which she had pointed him, was amply commodi- 
 ous for two. 
 
 " When two people love " Jane calmly 
 smoothed out her skirts " the ultimate realization 
 is marriage." 
 
 " Correct," assented Tom. " Object, matri- 
 mony." He grinned a foolish grin. Jane went 
 on with her catechizing. 
 
 " We've never discussed that part of it, have 
 we?" 
 
 " Oh, see here," expostulated Tom, raising his 
 head to face her. " I've always taken that part of 
 it for granted." 
 
 " But we've never discussed it," persisted the girl. 
 " In fact, I don't think that you've ever asked me to 
 marry you." 
 
 " If I haven't it was an oversight," protested
 
 78 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 Tom. It was very annoying, this sudden streak of 
 speciousness in Jane. 
 
 Jane smiled. " But I had to take that part of it 
 for granted," she reminded him. 
 
 " Good Heavens, Jane ! " exclaimed the badgered 
 youth. " It seems to me I've asked you a million 
 times." 
 
 Jane drew a long breath for steadiness' sake. 
 
 " I understand perfectly, Tom," she said. " It's 
 been that way ever since we were children. I never 
 thought of anyone else, and I don't suppose you 
 have. But we are no longer children. We have 
 grown up, and now we must face the future." 
 
 She paused. Tom thoughtfully regarded his 
 knuckles. A tinge of color rose into her cheeks, 
 but she went on in a low, even voice : 
 
 " You see, Tom, a woman grows older more rap- 
 idly than a man. Perhaps, she's born older. At 
 any rate, she reaches the crisis of her life long be- 
 fore the man does, and " her voice wavered, 
 dropped almost to a whisper =" I've reached mine 
 now." 
 
 Jane's head drooped with her courage. Her 
 cheeks smarted. She was glad that Tom's fists 
 continued to engross his attention. 
 
 " What do you mean by a crisis ? " he asked pres- 
 ently. 
 
 " Marriage," she faltered. 
 
 " Oh-h-h," said Tom, and sat bolt upright.
 
 'JANE EXERCISES THE FRANCHISE 79 
 
 There was a gleam in his eye that was one part un- 
 derstanding and two parts pleased arid hopeful in- 
 quiry. Jane caught the full import of his gaze, 
 with its invitation to proceed, and her confusion be- 
 came complete. 
 
 " It may not sound modest to talk like this " 
 she stumbled painfully through the words ^" but I 
 haven't any mother to go to." 
 
 She was mortified that Tom should have placed 
 the boldest possible construction upon her speech. 
 His reply did not serve to soothe her wounded 
 pride. 
 
 " You will have when you marry me," he said, 
 folding his arms contentedly. She turned on him 
 quickly. 
 
 " You're taking it for granted we will be mar- 
 ried?" 
 
 Tom stared. "Won't we?" he asked. 
 
 " I don't know," said Jane. 
 
 "Then where is all this talk leading to?" he 
 asked impatiently. 
 
 " To an understanding, I hope," Jane answered 
 a trifle wearily. She was making so little progress. 
 It was discouraging. 
 
 "What is there to understand? I love you and 
 you love me, and the finish is marriage." Tom 
 spoke with an air of triumphant conclusiveness. 
 
 "And what then? What about the future?" 
 persisted Jane.
 
 8o THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " The future? " repeated Tom. 
 
 " Yes, the future." 
 
 Tom's face brightened. " Oh, you mean after 
 we are married." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Why, I'll always love you Jane." Tom looked 
 hurt that Jane should seem to cast a doubt upon his 
 eternal loyalty. That any problem of domestic 
 economy was involved in her questioning, did not 
 enter his head. 
 
 Jane nursed her chin in baffled silence. She fell 
 to studying the face before her. Aside from its 
 elemental juvenility, it expressed nothing but simple 
 and sincere vexation at her lack of faith. There 
 wasn't a disingenuous line in its make-up. Evi- 
 dently, if she would pursue this line further, she 
 must use unvarnished English. Subtleties of ex- 
 pression were wasted on Tom's sentimental single- 
 ness of soul. 
 
 The fact was that, within the last few minutes, 
 Jane had received some surprising new impressions 
 of Tom Wilson, and now, half-unconsciously, she 
 was seeking to collect and arrange them for her im- 
 mediate necessities. Like her father, she had been 
 disappointed in Tom. Almost she might have 
 adopted the Judge's words : " I'm sorry to say that 
 the boy isn't what I thought him." But Jane 
 wasn't going to leave the boy to his foolishness, as
 
 JANE EXERCISES THE FRANCHISE 81 
 
 her father had done. She felt sorry for Tom, more 
 than she blamed him. His boyish irresponsibility 
 was irritating, most irritating. But it was char- 
 acteristic of Tom, and he had failed only in rising 
 to meet a crisis her crisis, which she had thrust 
 upon him. He could not be held responsible for 
 being irresponsible. That would be robbing ir- 
 responsibility of its sole perquisite. Jane was trying 
 to be just. 
 
 Besides, she had more at stake than her father. 
 For the sake of an ancient pledge, the Judge had 
 sought " to make a man of Jim's son," and failed. 
 For the sake of her own happiness, Jane must not 
 fail. 
 
 Tom was growing fidgety under her long scrutiny. 
 Jane drew a deep breath. 
 
 " Either you can't or you won't understand me," 
 she resumed. " There is a practical as well as a 
 romantic side to marriage. It involves great re- 
 sponsibilities." 
 
 Tom jumped to his feet. " Oh," he said petu- 
 lantly, " I suppose you're thinking about that job 
 again." 
 
 "I'm thinking of your attitude in regard to it," 
 said Jane. 
 
 " Great Scott, Jane I " exclaimed Tom. " Lots 
 of fellows have got married with less prospects than 
 I have. It's the responsibilities of marriage that
 
 82 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 make them hustle. It gives them an incentive. 
 Give me the incentive and I'll be the finest little 
 hustler you ever saw." 
 
 Jane looked unconvinced. 
 
 " It's only a question of time till I strike some- 
 thing big," argued Tom. " Luck can't run against 
 me forever." 
 
 Jane rose the better to declare herself. 
 
 " That's just it, Tom," she said. " It's that that 
 makes me afraid. You look on everything as just 
 a matter of luck." 
 
 "Then what is it?" he asked. 
 
 " Character." 
 
 Tom's face indicated renewed perplexity. " A 
 woman is dependent upon her husband's character 
 for her happiness," Jane explained. 
 
 " What's the matter with my character? " de- 
 manded the harassed youth. 
 
 Now, if ever, was the time for candor. 
 
 " You haven't any," said Jane. 
 
 "What?" shrieked Tom. 
 
 " It hasn't formed," continued Jane. She was 
 giving Tom the resultant of her late impressions 
 and her cogitations thereon, and she pronounced 
 judgment with careful deliberation. " It hasn't 
 crystallized. You're only an irresponsible boy, 
 without one settled aim or conviction." 
 
 Tom threw up his hands, in despair at such un- 
 reasonableness. " You needn't go any further,
 
 'JANE EXERCISES THE FRANCHISE 83 
 
 Jane," he said. " If this is to be a psychological 
 analysis of something I haven't got, it's too deep 
 for me." He hesitated a moment, then approached 
 her and seized her hands. " There's only one thing 
 in my mind and that is do you want to marry me? 
 I haven't any fears for the future, not one, and, if 
 you want to see me prove my love and my ability 
 to provide for you, come right out with me now, 
 and we'll get married without telling a soul about 
 it. What do you say? " 
 
 He stopped breathlessly. Jane, struck dumb by 
 this precipitate wooing, her pulses quickened, her 
 will relaxed despite herself, could frame no reply. 
 Tom's grasp on the girl's hands tightened. He 
 drew her closer. 
 
 "Will you take a chance with me?" he urged. 
 " Will you marry me ? " 
 
 Jane rallied her scattered forces. She fought to 
 free her hands. 
 
 " No," she said. Her voice was stubborn with! 
 the effort the syllable cost her. 
 
 "You won't?" 
 
 "No I won't." 
 
 Tom dropped her hands. " That settles it then." 
 He dug his hands savagely into his trousers pockets 
 and swaggered to the window. 
 
 Jane followed him with misty eyes. She waited. 
 Tom wrapped himself in tragic silence and stared 
 out across the lawn. She walked up behind him
 
 $4 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 and placed a coaxing hand on his shoulder. Tom 
 didn't move so much as an eye-muscle. 
 
 " I love you, Tom," she said timidly. 
 
 " Fine," said Tom, out of the window. " First 
 you roast me to a cinder, then you tell me that you 
 love me." 
 
 " It's because I do love you that I'm telling you 
 all this." 
 
 Tom shrugged his free shoulder. " Just to make 
 me feel good," he commented. 
 
 " To make you realize the best that is in you," 
 returned Jane. " I want you to be big and strong. 
 I want you to be a man." 
 
 The word stung, as she meant it to. Tom 
 wheeled upon her. " You make me think I'm a 
 baby," he said. 
 
 " You're a boy, with a boy's ideals. You haven't 
 the slightest knowledge of real life." 
 
 Tom suppressed a wrathful reply. Every time 
 he lost his temper, Jane made her point. He 
 broke into a derisive laugh. 
 
 " That's right. Rub it in right while you're 
 about it," he said. " I suppose you think you have 
 the wisdom of Solomon." 
 
 " I have the intuitive knowledge that is born in 
 every woman," replied Jane, rather ponderously and 
 ineffectively, she felt. 
 
 Tom's masculine superiority was not to be put 
 down with mere commonplace. " That means," he
 
 JANE EXERCISES THE FRANCHISE 85 
 
 retorted, " that you've seen all there is to see and 
 know all there is to know." He capped his speech 
 with a bow of enforced and reluctant admiration. 
 
 " Tom," the girl entreated, almost with a sob. 
 Her hands flew to her face. 
 
 Tom abandoned that line of defense instantly. 
 He was being made to feel like a brute again. 
 Jane was very near to tears, the last mode of fem- 
 inine attack, and the deadliest. Tom weakened at 
 the prospect. It was his first experience of such 
 warfare, but the eternal cowardice of his sex mas- 
 tered him. He was ready to capitulate. 
 
 " All right," he said surlily. He walked back to 
 the divan in token of submission. " I'll admit 
 everything you say. I'm no good don't know a 
 thing haven't any right on earth." He flopped 
 into his seat, kerplunk. " What do you want me 
 to do?" 
 
 Jane smiled inwardly at this heaped-up irony. 
 She had won, and she knew it, and could well afford 
 a final fling to the vanquished. She took her old 
 stand in front of him, to dictate the terms of sur- 
 render. The office was a novel one. She found it 
 a trifle awkward. She had recourse to parable. 
 
 " I want you to find yourself," she began. 
 
 "Where?" queried matter-of-fact Tom. 
 
 " In the crucible of experience." 
 
 " Just what do you mean by that? " The ques- 
 tion helped her. She specified:
 
 86 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " Go out into the world of men and women and 
 learn to know yourself. Find out what it is you 
 want, and then try to get it." 
 
 " I know now what I want. iYou." 
 
 " I know what I want," she parried. " Love and 
 protection." 
 
 Tom hesitated a moment. " Can't I give you 
 both? "he asked. 
 
 " You haven't tried." 
 
 "What do you suppose I've been doing?" he 
 cried. 
 
 " Only talking," said Jane. She was pretty sure 
 of her ground to venture that almost too sure, 
 it seemed. Tom's brow wrinkled. She went on 
 quickly: 
 
 " You can't know what it is you want. [You've 
 spent your whole life here in Fairview, among the 
 village people. You've never been anywhere." 
 
 " I've been to Buffalo," he pleaded. 
 
 " Yes, for two weeks." 
 
 " That was long enough." 
 
 Jane refused to be drawn into a discussion of 
 Buffalo as a fortnightly crucible of experience. She 
 continued: " It wouldn't matter if you were content 
 to remain here, but you are not. You have always 
 had a desire to go to a large city. Sooner or later, 
 you will go. And what then? " 
 
 She paused to assure herself of Tom's undivided 
 attention.
 
 'JANE EXERCISES THE FRANCHISE '87 
 
 " You've never seen real life," she reiterated. 
 " How do you know you won't see some girl you'll 
 like better? Some girl who is prettier or better 
 suited to your new standards? And, if such a thing 
 should happen " Tom was grinning. She 
 paused again, impressively. Tom straightened his 
 face " if such a thing should happen, how much 
 better it will be that you are free to choose. For 
 that is the way I want you to feel, per-fect-ly free, 
 so far as I am concerned." 
 
 There was a hint of defiance in her tones, a vague 
 challenge, not to the boy beside her, but to the man 
 he was to become. The boy did not get it. He 
 laughed lightly. 
 
 " That's absurd," he said. 
 
 " No, it isn't," she persisted. " Many a man has 
 ruined his life by choosing before he knew what he 
 really wanted many a woman, too. Besides, 
 there's your career. If you are to have one, you 
 must soon begin. iYou can't go through life just 
 waiting for what luck will bring you. As for me, 
 I'm a girl, and I can't wait = long." 
 
 Tom's face lengthened. He was beginning to 
 see lights. 
 
 " Think it over, Tom," the girl concluded, very 
 softly. 
 
 There was a long silence. Tom rose to his feet. 
 
 " I have a chance to go to New York," he said. 
 *' Do you want me to go? "
 
 88 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " I think it will be best," she said, striving to hide 
 her elation. 
 
 "Soon?" 
 
 " As soon as possible." 
 
 " I see what you mean, Jane," announced Tom 
 with an air of discovery. " I've got to make 
 good." 
 
 " You will," said Jane. " You must." 
 
 " I guess you're right, Jane. In fact, I know 
 you're right. It's hard to face the truth sometimes, 
 but, when it hits you full in the face and gets under 
 the skin, a fellow has to admit it, even if it does 
 hurt. There isn't much to me," he went on dole- 
 fully. " I can see that now. But I've still got a 
 chance, and I'm going to take it." 
 
 His voice rang at the end with the clear note of 
 determination. " Good," said Jane joyfully. 
 " That's the way I like to hear you talk." 
 
 Tom was all energy now. He walked up and 
 down on his toes as he talked. 
 
 " How long do you give me? " he asked. 
 
 "To make good?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Just as long as you like." 
 
 Tom came to a standstill. " No," he objected. 
 " That wouldn't be fair. You've just said you 
 couldn't wait long." 
 
 " Six months," suggested Jane. " A year." 
 
 "And then, what?"
 
 'JANE EXERCISES THE FRANCHISE 89 
 
 " Then, if you are still of the same mind about 
 me s come back." 
 
 " You're on." Tom seized her hand and pumped 
 away rapturously. " I'll see mother right away. 
 She'll let me go. She said so this afternoon." 
 
 His enthusiasm was catching. " You'll succeed," 
 cried Jane, exultant at the turn affairs had taken. 
 " I know you will." 
 
 " You bet I will," he boasted. " And I'll show 
 some of the people here what a fellow can do in a 
 large city." 
 
 He strode to the window and looked out doubt- 
 fully. Heaven be thanked! The dilatory genius 
 of all messenger boys had proved too strong for the 
 malice of Hez Jenks. The automobile was still 
 where Tom had left it. 
 
 " Let's go for a drive and talk the whole thing 
 over," he proposed. 
 
 Jane tripped from the room to find her hat, just 
 as her father, anxious at the long delay, entered by 
 the door opposite. The Judge was plainly sur- 
 prised at her gaiety of motion. He turned inquir- 
 ingly to Tom, who stood by the window, his hands 
 jammed in his coat pockets, a sheepish grin on his 
 face. 
 
 "Well?" said Belknap. 
 
 " I guess you were right about that," said Tom. 
 
 "Yes?" questioned the Judge, with a pleased 
 glance through the door Jane had taken.
 
 9 o THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " Only in a way, though," supplemented Tom. 
 " Jane made a fine suggestion." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " I'm going to New York. If I make good 
 within a year, I'm coming back, and we'll be mar- 
 ried." 
 
 " If you make good," repeated the Judge, with 
 much significance of emphasis. 
 
 " Oh, I'll make good, all right." 
 
 The Judge contemplated the cocksure youth with 
 a prophetic eye, but curbed himself. 
 
 "Nothing would please me better," he said 
 simply. 
 
 " Then you approve," said Tom. 
 
 " I think it a very wise arrangement." 
 
 It was not an enthusiastic approval, but Tom was 
 too full of his plans and of Jane's ingenuity to notice 
 that. 
 
 " Funny how clever women are about these 
 things," he observed, by way of a delicate compli- 
 ment to Jane's father. " Neither of us would have 
 had sense enough to think of an idea like that." 
 He jogged Belknap's elbow affably. " Now, would 
 we?" he asked. 
 
 The paternal face and neck seemed suddenly to 
 swell with flattery. The paternal eye gazed con- 
 gestedly at Tom. Even the paternal voice seemed 
 affected, for, when the Judge spoke, it was with an 
 effort that had all the effect of boisterousness.
 
 JANE EXERCISES THE FRANCHISE 91 
 
 " Oh, no," he bellowed. " The idea is much too 
 big for either of us." His fingers worked at his 
 collar. " When do you expect to leave? " he asked 
 abruptly. 
 
 " To-morrow," said Tom. 
 
 " I presume you will accept the position with Mr. 
 Kennedy? " 
 
 " It will do to start with. It will give me a 
 chance to look around." 
 
 " Just so," commented the Judge. 
 
 " I'm ready, Tom," announced Jane, at the door. 
 She stopped at the little mirror to straighten her 
 hat. " Come along," she cried. She stepped out 
 through the French window and disappeared down 
 the piazza. 
 
 Tom lingered. 
 
 " Good-bye, Judge Belknap," he said, extend- 
 ing his hand. " I'll see you before the year is 
 out." 
 
 " Provided you don't fail," croaked the Judge. 
 
 " No chance of that," chirruped Tom. 
 
 " But if you do." 
 
 " Don't you worry," said Tom. He pause'd with 
 his hand on the window. " I'll never show up here 
 a failure. So long." 
 
 Hez Jenks entered, out of breath, five minutes 
 later. He found the Judge in his armchair, buried 
 in thought. 
 
 " I couldn't find all the bills, sir," whined Hez,
 
 92 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 forestalling a rebuke. " They must have been put 
 in the wrong file." 
 
 The Judge did not stir. 
 
 " And the car is gone. I guess Tom Wilson took 
 it." 
 
 The Judge eyed him with 'disgust. 
 
 " Leave your bills on the table," he growled, 
 " and clear out."
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE PROMISED LAND 
 
 IT was near the dinner hour in Mrs. Bannan's 
 Fifty-first street boarding house. Lucy, the 
 black maid-of-all-work, was shuffling about the long 
 table in the stuffy basement room where the Bannan 
 boarders were wont to assemble three times a day 
 to absorb their allotted shares of the deglutibles 
 dispensed by Mrs. Bannan under the sacred name 
 of food. 
 
 The room was carpetless, dingy, bare of all fur- 
 niture except the indispensable tables, chairs, and 
 sideboard, and an intrusive sewing machine. The 
 cloth that Lucy was straightening, had already re- 
 ceived its baptism of soup. Aside from this casual 
 decoration, the sole pretense at embellishment was 
 a pair of panels, one of fruit, the other of fish, which 
 hung, one on either side of the double doors that 
 gave entrance from the hall and areaway. Even 
 these bits of virtu might conceivably be dedicated 
 to utility rather than to beauty, their presence serv- 
 ing to stimulate, by power of toothsome suggestion, 
 such salivary or gastric activity as might be essen- 
 tial to the continued health and solvency of Mrs. 
 Bannan's paying guests. 
 
 93
 
 94 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 It was toward this hospitable goal that Fred 
 Merkle bent his steps, when, having fought his way 
 clear of the sweltered subway throng at Fiftieth 
 street, he found himself on Broadway, with collar 
 wilted and temper awry. It was the close of a 
 scorching June day, the fourth of its kind, and the 
 worst; the crest of the season's first hot wave; the 
 climax of one of those merciless periods when New 
 York's asphalted canyons, its precipices of iron and 
 brick and stone, turn to a huge storage reservoir^ for 
 the sun's fierce rays ; when days of torment alternate 
 with sleepless, breathless nights; when vitality ebbs 
 and nerves shrivel and crack; when men and horses 
 fall in the street; when tenement babies die gasping, 
 and tenement owners gather their wives and chil- 
 dren and flee to mountain and shore. 
 
 Fred Merkle was not of the number of the elect. 
 It had been his task to chronicle the fortunes of 
 those who stayed. 
 
 All day long, and through the long days preced- 
 ing, he had sat at his desk in the office of the Even- 
 ing Orb, fashioning the tale of the city's distress. 
 From police and hospital reports he had made up 
 the roll of the dead and the prostrate, checked it, 
 corrected it, added to it, alphabetized it, and set 
 down its mounting total. Hundreds of cases of 
 individual distress, each the kernel of a tragedy, 
 had passed under his eyes and hands in " copy." 
 After the first day most of these had found their
 
 THE PROMISED LAND 95 
 
 way to " the hook," for misery in the mass is of a 
 dull sameness, and news space is always crowded. 
 Some unusually pathetic incident, some bizarre bit 
 perhaps, might win its way into type. Then there 
 was constant watch to keep on the Weather Bureau, 
 with its precise records of temperature and humid- 
 ity, degrees and percentages that meant life and 
 death; with its inexorable predictions, its postponed 
 promises of relief. And then, to blazon forth the 
 whole under flaring, super-heated headlines a 
 fresh scream for every edition, a fresh edition every 
 hour! 
 
 Truly a nerve-wracking job for a sensitive man, 
 even though he worked under the shelter of an elec- 
 tric fan. 
 
 Merkle had never been classed as a sensitive man, 
 by himself least of all. To his associates at desk 
 and table, he was perhaps best known as " The 
 Grouch," and he accepted the title, had come to prize 
 it, in fact, for the immunities it conferred. He 
 was disliked for his surly manner, feared for his 
 sharp tongue, and, in general, let alone. Merkle 
 preferred it so. 
 
 As he threaded his way westward, Merkle was 
 not wasting any pity on himself or his parched fel- 
 low citizens. He was conscious only of that lassi- 
 tude, that feeling of frayed nerves, which may come 
 to a man of forty-five at the close of an exhausting 
 day's work. He was passing through the " Gas-
 
 9'6 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 oline Belt," and the heavy smell of garages and 
 smoking automobiles struck him in the face. He 
 felt the need of a drink. 
 
 As he reached the short flight of steps that led 
 down into the Bannan area and the region beyond, 
 a new odor pungent, penetrating, overwhelming, 
 rose to his harassed nostrils. It was the peerless 
 perfume of freshly fried onions. His foot hung at 
 the top step. 
 
 Westward the sun still lingered, a ball of red fire, 
 in the haze above the North River. Down in the 
 basement the gas jets had been lighted and turned 
 low, and they flickered, sickly yellow, in the rem- 
 nant of daylight that filtered through the area 
 gratings. 
 
 Merkle pulled his hat down over his eyes like 
 a man facing a noxious blast, and took the plunge. 
 He halted in the double doorway, between the fruit 
 arid the fish. 
 
 " Dinner ready yet? " he growled. Merkle 
 growled by habit. It sustained his role of " The 
 Grouch." Sometimes, by way of variety, he 
 snarled. When emphasis seemed necessary, he 
 barked. 
 
 Lucy, the black maid, faced him, a vinegar cruet 
 in her hand. 
 
 " No, sir, it ain't," she said. 
 
 Merkle consulted his watch. " It's half past 
 six," he announced.
 
 THE PROMISED LAND 97 
 
 " The bell ain't rang yet," explained the black. 
 
 "How soon?" 
 
 " 'Bout a minute." 
 
 Merkle stepped across the threshold. He 
 sniffed the air. " Gee, it's close in here," he grum- 
 bled. "Why don't you open a window?" 
 
 " Can't do more than I'se a'doin'," whined the 
 girl. 
 
 Merkle nodded a surly assent. "The old lady 
 does keep you hustling," he said. He strode to the 
 window and threw it open with a bang, then seated 
 himself at the little table there, drew a newspaper 
 from his pocket and began to read with the con- 
 scientious care which the faithful newspaper man 
 gives to the reading of every newspaper, even in his 
 hours of ease. 
 
 There was a clatter of footsteps on the stairway 
 that led from the floor above. Merkle threw down 
 his paper with a frown of annoyance, which sof- 
 tened almost to a smile as Tom Wilson entered the 
 room. Tom did not notice the silent figure by the 
 window. 
 
 " Say, Lucy," he began. 
 
 " Dinner ain't ready yet," she interrupted shrilly. 
 She eyed Tom with the impudent stare of the 
 Tenderloin black. To Merkle she had been 
 sullenly deferential. Merkle noted the dif- 
 ference and pricked up his ears. He was wise 
 in the ways of boarding house servants and board-
 
 98 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 ing house finance. Merkle always paid in advance. 
 
 " What did you do with my things? " demanded 
 Tom. "I can't find them anywhere." 
 
 " You've been changed to the third floor hall 
 room back," said Lucy, showing twenty white teeth 
 at a grin. 
 
 " What, has she moved me again? " asked Tom. 
 
 " Mrs. Bannan give that room you had to a new 
 man," the girl condescended to explain. 
 
 " It's a wonder she wouldn't say something to me 
 about it," lamented Tom. The black girl made no 
 reply. She threw a last glance at the table, turned 
 up the gas jets in the chandelier, and shuffled from 
 the room into the kitchen behind. 
 
 Tom stood with his head sunk on his breast. He 
 seemed disheartened, even daunted for the moment, 
 by this new slap of fate and his landlady. Seven 
 months in New York had left a subtle impress on 
 Tom Wilson, nothing definite, some slight new trick 
 of manner perhaps, a glint of anxiety in the blue 
 eyes. Whatever it was, was no present business of 
 Merkle's, and a warning rustle of the newspaper 
 made Tom aware that he was not alone. He faced 
 about with a start. 
 
 "Hello, son!" growled Merkle. "What's 
 bothering you? What's your trouble?" There 
 was a tang of sympathy in his harsh tones. 
 
 " Same old thing," replied Tom, with a dejection
 
 THE PROMISED LAND 99 
 
 he hardly tried to mask. " Keeps switching me 
 around." 
 
 "Why don't you do some kicking?" suggested 
 Merkle. 
 
 Tom hesitated. " Can't afford to," he confessed. 
 
 Merkle looked the boy over commiseratingly. 
 " Bad as that, eh? " he drawled. 
 
 Tom was not looking for commiseration. He 
 pulled himself together. 
 
 "That to-night's paper?" he asked briskly. 
 " May I see it a minute? " 
 
 " Sure," said Merkle. He handed it over. 
 " Haven't you found anything yet? " he asked pres- 
 ently. 
 
 " Nothing definite," said Tom, from behind the 
 opened paper. His tone was such as to discourage 
 too intimate inquiry. 
 
 Merkle sat silent for a bit. " You'll find the 
 want ads in the back, if that's what you're looking 
 for," he volunteered. 
 
 Tom turned the leaves without reply. 
 
 "How did you come to lose your job?" per- 
 sisted Merkle. 
 
 Tom dropped the paper to his side with a hope- 
 less gesture. 
 
 " Couldn't hit it off with the boss," he replied. 
 " Kennedy expected me to work at the desk all day 
 and then go straight home to bed. That's always
 
 ioo THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 the way when you work for a friend of the family," 
 he concluded bitterly. 
 
 Merkle passed his hand slowly over his bald spot. 
 It was an extensive, fore and aft bald spot, and the 
 exploration took Merkle some time. Then, for a 
 season he thoughtfully rubbed his chin. 
 
 "What's your particular line of labor?" he 
 asked, when he looked up at last. 
 
 " Any old thing, so long as it pays a decent sal- 
 ary," said Tom. 
 
 Merkle seemed disappointed. " This is an age 
 of specialty, kid," he said. " There isn't much de- 
 mand these days for the man who can do anything. 
 However," he added, seeing Tom's face fall, 
 " there's no use getting discouraged about it." 
 
 " I'm not discouraged," Tom hastened to assure 
 him. " It's inconvenient sometimes, not having any 
 money. But I'll pull through all right." 
 
 " That's right," said Merkle. His hand slipped 
 into his pocket as if by accident. " Old lady bother- 
 ing you?" he asked, in a casual tone. 
 
 Tom felt, rather than saw, the gesture, with its 
 implication. He drew away. 
 
 " Oh, a little," he said indifferently, " But I'm 
 not worrying very much. If I get the job I've been 
 promised, I'll get something big." 
 
 Merkle, a keen poker player, detected the bluff, 
 but liked the boy the better for it. " That's right," 
 he said again. " Keep plugging away and don't
 
 THE PROMISED LAND 101 
 
 lose your nerve." He thought of his own troubles 
 and smiled grimly. " The trick is to hang on to 
 your appetite," he said. 
 
 A bell rang clamorously on the landing above. 
 
 " There's the dinner bell," said Tom, glad of the 
 interruption. " I must run upstairs and wash." 
 Merkle half rose from his chair and laid a detain- 
 ing hand on the youth's arm. 
 
 " Say, son," he inquired, " got any more of that 
 liniment? " 
 
 "Is your rheumatism bad again?" asked Tom. 
 
 " No, that rub you gave me last night fixed 
 me fine. That's great stuff. Where did you get 
 it?" 
 
 " My mother put it up," said Tom. " Made me 
 take a big bottle of it along. Never knew it was 
 good for rheumatism, though." 
 
 " It certainly fixed me up," said Merkle, his gruff 
 tones softening at the grateful recollection. " I'd 
 like to have it around handy, if you can spare it, and 
 it isn't asking too much." 
 
 " I'll come in to-night and give you another rub," 
 Tom offered. 
 
 " No," protested Merkle. " I can't be putting 
 you to all that trouble." 
 
 " That's all right," said Tom, " so long as I can 
 be of any help." 
 
 There was a tapping of many heels on the floors 
 above. The Bannan boarders were gathering fast.
 
 102 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 It was a case of first come, first served, and early 
 service often meant more than mere precedence. 
 
 " I'll be down in a minute," said Tom to Merkle. 
 He made a bolt for the stairs, which he took three 
 at a time.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 MILK AND HONEY 
 
 U A MI the first?" 
 
 JL\. The fair owner of the swiftest pair of 
 heels advanced two steps inside the door, and swept 
 the room with a challenging eye. She was Miss 
 Dorothy Dunstan, a chirpy blonde of uncertain age 
 and authenticity, who, because of a lack of appre- 
 ciative managers, had not yet become a famous 
 prima donna. 
 
 Merkle took four long strides across the room 
 and plumped himself down in his chair near the foot 
 of the long table. 
 
 " You're the first after me," he replied, and 
 buried his nose in his newspaper, which he first 
 propped against a caster at a convenient angle. 
 
 Miss Dunstan drilled the back of his head with 
 a look. 
 
 " It's very strange," she observed spitefully, 
 " how you manage to hear the bell before it rings." 
 
 " I have inside information," vouchsafed 
 Merkle. 
 
 Miss Dunstan tossed her blonde head, partly to 
 show her disdain of such vulgarity, partly because 
 she had been told that the gesture was a becoming 
 103
 
 io 4 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 one, had thereupon perfected it before her mirror, 
 and now neglected no opportunity to exhibit it. 
 But Merkle had returned to his survey of the news, 
 and the toss would have been wasted, save for the 
 timely entrance of Mr. and Mrs. Phelps. 
 
 " Hello, Merkle," said Phelps. Merkle grunted. 
 Phelps was a pasty man, heavy of body, face, and 
 speech. He was a salesman of some sort. Merkle 
 didn't know what sort, and didn't care. " Com- 
 mercial swine," he styled men of the Phelps type. 
 
 Mrs. Phelps turned to the rudimentary prima 
 donna, who had seated herself near the head of the 
 table with a theatrical grace that Mrs. Phelps se- 
 cretly envied. 
 
 "Warm, isn't it?" she observed pleasantly. 
 
 " Very," returned Miss Dunstan. She scruti- 
 nized the vertically-striped casing of Mrs. Phelps's 
 stubby figure. "Is that a new dress?" she in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Do you like it? " asked Mrs. Phelps warily. 
 
 " It's the one you had last Spring, isn't it? But 
 you've done something to it." 
 
 Mrs. Phelps turned red. She caught a sardonic 
 gleam in Merkle's eye, and turned redder. It cost 
 her a violent effort to keep her temper where it be- 
 longed. 
 
 " Yes," she said. She seated herself opposite 
 Miss Dunstan and hitched her chair closer to the 
 table. "I got the idea from the way. you fixed
 
 MILK AND HONEY 105 
 
 over yours," she added, in sugary tones. " I neg- 
 lected to thank you, my dear." 
 
 Miss Dunstan tossed her head so high and hard 
 that it came near lifting her from her chair. 
 Phelps broke into the conversation in the interest 
 of harmony. 
 
 " Can I see a piece of your paper?" he asked 
 Merkle, across the table. 
 
 " I'm not through," snapped Merkle, his eyes 
 glued to the sheet. 
 
 Further amenities on the part of Mr. Phelps were 
 now happily rendered needless by the entrance of 
 Mrs. Bannan, and her progress from the door to 
 the head of the board. The term " progress " is 
 used advisedly, for no other word is adequate to ex- 
 press the translation through space of Mrs. Angelica 
 Bannan. 
 
 Mrs. Bannan was fat, mountainously fat, but that 
 was not the whole of it. Hummocks and ridges 
 and rolls of fat had long since effaced her original 
 outlines and brought her proportions to naught. 
 Festoons of fat swung from her jowls like wattles 
 as she moved across the floor. If the naked truth 
 could be told, Mrs. Bannan was probably the fat- 
 test woman in New York outside of a museum. 
 But fat was not all of Mrs. Bannan. There was 
 Brobdingnagian bone beneath her bigness. Verily 
 she was ponderous, but her ponderosity was that of 
 the elephant rather than of the porker. Her bulk
 
 106 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 was 'dirigible, her weight effective.. She walked 
 with an easy roll, but she did not waddle. She was 
 a corn-fed Amazon, a mate fit for Gargantua. She 
 was vast. 
 
 And, in her boarding house, her word was the 
 law. 
 
 Mrs. Bannan grasped the corners of the table 
 and lowered herself into her chair. 
 
 " Good evening," she saluted. She regarded the 
 vacant chairs. "Where's the others?" she cried. 
 
 Without waiting for a reply, she turned to an oily, 
 middle-aged German, who had trailed her in and 
 who now stood bowing and smirking to the com- 
 pany. 
 
 " Sit down, dearie," said the giantess. The oily 
 man, who answered to the name of Herman Leitz, 
 took the chair at her left and fell to rubbing his 
 hands. The landlady raised her head. 
 
 " Lu-cee," she called, " bring the soup. We're 
 here." Her voice made the chandelier rattle. 
 The kitchen door was behind her, as she sat, and, 
 once planted in her chair, she found it easier to 
 shout than to turn her head. 
 
 " You'd think people would have sense enough 
 to hear the bell the first time," she complained, look- 
 ing at Merkle, who paid no attention. "If some 
 people knew how much trouble we had to keep their 
 food warm, they wouldn't do so much kicking." 
 Merkle was deaf.
 
 MILK AND HONEY 107 
 
 She turned to the black girl, who was serving the 
 soup. " Lu-cee," she inquired, " did you ring the 
 bell on every floor?" 
 
 " Yes'm," responded the black meekly. 
 
 " Well, ring it again," she commanded. " And 
 don't let the soup get cold." 
 
 "Hello, mother!" sang a cherry voice at the 
 door. "What's on the bill to-night? Rush me 
 through as quick as you can, will you ? " And the 
 speaker, a short, thickset man of thirty, with a breezy 
 manner and an engaging smile, took the chair be- 
 side Merkle. The landlady raised her voice once 
 again. 
 
 " Lu-cee," she cried, " bring Mr. Weinstein's 
 soup." 
 
 " Oh, scratch the soup," said Weinstein. " Kid 
 me along with the big meat number and all the little 
 side surprises." Lucy was apparently familiar with 
 the contents of the Weinstein vocabulary, for she 
 went into the kitchen without a word. Weinstein 
 turned to the oily man. 
 
 "Hello, Leitzy!" he said. "How's the lady 
 treating you?" 
 
 " I never complain," replied Leitz, with a com- 
 placent leer at his landlady. 
 
 " You're the satisfied kid, all right," remarked 
 tWeinstein. 
 
 "Why shouldn't he be?" demanded Miss Dun- 
 stan loudly. She let her glance wander from Leitz
 
 io8 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 to Mrs. Bannan, where it rested suggestively. 
 " He gets the best of everything." 
 
 Mrs. Bannan half rose from her seat, then, suc- 
 cumbing to her emotions and the force of gravity, 
 sank back again with a crash that threatened the in- 
 tegrity of her chair. 
 
 " This is a free country, Miss Dunstan," she 
 shrilled. " If you're not satisfied with what you 
 get here at eight a week, you know what you can 
 do." 
 
 Weinstein thought it prudent to intervene. 
 " Mother's right there with the come-back," he said, 
 soothingly. " What's the news from the front, 
 sweetheart?" he asked Miss Dunstan. 
 
 " I very nearly got an engagement to-day," she 
 replied with a flash of animation that showed how 
 much even this poor consolation meant to her. 
 She had been considered, at least. 
 
 "How did you escape?" asked Weinstein 
 gravely. 
 
 " I was just talking salary with a manager when 
 another girl came in. He had met her in Paris." 
 
 Weinstein nodded sympathetically. " I know," 
 he said. " He was under obligations." 
 
 Mrs. Bannan's voice broke in upon their colloquy. 
 
 " What made you so late to-night, Mr. Wein- 
 stein? "she asked. 
 
 " My boy didn't get back on time. Say, 
 mother," he continued, with an impatient glance at
 
 MILK AND HONEY 109 
 
 his watch, "hustle that dinge up, won't you? I'm 
 getting nervous." 
 
 " You ain't the only one at this table, Mr. Joe 
 Weinstein," boomed the landlady. " If you're in 
 such a hurry, why don't you go to a quick lunch 
 restaurant? " 
 
 " I'm payin' for it here, ain't I?" retorted Joe. 
 "What's the use of squanderin' money? Times is 
 too hard." He rose from his chair with extended 
 arms as Lucy returned from the kitchen with a full 
 tray. " Ah, come right here, fair one," he en- 
 treated, and helped her empty the tray. 
 
 Mrs. Bannan glared at him. " Lu-cee," she 
 called, " take Mr. Leitz's plate. Through, dar- 
 ling? " she asked the oily one. 
 
 Leitz licked his lips. " Golly," he cooed. 
 " That soup was fine." 
 
 Lucy began to collect the soup plates, starting 
 with Leitz's. " You'd better ring that bell again," 
 the landlady ordered. " If they don't hear it this 
 time, they'll have to do without anything. I'm not 
 running no all-night cafe." 
 
 Leitz squinted around the table. "Who ain't 
 here yet?" he asked. 
 
 " Mr. Wilson and Miss LeRoy." Mrs. Bannan 
 coupled the names with an " and " that staggered 
 under the weight of accent placed upon it. 
 
 " Oh, they'll come in together," gurgled Leitz. 
 " They always do."
 
 no THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 "I think there's a case there, all right," inter- 
 jected Phelps, with a judicial air. " When that boy 
 first came here, I knew at once there would be some- 
 thing doing." 
 
 Merkle looked up from his paper. He fixed 
 Phelps with a baleful eye. 
 
 " Know anything for sure?" he snarled. 
 
 " Oh, I'm not blind," said Phelps, with an air of 
 jaunty indifference, but he shifted uneasily in his 
 seat under Merkle's glare. Merkle stretched half 
 way across the table towards him. 
 
 " If I were you, I wouldn't say anything unless I 
 knew," he thundered. 
 
 " I haven't said anything," whined Phelps. 
 Merkle returned to his paper. " I think she's a 
 fine actress," Phelps went on plaintively. " I saw 
 her in a show, and she was mighty good." 
 
 " Henry," said Mrs. Phelps. There was men- 
 ace in her voice. " You didn't take me to that 
 show." 
 
 "I I couldn't, my dear," sputtered the indis- 
 creet Phelps. " You see, I had to take some of the 
 out-of-town buyers. I must show our customers a 
 good time, because the house pays for it." 
 
 " Can't you take them to dramatic pieces?" de- 
 manded Mrs. Phelps. 
 
 " They can see that sort of thing at home. They 
 only come to New York once a year," explained 
 the harassed husband.
 
 MILK AND HONEY in 
 
 " I bet they don't bring their wives with them," 
 nagged the woman. 
 
 "Of course not," blundered Phelps. "When 
 they come here they expect to enjoy themselves." 
 
 The greatest of despots have never despised the 
 artful aid of diplomacy. The Phelps combination 
 occupied one of Mrs. Bannan's most expensive 
 rooms, and, when the landlady saw the distress of 
 the paying partner, she thought it not beneath her 
 station to move, by indirection, to his relief. 
 
 " I just want to catch that LeRoy girl once," she 
 announced, in a voice that silenced competition. 
 She squelched Leitz with a look when he attempted 
 to ask: "At what," and added, with seeming ir- 
 relevancy : " She don't look to me as if she could 
 act." 
 
 " I'll get you a couple of seats some rainy night," 
 volunteered Joe Weinstein, whose business was that 
 of a ticket speculator. 
 
 "Where is she playing?" inquired the unsuspi- 
 cious landlady, while those who knew controlled 
 their risibles till Joe should give the release signal. 
 
 " On the roof," drawled Weinstein. 
 
 Mrs. Bannan joined unaffectedly in the general 
 laugh at her expense. Miss Dunstan contributed 
 a satirical staccato to the ensemble. 
 
 " She hasn't any part, though," she said, eagerly. 
 
 " You're mistaken, sweetheart," said Joe, re- 
 provingly. "She has many parts. That's what
 
 H2 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 makes her so valuable to a musical show." Where- 
 upon, as if realizing the need of another diversion, 
 he began an energetic search for the vinegar. 
 " Wake up, Leitzy," he shouted. " Pass the chlo- 
 roform." 
 
 " I ain't got it," protested Leitz. 
 
 " It's under Mr. Merkle's paper," said Mrs. Ban- 
 nan. 
 
 Joe unceremoniously grabbed the caster that 
 Merkle was utilizing as a lectern, complaining loudly 
 the while. "Here," he cried. "What do you 
 think you're doing? Concealing the evidence of a 
 crime?" 
 
 Merkle grinned at him in friendly fashion as his 
 paper fell flat, and promptly annexed a sugar bowl 
 wherewith to prop it up again. Lucy shuffled in 
 with a tray of roast beef, which straightway en- 
 grossed the general attention. Joe, seeing the dan- 
 ger point was passed, turned to the newspaper man 
 with a comprehensive wink. 
 
 " How's the show business, Joe? " asked Merkle. 
 
 " Rotten," said Joe, with emphasis. " Not a hit 
 in the town." 
 
 "What makes you so busy then?" 
 
 "The boss sent for me to-day," Joe explained. 
 " Wants me to put some of the boys in front of his 
 house. Makes a flash to see the * specs ' on the 
 sidewalk. The rubes think the show is a hit, and
 
 MILK AND HONEY 113 
 
 walk up and buy." He shook his head like a man 
 deeply mystified. " Funny how they fall for that 
 stuff," he said. 
 
 " It's all make-believe in this town, Joe," said 
 Merkle, wearily. 
 
 " You're right there, bo," replied his friend. 
 " Old P. T. B. had their number. They certainly 
 like to be fooled." 
 
 The area bell jangled loudly. 
 
 " Lu-cee, see who's there," ordered Mrs. Bannan. 
 " Maybe it's the ice cream." 
 
 There was an interested hush. Leitz's unctuous 
 voice shattered the stillness. 
 
 " I heard a good joke to-day," he announced. 
 
 " Listen, Merkle," Joe adjured him. " Leitzy's 
 going to pull a funny one." Everybody sat expect- 
 ant. Mrs. Bannan looked angrily at Joe. 
 
 " A bald headed man came into our barber shop 
 to-day," began the German, " and he said: * Give 
 me something for my hair.' And my boy said: ' It 
 ain't worth nothing.' " And Leitz began to laugh 
 uproariously, holding his fat sides. Mrs. Bannan 
 looked furious. The faces of the others were 
 blank. The landlady kicked Leitz's shins under the 
 table. He pulled himself up with a painful jerk, 
 and was ready to weep. 
 
 "Get that, Merkle?" asked Joe, solicitously. 
 " Bald headed man wants something for what he
 
 ii 4 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 hasn't got great, eh? Ha-ha." He beamed en- 
 couragement on the barber. " We got you, 
 Leitzy," he said. 
 
 Phelps, not quite certain what it was all about, 
 but willing to help, raised his voice. 
 
 " Did you ever hear that one about the French 
 girl, who " 
 
 Joe raised a warning hand. " Nix on that one, 
 Phelps," he interrupted sternly. " Remember, 
 there are ladies present." 
 
 Phelps raised both hands in disavowal, and sat 
 with open mouth. 
 
 " You wait till I get you upstairs," threatened his 
 spouse. 
 
 Phelps found his voice. "What for?" he re- 
 monstrated. " I didn't say anything. I didn't " 
 
 The rest of his plea was lost in the eager bustle 
 occasioned by the reentrance of Lucy. Alas ! The 
 package she carried was of an unpromising flatness! 
 The first glimpse showed that it almost certainly 
 could not contain ice cream. Lucy's first word ex- 
 tinguished any flickering hope. 
 
 " Laundry," she announced. " For Mr. Wein- 
 stein." 
 
 Joe manfully sustained the ocular bombardment 
 of the battery of disappointed Bannanites. " How 
 much? " he inquired. 
 
 " Thirty-nine cents." 
 
 " Gee ! " said Joe, exploring his pockets. " It
 
 MILK AND HONEY 115 
 
 costs a fortune to keep clean in this town." He 
 handed the money to the black. " Put the package 
 up in my room," he directed. 
 
 " Put it on the sewing machine," came the quick 
 countermand of the landlady. " Other people need 
 waiting on as well as you." 
 
 " All right, mother," said Joe, good-humoredly. 
 " Just to show I'm a good fellow, I'll take it up my- 
 self." 
 
 The telephone was heard to ring on the landing 
 above. 
 
 " You go and see who it is, dearie," said Mrs. 
 Bannan. The star boarder rose reluctantly to obey. 
 "Lucy, take Mr. Wilson's plate away. ,We can't 
 wait for him all night." 
 
 Merkle knew that, if Tom missed his dinner, he 
 was likely to go hungry all night. " He was down 
 here a minute ago," he said persuasively. " Said 
 he was going up to wash." 
 
 " Ain't it funny," chimed in Joe, " how these guys 
 from the country always wash before eating? 
 After they are here a little while, they find that it 
 pays best to eat first and wash afterwards. Say, 
 Lucy, I'll take an encore on that roast beef. Find 
 me a piece with a little more juice in it." Lucy 
 took his plate and stood watching Mrs. Bannan, 
 who forgot Tom in a fresh burst of irritation at Joe. 
 
 " Do you know how much my butcher bill was 
 last month? " she bellowed. " A lot you care, Joe
 
 n6 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 Weinstein, whether I have enough to pay my rent 
 or not." 
 
 The voice of Leitz was heard on the landing. 
 
 " Merkle, a lady wants to talk to you on the tele- 
 phone." Merkle, deep again in the news, did not 
 hear. Weinstein nudged him. Mrs. Bannan and 
 Miss Dunstan echoed Leitz's outcries. The clamor 
 finally penetrated to the recesses of Merkle's atten- 
 tion. He looked about, stupidly, like a man roused 
 from sound sleep. 
 
 "What? "he inquired. 
 
 " The telephone," shouted all three. 
 
 " Oh ! " he snorted, and, starting to his feet, has- 
 tened from the room. 
 
 "Ain't he the bear?" exclaimed Miss Dunstan, 
 with a refined shudder. 
 
 " Most disagreeable man I ever had in my 
 house," assented Mrs. Bannan. " If he wasn't the 
 only one that paid his board regular, I'd ask him 
 for his room." 
 
 Miss Dunstan rose majestically. " I beg your 
 pardon, Mrs. Bannan," she said with lofty cour- 
 tesy. " I don't owe you anything." 
 
 " I said regular," rejoined Mrs. Bannan, with 
 sturdy insistence. " There's been lots of times 
 when I had to carry you over." 
 
 " Gracious! " ejaculated the other. " You don't 
 expect to get paid in advance, do you? " 
 
 " It wouldn't insult me," confessed the landlady.
 
 MILK AND HONEY 117 
 
 Leitz re-entered, bursting with information and 
 importance. " Say," he tittered, " I got something 
 to tell you. Miss LeRoy is in the parlor with a 
 gentleman all dressed up like a horse." 
 
 " Wouldn't you think he'd have sense enough to 
 know it was dinner time?" wailed Mrs. Bannan. 
 " Lu-cee," she called, " ring the bell outside the par- 
 lor door, and keep on ringing it till Miss LeRoy 
 comes out." 
 
 " Who is he? " inquired Joe. 
 
 " Must be a new one," replied Leitz. " I never 
 saw him before. Hush," he added, as a quick 
 step sounded at the door. " Here comes that Wil- 
 son boy."
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 AMY LEROY 
 
 AS Tom Wilson walked to his seat at the foot of 
 the long table, he was vaguely conscious that 
 the Bannan boarders were honoring him with an 
 unusual amount of attention. Every eye seemed to 
 be focused upon him. Knives and forks were 
 dropped or suspended in midair. Tom felt of his 
 tie and looked his clothes over to see if, in his hurry, 
 he had left anything awry. He knew nothing of 
 Leitz's " new one," and had no means of divining 
 that everybody in the room was wondering what he 
 would say if he knew. 
 
 Tom felt that the circumstances required some- 
 thing of him. He paused beside his chair and said 
 his " Good evening " with an elaborate bow to the 
 ladies. He caught the landlady's pale, blue eye, 
 with a curious look in it. 
 
 " I'm sorry to be so late, Mrs. Bannan," he said, 
 with a propitiatory smile. 
 
 "Didn't you hear the bell?" demanded the 
 giantess. 
 
 " I couldn't find my things. Somebody else's 
 stuff is in my room." 
 
 118
 
 r AMY LEROY 119 
 
 " You've been moved to third floor back," said 
 Mrs. Bannan. Her loud announcement caused a 
 fresh access of interest in Tom. 
 
 " So I found out," replied the newly enlisted hall- 
 roomer. 
 
 " That was a twelve-dollar room you had," vouch- 
 safed Mrs. Bannan, " and I gave it to a new man. 
 He works in a bank." 
 
 "I can't expect to compete with a banker, of 
 course," said Tom, with the best smile at his com- 
 mand, " but I hope you'll let me know when I'm in 
 the way again." 
 
 A quick flush suffused the fatty protuberances that 
 served Mrs. Bannan as features. " I run my house 
 to suit myself, Mr. Wilson," she bellowed. " No- 
 body ever gets the worst of it with me." She glared 
 about the room. " Lu-cee," she shrieked. 
 
 "You sent her upstairs, Mrs. Bannan,'* Miss 
 Dunstan reminded her. 
 
 The landlady's glare settled on Tom. " You'll 
 have to wait till she comes down," she snapped. 
 
 "That's all right," said Tom, indifferently. 
 "Where's Miss LeRoy?" 
 
 All eyes, with one consent, were turned on Leitz. 
 " She's in the parlor with another gentleman," ex- 
 plained the oily man, nothing loath. A furious 
 tintinnabulation began in the hall above. " Lucy is 
 calling her down now," interpreted Leitz. 
 
 Merkle hastily re-entered. " Hello, kid," he
 
 120 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 said. " That telephone was for you. Didn't know 
 you were down here, or I would have called you." 
 
 " I thought she asked for Merkle," said Leitz. 
 
 Merkle turned on him savagely. " That's as near 
 to Wilson as I'd expect you to get it," he roared. 
 
 "Somebody asking for me?" said Tom. "I 
 wonder who it could be." 
 
 " Some lady who wouldn't give her name. I told 
 her you were in the house, and she said she'd come 
 over." 
 
 There was another volley of glances in Tom's di- 
 rection. Merkle walked over towards the door, and 
 scrutinized the panel of fruit with a critical eye. " I 
 wonder who it could be?" repeated Tom, to his 
 plate, oblivious of the stares of the others. Lucy 
 re-entered with the cracked dinner bell in her hand. 
 
 " She's coming, Mrs. Bannan, in just a minute," 
 she reported. 
 
 " Bring Mr. Wilson's soup," said the landlady, 
 shortly. 
 
 " Yas'm," said the girl. She picked up Merkle's 
 deserted plate and made for the kitchen. The news- 
 paper man turned from his study of art just in time 
 to see her kicking open the swing-door. 
 
 " Here," he howled. " Who took my plate ? I 
 hadn't finished." 
 
 The girl returned with a scared look on her face. 
 She stood somewhat in awe of this irascible man, 
 than whom, besides, no one was more liberal in the
 
 ~AMY LEROY 121 
 
 way of tips. " 'Scuse me, Mr. Merkle," she stam- 
 mered. " I does get so excited sometimes." Mer- 
 kle nodded a ready pardon. " I'll get yours in a 
 minute, Mr. Wilson." 
 
 Tom was still communing with his plate. " No 
 hurry," he said absently. 
 
 His preoccupation was suddenly dissipated when 
 a girl tripped into the room. The newcomer was a 
 slip of a thing, not more than eighteen years old, at 
 most. 'Amy LeRoy was decidedly pretty even 
 Miss Dunstan would concede that but it was with 
 the rounded prettiness of a child rather than the un- 
 folding charm of young womanhood. She had 
 flaxen hair, with a glint of gold in it, and big eyes, of 
 the blue of old crockery, which she turned on all 
 mankind with the trustful stare of an over-innocent 
 baby. Her expensive gown, of pale blue, clashed 
 with the dingy background supplied by Mrs. Ban- 
 nan's dining room, but it had been selected with taste 
 and fashioned in the latest mode. Considering the 
 probable size of her salary and her long periods of 
 idleness, it was a constant matter for friendly specu- 
 lation on the part of Mrs. Bannan's other lady 
 lodgers, as well as the virtuously vigilant Mrs. Ban- 
 nan herself^ how Miss LeRoy managed to do it. 
 
 Despite her general resemblance to a vivacious 
 dolly, Miss LeRoy conducted herself, under a fire 
 of questioning eyes, with a hard self-possession that 
 the militant landlady herself might have envied.
 
 122 THE COUNTRY^ BOY 
 
 " Evening, everybody," she lisped pleasantly. 
 "Hello, Miss Dunstan Mrs. Phelps," with a 
 merry nod to each. " Can I speak to you a mo- 
 ment, Mrs. Bannan?" 
 
 She walked the length of the room to Mrs. Ban- 
 nan's side, circled the landlady's prodigious shoul- 
 ders with her round, white arm, and, with a profu- 
 sion of pretty noddings, whispered in her ear. 
 
 Mrs. Bannan reared herself to her full sitting 
 height, and looked towards the door. 
 
 " Where is he? " she whispered hoarsely. 
 
 " Upstairs." 
 
 " Sure. Bring him down." 
 
 Tom's eyes had followed the girl's every move. 
 " Hello, Amy," he said, as she made by him on her 
 way to the door. She hesitated, then came to his 
 side. 
 
 "Tom,'* she said, with her most engaging lisp, 
 " I've persuaded Mr. Michaelson to have dinner 
 with us. He's an awfully swell fellow and has an 
 interest in the show, so I just have to be nice to him. 
 Of course," she hastened to add, as she noted Tom's 
 gathering frown, " it isn't going to change our ar- 
 rangement for to-night." 
 
 " I don't think I'd better take you to the theater 
 to-night, Amy," said Tom slowly. 
 
 " Now don't be mean, Tom," she coaxed. 
 
 " What's the use," said Tom, " so long as you've 
 brought somebody? "
 
 r AMY LEROY 123 
 
 She sidled nearer to him, and put her face close 
 to his. " Now don't be foolish, Tom," she pleaded. 
 " Mr. Michaelson has to run away right after din- 
 ner, and I'll wait for you in the parlor. If you get 
 through first, wait for me." She shook a playful 
 finger under his nose. " Now be a good boy," she 
 admonished him, and was away and out of the door 
 without giving him a chance to refuse. Tom got to 
 his feet, with more than half a mind to follow her. 
 
 " Lu-cee," called Mrs. Bannan. " Set the little 
 table over there for Miss LeRoy. She's brought 
 an extra dinner with her." 
 
 Joe Weinstein had been a benevolent observer of 
 the colloquy between Tom and the girl, with its ab- 
 rupt ending. While Lucy busied herself about the 
 little table, he rose from his chair, went up to Tom, 
 who was standing irresolute near the door, took him 
 !by the arm, and led him into a corner of the room. 
 
 " Say, Wilson," he began. 
 
 Tom looked at him with mild surprise. " Yes," 
 he said inquiringly. 
 
 " I just want to put you wise," said Joe. " Don't 
 take that dame too seriously." 
 
 " What do you mean? " said Tom. 
 
 " The skirt that was just in," elucidated Wein- 
 stein. " Don't let her get you buffaloed." 
 
 Tom eyed him coldly. " I'd thank you to make 
 it a bit clearer," he said. 
 
 " You know what I mean," said Joe. " I'm tell-
 
 i2 4 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 ing you because you ain't been here long enough to 
 know. Don't let her play you for a fall guy. She 
 ain't the right kind." 
 
 Joe suddenly found himself backing energetically 
 away from a clenched fist, which was vibrating un- 
 pleasantly near his valued nose. " You take that 
 back," Tom was hissing between his teeth. 
 
 Merkle sprang swiftly from his seat, and, while 
 Joe side-stepped nimbly behind the little table as- 
 signed to the lady in question, he seized Tom's arm 
 and thrust him back into his chair by main force. 
 
 " Don't lose your head, kid," he counseled, his 
 harsh voice harsher with earnestness. " He doesn't 
 mean what you mean at all." 
 
 Joe returned roundabout to his seat. " Ain't that 
 always the way when you try to help a pal ? " he 
 moaned. 
 
 Tom struggled to rise. " He said " 
 
 Merkle cut him off with vehemence. "Never 
 mind what he said," he insisted. " It's just a mis- 
 understanding." 
 
 Mrs. Bannan, who had been pounding the table 
 vigorously with her knife, here regained the speech 
 of which Tom's audacity and Merkle's violence had 
 bereft her. " Gentlemen," she boomed. " No 
 rough house, please. This is a respectable estab- 
 lishment." 
 
 Tom composed himself. " I beg your pardon, 
 Mrs. Bannan," he said.
 
 AMY LEROY 125 
 
 Miss Dunstan swished from her seat with an air 
 of outraged gentility. " Isn't this place getting 
 awful? " she wailed, and started for the door. 
 
 "Ain't you going to have dessert?" asked Mrs. 
 Bannan. 
 
 Miss Dunstan deigned to consider. " Is it ice 
 cream? " she asked. 
 
 " The ice cream hasn't come, so I'm going to give 
 you blanc mange," said the landlady. 
 
 "Oh, horrors! And me on a diet!" exclaimed 
 Miss Dunstan. But she resumed her seat. 
 
 " I thought this was ice cream night," complained 
 Phelps. 
 
 " I just told you," replied Mrs. Bannan, enunciat- 
 ing each syllable with painful distinctness, " that my 
 confectionery man disappointed me." 
 
 " Well," said Phelps, " where's my beer then? " 
 
 " It's all out," was the reply. 
 
 "I ordered a case only last week," protested 
 Phelps. 
 
 " You've drunk it all up," said Mrs. Bannan, with 
 calm finality. " There's no more left." 
 
 Phelps jumped from his chair and hurled his nap- 
 kin on the table. " This is a hell of a place," he 
 said. 
 
 " Ain't you going to wait for your coffee? " asked 
 his wife. 
 
 "No, I've had all I want," he shouted, and 
 stalked from the room.
 
 126 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 Mrs. Phelps raised her hands with a groan that 
 implored the general sympathy. " Ain't it awful to 
 have to live with a man like that? " she cried, and 
 started after him. 
 
 " You picked him," Miss Dunstan reminded her. 
 
 Mrs. Phelps turned at the door. " At least I did 
 pick something," she snapped. And leaving this 
 Parthian arrow quivering in the maiden bosom of 
 her friend, she flounced away. 
 
 Joe Weinstein grinned appreciatively. " I'll 
 have some coffee," he announced. 
 
 Mrs. Bannan regarded him with disfavor. 
 " Lucy can do only one thing at a time," she said. 
 " She ain't no centipede." 
 
 What " come-back " Joe might have evolved to 
 this " call-down " will never be known, for, as he 
 opened his mouth to reply, there was a rustle of silk 
 skirts at the door, and conversation and all other 
 table activities were suspended, the better to observe 
 the debut of Amy LeRoy's " new one."
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 JIMMY MICHAELSON SCORES 
 
 THERE was a not too obvious air of defiance 
 in the girl's manner as she led the way into 
 the room, turned her back on the watchful company, 
 and pointed to a chair at the small table by the 
 window. 
 
 " You sit there, Jimmy," she said. 
 
 The " new one " moved towards the seat indi- 
 cated, from which he could look down the whole 
 length of the omnibus table, from Tom's back, at 
 the near end, to the giantess facing him in the dis- 
 tance. Jimmy Michaelson was a dark, rather hand- 
 some young man, with hard lines about his mouth. 
 He was well-set-up and well-groomed, but seemed 
 somewhat ill at ease, perhaps from a feeling that 
 his immaculate evening dress was a trifle out of 
 place in his present surroundings. 
 
 As Michaelson stood waiting till she should have 
 seated herself, a sudden thought came to Amy. 
 "Just a moment," she said. "Oh, Tom," she 
 called sweetly, " I want you to meet Mr. Michael- 
 son." 
 
 Tom rose slowly and walked over towards the 
 little table. 
 
 127
 
 128 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " This is Mr. Wilson, Jimmy," said the girl. 
 
 " Glad to know you," said Michaelson, extending 
 his hand with a smile. 
 
 Tom grasped it languidly. "Same here," he 
 said, and returned to his seat at the foot of the 
 long table. 
 
 " Sit right down," said Amy to Michaelson. She 
 took the seat opposite him, the effect of this ma- 
 noeuvring being to present her back to the spectators 
 and reserve the sweet intimacy of her smiles wholly 
 for Jimmy Michaelson. She leaned confidentially 
 across the little table. " They're all rubbering their 
 heads off," she said. " But don't give them any sat- 
 isfaction." 
 
 " Who is the young chap you introduced me to? " 
 asked Michaelson. 
 
 " Tom Wilson," she replied. Her sophisticated 
 brows rose slightly. " Oh, he's just come from the 
 country. Hasn't been here very long." 
 
 " Seems to know you pretty well," persisted Mi- 
 chaelson. 
 
 Amy, in her desire to conciliate Tom, had neg- 
 lected to estimate the probable effect of her action 
 on Jimmy. 
 
 " He's an awfully nice boy," she said impulsively. 
 " So different from the men you meet here. He's 
 the only one that treats me with any respect." She 
 saw the man eying her curiously and changed her 
 key. " I let him take me out once in a while," she
 
 JIMMY MICHAELSON SCORES 129 
 
 said, with an indifferent pout. " A girl can't walk 
 down Broadway alone these nights. Every man 
 talks to her." 
 
 She sighed pathetically and turned to Lucy, who 
 was placing their soup before them. " Let's pass 
 the soup," she suggested. " We ain't got any too 
 much time. Just bring the principal things, Lucy, 
 'cause we're in a hurry." 
 
 Joe Weinstein had been taking notes. He leaned 
 down the table towards Mrs. Bannan. " Who's the 
 soup and fish?" he asked, a question which Mrs. 
 Bannan's knowledge of Tenderloin slang enabled 
 her to interpret as an inquiry concerning the identity 
 of the gentleman in evening garb. 
 
 " Go on, ask her," urged Miss Dunstan, who was 
 thanking her lucky stars she had remained. " You 
 have a perfect right to know who she's bringing 
 here." 
 
 It is easy to drive even a giantess along the line of 
 her own inclination. Mrs. Bannan, summoned to 
 the defense of her hearthstone, rose majestically, 
 drew herself to her full height, shook herself into 
 her corsets, threw back her shoulders, and advanced 
 upon the foe like an army with banners. She took 
 up a position within easy range of the little table and 
 coughed to draw the enemy's fire. 
 
 The pair, deeply engrossed in each other, made no 
 sign. Mrs. Bannan coughed again, with explosive 
 force, then, advancing a step further, placed one
 
 130 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 puissant fist upon the table, swung her bulk forward, 
 and sounded the onset: 
 
 " Getting waited on all right?" 
 
 Amy looked up at the landlady's looming bulk, 
 glanced anxiously at Michaelson, who wore a frown 
 of annoyance, then forced a smile. " Yes, thanks," 
 she said. There was an ominous silence, which 
 Mrs. Bannan made no move to break. " I want 
 you to meet my friend, Mr. Michaelson," said the 
 girl. " Mr. Michaelson, this is our landlady, Mrs. 
 Bannan." 
 
 Michaelson rose, and bowed profoundly. 
 ' 'Tain't much of a dinner to-night, Mr. Michael- 
 son," said the landlady, impressed by his easy cour- 
 tesy. " Our ice cream man disappointed me, but if 
 I'd known you were coming, I'd have fixed up 
 something special for you." 
 
 " I'm enjoying my dinner very much," said Mi- 
 chaelson, with a smile and a glance in the direction 
 of Miss LeRoy. 
 
 The matter-of-fact landlady glanced at his plate. 
 " Why, you ain't had nothing yet," she exclaimed. 
 
 " No," he had to admit. He smiled and recov- 
 ered. " But Miss LeRoy has recommended your 
 table so highly that I'm sure to be pleased." 
 
 Mrs. Bannan cracked an ogreish smile. " Well, 
 if I do say it myself, I give my boarders the very 
 best there is." Mr. Michaelson smiled blandly. 
 " For the price," she qualified.
 
 JIMMY MICHAELSON SCORES 131 
 
 " Sit down, Mr. Michaelson," Amy broke in pet- 
 ulantly. " No use wasting your manners in a board- 
 ing house." 
 
 " Yes, don't let me keep you from your eating," 
 said the landlady, as the black girl brought on the 
 roast beef. " Do you like your meat rare, Mr. 
 Michaelson? Them is awful small portions, 
 Lucy." She turned again to Michaelson with a smile 
 as nearly gracious as her peculiar limitations al- 
 lowed. " But, if you want another helping, you can 
 have it," she said. " I never deny my people any- 
 thing." She sighed deeply. " Meat is terribly 
 high now, too. My butcher bill is something 
 awful." Michaelson nodded so sympathetically 
 that the ogre beamed. " Maybe you'd like some- 
 thing to drink with your dinner." 
 
 " What have you got? " asked Amy. 
 
 The landlady glanced stealthily down the room. 
 " I can let you have some beer," she said. " It be- 
 longs to Mr. Phelps," she added in a lower voice. 
 " We keep it on the ice for him, but he won't care." 
 
 " Thank you very much, Mrs. Bannan," said 
 Michaelson. " I'm quite happy with what I have." 
 
 " Well," said the landlady, " if you want any- 
 thing, don't be afraid to shout for it." 
 
 And she returned unto her own place, where she 
 retailed at length to Leitz and to Miss Dunstan her 
 impressions of Mr. Michaelson, summing them all 
 up in this final judgment:
 
 132 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " And he's a perfect gentleman." 
 
 Which goes to show how easily a giantess may be 
 led, or misled, on the frail string of courtesy. 
 Leitz, who had not passed within the field of 
 Michaelson's magnetic manner, remained uncon- 
 vinced. 
 
 " I bet he shaves himself," said the barber. 
 
 It was the bitterness of envy, perhaps, that sharp- 
 ened Miss Dunstan's tones as she passed Michael- 
 son by for the girl. " She ought to have better 
 sense than to bring him right here in front of our 
 noses," she sneered. " A girl can't be too careful 
 if she wants to keep her reputation." 
 
 If Mrs. Bannan could have followed the conver- 
 sation at the little table, she might have repented 
 of her judgment. 
 
 " That's the worst of living in a boarding 
 house," Amy was saying apologetically, as the 
 landlady moved away. ".You have to be nice to 
 everybody." 
 
 " I don't see how you can stand it," assented 
 Michaelson, who was beginning to plan a quick get- 
 away. 
 
 "Ain't it awful?" said the girl. There was a 
 wistful look in the big, baby eyes that gazed so 
 helplessly into his. " But what's a girl to do on 
 a small salary?" 
 
 Michaelson leaned towards Her. " You might 
 let your friends help you," he said softly.
 
 JIMMY MICHAELSON SCORES 133 
 
 There was a dead pause. The girl's eyes sought 
 her plate. 
 
 " I can't afford to get myself talked about," she 
 objected feebly. 
 
 " Nobody would know," he whispered. 
 
 There was a swift interchange of glances across 
 the remnants of the roast beef. For the space of a 
 second their eyes held each other's. In that mo- 
 ment a bargain was struck. Joe Weinstein could 
 have drawn up the contract without consulting either 
 party to the transaction. 
 
 The man's eyes glowed. The girl struck at him 
 playfully. " Now, Jimmy, stop," she purred. 
 " I'm not that kind of a girl," which served to con- 
 firm Jimmy's knowledge of just what kind of a girl 
 she was, and caused him to smile contentedly. 
 
 There was a stir in the room as a shrill whistle 
 sounded in the area. Miss Dunstan jumped to her 
 feet. 
 
 " Oh, there's the postman," she cried. " And 
 I've been expecting a letter." 
 
 She hastened towards the window, but Amy, who 
 had the advantage of position, was there before her. 
 The girl ran up the blind, threw open the window, 
 and took the handful of letters which the postman 
 thrust through the grating. She closed the window 
 slowly, pulled down the blind, and, reading as she 
 walked, returned to her chair, where she continued 
 to go through the letters with a deliberation that
 
 i 3 4 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 seemed to be in the highest degree exasperating to 
 Miss Dunstan, who was jumping from one foot to 
 the other in her impatience. The girl finally found 
 an envelope addressed to herself, and calmly laid 
 the others down on the table beside her. 
 
 " I know who that's from," she said to Michael- 
 son. " Will you excuse me if I read it at the 
 table?" 
 
 " Go ahead," nodded Michaelson. 
 
 Miss Dunstan waved her arms angrily toward 
 the unconscious reader. " Can you beat that for 
 nerve?" she cried. With clenched hands she 
 rushed to the little table and, with a sarcastic " Ex- 
 cuse me " to the startled Michaelson, scooped up 
 the letters and beat a retreat. 
 
 "Any for me? " asked Weinsteiri. 
 
 " For Mrs. Bannan, most of them," she replied, 
 as she undertook the task of distribution. The 
 landlady threw up her hands in stony despair. 
 
 " I don't know how I'm ever going to pay J em," 
 she wailed. 
 
 " Mr. Wilson," continued Miss Dunstan, making 
 the round of the table. Tom thrust his letter into 
 his pocket without looking at it. " Mr. Merkle. 
 And here's one for me. The rest are all for Mrs. 
 Bannan." 
 
 The landlady handed her letters over to Leitz. 
 " Put them on my desk, dearie," she said wearily. 
 " I can't read without my glasses."
 
 JIMMY MICHAELSON SCORES 135 
 
 A shriek from Miss Dunstan. " Do you Know 
 where mine is from? K. & E. They're going to 
 try my voice to-morrow, and I haven't practiced all 
 day." She broke off into a shrill arpeggio. 
 " Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah " she screamed up the register, 
 dancing sidewise, and " Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah " she 
 screamed down again, dancing back. At the top 
 note, Merkle clapped his hands to his ears. " Is 
 anybody in the parlor? " 
 
 " If it's all the same to you, Miss Dunstan," said 
 Merkle, in his most reasonable tones, " I wish you 
 wouldn't pound the piano to-night. I have the back 
 parlor, you know, and I have a lot of work to do." 
 
 She faced him, quivering with excitement. " I 
 beg your pardon, Mr. Merkle," she said. " It 
 isn't my fault if you have the back parlor. The 
 front parlor is intended for the guests, and I have 
 a perfect right to use the piano if I want to. My 
 music means a good deal to me, and I don't see why 
 you should object to it." And she stamped away. 
 
 "I don't object" she wheeled swiftly "to 
 music," he growled. 
 
 Her lip trembled. "You're the rudest man I 
 ever saw," she exclaimed. 
 
 " Glad you have me classified," said Merkle. 
 
 She turned to Joe for comfort. " Do you object 
 to my music, Mr. Weinstein?" 
 
 " No. Holler your head! off, sweetheart," re- 
 plied Joe cheerfully.
 
 136 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " And Mr. Weinstein ought to know," she cried. 
 " He's in the business." And tucking this conso- 
 lation under her arm, she ran quickly up the stairs. 
 Joe turned to Merkle with a grin. 
 
 " Better get your room changed, Merkle," he 
 counseled. 
 
 " It's bad enough to have that beer garden across 
 the street without having her pound the ivories all 
 night," grumbled his friend. 
 
 Joe rose to his feet with a laugh. " Well," said 
 he, " me for the white lights. Don't take any 
 wooden coin, folks, and remember, it's just as pleas- 
 ant in the Summer as it is in the city." With which 
 cryptic advice, he betook himself to the street by way 
 of the area. 
 
 Tom Wilson sat dejectedly in his seat, his dinner 
 almost untasted. He turned with a blank stare 
 when Lucy entered from the hall and spoke to 
 him. 
 
 " Bar's a lady in de parlor to see you, Mr. Wil- 
 son," she repeated. 
 
 Tom rose quickly. " To see me," he exclaimed, 
 and hastened from the room. 
 
 Amy's quick ears had caught the black girl's mes- 
 sage. She formulated her plan of action instantly. 
 
 "What time is it, Jimmy?" she inquired. 
 
 " A quarter after seven," he replied, looking at 
 his watch.
 
 JIMMY MICHAELSON SCORES 137 
 
 She jumped to her feet. " Gracious," she cried. 
 " I'll be late for the half-hour, and our stage mana- 
 ger is awfully strict. Let's go." 
 
 " I'll take you to the show shop," he offered. 
 
 She laid her hand on his. " No," she pleaded, 
 ** they might talk about us. Let them see you leave 
 the house alone, and you can come and get me after 
 the show." 
 
 " Sure now," said Michaelson, as they walked to- 
 wards the door. 
 
 " I'll wait for you," she assured him. " Only, 
 don't be long." 
 
 Michaelson lingered at the door. " Good 
 night, Mrs. Bannan," he called pleasantly. 
 
 " Good night," she cried, as he climbed the stairs 
 after Amy. " Come again, Mr. Michaelson. I'll 
 have a better meal for you next time." 
 
 Leitz, at the landlady's reminder, gathered her 
 letters together, and, hugging them to his side, 
 started for the door. Merkle rose, and, taking a 
 small roll of bills from his pocket, walked up to 
 Mrs. Bannan. "Here's something for you," he 
 said. 
 
 ' 'Tain't due till to-morrow," she observed, hav- 
 ing first, however, closed her massive fingers about 
 the money. 
 
 " I might not have it to-morrow," he replied with 
 a crusty smile.
 
 138 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 A rhythmic jangling sounded above their heads. 
 A shrill soprano added itself presently to the dis- 
 cord. Miss Dunstan had gone into training for to- 
 morrow's try-out. 
 
 " My goodness, Mr. Merkle," the landlady was 
 saying, " if all my people were as prompt pay as 
 you, I'd be a happy woman." 
 
 Merkle's eyes twinkled. " Want to do something 
 for me? " he said. 
 
 "Change your room?" she asked, with a look 
 aloft 
 
 "No. Put a sign on the piano: 'Out of 
 order.' " 
 
 " I'll make her stop as soon as I go up," she 
 promised. 
 
 Merkle climbed the stairs. The landlady was 
 left alone. She yawned cavernously and began to 
 turn out the lights. " Lu-cee," she called. 
 
 The black girl came in from the kitchen and 
 stood at attention. " Yas'm," she said. 
 
 " Clear everything away. Save the rest of that 
 roast beef for lunch to-morrow." 
 
 " Yas'm." 
 
 " And, Lu-cee. Don't forget to put the lock on 
 the icebox, so the beer will be safe." 
 
 She yawned again, more widely and deeply than 
 before, and moved towards the door. 
 
 " Mrs. Bannan," said the black. The landlady
 
 JIMMY MICHAELSON SCORES 139 
 
 turned on the threshold. " What shall I do if the 
 ice cream comes? " 
 
 Mrs. Bannan strangled a third yawn in its lusty 
 infancy. A glad and crafty smile extended itself 
 across her visage. 
 
 " I didn't order no ice cream," she said.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 UNEXPECTED MEETINGS 
 
 THE " lady in the parlor " rose from the dark 
 corner where she had been seated and came 
 forward into the center of the room. 
 
 " Jane ! " exclaimed Tom joyously. He rushed 
 forward and seized both her hands and shook them 
 as though he meant never to stop. It was good to 
 see Jane, to feel her firm clasp, to look into her calm, 
 brown eyes again, to see her untroubled smile. It 
 made Tom forget the anxieties that beset him. In 
 her simple frock of some soft, white fabric, she 
 looked deliciously cool and dainty. His wilted soul 
 and body revived in her presence. She was like a 
 refreshing breeze at the fag-end of a hot day. For 
 the moment he was back in Fairview, and he plied 
 her with questions, about herself, about his mother, 
 about everybody in the village, not forgetting his 
 old friend, Judge Belknap. Jane stood smiling 
 and waiting for the torrent of interrogatories to run 
 dry. 
 
 Just how long Tom stood holding her hands 
 there in the dim parlor, there is no means of de- 
 termining. Certainly Jane made no effort to loose 
 them, until a sharp swish of silk at the door and an 
 140
 
 UNEXPECTED MEETINGS 141 
 
 apologetic "Oh!" caused her to withdraw them 
 quickly and step back. The young woman, who had 
 made as if to enter the parlor, drew back so swiftly 
 that Jane caught only the flash of a blue skirt as its 
 owner vanished down the hall. But Tom had rec- 
 ognized the voice, and he experienced a momentary 
 feeling of discomfort. 
 
 It was not that Tom had anything to reproach 
 himself with. So far as Tom was concerned, his 
 companionship with Amy LeRoy possessed no ele- 
 ment of significance of which Jane might not be 
 fully informed. He had naturally gravitated to- 
 wards Amy among all his fellow boarders, because 
 she had appealed to his sympathies, she seemed so 
 helpless and childishly out of place in the Bannan 
 boarding house; because she had made it prettily 
 apparent that she liked his company; because he had 
 thought he detected a certain hard unfriendliness 
 towards her on the part of the other women in the 
 house, and his ready spirit of chivalry had been 
 roused in her behalf; and underlying reason of 
 all, perhaps because they both were young, Tom, 
 in everything except years, much the younger of the 
 two. 
 
 Tom's momentary embarrassment proceeded out 
 of no feeling of liability he had never for an in- 
 stant lapsed from his loyalty to Jane but he had 
 an uncomfortable feeling that somehow Jane, with 
 her country ways of thinking and her unavoidably
 
 i 4 2 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 narrow horizon, would not look with favor on a 
 music hall " broiler " like Amy. He rather hoped 
 it would not be necessary for them to meet. 
 
 As for Amy, her curiosity about " the lady in the 
 parlor " would have been more difficult to explain 
 in a manner satisfactory to that village-bred damsel. 
 Amy had not the slightest thought of relinquishing 
 her newly acquired interest in Jimmy Michaelson. 
 Privately she would have laughed at such an idea as 
 ridiculous. Jimmy had cost her too much trouble 
 to get. But she liked Tom immensely, he was so 
 strong and handsome, and, just at present, she 
 didn't want him to like anybody else too much. 
 Tom, in his unsophisticated frankness, had told her 
 of Jane, but the " broiler " did not much fear the 
 rivalry of a country girl, especially when that girl 
 was several hundred miles away. Tom appealed 
 to a side of her nature that latterly she had found 
 very little use for. Even in musical comedy, a girl 
 may retain a desire to possess a male acquaintance 
 who treats her " with respect." 
 
 There were other interruptions, accidental or 
 otherwise, culminating with the incursion of Miss 
 Dunstan, armed with a roll of music and still breath- 
 ing threatenings and slaughter, who plumped her- 
 self down at the decrepit piano and proceeded to 
 shatter the patient atmosphere. Ordinarily Miss 
 Dunstan would have been more lenient, for she liked 
 Tom and would gladly have seen him rescued from
 
 UNEXPECTED MEETINGS 143 
 
 the clutches of that LeRoy girl, but to-night she was 
 so full of wrath and purpose that it is doubtful if 
 she noticed the figures in the far corner. 
 
 Tom and Jane sat without quailing while Miss 
 Dunstan screamed her way through the ditty with 
 which she purposed to charm the syndicated ears of 
 K. & E. on the morrow. When she drew a long 
 breath and began the song afresh, with the evident 
 purpose of screaming it all over again, Jane moved 
 uneasily, as if she were beginning to think it time 
 to be going, and Tom hastily proposed an adjourn- 
 ment to the deserted dining room below. 
 
 " Come on, Jane," he entreated. " You might 
 as well stay a little longer, now that you're here," 
 and led the way below, where they found Lucy re- 
 moving the last of the dinner fragments, still shak- 
 ing her head in admiration at her mistress's ice 
 cream coup. 
 
 Tom led Jane to the little table by the window 
 and pointed to the chair lately occupied so success- 
 fully by Mr. Jimmy Michaelson. He took Amy's 
 chair for himself, but in an informal manner, which 
 Amy could never have negotiated except in her mus- 
 ical comedy costume the manner of children who 
 " play horse." Having thus seated himself in re- 
 verse, he crossed his arms on the back of his chair, 
 laid his chin on his arms, and gazed long and de- 
 lightedly at Jane. 
 
 " Well," he said, " I certainly am surprised to see
 
 144 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 you. So you're the lady who wanted me on the 
 telephone ? I couldn't imagine who it was. When 
 did you come to town? " 
 
 Jane hesitated an instant. " A few days ago," 
 she said. 
 
 Tom straightened up. " Why didn't you let me 
 know? " he cried. 
 
 " I couldn't," the girl explained. " Cousin Em- 
 ily had me on the go every minute." There was a 
 wrinkle of perplexity between Tom's eyes. " You 
 know how it is when one spends a few days with rel- 
 atives," she went on. 
 
 " A few days," Tom repeated slowly. " When 
 are you going back? " 
 
 " To-morrow morning," answered Jane. " Dad 
 had some business in town and I persuaded him to 
 let me come along. He finished up quicker than I 
 expected, though." 
 
 Tom considered. There was more to this than 
 appeared on the surface. He had a canny notion 
 that Judge Belknap was concealed somewhere near 
 the bottom. He rose from his chair and walked up 
 and down in front of Jane. 
 
 "That's too bad," he said. "I won't have a 
 chance to show you 'round." He stopped and 
 looked at her with sudden anxiety. " And mother ? 
 Did you see her before you left? " 
 
 " Yes," said Jane. " I promised her that I 
 wouldn't leave town without seeing you."
 
 UNEXPECTED MEETINGS 145 
 
 Perhaps Jane wouldn't have come at all, other- 
 wise, Tom couldn't help thinking. "And how is 
 she looking? " he pursued. " All right? " 
 
 " Very well, indeed, I thought." 
 
 " Guess mother thinks I'm in trouble every min- 
 ute down here," said Tom, with a short laugh. 
 "Doesn't she?" 
 
 Jane's eyes looked away from him to follow Lucy, 
 who, her task finished, was shuffling out into the 
 kitchen with her heavy tray. As the door swung 
 to behind the black girl, Jane asked: 
 
 " Aren't you in any trouble? " 
 
 Tom straddled his chair again, brought his face 
 down to a level with Jane's, and invited inspection. 
 
 " Do I look as if I were? " he asked with a con- 
 fident smile. 
 
 Jane looked, but did not respond to smile or ques- 
 tion. " We heard that you had lost your position," 
 she said. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Tom straightening himself up again 
 more quickly than before. " Where did you hear 
 that?" 
 
 " Mr. Kennedy wrote Dad about it. They're 
 old friends, you know." 
 
 "Oh!" said Tom, thoughtfully. "And I sup- 
 pose your Dad lost no time telling my mother," he 
 said, with the suspicion of a sneer. 
 
 Jane's tone rebuked him. " He felt that it was 
 his duty to tell her," she replied.
 
 i 4 6 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 Tom spurned his chair from him. " I wish 
 he wouldn't always do these things," he said 
 hotly. " He hadn't any right to trouble my mother 
 about this." 
 
 "Why?" persisted Jane. "Isn't it true?" 
 
 " Suppose it is. Can't a fellow lose a job with- 
 out having it advertised as a tragedy? " He faced 
 her defiantly. " I'm not worried about it," he de- 
 clared. " Why should they be ? " 
 
 Jane's face grew graver. " It isn't the loss of 
 the position," she said, " but the reason for losing 
 it that worries them." 
 
 " Did Kennedy give any particular reason for 
 letting me go? " inquired Tom. 
 
 " He mentioned neglect and " Jane hesitated 
 painfully " and bad habits," she finished. 
 
 Tom did not suspect what she had in mind. 
 He was conscious of no glaring scandals in his 
 conduct. 
 
 " That's it," he jeered. " Just because a fellow 
 goes out for a good time once in a while, he's ac- 
 quiring bad habits. I'm glad I'm out of that place, 
 anyway. Now I have a chance to look for some- 
 thing big." 
 
 " You have always been looking for something 
 big, Tom," Jane reminded him. 
 
 " Yes, and I'll find it, too," he retorted. " Bad 
 luck can't stick to me forever." 
 
 Jane looked at him sadly. "Something big!"
 
 UNEXPECTED MEETINGS 147 
 
 again. And " Bad luck ! " The words struck a 
 chill to her heart. Her mind flew back to the scene 
 in the Fairview home, seven months before. Tom 
 was the same irresponsible boy that he had been 
 then. Experience had taught him nothing. " Bad 
 luck " was still his sufficient excuse for failure. 
 She had sent him forth into the world of men and 
 women " to find himself," to make good, and then 
 come back to her. Could it be that her brave ex- 
 periment had failed because there was nothing for 
 Tom to find? 
 
 The voice of Mrs. Bannan, calling from the head 
 of the stairs, rose stridently clear of the muffled 
 clangor from the closed parlor. " ,You down there, 
 Mr. Wilson?" she cried. 
 
 " Hello," Tom answered. 
 
 " Here's a gentleman to see you," shrieked the 
 landlady. 
 
 "To see me?" echoed Tom. He glanced at 
 Jane. There was something in her face that he did 
 not fathom. " Oh! " he said, with a flash of illu- 
 mination. " It's your Dad." 
 
 He walked towards the door. The Judge's legs 
 came into view through the top of the door as he 
 made his way slowly down the stairs in the hall. 
 Tom went forward to greet him. " Come right 
 down, Judge Belknap," he cried. " Jane's down 
 here." 
 
 The Judge halted in the door. Tom extended
 
 i 4 8 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 a hospitable hand. " Welcome to our little city," 
 he cried. " How are you? " 
 
 The Judge bowed distantly, ignoring the prof- 
 fered hand shake. " I'm very well, thank you," 
 he said frigidly. Jane intervened. 
 
 "Hello, Dad," she cried. "Got through with 
 your business? " 
 
 " I've found all I wanted to know," he growled. 
 
 Tom beamed on his visitor. The Judge's oc- 
 casional displays of offended dignity had always ap- 
 pealed mightily to a certain spirit of boyish per- 
 versity in Tom. " It's bully of you to come to see 
 me," he said. " I appreciate it, all right." He 
 lugged up another chair. " Sit down," he begged. 
 
 " This is not a social call," said the Judge, stiffly 
 on his guard. He was never quite certain what the 
 boy intended when he assumed this tone, but expe- 
 rience bade him beware. 
 
 " Well," said Tom cheerfully, placing the chair 
 before him, " sit down anyway." 
 
 The Judge shied at the chair like a wise old 
 bear at a steel trap. " I've just come from seeing 
 Dick Kennedy," he announced portentously. 
 
 " Why," said Tom, with bland surprise. " I'm 
 not with him any more." 
 
 " So I understand," said Belknap, biting the 
 words off savagely. 
 
 " What did he have to say? " inquired Tom, more 
 blandly still. Jane moved uneasily in her chair.
 
 UNEXPECTED MEETINGS 149 
 
 " Nothing that I did not already know," growled 
 the Judge. He turned abruptly to Jane. " Have 
 you had your talk? " he demanded. 
 
 " Not not about that," she faltered. 
 
 " I wish you'd let me in on this, if it's about my- 
 self," interposed Tom. The Judge eyed him ear- 
 nestly. 
 
 " Do you remember the conditions under which 
 you left Fairview?" he asked. 
 
 " Perfectly," said Tom. " Why? " 
 
 " I mean so far as they concerned your engage- 
 ment to my daughter," persisted Belknap. 
 
 " Yes," replied Tom, " but I haven't had much 
 time to make good yet." 
 
 The Judge favored his auditors with a glimpse of 
 his most impressive manner. " Your conduct dur- 
 ing the short time you have been here has rendered 
 further consideration of the matter impossible," he 
 said. 
 
 Tom became suddenly serious. " I wish you'd 
 make that clear," said he. 
 
 " I'll speak plainly, then," said the Judge. 
 
 Jane rose from her seat by the little table. " I'll 
 wait upstairs, Dad," she said, and walked towards 
 the door. The Judge motioned her back to her 
 chair. 
 
 " Don't go, Jane," he commanded. " I want you 
 to hear all that is said." He wheeled suddenly on 
 Tom, who was standing in bewildered silence, un-
 
 150 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 able to imagine what all this pother might be about, 
 and shot this question at him : 
 
 " Do you know a Miss LeRoy? " 
 
 The utter unexpectedness of the attack staggered 
 Tom. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, after a moment 
 
 "She's an actress, isn't she?" was the Judge's 
 next query. 
 
 In the interests of truth and accuracy, Tom hesi- 
 tated again. " Well," he qualified, " she's on the 
 stage. Yes." 
 
 The Judge, who had some reputation as a rough- 
 and-tumble cross-examiner to sustain, noted Tom's 
 hesitations, promptly misinterpreted them to fit his 
 case, after the manner of cross-examiners, and 
 turned to his daughter with a sarcastic smile, as 
 though asking the jury not to fail to take account 
 of the witness's inability to escape the truth. 
 
 " What are your relations ? " was the next 
 searcher. 
 
 " Very pleasant," replied the witness, who had 
 by this time regained his composure. " She's a nice 
 little girl. Do you know her?" 
 
 The Judge flushed angrily at this turning of the 
 worm. " No, sir," he bellowed. " I do not, sir." 
 
 "Then why these questions?" demanded the 
 worm. The Judge laid a firm grasp on his temper 
 and took a fresh start. 
 
 " Do you deny that you have been spending your
 
 UNEXPECTED MEETINGS 151 
 
 time and money on this woman?" he thundered. 
 The jury leaned eagerly forward. 
 
 " I haven't had any money to spend," was the re- 
 ply, " but I've escorted her to the theater once or 
 twice. Is there any harm in that? " 
 
 The jury breathed a sigh of relief. The baffled 
 cross-examiner sneered. 
 
 " You can't deceive me by trying to make light 
 of it," he said. " I have a record of your conduct 
 ever since you came to New York. Kennedy at- 
 tended to that for me." 
 
 " Oh, I see," said Tom, indignantly. " You've 
 had Kennedy play the spy on me." 
 
 The Judge's flush deepened. " I had a perfect 
 right to know what you were doing," he roared. 
 
 " I'd have told you if you'd have asked me," re- 
 torted the angry youth. 
 
 The Judge fell back on the tricks of his trade. 
 " Then you admit that it is all true? " he demanded, 
 with another glance at Jane. 
 
 " No," said Tom hotly, " I don't, but, if you've 
 already made up your mind, what's the use of my 
 saying anything? " 
 
 " I want Jane to be satisfied," said Belknap. 
 
 Tom turned his back on his annoyer. " What do 
 you want to know, Jane? " he said. 
 
 " Only what you want to tell me, Tom," replied 
 the girl. There was a frank appeal in the youth's 
 voice that touched her, a note of sadness, too, at her
 
 152 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 mistrust. Jane had never accepted her father's 
 revelations at their face value. She knew Tom 
 wouldn't lie to her. She rose to her feet as Tom 
 approached.' 
 
 " There's nothing to tell," said Tom. He stood 
 very near and gazed into her eyes with compelling 
 candor. " I've been a bit of a fool in giving Ken- 
 nedy a chance to fire me, but I've done nothing to be 
 ashamed of. Do you believe that?" 
 
 " Yes, Tom," said the girl, laying her hands in 
 his. 
 
 Tom swung joyously on his heel to face the 
 Judge. 
 
 " You see, that's all there's to it," he cried. 
 
 " Bosh," snorted the infuriated Judge. 
 
 " No, Dad," said Jane, firmly. " I don't think 
 that Mr. Kennedy likes Tom. That's why he said 
 those things." And her face settled into that calm, 
 decided expression, which her father, in his mo- 
 ments of disappointment was tempted to character- 
 ize as obstinacy. He gazed at her furiously, Tom 
 smilingly, his triumph seemed complete. For a 
 space all three were silent. 
 
 " To-om. Oh, To-o-om." 
 
 A girl's voice rang with silvery distinctness 
 through the upper regions of the house. It pro- 
 longed itself and hung each time upon the name 
 with sweet familiarity and died away in a caressing 
 cadence.
 
 UNEXPECTED MEETINGS 153 
 
 The effect upon the group below was startling. 
 Each figure stiffened instantly into an attitude of 
 strained attention, and the three stood there like so 
 many wax figures listening. 
 
 " To-om. Where are you-ou? " 
 
 The voice was nearer now, and its endearment 
 more unmistakable. The group stirred itself. 
 Tom turned to Jane with an open-mouthed stare. 
 The Judge relaxed into a sarcastic grin. Jane was 
 the first to speak. She was pale, and her voice was 
 flat and colorless. 
 
 " Somebody is calling you," she said. 
 
 Tom recovered himself with a gasp. "Excuse 
 me a moment," he said, and hastened towards the 
 door. 
 
 Too late ! Even as he spoke there was a tapping 
 of small heels on the stairs, and a moment later 
 Amy LeRoy stood in the doorway and confronted 
 Tom with an impatient little stamp of the foot.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE VERDICT 
 
 AMY laid her hand on Tom's arm with a pretty 
 air of proprietorship. " Why didn't you an- 
 swer me?" she pouted. "I've been calling all 
 over the house for you." She peered into the room 
 and started back with an air of sweet confusion. 
 
 " Oh ! " she exclaimed. " I didn't know that you 
 were with anybody." 
 
 It seemed natural enough she shouldn't, for the 
 fact wasn't strikingly obvious at the moment. The 
 Belknaps had retreated into the corner by the win- 
 dow and were exhibiting an air of conscientious de- 
 tachment which might well have indicated that, so 
 far as they were aware, they were the only persons 
 in the room. 
 
 But Amy LeRoy was not to be snubbed so easily 
 not by a girl from the hayseed belt, anyhow. 
 She had spent some careful minutes before her mir- 
 ror, solely for Jane's benefit, and she was unwilling 
 to lose her labor. She had on her very smartest 
 blue gown, and her most effective blue hat, and her 
 most dazzling complexion, and such diamonds as 
 she had been able to store up during her short foot- 
 light career were most artfully displayed. Framed 
 154
 
 THE VERDICT 155 
 
 in the dark doorway, she made a striking picture un- 
 der the gaslight, and she knew it and was determined 
 that the village maiden should be enlightened also. 
 
 She signaled her determination to Tom with an 
 importunate toss of her head towards Jane and a 
 stubborn little frown in his own direction. Then 
 she stood calmly waiting. The embarrassed youth 
 could not evade her. He coughed feebly. 
 
 " Amy," he began, " I want you to know Miss 
 Belknap. You've heard me speak of her. 'Also 
 her father, Judge Belknap." The Belknaps moved 
 a short step forward. Tom bowed elaborately. 
 
 " This is Miss LeRoy," he announced. 
 
 Amy held her pose in the doorway just long 
 enough to make sure that the picture should not be 
 lost on the villagers, then moved swiftly upon Jane, 
 with hands outstretched and rapturous welcome shin- 
 ing in her eyes. A patronizing nod, bestowed in 
 passing, was the Judge's portion. 
 
 Jane stood until Amy's arms were within easy em- 
 bracing distance, then stepped neatly out of range 
 and bowed stiffly. 
 
 " How do you do, Miss LeRoy? " she said. 
 
 Amy checked her demonstrative rush just in time 
 to preserve her balance. If she was offended at the 
 rebuff, no hint of irritation was suffered to show it- 
 self in her face. 
 
 "Oh!" she exclaimed, in honeyed tones. 
 "You're from the country, aren't you?" and left
 
 i 5 6 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 it to Jane to guess whether this raillery was directed 
 to her rustic manners or to her dress, which Miss 
 LeRoy had analyzed at a glance. " Tom talks 
 about you so much that I almost feel as if I knew 
 you." She turned to that unhappy youth. 
 
 " I didn't mean to butt in, Tom," she said. " I 
 thought, of course, you knew I was waiting. If 
 I'd known you were engaged, I'd have run right 
 along." 
 
 " I'd forgotten all about it," said Tom, truthfully 
 enough. 
 
 " Well ! " she cried, stirred to sudden wrath, not 
 so much by his words as on account of a glimmer she 
 fancied she saw in Jane's eye. " You better wake 
 up. I can't expect them to hold the curtain for me 
 while you entertain." 
 
 " You'd better not wait for me then," said Tom, 
 apathetically. " I'll see you to-morrow." 
 
 " Don't let us detain you," Jane broke in. " We 
 must be going, anyway." 
 
 " Oh, no," protested Amy. " Don't let me break 
 up the party." She nodded a pert good-bye to the 
 Judge. " I can find my way alone." 
 
 She tripped to the door, and turned there. " You 
 needn't come for me to-night," she cried to Tom. 
 As she ran up the stairs she flung a parting shot over 
 the bannister in mocking recitative. " I've got an- 
 other en-ga-a-ge-ment," she chanted gaily. Then 
 the front door slammed.
 
 THE VERDICT 157 
 
 There was an awkward pause. The Judge's 
 harsh voice cut the silence. 
 
 " So that's the girl, is it? " he sneered. 
 
 " That's Miss LeRoy. Yes," said Tom. 
 
 " You seem to be pretty well acquainted." The 
 Judge strode up to Tom and shook an accusing fin- 
 ger under his nose. "What claim has she on 
 you?" he demanded. 
 
 Tom's lips twitched. 'A quick flush mounted to 
 his forehead. He was near the limit of his pa- 
 tience. 
 
 " Dad ! " cried Jane. She flew to his side and 
 grasped his outstretched arm. 
 
 " Be quiet, Jane," he commanded, thrusting her 
 aside. He returned to Tom. " Answer my ques- 
 tion," he roared. 
 
 " You haven't any right to speak to me like that," 
 said Tom. He spoke very quietly. 
 
 " I am speaking for my daughter," cried Belknap. 
 
 Tom rammed his hands deep in his pockets and 
 turned away with a disdainful shrug. " Jane 
 wouldn't stoop to ask such a question," he said. 
 
 " Please don't say any more, Dad," begged the 
 girl. " Can't you see the position you are placing 
 him in?" 
 
 " I'm going to get at the truth of this thing, here 
 and now," shouted the Judge, whose temper was 
 rapidly disintegrating under the combined shocks of 
 Tom's contemptuous manner and Jane's persistent
 
 158 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 interference. " What claim has this girl on you ? " 
 he roared again. 
 
 Tom looked at Jane out of the corner of his eye 
 before he decided to answer. " No claim," he said 
 shortly. " We're very good friends. That's all." 
 
 " I don't believe it," shouted Belknap. 
 
 " Then," said Tom, " there isn't any use of my 
 saying anything more." 
 
 " If you don't," bellowed the Judge, " we will be 
 justified in forming our own conclusions.'* 
 
 " You seem to have done that already," retorted 
 Tom. 
 
 For the moment the Judge's wrath choked him. 
 Jane hastened to his side. 
 
 "Father please," she pleaded. 
 
 Belknap pulled himself together. " I can't ex- 
 pect you to understand, Jane," he said, " but I've 
 seen that type of woman before." He turned to 
 Tom and his voice rose again. " And I know," he 
 continued, " what such friendship means." 
 
 " Now, hold on, Judge Belknap." Tom's voice 
 cracked like a whip. " .You may say anything to 
 me that you please, but I shan't allow you to in- 
 sult Miss LeRoy." 
 
 The Judge blinked in astonishment at this fresh 
 audacity. 
 
 " Are you in love with her? " he asked. 
 
 " You know that I'm not." 
 
 " Then why constitute yourself her champion? "
 
 THE VERDICT 159 
 
 " I'd defend any woman who wasn't here to 
 speak for herself." Tom walked up to the Judge 
 and looked him in the eye at short range. He 
 spoke very deliberately, measuring the effect of 
 every word as it left his lips. " Just because Miss 
 LeRoy happens to be on the stage," he said, " it 
 doesn't give you the right to throw mud at her. I 
 know her and you don't, and she's just as good 
 and pure as any girl I know." 
 
 For a brief space the two glared at each other. 
 Then the Judge's lip curled and he turned away. 
 
 " I don't think we need discuss this subject any 
 further," he said, with bitter emphasis. " We un- 
 derstand each other, I think." Half way to the 
 door he stopped. 
 
 " From now on, you can do anything you please." 
 He passed out. " Come, Jane," he called, and con- 
 tinued up the stairs. 
 
 Tom gazed at the girl in mute appeal from the 
 Judge's decision. She hesitated, almost imper- 
 ceptibly, then started to follow her father. Tom 
 put himself in her path. 
 
 " Do you agree to that, Jane?" 
 
 " If you remember, Tom " something Hard rose 
 in her throat, but she gulped it down "If you re- 
 member, I told you that you were perfectly free to 
 choose." 
 
 " But this is all nonsense," he cried. " I haven't 
 done a thing except to lose my job."
 
 i6o THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 Jane's lips quivered. She fixed her eyes on the 
 wall beyond. Through the mist that dimmed them, 
 glimmered and danced a vision, all in brilliant blue, 
 framed in the dark doorway. Amy's picture had 
 not been lost. The trembling lips drew together 
 into a colorless line. 
 
 " Jane." Her father's voice rasped impatiently 
 from the landing above. 
 
 Jane's lips parted numbly. " I'm afraid " she 
 panted in a hoarse whisper, and stopped short, seek- 
 ing for words and tones which should disguise her 
 jealousy and cover up a strange, sudden weakness 
 which shamed her before Tom. When she spoke 
 again, her voice rang in her ears with a curious, con- 
 ventional coldness. 
 
 " I'm afraid," she repeated, " that you still lack 
 character." 
 
 She moved forward. Tom stepped aside. 
 
 " Listen, Jane," he cried despairingly. " If you 
 leave me like this, I won't be responsible for what 
 I do." 
 
 She hesitated once again, and again her father's 
 summons sounded. Now she had left the room, 
 and Tom could hear each footfall as she slowly 
 mounted the stairs. 
 
 He fell into a chair and buried his face in his 
 hands. 
 
 " Very well, if that's the way you want it to be," 
 he murmured brokenly.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 MISS DUNSTAN'S WATERLOO 
 
 ALONE in New York without a dollar! 
 Three weeks more had brought Tom Wilson 
 to this sorry pass. He had reached the end of his 
 tether, almost the end of his hopes. 
 
 It had not been for lack of courage and effort. 
 Tom had tried hard tried everything. He had 
 haunted employment agencies. Daily he pored 
 through the " want " pages of the World and other 
 newspapers. Columns upon columns of opportuni- 
 ties were there for men trained in some special line 
 of work; nothing at all, it seemed, for the man who 
 was willing to do anything. The one thing Tom 
 could do well was to run an automobile, and he 
 sought diligently for work of that sort. But it was 
 the dull season for the taxicab companies and the 
 owners of luxurious private cars were in Europe, or 
 touring the country. Besides, there were difficul- 
 ties about licenses and references that proved insur- 
 mountable. 
 
 He woke one day to find himself without carfare 
 or the price of a newspaper. He had fallen further 
 and further in arrears with his landlady, and evic- 
 tion and park benches were staring him in the face. 
 161
 
 162 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 He had kept away from the boarding house as much 
 as he could of late, appearing only for meals and 
 slinking in late at night to avoid Mrs. Bannan's 
 hostile glare, which followed each mouthful as it 
 disappeared. He went about with a furtive look, 
 as though he had been guilty of some crime. To 
 be without money in New York is a crime they 
 send you to The Island. 
 
 He walked the streets at night, past gorgeous 
 restaurants, where the price of a meal for two would 
 have squared him for a month with Mrs. Bannan. 
 He fell to studying the streams of faces. The gay, 
 the thoughtless, the contented they had money, 
 but they seemed a small minority. He saw more 
 like himself, troubled, anxious, desperate, and he set 
 it all down to empty pockets. He was wrong, of 
 course, in most cases, but it was the natural mistake 
 of youth to translate the complex expression of the 
 woes of a great city into the terms of his own wretch- 
 edness and inexperience. He fell at last into a con- 
 dition of reckless despair. There seemed no chance 
 for him, and, although he did not give up trying, he 
 almost ceased to expect anything but rebuffs and 
 failure. 
 
 As for Jane he tried not to think of her. There 
 was nothing that could be done. Besides, a more 
 pressing problem worried him. His shoes were 
 wearing out. They had become broken and shape- 
 less and altogether disreputable. When he entered
 
 MISS DUNSTAN'S WATERLOO 163 
 
 an office or a shop, it was necessary to get them out 
 of sight, if possible. Nobody would hire a man 
 who wore such shoes. 
 
 It was characteristic of Tom's sense of justice 
 that he did not think of blaming Amy for what had 
 occurred. He had no notion of the adroit manoeu- 
 vre by which she had succeeded in placing him at a 
 disadvantage with Jane. Such feminine wiles were 
 entirely outside the scope of his Fairview experi- 
 ence. It was surely an unlucky chance that had 
 brought Amy upon the scene so inopportunely. Even 
 at that, Tom did not realize how mischievous her 
 appearance had been, how much it had to do with 
 Jane's decision. He and Amy were better friends 
 than ever. He was still her guardian and pro- 
 tector. She was the only being in New York who 
 seemed to place any value upon his services. To 
 her he was still able to be of use. 
 
 He had seen nothing further of Jimmy Michael- 
 son. Amy had easily been able to manage that. 
 
 One night it was the night of the day on which 
 Tom's shoe burst clear across the upper there 
 was an unusual illumination in the parlor of the Ban- 
 nan boarding house. The big landlady was absent, 
 having at Leitz's solicitation, accompanied him to 
 the roof garden, that she might satisfy herself with 
 her own eyes as to the mooted ability of Miss Le- 
 Roy to buy diamonds out of her earnings as an ac- 
 tress. Miss Dunstan had taken advantage of this
 
 164 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 opportunity to put in a solid evening of practice at 
 the piano, where she pounded and shrieked with a 
 deserving persistence. To her, thus engaged, en- 
 tered Lucy, the colored maid, yawning and grum- 
 bling at the task which was keeping her out of her 
 bed long after her hour. 
 
 This task was to prepare sleeping quarters for 
 Tom Wilson. Tom had been moved again, to the 
 station nearest the street door. His old-fashioned, 
 wooden trunk was standing under the parlor win- 
 dow, and various of his most intimate personal be- 
 longings were heaped upon it or lay scattered on the 
 floor where they had fallen when the mass had been 
 dumped. In another corner stood his bed, a piece 
 of furniture that paraded by daylight as a combina- 
 tion bookcase and writing desk. 
 
 Lucy gave the pillows a final pounding, then drew 
 tight the strap which held the bedding in place dur- 
 ing its hours of masquerade, and banged the bed 
 shut. She went out into the hall and returned with 
 a pitcher of water and a wash bowl, which she placed 
 on top of the trunk, making room for them by push- 
 ing a few more of Tom's things off on to the floor. 
 Then, with a sleepy glance about the room to see 
 that everything had been done in accordance with 
 the instructions of Mrs. Bannan, she began without 
 a word to turn out the gas lights, first the chande- 
 lier, lastly the lamp that stood on the piano above 
 Miss Dunstan's music.
 
 MISS DUNSTAN'S WATERLOO 165 
 
 The room was left in darkness, save for the dim 
 rays which a distant street lamp sent through the 
 windows. Miss Dunstan's music ended with a bang 
 as she dropped both her hands on the keyboard. 
 She jumped from the stool. 
 
 " What are you doing, Lucy? " she cried. 
 
 " Mrs. Bannan don't like no gas goin' after ten 
 o'clock," answered the black girl sullenly. 
 
 " But I must have some light to see my music." 
 
 Lucy was unmoved. " Dem's de rules, Miss 
 Dunstan," she said. " An* you know how she fusses 
 when dey's broke." 
 
 " Seems to me I'm entitled to some considera- 
 tion," snapped the blonde woman. " I pay my 
 board regularly." 
 
 " Don't know nothin' 'bout dat," replied Lucy in 
 stubborn tones. " I only knows what I'se told, and 
 I was told to fix a place for Mr. Wilson to sleep 
 here, and den put out de lights. Dat lets me out," 
 and she turned to go. 
 
 The front door slammed loudly as Lucy delivered 
 herself of this ultimatum. As she attempted to 
 leave the parlor, the broad form of Joe Weinstein 
 blocked the exit. 
 
 "What's the matter?" sang Joe, as he peered 
 into the darkened parlor. " Is the house pulled? " 
 
 " Thank goodness, you've come," cried Miss 
 Dunstan, hysterically. " Perhaps you can induce 
 Lucy to go to bed and mind her own business."
 
 166 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 Lucy sniffed loudly. " You don' s'pose I'se 
 stayin' up to hear de loose stuff what you'se tearin' 
 off o' dat ting? " she retorted. 
 
 Joe advanced into the room. " On your way, 
 Salome," said he to the black girl. " You'll have to 
 get breakfast for us in a little while. To the hay 
 for yours." 
 
 " Dat's de way wid white folks," whimpered the 
 girl. " Dey don' appreciate nothin' what you 
 does." 
 
 Joe fumbled in his pocket and produced a coin. 
 " Here," he said. " Go and buy yourself an auto- 
 mobile." 
 
 The black face was split by a wide grin. " 'Course 
 I didn't mean you, Mr. Weinstein," said Lucy. " If 
 all de folks was like you " 
 
 " I'm strong for that disrobing act," interrupted 
 Joe. " So go to it, Salome. I'll fix it with mother." 
 He struck a match on his trousers and, with 
 great deliberation, relighted every jet in the 
 chandelier. 
 
 " I hope you understan* my position," said the 
 girl, backing to the door. " If Mrs. Bannan says 
 anything to me for this, I'll quit her, flat." With 
 which defiance of the absent tyrant she took herself 
 away unto her own place. 
 
 Miss Dunstan, her courage restored by the ex- 
 ample of Joe's, relighted the piano lamp and re- 
 turned to her stool. " I'm glad to see somebody
 
 MISS DUNSTdN'S WATERLOO 167 
 
 with independence in this house," she snapped. 
 " Does my music annoy you? " 
 
 " Not if it gives you pleasure, girlie," said Wein- 
 stein. He produced another match, lighted the 
 reading lamp on the small table under the chande- 
 lier, settled himself in an easy chair and unfolded 
 a copy of the Morning Telegraph which he carried 
 in his hand. He skimmed rapidly over the head- 
 lines of the theatrical and sporting stones that filled 
 its first pages and turned to the tables of race-track 
 performances in the rear. Miss Dunstan watched 
 him. 
 
 " Play something sad," he said. " My feelings 
 are hurt." 
 
 " Did somebody insult you? " inquired Miss Dun- 
 Stan, with whom such a happening was of frequent 
 occurrence. 
 
 " Naw," said Joe, disdainfully. " I got stung 
 for all I had, to-night." 
 
 "Ain't that too bad?" she sympathized. 
 "Would you like me to play the Barcarolle? " 
 
 Joe looked around with an expression of interest. 
 It sounded so much like " bank-roll," as Miss Dun- 
 stan pronounced it. "Is that a gambling song?" 
 he asked. 
 
 " It's from the Tales of Hoffman," explained the 
 singer, in pity of his ignorance. " It's one of my 
 favorites, and I think it's grand." 
 
 " The grander it is the better I'll like it," Joe
 
 168 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 assured her. He settled himself to a study of the 
 " dope " for the morrow's races, while she pro- 
 ceeded to soothe his troubled feelings with the magic 
 of harmony. She had hardly got fairly started 
 when Merkle burst into the room though the cur- 
 tained door that led into the back parlor. 
 
 The newspaper man was a seedy looking object. 
 He had left his bed in haste. He came in rubbing 
 his eyes. He had thrust his legs into his trousers, 
 his feet into a pair of slippers and wrapped a tat- 
 tered dressing gown about his pajamas. His thick 
 black hair stood upright, in two tumbled ridges 
 along either side of his elongated bald spot, giving 
 him a peculiarly Satanic appearance as he glared at 
 the pianist. 
 
 " Is this an all night session ? " he shouted. Miss 
 Dunstan affected not to notice him. Weinstein 
 glanced up drowsily from his Morning Telegraph 
 and turned in his chair to face the intruder. 
 
 " Hello, Merkle," he said. " When did you get 
 in?" 
 
 " I've been trying to sleep for half an hour," 
 growled Merkle, keeping a ferocious eye on Miss 
 Dunstan. "What does she think she's doing?" 
 He walked across the room, leaned across the 
 square-topped instrument and said : 
 
 " Excuse me, Miss Dunstan. Don't you think it's 
 time to quit ? " 
 
 Miss Dunstan clasped her hands with the sudden-
 
 MISS DUNSTAN'S WATERLOO 169 
 
 ness which, on the operatic stage, serves to denote 
 extreme agitation. " How you startled me ! " she 
 gasped. " I was so wrapped up in the music that 
 I almost imagined myself in Venice." 
 
 "Then," suggested Merkle, "perhaps it 
 wouldn't require much effort on your part to call a 
 gondola and paddle away." 
 
 She flared up at him. " I am playing this by 
 special request," she cried. 
 
 " My request is also special," said Merkle. 
 " Don't." 
 
 " I shall do nothing of the kind," she retorted 
 angrily. She brought both hands down on the key- 
 board with every ounce of her weight behind them, 
 and clawed away at top speed. 
 
 Merkle stood watching her for a few moments 
 with a savage look in his eye, then stepped to the 
 window and threw it open. Instantly the room was 
 filled with appalling discord. From the beer garden 
 across the way, propelled by the full power of the 
 beer garden orchestra, the notes of " Has Anybody 
 Here Seen Kelly? " crashed into the room and 
 grappled with the clanging " Barcarolle." The 
 struggle was fierce while it lasted. Sharps and flats 
 collided in midair and expired with a miserable 
 clatter. The piano crackled like a machine gun 
 under Miss Dunstan's heroic efforts. 
 
 Joe Weinstein leaped from his chair and pressed 
 his hands to his tortured ears. Merkle seated him-
 
 iyo THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 self nonchalantly on a corner of Tom's trunk, and, 
 with a slight smile on his face, awaited the inevitable 
 outcome. 
 
 It came with a final crash of the piano, in which 
 Miss Dunstan concentrated the remnants of her 
 strength and fury. She jumped from the stool, 
 snatched up her music, and advanced upon the im- 
 passive figure by the window. 
 
 " Mr. Merkle," she shrieked, in tones which 
 " Kelly's " utmost effort could not overwhelm, " I 
 once referred to you as a gentleman. I shall apolo- 
 gize for my mistake. Good night, Mr. Weinstein." 
 And she stamped out of the room. 
 
 Merkle watched her out with a wooden face. 
 Then he fished a half smoked pipe from the pocket 
 of the tattered dressing gown, lighted it, and puffed 
 away with an air of calm satisfaction. Joe waved 
 imploring hands towards the window. 
 
 " Gee, that's awful," he cried. 
 
 Merkle rose deliberately and drew down the win- 
 dow. " Desperate cases require desperate reme- 
 dies," he quoted, resuming his perch on the trunk.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 FRIDAY, THE THIRTEENTH 
 
 JOE WEINSTEIN returned to his seat and his 
 study of probabilities. Merkle, who seemed in 
 no great hurry to resume his quest of sleep, smoked 
 for a time in brooding silence. His eye lighted on 
 Joe's paper. 
 
 "That this evening's dope sheet?" he inquired. 
 
 " No," grunted Joe, sunk deep in his chair. 
 " To-morrow morning's Telegraph." 
 
 There was another depressing silence. Merkle 
 searched his pocket in an absent manner for a match 
 to relight his pipe, which had expired for lack of 
 nursing. Not finding one, he rose to his feet with 
 something between a yawn and a sigh. 
 
 " What kind of a night did you have, Joe? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Rotten," said Joe. He laid his paper across 
 his knees and looked up. " Stung for all I had," 
 he added. 
 
 "Broke?" 
 
 Joe nodded gloomily. " Serves me right," he 
 said. " I should have gone into moving pictures 
 when I had the chance." 
 
 " You seem to be running in hard luck lately," 
 171
 
 172 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 commented Merkle. " What's the matter with the 
 show business, anyway? " 
 
 Joe rallied. " If I knew," he said, with a he- 
 roic attempt at his usual jesting manner, " I'd sell 
 out to the syndicate." 
 
 Neither man smiled. Merkle began walking up 
 and down the room, his hands clasped behind him, 
 his eyes on the floor. An excursion longer than 
 usual brought one of Tom's slippers into his field 
 of vision. He halted and looked at it, then at the 
 trunk by the window. 
 
 "Who's sleeping here to-night?" he asked. 
 
 " Wilson." 
 
 "Does he know it?" 
 
 " She handed him the big news at dinner," said 
 Joe. "Likewise a P. S. to the effect that, if he 
 didn't come across with a little loose change to- 
 night, she'd have to slip him the raspberry." 
 " Too bad," he added, after a sympathetic pause. 
 " Seems a nice young fellow, but he's in wrong." 
 
 "How do you mean?" 
 
 " Figure it out for yourself," said Joe, with a 
 lift of palms and eyebrows. " Kid from the 
 country, small salary, chasing around with a dame 
 who puts herself away for a Broadway queen." 
 He picked up his paper. " Don't think there's 
 anything wrong, myself," he said, " but ever since 
 the night his friends called on him, he's been a 
 different fellow."
 
 FRIDAY, THE THIRTEENTH 173 
 
 "What night was that?" 
 
 "The night LeRoy blew in with the soup and 
 fish. Don't you remember? About three weeks 
 ago. The girl from his home town " 
 
 Merkle's face lighted. "Oh, yes," he said, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " She must have slipped him the exit sign," theo- 
 rized Joe. " He's probably hanging around the 
 corner now waiting for a chance to sneak in without 
 the old lady seeing him." He rose suddenly to his 
 feet. " Speaking of angels " he said. 
 
 For the object of his irreverent characterization 
 had suddenly thrown open the door and swooped 
 in upon them, scarlet with rage. The giantess was 
 in gaudy evening dress, and, to judge from the 
 amount of blood visible in her upper works, her 
 heart must have been pumped quite dry. Leitz 
 trailed behind her. 
 
 " My God," she screamed, in tragic accents. 
 " Every burner going and my gas bill is something 
 awful." She reached for the chandelier, turning, 
 as she did so, a menacing countenance on Weinstein 
 and Merkle. "Who is responsible for this?" she 
 demanded. 
 
 " 'Tain't the dinge's fault, Mother," said Joe. 
 " I told her I'd fix it with you." 
 
 Mrs. Bannan did not desist until she had extin- 
 guished every burner save that in the reading 
 lamp. What with her wrath, her hurry and the
 
 i 7 4 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 tightness of her evening gown, she was puffing pain- 
 fully. 
 
 " I can't even go out one night to enjoy myself 
 without getting the worst of it," she complained, 
 with her first spare breath. " And I get so few 
 chances to see a little life." 
 
 "How'd you like the show?" asked Joe, sooth- 
 ingly. 
 
 " It wasn't bad," she conceded. ' 
 
 Joe winked at Merkle. " Thanks for them kind 
 words," he said gratefully. But Mrs. Bannan had 
 more glad tidings to impart. 
 
 " Miss LeRoy hasn't got no part at all," she an- 
 nounced with an air of great satisfaction, " and I 
 didn't see one dress there as good as mine." 
 
 Joe's eyes wandered up and down over the bil- 
 lows of striped silk which encompassed her. 
 " Who made your dress? " he asked, " The Fuller 
 Construction Company? " Before she could arrive 
 at his meaning, he added quickly: " Did you go to 
 supper?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," she cried with enthusiasm, " Mr. 
 Leitz took me to an awful swell place. We went 
 to the Madrid." 
 
 " Oh," said Joe, with another wink at Merkle, 
 " Leitzy's always there with that highbrow stuff." 
 Mrs. Bannan turned to her favorite. 
 
 " Run downstairs and get the beer, dearie," she 
 said. " The key is under the icebox." Leitz dis-
 
 FRIDAY, THE THIRTEENTH 175 
 
 appeared with alacrity. The landlady glanced 
 around the room. 
 
 "Ain't Mr. Wilson come in yet?" she de- 
 manded. 
 
 " Haven't seen him," said Joe. 
 
 " Well, if you do, you tell him not to go to bed 
 without letting me know, because I want to see him 
 about something very important." She turned to 
 the door. " Don't forget." 
 
 " We won't," said Weinstein. 
 
 The landlady placed her hands on her equator, 
 one on either side, and squeezed mightily. " I got 
 to go and make myself comfortable," said she. 
 " Good night." 
 
 " Good night, Mother," said Joe. He watched 
 her as she hoisted herself up the stairs by the aid 
 of the creaking railing, then turned to Merkle, who 
 had been standing aside without a word. 
 
 "Get that about the kid?" he asked. 
 
 Merkle nodded. 
 
 " I'd stake him if I had it," continued Joe. " I 
 guess you would too." 
 
 " Sure," said Merkle. 
 
 They both turned towards the door as Leitz ap- 
 peared from below with his arms full of beer bot- 
 tles. The barber paused with a grin which invited 
 greedy contemplation of his burden, then continued 
 on up the stairs to the landlady's room. 
 
 " She's sitting up for him all right,'' said Joe,
 
 176 THE COUNTRY BOY. 
 
 taking envious note of the number of the bottles 
 with which Mrs. Bannan would while away the time 
 of waiting. He returned to his chair and his Morn- 
 ing Telegraph. " Well," he said, with a philo- 
 sophic shrug, " it's none of our funeral," and re- 
 sumed his study of the " dope." Merkle started 
 for his bed with a yawn. " Good night, Joe," he 
 said. 
 
 He had reached the door and placed his hand on 
 the curtains, when a sharp rustle of Joe's paper and 
 a loud exclamation caused him to look back. Joe 
 was sitting bolt upright on the edge of his chair 
 and staring at something in the paper as if he could 
 not trust his eyes. He was breathing hard, and 
 the hands which gripped the sheet were trembling 
 with sudden excitement. 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked Merkle. 
 
 Joe did not seem to hear. He turned the page 
 and stared at the other side with equal interest. 
 Then his lips moved as if he were counting to him- 
 self. Reassured, apparently, by the result of his 
 calculations, he threw down the paper, dived into 
 his pocket and drew forth a few crumpled bills and 
 some loose change, which he reckoned up with care. 
 He shook his head over the total and turned sud- 
 denly to Merkle. 
 
 "How much have you got?" he demanded. 
 
 " Money? " 
 
 Joe nodded.
 
 FRIDAY, THE THIRTEENTH 177 
 
 " Not much," said Merkle, ruefully. 
 
 "Look!" cried Joe. 
 
 Affected despite himself, by the contagion of 
 [foe's mysterious excitement, Merkle probed his 
 pockets. The search produced a total of twelve 
 dollars and thirty-five cents. 
 
 Joe held out his hand. " Slip it to me," he said, 
 eagerly. 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " It's a hunch," exclaimed Joe. " I've been 
 waiting for it for weeks, and it's just come." 
 
 " A hunch," jeered the newspaper man. He 
 smiled the pitying smile of the seasoned gambler. 
 " What kind of a hunch? " he asked. 
 
 " Thirteen," said Joe. 
 
 Merkle stared at his friend as if he feared he 
 were losing his reason. "Thirteen what? " he de- 
 manded. 
 
 " Just the number," said Joe. " It's been star- 
 ing me in the face all night and I didn't see it." 
 He thrust the paper before Merkle's eyes and 
 pointed to the title line at the top of the page. 
 " Look," he adjured him. " It's the thirteenth, 
 and a Friday." 
 
 " But this is Thursday," Merkle reminded 
 him. 
 
 " Look at your watch," cried Weinstein. 
 
 Just to convince Joe of his folly, Merkle pro- 
 duced his timepiece. As he glanced at the dial a
 
 178 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 change came over his face. He held it up for Joe 
 to see. 
 
 " Thirteen after twelve," he said, with a thrill 
 in his deep voice that bespoke a sudden excitement 
 he could not entirely suppress. 
 
 Joe was dancing around the room in his excite- 
 ment. " You can't beat it, I tell you," he cried. 
 " I've got nine and a half. Your twelve thirty- 
 five makes it twenty something. I'll put it all on 
 the thirteen." He entered upon a hasty calcula- 
 tion. "Thirty-five times twenty makes Gee!" 
 he broke off, " it's enough to start a moving picture 
 show, and I know the dandiest little wheel in Forty- 
 sixth street." 
 
 " Roulette? " exclaimed Merkle. He shoved his 
 wealth back into his pocket. " Not with my 
 money," he said, disdainfully. 
 
 " But," pleaded Joe, " we can make a little kill- 
 ing with that money, and " 
 
 " Nay, nay," interrupted the older man, with a 
 deprecating lift of the hand. " I was brought up 
 on that game." 
 
 Joe laid beseeching hands upon him. " Come in 
 while the hunch is warm," he pleaded. " They 
 never fail, and this one's a pipe." 
 
 " I'd like to, Joe," said Merkle, " but it's my 
 last." 
 
 " Can't get far on twelve bones," argued Joe. 
 
 " More than a week's board," retorted Merkle.
 
 FRIDAY, THE THIRTEENTH 179 
 
 " Paying board don't get you anything," persisted 
 Joe. The gambling fever had seized him and he 
 would not be denied. " Come on," he begged, 
 " take a chance." 
 
 Merkle wavered. " I'll split it," he said, will- 
 ing to humor his friend. 
 
 Joe's eyes gleamed. " Don't be a piker," he 
 urged. " All or nothing." 
 
 Merkle's half-hearted resistance collapsed at the 
 injurious word. After all, what did it matter? 
 Joe's hunch might win. He had known hunches 
 that did. And 
 
 " Oh, well " he said, and dug down for his 
 money. 
 
 Joe gave him no chance to change his mind. He 
 grabbed the stake and added it to his own. 
 "That's the talk!" he cried, enthusiastically. 
 " We'll pull off the biggest win of the year. Just 
 you watch." And he seized his hat from the table 
 and sprang for the door. Merkle stopped him. 
 
 " Wait a minute, Joe," he said. 
 
 Joe clutched at the pocket which held the money 
 in sudden alarm. " Don't renig," he cried. 
 
 " I'm not renigging," replied Merkle. He en- 
 tered his room and returned in a moment with some- 
 thing in his hand which he extended to Joe. 
 
 " Here's another dime," he said. 
 
 Joe seized the coin. " Fine," he cried, admir- 
 ingly- Joe loved a real sport when he saw him.
 
 i8o THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 Merkle's eyes were sparkling with an unwonted 
 lustre, but he affected an exaggerated concern as 
 he saw Joe pocket his last visible means of support. 
 
 " If you don't win, God help you," he said, with 
 mock solemnity. 
 
 As Joe darted into the hall, he almost ran over 
 Tom Wilson in the darkness. " Hello, kid," he 
 cried. " See you in a little while," and slammed 
 the front door without waiting to apologize. 
 
 Tom, surprised at his abruptness, stopped in the 
 doorway and started down the hall. 
 
 "What's the matter with Joe?" he asked. 
 
 With Joe's departure, Merkle's enthusiasm had 
 suddenly gone dead. 
 
 " Nothing," he growled, with a gesture of dis- 
 gust. " Just a hunch."
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 MERKLE MAKES CONVERSATION 
 
 TOM closed the 'door behind him and looked 
 around the room as if in search of something. 
 
 " Thought I was to sleep here to-night," he said. 
 
 " .You'll find all your stuff around here," replied 
 Merkle, busy at a writing desk in the corner. 
 
 "Why not have some light?" demanded Tom, 
 and went to work on the chandelier, unaware that 
 it was the third illegal illumination of the evening 
 that he was producing. Merkle meantime had 
 found what he was after, a 'day-by-day desk calen- 
 dar. He rapidly tore off the top sheets till he had 
 brought it up ro date, then penciling a heavy black 
 circle around the number 13, he propped the calen- 
 dar up on top of the desk, walked to the center of 
 the room and, his hands in his empty pockets, a 
 whimsical smile on his face, turned to observe the 
 effect. Tom, not understanding what this strange 
 conduct might mean and too listless to inquire, ap- 
 proached his trunk and gazed ruefully at his scat- 
 tered belongings. 
 
 " Wouldn't you think she'd have given me a 
 chance to pack my own things? " he said, as much to 
 himself as to his companion. 
 
 181
 
 i82 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 His words reminded Merkle of something. 
 " Old lady said she wanted to see you to-night," he 
 said to Tom. 
 
 " Guess I know what she wants," replied the 
 youth, as he set to work to collect his things. 
 
 "Anything doing?" queried Merkle. 
 
 " She'll be disappointed," said Tom. 
 
 " Too bad," muttered Merkle. He seated him- 
 self beside the reading table and watched Tom 
 keenly for a short while. ".Your third change, 
 isn't it? " he asked at last. 
 
 " Fifth," said Tom, working away. " From the 
 fourth story back, all the way to the parlor. This 
 is the last stop before hitting the sidewalk." He 
 stood up and grinned at Merkle. "That's some- 
 thing to be thankful for," he said. 
 
 Merkle grunted his assent, but said nothing, 
 though he liked the way Tom was taking it. It was 
 all bluff, he knew, but Merkle liked a good, game 
 bluff above all things. From among the articles 
 piled on the lid of his trunk, Tom extracted a bun- 
 dle of photographs which he threw on the table 
 near Merkle. Then he squirmed out of his coat 
 and into his dressing gown and proceeded to arrange 
 his toilet articles, making the top of his trunk do 
 duty as a dressing table. Finally he retrieved his 
 slippers, seated himself in the chair on the other side 
 of the reading table, and began slowly to unlace his 
 shoes.
 
 MERKLE MAKES CONFERSATION 183 
 
 "Where did you go to-night?" asked Merkle, 
 who, for some reason of his own, seemed desirous 
 of luring Tom into conversation. 
 
 " Down town," replied Tom absently. 
 
 " What did you see? Anything? " 
 
 " Didn't go to a show," replied Tom. " Just 
 watched the crowds along Broadway." 
 
 Merkle had done the same thing under much the 
 same circumstances and was therefore well able to 
 imagine just what sort of a bitterly lonesome even- 
 ing Tom must have spent among the gay throngs 
 that scatter their foolish money up and down the 
 Great White Way at night. But he was too wise to 
 offer sympathy to Tom in the youth's present state 
 of mind. 
 
 "Great sight, isn't it?" was all he said. He 
 picked up one of the photographs that Tom had 
 placed on the table and looked at it with interest. 
 
 " This your home? " he asked presently. 
 
 " Yes," said Tom. " Our cottage in Fairview." 
 
 Merkle put the photograph back on the heap. 
 " Nice looking house," he said. " Who's living 
 there now? " 
 
 " Just my mother." 
 
 "Um-m-m." Merkle's voice lingered long on 
 the vocable. "Only you two in the family?" he 
 drawled. 
 
 There was something in this speech that made 
 Tom glance up quickly. It wasn't disapproval ex-
 
 1 84 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 actly, it was too impersonal for that. It was rather 
 a note of mild wonder, but it made Tom feel that 
 he was somehow on the defensive in Merkle's 
 thoughts, whatever those might be. Tom, who was 
 not in a mood to endure criticism to-night, gazed 
 sharply at the newspaper man, but Merkle's eyes 
 were fixed vacantly on the wall opposite, and his 
 face was bare of any definite expression. Tom re- 
 turned to his struggle with a refractory knot in his 
 shoestring. 
 
 " That's all," he answered quietly, but his im- 
 patience found vent in a quick tug that snapped the 
 string. He examined the pieces carefully. They 
 had been knotted several times, and it was a grave 
 question what he should do for another string. 
 Merkle's voice distracted his attention from this im- 
 portant economic problem. 
 
 " Wish I had a home like that," the newspaper 
 man was saying. There was a wistful note in his 
 deep voice that Tom had never heard there before. 
 He would hardly have believed that Merkle was 
 capable of emitting such a note. He gazed, curi- 
 ously this time, at his cantankerous friend. Merkle 
 had slumped back in his chair, like a man thoroughly 
 wearied. He was still gazing fixedly before him, 
 but his eyes were focused in a far away stare, as 
 though he were looking right through the wall to 
 something beyond from which he was unwilling to 
 withdraw them. The shoe slipped from Tom's
 
 MERKLE MAKES CONVERSATION 185 
 
 hand and fell to the floor with an echoing crash. 
 Merkle did not stir. 
 
 "What would you do with it?" Tom asked at 
 last. The silence was getting on his nerves. 
 
 Merkle came out of his trance with a sharp 
 shake of his head, like that which a fighter gives 
 to clear his brain from the dizzying effect of a 
 blow. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," he answered, with a return 
 to his usual harsh tones. Then, as if feeling that 
 Tom's question, having naturally grown out of his 
 own, was entitled to something further in the way 
 of reply, he added: "But it's mighty fine to have 
 some place to go to when things aren't breaking 
 right." 
 
 Tom picked up the photograph in his turn, but 
 threw it down again after a hasty glance. " I'm 
 not in a frame of mind to appreciate anything to- 
 night," he said, as if he rather resented Merkle's 
 ability to do so under the borrowed inspiration of 
 another man's photograph. 
 
 Merkle eyed him for a moment. " Anything 
 gone wrong? " he asked. 
 
 " No," replied Tom. " Just depressed," and he 
 shut his jaws secretively. 
 
 " That's a rotten feeling," said Merkle. Some- 
 how he made Tom feel that he was speaking out of 
 the fullness of experience. "What kind of work 
 are you after?" he asked suddenly.
 
 186 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " Anything that will keep me going for a while," 
 said Tom. " Know of anything? " 
 
 " Ever try journalism? " inquired Merkle. 
 
 " Once for a Buffalo paper." 
 
 " I said JOURNALISM." Merkle, metropolitan 
 to the core of his newspaper soul, shot forth the 
 word with scornful emphasis. 
 
 " I'd last about two minutes," said Tom, hope- 
 lessly. 
 
 " Never can tell," said Merkle. " Some awful 
 dubs get away with it in this town," he added, with 
 a bitterness that had in it the concentrated essence 
 of the disappointments of years. Tom was too 
 much engrossed with his own troubles to notice, for 
 which Merkle, suddenly bethinking himself, was 
 grateful. He seldom let himself go so far. 
 
 " I'm willing to try anything with a salary at- 
 tached," Tom was saying. 
 
 " Well," said Merkle, " we'll see what we can 
 do." Tom shoved his feet into his slippers, picked 
 up his shoes, and rose with a stifled yawn. 
 
 " See Miss LeRoy to-night? " asked Merkle sud- 
 denly. 
 
 " No," replied Tom with apparent indifference. 
 " I called at the theater to-night, but she had gone." 
 
 " Oh," said Merkle. 
 
 Tom yawned again, ostentatiously this time. 
 " If the old lady wants to see me to-night, she'd 
 better call quick," he observed.
 
 MERKLE MAKES CONVERSATION 187 
 
 The newspaper man ignored the hint. Instead 
 of taking himself off, he settled himself more com- 
 fortably in his chair. " She'll be along as soon as 
 she gets her theater rags off," he said. " She saw 
 the show to-night," he added, with another rapid 
 glance at Tom. 
 
 " Did she? " asked Tom, turning away carelessly. 
 
 "Yes," said Merkle. He waited for a moment 
 for Tom to ask questions, but Tom, divining his 
 purpose, would not ask. Merkle got up. 
 
 " I want to talk to you about her, kid," he said. 
 
 "About whom?" 
 
 " Miss LeRoy." 
 
 Tom turned quickly, but Merkle went on more 
 quickly still, shutting off the youth's attempts to in- 
 terrupt him. " Now wait a minute, son," he said. 
 " I know what you're going to say. No, I know 
 it's none of my business. But I'm a bit older than 
 you and I've seen a lot more of the world than you 
 have, so don't think I'm butting in just for the fun 
 of the thing." Tom was silent perforce. " You're 
 up against a hard proposition there," Merkle con- 
 tinued, " and I want to help you." 
 
 He stopped and looked at the boy as though in- 
 viting his confidence. 
 
 " I appreciate your kindness," said Torn stiffly. 
 " But I'm not in need of any help at present." 
 
 " Now don't get sore, son," said Merkle, placing 
 his hand fatherwise on Tom's shoulder. " You're
 
 i88 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 only one among thousands of others who have come 
 down here to this city with a heart full of love and 
 sympathy for everybody in it, only to have it knocked 
 out of you by a shallow, fickle, insincere woman, 
 and this woman " he paused and his hand dropped 
 to his side " this woman isn't worth it." 
 
 " Stop right there, Merkle," said Tom hotly, then 
 checked himself. Merkle's friendly candor de- 
 served something better than an angry rebuff. " I 
 don't concede your right to advise me in this or any 
 other matter." He stopped again, in spite of him- 
 self, at the hurt look in his friend's eyes, then went 
 on again in a different tone. 
 
 " So far as Miss LeRoy is concerned," he said, 
 u there is nothing you can tell me that I do not al- 
 ready know. She's been unfortunate, that's all, like 
 a lot of other inexperienced girls that come to the 
 city, but, there isn't anything in her life that she 
 hasn't told me of herself." 
 
 Merkle stared at him. " She told you herself? " 
 he repeated. 
 
 " Everything," said Tom, emphatically. " And 
 you will oblige me by dropping the subject." 
 
 Merkle stood looking at him without making any 
 reply. There were possibilities in Tom's declara- 
 tion that needed turning over in his mind. Did 
 Tom really know everything about Jimmy Mi- 
 chaelson, for instance? Merkle didn't believe it, 
 didn't want to believe it, at any rate. It was be-
 
 MERKLE MAKES CONVERSATION 189 
 
 yond nature that a girl of Amy LeRoy's type should 
 tell everything, was his harsh reflection. And yet, 
 there was nothing to be done. His shoulders rose 
 slightly as he acknowledged his helplessness to him- 
 self. 
 
 " That lets me out," he said, half aloud. Then, 
 to Tom : 
 
 " I'm sorry I offended you, old man." 
 
 " I'm not offended," said Tom, " only annoyed. 
 You've simply voiced what every person in this 
 house has been thinking for weeks, and it's unfair 
 to her." 
 
 Merkle's face cleared suddenly at Tom's remark, 
 and he extended his hand, which Tom grasped with- 
 out being able to imagine just what had moved 
 Merkle to offer it at this particular juncture. 
 
 " I hope you won't speak of it again," he said. 
 
 " I won't," said Merkle. 
 
 There was a loud knocking at the door that 
 opened into the hallway. They both faced it with 
 an expression of dismay.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 A LETTER FROM HOME 
 
 THE knocking was repeated, more vigorously 
 than before. The landlady's voice added it- 
 self to the din. Evidently Mrs. Bannan was in no 
 patient mood. 
 
 "You in there, Mr. Wilson?" she screamed 
 through the panel. 
 
 " Just a minute," Tom responded. 
 
 " I'll get out," said Merkle, with a guilty grin 
 at the flaring gas jets. 
 
 He walked slowly across the room towards his 
 door, but stopped and turned before he reached it. 
 
 " Good night, son," he said, almost tenderly. 
 He lingered a moment. 
 
 " Good night," said Tom. The newspaper man 
 withdrew. Tom followed him to his door and 
 drew the faded green portieres closely behind him. 
 Then he walked over to the reverberating hall 
 door, squaring his shoulders like one who is about 
 to repel a physical assault. 
 
 " Come," he said. 
 
 The door flew open. The glare of her wasting 
 gas smote the huge landlady full in the face. For 
 a moment she stood speechless and motionless at 
 190
 
 A LETTER FROM HOME 191 
 
 the defiance of her authority which this illumina- 
 tion signified. Then she made a motion towards 
 Tom as if to lay violent hands on him. 
 
 Fortunately nothing of the kind happened. 
 Help came to Tom from an unexpected source 
 the chandelier, which he had rescued from darkness 
 and disuse. A sharp, singing note fell suddenly 
 upon the landlady's ear. From a defective burner 
 a hissing stream of flame shot obliquely towards 
 the ceiling. Mrs. Bannan looked. The flame 
 shortened itself, strove to resume the normal square- 
 cut proportions of a well regulated gas jet, struggled 
 ineffectually for several burning seconds, and then 
 flashed out again, sharper and more sibilant than 
 before. 
 
 Mrs. Bannan forgot all about Tom's case for the 
 moment. All her horror of gas men and gas bills 
 rose to the surface of her emotional sea at the 
 sight, and the billows of her wrath smoothed them- 
 selves out under the oleaginous film of cupidity. 
 With three great strides she was beneath the 
 chandelier and clutching at the offending jet. She 
 abolished it, then turned to the others. When she 
 had finished, the room was in darkness, save for 
 the radiance which streamed down upon the floor 
 from the green shaded reading lamp. 
 
 Perhaps even this would not have escaped, save 
 for the fact that Mrs. Bannan was not garbed in a 
 manner which she would have considered proper for
 
 i 9 2 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 a dark room containing a handsome young single 
 gentleman. She had divested herself of the gay 
 habiliments to which Merkle had referred as her 
 " theater rags " and now stood forth in a single 
 garment, which brought to her, in comfort, more 
 than it robbed her of, in elegance. A cotton bath- 
 robe, of faded blue, enveloped her. It was secured 
 with a string about her massy neck and fell tar- 
 paulin-like till it swept the floor. It was one of 
 those robes that, in their original form are further 
 secured by a tasselled rope around the waist, but 
 Mrs. Bannan had lost or discarded this useful cinc- 
 ture, and made shift to preserve the unities by put- 
 ting a hand in either pocket and drawing the edges 
 ' of the garment together with the leverage which 
 these fulcrum points provided. 
 
 As she turned to vent her delayed wrath on Tom, 
 the landlady's hands suddenly recollected their 
 duty to their mistress and slid into place, leaving 
 her tongue to do battle alone. But Mrs. Bannan's 
 wrath ever fell suddenly as it rose. Then too, she 
 rather pitied Tom, who had always treated her with 
 friendly deference, even in his flush days, and the 
 thought that she was now obliged, purely for busi- 
 ness reasons to throw him out into the street, sof- 
 tened her heart. When she spoke, therefore, it was 
 more in sorrow than in anger. 
 
 " It's a good thing I was out to-night myself,"
 
 A LETTER FROM HOME 193 
 
 she began. " A nice time I'd have had waiting up 
 for you." 
 
 " I'm sorry," said Tom. The landlady eyed him 
 speculatively. 
 
 " I'm sorry," he said again, " but I haven't got 
 anything for you, Mrs. Bannan." 
 
 The landlady drew one hand from her pocket 
 with modest caution and held something out to Tom. 
 
 " Here's a letter," she said. " It came after you 
 left. Perhaps it's what you've been waiting for." 
 
 "Thank you," said Tom. He took the letter 
 over to the reading lamp and bent down to examine 
 the handwriting. He stood so a few moments, 
 while the landlady waited. He straightened up at 
 last, and faced her with the unopened letter in hisi 
 hand. 
 
 " I don't think it's going to help me," he said. 
 
 " From home, isn't it?" asked Mrs. Bannan. 
 
 " Yes. From my mother." 
 
 " Better open it," she suggested. 
 
 " I will, if you'll excuse me," he said, and bent 
 over the lamp again. She eyed him intently as he 
 tore open the flap and began to read. She saw him 
 start violently, almost at the first line, then a bitter 
 expression twisted his features and the letter slipped 
 from his hand and fluttered to the floor. His jaw 
 fell and he gaped stupidly ahead of him as though; 
 he had forgotten her presence.
 
 i 9 4 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 "Well?" she said sharply. 
 
 He recovered himself with a shivering intake of 
 the breath. 
 
 " It's it's not what I had expected," he stam- 
 mered. 
 
 " Didn't she send you anything? " demanded the 
 landlady. 
 
 " I hadn't asked her to send me anything," re- 
 plied Tom huskily. " She doesn't know anything 
 about it." He clutched at his throat. " It's about 
 about a friend of mine who is going to be mar- 
 ried." 
 
 At Tom's first words the landlady had moved 
 forward with fresh fires kindling in her eyes. At 
 the evidences of his distress, she relented. 
 
 " Then, I'm very sorry, Mr. Wilson " 
 
 "You needn't explain, Mrs. Bannan," Tom in- 
 terrupted quickly. " I understand perfectly. You 
 can't afford to keep me here, of course. You've 
 been very good to keep me here so long. I'll be 
 gone in the morning." 
 
 " That's all very well," retorted Mrs. Bannan, 
 back again in her proper role of landlady. " Very 
 well," she repeated. " But where do I get off?" 
 
 " I'll send you what I owe you some day," said 
 Tom. The landlady gave vent to a scornful " Ha ! 
 'Ha ! " at this indefinite assurance. " Meanwhile, 
 I'll leave you what I have. This watch is worth 
 something "
 
 A LETTER FROM HOME 195 
 
 He drew from his pocket an old-fashioned silver 
 timepiece. It had been his father's watch, and Tom 
 stood for a moment fumbling it before he handed it 
 over to Mrs. Bannan. She started to slip it into 
 her pocket, then slowly withdrew her hand and 
 looked from Tom to the watch and back again. 
 
 " I hope you understand my position, Mr. Wil- 
 son," said the landlady in a tone that was more 
 nearly apologetic than delinquent boarder had ever 
 heard from her lips before. " I have my own liv- 
 ing to make," she went on, " and I've been stung 
 before." 
 
 " I have no one but myself to blame, Mrs. Ban- 
 nan," said Tom. " Thank you for your trouble." 
 
 Still hesitating, the landlady turned the watch 
 over in her hand. Tom dully wished she'd make 
 an end of it and leave him alone. 
 
 " Good night," he said, curtly. 
 
 The landlady's head came up with a stiff jerk. 
 She dropped the watch into her pocket. Then her 
 eye sought the dark corner of the room where Tom's 
 trunk stood. 
 
 " I suppose you'll leave your things for secu- 
 rity," she said. 
 
 " Of course," he replied, moving towards the 
 door. 
 
 " Good night," said the landlady, and stalked 
 out. 
 
 Tom closed the door carefully behind her. He
 
 196 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 stood leaning there for a while, his hand still on 
 the knob and a dazed look in his eyes as if he did 
 not know which way to turn. The noise of a wagon 
 clattering along the stony street roused him from 
 his reflections, and he walked slowly into the room, 
 rubbing his head between his hands as if to dispel 
 by friction the strange mental dizziness that pos- 
 sessed him. His eye fell on the letter, where it lay 
 just on the edge of the sharp circle of light cast by 
 the reading lamp upon the floor. 
 
 He seized it convulsively, spread it out on the 
 table and began to read, mumbling the sentences 
 aloud and listening to his own voice as though the 
 assurance of the written characters alone were not 
 sufficiently convincing. Suddenly he broke off, flung 
 himself into a chair, dropped his head on his hands, 
 and gazed dully at the carpet. 
 
 For a long time he did not stir. Finally he took 
 up the letter, read it through, put it back on the 
 table, and rose wearily to his feet. Then, with an 
 automatic gesture, he felt for his watch. 
 
 The mild shock of finding his pocket empty was 
 enough to bring Tom back to a sense of his sur- 
 roundings, and he began to make preparations for 
 what must be his last night in the Bannan boarding 
 house. He walked over to the folding bed, pulled 
 it down and began, in orthodox house wife fashion, 
 to pat the flattened pillows into a semblance of 
 downy fullness. Before he had completed his task
 
 A LETTER FROM HOME 197 
 
 he fell into another abstracted fit, and, holding a 
 pillow in his hands, sank into a sitting posture upon 
 the edge of the bed. 
 
 A sudden rattling of the doorknob brought him 
 to his feet. Then the door was opened cautiously 
 and Amy LeRoy peered into the room.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 TOM ASKS QUESTIONS 
 
 ," said Amy, " I didn't know that you 
 were in here," and she made a motion to 
 withdraw. Tom stopped her. 
 
 " I've been hoping you'd come," he said. 
 " .Come in. I want to speak to you." 
 
 Amy entered and pushed the door shut behind 
 her, but kept her hand'-on the knob. 
 
 " I can't come in now." She leaned forward 
 and her voice dropped to a loud whisper. " Mr. 
 Michaelson is with me," she explained. 
 
 "Who?" asked Tom. 
 
 " Jimmy Michaelson," lisped the girl. " I didn't 
 know the parlor was occupied. I was going to 
 bring him in." 
 
 "What for?" demanded Tom. 
 
 " He wants to say good night to me," replied 
 Amy. 
 
 " I see," said Tom, after a slight pause. He 
 eyed her curiously. 
 
 " I can't keep him in the hall," said the girl petu- 
 lantly. " It's so public." 
 
 Tom transferred his gaze to the pillow, which, he 
 198
 
 TOM ASKS QUESTIONS 199 
 
 suddenly noticed, he was still holding in his hand. 
 He flung it down impatiently on the bed. 
 
 " I'm sorry to inconvenience Mr. Michaelson," he 
 said at last, " but I can't go out into the street in this 
 dress. Better say good night to him, then come 
 back." 
 
 " Oh, I can't come back," exclaimed the girl, in 
 tones of horrified protest. " Do you know what 
 time it is ? I'll see you in the morning." 
 
 " Better make it to-night, Amy," said Tom. " I 
 may not be here in the morning." 
 
 She looked around the room. Her glance took 
 in the open bed, the trunk in the window corner. 
 
 "Are you going away?" she asked. 
 
 " Mrs. Bannan thinks I ought to," replied Tom, 
 with a wry smile. " Tell Michaelson good night 
 and come back," he repeated. 
 
 Amy considered. " I know perfectly well I 
 ought not to be in a gentleman's room at this time 
 of night," she said, with an affectation of girlish sa- 
 pience. "But " she sighed profoundly "you 
 have such an influence over me." 
 
 She went out and Tom turned to pick up his let- 
 ter and photographs. Something he heard in the 
 hall caused him to stop suddenly and shoot a glance 
 of savage inquiry towards the closed door. There 
 was a rustling of silk, a slight scraping of feet, then 
 a smothered " Oh, you mustn't," repeated after an 
 instant, more feebly. A short silence and then the
 
 200 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 street door slammed and someone passed under the 
 windows whistling a light air. 
 
 After a moment, Amy appeared. She looked 
 rather anxiously at Tom, who was facing the door 
 with a look of fierce intentness on his face, then, 
 throwing the door wide open, she sidled past him 
 into the room. 
 
 " Poor fellow," she gurgled, nervously. " He's 
 got to go away up town all alone." Contemplation 
 of Jimmy's enforced loneliness seemed to affect her 
 singularly. "Ain't it too bad?" she sighed. 
 
 Tom's reply was to walk to the door and close it 
 swiftly, as though by so doing he were shutting 
 Jimmy out of the conversation. The girl sprang 
 towards him. 
 
 " Don't close the door," she pleaded. " I left 
 it open on purpose. Haven't you any regard for 
 my reputation? " 
 
 Her voice rose at the last in indignant appeal. 
 Tom regarded her coldly. 
 
 " I don't think your reputation is in any danger," 
 he said. " Sit down." 
 
 Amy's fears for her reputation were easily dis- 
 pelled it seemed. " My, but you're getting awfully 
 bossy," she pouted. She sauntered over towards 
 the curtained door and pointed. 
 
 " Who's in there? " she asked, lowering her voice 
 to a confidential whisper. 
 
 " Mr. Merkle has that room," he told her.
 
 TOM ASKS QUESTIONS 201 
 
 Amy drew her pretty features into the daintiest 
 of grimaces. 
 
 " Nasty thing," she said. " He's so sore on him- 
 self you can hear him crack every time he smiles." 
 
 " Sit down, Amy," said Tom, peremptorily. " I 
 have something serious to say to you." 
 
 Amy seated herself on the edge of a big chair, 
 hitched it forward to the edge of the illuminated 
 circle on the floor, crossed her silken ankles at 
 an attractive angle, and admired the tips of her 
 smart pumps while she waited for Tom to 
 speak. He hesitated, not knowing just how to 
 begin. 
 
 " I suppose you're going to scold me again," she 
 whimpered, after the fashion of a well rehearsed 
 child actress about to undergo the rebuke of a be- 
 loved elder. " Oh, well," resignedly, " get it over 
 with." 
 
 " I'm not going to scold," said Tom. " I only 
 want to ask a question or two." 
 
 Amy yawned delicately behind her hand. 
 " Hurry up, then," she said, " 'cause I'm tired and 
 sleepy." 
 
 " I won't keep you any longer than is necessary," 
 said Tom. " This is probably the last chance I'll 
 have for a while," he explained, " and I want to get 
 some things straight." 
 
 " Needn't look at me as if I'd done something," 
 protested the girl, disquieted by the earnestness
 
 202 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 with which he spoke. "What is it?" she asked 
 abruptly. 
 
 Tom came closer and looked down into her face. 
 " Amy," he said, " why did you lead me to think 
 you cared for me? " 
 
 She turned her baby blue eyes up to meet his. 
 " I do care for you," she said rather uneasily. 
 
 " No, no. Seriously," he insisted. 
 
 " Honest I do," she protested. Her eyes ca- 
 ressed him with shy intimacy a discreet display 
 which she had always found effective. She grasped 
 his hand and tried to bring his face down to a level 
 with her own. " I think an awful lot of you," she 
 murmured. 
 
 Tom was unmoved by her little coquetries. He 
 stood stubbornly erect. " How about Michael- 
 son? " he demanded. 
 
 " O-ho! " said the girl to herself. " Jealous! " 
 She felt vastly relieved. This was too easy. She 
 could proceed now with all the certainty of experi- 
 ence. 
 
 " I care for him, too," she said, " but not in the 
 same way." 
 
 " A woman can't care for two men at the same 
 time." 
 
 The blue eyes filled with wonder at this mascu- 
 line unreasonableness. "Why can't she?" de- 
 manded the girl. " I know lots of men that love: 
 more than one woman."
 
 TOM ASKS QUESTIONS 203 
 
 Tom gazed at her with astonishment. It was 
 something of a shock to hear such sentiments from 
 lips so girlish. He wondered if she realized all 
 that her words might suggest. She sat looking at 
 him as if she had advanced an unanswerable argu- 
 ment. 
 
 " That's different," he said at last. " Some men 
 are animals." 
 
 Amy's hands fell together in her lap with limp 
 and patient resignation. 
 
 " My," she sighed, " you were such a sweet boy 
 when you first came from the country. Now, you're 
 just like the others." 
 
 Tom returned to the question. " You haven't 
 answered me," he reminded her. " Why did you 
 let me think you loved me?" She tried to rise 
 from her chair, with some notion of escaping to 
 her room and leaving him to answer the question for 
 himself, but his hand, lightly laid on her shoulder, 
 restrained her. 
 
 " Mind you," he said, " I'm not squealing. It's 
 only that I don't understand and want to be put 
 straight. Why did you let me think so ? " 
 
 The girl was silent. It wasn't so easy as she had 
 thought. 
 
 " Why? " he repeated, peremptorily. " I hadn't 
 any money, any position, anything that appeals to a 
 mercenary nature. I was absolutely frank with you 
 and I thought you were with me."
 
 204 THE COUNTRY BOY, 
 
 He stepped back. Amy had produced a hand- 
 kerchief and was making rapid little dabs at her 
 eyes. 
 
 " I knew you were going to say something like 
 that," she said, chokingly. " I'm always being mis- 
 understood." 
 
 " I'm not reproaching you, Amy," said Tom 
 soothingly. 
 
 " You said I was mercenary," wept the girl. 
 " That I wasn't frank with you." 
 
 " I've said nothing of the kind," replied Tom, his 
 voice hardening a trifle. " You wilfully misunder- 
 stand me." 
 
 " I've told you everything there was to know," 
 she sobbed, " and that is what very few girls would 
 have done. I never kept anything back. I even 
 let myself get talked about on your account, and this 
 is all I get for it." 
 
 And, affected to genuine tears by her own recital 
 of her grievances, she flung herself around in the big 
 chair and wept into its upholstered back. Tom 
 stood for a while uncomfortably watching her heav- 
 ing shoulders. Then he sank into another chair 
 and waited. 
 
 " I think I've shown my appreciation," he said, 
 when her agitation seemed to have subsided. " I 
 did all that I could. I thought you were satisfied." 
 
 Amy wheeled around. " Well," she retorted, 
 " you haven't heard me kick."
 
 TOM ASKS QUESTIONS 205 
 
 " Actions speak louder than words," said Tom. 
 He thought of the smothered noises out in the hall. 
 " There is Mr. Michaelson," he reminded her. 
 
 Amy bounced to her feet. 
 
 " Oh," she exclaimed angrily, " I suppose you 
 think" 
 
 " I don't want to think," interrupted Tom, who 
 had quickly risen to face her. " I don't want to 
 believe anything of you that isn't right. That's 
 why I'm asking these questions." 
 
 She looked at him imploringly, but her eyes 
 seemed to have lost their power to charm. His 
 countenance was set and stern. Her own face grew 
 hard, as if some spiteful decision had suddenly been 
 recorded there. If Tom insisted on asking ques- 
 tions, well he stood in a fair way of being en- 
 lightened. 
 
 "What do you want me to say?" she asked 
 sharply. 
 
 " If you don't know " he hesitated, seeking 
 terms which should not seem too harsh " If you 
 don't know, I can't prompt you. But I want you 
 to recall our agreement. You said people were 
 talking about you because we were going so much 
 together, and = I asked you to marry me. I 
 didn't pretend to love you. I told you all about 
 myself and the " he faltered again " about the 
 girl who didn't believe in me. And you said you'd 
 stick to me and be a pal, and together we'd try to
 
 206 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 succeed. Well, I have tried, tried awfully hard, 
 but I can't succeed without sympathy and encour- 
 agement." 
 
 He came to full stop. The girl was following 
 him intently, but he could read little of either sym- 
 pathy or encouragement in her eyes. She was sim- 
 ply waiting. 
 
 " You've made me feel that I need you. That's 
 jail," he concluded. 
 
 " I meant what I said, Tom," she replied stead- 
 ily. " But a girl needs lots of things that you don't 
 understand. So I just had to make other arrange- 
 ments." 
 
 " Other arrangements? " he echoed. 
 
 " Yes," she replied, and she allowed a childish 
 note of delighted anticipation to creep into her 
 voice. " I'm going to move into a beau-u-tiful 
 apartment on Central Park West." 
 
 Then she folded her arms and waited for the ex- 
 plosion. To her amazement, her announcement 
 fell flat. 
 
 " It doesn't matter where you move," said Tom 
 quietly, " so long as I can see you." 
 
 The girl shrugged her shoulders resentfully. She 
 might have been spared the unpleasant necessity of 
 going into bald particulars. 
 
 "That's just it," she said, tentatively. "You 
 can't see me." 
 
 "Why not?"
 
 TOM ASKS QUESTIONS 207 
 
 " Because " she spoke each word with the cold 
 incisiveness which such stupidity merited " Be- 
 cause Jimmy won't allow me to have any gentlemen 
 visitors." 
 
 " Jimmy ! " cried Tom. He stared at her for a 
 moment as if he sought to catch her meaning and it 
 were just eluding his grasp. Then, as the full im- 
 port of her words bit into his brain, a look of dis- 
 gust and horror stole into his eyes and he staggered 
 back, catching at the air like a man struck in the 
 face and stunned. He dropped heavily into his 
 chair and covered his face with his hands. 
 
 "God! "he said. 
 
 A vague expression, this last a term with as 
 many possibilities of interpretation as there are wise 
 men to talk and fools to listen. The girl did not 
 understand. " Jimmy " she knew him. She 
 smiled slightly.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE GAS ROUTE 
 
 TAKING the "Jimmy" end of it alone into 
 account, Tom's behavior was indeed ad- 
 mirable. Certainly it was tremendously flattering 
 to the " broiler's " vanity. Her charms had never 
 stirred such a passion before and she was willing, 
 nay eager, to confirm this pleasingly jealous lover 
 in the undisturbed possession of the limited share of 
 her affections that she reserved for sentimental 
 traffic. And yet there had been something in his 
 face, which had not entirely escaped her, that had 
 puzzled her not a little; something she didn't ex- 
 actly like, that made her smile thin and wary and 
 kept it so. Besides Tom wasn't keeping up to the 
 mark. After the single, shuddering outcry that 
 had voiced the climax of his despair, he had re- 
 mained silent and motionless, his face hidden in his 
 hands. He might almost be thought to have for- 
 gotten her presence. 
 
 The girl stood watching him intently. It was 
 really very puzzling, the way he was acting. She 
 had expected a secondary outburst a storm of an- 
 gry words, which she was prepared to endure gra- 
 ciously, considering the provocation a blow per-
 
 THE GAS ROUTE 209 
 
 haps. Even that token of overwrought affection 
 might be put up with, if not dodged. 
 
 But this strange silence perplexed her, was get- 
 ting on her nerves. She took two hesitating steps 
 towards him. He seemed to stir slightly at her ap- 
 proach as if he were about to look up, and she made 
 little, ineffectual movements with her outstretched 
 arms, coaxing him out of his sullenness. He did 
 not see. He was trembling slightly, and his face, 
 what she could see of it, was very white. 
 
 She began to be alarmed. A girl she knew, a 
 Broadway " broiler " like herself, had been shot at 
 a few days before by a desperate, discarded lover. 
 Perhaps it would be just as well to get out of this 
 while she had a chance. 
 
 She threw a covert glance at the door and would 
 have made a rush for it had it not been for a sudden 
 panic fright that left her legs weak and trembling. 
 She began to sidle towards it, on tiptoe. She had 
 gained more than half the distance when Tom, lifting 
 his head and instantly divining her purpose, sprang 
 to his feet and barred her way. 
 
 Tom planted his foot against the door. The 
 girl clung frantically to the knob. 
 
 " Now don't be mean," she squealed, her voice 
 thin as a rat's with terror. " You know I oughtn't 
 to be here." 
 
 "That doesn't come well from a woman like 
 you," said Tom.
 
 210 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 He spoke bitterly, but with a calmness that reas- 
 sured the terrified girl. As her fears subsided, her 
 temper rose. 
 
 " I won't stay and listen to such language," she 
 cried spitefully. " Better let me out or I'll 
 scream." 
 
 She was almost screaming as she made her threat, 
 but Tom did not budge. A flush sprang to his white 
 face. 
 
 " Go ahead and scream," he challenged her. 
 11 Go ahead. Call up everybody in the house, and 
 when they come " 
 
 The girl was shrinking back into the room, fear- 
 ful lest Tom's voice so near the door should carry 
 through the house. He followed her step by step 
 as he delivered his defiance. 
 
 "When they come, tell them the truth. Tell 
 them that you are the sort of woman they thought 
 you. Tell them how you duped a boy from the 
 country who was still fool enough to have illusions 
 about women." 
 
 "That isn't so," she flashed back. "I never 
 fooled you about anything. It isn't my fault, if you 
 had crazy ideas about me." 
 
 The argument struck Tom. It put the thing to 
 him in a new light. He turned her words over in 
 his mind. She was telling the truth, as she saw it. 
 He wanted to be fair. 
 
 " No," he said at last. " It wasn't your fault. I
 
 'THE GAS ROUTE 211 
 
 can't blame you if God created the outward features 
 of a good woman and forgot to put in the soul." 
 
 His eyes were studying the girl in a detached, 
 impersonal way that ruffled her vanity more than his 
 words. 
 
 " You've got an awful nerve to talk to me like 
 that," she burst forth. 
 
 " I'm speaking the truth," replied Tom, turning 
 away from her with a weary gesture, " and that, I 
 fear, is more than you can understand." 
 
 She followed him. She was in a waspish temper 
 now, eager to sting. 
 
 "Is that so?" she snapped. "I understand a 
 good deal more than you do, Mr. Wilson, which 
 isn't so much. If you think I'm going to throw 
 away the first good chance I've had just because it 
 doesn't please you " she ended with an energetic 
 sniff, which expressed better than words the full 
 measure of her contempt. 
 
 Her scorn was wasted upon Tom, it seemed. He 
 heard her through quietly, his eyes fixed in a fasci- 
 nated stare on the dimple that came and went in her 
 soft cheek with each movement of her lips. Many 
 times before he had watched that dimple, twinkling 
 coquettishly into sight and out again, as though chal- 
 lenging the eye to a frolic at hide-and-seek. But 
 now there was a new and sinister meaning in the 
 game it played. It was a dimple that had gained a 
 market value and lost its soul.
 
 212 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 So absorbed was the youth in his bitter reflections, 
 that, of all she had said, one phrase alone arrested 
 his attention. " The first good chance ! " He said 
 the words over slowly to himself, analyzing them. 
 Then, to the girl : 
 
 " That's all it means to you a good chance? " 
 
 There was a sense of sickened repugnance in his 
 soul that he could not suppress, and his voice rang 
 with bitter disgust. Not for the girl he only 
 wished she'd go away now and leave him alone 
 but for the poor, vain, self-sufficient fool that had 
 been Tom Wilson. The girl did not understand 
 that. She took the taunt to herself, naturally 
 enough, and she answered him in kind. 
 
 " It's more than anything you ever offered me," 
 she jeered. " You never gave me anything. You " 
 the contempt in her tones reached the saturation 
 point " you hadn't anything to give. At least 
 you'll do me that credit. I never took anything 
 from you." 
 
 " You took nothing from me? " cried Tom, stung 
 to futile resentment by her stubborn iteration. 
 " My faith, my hope, my self-respect is all that 
 nothing? " 
 
 " Doesn't cost anything," retorted the girl. 
 
 " I've paid the biggest possible price for them," 
 he said. 
 
 Amy shrugged her pretty shoulders. " Oh, well," 
 she said, " if you're going to talk like that "
 
 THE GAS ROUTE 213 
 
 Tom realized that his words were wasted. 
 "What's the use?" he said. "You don't under- 
 stand. You never will. You'll go on to the end, 
 looking for a good chance." He turned and walked 
 over to his trunk. " There's nothing keeping you 
 now," he said over his shoulder. " Run along." 
 
 She hesitated for a moment, biting her lips, then 
 stole after him across the room. 
 
 "Listen, Tom," she said, in wheedling tones. 
 " It's not half so bad as you try to make it. Per- 
 haps we can manage to see each other without 
 Jimmy's knowing anything about it. I do care an 
 awful lot for you in spite of what you've said." 
 
 He would not even turn around to listen. She 
 laid her hand caressingly on his shoulder. " If 
 you'll just be reasonable," she coaxed. 
 
 Tom shrank aside and her hand, shaken from its 
 resting place, fell to her side. 
 
 "What's the matter now?" cried the girl, sur- 
 prised. 
 
 " You said you wanted to go to your room," he 
 said. " Why don't you go? " 
 
 She flushed angrily at this ungracious speech. 
 She had put herself in the wrong to save his vanity, 
 and this was her reward. 
 
 " I'm going," she snapped, " only now that we've 
 said so much, we may as well finish up." She paused 
 for a moment to gather emphasis. " I'm glad 
 we've had this talk," she went on, more deliberately.
 
 2i 4 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " It's been a good thing for both of us. I'll get 
 what I want, and you can go back to the country 
 and marry that little jay you're always talking 
 about. She's got all that soul stuff that you seem 
 to want so badly." 
 
 He turned upon her so fiercely that she shrank 
 back out of reach. 
 
 " Please leave Miss Belknap out of it," he said. 
 " I'm no longer concerned in her affairs. She's to 
 be married." 
 
 " O-oh ! " exclaimed the girl, her face illuminated 
 with sudden understanding, " so that's what's the 
 matter with you. You've been thinking of her and 
 taking it out on me." She regarded him with ris- 
 ing wrath. " Well, you certainly have your nerve 
 with you. And me wasting all this sympathy on 
 you. Good night, Mr. Wilson." 
 
 She flounced to the door and flung herself into 
 the hall, then turned and leaned forward to look 
 into the room. Tom was standing with averted 
 face, just as she had left him. His wooden indif- 
 ference enraged her. 
 
 " For all I care," she cried shrilly, " you can go 
 straight to the devil ! " 
 
 Tom heard the 'door close, heard her steps on 
 the stairs, and then silence settled down upon the 
 house. For a long while he did not stir. He 
 seemed hardly to breathe. His eyes were fixed in 
 a dull, unseeing stare, and he stood like an automa-
 
 THE GAS ROUTE 215 
 
 ton waiting for some external impulse to actuate its 
 mechanism. After a time, stimulated to a sort of 
 reflex activity by the heat and closeness of the room, 
 he moved towards the window, walking like a man 
 in his sleep. He drew up the sash, and, as the out- 
 side air struck his face, inhaled deeply. 
 
 His eye was caught and held by a string of col- 
 ored lanterns that swung gently in the breeze in the 
 beer garden across the street. He became vaguely 
 aware that the orchestra was in action and that a 
 waiter, in a dinner jacket, was singing in a mellow 
 fcaritone voice to its accompaniment. The scene 
 swam before his eyes in a hazy, far away fashion 
 till the singer, moving about on the little platform, 
 turned on his heels and faced him. Perhaps the 
 man saw the listless figure silhouetted in the frame 
 of the window, for he stretched forth his hands as 
 though addressing it, and the refrain he was singing 
 came to Tom's ears with sudden, jarring distinct- 
 ness: 
 
 " Gee, I wish that I had a girl." 
 
 Tom softly closed the window and turned away. 
 The words had set his numb brain going again. 
 His sense of reality became instantly acute, and he 
 groaned. It was precisely what, by some sub-con- 
 scious effort, he had been struggling to avoid. He 
 did not want to think least of all of Jane, of Fair- 
 view, the world from which he had irretrievably cut 
 himself off. And for what? All that he had
 
 2i6 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 dreamed of and hoped and fought for had come 
 down to this. 
 
 He looked about him. The room had suddenly 
 become a hateful prison to him, the city beyond a 
 vast, hostile camp, whose millions hemmed him in 
 from the open country. There was no avenue of 
 escape. He was every way entangled. A sense 
 of hopeless exhaustion, physical and moral, weighed 
 him down. He had used the last ounce of his 
 strength and had failed. His dreaming had come 
 to an end. 
 
 He roused himself at last, or rather the force of 
 habit asserted itself, when his eye, idling over the 
 floor, lighted upon his alarm clock, the relentless 
 monitor of his mornings. He took it up and, walk- 
 ing slowly up and down, began to wind. He 
 worked mechanically, making long pauses, in each 
 of which he fell into a listening attitude, as though 
 he heard the calling of distant voices. He finished 
 at last, adjusted the alarm, and went forward to set 
 the clock down upon the little table. 
 
 Of a sudden he started violently, and his limbs 
 became bent and rigid as if he had stumbled upon a 
 snake. His mouth opened and shut spasmodically 
 and his eyes stared, fascinated, at a slender, green 
 thing that hung from the chandelier, the flexible 
 gas tube that fed the reading lamp on the table. 
 His muscles twitched convulsively, and he clutched 
 the clock to his breast, muffling it in his dressing
 
 THE GAS ROUTE 217 
 
 gown, as if it might escape his grasp and ring out 
 an inopportune alarm. 
 
 With a supreme effort he controlled his trem- 
 bling limbs. He put the clock down softly on the 
 table and then his hand stole out cautiously toward 
 the slightly swaying green thing, as if it were some- 
 thing alive. He seized it swiftly and firmly, and 
 as he felt it safe in his grasp, his face hardened into 
 an expression of resolute decision. With rapid ac- 
 curate movements he turned out the lamp, reached 
 up and detached the tube from the chandelier, and 
 pulled its lower end loose from the lamp. He car- 
 ried it across the room, fastened it to the burner 
 that jutted from the wall beside his bed, buried the 
 other end in the bed clothes and stepped back. 
 
 It was a new tube, still stiff in its original wind- 
 ings, and when he released it, it coiled suddenly 
 back and struck at him like a serpent. He caught 
 the loose, wriggling end, put it back in the bed, and 
 weighted it down with his pillow. 
 
 A creaking noise, from somewhere that sounded 
 near, startled him into an attitude of strained atten- 
 tion. He glanced towards the hall, then at the 
 green curtains that screened Merkle's door, jerking 
 his head from side to side. He could not locate 
 the source of the sound, and it was not repeated. 
 Re-assured after a moment, he walked back into the 
 room, sought out pen, ink and paper, seated himself 
 at the reading table, and prepared to write.
 
 2i8 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " Dearest mother," he began. His hand com- 
 menced to shake again, so violently that he could go 
 no further. The pen slipped from his fingers and 
 rolled off the table to the floor. He let it lie, and 
 sat crouched above the table trying to think. 
 
 There was a slight } rustling sound behind him, 
 but Tom, his mind far away, did not hear. A hand 
 had moved Merkle's curtains apart and, after an 
 instant, let them fall together again. Soon, the 
 hand reappeared through the curtains, and Merkle's 
 head and body followed it. He took a noiseless 
 step into the room, and the curtains closed softly be- 
 hind him. Tom was oblivious. 
 
 Merkle stood for a moment, hesitating to dis- 
 turb the crouched figure before him. He saw the 
 darkened reading lamp without its tube, and swept 
 the room with a keen glance. The missing tube 
 hung from the wall in plain view, and, as Merkle 
 noted the dispositions Tom had made and the mean- 
 ing of it all came home to him, his eyes traveled 
 back to Tom, and he fell to rubbing his rough chin 
 reflectively. It did not take him long apparently 
 to decide upon his course of action, for presently he 
 straightened up and was about to speak. 
 
 He checked the words at his lips, for Tom had 
 raised his head and was looking for his pen. He 
 picked it up, dipped it carefully in the ink, straight- 
 ened his paper before him, and read aloud what he 
 had written.
 
 THE GAS ROUTE 219 
 
 " Dearest mother." 
 
 The words glided into a groan. He grasped 
 the pen with desperate resolution and, mumbling 
 the words he wished it to trace, made shift in that 
 fashion to proceed: 
 
 " At last I have found something big "
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE ARGUMENTUM AD HOMINEM 
 
 MERKLE delayed no longer. Even before 
 Tom spoke, he had heard and seen enough 
 to know what must be done and he fancied he knew 
 the particular way to do it. He had waited only 
 to seize the diplomatic moment for setting about 
 what he realized must be a gravely delicate under- 
 taking. He felt strongly the need of proceeding 
 with the utmost circumspection. Tom, always a 
 sensitive youth, was now in a state of mind to re- 
 sent and repel any but the most tactful interference. 
 It is doing Merkle's modesty no injustice to say 
 that he felt fully equal to the immediate needs of 
 the situation. 
 
 But it wasn't only this affair of the gas tube. Of 
 course Tom wasn't to be allowed to make away with 
 himself in that impulsive fashion. The boy would 
 continue to exist for some time, in some fashion or 
 other. The question was: How? That was up 
 to Merkle. Somewhere in the next five or ten min- 
 utes must be the turning point of Tom's life, be it 
 long or short. It lay in Merkle's hands to deter- 
 mine whether the critical impulse should be to good 
 or evil. 
 
 220
 
 \THE ARGVMENTVM AD HOMINEM 221 
 
 This, or something like this, had flashed through 
 the alert brain of the newspaper man before Tom, 
 in a manner that seemed half delirious, began to 
 mutter the message he was trying to put on paper. 
 Then, with quick regard for the boy's rights of 
 mental privacy, Merkle made haste to announce his 
 presence. 
 
 " Excuse me for coming in again to-night," he 
 said. 
 
 His tones were easy and natural, as befitted a 
 speech so simple, but their effect on Tom shocked 
 him. The boy went suddenly limp and pale, as If 
 from excess of terror, and he stared at Merkle as 
 if the robust newspaper man had been a visitor from 
 the land of shadows. He swayed in his chair and, 
 for an instant seemed about to fall, but recovered 
 before Merkle could make a move to go to his as- 
 sistance. 
 
 Merkle behaved as if he had noticed nothing out 
 of the ordinary, and everything had passed off so 
 quickly that the pretense was an easy one to main- 
 tain. After a moment Tom turned to his letter 
 and hastily covered it with a piece of blotting paper. 
 Then he rose to his feet. 
 
 " I thought you had gone to bed," he said 
 harshly. 
 
 " This damn shoulder," apologized Merkle, lay- 
 ing his hand tenderly on the maligned joint and! 
 wincing realistically. " It won't let me sleep. 1
 
 222 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 knew you were still up because your light comes 
 through my doors." 
 
 The youth's ill-humor was softened at the sight 
 of the other's suffering. 
 
 " Sorry the light bothers you," he said. He 
 went over to the door and began to fumble at the 
 curtains. " Perhaps I can fix it." 
 
 " I don't mind the light," said Merkle, advancing 
 quickly. " It's this confounded pain." He 
 fondled his shoulder once more and groaned dis- 
 tressfully, while he looked appealingly at Tom. " I 
 thought you might loan me that miraculous liniment 
 again," he said. 
 
 " Sure," replied Tom. But he hesitated for a 
 moment, considering how he might best get rid of 
 Merkle before the newspaper man's suspicions were 
 aroused. 
 
 " Sure," he repeated mechanically. He gazed 
 across the room at his scattered belongings. " If 
 I can find it," he supplemented. 
 
 He started towards his trunk to search for it. 
 Merkle walked over to the little table and let his 
 eyes fall upon the letter. 
 
 "Writing?" he inquired, in a casual tone. 
 
 Tom turned hastily, alarmed lest Merkle, who 
 had more than once urged him to try his hand at 
 literary work in his leisure moments, might mistake 
 the nature of his composition and seek to read and 
 criticize it.
 
 THE ARGUMENTUM AD HOMINEM, 223 
 
 " Nothing important," he said. " Just some 
 letters." 
 
 " Oh," said Merkle. He turned away as if his 
 interest in the matter had departed, and Tom threw 
 open his trunk and delved in. The liniment was 
 not where he had thought he had left it. He got 
 down on his knees and rummaged diligently. 
 " Wonder where that bottle can have got to? " he 
 grumbled. " They've changed me so often that I 
 can't keep track of anything." 
 
 Merkle, ostentatiously busy filling up his pipe, 
 was all the while watching Tom out of the corner 
 of his eye. 
 
 " Don't go to any trouble," he said at last. He 
 scratched a match and puffed noisily at the choked 
 briar. " Perhaps a smoke will brace me up, if only 
 I can get this confounded thing to burn." 
 
 Tom rose, the bottle in his hand. 
 
 " Here it is," he said, and held it out for Merkle 
 to see. 
 
 "Find it?" asked Merkle, who had begun to 
 hope that he wouldn't. " Good." 
 
 Tom shook the bottle and held it up to the light. 
 " Enough for one rub, I guess," he said, estimating 
 its contents. "Want me to help you?" 
 
 " No, thanks," replied Merkle. " I can manage 
 all right." 
 
 He took the precious bottle <and started for his 
 room. As he turned, he let his eyes rest on the gas
 
 224 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 tube hanging from the wall, as if he had just seen 
 it for the first time. He gazed at it for a moment, 
 not too curiously, then turning again to Tom, 
 who was watching him in an agony of apprehen- 
 sion, he jerked his head questioningly toward the 
 tube. 
 
 "What's the idea?" he asked. 
 
 " Why = I," stammered Tom, " you see I 
 was going to connect it with the lamp, so that I 
 could read in bed." 
 
 Merkle looked dubiously from Tom to the tube 
 and back again. 
 
 " I see," he said at last, satisfied apparently with 
 Tom's explanation, but reluctant to give up some 
 different notion which had found lodgment in his 
 head. " I see. For a moment I thought it meant 
 something else." He turned to the tube again as 
 though it held some strange attraction for him. " I 
 suppose," he went on slowly, " it was because I was 
 thinking of that same thing myself." 
 
 Tom's nerves gave a quick jump. " What 
 thing?" he asked. 
 
 " You know," replied Merkle gloomily. Tom 
 seemingly didn't know, and Merkle elucidated. 
 " Taking a trip over the gas route," he put it. 
 
 Tom gave a little shuddering laugh. This vul- 
 gar characterization of the mysterious journey he 
 had been facing, affected him unpleasantly. It 
 seemed incredible that a man who was really con-
 
 'THE ARGUMENTUM AD HOMINEM 223 
 
 templating self-destruction, could speak of it in that 
 mocking way. 
 
 " Stop your kidding," was all he could say. 
 
 But the newspaper man seemed in deadly earnest. 
 " On the level," he said. " There isn't much fun 
 going through this agony, day in and day out." 
 
 There was a note of hopeless misery in his voice 
 that stirred Tom to sympathy. And with his sym- 
 pathy was mingled not a little of curious interest. 
 He was having another unexpected glimpse of the 
 newspaper man's strange character. Merkle had 
 always seemed to him a sort of human porcupine, 
 armed against the world at large. If a real porcu- 
 pine had walked into his room and laid aside its 
 quills and poured out the secret of its fretfulness, he 
 could hardly have been more surprised. 
 
 But Tom felt instinctively that it would not do 
 to let Merkle know how this revelation of weakness 
 had impressed him. It was necessary to dissemble, 
 and he affected to speak lightly. He laughed again, 
 more naturally this time. 
 
 " You feel that way now because you're in pain," 
 he said. " Things will look different to you in the 
 morning." 
 
 "Think so, do you?" growled Merkle, who 
 seemed to resent this belittling of his woes. 
 
 " Sure," said Tom heartily. " All you need is 
 a good night's sleep, and you'll wake up feeling 
 fine."
 
 226 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " Thanks," said Merkle, with sarcastic emphasis. 
 He stood for a moment, with a thoughful look on 
 his face, then abruptly extended his hand. Tom 
 grasped it and attempted a cheerful good-night 
 shake. But Merkle's clasp was as rigid as a vise. 
 He looked Tom straight in the face and his eyes 
 were burning with sombre resolve. 
 
 " If you don't see me again good luck," he 
 said. 
 
 His deep, vibrant tones rang in Tom's ears like 
 the reverberations of tolling bells, and his eyes 
 seemed to be adding some unutterable thing to the 
 words he spoke. After a moment, he slowly re- 
 leased Tom's hand and turned away. He had al- 
 most reached his door before Tom came out of his 
 entrancement and called sharply. 
 
 " Say, Merkle." The newspaper man stopped 
 and turned to Tom inquiringly. 
 
 " You didn't really mean what you said just now, 
 did you? " asked Tom. 
 
 "What's that?" inquired Merkle. He seemed 
 to be making a sluggish effort to remember. " Oh, 
 yes, about the " he nodded to indicate the gas 
 tube. 
 
 " Yes," said Tom. 
 
 Merkle sucked reflectively at his dead pipe. 
 " Well," he drawled, " I'm not sure that I'd use 
 gas, but " 
 
 " .You wouldn't be such a fool," exploded Tom,
 
 THE ARGUMENTUM AD HOMINEM 227 
 
 too impatient to hear him out. " Just because you 
 happen to be in a little pain." 
 
 " It isn't the physical pain that counts, son," re- 
 plied Merkle. He tapped his forehead despond- 
 ently. He seemed about to speak further, but Tom 
 again cut him short. 
 
 " Suppose you are sore on yourself," he ex- 
 claimed. "What does that amount to?" He 
 looked at Merkle pityingly, almost contemptuously. 
 " iWhere's your nerve? " he demanded. 
 
 The question seemed to sting, for Merkle shook 
 off his apathy and replied with some show of feeling. 
 
 " Perhaps it is a bit cowardly," he said. " But 
 I don't know that it's anybody's business what I 
 do." 
 
 He turned abruptly away and his hand was on 
 the curtain of his door, before Tom's anxious cry 
 halted him once more. 
 
 " Wait a minute," entreated the youth. " Don't 
 go yet." 
 
 "(You want to get back to your letters," Merkle 
 reminded him. 
 
 " Bother the letters," said Tom. " I've got lots 
 of time. Let's talk this thing over." 
 
 With a show of reluctance, Merkle yielded. He 
 walked slowly back to the little table, seated him- 
 self, and waited for Tom to begin. 
 
 "What happened to you to-day?" was the first 
 question.
 
 2228 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " Nothing," replied Merkle. " In fact, I'm tired 
 of waiting for something to happen." 
 
 " I see," said Tom, willing to humor his man a 
 little to gain his confidence. " Just a case of down 
 on your luck and feel blue." 
 
 Merkle shook his head with a superior sort of a 
 smile, a smile that was full of pity for the inexpe- 
 rienced youth before him. 
 
 " You don't understand, son," he said. 
 
 "Why don't I?" demanded the nettled youth. 
 
 " Well," explained Merkle, " it's different with 
 you. You're young, with a whole lifetime of 
 chances ahead. A beautiful home, a loving mother 
 waiting for you." He let his eyes wander over the 
 table till they lighted upon the photograph of the 
 Fairview home, lying where Tom had tossed it 
 down. " What have I got? " he asked. 
 
 " Friends," said Tom. 
 
 " Not one," replied Merkle promptly. " Not a 
 soul in the world that really cares." 
 
 He sank forward in his chair and gazed sadly 
 at the floor. His words had the ring of truth. 
 Perhaps he had never fully realized his loneliness 
 till riow, when, for another's benefit, he had summed 
 up his existence in a phrase. As Tom looked at the 
 bent figure, his heart was touched. 
 
 " I care," he said, with sudden diffidence. 
 
 " Not enough to count," replied Merkle, with a 
 bitter smile. He had forgotten for the moment
 
 {THE ARGUMENTUM AD HOMINEM 229 
 
 that he, had set out to play a part. "I'm on the 
 wrong side of forty," he went on, jerking out his 
 words as if each mouthful were distasteful to him. 
 " Loaded down with bitterness and disappointment. 
 Nothing to look forward to. A nuisance to every- 
 body including myself." He recollected himself 
 suddenly, and with a return to his usual deliberate 
 manner of speaking, invited Tom to consider the 
 items he had presented. 
 
 " Those are my assets," he said. 
 
 " You never can tell when luck will change," re- 
 plied Tom, rather feebly. 
 
 " I've been telling myself that for a good many 
 years," retorted Merkle. " But it hasn't." 
 
 " Because you haven't met it half way," persisted 
 Tom, more combatively, for he felt that his argu- 
 ment was making small progress. " You haven't 
 hustled." 
 
 " That's true," Merkle conceded. " I've always 
 let the other fellow get his first." 
 
 Tom tried a new line. 
 
 " You're in a rut," he said, " and you've got to 
 get out of it. Why, if I had half your talent, I'd 
 be at the top of the profession. There isn't any 
 position I couldn't attain. I've read your stuff," he 
 went on earnestly, " and you're too clever a man not 
 to succeed. All you've got to do is to thrqw out 
 your chest, go to it with an ' I am it ' expression on 
 your face, and get anything you want."
 
 2 3 o THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 Tom had risen to his feet as he spoke and he 
 ended with fine oratorical effect. But he left 
 Merkle unmoved. 
 
 " When I was your age, I talked in exactly the 
 same way," was the cold response. 
 
 " But I mean it, old man," said Tom, urgently. 
 " There are thousands of opportunities all over the 
 country just waiting for a man like you." 
 
 " Where? " growled Merkle. 
 
 " Everywhere," replied Tom, with a gesture that 
 took in the horizon. 
 
 " That's too indefinite," was the grating reply. 
 
 " But," Tom suddenly bethought himself 
 " I know one town that's a cinch. They're dying 
 for a newspaper, and a man like you could make a 
 fortune at it." 
 
 " Let's pretend," rejoined Merkle, " that I'm 
 from the grand old state of Missouri." 
 
 " I can show you all right," said Tom. " It's 
 the town I came from. Fairview, New York." 
 
 " How big is it? " asked Merkle. 
 
 " Over five thousand." 
 
 Merkle, for the first time, betrayed symptoms of 
 interest in what Tom was trying to tell him. 
 
 "Five thousand?" he repeated. "And they 
 haven't any local sheet? " 
 
 " Not when I left," said Tom. 
 
 " That sounds pretty good," Merkle conceded. 
 
 " I know what I'm talking about," Tom assured
 
 THE ARGUMENTUM AD HOMINEM 231 
 
 him. " I used to dream of trying it myself, but 
 nobody had any confidence in me. You could go 
 up there, live in our cottage, and be a successful 
 newspaper proprietor in no time. No telling how; 
 much you'd clean up." 
 
 " You seem pretty sure," said Merkle. His eyes 
 were following Tom as the youth walked up and 
 down in front of him. He seemed impressed, in 
 spite of himself, by Tom's earnestness. 
 
 " Because I've lived there," said Tom. " I know 
 the people and what they want. .You take my ad- 
 vice and go." 
 
 Merkle seemed to consider deeply, scratching his 
 chin after the manner he had when anything per- 
 plexed him. Tom had stopped in his walk to watch 
 him. After a moment or two the newspaper man 
 raised his head and looked Tom straight in the eye. 
 
 " All right," he said. " I'll go if you will 
 come with me." 
 
 " Me? " cried Tom, taken off his feet at this un- 
 expected offer, 
 
 " Sure," said Merkle confidently. " If it's half 
 as good as you seem to think it is, there's enough 
 for two." 
 
 Tom hesitated painfully. Fairview was the last 
 place on earth he wanted to show his face. He had 
 never forgotten his parting boast to Judge Belknap : 
 " I'll never show up here a failure." And Jane ! 
 No, he couldn't face it. If only Merkle had pro-
 
 232 THE COUNTRY. BOY 
 
 posed a jaunt to the South Pole, or any other im- 
 possible place, he would have fallen in with the ven- 
 ture cheerfully enough. And yet how could he 
 refuse to enter upon a plan that promised salvation 
 for the man he had set out to save from himself? 
 His embarrassment grew when he noticed that 
 Merkle was watching him keenly. 
 
 " I'd rather not, old man," he stammered, when 
 he could delay his reply no longer. 
 
 " Oh, I see," said Merkle, with cutting emphasis. 
 " It's good enough for me, but not for you." 
 
 " No, no," said Tom hastily, distressed at 
 Merkle's attitude. " It isn't that. There are rea- 
 sons why I can't go back to Fairview." 
 
 "Something keeping you here?" demanded 
 Merkle. 
 
 " Yes, something I can't explain." 
 
 " Nothing at home you can't face? " 
 
 Tom flushed under the question and the grave 
 look that accompanied it. 
 
 " Nothing criminal, if that's what you mean," he 
 replied. 
 
 "Then what is it?" 
 
 " I can't tell you," replied Tom, with dogged per- 
 sistence. 
 
 Merkle eyed the youth curiously. He seemed 
 perplexed at his attitude. 
 
 " You've got a home a mother," he said, after 
 a short pause.
 
 \THE ARGVMENTUM AD HOMINEM 233 
 
 " Yes," said Tom. 
 
 " And you can't go back? " 
 
 " Not as a failure," replied Tom, in a voice of 
 decision. He sank into his chair and slumped back 
 into a posture of listless dejection. 
 
 There was a period of silence. Tom could feel 
 Merkle's searching glance upon him, and he labored 
 to hide his thoughts under a mask of impenetrability. 
 
 " That's it, is it? " said Merkle at last. " Your 
 vanity? " 
 
 " Vanity ! " exclaimed the youth, coming angrily 
 to his feet at this disparaging diagnosis. His ir- 
 ritation was all the greater because he could not help 
 acknowledging to himself that Merkle was nearly 
 half right. 
 
 " Yes, your vanity," repeated Merkle, with quiet 
 insistence. "Your vanity is hurt because you 
 haven't succeeded in what you set out to accomplish. 
 And you haven't the moral courage to go back now 
 and face the jeers of the other fellows." He 
 paused for a moment and surveyed the frowning 
 face of the youth before him. His words had cut 
 deep, but not deep enough he believed, to serve his 
 purpose, and an accent of quiet scorn crept into his 
 even tones as he continued. 
 
 " Are you going to let it get the best of you? " 
 he asked. " I thought you had better stuff in you." 
 
 Tom was standing before him with a tense scowl 
 on his face. For a moment Merkle feared that he
 
 234 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 had overplayed his cards and that Tom's next move 
 would be a more or less polite request to quit the 
 room and leave him alone with his injured vanity. 
 He was surprised therefore, and disappointed too, 
 when Tom suddenly relaxed, turned away with a. 
 weary droop of the body, and walked back to his 
 chair. 
 
 " You can't get around the fact that I'm a fail- 
 ure," he said, with a languid, what-does-it-matter- 
 anyhow sort of air. 
 
 " The only discreditable thing about that is that 
 you admit it," retorted Merkle. " Let me tell you 
 something, son." 
 
 He rose to his feet and took a turn up and down 
 in front of Tom's chair before he went on. The 
 boy's apathy disconcerted him. It was unnatural. 
 He had seemed interested for a time when Merkle's 
 fortunes were under discussion. His own seemed 
 to have passed out of his concern. Taunts had 
 failed to rouse him. But Merkle refused to be dis- 
 couraged. He turned to Tom. 
 
 " Nine out of every ten men that strike this city," 
 he began, " go up against it in the same way at the 
 start. The tenth may find it easy. Things break 
 right for him at the jump and, before he realizes 
 what it's all about, he finds himself at the top. He 
 doesn't deserve any credit for that. It's been 
 handed to him on a silver platter. But the other
 
 THE ARGUMENTUM AD HOMINEM 235 
 
 He swung his fist into his palm with a resounding 
 thwack that made Tom look up. " The other nine 
 have to fight for it. Some of them haven't the 
 staying qualities and * lay down,' but those who 
 have the right stuff in them refuse to acknowledge 
 that they're licked, so they shut their teeth hard and 
 go at it once more. Perhaps they get another solar 
 plexus, but they're up at the sound of the gong, and 
 they keep coming up in spite of their knockdowns 
 until the world realizes that they can't be kept down, 
 and so is forced to make a place for them." 
 
 Carried away by the eloquence of his own im- 
 agery, Merkle's voice had risen as he proceeded, and 
 his phrases had been punctuated with prize-ring 
 guards and jabs. Now he came to a sudden halt 
 and extended his hand to Tom with a gesture of 
 confident appeal. " Believe me, son," he said, " a 
 man isn't a failure till he admits it himself." 
 
 " That sounds all right," said Tom, moved, but 
 not convinced, " but there's something more to it 
 than worldly success. I've found that out. A man 
 has to have character." He hesitated at the 
 word as though its enunciation cost him a wrench. 
 " I've shown just how little I have," he added bit- 
 terly. 
 
 " You've got character, all right," replied Merkle 
 quickly, " or you wouldn't admit that you hadn't. 
 All you have to do now to prove it, is to assume the 
 responsibility that goes with it."
 
 236 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 "What responsibility?" asked Tom, taking the 
 bait. 
 
 "Myself," said Merkle promptly. " I've 
 agreed to take a chance at your suggestion. That's 
 your responsibility, and you can't shirk it. Now I 
 propose to do the same for you. Let's be respon- 
 sible for each other. Let's go into this thing as 
 partners." 
 
 " Not at Fairview," replied Tom, setting his jaw 
 stubbornly at Merkle's renewed appeal. 
 
 " It's the only way you can make good," urged 
 Merkle. 
 
 "You don't understand, Merkle," said Tom. 
 He wanted to stop there, but Merkle's insistent gaze 
 compelled him to proceed. 
 
 " There's a girl," he said. 
 
 "Ah-h!" said Merkle slowly. "The girl at 
 home?" For a moment he seemed at a loss. 
 "There always is," he went on, a generalization 
 vexing to Tom. " But," with renewed briskness, 
 " that's all the more reason why you shouldn't ' lay 
 down.' " 
 
 " I can't face it," said Tom, dropping his head. 
 
 " The hell you can't." Merkle's voice rose to an 
 indignant roar. " You're coming home with me." 
 
 " I'm not," said Tom, with an obstinacy equal to 
 Merkle's own. 
 
 " Think it over," advised Merkle, with irritating 
 pertinacity.
 
 THE "ARGUMENTUM AD HOMINEM 237 
 
 "Don't you think I have thought?" exclaimed 
 the youth. " I've thought until my brain reels." 
 He rose to his feet with an impatient fling of the 
 hands. " Don't talk to me any more," he said with 
 gruff decision. " I want to be alone." 
 
 He started towards the curtained door, but 
 Merkle stepped in his path, gripped him by the 
 shoulders, and held him fast. 
 
 " I've made up my mind to go," he said, " and 
 you're going with me." 
 
 Tom, unable to free himself without undue vio- 
 lence, turned his face aside and remained resolutely 
 silent. In a kinder voice Merkle went on. 
 
 " Just think how comfy we'll be in the old home," 
 he said, " and how happy the mother will be to see 
 her boy again." He could feel Tom tremble under 
 his hands. " You don't think she'll consider you a 
 failure, do you? Mothers aren't built that way. 
 And the girl she's probably waiting and hoping 
 that you will come back. What if you have made 
 a fool of yourself? Don't you suppose that she'll 
 understand that you're all the better for the expe- 
 rience? .Come home, kid. Come on home with 
 me." 
 
 Tom was white and shaking as Merkle released 
 him and stepped back, his hands outstretched in a 
 final appeal. 
 
 "Why couldn't you have stayed out of here?'* 
 he groaned. " I knew what I wanted to do before
 
 238 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 you came in. Why didn't you leave me to 
 myself?" 
 
 He gazed at Merkle with dull eyes for a moment 
 longer, then sank into his chair, buried his face in 
 his hands, and went to mumbling stupidly. Merkle 
 determined upon a bold, psychological stroke. 
 
 " I came because I wanted to show you the folly 
 of what you had in mind," he said. He spoke very 
 slowly and deliberately, to make sure that no ex- 
 asperating syllable should be lost. 
 
 Tom raised his head and looked at him in be- 
 wilderment. 
 
 " Then you knew all the time? " he cried. 
 
 " I couldn't help overhearing what passed be- 
 tween you and LeRoy," was the reply, "and I 
 guessed the rest." 
 
 Tom sprang to his feet, scarlet with quick resent- 
 ment. His eyes were flashing now. So then ! He 
 had been tricked, trifled with, played for a fool! 
 And with what outrageous ease ! All this had been 
 a shallow farce, and he, cheap dolt that he was, had 
 been gossiping of his soul tragedy. He had per- 
 mitted himself to be brought to the verge of un- 
 manly tears ; had listened, almost yielded to a hypo- 
 critical appeal. 
 
 His voice was hoarse with passion as he advanced 
 towards Merkle. 
 
 " So you've had an evening's fun at my expense," 
 he exclaimed.
 
 THE ARGUMENTUM AD HOMINEM 239 
 
 " That isn't fair, kid," said Merkle quickly. 
 The newspaper man had been observing the prog- 
 ress of his psychological experiment with no little 
 uneasiness. It had been his scientific purpose to ad- 
 minister a mental jolt, violent enough to shatter the 
 shell of lethargic indifference in which Tom's fac- 
 ulties seemed incased. If only the boy could be 
 goaded or stimulated into any normal manifestation 
 of thought or feeling, there would be a chance, 
 Merkle thought, of making a successful appeal to 
 him on some basis, rational or sentimental. He 
 must rely upon his own ready wit to take advantage 
 of whatever opening might present itself. 
 
 Well, the first stage of his experiment had been 
 a glittering success. The jolt had been effective. 
 Tom was in a genuine state of feeling a perfectly 
 normal, shell-shattering burst of passion, there was 
 no doubt of that. His case hardened faculties had 
 been resolved into a condition of ebullient fluidity. 
 It remained only to mould the plastic mind-stuff to 
 the shape desired. 
 
 But, at the critical moment, Merkle's experiment 
 had gone to smash as an experiment. In scien- 
 tific work of great delicacy there is always a personal 
 equation, the index of the quality of the observer, 
 to be considered. Merkle, untrained in scientific 
 methods, had neglected to take this elusive factor 
 into account. 
 
 " That isn't fair, kid," had been his first impulsive
 
 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 protest, quietly enough spoken. Then, as he real- 
 ized what must be passing through Tom's excited 
 brain, a wave of generous resentment swept across 
 his own, his scientific purpose was suddenly sub- 
 merged, and his words were straight-out and man- 
 ful. 
 
 " I meant all that I said, and I mean it now," he 
 said. 
 
 There was a challenge in his voice and manner 
 that would not be put aside. It was at once an 
 affirmation of good faith and a demand for fair play 
 in return. So obvious was its sincerity that Tom's 
 onset was checked and a moment's reflection sufficed 
 to disarm his wrath. Merkle was standing by his 
 offer. If his words meant anything, they meant 
 that. His talk of suicide had been a bluff, perhaps, 
 but it had been prompted by utter friendliness and, 
 if such artifice required apology, Merkle's words 
 supplied it. He had wanted to show Tom, out of 
 his own mouth, what a fool he was about to make of 
 himself. Tom did not concede the success of the 
 'demonstration. 
 
 "What else was left me?" he argued, their 
 clash forgotten by common consent. " I've disap- 
 pointed the girl that loved me, I've disappointed my 
 mother's faith in me, and, worst of all, I've disap- 
 pointed myself. I thought myself fit for the biggest 
 things and found that I couldn't rise above the 
 smallest of them. I was told to go out into the
 
 \THE ARGVMENTVM AD HOMINEM 241 
 
 world of real men and women, and find out what I 
 wanted and what I could do. All I've succeeded 
 in doing is to find out what I don't want and what 
 I can't do." 
 
 " Doesn't that prove you're not a failure? " was 
 the cheerful response. Merkle was chuckling in- 
 wardly at the outcome of his experiment, wholly 
 failing to realize that, by substituting character for 
 ingenuity at the pinch, he had destroyed its scien- 
 tific value. Here was Tom, reasoning himself back 
 into his proper senses. Let him talk his head off. 
 It would go hard if he, Merkle, could not outreason 
 a boy. 
 
 And yet, it was a happy chance, rather than 
 Merkle's powers of persuasion, that determined the 
 final result in his favor. 
 
 " Success," he was saying, " is a process of elimi- 
 nation. When a man has found out what he 
 doesn't want and what he can't do, he has found 
 himself." Tom started at the half-remembered 
 phrase. 
 
 " And you," Merkle concluded, " have found 
 yourself in the crucible of experience." 
 
 Then, for an instant, he was alarmed. Tom 
 went suddenly white as chalk, and he reeled 
 back with narrowed eyes and hands uplifted as 
 though to shield his face from a flash of 
 blinding light. Merkle caught his elbow to steady 
 him.
 
 242 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " The crucible of experience," Tom repeated 
 faintly. " The crucible " 
 
 He turned an awe-struck face to Merkle and 
 stared at him as if he were some being with uncanny 
 powers. 
 
 " Why I " he gasped. " That's what Jane said." 
 
 "Of course," said Merkle. "That's why I 
 want you to go back to Fairview. Opportunity 
 isn't geographical. It lies within one's self. It's 
 waiting for you now, if you'll only see it. Nothing 
 but vanity or cowardice will keep you from it." 
 
 Tom only half heard him. There was a rapt 
 expression on his face that persisted even after 
 Merkle had ceased to speak. Then there was si- 
 lence, and their eyes met in a long, steady gaze. 
 
 " I'm not a coward," said Tom. 
 
 " You'll go," cried Merkle. 
 
 Tom looked at him a moment longer. Then, 
 with a swift, impulsive motion, he grasped Merkle's 
 hand. 
 
 " Sure," he said.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 MERKLE'S SHIP COMES HOME 
 
 TOM'S consent had come so suddenly that 
 Merkle hardly understood how it had been 
 brought about. But he was not a man to waste 
 time in idle conjecture, once his end was gained. 
 Besides, the possibility of anything like a scene 
 made him uncomfortable. In a twinkling he was 
 all business. 
 
 " Good boy,'* he said, shaking Tom's hand 
 briskly. " I've a time table in my room. I'll see 
 how the trains run." 
 
 And he stepped quickly through the curtains, 
 leaving Tom standing alone in the center of the 
 room. 
 
 For a few moments the boy did not stir. The 
 outside door bell rang loudly, but he did not hear. 
 He threw back his head and shook it vigorously as 
 if to clear it of the dregs of an ugly dream. The 
 door bell rang again, more violently than before, 
 and though its clamorous appeal did not reach Tom's 
 consciousness, it roused him a trifle and he looked 
 about him. His eye fell first upon the unfinished 
 letter. He tore it quickly into small pieces, which 
 he thrust into his pocket. Then he hastily removed 
 243
 
 244 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 the gas tube from the wall jet and threw it under 
 the bed. He had hardly completed these arrange- 
 ments when Merkle re-entered, a time table un- 
 folded in his hands. 
 
 " There's a pretty good train at eight," he said. 
 " It'll get us there by night. What do you think? " 
 
 " I haven't any money," said Tom. 
 
 Merkle came to a dead halt, and an expression of 
 disgust spread itself over his face as he remembered 
 how he had given his last dollar, nay, his last dime, 
 to Joe Weinstein. 
 
 " Damn ! " he exploded. 
 
 He felt rapidly through his pockets, though he 
 knew full well it was a hopeless search. 
 
 " Neither have I," he said. 
 
 " And even if we did have enough for our fare, 
 we couldn't start a newspaper on nothing," Tom re- 
 minded him. 
 
 "A hunch! Thirteen!" croaked Merkle, with 
 savage irony. He strode across the room to the 
 calendar, tore off the luckless black-ringed page, 
 crumpled it between his hands and hurled it into the 
 waste basket. 
 
 "Hell!" he snorted. 
 
 " I thought it sounded too good," said Tom 
 gloomily. 
 
 " Wait a minute," said Merkle, throwing him- 
 self into a chair. " Perhaps I can think of 
 something."
 
 MERKLE'S SHIP COMES HOME 245 
 
 Meantime the door bell had continued to ring at 
 intervals, though, in their excitement, neither had 
 paid any attention to it. Now, in the silence pre- 
 pared for Merkle's mental labors, they could hear 
 voices in the hall, Mrs. Bannan scolding volubly 
 and Joe doing his best to explain how it happened 
 that he had forgotten his latchkey. The landlady 
 went down the hall at last. They could follow her 
 progress by the creaking of the floor planks. Then 
 there came a guarded knock on the door. 
 
 Tom opened it, and Joe stepped into the room, 
 brimming over with indignation. 
 
 "What's the matter with you guys?" he com- 
 plained. " Didn't you hear me ring? I forgot my 
 key and the old lady had to come down and let me 
 in." 
 
 " You ought to thank your stars that I don't 
 throw you out of that window," said Merkle, with a 
 truculence that was not wholly counterfeit. 
 
 Joe backed up against the door and looked at him 
 with well-feigned alarm. u What's getting into 
 you? " he said. 
 
 "Where's my money?" demanded Merkle, with 
 growing wrath. 
 
 Joe's face cracked into a smile, despite himself. 
 
 " Gimme a chance, can't you? " he exclaimed. 
 
 " What? " raved Merkle. " You don't mean to 
 say you hit it? " 
 
 With maddening deliberation Joe put his hand in
 
 246 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 his pocket and drew forth a roll of bills that looked 
 to Merkle as big as a loaf of bread. 
 
 " What does it look like? " asked Joe. 
 
 Merkle staggered towards him, almost overcome 
 at this sudden turn of fortune. 
 
 "Great God!" he cried. "And half of it is 
 mine." 
 
 Joe grasped his arm with his free hand and sought 
 to restrain him. " Wait a minute. Let me ex- 
 plain," he cried. 
 
 Before he could say another word the door was 
 thrown open without warning and Mrs. Bannan 
 rushed into the room. 
 
 "Ain't you men ever going to bed?" she cried 
 angrily. " Do you think you can burn my gas all 
 night?" 
 
 And she began turning out gas jets as fast as 
 she could, Joe trying in vain to placate her. " It's 
 all right, mother," he said. " Be a good fellow for 
 once." 
 
 She turned upon him threateningly. " If you 
 want to talk, you'll have to do it in the dark," she 
 shrilled. " Remember, all my other people are 
 asleep. If I see those lights going again, I'll put 
 you all out." 
 
 And with this ultimatum she stamped heavily out, 
 ignoring Joe's attempts at conciliation. An appre- 
 hensive silence followed her departure. The room 
 was still faintly illuminated by stray beams from a
 
 cg ,
 
 MERKLE'S SHIP COMES HOME 247 
 
 street lamp across the way, and, as their eyes became 
 accustomed to the semi-darkness, Merkle, with a 
 grin, motioned to Tom. 
 
 " Shut the door, kid," he said. 
 
 Tom closed it very softly and returned to the 
 others. 
 
 " How much did you get, Joe? " said Merkle, al- 
 most in a whisper. 
 
 " Enough to open a moving picture show," said 
 Joe, with a triumphant grin. " And I've got the 
 thing all doped out." 
 
 " It's the wrong dope," said Merkle. " We don't 
 want a moving picture show. We've got a better 
 proposition." 
 
 Joe's fingers tightened on the roll. 
 
 "What?" he demanded. 
 
 " A newspaper," replied Merkle, in a loud, eager 
 whisper. " We're going to start a sheet in a town 
 that looks like ready money." 
 
 "A newspaper?" Joe's face fell. "Where?" 
 he asked, after a moment. 
 
 " Fairview, New York," said Merkle. 
 
 " Where the hell is that? " asked Joe, to whom 
 everything west of Jersey City was a howling wil- 
 derness. 
 
 " Where I come from," explained Tom. 
 
 Joe eyed him in a manner that was supercilious, 
 if nothing more offensive. 
 
 " Not on your life," he said.
 
 248 THE COUNTRY BOY, 
 
 " Ss-h-h," hissed Merkle, enforcing silence on 
 Tom, who seemed about to launch an appropriate 
 reply. He pointed to the landlady's room over- 
 head. " Sit down, Joe, and we'll tell you all about 
 it." 
 
 He shoved Joe quickly into a chair, and drew up 
 two others beside it for himself and Tom. 
 
 " Go ahead," he said. " Explain it to him." 
 Tightly clutching his roll, Joe settled himself to 
 listen. What boots it to rehearse the reasons, the 
 promises, the warnings, the cajoleries that were 
 poured into his devoted ear? It was two to one, 
 anyhow, and, against Tom's enthusiasm and 
 Merkle's driving arguments, he had never a chance. 
 When the early dawn stole in upon them, they were 
 still talking, but the argument was over. Merkle, 
 a pad on his knees, was busily engaged in figuring 
 out the possibilities and delimitations of a bank-roll 
 that seemed to shrink in the process, interrupting his 
 calculations from time to time to instruct Joe in his 
 duties and obligations as circulation manager of 
 The Fairuiew Herald.
 
 , CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE INVASION OF FAIRVIEW 
 
 THEY reached Fairview Saturday night, with 
 their best clothes on their backs and a thou- 
 sand dollars in their pockets. It had proved im- 
 practicable to jump out of New York on the first 
 train in the morning as Merkle had wished. 
 
 In the first place it had been necessary for Merkle 
 to consult with a Park Row friend of his, a news- 
 paper broker, who had marvelous bargains to offer 
 in the way of second-hand presses and other print 
 shop equipment, and who was cheerful about taking 
 notes when he couldn't get cash. Then there was 
 the press association that supplied country papers 
 with " boiler plate insides." Merkle had a friend 
 there also, who made things easy for him. He had 
 to call around at the office of the Evening Orb too, 
 to resign and to collect what salary was due him 
 and to say good-bye to the boys. It was surprising 
 how friendly everybody was and how many good 
 luck wishes he took away with him. Even the cash- 
 ier, a grumpily important personage who never 
 seemed happy unless he could find a pretext for hold- 
 ing up expense accounts, wrung his hand at parting 
 and was sorry to see him go. 
 249
 
 2 5 o THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 Altogether Merkle spent a pleasant and profitable 
 day. He had never held so good an opinion of 
 New York and New Yorkers as now, when he was 
 about to bid them good-bye. He ventured to inti- 
 mate as much to Summerfield of the The World, 
 with whom he was having a farewell drink, and was 
 promptly reminded that nine out of every ten Amer- 
 icans you meet in New York come from the West 
 and South, Summerfield stoutly maintaining the the- 
 ory that the percentage of the native born was not 
 large enough to corrupt the mass. 
 
 As for Tom and Joe, they had enough to keep 
 them busy. Encouraged by the luck of the I3th, 
 Joe undertook to collect certain moneys that were 
 long owing to him, and actually succeeded in drag- 
 ging a few dollars out of the hands of reluctant 
 debtors, which comforted him greatly. 
 
 For Joe, it developed, had not played his hunch 
 of the preceding night according to the strict rules 
 for such cases made and provided. After placing 
 his whole stake on the " 13 " and cashing, as was 
 to be expected, he had been unable to resist the 
 temptation to venture a portion of his own share of 
 the winnings on the prospects of a " repeater," a 
 thing he had a perfect right to do, but which his ex- 
 perience should have told him, was pushing a good 
 thing too far. This time the " 13 " failed him and 
 Joe unwilling to pocket his loss, was under the ne- 
 cessity of seeing the thing through. For a time
 
 THE INVASION OF FAIRFIEW 251 
 
 fortune and his hopes had wavered, then a succes- 
 sion of losses, inciting him to reckless play, had 
 swept away the greater portion of his winnings. 
 But luck turned at last just as despair was clutching 
 at his heart strings, and he had left the table with 
 several hundred dollars more than his " hunch " en- 
 titled him to. He had had a bad hour, but, as Joe 
 put it, in relating the story to Merkle and Tom : " I 
 got the money." 
 
 It was a story he would gladly have left untold, 
 for he felt that it was a revelation of his own moral 
 weakness. But the fatness of his roll had to be 
 accounted for and he confessed. Merkle had been 
 unwilling to add the surplus to the common fund, 
 holding that, as the extra risk had all been Joe's, his 
 should be the extra winnings. But Joe had stoutly 
 held the contrary and had persisted in his contrari- 
 ness to the extent of flatly refusing to enter into any 
 partnership which should not include the total re- 
 sources of the trio. Tom's share included little ex- 
 cept the use of his Fairview home, and he felt un- 
 comfortably like a pauper at the sight of all this 
 wealth, but the others succeeded in convincing him 
 that, as he had originated the idea which was to 
 make them all affluent, he was certainly entitled to 
 an equal share in the venture. 
 
 And then, all three together had made a shopping 
 tour. Merkle had insisted that this be done. It 
 was his notion that the trio must descend upon Fair-
 
 252 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 view looking like " ready money," and that the cash 
 spent on clothes and other personal furnishings 
 would be the most effective part of their investment. 
 His counsels prevailed. 
 
 Merkle, who was to represent the editorial dig- 
 nity of the new establishment, was outfitted all 
 in sober black, including a frock coat that hung 
 about him with the classic impressiveness of a 
 toga. 
 
 Tom, the publisher and financial man, was a pic- 
 ture of prosperous elegance in soft gray business at- 
 tire. 
 
 Joe's predilection for checks and vivid colors 
 could not be entirely repressed, but his display was 
 reduced to a minimum with which Merkle professed 
 himself satisfied. When they sailed forth from the 
 Bannan boarding house for the last time, on their 
 way to the train, Mrs. Bannan was ready to weep at 
 seeing so much of prosperity and distinction desert- 
 ing her roof and board, and when Merkle, on the 
 sidewalk, lifted his glossy silk hat to her in parting 
 salute, she fled to her room and would not be com- 
 forted, not even by the faithful Leitz. 
 
 It must be said that none of the Bannanites had 
 been taken into the confidence of the trio as to the 
 fashion of their sudden enrichment. Merkle, with 
 some difficulty, had succeeded in making Joe real- 
 ize the Fairview point of view on gambling hells, a 
 point of view which, considered in the abstract,
 
 THE INVASION OF FAIRVIEW 253 
 
 Merkle upheld. So it was agreed that the manner 
 of their capitalization should remain a secret, and 
 such it has remained unto this day. 
 
 The long journey across the Empire State passed 
 swiftly. Their fellow passengers, whiling away the 
 weary hours with scenery and literature, gazed en- 
 viously at the three men, of types so diverse, who 
 yet seemed to have so much of common interest to 
 talk about. Tom alone, and he only as they neared 
 Fairview, seemed a trifle disturbed, and Merkle 
 who fancied he knew what was passing in the boy's 
 mind, took pains to engage him in an intricate dis- 
 cussion of ways and means, with such success that 
 Tom forgot for a while the plunge he was nerving 
 himself to take. 
 
 It was only when they were within sight of the 
 village that he remembered. 
 
 He had happened to glance from the window as 
 the engine whistled loudly for a crossing. They 
 were whizzing by the Hemingway farm, scene of 
 the never-to-be-forgotten slaughter of the black pigs. 
 The picture rose sharply before his mind's eye, just 
 as he had seen it across the radiator of his automo- 
 bile on that memorable morning, and his muscles 
 drew taut as if he was grasping the steering wheel 
 once more. Again he felt the shock of collision and 
 heard the farmer's taunting words, and then, in 
 swift succession, came all the episodes of that Oc- 
 tober 'day, when he had taken up the gauntlet
 
 254 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 fate threw down to him and gone forth confidently 
 to tilt with fortune. 
 
 What a mess he had made of everything. His 
 lips curled with wholesome self-contempt at the 
 thought. Well, he still had a chance to make good, 
 thanks to his two good friends, and he must not fail 
 them. He set his jaws hard as the train slowed for 
 the Fairview stop, and he was ready to take his 
 medicine. 
 
 After all, it was nothing so terrible. Merkle 
 nodded to Joe to go ahead, and himself brought up 
 the rear as they emerged upon the platform. 
 There was the usual Saturday night convention on 
 hand, a mixture of ordinary platform loafers and 
 of townspeople of the better sort, assembled to wel- 
 come returning relatives or friends. Tom knew 
 every face, and met with urgent greetings on every 
 hand, but Joe and Merkle hustled him through the 
 crowd and into one of the waiting hacks and away. 
 
 A telegram had warned Mrs. Wilson of their 
 coming, and, after the first greetings between Tom 
 and his mother, and when introductions had been 
 duly accomplished, Merkle took charge of the situ- 
 ation. Supper was waiting for them, and while they 
 plied their forks, Merkle had so much to say of 
 Tom, and of Tom's plans for the newspaper, and 
 of the good luck that had been his and Joe's to be- 
 come acquainted with Tom and thus be enabled to 
 unite their fortunes with his, that Tom's mother was
 
 THE INVASION OF FAIRVIEW 255 
 
 proud and delighted and fell in love with Merkle in 
 five minutes and wondered greatly at his wisdom. 
 And Tom, secretly ashamed for himself, could not 
 help loving Merkle either when he saw his mother's 
 beaming face and realized all that his friend was 
 doing for her happiness and for his. 
 
 Joe did his best too, but he was a sort of creature 
 Mrs. Wilson had never come in contact with before, 
 and she found it a trifle difficult to understand his 
 New Yorkese. Nevertheless he too seemed very 
 fond of Tom, as nearly as she could make out his 
 meaning, and very grateful to be admitted to per- 
 sonal and business association with him, and Mrs. 
 Wilson adopted him into her family on that account 
 and began to find him very amusing, when his re- 
 marks were properly translated. 
 
 Next day was Sunday, with nothing to do but go 
 to church, an ordeal Tom had been dreading, be- 
 cause everybody he knew would be there, including 
 Jane and her father. 
 
 Joe was invited to go along, but balked. He had 
 no objections, he explained, to doing business with 
 Christians or even to associating with them on a 
 friendly basis during the six days of the week when 
 Christianity didn't cut much ice; but he had con- 
 scientious scruples against mingling with them in 
 their moments of religious activity. There being 
 no synagogue in the village, Joe was allowed to 
 stay at home.
 
 2 5 6 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 But Tom and Merkle occupied seats in Mrs. Wil- 
 son's pew, very near the front, and fairly divided 
 attention with the minister, whose sermon dealt, in 
 a rather dreary vein, with the vanity of worldly suc- 
 cess. 
 
 When the service had ended Mrs. Wilson must 
 needs introduce Mr. Merkle to the minister. It 
 proved that both gentlemen were products of the 
 same Western University, and when the clergyman 
 ascertained, in the course of his questionings, that 
 Merkle had acquired the degree of Ph. D. from 
 their common alma mater, he immediately began 
 calling him Dr. Merkle and insisted upon it, and 
 introduced him as such to several of the pillars of 
 the congregation, who were much impressed with 
 Dr. Merkle and were indeed delighted that a gentle- 
 man of such erudition and with such an air of met- 
 ropolitan distinction, was to settle down among them 
 in order to provide Fairview with the chief thing 
 it lacked a newspaper of the sort that the village 
 would be proud to possess. 
 
 Merkle accepted the honors thrust upon him with 
 charming urbanity. It may be remarked in passing 
 that, having been introduced to Fairview as Dr. 
 Merkle, the title stuck, and he was obliged to live 
 up to it ever after. Mrs. Wilson began calling him 
 Doctor on the way home from church and, except 
 to Tom, he was never plain Merkle again. Joe, 
 who might have been expected to remain loyal to
 
 THE INFASION OF VAIRVIEW. 257 
 
 the old order of things, took great delight in re- 
 ferring to his friend as " the old doctor " in the 
 third person and dubbing him plain " Doc " in the 
 second. He seemed to feel that the title justified 
 the editorial insignia of frock coat and silk hat, both 
 of which he had found it hard to reconcile to his 
 sense of the eternal fitness. 
 
 Tom did not see Jane that day. The Judge's 
 pew was unoccupied. His eyes searched furtively 
 for her elsewhere, but in vain. He gleaned 
 presently, from something a gossiping neighbor said 
 to his mother, that Jane and her father were away 
 on a visit, somewhere in the West, and he did not 
 know whether to be sorry or glad, for, although his 
 eyes hungered for a glimpse of her, he dreaded 
 their first face-to-face meeting, now that she was 
 pledged in some fashion to another. And that 
 other, Hez Jenks ! It was all so incredible that he 
 almost allowed himself to think of it at times as a 
 hideous dream. 
 
 It rained and drizzled all of Monday and 
 Tuesday and at Joe's earnest entreaty, they kept to 
 the house. Joe, in his lifetime, had sold every- 
 thing, from shoestrings to mining stock. He had 
 been a keen student of business psychology and, 
 even if his methods were empirical, his conclusions 
 were generally sound. He vowed that it would be 
 ruinous to start out in such weather to sell Fairview 
 a newspaper. So long as the skies remained leaden
 
 258 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 and overcast, he argued, just so long would the 
 minds of Fairview's leading business men continue 
 to be gloomy, depressed and unreceptive. The 
 success of their enterprise depended upon gaining 
 the advertising support of said leading business men. 
 Very well. Wait until they became gay and per- 
 suasible again when it had stopped raining. 
 
 Joe's wisdom could be neither gainsaid nor 
 resisted, and they waited as patiently as might be, 
 though Tom, in the throes of nervous reaction after 
 the ordeal of the last two or three days, found his 
 enforced inaction almost intolerable at first. But 
 the necessity of keeping up appearances before his 
 mother enabled him to hold himself in hand. 
 Then too, he found himself getting interested in 
 Joe's theories of salesmanship, and together they 
 drew up a general plan of attack, with variations to 
 suit the idiosyncrasies of every important man on 
 their list. Tom supplied the information, Joe the 
 expedients. 
 
 When the skies cleared at last, Tom plunged into 
 the work with a determination that was proof 
 against rebuff. 
 
 Merkle, despite a painful attack of rheumatism, 
 brought on by the dampness, set him an example of 
 cheerful pluck which would have shamed him into 
 a like display, if such incentive had been needed. 
 But Tom was actuated by motives stronger than 
 any that Merkle could supply, motives so obscure
 
 THE INFASION OF FAIRVIEW 259; 
 
 that Tom himself did not so much as acknowledge 
 their existence, not, at least, in his waking thoughts. 
 He only knew that he leaped from his bed each 
 morning with a resistless impulse to be at work, to 
 be making good an impulse that carried him 
 along at a swift, tireless pace which disregarded the 
 length and difficulty of the road and the goal to 
 which it might lead. 
 
 It was nearly a month before the first issue of 
 The Fairview Herald appeared. After that its 
 ultimate success seemed never in doubt. Nor did 
 Tom's. In those four weeks he had regained his 
 poise and had begun to grasp at the beginnings of 
 something better a subtle mastery of self and cir- 
 cumstance that was new to his philosophy. It was 
 a quality, the effects of which he had dimly appre- 
 hended and envied in men like Merkle, for instance, 
 but of the existence and nature of which he had been 
 alike ignorant. 
 
 So Tom and The Herald won their way 
 through their respective periods of probation and 
 plugged along together through the Summer and 
 early Fall, accumulating reserve funds against the 
 day when certain obligations should fall due.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 TOM GOES WALKING 
 
 IT fell to Tom himself, in his role of publisher, to 
 set The Herald's day of reckoning, the day 
 when the newspaper must strike balances and show 
 that it had made good. He fixed upon a day in 
 late October, a day like any other in the office calen- 
 dar, but which was stamped in red letters upon his 
 own. It was exactly one year from the time of his 
 boastful exit from Fairview. He had made a cov- 
 enant then given a boyish promise that was no 
 longer binding, because the consideration had been 
 withdrawn, but it pleased him to carry it out never- 
 theless. 
 
 He had disclosed his purpose to Merkle and Joe, 
 so far as it concerned The 'Herald, and had 
 shaped their labors and his own toward the ap- 
 pointed day. As it drew near, he spoke of it often, 
 with an insistent, mysterious emphasis that im- 
 pressed them both, so that, though neither of them 
 could fathom his reasons for choosing that day 
 rather than any other, they had both come to look 
 forward to it as something critical and important. 
 
 They were surprised therefore when he left the 
 office without a word on the momentous morning, 
 260
 
 TOM GOES WALKING 261 
 
 and did not reappear. They would have been more 
 surprised if they could have followed his move- 
 ments. He walked rapidly through the village, and 
 out upon the road that led to the lake. Soon he 
 had left the last house in Fairview behind him, had 
 passed the Hemingway farm and entered the valley 
 beyond. Not till then did his pace slacken. Now 
 he slowed to a saunter and began to look about him 
 at the well-remembered countryside, as though he 
 realized for the first time whither his legs had car- 
 ried him. 
 
 It had been an unthinking impulse, born of a sud- 
 den fit of restlessness, that had led Tom to snatch 
 up his hat, hurry out of the office, and set forth upon 
 this aimless excursion. Now the fit had been walked 
 off, but it had brought him so far that he decided he 
 might as well go on to the lake. 
 
 He was hot and tired when he reached the shore, 
 and he bent his steps involuntarily towards a shaded 
 seat that commanded a good view of the lake. It 
 was a nook where he and Jane had often sat to- 
 gether the summer before and looked out upon the 
 dancing waves and watched the cloud shadows 
 chase one another across the water. He sat there 
 for a long time, his eyes roving lazily over the 
 peaceful scene before him. 
 
 A cold breeze from the surface of the lake fanned 
 his hot cheek. A stronger puff set something white 
 to fluttering in the grass near his feet. He stooped
 
 262 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 forward and picked up a handkerchief. He looked 
 at it idly for a moment, then an exclamation broke 
 from his lips and he jumped to his feet. 
 
 The handkerchief was Jane's! There were her 
 initials in the corner, broidered in a pattern he knew. 
 He examined the handkerchief again, more closely. 
 
 It was as white and fresh as though it had just 
 dropped from the owner's hand. It could not have 
 lain long in the grass, not more than a day, at most. 
 Jane must have been here, on the very spot where 
 he stood, yesterday at the latest, perhaps this very 
 morning. She must have motored out here. She 
 must have sat in this very seat, and -. 
 
 And with Hez Jenks ! 
 
 The thought was maddening. It sent the blood 
 surging furiously to his head. Was it possible that 
 Jane had brought Hez here, to their old place? 
 Did the old days mean nothing to her now? He 
 began to look about him, for traces of Hez's pres- 
 ence, footprints perhaps. When he realized how 
 he was playing the spy, he stopped, ashamed, and 
 deliberately resumed his former attitude on the 
 bench. 
 
 A minute's reflection helped him. It could not 
 be. It wasn't like Jane to do such a thing as that. 
 She must have come alone. And, if she had he 
 did not trust himself to follow the thought to a con- 
 clusion. 
 
 But he began to remember things. He had no-
 
 TOM GOES WALKING 263 
 
 ticed that Jane often drove about alone now in the 
 Judge's big car. Sometimes she was with girl 
 friends. Sometimes he had seen her with Hez 
 Jenks, but the significance of it flashed across his 
 mind for the first time she never rode in the driv- 
 er's seat with Hez, always in the tonneau. It had 
 never been like that when Tom was at the wheel. 
 
 He rose again, and began to pace excitedly up and 
 down a little strip of smooth beach, unmindful of the 
 hot sun. For the first time since that terrible night 
 in New York, when he had received the letter from 
 home which told of Jane's forthcoming marriage, 
 he dared to allow his thoughts to dwell upon the 
 whole miserable affair. Now that he was in his 
 right mind and could look at the thing sanely and 
 soberly, it was not believable that Jane was to marry 
 Hez Jenks. In fact, at the unconscious bottom of 
 his soul, he had come to disbelieve it with a certainty 
 that had given him comfort. 
 
 There must have been some basis for the report, 
 of course, just what he could not imagine. Judge 
 Belknap was probably at the bottom of it, somehow. 
 Of course, it must have happened that way. Jane 
 had been bullied or beguiled into something like as- 
 sent to his plans. That was all. The conviction 
 came to him suddenly and surely, as he walked up 
 and down, though he felt that he had known it in 
 some fashion all the time. 
 
 He had hardly met Jane since his return, except
 
 264 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 as strangers meet. He had not sought her. 
 When, on one or two occasions, they had happened! 
 upon each other at some village gathering, they had 
 exchanged only the most casual of greetings, not a 
 dozen words in all. He saw Hez almost every day. 
 Hez had begun by dodging across the street when 
 he saw Tom approaching, but, when he found that 
 there was nothing to be feared from Tom, he grew 
 bolder, and spoke to him as if nothing had hap- 
 pened between them. 
 
 Tom had not rebuffed him. He had rather 
 liked to see Hez about. Now he knew why. It 
 was not the loss of Jane that was bad enough 
 but the thought that she was to be consigned to the 
 arms of Hez Jenks, that had been the crudest pang 
 of his night of torture. And, the first time he saw 
 Hez Jenks slinking across the street after his return 
 to Fairview, it had begun to be impossible to re- 
 gard him seriously. Hez was not a figure to in- 
 spire jealous rage. So Tom had come to look upon 
 him with something like toleration. If he could 
 have known that it was Hez, who had slyly set 
 afloat the report which had caused that letter to be 
 written, he might have been less serene. 
 
 Tom looked at the sun. It was near noon, and 
 he decided to go on to a little hotel on the lake shore 
 and have luncheon there before he began the long 
 walk back to Fairview. He fared sumptuously on 
 fried chicken. Afterwards he sat on the veranda
 
 TOM GOES WALKING 265 
 
 for an hour chatting with the landlord, and it was 
 three o'clock before he roused himself to the neces- 
 sity of getting back to the office. He had forgotten 
 what an important day it was to have been for The 
 l Herald and that the boys would be wondering what 
 had become of him. As a matter of fact, Tom 
 knew almost to a cent how the business stood, and 
 that it wouldn't take him ten minutes to strike a 
 balance and render his report to his partners. But 
 he rose to his feet with a lazy yawn, bade the chatty 
 landlord good-day, and started back. 
 
 There was no need to hurry, and he went along 
 leisurely, enjoying the quiet beauty of the afternoon 
 and, for the first time in many months, finding his 
 own thoughts no bad company. He was in his old 
 buoyant mood again, the world looked good to him. 
 As for the future he refrained from thinking of 
 that, but hope was singing a small, inarticulate song 
 in his breast, and he whistled in harmony with it as 
 he marched along. 
 
 The highway was deserted that afternoon. He 
 met nobody. Except for an occasional solitary 
 figure, working in the distant fields, he saw no sign 
 of human life until he turned the corner of the road 
 at the Hemingway farm. There, hanging across 
 the gate, lounged his ancient enemy, watching his 
 Approach. 
 
 Tom's impulse was to walk by without a word, 
 but Farmer Hemingway grinned in friendly fashion
 
 266 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 as he drew near and called out to him. Tom 
 stopped and the farmer held out his hand. 
 
 " Hello, Mr. Wilson," he said. " I've ben in- 
 tendin' to come and see you. The missus says I 
 gotter subscribe fer your paper." 
 
 " Our subscription terms," said Tom suspiciously, 
 " are cash in advance." 
 
 Without hesitation Farmer Hemingway drew 
 forth his wallet and produced the price. " There," 
 he said. " The missus seen your paper over to her 
 brother Henry's house last week and she's bound 
 and determined fer us to take it too. Send it right 
 along, will you ? " 
 
 Tom inquired politely after the welfare of his 
 new patron's family and live stock, invited him to 
 visit The Herald office, and went on his way well 
 pleased. A year ago Tom had been the butt of the 
 farmer's ridicule. To-day the farmer called him 
 Mr. Wilson. 
 
 When Tom reached the office at last, he found 
 that the others had left for the day. He set to 
 work at once, for it was growing late and he wanted 
 to get home by supper time. First of all, with a grin 
 of satisfaction, he entered up Farmer Hemingway's 
 payment, and put his name on the mailing list. 
 
 Tom's task must have taken him longer than he 
 had expected, for he did not appear at the cottage 
 in time for supper, and, when Merkle had com- 
 pleted his meal and risen with a sigh of contentment
 
 TOM GOES WALKING 267 
 
 to light his post-prandial pipe, the head of the house 
 was still missing. Merkle seated himself comfort- 
 ably in a rocker by the empty fireplace and watched 
 Joe, who was still busy with his knife and fork. 
 Mrs. Wilson entered from the kitchen and rescued 
 the remainder of the pie, upon which Joe seemed 
 to be contemplating fresh inroads. 
 
 " I could stand an encore on that pie," said Joe, 
 following its retreat with regretful eyes. 
 
 " I'm saving the rest for Tom," said Mrs. Wil- 
 son. " Huckleberry is his favorite." 
 
 Joe felt that he was rebuked, and was silent. 
 Mrs. Wilson turned to Merkle with an anxious 
 look. "Did he say when he was coming?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " He'll be along pretty soon," said Merkle with 
 cheerful evasiveness. " He had some special work 
 at the office that he wanted to straighten out." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson carried the pie to the sideboard, 
 where it should be safe from Joe, then returned to 
 the table. 
 
 " It's a shame the way that poor boy has to work," 
 she complained. " Can't even come home to his 
 supper on time. And he looks dreadful, too. Al- 
 most worn out." 
 
 She looked accusingly, first at Joe, whose mouth 
 was too full for comfortable utterance, then at 
 Merkle, who was reading a paper and puffing plac- 
 idly at his pipe.
 
 268 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " I don't think he looks so rotten," said Merkle. 
 He was comparing the new Tom, radiant with 
 health and enthusiasm, with the Tom of those last 
 few weeks in New York and thinking what a marvel- 
 ous change a few months had wrought in the boy. 
 Though Merkle did not realize it, the change in 
 himself was fully as obvious. 
 
 But Tom's mother, not being in the secret of his 
 thoughts, resented the apparent carelessness of his 
 reply, and retorted with a sharpness unusual for her. 
 
 " Couldn't expect you to notice it," she said, 
 starting for the kitchen with a tray of dishes. " If 
 some folks would do their share of work, my boy 
 would get time to eat something." 
 
 "Do I get anything to drink with this?" Joe 
 called plaintively after her. 
 
 " I'll bring you a glass of water," said Mrs. Wil- 
 son shortly, and went out. 
 
 At the mention of water Joe rose from the table 
 with a puckered mouth. He turned appealingly to 
 Merkle, who was watching him with amusement 
 over the top of his paper. 
 
 " Can you beat it? " he asked. He stretched 
 himself and yawned the yawn of complete boredom., 
 " Gee! " he exclaimed, " I wish I was back where I 
 could see the lights." 
 
 " Oh, stick it out," growled Merkle, returning to 
 his paper. But Joe would not be put down. He; 
 was in a mood to wail and wail he would, whether; 
 anybody sympathized or not.
 
 TOM GOES WALKING 269 
 
 ' On the level, old pal," he said. " It has my 
 nanny. I feel like I was doing time." 
 
 " This country thing is just what you needed," re- 
 plied Merkle. " Why," he continued in flattering 
 tones, " you're looking better than you ever did in 
 your life." 
 
 Joe smiled a languid acknowledgment of the 
 compliment while he proceeded to roll a cigarette. 
 
 " Oh, I'm there with the fatal beauty, all right," 
 he conceded. " But, what's the use? There isn't 
 a skirt in this town I'd fall for." 
 
 He lighted his cigarette, but after one deep in- 
 halation, tossed it impatiently into the fireplace. 
 
 " Gee ! " he exclaimed, in a voice of deep yearn- 
 ing. " When I think of the nifty gals chasing 
 around Forty-second street, and the careless way I 
 used to pass them up honest to God, I get re- 
 morse." 
 
 " They'll still be there when you go back," said 
 Merkle, in a conscientious effort to soothe. 
 
 " Not the same ones," mourned Joe, refusing to 
 be comforted. He walked over to Merkle. 
 " Say," he asked appealingly, " ain't you ever lone- 
 some for the Big Lane? " 
 
 " Not me," said Merkle. " I'm happier than 
 I've been for a long time." 
 
 " You mean that you're going to stick to this 
 tank? " continued Joe. 
 
 " As long as God lets me," replied Merkle heart- 
 ily.
 
 270 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 Joe looked him over critically. It was sucH a 
 look as an alienist might bestow upon a case that 
 promised interesting peculiarities. 
 
 " Nothing like that in my family," he said at last. 
 " I'd rather be a ripple on Broadway than a whole 
 tidal wave up here. And to think," he moaned, 
 " I came up here of my own free will ! Gee ! 
 That's what gets me." 
 
 " I thought you liked the place," said Merkle. 
 " It's nice and quiet." 
 
 " Quiet? " cried Joe in wrathful disgust. " Say, 
 Merkle, it's so quiet that, when the mosquitos play 
 around my window at night, I think they're bur- 
 glars trying to break in." 
 
 " Never mind, Joe," said Merkle with a laugh. 
 " You'll soon have so much money that you won't 
 know what to do with it. That Belknap story ought 
 to double our circulation." 
 
 11 What does the kid think about it? " asked Joe, 
 with a cautious glance towards the kitchen door. 
 
 " I don't think he knows," replied Merkle slowly. 
 " At least he hasn't mentioned it." 
 
 The two men looked at each other gravely for a 
 moment, but before either could speak again, there 
 was a sound of footsteps on the porch, and they both 
 turned their faces to the door expecting to see Tom 
 Wilson.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 BELKNAP SENDS HIS COMPLIMENTS 
 
 BUT it wasn't Tom. Instea'd, the elongated 
 figure of Hez Jenks appeared in the doorway 
 and teetered there on its toes as if its owner were 
 doubtful of the reception that awaited it inside. 
 Joe turned to Merkle with a swift wink, and strolled 
 forward to welcome the visitor, whose errand both 
 men had instantly divined. 
 
 Hez peered apprehensively about the room, then, 
 seeing no signs of his arch-enemy, stepped inside, 
 and doffed his chauffeur's cap and goggles in a stiff 
 salute. 
 
 " Howdy," he said. His eyes shifted uneasily 
 from Joe to Merkle and back to Joe again. " Tom 
 Wilson at home?" 
 
 " Hello, Joshua," cried Joe in his most cordial 
 tones. He walked up to Hez and circled silently 
 around him, inspecting his automobile costume from 
 every angle with an expression of delighted admi- 
 ration. "What's the big noise?" he asked. 
 
 Hez, suspicious of Joe's intentions, had kept his 
 face to the foe by the simple expedient of revolving 
 upon his heels. Now, seeing that Joe's designs 
 were pacific, he repeated his question sharply. 
 271
 
 272 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 11 Judge Belknap sent me over to see Tom Wil- 
 son," he said. "Where is he?" 
 
 " Over at the office counting his money," replied 
 Joe, with an airy wave of the hand and a provoking 
 grin. 
 
 " Guess he ain't got much to count," sniffed Hez. 
 
 " Guess again," said Joe. " He only needs 
 about thirty cents more to have a million dollars." 
 
 Hez turned from Joe to Merkle. " I have a 
 message for Tom Wilson," he said, " but perhaps 
 you will do as well. Judge Belknap says that piece 
 you put in the paper about him is criminal libel, 
 and, if it ain't retracted in the next issue, he'll have 
 you all arrested." 
 
 Hez delivered the Judge's ultimatum in tones of 
 high-pitched defiance, looking the while at Merkle, 
 as if he expected that worthy to crumple at his feet 
 and utter loud cries for mercy. But Merkle who 
 had survived the wrath of greater personages than 
 Judge Belknap, only smiled pleasantly. Joe cut in. 
 
 " Hand this guy a rain check," he said impa- 
 tiently. But Merkle said quietly to Hez : 
 
 " You tell the old man, if he thinks he's got any 
 kick coming, he'd better come around himself." 
 
 " During office hours," supplemented Joe. 
 " That goes for you, too," he added. 
 
 Hez deemed it unwise to pursue the subject in the 
 'face of Joe's truculence. Besides he had a scheme 
 of his own in mind, and he didn't care to risk being
 
 'BELKNAP. SENDS COMPLIMENTS 273 
 
 ordered out of the house before he could speak of it. 
 
 " I got a personal complaint to make," he said. 
 " You forgot to put in that piece I give you about 
 my engagement to Miss Belknap." 
 
 "Did you look in the sporting column?" asked 
 Joe, blandly. 
 
 " 'Tain't in there nohow," snapped Hez. 
 
 " Don't see how we let that get by," said Joe. 
 ** But we'll run it in the next issue. Fifty cents 
 please." 
 
 Hez looked at Joe's outstretched hand and at 
 Joe's expectant eye with manifestations of annoy- 
 ance. 
 
 "Fifty cents!" he echoed. "Why! This is 
 news." 
 
 Joe shook his head decisively. " Come across, 
 Josh," he said. " Kick in with the jingle. I'm 
 sorry, but we can't marry you for less than fifty, 
 cents." 
 
 "You must think I'm a sucker," sneered Hez, 
 whose face had been slowly turning brick red under 
 Joe's mocking insistence. " Fifty cents, huh ! 
 Guess you're a Jew, ain't you. We ain't got none 
 of them in this village." 
 
 " That's why it's a village," explained Joe, with 
 an urbane bow. 
 
 Hez turned angrily to the door. " I'll go over 
 and tell Tom Wilson," he cried. " He mightn't 
 be so fresh."
 
 274 THE COUNTRY BOY, 
 
 " Did you ever see so many peeves in one town? " 
 inquired Joe throwing up his hands in a hopeless 
 gesture as Hez made his way out. Mrs. Wilson 
 entered from the kitchen just as Hez disappeared 
 down the front steps. 
 
 " Who was that? " she asked. 
 
 " The village detective," replied Joe, " looking 
 for the kid." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson, who knew by experience that Joe's 
 explanations were usually more unintelligible than 
 his original statements, forbore to question him fur- 
 ther. But the reference to Tom renewed her anx- 
 iety. 
 
 " I wish he'd come before his supper gets all 
 cold," she said. " What do you suppose is keep- 
 ing him? " 
 
 Merkle, to whom the question was chiefly ad- 
 dressed, rose promptly from his seat and walked 
 over to her. 
 
 " Want me to go see? " he asked. 
 
 " No, no," she replied hurriedly. " He wouldn't 
 like it. I suppose," she went on half-apologetically, 
 " I oughtn't to worry him when he has such a lot 
 of things on his mind. But I do wish he had some- 
 body to help him." She looked hard at Joe. 
 " Somebody who had his interest at heart," she 
 added, with emphasis. 
 
 Joe, leaning against the wall near the door, lifted 
 his shoulders in a deprecatory shrug.
 
 'BELKNAP SENDS COMPLIMENTS 275 
 
 " Outside of that I'm all right," he ventured. 
 " We each have our separate department to look 
 after, mother," said Merkle, with the air of grave 
 kindliness which he always assumed when Tom's 
 mother was in her moods. "iYou mustn't blame 
 Joe if he gets through first." 
 
 " I don't see why Tom's worE should be so much 
 harder," persisted Tom's mother. " It's perfectly 
 wonderful how he manages to do so much." 
 
 " It certainly is," assented Merkle, and was pro- 
 ceeding to sound Tom's praises in a manner that 
 brought a pleased smile to his mother's face, 
 when Tom himself ran up the steps and hurried 
 into the room, the incarnation of youthful health and 
 energy. 
 
 " Hello, boys," he cried. " Had your supper, 
 I suppose. That's right. No use waiting for me. 
 Hello, mother " 
 
 He tossed his hat into a chair and kissed her, 
 while Joe watched him with a sympathetic eye. 
 
 " Poor fellow," he said sadly, in tones loud 
 enough to reach Mrs. Wilson's ears. " Looking 
 bad, isn't he?" 
 
 Mrs. Wilson was too busy for the moment being 
 kissed to make immediate reply, and Tom, seeing 
 that something was amiss, spoke quickly. 
 
 " Hope I haven't put you out," he said to his 
 
 mother. " A lot of things I had to fix up to-night/* 
 
 " I was beginning to think you'd never come,"
 
 276 THE COUNTRY BOY. 
 
 she replied, with querulous tenderness. " You look 
 all worn out" 
 
 Tom laughed heartily. " Nonsense," he said. 
 " I'm feeling fine." 
 
 " I hope you don't feel any better than you look," 
 grumbled Joe. " First thing we know you'll be 
 posing around the country as a white hope and we'll 
 be hunting for another publisher." 
 
 " Sit right down, dear," said Mrs. Wilson, ig- 
 noring Joe's remark. She bustled about Tom at 
 the table. " I'm afraid everything is cold now, but 
 I couldn't help it." 
 
 " Anything will do," said Tom, unthinkingly, as 
 he took his place at the table. " I'm not very 
 hungry." 
 
 ".You poor boy," said his mother, with a tri- 
 umphantly reproachful look at the others. " I just 
 know you're overdoing it." 
 
 She hurried away to the kitchen. Merkle went 
 back to his chair in the chimney corner. Joe seated 
 himself at the table across from Tom. There was 
 an expectant silence. 
 
 " Well," said Tom, " I have it all straightened 
 out." 
 
 " How do we stand," asked Merkle. 
 
 " Over four hundred to the good," replied Tom. 
 " Our plant all paid for and not a bill out against
 
 BELKNAP SENDS COMPLIMENTS 277 
 
 Merkle smiled a smile of satisfaction. Joe 
 twisted uneasily in his chair. 
 
 " That four hundred? " he inquired. " Is it red 
 coin? " 
 
 Tom nodded. " Net profit," he said. 
 
 " Fine," said Joe. 
 
 " Not so bad for a start," growled Merkle. 
 
 There was another period of silence, broken by 
 Tom. 
 
 " The question now," he suggested, " is, what to 
 'do with it." 
 
 " Cut it three ways, of course," said Joe quickly. 
 
 " How about getting the new press? " This 
 from Merkle's corner. 
 
 " We need it badly," said Tom. 
 
 Joe jumped to his feet. " Nix on that improve- 
 ment stuff," he expostulated. "Me for the big 
 dividend." 
 
 " I hate to disappoint you, Joe," said Tom, after 
 a momentary pause, in which he and Merkle ex- 
 changed glances. " But I think we ought to en- 
 large the plant as soon as possible. The fact that 
 we have been able to make good with the old stuff 
 shows what we could do with an up-to-date press. 
 We could make it twice as big and throw off twice 
 as many." 
 
 "That's the dope," said Merkle. "I'm with 
 the kid."
 
 278 THE COUNTRY, BOY 
 
 Joe, taken by surprise at this unexpected coali- 
 tion, entered vehement protest. 
 
 " You guys give me a pain," he exclaimed. 
 " We work our heads off to pile up four hundred 
 bucks, and now you want to put it all into some more 
 junk." 
 
 " It'll pay for itself in no time," argued Tom. 
 
 " Surest thing you know," assented Merkle. 
 
 Joe looked appealingly from one to the other, 
 then sank dejectedly into a chair. 
 
 " All right," he said, in tones that indicated that 
 it was anything but all right in his estimation. " I 
 can see myself beating it for home on the trucks." 
 
 Tom and Merkle looked anxiously at each other. 
 Merkle, especially, was worried at Joe's implied 
 threat of desertion, for he knew better than Tom 
 how homesick Joe had become, and how, now that 
 the novelty of their venture had worn off, the simple 
 pleasures of village life palled upon him. Before 
 either could trust himself to reply, Mrs. Wilson re- 
 turned from the kitchen and placed Tom's supper 
 before him. She regarded the conferees with dis- 
 favor. 
 
 " Now how do you suppose he's going to eat if 
 you talk to him all the time," she scolded. " No 
 wonder he's getting thin." 
 
 " Now, mother " Tom began. 
 
 " I won't say another word, deari" she inter- 
 rupted quickly. " Only I do wish you would look
 
 'BELKNAP SENDS COMPLIMENTS 279 
 
 after your health. Would you like some cold 
 tea?" 
 
 u Just a glass of water," said Tom. She went 
 back into the kitchen. 
 
 Joe surveyed Tom's dainty meal with a critical 
 feye. 
 
 " You're the star here, all right," he grumbled, 
 with a grin at Merkle. " We didn't have any of 
 that, did we, Doc? " 
 
 " Help yourself," said Tom, busy with his nap- 
 kin. 
 
 " Haven't room for it now," confessed Joe reluc- 
 tantly, and contented himself with munching a 
 pickle. 
 
 " Do you remember what the estimate was on 
 that new stuff? " asked Merkle. 
 
 "Not exactly," replied Tom. "But here's 
 their letter. Read it." 
 
 Merkle glanced through the letter. "Three 
 hundred and fifty down and the balance in notes," 
 he announced. 
 
 " That's easy enough," said Tom. " What do 
 you think?" 
 
 "I'll go along," replied Merkle. They both 
 looked at Joe, who remained stubbornly silent. 
 
 " How about it, Joe? " asked Tom. 
 
 "We agreed upon two-thirds vote, didn't we?" 
 asked Joe, after a pause. 
 
 " But we'd like you to feel satisfied," said Tom.
 
 280 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " That's always the way," replied Joe, whose ir- 
 ritation was fast fading, but who felt it necessary 
 to be consistent. " Every time I see enough coin 
 in sight to make a getaway, you fellows put the lock 
 on again. All right." He sighed mournfully. 
 " I'll trail along." 
 
 "Good!" exclaimed Tom. "Then we're all 
 agreed." 
 
 " You'd better send in the order before Joe 
 changes his mind," observed Merkle, with a grin. 
 
 " I'll attend to it the first thing in the morning," 
 Tom assured him. " By Jove, boys," he went on 
 impulsively, dropping his fork and beaming across 
 the table. " You don't know how good this makes 
 me feel." 
 
 " I'm glad somebody's happy," murmured Joe, 
 dismally. 
 
 " When I think of all we've accomplished in a 
 few months," said Tom, " I almost feel as if we'd 
 made good already. And I owe it all to you fel- 
 lows. You've been perfect bricks to stick. Espe- 
 cially Joe." 
 
 He turned to Joe with his most engaging smile. 
 " I know how hard it must have been for you," he 
 said, " and you haven't squealed once." 
 
 Joe's ill humor could not maintain itself before 
 this ingenuous outburst. " Oh," he said, with a 
 slow smile, " I've made a little wish once or twice."
 
 BELKNAP SENDS COMPLIMENTS 281 
 
 " Don't thank me," said Merkle gruffly. " I like 
 it here." 
 
 " Yes," grumbled Joe, who had risen from his 
 chair and gone over towards the door. " It's so 
 nice and quiet." 
 
 Tom returned to his supper and Merkle to his 
 paper, but both jumped to their feet at a loud ex- 
 clamation from Joe and the sound of a woman's 
 voice which said: 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon." 
 
 Tom clutched at the back of his cHair to steady 
 himself as he turned slowly towards the door to face 
 the speaker. Jane had come! She had come at 
 last! His heart was bounding madly at the sound 
 of her voice. He could hardly resist the impulse 
 to rush towards her. But he mastered himself in 
 an instant, and, when their eyes met, there was no 
 expression in his own save that of friendly greeting. 
 
 There was no answering gleam in Jane's. She 
 stood stiffly erect, just inside the door. She was 
 gripping a newspaper in her hand. Her face was 
 a frigid, inflexible mask.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 JANE MAKES A DISCOVERY 
 
 THERE was an awkward pause. Tom, taken 
 by surprise at Jane's hostile attitude, was 
 jarred for an instant out of his self-possession. 
 Merkle, watching his young friend closely, saw the 
 faint smile fade from his face, to be replaced by a 
 look of blank perplexity. Joe had eyes for nobody 
 but the pretty girl in the doorway. 
 
 " Come in, Jane," said Tom at last, breaking a 
 silence which was fast becoming embarrassing to 
 everybody but Joe. " You know Mr. Merkle and 
 Mr. Weinstein? Miss Belknap, gentlemen." 
 
 " I haven't had the pleasure," said Jane, with the 
 slightest permissible nod to each. " How do you 
 do?" 
 
 Merkle returned Jane's nod with his best bow. 
 Joe smiled on her approvingly. 
 
 " Sit down," continued Tom, again at his ease. 
 He placed a chair for her. " I'll call mother. I 
 suppose it's her you want to see." 
 
 " No," said Jane, coolly ignoring his invitation. 
 " I wanted to see you if you can spare me a mo- 
 ment." 
 
 " Certainly," said Tom, opening his eyes wide at 
 282
 
 JANE MAKES A DISCOVERY 283 
 
 this strangely put request. If he could spare her a 
 moment I What could she mean? Jane had held 
 the newspaper towards him as she spoke, in ex- 
 planation of her errand. He saw that she carried 
 a copy of The Herald, but, as he knew nothing of 
 the Belknap story, it afforded him no clew to the 
 mystery of her behavior. 
 
 Merkle promptly took Joe by the arm and 
 marched him across the floor to a door that led to a 
 side room. He surmised what was coming, and he 
 thought it best to let Tom and Jane have it out be- 
 tween themselves. No telling what fortunate out- 
 come might be expected if these two young things 
 were left alone together. 
 
 " We'll get out," he announced, keeping a firm 
 grasp on Joe, who seemed inclined to stay. 
 
 " Don't go boys," said Tom, politely. 
 
 " We have some stuff to go over," replied 
 Merkle, with plausible invention. " We'll be in 
 here if you want us. Come on, Joe." 
 
 " Gee, Doc, how did I ever come to overlook 
 that? " murmured Joe to Merkle. He lingered to 
 cast another admiring glance at Jane, but Merkle 
 dragged him abruptly into the other room and closed 
 the door on further comment. 
 
 Jane watched them out. When the door had 
 closed behind them, she turned with haughty delib- 
 eration to Tom, and, for the first time since she had 
 entered the room, deigned to look at him attentively.
 
 284 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 The effect was not quite what she had anticipated 
 on either herself or Tom. 
 
 She felt herself unexpectedly at a loss. Certain 
 blistering phrases, in which she had thought to em- 
 body her opinion of Tom's conduct and character, 
 by way of preface to her just demands, died upon 
 her lips. They seemed suddenly unavailable, not 
 to say absurd. 
 
 For Jane, always methodical, even in the flood 
 tide of her indignation, had not entered Tom Wil- 
 son's home without a well considered plan. She 
 knew just what she intended to say, also just what 
 answers she intended Tom to make. It was to be 
 something like this. First of all she would turn the 
 impudent boy Tom over her knee, figuratively 
 speaking, and give him a spanking he would remem- 
 ber till his dying day. When, under the lash of her 
 scorn, he whined for mercy, then, and not till then, 
 was he to be permitted to beg her forgiveness for 
 the great wrong he had committed, and to offer 
 such feeble amends as lay in his power to make. 
 The amends she would accept. The forgiveness 
 well, that was the only part of her plan she had left 
 unsettled. It would largely depend, of course, upon 
 the sincerity of Tom's contrition. 
 
 But now Jane's plan was all confusion in an in- 
 stant, and Jane also. For this man, who confronted 
 her so calmly, was not the Tom Wilson she knew 
 the boy she had come to spank. Tom Wilson had
 
 JANE MAKES A DISCOVERY 285 
 
 passed out of the spanking age. She knew that the 
 moment she looked into his eyes. Irresponsibility 
 sparkled there no longer. There was a subtle im- 
 press of maturity upon his brow. As by a flash of 
 intuition she realized that somewhere, somehow, 
 without her aid, Tom Wilson had found himself. 
 
 And she had lost him. He had slipped out of 
 her grasp. Not that it mattered. 
 
 He was wholly unabashed. He was standing al- 
 most across the room and he made no move to ap- 
 proach her, but waited in an attitude of courteous 
 expectancy, until his guest might be pleased to 
 speak, a thing Jane was finding it increasingly diffi- 
 cult to attempt. His attitude irritated her. It 
 seemed to demand explanations of her unan- 
 nounced coming, her arrogant demeanor. She 
 made a painful effort to speak and stamped her foot 
 in annoyance when she failed. She was in serious 
 danger of losing her temper entirely, when Tom 
 came to her aid. 
 
 " I'm awfully glad to see you, Jane," he said 
 quietly. " I was beginning to think we never would 
 see each other. You are looking fine." 
 
 His kindly attempt to set her at her ease did not 
 diminish Jane's vexation. 
 
 " Thank you," she retorted. " I haven't come 
 here to exchange compliments." 
 
 Tom did not attempt to conceal his astonishment 
 at this rebuff. "Has anything happened?" he in-
 
 286 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 quired anxiously. He came a step nearer. " If 
 there is anything I can do " 
 
 His pretended solicitude, for such she deemed it, 
 was more than Jane could bear. She burst forth in 
 angry appeal. 
 
 "Why are you persecuting my father?" she 
 cried. 
 
 It was not the denunciation she had planned. It 
 came perilously near being entreaty an involun- 
 tary tribute, rendered to the new quality she recog- 
 nized in Tom. The fact was an added bitterness 
 to Jane. 
 
 Tom was frankly bewildered. He looked at 
 Jane as if he suspected for a moment that she had 
 taken leave of her senses. 
 
 " That's a joke, isn't it? " he asked, mildly. 
 
 " If it is," she snapped, " I haven't enough sense 
 of humor to appreciate it." 
 
 " I can't imagine anybody persecuting Judge Bel- 
 knap," remarked Tom. 
 
 Jane held out the obnoxious copy of The Herald. 
 
 " This," she said, " is the last issue of your paper." 
 Tom nodded. " I presume you have read it," she 
 added sarcastically, as he betrayed no evidence of an 
 enlightened conscience. 
 
 " Not very carefully," replied Tom. " You see," 
 he explained, " I'm only the business manager. 
 Doctor Merkle is the editor, but, of course, if 
 there's been any mistake "
 
 JANE MAKES A DISCOVERY 287 
 
 " There's been no mistake," interrupted Jane, 
 waving his excuses aside with his own newspaper, 
 which she had unfolded. " This paragraph " she 
 pointed to the offensive item " refers to our most 
 prominent citizen. A member of the council. It 
 accuses him of being in the pay of the railroad and 
 threatens an expose in the next issue." 
 
 Tom heard her through with a look of genuine 
 amazement. She thrust the paper into his hands 
 and watched him as he glanced hastily over the de- 
 famatory paragraph. As Jane had said, there 
 could be no mistaking its reference. Judge Belknap 
 was a member of the council. He was the railroad's 
 paid attorney. He was beyond question Fairview's 
 first citizen. Tom slowly folded up the paper and 
 handed it back to her with a troubled look. 
 
 "What do you intend to expose?" she de- 
 manded, plucking up her courage at sight of his dis- 
 quietude. 
 
 " I don't know," he replied. 
 
 " You admit that this refers to father? " she went 
 on, pressing her advantage. 
 
 " I'll admit it looks like him," said Tom. 
 
 "And you pretend not to know its meaning?" 
 
 It was a bitter question, spoken with studied in- 
 solence. If she had said in so many words that he 
 was lying, her meaning could not have been plainer. 
 Tom's face grew red, but he confronted her un- 
 flinchingly.
 
 288 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 " I hadn't seen it before," he said simply. 
 
 " I had hoped you would be frank, at least," she 
 returned, with lofty disdain. " I'm sorry to have 
 bothered you." 
 
 She turned to go. 
 
 "Wait a minute, Jane," said Tom. " You've 5 
 got me going now. Give me a chance to find out 
 what it's all about." 
 
 She was already at the door, but she yielded to 
 his request, she hardly knew why, out of a spirit of 
 perversity, perhaps. She would not admit to her- 
 self that she might have done him injustice. Her 
 resentment was still too keen for that. But it was 
 gratifying to see Tom reduced to the role of sup- 
 pliant in his turn. He must care, after all for 
 her good opinion, at least. 
 
 " I wouldn't have cared," she said, " if you had 
 come right out with the charge whatever it is. 
 Father is quite capable of protecting himself against 
 slander. But, to hide yourself under an insinuation 
 like this it is cowardly." 
 
 Tom looked hurt, but did not reply. 
 
 " It isn't what I had expected of you," she con- 
 cluded with a sigh of disappointment. Tom could 
 gather from that just how high he had stood in her 
 opinion and how far he had fallen. 
 
 But he refused to be properly impressed. " I 
 give you my word," he assured her, " I don't know
 
 JANE MAKES A DISCOVERY 289 
 
 yet what it means. It must be something the boys 
 have found out lately." 
 
 She knew this time that he was speaking the truth, 
 but she was too angry to be fair. 
 
 " So then," she said, " without knowing anything 
 about it, you immediately jump to the conclusion that 
 my father has done wrong." 
 
 " Not intentionally, perhaps," he replied gravely. 
 " But you know yourself that his methods are not 
 always above criticism." 
 
 His answer discomfited her once more. Tom 
 had expressed no conclusion as to her father's 
 wrongdoing, a fact which she realized almost be- 
 fore the words were out of her mouth. But she 
 had let them stand, expecting a disclaimer at least. 
 For an instant, she even hoped for some expression 
 of confidence in the Judge's integrity, which should 
 pave the way to a better understanding. But his 
 cool avowal was like a blow in the face. She coun- 
 tered swiftly. 
 
 " Why not give him the benefit of your advice? " 
 she suggested. 
 
 " Please don't be sarcastic, Jane," said Tom. 
 " I'm awfully sorry this has happened. I always . 
 seem to be disappointing you somehow," he contin- 
 ued sadly. " There in the city, when I got rattled 
 and lost my way, and now here at home, where I ex- 
 pected to do so much. .The thing I most wanted to
 
 290 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 do was to win back your respect, but, of course, 
 after this & " 
 
 He broke off with a hopeless wave of his hand 
 towards the paper, which the girl still held in her 
 hand. Jane was silent. After a slight pause, he 
 v/ent on speaking. 
 
 " If you'll give me a moment with Merkle," he 
 said, " I'll find out what it means. Will you join 
 my mother for a moment? She's in there," and he 
 pointed to the kitchen door. 
 
 " I'd rather not," said Jane. " She might 
 think" 
 
 She hesitated, and Tom gave her no time to for- 
 mulate her objections. " You owe it to me now," 
 he said quickly. " I won't keep you long." 
 
 He walked up to her, took the paper from her 
 hand and waved her towards the door with it. For 
 an instant she wavered. He took it so easily for 
 granted that she would obey. Then, moved by a 
 sudden impulse she did not stop to analyze, she 
 walked quickly across the room and laid her hand 
 on the latch. 
 
 " Thank you," said Tom. She disappeared. 
 
 Tom opened the paper and read the inflam- 
 matory article with care. It was very short, not 
 more than a dozen lines in all, but it had been penned 
 by a master of English, who knew how to make each 
 word sting. No wonder Jane was angry, or the 
 Judge either. He stood for a moment longer,
 
 JANE MAKES A DISCOVERY 291 
 
 thinking. He did not blame Merkle, of course, 
 but the thing must go no further. With an expres- 
 sion of determination on his face, he walked over 
 to Merkle's door and rapped. 
 
 " Merkle," he called. " Come here a minute, 
 will you ? " 
 
 " Sure," boomed Merkle's big voice through the 
 panels.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 BY A TWO-THIRDS VOTE 
 
 44T I THAT'S the trouble? " asked Merkle, when 
 VV he entered the room a moment later. 
 [Tom pointed to the Belknap item. 
 
 " Miss Belknap has just asked me what this 
 meant," he said, " and I had to tell her that I didn't 
 know. It refers to her father, doesn't it?" 
 I "Yes," replied Merkle. "He's putting a bill 
 through the council giving that piece of village prop- 
 erty at the foot of Main Street to the railroad for 
 their new station. And he's the attorney for the 
 road." 
 
 "Well? "said Tom. 
 
 " It doesn't go with his position as president of 
 the Board of Supervisors. It's a downright steal 
 of public property. It'll make a good story." 
 
 " You mustn't run it," said Tom. 
 
 " What? " exclaimed Merkle. 
 
 " We mustn't run it." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " It will just about ruin him in this town," said 
 [Tom. 
 
 " It's coming to him, isn't it? " demanded 
 Merkle. 
 
 292
 
 BY A TWO-THIRDS VOTE 293 
 
 " Judge Belknap probably considers the new sta- 
 tion a good investment for the village," Tom ex- 
 plained. " It's merely a point of view. I suggest 
 calling on him. When he hears our side of it, he 
 may change his mind." 
 
 " Of course he will when he finds we have it on 
 him," said Merkle with a grim smile. 
 
 " Will you let me try? " asked Tom. 
 
 " It's news now," said Merkle obstinately. " It 
 won't be after he changes his mind. The story will 
 double our circulation." 
 
 "We'll soon have all the circulation we can 
 handle without that," argued Tom. 
 
 " It isn't merely a matter of circulation," per- 
 sisted Merkle. " It's a question of our duty to our 
 subscribers. We owe it to them to print the news, 
 to suppress nothing that concerns them or the public 
 welfare. That's the first law in every honest news- 
 paper shop. This grab needs exposing, and it's up 
 to The Herald to expose it." 
 
 " I'm sorry, old man," said Tom gravely, " but 
 I can't agree with you about Judge Belknap. I 
 never expected to oppose you in anything, but I 
 can't stand for this." 
 
 " We'd better put it to a vote," said Merkle. 
 He walked over to the door he had just entered. 
 
 " Come here, Joe," he called. " We need you." 
 
 " The kid doesn't want to run our story," he said, 
 as Joe entered the room.
 
 294 THE COUNTRY, BOY. 
 
 "What?" exclaimed Joe. 
 
 " That's right," said Tom. " I'll have to lay 
 down on this." 
 
 " But he ain't no friend of yours," remonstrated 
 Joe, greatly surprised that Tom should scruple to 
 even scores with the Judge. " Look at the rotten 
 deal he handed you in New York." 
 
 " All the more reason why we must be just with 
 him now," replied Tom. 
 
 Joe stared at him in wonder and disgust. Among 
 all the ancient traditions of his race, Joe Weinstein 
 held none in greater esteem than the eye-for-an-eye, 
 tooth-for-a-tooth proposition. Joe loved his friends 
 and hated his enemies as a matter of principle, and 
 hated his friends' enemies besides, for the satisfac- 
 tion it gave him. 
 
 " It's up to you, Joe," said Merkle. 
 
 " I say, go through with it," voted Joe. 
 "We're not running a Sunday school sheet. We 
 came up here for the dough." 
 
 " Two to one," said Merkle quietly. 
 
 " Listen, boys," pleaded Tom. " You've been 
 bully pals and I'm grateful to you both. I owe you 
 too much to ever stand out against anything you 
 want to do, but I feel that you don't understand 
 this thing. I know that Judge Belknap wouldn't 
 do anything he didn't think was right." 
 
 " Do you think this grab is right? " asked the 
 implacable Merkle.
 
 BY A TWO-THIRDS VOTE 295 
 
 " I'll admit that it doesn't look right," replied 
 Tom. " But you mustn't judge him as you would 
 the political boss of a large city. He was born and 
 brought up in this village arid he has its interests 
 at heart. He is looked up to and respected. He 
 has always worked for what he honestly thought 
 was the good of the town. I'm not saying this be- 
 cause he is Jane's father, but because I know the 
 man. Won't you give him a square deal? Won't 
 you give him a chance to explain? " 
 
 The face of Merkle, to whom his appeal had 
 been chiefly addressed, remained changeless. The 
 editor turned again to Weinstein, who had listened 
 to Tom's plea with ill-disguised impatience. 
 
 " What do you think, Joe? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh," said Joe, " I need some excitement. 
 Let's go down and see the train come in." 
 
 He took his hat down from its peg near the door 
 and went out into the street. Tom followed his 
 retreating figure with despairing eyes. Before he 
 could renew his appeal to Merkle, his mother en- 
 tered the room, rushed up to him and grasped his 
 arm. 
 
 " You couldn't Ho a thing like that, Tom," she 
 exclaimed, in a voice tremulous with anxiety. 
 " You couldn't do it. I told Jane that it was all a 
 mistake, and that you'd say so in your next issue." 
 
 " It's not a mistake, mother," said Tom sadly, 
 " and the boys won't say that it is."
 
 296 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 "The paper is yours, isn't it?" she cried. 
 
 " I'm only one of three," he answered. 
 
 Tom's mother looked indignantly at Merkle, who 
 had walked over to the door and busied himself 
 looking at nothing in particular out in the street. 
 
 "Well, of all the" she began. Tom hushed 
 her quickly. 
 
 " You mustn't blame them, mother," he said. 
 " They must protect their own interests in their own 
 way." 
 
 But Mrs. Wilson was not to be silenced. She 
 had been horrified by Jane's account of the attack 
 made upon her old friend in the columns of The 
 Herald, and she poured out the vials of her wrath 
 on Merkle's averted head. 
 
 " It's just what I thought all along," she cried. 
 " I knew they weren't your friends, but I made them 
 welcome here because you said they were. I sus- 
 pected they were trying to have a bad influence over 
 you. Now I'm sure of it." 
 
 Tom, greatly distressed for Merkle's sake, tried 
 in vain to check the torrent of her words. He had 
 come to know that Merkle, for all his gruff exterior, 
 was the gentlest and most sensitive of men where 
 his affections were concerned. He hastened to re- 
 pair the wrong done to that tender heart. 
 
 " I'm sorry you said that, mother." His voice 
 shook as he gazed at Merkle's bowed head. 
 " They've been the best friends a boy ever had.
 
 BY A TWO-THIRDS VOTE 297 
 
 Especially Merkle. He saved me from doing the 
 most cowardly thing a man can do. If it hadn't 
 been for him " He stopped. The words 
 choked in his throat as his mind flew back to that 
 hideous night when Merkle had fought with him 
 for his soul. " If it hadn't been for him, I wouldn't 
 be here," he whispered hoarsely. " I wouldn't be 
 anywhere." 
 
 " Tom ! " exclaimed his mother, horror-stricken 
 as his meaning forced itself upon her. 
 
 " Yes, mother," he said. " It was as bad as 
 that." 
 
 She put her arms around her boy and held him 
 fast. 
 
 " Forgive me," she pleaded tearfully. " I didn't 
 mean what I said." 
 
 He patted her gently on the shoulder. " It's all 
 right, dear," he said. "I wanted you to know, 
 that's all." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson looked at Merkle. A faint flush 
 mounted to her cheeks as she walked slowly towards 
 him. 
 
 " Doctor Merkle," she began timidly. He 
 turned and faced her. 
 
 " Yes, mother," he said. 
 
 " Will you let me kiss you? " she faltered. 
 
 "In a minute," replied Merkle, and was fully 
 fifty-nine seconds better than his word. 
 
 They smiled at each other in all friendliness and
 
 298 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 good will. She returned to Tom and kissed him 
 too, lest he should feel neglected. 
 
 " You'd better tell it to Jane, mother," said Tom. 
 " I can't." 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Mrs. Wilson, suddenly recol- 
 lecting her duties as a hostess. " I'd forgotten all 
 about her." 
 
 She left the room. Tom threw himself deject- 
 edly into a chair. Merkle walked over and placed 
 a hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " Well," he said. " What are you going to do, 
 son?" 
 
 " If you boys have absolutely decided, I'll go 
 along, of course," replied Tom, without a moment's 
 hesitation. 
 
 He starte'd to his feet as Jane entered from the 
 kitchen. She had evidently intended to say some- 
 thing to him, something not altogether pleasant, 
 if her expression counted for anything, but, 
 seeing Merkle, she changed her mind and started 
 for the street door. Tom placed himself in her 
 path. 
 
 " Jane," he began, " I want you to under- 
 stand" 
 
 She cut his speech short. " I know," she said 
 coldly. " Your mother told me." She started 
 again for the door. 
 
 " Just a minute, Miss Belknap," said Merkle. 
 She paused. Merkle turned to Tom.
 
 BY A TWO-THIRDS VOTE 299 
 
 " Say, son," he said, " I think you'd better run 
 down and see the train come in." 
 
 "What for?" inquired Tom, surprised. 
 
 " I'm going to have a little chat with Miss Bel- 
 knap," Merkle informed him. 
 
 Miss Belknap's nose went up several degrees at 
 this confident announcement. 
 
 " If you don't mind " she began. 
 
 " But I do mind," Merkle assured her. He 
 turned again to Tom, who seemed in no hurry to be 
 gone. 
 
 " Go on, kid," he said. " When the excitement 
 is over, bring Joe back with you." 
 
 " I'd rather not stay now," said Jane, rather diffi- 
 dently. Merkle's masterful way of doing things 
 quite overwhelmed her. 
 
 " I think you'd better," replied Merkle, with a 
 significance that piqued her curiosity. 
 
 " You'll miss that train," he said to Tom, with 
 a great show of impatience. 
 
 Tom seized his hat and went. Jane stayed.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 JANE MAKES IT UNANIMOUS 
 
 MERKLE quietly motioned Jane to be seated. 
 Half wondering, half provoked, she obeyed. 
 She wondered at her own docility. She was pro- 
 voked to find herself so eager to hear what it was 
 he had to say. He did not keep her waiting long 
 to find out. 
 
 " Miss Belknap," he began. " I'm going to be 
 very frank with you. If anything I say makes you 
 feel like asking me to mind my own business, just 
 check the feeling until I get through." 
 
 He paused for an instant, eying her intently as 
 if to observe the effect of his words. What he saw 
 must have satisfied him, for he plunged into his sub- 
 ject without further preface. 
 
 " Tell me," he demanded, " do you care anything 
 at all for Tom?" 
 
 Jane half rose from her chair. 
 
 " Why," she began, flushing indignantly, " that's 
 none of your " 
 
 " That's all I want to know," said Merkle, in- 
 terrupting her quickly. She sank back into her 
 chair before his outthrust hand. " We'll pass that 
 question for another," he went on. " What have 
 300
 
 JANE MAKES IT UNANIMOUS 301 
 
 you against him?" Jane made another futile ef- 
 fort to rise. 
 
 " ReaUy, Mr. Merkle," she protested, " I don't 
 see " 
 
 " I'll answer it for you," he said, giving her no 
 chance to finish. " You think he's prejudiced 
 against your father. He's not. On the contrary, 
 he admires and respects him." 
 
 " He has a poor way of showing it," retorted 
 Jane. 
 
 " Because Ke won't do what is wrong just to 
 please you," said Merkle. 
 
 " Mr. Merkle ! " she exclaimed, her indignation 
 getting the better of her again at this audacious at- 
 tempt to throw the blame on her. He stood be- 
 fore her with a faint, questioning smile on his face. 
 It almost seemed as if he were expecting her to 
 acknowledge the justice of his preposterous asser- 
 tion. 
 
 " Your father is wrong in this matter," he went 
 on firmly. " And what is more, he knows that he 
 is. So why should the boy uphold him ? " 
 
 His confident manner disconcerted her more than 
 she was willing to admit. She was afraid to dis- 
 pute him. Jane really knew nothing of the merits 
 of her father's controversy with The Herald and its 
 staff. She had jumped to the hasty conclusion that 
 fTom was using his newspaper as a weapon with 
 which to avenge his grievances^ real or fancied,
 
 302 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 against the Judge. Now she knew that she had 
 been wrong in this, and she was beginning 
 to suspect that there were probably two sides to the 
 question. Her ignorance put her at disadvantage 
 in face of Merkle's assurance. But she was unwill- 
 ing to acknowledge the fact even to herself, certainly 
 not to Merkle. Nor would she trust herself to dis- 
 cuss Tom's share in the matter, at least not now. 
 She rose to her feet, thinking to effect a dignified 
 retreat. 
 
 " I didn't stay to discuss my father's affairs," 
 she said coldly, and started for the door. 
 
 " Oh, come now," coaxed Merkle. " I've got 
 you down as a pretty sensible sort of a girl. If 
 I didn't think you were open to conviction, I 
 wouldn't keep you a moment. And I know that 
 you wouldn't want the boy to do anything that 
 wasn't straight. Isn't that so?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Jane unthinkingly, and could 
 have bitten off her tongue for its avowal of her 
 interest in Tom. 
 
 " Well, then, do you think it would be straight 
 for him to throw down his partners, just to have 
 you think well of him ? " 
 
 " No," said Jane after a pause, unable to re- 
 sist the kindly compulsion of his manner. 
 
 "Then why not give him a chance?" persisted 
 Merkle. " Why not try to see his side of it, even 
 if it is your father on the other?"
 
 JANE MAKES IT UNANIMOUS 303 
 
 Jane flushed, hesitated, felt with alarm that 
 she was yielding. " It isn't only this thing," she 
 said stubbornly. " He has disappointed me so 
 often." 
 
 "You mean in the city?" 
 
 "Yes," she replied with an effort. 
 
 " Isn't it the same with every boy who goes to 
 a large city for the first time?" asked Merkle. 
 
 " It wasn't what I expected of him," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 "What did you expect?" 
 
 " Better things," she replied vaguely). This 
 man's questions were so annoyingly direct. 
 
 " What can be better than the wisdom to know 
 what is right and the courage to do it?" urged 
 Merkle. 
 
 "I mean when he was in the city that 
 wasn't right," she stammered. "She wasn't I 
 mean he should have told me. He " 
 
 She stopped and turned away, ashamed of her 
 weakness, doubly shamed to have laid bare her 
 heart's secret before the eyes of a stranger a 
 friend of Tom's. Merkle walked swiftly to her 
 side. 
 
 "How could he?" he asked. "He'd lost his 
 perspective, and let me tell you it's a terrible thing 
 when an arc light begins to look like the sun and a 
 bit of calico makes a noise like silk. I know," he 
 continued earnestly, " because I've been there.
 
 3 04 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 Don't go wrong on the boy just because of that. 
 He's all the better for it now." 
 
 " I could have forgiven him everything but the 
 girl," murmured Jane, in a voice that still trembled 
 pitifully despite her. 
 
 " Didn't you advise him to go to New York? " 
 asked Merkle suddenly. 
 
 "Yes," she admitted. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I wanted him to get it off his mind. And I 
 wanted him to see life as it is." 
 
 "Well, I guess he has," said Merkle. "He 
 went to the city a boy. He's come back a man. 
 Give him a chance, Miss Belknap." 
 
 " He hasn't asked for one," said Jane. 
 
 Merkle smothered a smile. " All the more to 
 his credit," he hastened to reply. " Don't overlook 
 the fact that you're engaged to someone else." 
 
 " That isn't so," she exclaimed, with a sudden 
 burst of energy. " I told father I'd never agree 
 to it." 
 
 " Tom doesn't know that," said Merkle. " I'll 
 tell him." 
 
 " No, please don't," she entreated. She held out 
 a restraining hand, for Merkle seemed ready to 
 bolt through the open door and put his threat into 
 immediate execution. 
 
 " He ought to know," persisted Merkle, edging 
 away.
 
 JANE MAKES IT UNANIMOUS 303 
 
 " I'll tell him myself," she promised in 'desper- 
 ation. 
 
 " Good," cried Merkle. 
 
 " And will you let me speak to father before you 
 print anything more about him?" she asked. 
 
 " Suppose I see him myself," suggested Merkle. 
 " Of course I can't speak for my partners, but if I 
 can persuade Judge Belknap to see the light, I'm 
 sure that even Joe will be willing to bury the 
 hatchet." 
 
 " I'm so glad," cried the girl. " I do want you 
 to be friends." 
 
 " That," replied Merkle, with a bow of acknowl- 
 edgment, " is up to your father." 
 
 They had hardly arrived at this amicable con- 
 clusion when Tom appeared in the doorway. On 
 seeing Jane still there, he hesitated, stammered art 
 apology, and was about to withdraw when Merkle's 
 voice arrested him and bade him stay. Jane whose 
 manner reflected Tom's embarrassment, shrank out 
 of sight behind the broad shoulders of her new 
 friend as he turned and walked towards the door. 
 
 " It's all right," Merkle announced cheerfully. 
 "We've finished. Where's Joe?" 
 
 Tom summoned Weinstein, who was hovering 
 about in the outer darkness. Both entered. 
 
 "We've been talking it over," said Tom to 
 Merkle, while Jane escaped to the other side of the 
 room. " Joe is homesick. He says if we'll let him
 
 3 o6 THE COUNTRY BOY 
 
 have that four hundred, he'd like to quit. I told 
 him that I'd hate to see him go, but that, if you're 
 willing" 
 
 " Does it go? " Joe broke in impatiently. 
 
 " I guess we can get together all right," said 
 Merkle. He walked over to the door of his room, 
 beckoning to Joe to come along. " We'll talk it 
 over in here," he proposed. 
 
 Joe followed. "What's doing?" he demanded, 
 with a suspicious glance around the room. 
 
 "You're not in on this," replied Merkle, step- 
 ping aside to let Joe pass through the door ahead 
 of him. With his hand on the knob, he turned to 
 Tom. 
 
 " She wants to see you, son," he said. 
 
 " I know," exclaimed Joe in a voice meant only 
 for Merkle's hearing, but which came with startling 
 distinctness to the ears of Jane and Tom. Fix-it 
 stuff." He chuckled. " Do I get the four?" 
 
 " Sure," said Merkle. " Come along." 
 
 "Oh, you thirteen! " cried Joe, lifting up voice, 
 face and hands in thanksgiving to the mysterious 
 divinity that shapes our hunches. And, in this de- 
 vout attitude, he passed out. 
 
 " I'll see you again, Miss Belknap," said Merkle. 
 The door closed behind him. 
 
 Jane did not reply. She did not even raise her 
 head. She stood near the wall, with averted face, 
 clasping and unclasping her hands in an agony of
 
 JANE MAKES IT UNANIMOUS 307 
 
 embarrassment. Tom stepped swiftly towards her 
 but stopped short, just out of reach. 
 
 " Well," he said, at last. 
 
 Slowly she turned and slowly she lifted her burn- 
 ing face to his. 
 
 "Tom," she faltered. "I'm not engaged to 
 Hez, and" 
 
 " Jane," he cried rapturously, and the next thing 
 she knew she was tight in his arms and sobbing 
 quite joyously on his shoulder. 
 
 THE END
 
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