LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 DAVIS 
 
Rebellion 
 
Peccavi. " 
 
Rebellion 
 
 By 
 Joseph Medill Patterson 
 
 Author of "A Little Brother of the Rich/' eto. 
 
 Illustrated 6j/ 
 Walter Dean Goldbeck 
 
 Publishers 
 
 The Reilly & Britton Co. 
 Chicago 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 DAVIS 
 
Copyright, 1911 
 
 by 
 The Beilly & Britton Co. 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 Entered At Stationers' Hall 
 
 First Printing, September 11 
 
 REBELLION 
 
 Published October 2, 1911 
 
Illustrations 
 
 ' ' PECCAVI " Frontispiece 
 
 < < HE DOESN >T LIVE HERE ANY MORE " 66 
 
 ' ' GEORGIA LAUGHED " 312 
 
 EEBELLION 346 
 
List of Chapters 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I JIM CONNOR 9 
 
 II ONE FLESH 23 
 
 III AN ECONOMIC UNIT 39 
 
 IV THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE 49 
 
 V FOR IDLE HANDS TO Do 67 
 
 VI TRIANGULATION 72 
 
 VII A SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY 82 
 
 VIII THE LIFE FORCE 94 
 
 IX THE PRETENDERS 99 
 
 X MOXEY 123 
 
 XI FUSION 136 
 
 XII MOXEY 's SISTER 145 
 
 XIII EEENTER JIM 157 
 
 XIV THE PALACE OF THE UNBORN 163 
 
 XV MR. SILVERMAN 177 
 
 XVI GEORGIA LEAVES HOME 188 
 
 XVII THE LIGHT FLICKERS 197 
 
 XVIII THE PRIEST 204 
 
 XIX SACRED HEART 217 
 
 XX SURRENDER 223 
 
 XXI WORSHIP 229 
 
 XXII KANSAS CITY 239 
 
 XXIII THE LAST OF THE OLD MAN 247 
 
 XXIV THE NEW KING 255 
 
 XXV JIM REENLISTS 264 
 
 XXVI EVE 277 
 
 XXVII THE NAPHTHALINE EIVER 286 
 
 XXVIII ALBERT TALBOT CONNOR 296 
 
 XXIX THE DOCTOR TALKS 306 
 
 XXX FRANKLAND & CONNOR 313 
 
 XXXI THE STODGY MAN 324 
 
 XXXII REBELLION 334 
 
 XXXIII THE APE 348 
 
 XXXIV WHICH BEGINS ANOTHER STORY . . 352 
 
NOTE 
 
 I wish to thank Mr. Francis 
 Hackett for reading the unrevised 
 proofs of this story. 
 
 J. M. Patterson. 
 
JIM CONNOR 
 
 "J.O.M." 
 
 "Nope, promised to be home on time for 
 supper. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Get panned last night ? ' ' 
 
 "Yep." 
 
 The group of men turned to the clock which 
 was ticking high up on the wall between the 
 smudgy painting of Leda and The Swan and 
 the framed group photograph of famous pugi- 
 lists from Paddy Ryan to the present day. 
 
 "It's only nineteen past; plenty time for 
 just one more." 
 
 Jim Connor compared his watch with the 
 dockland found they tallied. The grave bar- 
 tender took the dice and box from behind the 
 cigar counter and courteously placed them 
 upon the bar. 
 
 "Well," bargained Jim, "if it is just one 
 more. ' ' 
 
 "J. 0. M." they chorused, and the dice 
 rolled upon the polished oak. 
 
 9 
 
Rebellion 
 
 " What '11 it be, gents ?" 
 
 "Beer." 
 
 "Scotch high." 
 
 "Bourbon." 
 
 "A small beer, Jack." 
 
 "Beer." 
 
 "Yours, Jim?" prompted the watchful bar- 
 tender. 
 
 "Well I guess you can give me a cigar 
 this time, Jack." 
 
 The practiced bartender, standing by his 
 beer pump, slid the whisky glasses along the 
 slippery counter with a delicate touch, as a 
 skillful dealer distributes cards. He set out 
 the red and smoky whiskies, the charged 
 water, the tumbler, with its cube of ice ; drew 
 two glasses of beer, scraped the top foam 
 into the copper runway, and almost simul- 
 taneously, as if he had four hands, laid three 
 open cigar boxes before Jim, who selected a 
 dark "Joe Tinker." 
 
 "Join us, Jack," invited the loser of the 
 dice game, hospitably waving his hand. The 
 efficient bartender drew a small half-glass of 
 lithia for himself. Five feet rested upon the 
 comfortable rail before the bar, there was the 
 
 10 
 
Jim Connor 
 
 little pause imposed by etiquette, six glasses 
 were raised to eye-level. 
 
 "Here's whatever." 
 
 "Happy days." 
 
 "S 'looking at you," ran the murmur. 
 
 * ' The big fellow ! ' ' exclaimed one. 
 
 Chorus : ' ' Yes, the big fellow ! ' ' 
 
 "I'll sure have to come in on that," said 
 Jim, pressing between two shoulders to the 
 bar. "A little bourbon, Jack," he asked 
 briskly. 
 
 The other glasses were lowered until Jim 
 also received his. 
 
 Then all were again raised to eye-level. 
 Unanimously, ' ' The big fellow ! ' ' 
 
 Heads were thrown back and each ego 
 there, except the bartender, received a charm- 
 ing little thrill. 
 
 The beer men wandered to the back of the 
 saloon and dipped into a large pink hemis- 
 phere of cheese. The whisky men sup- 
 pressed coughs. Jim tipped his head back 
 about five degrees and inquired, "Is the big 
 fellow coming 'round to-night?" 
 
 "He's due," replied Jack, wiping his bar 
 dry again. 
 
 "How's things looking to you?" 
 
 11 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "We ell, there's always a lot of knockers 
 about" 
 
 "Yes, * pikers' like Ben Birch and Coffey 
 Neal, that line up with the big fellow for ten 
 years and then throw him overnight because 
 he won't let 'em name the alderman this time. 
 And he always treated 'em right. Better 
 than me. An' jou ever hear me kicking?" 
 
 "Nary once, Jim." 
 
 "That's because I am a white man with 
 my friends. But these other Indians well, ' ' 
 said Jim earnestly, "God knows ingratitude 
 gets my goat." 
 
 Jim Connor was a ward heeler and the 
 big fellow was his ward boss. Jim was al- 
 lowed to handle some of the money in his pre- 
 cinct at primaries and elections ; he landed on 
 the public pay-roll now and then ; he was ex- 
 pected to attend funerals, bowling matches, 
 saloons, picnics, cigar shops and secret so- 
 ciety meetings throughout the year ; his influ- 
 ence lay in his strength with the big fellow. 
 Did a storekeeper want an awning over the 
 sidewalk, or did he not want vigorous build- 
 ing inspection, if he lived in Jim's precinct, 
 he told Jim, and Jim told the big fellow, and 
 the big fellow told the alderman, and the 
 
 12 
 
Jim Connor 
 
 alderman arranged it with, his colleagues on 
 a basis of friendship. In return, the store- 
 keeper voted with the organization, which 
 was the big fellow, who was thus enabled al- 
 ways to nominate and usually to elect can- 
 didates who would do what he told them. 
 He told them to line up with the interests 
 who had subscribed to the campaign fund 
 and he was the campaign fund. The entire 
 process is pretty well known nowadays 
 through the efforts of Mr. Lincoln Steffens 
 and his associate muckrakers. 
 
 But there is no immediate cause for alarm ; 
 this is not a political novel. 
 
 The clock pointed nearly to seven and Jim, 
 when he saw it, sighed. That meant un- 
 pleasantness. His supper certainly would be 
 cold, but he wasn't thinking of that. He was 
 thinking of his wife. She was sure to make 
 him uncomfortable in some way or other, be- 
 cause he had broken his promise about be- 
 ing home on time. Probably she would be 
 silent. If there was anything he hated, it was 
 one of her silent spells. Just "No" and 
 "Yes," and when he asked her what in hell 
 was the matter, she would say ' ' Nothing. ' ' 
 
 The trouble was, though, that he always 
 
 13 
 
Rebellion 
 
 knew what the matter was, even when she 
 said "Nothing." What devil's power was 
 there in wives, anyway, that enabled them 
 to hurt by merely not speaking? He had tried 
 silences on her a lot of times, but they never 
 worked, not once. He liked the old days bet- 
 ter, when she used to scold and plead and 
 weep. 
 
 He remembered the first time he had come 
 home drunk, half a dozen years ago, when he 
 had barely turned from bridegroom to hus- 
 band. She helped him that night to undress 
 and to go to bed. And she had done other 
 things for him, too, that even now he was 
 ashamed to remember. And the next day she 
 hadn't scolded once, but had fetched him a 
 cup of coffee in bed as soon as he woke up. 
 It surprised him; overwhelmed him. It had 
 made him very humble. He had never been 
 so repentant before or since. 
 
 She didn't reproach him that time not a 
 word. He didn't mean she had one of her 
 silences those didn't begin until much later ; 
 but she tried to talk about their usual affairs, 
 as if nothing had happened. And everything 
 had happened. They both knew that. 
 
 14 
 
Jim Connor 
 
 It wasn't until the next evening, thirty-six 
 hours later, that he came home to find her 
 a miserable heap upon the front room sofa, 
 her face buried. He stood in the middle of 
 the room looking at her helplessly, his words 
 of greeting cut short. Every now and then 
 her small shoulders heaved up and he heard 
 her sob. She must have been crying a long 
 time. He implored her, "Oh, don't, Georgia, 
 don't; please don't; won't you please not?" 
 
 After a little while she stood up and put 
 her arms about him and kissed him. He had 
 never had such a feeling for her, it seemed 
 to him, not even when they walked down the 
 aisle together and she leaned on him so 
 heavily. And then he kissed her solemnly, 
 in a different way than ever before. He took 
 the pledge that night, and he kept it, too, for 
 a long time, nearly a year. That was the 
 happy time of his life. 
 
 When he did begin again, it was gradually. 
 She knew, after a time, he wasn't teetotal 
 any more, and she didn't seem to mind so 
 much. He remembered they talked about it. 
 He explained that he could drink moderately, 
 that she could trust him now, and mustn't 
 
 15 
 
Rebellion 
 
 ever be afraid of any more accidents. And 
 that very same night he came home drunk. 
 
 She cried again, but it wasn't as solemn 
 and as terrible for either of them as the time 
 before. 
 
 There had been other times since, many of 
 them. And she had grown so cursedly con- 
 temptuous and cold. Well he didn't know 
 that it was altogether his fault. He had 
 heard that alcoholism was a disease. But 
 she had said it was a curable disease, and 
 if he couldn't cure it, he had better die. His 
 own wife had told him that. God knows he 
 had tried to cure it. He had put every pound 
 he had into the fight ; not once, but a hundred 
 times. He had gone to Father Hervey and 
 taken the pledge last Easter Day, and here 
 he was with a whiskey glass in his hand. 
 
 He looked across into the high bar mirror. 
 His eyes were yellow and his cheeks seemed 
 to sag down. He put his hand to them to 
 touch their flaccidity. His hair was thinning, 
 there were red patches about his jaws where 
 veins had broken, and his mouth seemed 
 loose and ill-defined under the mustache 
 which he wore to conceal it. He frowned 
 fiercely, thrust his chin forward and gritted 
 
 16 
 
Jim Connor 
 
 his teeth tightly to make of himself the re- 
 flection of a strong man one who could dom- 
 ineer, like the big fellow. But it was no use 
 the mirror gave him back his lie. 
 
 The afternoon rush was over, the evening 
 trade had not begun, and the saloon was 
 empty, save for a group of scat-players at the 
 farther end. 
 
 Jim's friends had gone, but he remained 
 behind, in gloomy self-commiseration, his 
 shoulders propped against the partition 
 which marked off the cigar stand. He was 
 thinking over his troubles, which was his com- 
 monest way of handling them. 
 
 Whoever it was that invented the saying, 
 "Life is just one damned thing after an- 
 other " he knew, he knew. Jim had bought 
 three or four post-cards variously framing 
 the sentiment and placed them upon his 
 bureau, side by side, for Georgia to see. It 
 was his criticism of life. 
 
 You politicians and publicists, if you want 
 to know what the public wants, linger at the 
 rack in your corner drug store and look over 
 the saws and sayings on the post-cards. 
 
 Jim hoped that the ones he had picked out 
 would subtly convey to his wife that all were 
 
 17 
 
Rebellion 
 
 adrift together upon a most perplexing 
 journey and that it ill-behooved any of them 
 to well there was a post-card poem that just 
 about hit it off and he put it on the bureau 
 with the others : 
 
 ' ; THERE is so MUCH BAD IN THE BEST or us 
 AND so MUCH GOOD IN THE WORST OF us, 
 THAT IT HARDLY BEHOOVES ANY OF us 
 
 TO TALK ABOUT THE REST OF US." 
 
 But she hadn't taken the least notice. She 
 didn't seem to understand him at all. Oh, 
 well women were light creatures of clothes 
 and moods and two-edged swords for tongues 
 or deadly silence. What could -they know 
 about the deep springs of life about how a 
 man felt when in trouble? 
 
 Jim shifted his position slightly, for the 
 hinge was beginning to trouble his shoulder 
 blade, and fetched a sigh that was almost a 
 moan. Such had been his life, merely that, 
 and the future looked as bad or worse. The 
 shilling bar grew a bit misty before him and 
 he knew it wouldn't take much to make his 
 eyes run over. 
 
 "Anything wrong, Jim?" inquired the 
 sympathetic bartender. 
 18 
 
Jim Connor 
 
 i ' Just a little blue to-night, Jack, that's 
 all." 
 
 "Sometimes I get into those spells myself. 
 Hell, ain't they?" 
 
 Jim nodded. "I suppose they come from 
 nervousness." 
 
 The bartender nodded back. "Or liver," 
 said he, setting out the red bottle. "Have 
 a smile." 
 
 "No, I don't want any more of that 
 damned stuff. A man's a fool to let it get 
 away with him, and sometimes I figure I bet- 
 ter watch out not but what I can't control 
 myself, y 'under stand." There was the slight- 
 est interrogation in his tone. 
 
 "Sure y'can, Jim; I know that. Still," 
 dubiously, "like you say, a fellow ought to 
 watch out. It'll land the K. 0. on the stoutest 
 lad in shoes, if he keeps a-fightin' it." 
 
 "It's for use and not abuse. Ain't I 
 right?" 
 
 The bartender conspicuously helped him- 
 self to a swallow of lithia. "Yep, sure," he 
 said. "D'you know, Jim, I'm kind of sorry 
 you didn't go home to supper to-night." 
 
 "So'm I, but I got to talking " 
 
 "Why don't you go now?" 
 
 19 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "Too blue, Jack, and home is fierce when 
 I get there with a breath." 
 
 "Bemember the time the little woman come 
 here after you?" 
 
 "Oh, it's no use bringing that up now," 
 said Jim sadly. "She liked me then. Give 
 me a ginger ale." 
 
 Jim took his glass and sat alone at a round 
 table by the wall, under the painting of Pasi- 
 phae and The Shower of Gold. This saloon, 
 like many others, in Chicago, ran to classical 
 subjects. 
 
 Jim relit his cigar and slowly turned the 
 pages of a Fliegende Blatter, looking at the 
 pictures and habitually picking out those let- 
 ters in the text which resembled English let- 
 ters. It was a frayed copy which had in- 
 habited the saloon for many months, and 
 showed it. Jim had thumbed it twenty times 
 before, but he was doing it again to appease 
 his subconsciousness, to give himself the ap- 
 pearance of activity of some sort. 
 
 But he was looking through the German 
 pages to the years behind him. Politics 
 maybe that was the trouble. Politicians, at 
 least little fellows like him, got more feathers 
 than chicken out of it. If he hadn't quit that 
 
 20 
 
Jim Connor 
 
 job with the railroad but no, they were 
 drivers, and there was no future in the rail- 
 road business for a fellow like him, a book- 
 keeper. He might have stayed there all his 
 life and not thirty men in the entire offices 
 have been the wiser, or have ever heard of 
 him. 
 
 In fact, he had bettered himself by going 
 with the publishing firm. He seemed to have 
 prospects there. It wasn't his fault they blew 
 up and he was out on the street again. 
 That was how he got into politics sort of 
 drifted in after meeting the big fellow can- 
 vassing the saloons one night, when he, Jim, 
 had nothing else to do. 
 
 The big fellow was so attractive, so sure of 
 himself, and Jim would have seemed a fool if 
 he had refused the offer to clerk in an elec- 
 tion precinct that fall. There was a little 
 money in it, and a little importance. 
 
 The big fellow had asked him to please see 
 what he could do for the ticket that fall, 
 and of course he had. It was agreeable to be 
 consulted by the famous Ed Miles about 
 plans and all that. He had never been con- 
 sulted in the railroad office, or even by those 
 publishers. 
 
 21 
 
Rebellion 
 
 After election, without solicitation, Miles 
 had Jim appointed a deputy sheriff for the 
 State of Illinois, County of Cook, ss. Of 
 course, he took it. There was nothing else in 
 sight just then. The pay was fair, the hours 
 good, and besides, there was no time-clock 
 to punch and no superintendent always hov- 
 ering about. 
 
 After a time the big fellow told Jim 
 pleasantly, but firmly, that his job had to be 
 passed around to some of the other boys, and 
 Jim resigned. But the big fellow let it be 
 known that Jim was still a trusted scout. 
 That was an asset. The landlord knocked 
 something off the rent of his flat, the street 
 car company gave him a book of tickets, one 
 of the bill-board companies sent him a nice 
 check for Christmas; but he had done some 
 rather particular work for them. He had re- 
 spectable charge accounts in several places 
 and wasn't pressed. 
 
 But, after all, one cannot get rich on that 
 sort of thing; so when the child died, his 
 wife went back downtown as a stenographer 
 in a life insurance office. She had been a 
 stenographer before their marriage. 
 
 22 
 
n 
 ONE FLESH 
 
 The short swinging doors opened briskly 
 and five tall men entered quietly. Jim tipped 
 his chair forward upon its four legs. The 
 scat game delayed itself. 
 
 The five lined up at the bar. "Beer," said 
 the one with the boiled shirt. The skillful 
 bartender drew five glasses of foam. 
 
 Jim sat still in his chair, hesitating to 
 glance even obliquely toward the proceedings. 
 What was one against five? 
 
 The tall man with the boiled shirt pointed 
 to his glass, but did not touch it. Nor did 
 any of his companions touch theirs. The 
 saloon knighthood has not abandoned symbol- 
 ism. 
 
 1 i Does that go?" 
 
 "It goes, CoffeyNeal." 
 
 "And we don't get a lithograph in the front 
 window ? ' ' 
 
 23 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "Ton don't." 
 
 The five men withdrew a little for confer- 
 ence. Then Coffey Neal paid his reckoning 
 with a quarter and a nickel. 
 
 The bartender rang up twenty-five cents on 
 the register. Neal pointed to the five-cent 
 piece upon the bar. 
 
 "That's for yourself, Jack." 
 
 The sardonic bartender placed it between 
 his teeth. "It's phony," said he. "Take it 
 back and put it in your campaign fund. ' ' He 
 smiled, keeping his right hand below the bar. 
 
 "After election," Coffey Neal remarked 
 through his nose, "your old man (he meant 
 Jack's father-in-law) can't sell this place for 
 the fixtures in it." 
 
 Jack concealed a yawn with his left hand. 
 
 "You're the twenty-second wop since the 
 first of the year was going to put us out 
 of business, and we're signing a lease for our 
 new place next Monday. It's where your 
 brother used to be located." 
 
 One of the enemy, a stocky fellow with a 
 brakeman's black shirt, was constructing 
 sandwiches of sliced bologna and rye at the 
 lunch counter. 
 
 "I know you're not eating much lately, old 
 
 24 
 
One Flesh 
 
 boy, since you begun stringing with Coff ey, ' ' 
 smiled Jack from the corner of his mouth, 
 "but those is for our customers.'' 
 
 Blackshirt turned quickly about, sweeping 
 the pink hemisphere of cheese upon the floor 
 and shivering it. 
 
 "Oh, dreadful I" he protested, falsetto. 
 6 1 My word, how sad ! ' ' 
 
 He trod some of the cheese into the saw- 
 dust. "Mr. Barman, ah, Mr. Barman, you 
 may charge the damages to me at the Black- 
 stone." 
 
 There was a roar of laughter from the 
 others. It looked like rough-housing, and 
 damage to fixtures. The scat players had 
 vanished, in their naive Teutonic way, 
 through the side door. Jack began to hope 
 he wouldn't have to draw, for a shooting al- 
 ways black-eyes a saloon's good name and 
 quiet scat custom shies at it. 
 
 Neal delivered Jim a tremendous thump on 
 the shoulder. "Why, if it isn't my dear old 
 college chump." Another thump. "Maybe 
 you can buy us a drink with the collar off." 
 A third thump. 
 
 "Now, can the comedy stuff, Coffey," Jim 
 snarled, smilingly. If only he could steer 
 
 25 
 
Rebellion 
 
 Coffey away from the fight he seemed bent 
 on picking. ' ' I '11 buy sure. Why not I ' ' 
 
 "Then you'll go across the street to do it," 
 Jack inserted. "This ain't a barrel house." 
 
 Neal seized Jim's ear and lifted him to his 
 feet. "You'll buy here, and now." Three of 
 the men gathered about Jim. The other 
 two, standing well apart, were watching Jack. 
 There would be three pistols out, or none. 
 
 Jim was being slowly propelled to the bar, 
 when the straw doors swung briskly and the 
 big fellow entered. His shoulders, hands, 
 legs and jaw were thick, and his eyes were 
 amazingly alert. 
 
 Unspeakable peace spread through Jim. 
 He knew that somehow or other the big fel- 
 low was going to get him out of this. 
 
 Indeed, that was what the boss had come 
 for. News of the foray on this citadel of 
 his had been grapevined to him up the block 
 and around a corner. 
 
 He sized up the situation very quickly. 
 There was Coffey Neal, the trouble-maker, 
 the Judas who had refused to take his orders 
 any longer. He was the one to be done for. 
 The other four were merely Hessians, torsos, 
 not headpieces. They slugged for a living, 
 
 26 
 
One Flesh 
 
 on either side of industrial disputes, accord- 
 ing to the price sometimes on both sides in 
 the same strike. 
 
 "Have a drink, boys," said the great Ed 
 Miles. 
 
 It surprised every man in the room. Jim's 
 heart sank down again. Could it be that the 
 big fellow was going to take water? Then it 
 was the end of his reign and the end of Jim's 
 days at court. There was a pause, a whis- 
 pering. Ed, standing sidewise to the bar, 
 held his open right hand, palm upwards, be- 
 hind his coat so that only Jack could see it. 
 
 ' ' And what if we wouldn 't J " Coff ey spoke 
 with slow bravado. 
 
 "This." The big fellow flashed at him, 
 and dropped the bung-starter heavily behind 
 his ear. Coffey crumpled upon the floor. The 
 sluggers hesitated half a second, then piled 
 on Ed so quickly that Jack didn't dare use 
 his gun. Instead, he ran around the bar and 
 twisted his arm under the chin of blackshirt, 
 pulling him away from the heap. He thrust 
 him up in the air, using his own knee for a 
 lever, then dropped him heavily on his back 
 on the floor and kicked his head. There was 
 no time for niceties. 
 
 27 
 
Rebellion 
 
 Meanwhile, Jim had taken futile hold of 
 another slugger's foot, who easily shook him 
 off. He was cautiously planning for another 
 hold very cautiously indeed, not being anx- 
 ious to become too completely immersed in 
 the proceedings, when all at once the place 
 became full of people. 
 
 Strong and willing arms eagerly and quick- 
 ly unraveled the tangle. 
 
 "This is a hell of a game for eight o'clock 
 in the evenin'." It was the bass voice of 
 public peace. ' ' Oh ! ' ' concernedly, * * is it you, 
 Mr. Miles ? Are you hurted ? ' ' 
 
 The big fellow felt his shaven skull where, 
 in the melee, a brass knuckle had struck him 
 a glancing blow. He looked at his red fin- 
 gers. "Just a scrape, Sarje, not cracked," 
 he laughed. 
 
 "What's the charge!" asked the detective 
 sergeant, solicitously. 
 
 "Tell 'em the facts," enjoined the big 
 fellow. 
 
 1 i Well, ' ' began the efficient bartender, ' l Mr. 
 Miles and me was talking quietly together 
 here; he was standing just there with his 
 back to the door, and I heard an awful yell- 
 ing going up and down in the street. I knew 
 
 28 
 
One Flesh 
 
 it was Coffey Neal, hunting trouble, and 
 drunk. They come in the cigar stand, swear- 
 ing and cursing, saying they were looking 
 for Ed Miles to cut his heart out. But Ed 
 says to me he didn't want any trouble in the 
 place, so's he'd walk out, and he started out 
 the side door, when Coffey and this black- 
 shirt fellow come running in and threw that 
 bowl of cheese at him see it there and 
 jumped him. Then these other bad actors 
 began kicking him, too, and I went in to 
 separate 'em and I guess that's all. Lucky 
 you came in or there might have been 
 trouble." 
 
 "What charge will I put agin 'em?" 
 
 "Drunk and disorderly; assault; assault 
 and battery ; assault with intent to kill ; un- 
 provoked assault; mayhem; assault with a 
 deadly weapon and I guess they ain't got 
 no visible means of support," suggested the 
 big fellow. " Oh ! yes, and conspiracy. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Let it go at that, ' ' said Jack. 
 
 The sergeant wrote it down. The sluggers 
 were silent. The case had become one for 
 lawyers' fees. Their own talking couldn't 
 do any good. 
 
 "Any witnesses?" asked the sergeant. 
 
 29 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "Me," said Jim. "It was the way Jack 
 says." 
 
 "Put 'em in the wagon," commanded law 
 and order. 
 
 Coffey Neal was picking up his threads 
 again at the place he had dropped them. 
 
 "And what if we won't drink with you, 
 Ed Miles?" he muttered, somewhat scattered. 
 
 "Likely the Bridewell, Coffey," laughed 
 the big fellow. 
 
 The vanquished were escorted out into the 
 night. 
 
 The victor and his vassals, perhaps a dozen 
 of them by this time, remained in possession 
 of the field. 
 
 "Good thing I had those coppers planted 
 before I started anything," commented the 
 big fellow. "Those strong-arm guys like to 
 got me going at the end." 
 
 "They certainly handled themselves very 
 useful," Jack acknowledged. 
 
 "They gotta be with us after this, or get 
 out of town." The big fellow turned sud- 
 denly on Jim. "And you, you yellow pup," 
 he roared, seizing him by the collar, "what 
 were you doing while they was pounding me 
 up! D'you think you were at a ball game, 
 
 30 
 
One Flesh 
 
 hey?" He shook him back and forth until 
 his jaws cracked. 
 
 "I I was trying I got one of 'em by the 
 leg, and he " 
 
 4 'Yes, like you'd pick flowers in the spring 
 sweet and pretty that's the way you 
 grabbed his leg." He lifted Jim from the 
 ground and flung him on the floor. "Yel- 
 low pup !" he repeated passionately, over and 
 over again. 
 
 Jim raised himself to his elbow, but did not 
 dare to go further. The big fellow's eyes 
 were still blazing. 
 
 "Honest, Ed, I was trying to help." 
 
 Miles took a step toward him. "You're a 
 G d d d liar!" he shouted. 
 
 Jim tried to meet his look. It was a 
 wretched business to be called that name be- 
 fore a dozen others it had happened to him 
 before, but he always hated it. Still the big 
 fellow seemed especially vicious and danger- 
 ous just now ; Jim knew how senseless it was 
 to cross him when he was having one of his 
 spells, and besides, they never lasted long, 
 anyway. Jim dropped his eyes again, ac- 
 knowledging the justice of the discipline. 
 
 Miles threw a ten-dollar bill on the bar and 
 
 31 
 
Rebellion 
 
 broke the tension with a jolly laugh. "Well, 
 I guess we've put Coffey Neal out o' this 
 primary, ' ' said he. ' ' Plunge in, lads. ' ' Jack 
 served each man, but nothing for Jim. The 
 code provided for a final display of mag- 
 nanimity by the f ountainhead. ' ' Come ahead, 
 Jim," he growled, kindly. 
 
 Serenity unfolded again her frightened 
 wings and the smoke of peace increased and 
 multiplied over a leader fitted to lead and 
 followers fitted to follow. 
 
 The ensuing celebration spread itself over 
 many hours and into many taverns. There 
 was some agreeable close harmony, to which 
 Jim joined a pleasant baritone, and much 
 revilement of all double-crossers, from Judas 
 and Benedict Arnold down to Coffey Neal, 
 and a certain Irish party whose name now 
 escapes me, but who grievously misbehaved 
 himself during a Fenian incident. 
 
 Very frequently they reached the shank of 
 the evening as often, indeed, as anybody 
 wanted to go home. And in the big fellow's 
 mouth the shank was ever a cogent argument. 
 
 Eventually the ultimate question as to their 
 further destination was put, and here the big 
 fellow stood aside, permitting perfect lati- 
 
 32 
 
One Flesh 
 
 tude of decision. He was a politician and he 
 knew that he could not possibly afford to have 
 it said by the wives of the ward that he influ- 
 enced their husbands toward sin. He could 
 afford to have almost everything else said 
 about him, but not that. 
 
 Jim wavered, then resisted temptation. His 
 record in that particular respect had been 
 almost absolutely clean. 
 
 He walked home stiffly, fighting with the 
 skill of the practiced alcoholic for the upright 
 position and the shortest distance between 
 two points. 
 
 His early morbidity had vanished. If he 
 had done one thing badly that evening, he 
 had done another thing well. Whatever his 
 wife, Georgia, might urge against him in re- 
 gard to his conviviality, wasn't he, after all, 
 one of the most faithful husbands he knew? 
 For all her superior airs, she had much to 
 be grateful for in him. 
 
 He entered his flat with little scraping of 
 the keyhole, and cautiously undressed in the 
 front room. It was late much later than he 
 had hoped for. He could just make out the 
 hands of the clock on the mantelpiece by the 
 light from the street lamp. 
 
 33 
 
Rebellion 
 
 He opened the door to their bedroom so 
 slowly, so slowly and steadily, and then as 
 usual, that cursed hinge betrayed him. The 
 number of times he had determined to oil it 
 yet he always forgot to. To-morrow he 
 wouldn't forget that was his flaming pur- 
 pose. 
 
 Psychological flux and flow may be deduced 
 from door hinges as well as from the second 
 cup of coffee for breakfast or the plaintive 
 lady standing immediately before your hard- 
 won seat in the street car. Jim would never 
 oil the hinge in the morning, because that 
 would somehow imply he expected to come in 
 very late again at night, and he never ex- 
 pected to in the morning. 
 
 But her breathing remained regular, abso- 
 lutely regular; he had this time escaped the 
 snare of the hinge. 
 
 The gas jet burned in a tiny flame. She 
 had fallen into the habit of keeping a night- 
 light during the past three or four years. At 
 first he had objected that it interfered with 
 his sleep, but she had been singularly per- 
 sistent about it. She hadn't given him her 
 reasons; indeed, she had never analyzed 
 them. It was nothing but a bit of prepos- 
 
 34 
 
One Flesh 
 
 terous feminism, which she kept to herself^ 
 that the light made a third in their room. 
 
 She lay with her back to him, far over on 
 her side of the bed. He could see where her 
 hip rose, and vaguely through the covering 
 the outline of her limbs. Her shoulders were 
 crumpled forward, and the upper one re- 
 sponded to her breathing, and marked it. 
 Under her arm, crossed in front of her, he 
 knew was the swelling of her breast. 
 
 And then at the neck was the place where 
 the hair was parted and braided, the braids 
 wound forward about her eyes a very pecul- 
 iar way to treat one's hair. 
 
 What a different thing a woman was ! He 
 had seen her lying so countless times, and yet 
 the strangeness had never worn off. Indeed, 
 curiously enough, there seemed even more of 
 it now than when they had just married, and 
 she was entirely new. 
 
 He often thought a woman didn't seem ex- 
 actly a person that is, not like him, and he 
 was certainly a person but something else; 
 just as good, perhaps, but quite other. Her 
 body, of course well, agreeable as it might 
 be, still he was glad he wasn't made that 
 way, for it seemed so ineffective. 
 
 35 
 
Rebellion 
 
 And one of them could stand a good man on 
 his head. He simply couldn't get the hang 
 of that. If a man was angry and sulked, 
 he didn't mind. In fact, he preferred it to 
 being knocked about as the big fellow some- 
 times did to him. He had never cared what 
 man sulked, his brother or father or any of 
 them. 
 
 And yet this woman, she he looked at 
 
 her intently, earnestly, as if finally to solve 
 her she was very beautiful. And she was 
 his wife. 
 
 He crept into bed, very softly, for she 
 might wake up. But then, it briefly occurred 
 to him, what if she did! He was perfectly 
 sober at least to all intents and purposes. 
 He could talk perfectly straight ; he felt sure 
 of that. 
 
 Perhaps she would now wake of her own 
 accord. That would be the best solution, and 
 then he could appear drowsy, as if he, too, 
 had just been aroused from sleep. 
 
 He sighed loudly and turned himself over 
 in the bed, but she gave no sign. 
 
 "Georgia," he whispered very low. 
 
 Pause. 
 
One Flesh 
 
 " Georgia, " a little louder, "are you 
 awake?" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 He touched her, as if carelessly. She 
 stirred. Ah, she would no, her breathing 
 was markedly the breathing of slumber. Per- 
 haps she was pretending. Oh, well, what was 
 the use of his trying, if she was going to 
 act so? 
 
 He turned noisily back to his side of the 
 bed. He was disappointed in her. Was it 
 fair of her to pretend if she was pretend- 
 ing 1 After all, she was his wife. 
 
 A husband has his rights. That was what 
 the church said. Otherwise, what was the 
 use of getting married and supporting a 
 woman well, most men supported their 
 wives, and he intended to do so again soon, 
 very soon. 
 
 Yes, he had the teachings on his side. He 
 wanted nothing beyond the bond. It was holy 
 wedlock, wasn't it? 
 
 He placed his hand upon her waist. And 
 yet she would give no sign. More resolutely 
 than before she counterfeited the present- 
 ment of sleep. 
 
 ' * Georgia ! " he spoke aloud. 
 
 37 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "What is it?" she said, quickly, sitting up, 
 her black braids falling back on her slim 
 shoulders. 
 
 "I just wanted to say good night," he mut- 
 tered, huskily. 
 
 "Good night," she answered, curtly. 
 "Please don't disturb me again. I am veiy 
 tired." 
 
 She was turning from him, when he placed 
 his hand on her shoulder. 
 
 ' ' Georgia, I love you. You know I do. " 
 
 The foulness of his poisoned breath filled 
 her with loathing. 
 
 ' ' No, Jim, ' ' she gasped, afraid. " Oh, no ! " 
 
 "Georgia, you dunno how I love you," he 
 pleaded, almost tearfully, taking her in his 
 arms. 
 
 Quickly she jumped from the bed. "Where 
 are you going?" asked the annoyed husband. 
 
 "I can't sleep here, Jim; I can't." She 
 took up her underskirt and her thin flan- 
 nel dressing sack and passed from the room. 
 She made her couch on the lounge in the 
 front room and after a time fell asleep. 
 
 Jim twitched with nightmare throughout 
 the night, and long after she had gone down- 
 town in the morning. 
 
 38 
 
in 
 AN ECONOMIC UNIT 
 
 Georgia's desk was in a rectangular room 
 which was over one hundred feet long and 
 half as wide. There was light on three sides. 
 Near the ceiling was a series of little grat- 
 ings, each with a small silkoline American 
 flag in front of it. These flags were constantly 
 fluttering, indicating forced ventilation; so 
 that although the desks were near together 
 and the place contained its full complement 
 of busy people, there was plenty of oxygen 
 for them. 
 
 This arrangement was designed primarily 
 for economic rather than philanthropic pur- 
 poses. The increased average output of 
 work due to the fresh air yielded a satisfac- 
 tory interest on the cost of the ventilating 
 apparatus; and, besides, it impressed cus- 
 tomers favorably and had a tendency to hold 
 employes. The office dealt in life insurance. 
 
 39 
 
Rebellion 
 
 The desks were mounted on castors so 
 that they could be wheeled out of the way 
 at night while the tiled floor was being washed 
 down with hose and long-handled mops and 
 brooms and sometimes sand, as sailors holy- 
 stone a deck. Much of the hands-and-knees 
 scrubbing was in this way done away with. 
 
 Eubber disks hinged against the desks and 
 set to the floor held them in place during 
 working hours. Narrow black right-angular 
 marks showed where each desk belonged and 
 to what point, exactly, it must be moved back 
 when the nightly cleaning was finished. 
 
 These details were all of profound interest 
 to Georgia, for her desk was the most impor- 
 tant thing in the world to her at this time in 
 her life. 
 
 She delighted in neatness, order, precision, 
 in the adjustment of the means to the end. 
 Every morning just before nine, she punched 
 the clock, which gave her a professional feel- 
 ing; and hung her hat and jacket in locker 31, 
 which seemed to her a better, a more self- 
 respecting place for them to be than her 
 small, untidy bedroom closet, all littered up 
 with so many things hers and Jim's. 
 
 Her mother, who kept house for them, was 
 
 40 
 
An Economic Unit 
 
 a good deal at loose ends, in Georgia's opin- 
 ion. And it didn't seem quite the decent thing 
 that a woman who had nothing else in the 
 world to do should fail to keep a six-room 
 flat in order. Of course her mother was get- 
 ting a little old, but hardly too old to do that. 
 
 Georgia had lately had a trial promotion to 
 "take" the general agent's letters the pre- 
 vious functionary, a tall blonde girl, having 
 married very well. 
 
 It was the first stenographic position in 
 the office and carried the best salary, so there 
 was a good deal of human jealousy about it 
 much the same sort as freshmen feel who 
 are out for the class eleven. 
 
 Georgia had tried her hardest for five 
 days. She had stayed overtime to rewrite 
 whole pages for the sake of a single omitted 
 letter; she had bought half a dozen severely 
 plain shirt waists, and yielded up her puffs. 
 Everyone knew how the old man hated the 
 first sign of nonsense. 
 
 But in spite of all that the day before he 
 had called in Miss Gerson to take his dicta- 
 tion. 
 
 Well it was pretty hard, but she had done 
 her best. And she was a better workman than 
 
 41 
 
Rebellion 
 
 Miss Gerson, she would stick to that. Only 
 yesterday she had seen Miss G. twice hunt- 
 ing in a pocket dictionary hidden in her 
 lap and she never had to do that, prac- 
 tically. 
 
 Life was just one damn thing after another, 
 as Jim was always complaining only he 
 could never possibly have apprehended the 
 full truth and implication of that saying in 
 spite of its rather common way of putting it. 
 She knew that he never saw deeply, really 
 fundamentally into the dreadful mystery of 
 being here ; he couldn't for he was coarse and 
 masculine and he drank. 
 
 Her fingers were working rapidly casting 
 up purple letter after purple letter before 
 her eyes, but the physiologists tell us that she 
 was using only the front part of her brain 
 for it. The rest of it was free to contemplate 
 the Ultimate Purpose, or gross favoritism in 
 the office especially in relation to Miss Ger- 
 son, or whether an ice cream soda was a silly 
 thing to have before lunch, as she knew it 
 was, but then one had to have some pleasure. 
 
 Eat-tat-tat-tat went the keys; ding, there 
 was her bell. Ten letters more on this line 
 said the front part of her brain. One thing 
 
 42 
 
An Economic Unit 
 
 she was sure of, said the back, she devoutly 
 hoped her young brother Al wouldn't develop 
 into a mere white-collared clerk though of 
 course she certainly wanted him to be always 
 a gentleman. She slid her carriage for the 
 new line. 
 
 Eat-tat-tat-tat and again, ding. There, 
 the end of the page. Single space and not an 
 error. She would like to see Miss Gerson do 
 that at her speed. 
 
 The shuffle of the old man's office boy 
 sounded behind her. Now, wait what would 
 to-day's verdict be? Would he pass or stop! 
 
 "Miss Connor," a-a-ah "the old man 
 wants you to take some letters." (Georgia 
 had let them suppose she was unmarried.) 
 
 The benison of perfect peace now enfolded 
 her. 
 
 Poor little Miss Gerson well, after all, life 
 is a game, the loser pays, and the winner can 
 be perfectly philosophical about it. 
 
 Georgia went to the old man's private office 
 and closed the door behind her. 
 
 "Yes, sir." She stood at attention, pad and 
 pencil ready. 
 
 "Will you take these please, Miss Connor? 
 Mr. James Serviss here's his address," the 
 
 43 
 
Rebellion 
 
 old man tossed the letter he was answering 
 over to her. "Dear Sir: Eeplying to yours 
 
 of the 16th inst., we regret that . Well, 
 
 tell him it's impossible. Write the letter 
 yourself. You understand?" He was observ- 
 ing her as if to probe her resourcefulness. 
 
 "Perfectly, sir." 
 
 "Miss Belmont saved me a great deal of 
 trouble in that way. She could tell what I 
 would want to say." Miss Belmont was the 
 blonde girl who had married and left a va- 
 cancy. 
 
 ' 1 1 can do the same, sir. ' ' 
 
 "Well, here are some more," continued the 
 old man. "This No." He tossed another 
 letter to her. She made a shorthand nota- 
 tion in the corner of it. ' i This By all means, 
 and be polite about it. This An appoint- 
 ment to-morrow afternoon." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "This Eoutine. And these Send them 
 to the proper departments." More notations. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "You can start on those. Bring them in 
 when they're ready." 
 
 "Yes, sir." Exit Georgia. 
 
 She summoned the deeper layers of her 
 
 44 
 
An Economic Unit 
 
 vitality, settled to her work and her fingers 
 flew. She knew the joy if joy it be of crea- 
 tion. 
 
 Quietly she slipped back into the old man's 
 office, without knocking. His secretary had 
 entrance except at such times as he shut his 
 telephone off. 
 
 She seemed very slim and neat, and calm 
 and steady almost prim, perhaps, as she 
 stood with pen and blotter in her hand to 
 take the old man's signatures. 
 
 But her being surged within her like that 
 of a mother who waits to hear if her boy is 
 to be expelled from school or forgiven. 
 
 The old man had been going over a cam- 
 paign plan for business with one of his quick- 
 est witted solicitors, and after Georgia had 
 waited standing for a few moments, dis- 
 missed him with, "Yes, that's the right line, 
 Stevens. Just keep plugging along it. ' ' 
 
 As Stevens passed her on his way out he 
 bowed slightly. He had been doing that for 
 some time now, though he had not yet spoken 
 to her. 
 
 Stevens was still under thirty, she con- 
 cluded, though she had heard he had been 
 with the company for ten years. A silent, 
 
 45 
 
Rebellion 
 
 sharp-featured, tall young fellow with chilly 
 blue eyes, who had the name in the office of 
 keeping himself to himself and being all 
 business. 
 
 The old man, having glanced over and 
 signed the letters, passed his verdict on her 
 work "Hmm, hmm, Miss Connor, you may 
 move your things to Miss Belmont's desk. 
 And here's a note " 
 
 When an author conquers a stage man- 
 ager; or Atchison rises 4% the very next 
 day; or the Cubs bat it out in the tenth on a 
 darkening September afternoon ; when on the 
 third and last trial, it's a boy; or when Hand- 
 some Harry Matinee returns you his curled 
 likeness signed; or you first sip Mai Wein, 
 you know what it is to move your things to 
 Miss Belmont's desk. 
 
 "And here's a note," continued the old 
 man, without the gap which we have made to 
 put in analogues, "to Mr. Edward Miles 
 I'd better dictate this one myself 'Dear 
 Mr. Miles: I should be happy to have you 
 call ' No, strike that out. 'In response to 
 your letter of even date, I should be glad to 
 see you at any time that suits you, here in my 
 office ' no, make it three o'clock to-morrow 
 
 46 
 
An Economic Unit 
 
 afternoon Ho confer over the subject of the 
 Senatorial campaign in your district.' Eead 
 what you've got." 
 
 Georgia did so. 
 
 The old man changed his eyeglasses. 
 " Maybe you'd better telephone him instead," 
 he said. "It's Ed Miles, the politician. You 
 can probably locate him at 
 
 "Yes, sir, I know," suggested Georgia. 
 
 "And get Mr. Sorners on the phone Mr. 
 Somers does some of our legal work 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "And ask him to be here at the same time. 
 Make a note of it on my list of appoint- 
 ments." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Tell him Miles is coming, and to get up a 
 little resume for me of the situation in those 
 districts over there, and ah perhaps an 
 estimate in a general way of what we ought 
 to do for, ah Mr. Miles. You will indicate 
 that to him." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Well, telephone him that." Georgia rose 
 and went to the door. "Ah Miss Connor 
 " She turned and looked at her em- 
 ployer, her head tilted forward, with a 
 
 47 
 
Rebellion 
 
 peculiar open-eyed, steady little stare, which 
 was a trick of hers when wholly interested. 
 
 "Did I indicate to you," said he, "that you 
 are my private secretary now?" 
 
 "I understand, sir. Thank you." 
 
 48 
 
IV 
 
 THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE 
 
 Each morning as Georgia entered the ele- 
 vated train and spread open her paper, she 
 cast off the centuries, being transformed 
 from a housewife to a " modern economic 
 unit." 
 
 She smiled at the morning cartoon or 
 perhaps, in the celebrated phrase of Dr. 
 Hackett, she sighed softly for the sake of its 
 meticulous futility. Her penny to the news 
 stand gave her full and free franchise upon 
 the ever anxious question of the popularity 
 of popular art. Other Georgias of Chicago 
 were simultaneously passing like judgments 
 in like elevated cars and the sum of their 
 verdicts would ultimately readjust social dis- 
 tinctions in Cook and Lake counties, Illinois. 
 
 She always turned to the Insurance Notes 
 next. It was her Duty to be Well-informed 
 and Interested in the Success of Her Em- 
 ployer, for His Success was Hers. She hadn't 
 
 49 
 
Rebellion 
 
 been to business college for eight weeks not 
 to know that. 
 
 Next a peek at Marion Jean Delorme's 
 column of heart throbs, which she frankly re- 
 garded as dissipation, because she enjoyed 
 it, and everybody who read it called it 
 common. 
 
 By this time, home and its squabbling; its 
 everlasting question of how far a pay envel- 
 ope can stretch; her sullen contemplation of 
 Jim's alcoholism; and irritability at her 
 mother's pottering way had vanished into 
 the background of her mind, where they slept 
 through her working day. 
 
 She engaged herself with more appealing 
 problems and a larger world. She deplored 
 the litter of torn-up streets and the thunder 
 of the loop, instead of the litter of the break- 
 fast dishes and the squeak of the hinge. Not 
 that clean dishes are less meritorious than 
 clean streets, but, to such minds as hers had 
 grown to be, less captivating. To change 
 desks downtown was more fun than to change 
 chairs at home. 
 
 She felt her solidarity with the other 
 people who streamed into the business dis- 
 trict at eight forty-five, to get money by writ- 
 
 50 
 
The Head of the House 
 
 ing or talking. It was the master's end of 
 the game and she belonged to it. Outside-the- 
 loop worked with its arms and hands she 
 worked merely with her fingers. The time 
 might come when she would need to work 
 only with her tongue and triple her income. 
 She was in line for that. 
 
 She was no mean citizen of no mean city 
 throughout the day : at the lunch club where 
 she cooperated; in the big white-tiled vesti- 
 bule of her building where she exchanged ten 
 words of weather prophecy with the elevator 
 starter between clicks ; in the rest room where 
 they talked office politics, and shows, and 
 woman suffrage, as well as beaux and hats; 
 behind her machine which rattled "twenty 
 dollars a week by your own ten fingers and 
 no man's gratuity." 
 
 There were no oaths, no bonds unbreakable, 
 no church to tell her she couldn't change her 
 job, as it tells the housed and covered women 
 who get their bread by wif ehood. 
 
 If she didn't like the temperature of the 
 room, or the size of her employer's ears, she 
 could walk across the street and do as well 
 perhaps better. 
 
 If he had sworn at her, or come ugly drunk 
 
 51 
 
Rebellion 
 
 into her presence but that was inconceiv- 
 able. Employers didn't do that, only hus- 
 bands, because they knew they had you. 
 
 It was the full life and the free life which 
 she lived, she and her sisters of the sky- 
 scrapers. It was the emancipation of woman, 
 and the curse of Eve was lifted from them. 
 
 But the tide of her being which flowed reg- 
 ularly each work-morning, ebbed regularly 
 each night. Her horizon became smaller and 
 less bold after she had slid her nickel over 
 the glass to the spectacled cashier in the L 
 cage and was herded for home on the jammed 
 platform. Her boldness continuously dimin- 
 ished as station after station was called and 
 she stood to her strap, glancing from the 
 direct imperatives, "Uneeda Union Suit and 
 We Can Prove It," " Hasten to the House 
 of Hoopelheimer, " "Smart Set Collars for 
 Swell Spenders," "Blemishes Blasted by 
 Blackfeeto," to the limp, sallow people who, 
 like herself, had left their vitality downtown. 
 
 When she pushed away from the light of 
 her home station into the gloom and up the 
 ineffectually lighted street between rows 
 upon rows of three and four story flats, her 
 head slightly bent, scurrying along with the 
 
 52 
 
The Head of the House 
 
 working woman's nightfall pace, like Lucifer, 
 she felt the mighty distance. She had shrunk 
 into a middle-class wife who had been a poor 
 picker. 
 
 So it usually happened. But the day of her 
 triumph over Miss Gerson was an exception, 
 and the corona of the office extended and en- 
 veloped her through the rows of flat buildings 
 and up two flights of stairs to the door of her 
 own apartment. 
 
 She entered happily, gaily. And there was 
 Jim sprawled in one chair, his dusty boots in 
 another, without a coat to hide his soiled 
 shirt sleeves, without a collar to apologize 
 for his unshaven chin, a frazzled cigar be- 
 tween his fingers and a heap of ashes beside 
 him where he had let them fall upon the car- 
 pet her carpet that she had earned and paid 
 for. 
 
 Ashes had fallen, too, upon his protruding 
 abdomen. He breathed very heavily, almost 
 wheezed. He looked up to speak. His eyes 
 were rather swinish in recovery from de- 
 bauch. His teeth were bad and the gap which 
 had come under the cut lip was not a scar of 
 honor. She hoped he wouldn't speak but of 
 course he did. 
 
 53 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "Hello, Georgia. " 
 
 " Hello, " she answered mechanically. 
 
 "What you been doing?" 
 
 What a stupid question. What did he sup- 
 pose she had been doing! For when a hus- 
 band doesn't suit, he doesn't suit at all his 
 very attempts at peacemaking become an 
 offense in him. 
 
 "Working," she said curtly and passed on 
 to their bedroom. 
 
 * ' Oh, hell ! cut out the everlasting grouch, ' ' 
 he called after her, and went to the window 
 and looked out, kneeling moodily on the win- 
 dow seat. He was Henpecko the Monk, all 
 right. What she needed was a firm hand. 
 Women took all the rope you gave them 
 they took advantage of you. He ought to 
 have begun long ago to shut down on her 
 nonsense. Other husbands did, and by God, 
 he would begin. Then he rubbed his prickly 
 chin and smiled ruefully. For hadn't he be- 
 gun a great many times and had he ever been 
 able to finish? 
 
 Besides, he was broke, and it was strictly 
 necessary, most unfortunately in view of his 
 present disfavor, for him to obtain a loan. 
 
 Maybe Al would help him out and he 
 
 54 
 
The Head of the House 
 
 wouldn't have to ask Georgia. There was an 
 idea. It was more dignified, too. 
 
 He didn't know whether Al had come in 
 yet. 
 
 He himself had occupied a twenty-five cent 
 seat that afternoon near Mr. Frank Schulte, 
 most graceful of Cubs, to get a little fresh 
 air. It did a fellow good and took his mind 
 off home, which a fellow had to do now and 
 then if he was going to stand it at all. 
 
 On the return trip, to be sure, he had suf- 
 fered from a twinge of fans' conscience as 
 he realized that his activities of the day had 
 taken about fifty cents out instead of putting 
 any cents in. A rather keen twinge, too, in- 
 asmuch as Matty had been strictly "right." 
 There is no fun in giving up half a dollar to 
 see the Cubs vivisected. 
 
 "Oh, Al," he called to the back of the flat. 
 
 "What?" came the call back. 
 
 ' ' Hear about the game ! ' ' 
 
 "Nope." 
 
 "I was out," said Jim. 
 
 That ought to fetch him and it did. 
 
 Al entered expectant. He was an extremely 
 good-looking boy of sixteen, with pink cheeks, 
 clear blue eyes, and a kink to his hair. He 
 
 55 
 
Rebellion 
 
 might have been called pretty if his shoulders 
 were not quite so broad. 
 
 "Who win? I was north on an errand late 
 and couldn't get a peek at an extra after the 
 fifth. ' ' So Al apologized to his brother-in-law 
 for his ignorance. ' ' It was one and one then. ' ' 
 
 "The Giants win, three to two, and believe 
 me there was a rank decision at the plate 
 against Johnny Evers. He beefed on it 
 proper and got chased. That's what smeared 
 us." 
 
 "Johnny ought to learn to control him- 
 self," said Al pathetically. 
 
 "Yep. He's got too much pep that's 
 what's the matter with that lad." 
 
 "And all the umpires in the league have 
 banded together against him. I heard it 
 straight to-day. And believe me" there was 
 an element of mystery in the boy's voice, 
 "there's something in it." 
 
 Jim clenched his fist and brought it down 
 hard. "If the Cubs win out against the em- 
 pires this year," he stated his proposition 
 with a vehement brandish of his fist, "they'll 
 be going some," but his peroration rather 
 flattened out ' ' believe me. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, sir, Jim. That's no damn lie." 
 
 56 
 
The Head of the House 
 
 "Say, Al, loan me a quarter?" 
 
 Unhappy pause. 
 
 All sportsmen, from polo players and tar- 
 pon fishers to Kaffirs in their kraals, like to 
 talk it over afterwards. Al didn't want to 
 interrupt his baseball palaver with Jim. It 
 might last right through supper and until 
 bedtime, as it often did when Jim stayed 
 home. 
 
 He had a vast fund of hypotheses to tell 
 Jim again, and some new ones. If he refused 
 Jim the loan their interesting talk would 
 stop. But if he granted it he would be a boob. 
 It was certainly one dilemma. 
 
 Jim smiled and repeated his thought. "I'll 
 do as much for you some time. Go on now." 
 
 Georgia came in quickly and angrily. "I 
 should think you'd be ashamed, Jim Connor, 
 trying to do a boy. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, so you've been rubbering, eh?" Jim 
 sneered. 
 
 She had; but this, her weakness, was one 
 she shared with many other women likewise 
 men. In petty lives are petty deeds. Down- 
 town she did not listen, or tattle, or read 
 other people's letters. There were more im- 
 portant matters to attend to. 
 
 57 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "I got to have a little loan/' said Jim 
 now was Ms time for boldness "to tide me 
 over till Monday. ' ' 
 
 She was obstinately mute. 
 
 "Let me have a two-dollar bill till then?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "One?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "You didn't use to be such a tightwad." 
 
 "You taught me that, too, Jim. I'll never 
 give you another cent to drink. It isn't fair 
 to the rest of us. ' ' 
 
 Mrs, Talbot, Georgia's mother, the home- 
 body of the household, came in from the 
 kitchen to say that supper was now ready 
 and she was sick and tired of the irregularity 
 of the family meals, which she had never 
 been accustomed to as a girl. 
 
 "Oh, cheer up, mother. I've good news to- 
 day a raise." 
 
 Georgia took her pay envelope from her 
 handbag. "See!" 
 
 Mrs. Talbot flattened out the creases in it 
 and read it aloud. ' * Georgia Connor weekly 
 twenty dollars." And drew forth a won- 
 
 58 
 
The Head of the House 
 
 derful, round, golden double eagle. "Where- 
 upon Jim let his angry passions rise. 
 
 His wife this cold-blooded, high-and- 
 mighty creature, with her chin in the air, 
 refused him a loan on the very same day she 
 was raised. It was plain viciousness. It was 
 almost a form of perversion. Forbearance, 
 even his, had its limits. 
 
 "Why, Georgia, " continued the mother, 
 reading the inscription from the envelope in 
 her hand, "how's this, they call you 'Miss,' 
 Miss Georgia Connor weekly twenty dol- 
 lars." 
 
 "Oh ho," exclaimed Jim roughly, for now 
 he felt that it was his turn. "Passing your- 
 self off as unmarried, eh ? A little fly work 
 hey? If I am easy, I draw the line some- 
 where." 
 
 "I was ashamed to let them know I was 
 married and still had to work out," she re- 
 sponded evenly. 
 
 That was just the way it always happened. 
 Georgia invariably ended up with the best 
 of it. 
 
 "Well, well, let it pass, though it's not 
 right. But you ought to let me have a dollar 
 or two, considering. Why, Fve got a right to 
 
 59 
 
Rebellion 
 
 some of your money. You've had plenty of 
 mine in your time." 
 
 ' i For value received. ' ' 
 
 "You talk of marriage as if it was bargain 
 and sale." 
 
 Georgia's voice, which had been thin and 
 colorless, grew suddenly thick with the bitter 
 memories of seven years. " It is oftentimes, ' ' 
 she said. "Bad bargain and cheap sale." 
 
 "And now and then it's a damned high 
 buy, too, when a man gives up his liberty for 
 a daily panning from his wife, and his 
 mother-in-law, and kid brother. ' ' 
 
 "If I am a kid," the boy interrupted pas- 
 sionately, "I've brought in more and taken 
 out less than you the last year." 
 
 Blood called to blood, and the clan of Tal- 
 bot closed around the lone Connor. 
 
 "When he had to come out of school and 
 go to work because you couldn't keep a job !" 
 screamed the elder lady. 
 
 "You big stiff," Al brought up the reen- 
 forcement half-crying with rage. 
 
 "You shut up or I'll " Jim answered 
 hoarsely, drawing back his fist in menace. 
 
 Al jumped for a light chair and swung it 
 just off the ground, meeting the challenge. 
 
 60 
 
The Head of the House 
 
 So standing, the two glowered at each other 
 Jim wishing that he was twenty years 
 younger, Al that he was three years older. 
 
 As Georgia stood back from them hoping 
 that she would not have to interpose phys- 
 ically between the two, as had happened once 
 or twice in the past year, she felt more in- 
 tensely than she ever had before that her 
 home life was very sordid and degrading to 
 her. This eternal jangling which seemed to 
 run on just the same whether she took part 
 in it or not, was the life for snarling hyenas, 
 not for a young woman with an ambition for 
 6 i getting on, ' ' for rising in the social scale. 
 
 The two males, finally impelled by a com- 
 mon doubt of the outcome, tacitly agreed 
 upon verbal rather than physical violence. 
 The raucous quarrel broke out anew. Mrs. 
 Talbot but you, gentle reader, undoubtedly 
 can surmise substantially what followed. 
 You must have friends who have family quar- 
 rels. 
 
 Finally there was a lull, after all three had 
 had their says several times over, and were 
 trying to think up new ones. 
 
 "Jim," said Georgia slowly and deliber- 
 
 61 
 
Rebellion 
 
 ately, for she felt that the hour had come, 
 "why not make this our last quarrel?" 
 
 "That's up to you," he returned belliger- 
 ently. 
 
 ' ' By making it permanent. ' ' 
 
 "What do you mean?" answered Jim, now 
 a trifle alarmed. 
 
 ' 1 1 mean that the time has come for us to 
 separate, for the good of all of us." 
 
 She looked straight at him, until he drop- 
 ped his red and watery eyes before her strong 
 gray ones. There was a pause, a solemn 
 pause in that poor family. 
 
 "Children," said the older woman softly 
 and timidly, ' ' there is such a thing as carry- 
 ing bitter words too far. ' ' 
 
 "Mother, when two people come to the sit- 
 uation we're in, Jim and I," for the first time 
 there was a semblance of sympathy for the 
 man in her voice, "then I believe the only 
 thing they can do, and stay decent, is to sep- 
 arate. To go on living together when they 
 neither like nor love each other " 
 
 "How do you know? I never said that," 
 Jim said humbly. 
 
 "It is not what you say that counts. We 
 don't love each other any more ; that was over 
 62 
 
The Head of the House 
 
 long ago ; that's the whole trouble ; that's why 
 we quarrel; that's why you drink and I'm 
 hateful to you and it'll get worse and worse 
 and more degrading if we keep on. Oh, I feel 
 
 no better than a woman of the streets when 
 j 
 
 "Georgia," Mrs. Talbot raised her eyes 
 significantly, glancing at Al, to warn her 
 daughter against letting her son know a truth. 
 
 "Oh, I have been thinking this over and 
 over for months, ' ' continued the wife, i l and 
 I kept putting it off. But now I'm glad I said 
 it and it's done." 
 
 ' ' The church admits of only one ground for 
 this," said Mrs. Talbot desperately, fighting 
 for respectability; "do you mean that Jim 
 has " 
 
 "I don't know " 
 
 "No," Jim denied indignantly, "you can't 
 accuse me of that anyway." 
 
 "And I don't care." 
 
 "You don't care?" That was a most as- 
 tounding remark, clear outside his calcula- 
 tions. Why wives always cared tremend- 
 ously. Every man knew that. 
 
 ' ' No, if need be I could forgive an act, but 
 not a state of mind." 
 
 63 
 
Rebellion 
 
 Mrs. Talbot found herself literally forced 
 to take sides with Jim. This was an attack on 
 all tradition, on everything that she had been 
 taught. ' ' Why, I never heard of such talk in 
 my life. ' ' 
 
 But Georgia would not qualify. "Well, I 
 think that's all." She walked to the door. 
 "I suppose I have seemed very hard, but it 
 was best to make the cut sharp and clean." 
 There was no sign of relenting in the set of 
 her mouth or in her narrowed eyes ; and Jim 
 knew it was nearly impossible to do anything 
 with her when her nostrils grew wide like 
 that. 
 
 "All right, " he mumbled, "have it your 
 own way." 
 
 "Try to brace up for your own sake, if 
 you wouldn't for mine." That was her good- 
 bye. She went from the room with Al. 
 
 The mother waited behind. "She'll think 
 better of this by and by, Jim. I'll speak to 
 her about it now and then," she said, "and 
 keep you in her mind. And I'm going to the 
 priest about it, too. It's sin she's doing. And 
 Jim " 
 
 "Yes?" he grieved humbly, almost crying. 
 
 64 
 
The Head of the House 
 
 "You better go over to Father Hervey and 
 tell him all about it.' ' 
 
 "Yes, I'll do that same." 
 
 "Well, good-bye for now you better go 
 to some hotel to-night, ' ' she gave him a dollar 
 from the purse in her bosom, "and try and 
 get work. It'll make your coming back 
 easier." 
 
 "Thanks, mother, I'll do that same. Er I 
 guess I'll go in and change my collar. That'll 
 be all right, won 't it f " 
 
 "Yes, Georgia's in the dining room." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot left him. He rubbed his 
 knuckles slowly across his eye, his breath 
 catching quickly. Then he spied Georgia's 
 hand bag. There was the trouble-money 
 twenty dollars, a round, golden double eagle. 
 He opened the handbag to well, to look at it. 
 He spun it ; he palmed it ; he tossed it in the 
 air, calling heads. It came tails. He tried it 
 again and it came heads. That settled it. He 
 slipped the coin into his pocket, and went out 
 of the room. At least there was salvage in 
 leaving one's wife. 
 
 After supper Georgia packed up his things, 
 every stick and stitch of them, and with the 
 aid of Al drew them out into the hallway. 
 
 65 
 
Rebellion 
 
 Later in the evening a politician, one of 
 Ed Miles', knocked at the door. 
 
 "Good evening, ma'am, I'm from the For- 
 tieth Ward Clnb. I have a message for Mr. 
 Connor. He's wanted at headquarters right 
 away." 
 
 "He doesn't live here any more." 
 
 The politician was perplexed. 
 
 "Where does he live?" 
 
 "I don't know," answered Georgia, shut- 
 ting the door. 
 
 It was not until the next morning that she 
 discovered the loss of her money. 
 
"He doesn't live here any more." 
 
V 
 
 FOE IDLE HANDS TO DO 
 
 The old man had gone to Europe for his 
 summer vacation, leaving Georgia secure in 
 her place with nothing to worry ahout. She 
 had no more than half work to do. Business 
 had slackened and the whole office was in the 
 doldrums. Life's fitful fever had abated to 
 subnormal placidity. Even her mother's 
 chronic indignation over trifles had been 
 quieted by the summer's drowse. 
 
 The only interesting moments in Georgia's 
 day were nine o'clock when she came and five 
 o'clock when she left noon on Saturdays. 
 The Sundays were amazingly dull. 
 
 So was her home. Al stayed away from it 
 from breakfast unto bedtime, with a brief 
 interval for supper. He was engrossed in 
 prairie league baseball for one thing. That 
 occupied him all day Sunday and half of Sat- 
 urday. Of course he couldn't play after dark, 
 
 67 
 
Rebellion 
 
 but whenever Georgia asked him where he 
 was going as he bolted from the table with 
 his cap, he answered, "Out to see some fel- 
 lahs." 
 
 If she hoped that he would stay at home 
 to-night, for he was out last night and the one 
 before, he would explain, with as much con- 
 viction as if he offered a clinching argument, 
 that "the fellahs" were a-calling and he 
 must go. 
 
 She was rather put out to find herself un- 
 able to speak with the same vehemence and 
 authority to him as she had been able to use 
 with Jim concerning the folly and wickedness 
 of going out after supper. For when it comes 
 to putting fingers on a man's destiny, a wife 
 is a more effective agency than a sister. Even 
 in unhappy marriages husband and wife are 
 as two circles which intersect. They have 
 common, identical ground between them. It 
 may not be large, but such as it is it inevitably 
 gives them moments of oneness. Brother and 
 sister are as two circles, whose rims just 
 touch. They may be very near each other, but 
 at no time are they each other. 
 
 Georgia's restlessness and discontent in- 
 
 68 
 
For Idle Hands to Do 
 
 creased as the summer went on, probably be- 
 cause she was affecting nobody else's destiny 
 to any calculable extent. Her young brother 
 Al kept away, perhaps warned by a deep race 
 instinct that sisters are not meant to affect 
 destinies. Her old mother was a settled case 
 already. She wouldn't change; she couldn't 
 change ; she could hardly be modified, except 
 by the weather or the rheumatism ; she would 
 merely grow old and die. No satisfaction 
 for a young adventurous woman in experi- 
 menting on such a soul. 
 
 It has been said that neither the woman nor 
 the man alone is the complete human being, 
 but the man and the woman together. This 
 woman, Georgia, who for seven years had 
 been completed by the addition of the mascu- 
 line element, was now made incomplete. She 
 struggled in vain to find contentment in reg- 
 ular hours, regular sleep, regular work and 
 regular pay. 
 
 She had supposed for years that peace and 
 quiet, and enough money, and never the smell 
 of whiskey were all she wanted. And here 
 was her subconsciousness, which she couldn't 
 understand, making her perfectly wretched, 
 
 69 
 
Rebellion 
 
 though she couldn't tell why; calling insist- 
 ently for another man, though she didn't in 
 the least realize it. She only knew she was 
 tired of being cooped up in the house even- 
 ings ; she wanted to get out now and then for 
 a change and to see people who had some 
 ideas. 
 
 She went for a Saturday evening supper 
 to the Kaiser Wilhelm Zweite Beer and Music 
 Garden with a school-girl friend and her hus- 
 band. This pleasure-ground was well north, 
 out of the smoke. The night was soft and the 
 music lovely. She was much entertained by 
 the husband's talk, and considered that she 
 held up her end with him very well. 
 
 The next time they invited her she spent 
 some little time before hand, "fixing-up" for 
 the occasion. Eibbons were put back where 
 they used to be long ago when she first met 
 Jim. Her hat underwent revolutionary read- 
 justment, as the school friend made plain by 
 heated compliments on Georgia's millinery 
 skill. 
 
 However, the husband seemed absolutely 
 content with its effect and Georgia's anima- 
 tion increased throughout the evening, calling 
 back a long neglected flush to her cheeks and 
 
 70 
 
For Idle Hands to Do 
 
 a gay pace to her bearing. She was not asked 
 a third time, however, which did not unflatter 
 her. It was evidence that she had not slowed 
 down completely that she was not finished. 
 Meanwhile Jim, after spreeing away his 
 twenty dollars, had gone West. 
 
 71 
 
VI 
 
 TBIANGULATION 
 
 Mason Stevens, Sr., was a horse doctor in 
 Eogersville, Peoria County, Illinois. He wore 
 a gray mustache and imperial beard in tribute 
 to that famous Chicago veterinarian who has 
 made more race horses stand on four legs 
 than any other man in the Mississippi Valley. 
 
 Besides horses, Mr. Stevens knew cattle, 
 hogs, sheep, tumbler and carrier pigeons, 
 bred-to-type poultry, and whiskey. If he 
 hadn't carried a bottle about with him in his 
 buggy he might be alive now. 
 
 Mason Stevens, Jr., wanted to be a real 
 doctor, so he came up to Chicago to the Bush 
 Medical College. After his first year, whiskey 
 took his father, the funeral took the rest, and 
 the young man after a brief fight gave up the 
 vision of some day substituting "M.D." in 
 place of " Jr." after his name. 
 
 He had been a respected boy at school, 
 green but positive. To help him out, some of 
 
 72 
 
Triangulaticn 
 
 his friends persuaded their fathers, uncles 
 or other sources of supply to give "Old 
 Mase" a chance to write their fire insurance. 
 He took the opening. Presently his acquaint- 
 ance was wide enough for him to branch out 
 into life as well as fire. After ten years in the 
 city he was able to go to the general agent of 
 his company and ask for a regular salary, in 
 addition to his commissions, on the ground 
 that there wasn't another solicitor in the 
 state he had to take his hat off to. 
 
 He was a highly concentrated product, like 
 most successful countrymen in the city. He 
 hadn't been scattered in culture. He knew 
 no foreign languages, no art save that on 
 calendars, no music he could not hum, no 
 drama save very occasionally a burlesque 
 show when he felt that he needs must see 
 women. 
 
 He knew, if he hadn't forgotten, how to 
 find a kingfisher's nest up a small tunnel 
 in the river bank, or a red-winged blackbird's 
 pendant above the swamp waters, or a 
 butcher-bird's in a thornbush with beheaded 
 field mice hanging from its spears. Even 
 now, with farmer's instinct, he looked up 
 
 73 
 
Rebellion 
 
 quickly through the skyscrapers at a sudden 
 shift in wind. 
 
 He lived in a rooming house and ate where 
 he happened to be. His bureau was bare of 
 everything save the towel across the top, his 
 derby hat, when he was in bed, and a handful 
 of matches. His upper drawer, usually half- 
 pulled out, was filled not with collars and ties, 
 but with papers relating to his business; 
 actuaries' figures; reports from all com- 
 panies, his own and his rivals'; records of 
 "prospects" that he had brought home for 
 evening study; rough drafts of solicitation 
 "literature" he was getting up for the com- 
 pany. He usually worked at night in his shirt 
 sleeves, his hat cocked on the back of his 
 head, his chair tilted back against the wall 
 under a single gas jet with a ground glass 
 globe that diverted most of the light upward 
 toward the ceiling. 
 
 Even after he reached the point where he 
 could afford more expensive living, he did not 
 change. He wore better clothes because a 
 "front" was mere business intelligence, but 
 otherwise his habits were within a hundred 
 and fifty dollars of his first year. 
 
 Pleasure he regarded as the enemy, not so 
 
 74 
 
Triangulation 
 
 much because of its money-cost, as because it 
 was diverting. He didn't wish to be diverted ; 
 he wished to sell life insurance and more and 
 more. That was as far as he went with his 
 plans. He didn't want to get rich so as to 
 gratify dreams, to have a beautiful wife and 
 buy her a big house and motors. He simply 
 wanted to get rich. 
 
 He had had no romance since he left the 
 Kogersville High School. That one had been 
 sweet enough for awhile, but nothing came 
 of it. And he remembered that on account of 
 it he had neglected his studies senior year 
 and not graduated at the top of the class. 
 Indeed, the object of his affection, with fitting 
 irony, had herself achieved that distinction, 
 which cooled his fever for her. 
 
 Mason was a great believer in the value of 
 6 i bumps. " When he made a failure in any 
 enterprise, he was wont to analyze why, in 
 order to double-guard himself against a repe- 
 tition of it. None but a fool repeats a mis- 
 take. He drummed that into himself. Thus 
 in the long run he was ready to turn every 
 "bump" into an asset instead of a liability. 
 It is a system of philosophy widespread in 
 this nation, especially among country-bred 
 
 75 
 
Rebellion 
 
 people of Puritan tradition, strong, rugged 
 people who believe in the supreme power of 
 the individual will, who minimize luck and 
 take no stock in fatalism. These are usually 
 termed "the backbone of the American peo- 
 ple," and though of course they know that 
 God is everywhere and omnipotent, they like- 
 wise believe that He has appointed them His 
 deputies, with a pretty free hand to act, in the 
 conduct of the earth. 
 
 Mason Stevens came of this stock. And 
 though his father was a backslider, his 
 mother was not, and she brought him up on 
 the saying, "Maybe this will teach you a 
 lesson, my son, next time you think of doing 
 so-and-so. " 
 
 This shows why Mason Stevens did not fall 
 in love with any woman, after the high school 
 girl, until he fell most desperately in love 
 with Georgia Connor. 
 
 He resisted love from conviction. One 
 female ten years before had defeated his 
 brains and his purpose by her charm. He 
 wanted no more of that. 
 
 But he had to fight. Often enough as he 
 walked through the long office through the 
 double row of shirt-waisted figures bending 
 
 76 
 
Triangulation 
 
 over typewriters and desks, it seemed impera- 
 tive for him to know them better, to wait for 
 one of them after office hours and ride home 
 with her on the car. 
 
 Everything else was wiped out of him for 
 the moment but just the question of riding 
 home with a twelve-dollar-a-week girl. Then 
 he would walk quickly on past the girl who 
 absorbed his imagination, his mouth set and 
 his brows scowling. And she would confide 
 in her neighbor that he was crazy about 
 himself. 
 
 Sometimes when he was at home under the 
 gas jet with his business papers on his knee, 
 the vision of fair women would float before 
 him, all the most beautiful in his imaginings 
 as he had seen them in pictures or on the 
 stage. He might dream for an hour before 
 remembering that he was in the world to sell 
 life insurance and that women would hamper 
 his single-mindedness as surely as whiskey. 
 
 Who was the man he was surest of making 
 sign an application blank when he set out 
 after him? The man who had a woman in 
 his head, every time ; the man with the wife, 
 and children, which are the consequences 
 of a wife; or one who was gibbering in a 
 
 77 
 
Rebellion 
 
 fool's heaven because a young girl had gra- 
 ciously promised to allow him to support her 
 for the rest of her days. 
 
 So he kept away from bad women as much 
 as he could, and from good women always. 
 
 Especially from those in the office. Their 
 constant propinquity was a constant menace 
 and he had known a lot of fellows to get tan- 
 gled up that way, and he wouldn't if he 
 could help it. 
 
 But he couldn't help it after he knew 
 Georgia. She was so useful mentally and 
 physically, and that was what he first noticed 
 about her. He hated slackness of any sort, 
 especially in women, because he had trained 
 himself to dwell on women's faults rather 
 than on men's. 
 
 Her manners, he thought, were precisely 
 perfect. She seemed to hit a happy medium 
 between gushing and shyness, and to hit it in 
 the dead center. Her teeth were white and 
 good, and she smiled often, but not too often. 
 She never overdid anything, and her voice 
 was low and full. She knew what you were 
 driving at before you half started telling her ; 
 also she could make a fresh clerk feel foolish 
 in one minute by the clock. 
 
 78 
 
Triangulation 
 
 She had the charm of perfect health. 
 About her dark irises the whites of her eyes 
 were very white, touched with the faintest 
 bluish tinge from the arterial blood beneath. 
 There was a natural lustre in her hair, un- 
 common among indoor people. Her steps took 
 her straight to where she wanted to go. She 
 made no false motions. When she looked for 
 something in her desk, she opened the drawer 
 where it was, not the one above or below. Her 
 muscles, nerves and proportions were so bal- 
 anced that it was difficult for her to fall into 
 an ungraceful posture. 
 
 Considering these manifold excellent quali- 
 ties, the most remarkable thing about her, 
 he thought, was that she had not long before 
 been invited to embellish the mansion and 
 the motors of a millionaire. He wrote en- 
 thusiastically to his mother suggesting that it 
 would be nice to invite her to Bogersville for 
 a portion at least of her coming summer vaca- 
 tion, which brought a most unhappy smile to 
 his mother's lips. But since he did not re- 
 peat his request, the invitation was not ex- 
 tended. 
 
 The first time that he knew he regarded 
 her as a woman rather than as a workwoman 
 
 79 
 
Rebellion 
 
 was one afternoon when the declining sun 
 threw its light higher and higher into the big 
 office. A ray shone on and from her patent 
 leather belt and into his eyes. He looked up 
 annoyed from his work. She was sitting a 
 few desks ahead by the window, her back to- 
 ward him. Before very long the thing had 
 fascinated him and he found himself im- 
 mensely concerned with the climb of the sun 
 up her shirt waist. 
 
 It reached her collar in a manner entirely 
 marvelous and then precisely at the moment 
 when he was finally to know its effect upon 
 her hair, she lowered the shade. What luck ! 
 
 The next day was cloudy. The next was 
 Saturday and she quit at twelve, before the 
 sun got around to her window. Monday she 
 lowered the shade before the light got even 
 to her shoulder. Little did she know of the 
 repressed anguish she was so bringing to the 
 gloomy young hustler behind her. But on 
 Tuesday the sunlight reached her hair mo- 
 mentarily as she leaned back in her chair and 
 gleamed and glittered there, a coruscation 
 of glory for fully thirty seconds long enough 
 to overturn in catastrophe his thirty years 
 and their slowly built purposes. 
 
 80 
 
Triangulation 
 
 He resolved hereafter to deal primarily not 
 in life insurance, but in life, which meant 
 Georgia. 
 
 81 
 
vn 
 A SENTIMENTAL JOUKNEY 
 
 During the ensuing days Mason was hope- 
 less for work. 
 
 From the office books he found out where 
 she lived, slyly as he supposed, but not so 
 slyly that the information clerk didn't tell 
 someone, who told someone who teased Geor- 
 gia at the luncheon club, not thereby displeas- 
 ing her. For he was a good-looking fellow 
 and capable; furthermore, he had always kept 
 himself to himself, so putting several noses 
 out of joint, it was said. 
 
 He had moments of anguished self- 
 reproach as he sat in his room in his board- 
 ing house, his chair tilted against the wall 
 under the gas jet, his coat on his bed, his 
 derby hat tilted back on his head. 
 
 He knew that his life had been utterly un- 
 worthy. He had drunk it to the lees, pretty 
 near. But now he was through with all that. 
 
 82 
 
A Sentimental Journey 
 
 Hereafter, for her sake, he would conquer 
 himself and others. 
 
 His sense of beauty was limited by inherit- 
 ance and by disuse, but now he began to 
 draw upon all the poetry in his soul not to 
 write to her, but to think of her. 
 
 His imagination, naturally fertile and 
 strengthened by the practice of his profes- 
 sion, centered itself on the question of his 
 first kiss from her where, when and how 
 should it happen? He called all great lovers 
 from Borneo to Eobert W. Chambers to his 
 aid it must be under the moon, the fra- 
 grance about them. And a lake, a little lake, 
 for the moon to shine upon and magically 
 increase its magic. He remembered the moon 
 on the river back in Eogersville, with the 
 other girl the first one. What mere children 
 they were. That was puppy love, but this 
 was love; love such as no man ever felt be- 
 fore for a woman. 
 
 He was hard hit. 
 
 The lake suggested a train of thought, so 
 he packed his bag on Saturday and went to 
 southern Wisconsin. The resort dining room 
 was full of noisy youths and maidens who, 
 in his decided opinion had no proper rever- 
 
 83 
 
Rebellion 
 
 ence for love, though they seemed perfectly 
 amorous whenever he suddenly came upon a 
 pair of them as much as one hundred yards 
 from the hotel. 
 
 He chartered a flatbottom after supper to 
 row out alone and contemplate the moon and 
 her, but the voices of the night and the frogs 
 were overwhelmed by the detestable mando- 
 lins tinkling "My Wife's Gone to the Coun- 
 try, Hurray. " 
 
 When finally he turned in he discovered 
 there was a drummers' poker party on the 
 other side of the pine partition, so it wasn't 
 until nearly daylight he dozed off, to wake a 
 couple of hours later when the dishes began 
 to rattle. 
 
 The boat concessionaire reported pickerel 
 in the lake and he joined the Sunday pisca- 
 torial posse. He returned with two croppies 
 and the record of many bites, mostly on him- 
 self. 
 
 He concluded he wasn't interested in fish- 
 ing anyway. It was just a device to cheat him- 
 self and make himself suppose he was having 
 a good time. He couldn't have a good time 
 and wouldn't if he could, until he knew her, 
 until at least he knew her. Why he had never 
 
 84 
 
A Sentimental Journey 
 
 said ten words to her more than i i Good morn- 
 ing" and ' ' Good evening. ' ' He would call on 
 her ; he had her address. He would go to her 
 apartment and ring the bell and say, "Miss 
 Connor, I have come to call on you. Do you 
 mind?" 
 
 No, that would hardly do. It was too bold. 
 He mustn't seem at all crude to her, but 
 mannerly and suave and self-possessed. A 
 girl, and especially one of her sort, would 
 object to crudeness. He must be very courtly, 
 knightly. Flowers on her desk every morn- 
 ing, perhaps, not a card, not a word. A 
 handful of sweet blossoms each day to greet 
 her and bear her silent testimony that there 
 
 was one who She would know, of course, 
 
 in due time whence they came. Not that he 
 would ever so much as hint at his gifts, but 
 her woman's intuition would tell her. And 
 when she did realize in this way his silent 
 though passionate devotion, she would thank 
 him, gently and sadly, and a bond would be 
 made between them. 
 
 But then, what if the other people in the 
 office had intuition, too, or saw him bringing 
 in flowers? No, decidedly that wouldn't do. 
 
 And then just in time for him to catch 
 
 85 
 
Rebellion 
 
 the 3:40 a blinding flash of warning illu- 
 mined his whole being. What if, virile he 
 was there shilly-shallying at a summer resort, 
 some other fellow was with her in Chicago at 
 that very moment? 
 
 "What if" a ridiculous way to put it. 
 Wasn't it sure in the nature of things, that 
 at that very moment some other man was 
 with her? 
 
 He caught the 3 :40. He would call on her 
 that very evening and if indeed he didn't de- 
 clare himself bluntly in so many words 
 hadn't he heard of numberless women who 
 had been won at first sight? he would at 
 least intimate to her strongly, unmistakably, 
 that she was the object of his respectful con- 
 sideration and attention. 
 
 There were others in the field. It was 
 time he declared himself in, too. 
 
 It wasn't until 5 :37, when the train reached 
 Clybourn Junction, that he began to repent 
 his precipitancy. He was going to see her 
 again in the office to-morrow, wasn't he? 
 Wouldn't it look queer if he went out to 
 call on her to-night without warning? She 
 might be wholly unprepared for callers and 
 annoyed. 
 
 86 
 
A Sentimental Journey 
 
 But his presumable rival bobbed up again 
 and spoiled his supper, so after dropping his 
 bag at home, he walked presently into the 
 entry way of 2667 Pearl Avenue. Her name 
 was not on the left side; perhaps she had 
 moved. No, here on the right, floor 3, in 
 letters of glory i ' Connor. ' ' Above it, ' ' Tal- 
 bot." 
 
 Who was Talbot? Married sister, room- 
 mate or landlady from whom she sublet ? He 
 raised his thumb to the bell. He had never 
 before experienced a moment of such acute 
 consciousness. 
 
 Wait a second she might not be in. He 
 walked out and looked up at the third floor 
 right. There was certainly a light, a bright 
 one, and the window was open and the curtain 
 fluttering out. 
 
 Somebody was in. It might be Talbot. In 
 that case he wouldn't go up or leave his name 
 either. It certainly was none of Talbot 's 
 business, whoever Talbot was. 
 
 He pressed the button under her name. 
 6 ' Yes ! ' ' Heavens above, it was she, Georgia, 
 the woman herself. 
 
 * ' Yes, who is it 1 " came the voice once more. 
 
 "Stevens.?' 
 
 87 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "Mr. Stevens V 9 with a decided tone of 
 interrogation. Evidently she did not place 
 him at all. Probably not, with so many other 
 men about her. It would be absurd to sup- 
 pose anything else. She didn't place him 
 might not even recognize him out of the office. 
 
 "Mason Stevens of the office." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Stevens of the office. How do 
 you do?" and she spoke with a delightful 
 access of cordiality. i l Will you come up ? " 
 
 "Just for a minute, if I may. I won't keep 
 you long." 
 
 "Wait, I'll let you in." The click-click- 
 click sounded and he was on his way upstairs. 
 She opened the door for him. 
 
 A quick glance. There was no other man 
 in the room, anyway. 
 
 "Good evening," she said. "Won't you 
 come in!" 
 
 "Why, yes," then very apologetically; 
 "that is, if I'm not putting you out." 
 
 "No, indeed." He sat and paused. She 
 smiled and did not help him. 
 
 "You're nicely located here, Miss Connor." 
 
 "Oh, yes, we like it." 
 
 "Near the express station?" 
 
 88 
 
A Sentimental Journey 
 
 "Yes. I usually get a seat in the morning, 
 but not coming back, of course. ' ' 
 
 "About three blocks, isn't it?" 
 
 "Three long ones." 
 
 "A nice walk." 
 
 "Yes, this time of year, but not so nice in 
 winter when they don't clean the snow off the 
 sidewalks. ' ' 
 
 He felt that it was a bit jerky. Perhaps 
 he should first have asked her permission to 
 call. What a goat he was not to think of 
 that beforehand instead of now. He paused 
 until the pause grew uncomfortable. 
 
 She tried to help him out, "We're out of 
 the smoke belt, that's one thing." 
 
 He was seated in a rocking chair and began 
 to rock violently, then suddenly he stopped 
 and leaned toward her, his elbows on his 
 knees. 
 
 "I've been slow getting to the point," he 
 remarked abruptly, "but I came here on 
 business." 
 
 "Oh, I wasn't just sure what." 
 
 Stevens took half a dozen life insurance 
 advertising folders from his pocket. "You 
 know this literature we're using," he said, 
 running two or three through his fingers and 
 
 89 
 
Rebellion 
 
 indicating them by their titles, " 'Do You 
 Want Your Wife to Want When She's a 
 Widow ?' * Friendship for the Fatherless/ 
 ' Death's Dice Are Loaded.' " 
 
 "Oh, yes." She took them from him and 
 read aloud. " 'Over the Hills to the Poor- 
 house,' with a photograph of it, 'Will Your 
 Little Girl Have to Scrub?' with thumbnail 
 pictures of scrub ladies. Ugh, what a gloomy 
 trade we're in, aren't we, Mr. Stevens?" 
 
 * ' This is the line of talk that gets the busi- 
 ness. ' ' He spoke earnestly, tapping the fold- 
 ers. ' ' You can 't make papa dig up premiums 
 for forty or fifty years unless you first scare 
 him and scare him blue about his family. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so." 
 
 c ' And what I came for is well, will you 
 would you just as soon help me get up some 
 more of these?" 
 
 ' ' You mean work with you on them ? ' ' She 
 was truly surprised. 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 She hesitated and then she said it was im- 
 possible, but that she appreciated his kind 
 cc Tipliment, was flattered by it and thanked 
 hi i deeply, deeply. For, of course, she real- 
 ize ' that Mr. Stevens was one of the very 
 
 90 
 
A Sentimental Journey 
 
 best men in town at that sort of work and she 
 was afraid she couldn't possibly be of any 
 real use to him. 
 
 "Not at all, not at all;" he was talking 
 business now and waved aside her objections 
 with his customary confidence. Everybody 
 always objected to his plans for them when 
 he began talking, but in the end he was apt 
 to change their minds. That was why he was 
 considered a premier solicitor. "You've a 
 clear head and a good ear for words, that's 
 what's needed, and " 
 
 "But '' she tried to interrupt. 
 
 ' l And ideas, that 's the point, ideas. You 're 
 clever. ' ' 
 
 ' ' What makes you think so ? " 
 
 ' ' I don 't think so ; I know. ' ' 
 
 "I'm flattered," she said firmly. "But no 
 really." 
 
 "Well, I won't take that for a definite an- 
 swer yet. ' ' Of course not. He never did. * ' 1 
 want you to think it over. I have the utmost 
 confidence in the scheme and your ability to 
 carry it out. You can tell me Monday in 
 the office what you decide." 
 
 "I can tell you now, Mr. Stevens." 
 
 91 
 
Rebellion 
 
 He rose. " Think it over anyway. You 
 may change your mind. ' ' 
 
 She rose, too, not encouraging him to stay. 
 
 "Miss Connor, " he spoke gravely, "there 
 was something else I came to ask you. I'd 
 like to know you personally as well as in a 
 business way, if you'd just as soon. May I 
 come to see you now and then?" 
 
 She did not answer. She saw that it count- 
 ed with him. He seemed really to care. She 
 must not be brusque with him. He must not 
 think her merely light-minded, unapprecia- 
 tive of the compliment of his interest. She 
 must tell him of her marriage. 
 
 "Of course, if you'd rather not for any 
 reason, why, that settles it," there was a 
 check in his voice, "and we'll say no more 
 about it. ' ' Still she did not answer. He held 
 out his hand. "Well, good-bye, then." 
 
 "Good-bye." 
 
 He went to the door and opened it. 
 
 "Mr. Stevens." 
 
 "Yes, Miss Connor." 
 
 "I think you ought to know that isn't my 
 name." 
 
 "What is it, then?" 
 
 "Mrs. Connor." 
 
 92 
 
A Sentimental Journey 
 
 "Mrs. Connor? Missis Connor?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He came down into the room. His glance 
 traveled rapidly to the four corners, like a 
 wild animal dodging men and dogs. He had 
 one question left, one chance of escape. 
 
 "Are you a widow!" he said. 
 
 "No, a married woman." 
 
 Stevens went slowly out of the door with- 
 out replying. The woman whom he loved be- 
 longed to another man. It was like the end 
 of the world. 
 
 93 
 
VIII 
 
 THE LIFE FOECE 
 
 If Mason had been in the jeunesse doree he 
 must now have gone to Monte Carlo to buck 
 the tiger or to India to shoot him. 
 
 As it was, he smoked all night and turned 
 up at the office half an hour ahead of time 
 in a voluble, erratic mood, brought about by 
 suppressing so much excitement within him- 
 self. If he had known how to tell his troubles 
 to a friend over a glass of beer he might have 
 had an easier time of it in his life. But he 
 wasn't that sort. He took things hard and 
 kept them in. 
 
 He decided that the best thing to do with 
 his sentiment for Georgia was to strangle it. 
 Whenever he caught himself thinking of her, 
 which would certainly be often at first, he 
 must turn his mind away. He must avoid 
 seeing her ; if they met accidentally he would 
 give no further sign than a curt nod. 
 
 94 
 
The Life Force 
 
 He remembered the farmers used to say 
 that there was one thing to do with Canada 
 thistles keep them under, never let the sun 
 shine on them. His love for this other man's 
 wife was like a thistle. He must keep it un- 
 der, never let the sun shine on it. 
 
 He did it thoroughly. He nodded to her in 
 the most indifferent way in the world when 
 they happened to meet, but he found no oc- 
 casion to stop at her desk to chat an instant. 
 Two weeks of his change of manner began to 
 pique her. He was acting in a rather absurd 
 way, she thought. After all they weren't 
 lovers who had quarreled, but simply ac- 
 quaintances, friends after a fashion, fellow 
 workers. Why shouldn't they continue to be 
 friends? It would be amusing to have some 
 one besides the family and the girls to talk to. 
 
 She would not let him treat her in this stiff 
 way any longer, just because she had had the 
 bad luck to marry a bad man years before. 
 What rubbish that was. And what self-con- 
 sciousness on his part. Men had a very 
 guilty way of looking at things. 
 
 They met quite or almost quite by accident 
 in front of the office building during the noon 
 
 95 
 
Rebellion 
 
 hour of the following day. He was about to 
 pass without stopping. 
 
 ' ' How do you do, Mr. Stevens ? ' ' Her voice 
 was quite distinct. 
 
 So he turned and lifted his hat. "How do 
 you do ? ' ' 
 
 She did not precisely move toward him, but 
 she did so contrive the pause that it was up 
 to him, if he weren't to be boorish, to stop 
 for a moment and speak with her. 
 
 She threw a disarming candor into her first 
 question. "Is there any particular reason, " 
 said she, "why we are no longer friends 1" 
 
 "Friends?" 
 
 "Yes. YouVe been frowning at me for 
 about three weeks and I haven't the least idea 
 how I've offended you." 
 
 He did not answer immediately and his ex- 
 pression hardened. 
 
 "There, you're doing it now," said she with 
 apparent perplexity. ' t Why I ' ' 
 
 "You know," he spoke doggedly. 
 
 "No, I don't." 
 
 "Yes you do, too," he answered curtly and 
 roughly. "You do." 
 
 "Just as you please." She turned from 
 him, apparently offended by his tone, slightly 
 
 96 
 
The Life Force 
 
 nodded and walked slowly away. She was of 
 medium height, no more than that, and slen- 
 der. A brute of a man bumped her with his 
 shoulder as he passed her. 
 
 Stevens waited for the brute of a man, dug 
 his elbow into his ribs and overtook her at the 
 Madison Street corner. 
 
 4 'Miss Mrs. Connor, I didn't mean to be 
 rude." 
 
 4 'You were a little, you know." 
 
 "Will you excuse me?" 
 
 "Why, of course." 
 
 He didn't quite know what to do next, so 
 he awkwardly extended his hand. She took it 
 with a man-to-man shake of wiping out the 
 score, which completely demolished his cyn- 
 ical attitude in reference to platonic friend- 
 ship. 
 
 "Where were you bound for?" he asked. 
 
 "Nowhere, just strolling. Over to the lake 
 front for a breath of air. ' ' 
 
 "May I walk along?" 
 
 "Surely." 
 
 On their way back they reflected that they 
 had been without lunch, so they stopped at a 
 drug store for a malted milk with egg, choco- 
 late flavor, nutmeg on top. 
 
 97 
 
Rebellion 
 
 They touched their glasses together. 
 
 "It's very nourishing," said he with won- 
 derment. 
 
 "Very," she replied, delightedly; "very." 
 
 They returned to their work in that state of 
 high elation induced by interviews such as 
 theirs, wherein the spoken words mean twenty 
 times what they say and more. 
 
 98 
 
IX 
 
 THE PKETENDEES 
 
 Georgia and Mason did not overpass the 
 outward signs and boundaries of platonism, 
 learning to avoid not merely evil, but the ap- 
 pearance of evil. When they met in the 
 hundred-eyed office they were casual. 
 
 During the autumn they took long walks 
 together every Sunday. There had been a 
 dry spell that year, lasting with hardly a 
 break from the fore part of June, which 
 baked the land and sucked out the wells and 
 put the Northern woods in danger of their 
 lives. The broad corn leaves withered yellow 
 and the husbandmen of the great valley pro- 
 tested that the ears were but "HP nubbins 
 with three inches of nuthin' at the tips, taper- 
 in' down to a point, and where '11 we get our 
 seed next spring ?" 
 
 When the huge downpour came at last 
 and by its miracle saved the crop which had 
 been given up for lost a fortnight since, 
 
 99 
 
Rebellion 
 
 Mason cursed the day, for it fell on the first 
 day of the week and cost him, item, one walk 
 and talk with Georgia Connor. She stood so 
 near his eyes as to hide from his sight a bil- 
 lion bushels parching in the valley though 
 he was country bred. 
 
 To her their Sundays together brought not 
 a joy as definite as his, but rather a sense of 
 contentment, of relief from the precision of 
 the other days of her week. It pleased her to 
 wander to the big aviary and look at the con- 
 dors and cockatoos and wonder about South 
 America where they came from, then to stroll 
 slowly over to the animals and have a vague 
 difference of opinion with him about whether 
 a lion could whip a tiger. 
 
 She thought so because the lion was the 
 king of beasts, but Mason didn't, because 
 he'd read of a fight where it had been tried. 
 Once he even grew a trifle heated because 
 she wouldn't listen to reason and fact and 
 stuck to the lion because he'd been called 
 the king of beasts, whereas all naturalists 
 knew the elephant and the gorilla and the 
 
 rhinoc There she interrupted him with 
 
 a laugh and called him a boy and too literal. 
 
 Every Sunday they had this same dispute 
 
 100 
 
The Pretenders 
 
 until finally they both learned to laugh about 
 it and made it a joke between them, and 
 she told him he was doing much better. They 
 walked by the inside lake and wondered if 
 the wild ducks and geese on the wooded isle 
 liked to have to stay there, and they took 
 lunch when they got good and ready, perhaps 
 not until two or three or even four o'clock 
 in the afternoon. 
 
 She always went home for supper, but 
 often she came out again afterwards, and 
 took the car down town to a Sunday Evening 
 Ethical Society which foregathered in an old- 
 fashioned theatre building. 
 
 There was almost always some well- 
 known speaker whose name was often in the 
 papers, perhaps a professor or a radical 
 Ohio Mayor or a labor lawyer, to address 
 them on up-to-date topics like Municipal Own- 
 ership in Europe or the Eussian Eevolution 
 or the Androcentric World, which showed 
 women had as much right to vote as men, or 
 non-resistance, a kind of Christianity that 
 wasn't practical. Stevens didn't like that 
 lecture much. 
 
 Jane Addams spoke once about the chil- 
 dren that lived in her neighborhood. He 
 
 101 
 
Rebellion 
 
 thought her talk the best of all; so did 
 Georgia. He said to her that Jane Addams 
 was as much of a saint as any of those old- 
 timers that were burnt and pulled to pieces 
 and fed to lions, and a useful kind of a saint 
 as well, because she helped children instead 
 of just believing in something or other. 
 Georgia didn't answer his remark at the time, 
 but nearly half an hour later as she was bid- 
 ding him good night she had him repeat it 
 to her, and the next day she told him that 
 what he had said about Miss Addams was 
 very interesting. 
 
 They had organ music at these meetings 
 and a collection, so that he felt it was the 
 next thing to going to church. But Georgia 
 in arguing out the matter with herself con- 
 cluded that there was so little religion in 
 the services that in attending them she vio- 
 lated the Church's law against worshiping 
 with heretics hardly more than if she went to 
 a political meeting. She would never go to a 
 regular Protestant service with Mason, even 
 if he asked her. She made up her mind 
 firmly on that point. So perhaps it was as 
 well he didn't ask her. 
 
 Her waking memories of Jim were now 
 
 102 
 
The Pretenders 
 
 much fainter and dimmer. She tried not to 
 think of him at all. She refused to let her 
 mother or Al speak his name or make allu- 
 sion to him. At the beginning, just after his 
 departure, mama had harped on the sub- 
 ject until she thought it would drive her 
 crazy. 
 
 Over and over and over again she tra- 
 versed the same ground about his being her 
 husband, and Christian charity, and one more 
 trial, and the disgrace of it, and that it was 
 the first time such a thing ever happened in 
 the family. 
 
 Finally in self-defense and to save herself 
 from being upset every night when she was 
 tired and worn out anyway, she told her 
 mother that the next time she mentioned 
 Jim's name she would leave the room. And 
 she only had actually to do this three times 
 before poor mama succumbed, as she al- 
 ways did when she was met firmly. However, 
 she still managed to say a volume in Jim's 
 favor with her deep sighs and her "Oh, 
 Georgia 's," but Georgia always pretended 
 she didn't know the meaning of such signs 
 and manifestations. Of course, especially at 
 the beginning, her husband's face often came 
 
 103 
 
Rebellion 
 
 unbidden between her and her page, but she 
 gathered up her will each time to banish it 
 again, and it's surprising what a woman 
 can do if she only makes up her mind and 
 sticks to it. 
 
 But her dreams were the trouble. Jim 
 would enter them. She didn't know how to 
 keep him out. And he always came, some- 
 times two or three nights in succession, to 
 bring her pain. 
 
 She usually appointed her Sunday rendez- 
 vous for an hour before noon at Shake- 
 speare's statue in the Park, and sailed off 
 cheerily in her best bib and tucker to meet 
 Mason, leaving behind her a fine trail of ex- 
 cuses, a complete new set each week, to ex- 
 plain to mama why she couldn't go to mass. 
 On this particular morning she said she had 
 a date with a girl-friend from the office. 
 
 With the best intention in the world she 
 was never on time and always kept him wait- 
 ing. She was so unalterably punctual for six 
 days a week that the seventh day it was 
 simply impossible. 
 
 Stevens usually became slightly irritated 
 during these few minutes what business 
 man wouldn't? and referred to his watch 
 
 104 
 
The Pretenders 
 
 at hundred-second intervals, determined to 
 ask her once and for all why she wasted so 
 much time in tardiness. But when finally he 
 distinguished her slim little figure in the 
 Sunday throng that was streaming toward 
 him, his impatience left not a wrack behind. 
 
 They started gayly northward, bantering 
 each other in urban repartee. As they passed 
 gray Columbus Hospital their mood swerved 
 suddenly and they talked of sickness and 
 death and immortality. 
 
 Her belief was orthodox, but it did not hold 
 her as vividly as it held the old folk in the 
 old days. Had she lived nearer to the mira- 
 cles of the sun going down in darkness and 
 coming up in light; or thunderstorms and 
 young oats springing green out of black, with 
 wild mustard interspersed among them like 
 deeds of sin; of the frost coming out of the 
 ground; and the leaves dying and the trees 
 sleeping; she would perhaps have lived near- 
 er to the miracles of bread and wine, of 
 Christ sleeping that the world may wake. 
 
 But she lived in a place of obvious cause 
 and effect. When the sun went down, the 
 footlights came up for you if you had a 
 ticket, and man's miracle banished God's 
 
 105 
 
Rebellion 
 
 even though you might be in the flying 
 balcony and the tenor almost a block away. 
 Thunderstorms meant that it was reckless 
 to telephone; oats, wheat and corn, some- 
 thing they controlled on the board of trade ; 
 the melting of the snows showed the city 
 hall was weak on the sewer side what else 
 could you expect of politicians! the dying 
 leaves presaged the end of the Riverview 
 season and young APs excitement over the 
 world's series. 
 
 Living in the country puts a God in one's 
 thoughts, for man did not make the country 
 and its changes, yet they are there. Farmers 
 pray for rain or its cessation according to 
 their needs. To live in the city is to diminish 
 God and the seeming daily want of Him, for 
 man built his own city of steel and steam and 
 stone, unhelped, did he not? 
 
 God may have made the pansies, but He 
 did not make "the loop." His majesty is 
 hidden from its people by their self-suffic- 
 ing skill, and they turn their faces from Him. 
 West-siders do not pray for universal trans- 
 fers. 
 
 Never had Georgia questioned her faith. 
 Its extent remained as great as ever. She 
 
 106 
 
The Pretenders 
 
 had consciously yielded no part of her creed. 
 But its living quality was. infected by the 
 daily realism of her life, as spring ice is 
 honeycombed throughout with tiny fissures 
 before its final sudden disappearance. 
 
 So she talked to Stevens of her convictions, 
 but in a calm dispassionate way, without emo- 
 tional fervor. 
 
 Stevens ' great-grandparents whenever 
 they referred to the Romanist Church, which 
 was often, spoke of "the scarlet woman " or 
 < ' the whore of Babylon. ' ' His grandparents, 
 products of a softer, weaker generation, 
 stopped at adjectives, " papist, " " Jesuit- 
 ical, " " idolatrous. " 
 
 His parents receded still further from the 
 traditions of the Pilgrims. Indeed his father, 
 being a popular horse doctor, kept his mouth 
 shut altogether on the subject, and his mother 
 seldom went beyond remarking that there 
 was considerable superstition in the Catholic 
 service and too much form to suit her. 
 
 As for the son himself, he could as soon 
 have quarreled about the rights and wrongs 
 of the Mexican war as he would about re- 
 ligion. He wasn't especially interested in 
 either. He thought there was a lot of flim- 
 
 107 
 
Rebellion 
 
 flam for women in all religion, especially in 
 Catholicism. But it was an amiable weak- 
 ness of the sex, like corsets. So he let 
 Georgia run on, explaining her faith, without 
 interruption. 
 
 Then most wretched luck befell them. 
 Georgia looked up from the tips of her toes, 
 being vaguely engaged, as she talked, in step- 
 ping on each large pebble in the gravel path 
 and her eyes rested squarely upon her 
 mother. Mrs. Talbot mottled; Georgia 
 blushed. 
 
 All progress was temporarily arrested; 
 then the older woman puffed out her chest 
 and waddled away with all the dignity at her 
 summons. But she could not resist the Par- 
 thian shot what Celt can? and she turned 
 to throw back over her shoulder, " Who's 
 your girl-friend, Georgia?" Her teeth clicked 
 and she continued her departure. 
 
 Stevens realized that there had been a con- 
 tretemps of some sort and that it was his 
 place, as a man of the world, to laugh it off. 
 
 " Who's the old pouter pigeon?" he in- 
 quired. 
 
 "Mama/ 1 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 108 
 
The Pretenders 
 
 Feeling that candor was now thrust upon 
 her, Georgia proceeded to explain to Stevens 
 that she had never explained about him to her 
 mother, for mama couldn't possibly under- 
 stand, being old-fashioned and prejudiced in 
 some regards. 
 
 "So you've made me fib for you," she 
 finished. "Aren't you ashamed?" 
 
 "Yes," said he, in truth much gratified by 
 her clandestineness. 
 
 "But what I don't see is ," he began, 
 
 then broke off. 
 
 "Is what?" 
 
 "Is why you should be so disturbed about 
 your mother's knowing," 
 
 "I've told you for the sake of peace and 
 a quiet life." 
 
 "But what about your husband?" He 
 blurted it out suddenly, the word which had 
 crucified him since his one and only visit to 
 her home ; the word which he had kept dumb 
 between them until now. "What about him? 
 Doesn't he mind?" 
 
 "He left me six months ago. You never 
 supposed I would take a man's bread and 
 fool him, did you, Mason?" She called him 
 by his name for the first time. 
 
 109 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "I didn't know," he muttered, "I've been 
 to hell and back thinking of it." 
 
 "How did you suppose it would come 
 out?" she asked, fascinated objectively by 
 the drama of her life. 
 
 "I felt we were playing bean-bag with 
 dynamite and we ought to quit made up 
 my mind while I was waiting for you this 
 morning to tell you this must be the last 
 time, because we were drifting straight 
 into " He paused. 
 
 "Into what?" There was a touch of gen- 
 tlest irony in her tone. 
 
 "Into trouble, lots of it." There was a 
 touch of apology in his. 
 
 "And you didn't want trouble, lots of it?" 
 Her irony was not less. "At least not on 
 my account?" 
 
 "I was thinking of what would be best 
 for all of us. I was trying to do the square 
 thing the greatest happiness for the great- 
 est number." There was a pause, unsympa- 
 thetic. "Wasn't that right?" he ended with 
 no great confidence. 
 
 "Why, of course, perfectly right," she as- 
 sented heartily. "It shows consideration. 
 You considered the case systematically from 
 
 110 
 
The Pretenders 
 
 all sides. Yours, and mine, and my bus- 
 band's, and the rest of the family's, and the 
 rest of yours, too, I suppose, didn't you?" 
 She looked extremely efficient and spoke in 
 her business voice with a little snap to her 
 words. 
 
 She was quite unfair in taking this tack 
 with unhappy Stevens, who, however often 
 he thought of his duty in these twisted prem- 
 ises, would surely not have done it if she 
 beckoned him away. For she owned the only 
 two hands in the world which he wanted to 
 hold. 
 
 A woman, however, prefers to be the cus- 
 todian of her own morals and it gratifies 
 her at most no more than slightly to find 
 that her lover has been plotting with himself 
 to preserve her virtue. It is for the man to 
 ask and for her to deny, sadly but sweetly 
 and she doesn't care to be anticipated. Espe- 
 cially when she is self -perceptibly interested. 
 
 "But since you are already separated 
 from - -" 
 
 "Yes, that makes it pleasanter all around, 
 doesn't it?" she led him on most treacher- 
 ously. 
 
 "Why, of course that's what I was say- 
 Ill 
 
Rebellion 
 
 ing," he blundered. "Now I can ask you 
 to " 
 
 "Mason, I've a frightful headache, the sun 
 perhaps and I think I will go home and lie 
 down, if you don't mind." 
 
 He looked up in some amazement at the 
 lord of day half hidden by the haze in his 
 November station, and it suddenly occurred 
 to him that woman is a various and mutable 
 proposition always. 
 
 "What's the matter with you, anyway?" 
 
 "Nothing," she responded with deliberate 
 nnconvincingness, "nothing in the world, but 
 a headache. ' ' She held out her hand. * ' Don 't 
 bother to come with me. We might be seen. 
 Good-bye." And she was off. 
 
 It was a winding gravel path and she was 
 lost behind a curving hedge before he started 
 in pursuit. She quickened her pace when she 
 heard his step behind and it was almost a 
 walking race before he overtook her. 
 
 "Georgia," he exclaimed, somewhat 
 ruffled by her unreasonableness. She neither 
 turned her head nor answered. 
 
 "Georgia!" he repeated more loudly. Then 
 he took her wrist and forcibly arrested her. 
 
 112 
 
The Pretenders 
 
 " Please let me go," she requested with 
 supreme dignity, "you are hurting me." 
 
 "Not until you hear what I have to say. 
 Will you marry me f ' ' 
 
 "Marry you?" She dropped her eyes be- 
 fore his frowning ones. The shoulders which 
 had been thrown so squarely back seemed to 
 yield like her will and drooped forward into 
 softer lines. 
 
 "Yes," he tightened his hold on her wrist, 
 "will you?" 
 
 "I am a Catholic." 
 
 "But isn't there some way around that?" 
 Your man of business believes there is some 
 way around everything. 
 
 "No. Divorce and remarriage aren't per- 
 mitted to us." 
 
 "Don't they ever annul a marriage?" 
 
 "Not if it has been marriage." A look of 
 misery came over his face. She perceived it 
 and went steadily on. "I had a child once 
 that died." 
 
 He dropped her hand, unconsciously to 
 himself, but she felt it as a clear signal be- 
 tween them. 
 
 "You see how little you have known me," 
 
 113 
 
Rebellion 
 
 she said softly. "Poor old fellow, I'm sorry. 
 Too bad it had to end like this." Her eyes 
 were now swimming in tears which she did 
 not try to conceal. "Don't you see, dear, that 
 is why I kept putting off telling you things 
 about my affairs, and why I had tried to keep 
 it friendship, because I knew when we came 
 as far as this we would have to stop." 
 
 "It will never stop," he said tensely, 
 "never." 
 
 Eesponse seemed to sweep through her 
 suddenly, bewildering her by its unexpected 
 strength. 
 
 "Perhaps not," she assented slowly, "if 
 if we dare." 
 
 "Georgia," he pleaded, "you know that 
 
 "Yes," in a whisper, "I know." 
 
 "And do you care, too!" 
 
 She looked up, and her answer was plain 
 for him to read. 
 
 "More than you will ever know, Mason," 
 she said. 
 
 "Georgia, are you a devout Catholic? 
 Does it mean all of life to you here and here- 
 after?" 
 
 "No, not very devout. Nothing like mother, 
 
 114 
 
The Pretenders 
 
 for instance. I have grown very careless 
 about some things. " 
 
 " Would you always be governed by the 
 teaching of the Church in this matter al- 
 ways never decide for yourself 1" 
 
 "When it came to such a big thing," she 
 said slowly, "I don't think I'd dare dis- 
 obey." 
 
 "What are you afraid of future punish- 
 ment f ' 9 
 
 "Why, yes, partly that," she smiled; "it 
 isn't a very jolly prospect, you know." 
 
 He was truly astonished. He supposed 
 that everybody nowadays, even Catholics, 
 had tacitly agreed to give up hell. Hell was 
 too ridiculously unreasonable to be believed 
 in any more. 
 
 "Georgia," he asked, "have you ever 
 looked much at the stars?" 
 
 "Why, yes; once in awhile. Last Sunday 
 evening at Bismarck Garden Al and I found 
 the dipper it was just as plain is that 
 what you mean? Of course I don't pretend 
 to be much of an astronomer. ' ' 
 
 "Some nights," he said, "when it's clear 
 I go up on the roof and lie on my back, and, 
 
 115 
 
Rebellion 
 
 well, it's a great course in personal modesty. 
 Some of those stars, those little points of 
 light, are as much bigger than our whole 
 world as an elephant is bigger than a mos- 
 quito, and live as much longer. ' ' 
 
 "Of course," she answered, "we know that 
 everything is bigger than people used to 
 think, but still couldn't God have made it all, 
 just the same?" 
 
 "Do you honestly believe," he rejoined, 
 speaking very earnestly, intent on shaking 
 her faith, if that were possible, "that Who- 
 ever or Whatever was big enough to put the 
 stars in the sky is small enough to take re- 
 venge forever on a tiny little molecule like 
 you or me? Do you honestly suppose that 
 after you are dead, perhaps a long time dead, 
 this mighty God will hunt for you through 
 all the heavens, and when he has found you, 
 you poor little atom of a dead dot, that he 
 will torment and pester you forever and 
 ever because you had once for a space no 
 longer than the wink of an eye acted accord- 
 ing to the nature he gave you? If that is 
 your God, he has put nothing in his universe 
 as cruel as Himself." 
 
 116 
 
The Pretenders 
 
 She frowned in a puzzled way for a few 
 seconds, looking at him with an odd little 
 wide-eyed stare, then shook her head slowly. 
 
 'Yes," said he in answer. "Some day 
 yon will take your life in yonr own hands 
 and use it. You're not the stuff they make 
 nuns out of. There's too much vitality in 
 you. 
 
 "How old are you?" he asked suddenly. 
 
 "Twenty-six." 
 
 "Twenty-six and ready to quit! I don't 
 believe it." 
 
 "You don't understand, Mason," she 
 answered, * l you can 't. You 're not a Catholic. 
 Catholicism is different from all other creeds. 
 It is not just something you think and argue 
 about, but it has you you belong to it; it is 
 as much a part of you as your blood and 
 bones." There was a finality in her voice, a 
 resignation of self, which bespoke the vast 
 accumulated will of the Church operating 
 upon and through her. 
 
 Stevens knew suddenly that she was not 
 an individualized woman in the same sense 
 that he was an individualized man, with the 
 private possibility of doing what he pleased 
 so long as he did not interfere with the pri- 
 
 117 
 
Rebellion 
 
 vate possibilities of others; he realized that 
 in certain important intimate matters such as 
 the one which had arisen between them she 
 was without power of decision, the decision 
 having been made for her many centuries 
 ago ; and he felt the awe which comes to every 
 man when first he is confronted by the 
 Eoman Catholic Church. 
 
 "You mean there is no way out of it but 
 death? your husband's death !" His self- 
 confidence seemed to have departed as if he, 
 too, had met fate in the road. 
 
 "Yes/' she answered gently, "that is the 
 only way." And then she smiled with some 
 little effort, but still she smiled, for she de- 
 tested gloom on her day off. "Oh, Mason," 
 said she, "why wasn't grandpa a Swede!" 
 
 He looked at her with amazement and not 
 without a trace of disapprobation, for her 
 eyes were dancing. Was she actually making 
 jokes about his misery to say nothing of 
 hers if indeed she felt any? He was learn- 
 ing more about women every minute. 
 
 Now she was practically giggling. He 
 frowned deeper and sighed. Perhaps, per- 
 haps everything was for the best, after all. 
 He might as well tell her so, too. No reason 
 
 118 
 
The Pretenders 
 
 to make himself wretched for something she 
 seemed to think hilariously humorous. 
 
 ' 4 Well, Georgia, I must say, ' ' he began por- 
 tentously 'twas the voice of the husband 
 almost. She could hear him complain. 
 Whereat she simply threw back her head and 
 laughed again. 
 
 He noticed, as he had often noticed, that 
 her strong little teeth were white and regular, 
 that her positive little nose was straight and 
 slender, and the laughter creases about her 
 eyes reminded him of the time she thought it 
 such fun to be caught in Eavinia Park in the 
 rain without an umbrella. 
 
 So presently he tempered his frown, then 
 put it away altogether, and his eyes twinkled 
 and he turned the corners of his mouth up 
 instead of down. 
 
 "Oh, dear me," he mocked, half in fun and 
 half not, "as the fellow says, 'we can't live 
 with 'em and we can't live without 'em.' " 
 
 But she, who had been reading him like a 
 book in plain print, asked, "Come, tell aunty 
 your idea of a jolly Sunday in the park with 
 your best girl. To sit her on a bench and 
 make her listen while you mourn for the 
 universe?" 
 
 119 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "But what are we going to do about it!" 
 he asked solemnly, "that's what I want to 
 know." 
 
 "Do?" she responded with a certain gay 
 definiteness, "do nothing." 
 
 "You mean not see each other any more at 
 all ? " he asked desperately. ' ' I absolutely re- 
 fuse." 
 
 "No, silly, of course I don't mean that. 
 We '11 go on just as before, friends, comrades, 
 pals." 
 
 "When we love each other when we've 
 told each other we love each other?" 
 
 "Certainly. What's that got to do with 
 it!" 
 
 "It would be the merest pretense," he de- 
 clared solemnly. 
 
 "Then let's begin the pretense now, and 
 go up and throw a peanut at the elephant. 
 Come along." She hooked her arm into his. 
 Her levity of behavior undoubtedly got past 
 him at times. 
 
 "Georgia" he was once more on the 
 verge of remonstrance "if you cared as you 
 say you do, if you loved me as I 1 " 
 
 She unhooked her arm and now she was 
 serious enough. 
 
 120 
 
The Pretenders 
 
 " Don't you understand, ' ' she said, "what 
 I mean? We can't talk about that any more." 
 
 "You mean not at all?" 
 
 "Precisely." 
 
 "But what if I can't conceal the most im- 
 portant thing in my whole life? What if I 
 can't smirk and smile about it? What if I 
 am not as good an actor as you? What if I 
 can't pretend? What then?" He was very, 
 very fierce with her. 
 
 "Then I suppose I'll have to go home." 
 They stood irresolute, facing each other, 
 neither wishing to carry it too far. 
 
 ' l Not that that would be much fun Oh, 
 
 come, don't be silly let's go attack the ele- 
 phant. What must be, must be, you know." 
 
 She paused to allow him time to yield with 
 grieved dignity, then she headed for the 
 animal house ; he trailed in silence about half 
 a step behind her during the first hundred 
 yards, but finally sighed and surrendered 
 and then fell into step and pretended during 
 the rest of the afternoon with quite decent 
 success. 
 
 So his education began. And though he 
 was by no means pliable material, she man- 
 
 121 
 
Rebellion 
 
 aged, being vastly the more expert, to keep 
 him pretending with hardly a lapse through- 
 out the winter. 
 
 She found it more difficult, however, to 
 keep herself pretending. 
 
 122 
 
MOXEY 
 
 Moxey was a Jew boy and a catcher. His 
 last name ended in sky, and he came from the 
 West-side ghetto. His father and mother 
 came from the pale in Bussia when Moxey '& 
 elder brother Steve was in arms and before 
 Moxey himself appeared. 
 
 Moxey would have been captain of the 
 Prairie View Semi-Pro. B. B. Club, if merit 
 ruled the world. But there was the crime of 
 nineteen centuries ago against him, so they 
 made McClaughrey captain; Georgia's six- 
 teen-year-old brother Al played third base. 
 
 The Prairie Views had one triumph in the 
 morning, it being Sunday, the day for two 
 and sometimes three games. They had the 
 use of one of the diamonds on a public play- 
 ground from Donovan, the wise cop. 
 
 I have seen Donovan keep peace and order 
 among eighteen warring lads from sixteen 
 to twenty years old by a couple of looks, a 
 
 123 
 
Rebellion 
 
 smile and a silence. When there was money 
 on the game, too. 
 
 There has been good material wasted in 
 Donovan. Properly environed and taught the 
 language, though he doesn't depend on lan- 
 guage very much, he could have been presid- 
 ing officer of the French Chamber of Depu- 
 ties and presided. 
 
 It was the ninth inning, last half, tie score, 
 two out, three on, with two and three on the 
 batter. In other words, the precise moment 
 when the fictionist is allowed to step in. Mox- 
 ey up. 
 
 He fouled off a couple, the coachers 
 screeched; the umpire, who was also stake- 
 holder, dripped a bit freer and hoped Dono- 
 van would stick around for a few seconds 
 longer. 
 
 The pitcher took a short wind-up and the 
 ball, which seemed to start for the platter, 
 reached Moxey in the neighborhood of the 
 heart. He collapsed. They rallied round the 
 umpire. 
 
 "He done it on purpose the sheeny he 
 done it on purpose, I tell you he run into 
 it " 
 
 1 ' Naw, ye 're a liar ! ' ' 
 
 124 
 
Moxey 
 
 " Prove it" 
 
 " It's a dead ball take your base come in 
 there, youse," waving to the man on third. 
 
 "We win. Give us our money." 
 
 All participated but Moxey, who lay moan- 
 ing on the ground by the home plate. 
 
 Donovan strolled out to the debate and 
 smiled his magic smile. "Take yer base," 
 bawled the emboldened ump, and waved the 
 run in. Al got five dollars for the day's play- 
 ing and three dollars for the day's betting, 
 and the Prairie Views walked off, bats con- 
 spicuous on shoulders, yelling, "Yah!" at the 
 enemy. 
 
 "Chee," said Moxey to his playmates when 
 they reached the family entrance, "me for 
 the big irrigation," And it was so. 
 
 Moxey shifted his foot, called his little cir- 
 cle around him close and then inserted his 
 dark, fleshless talon into his baseball shirt. 
 ' l That gave me an awful wallop what win the 
 game," he said ; "if I hadn't slipped me little 
 pad in after the eight', it might a' put me 
 away, understand. ' ' He took out his protec- 
 tion against dead balls, an ingenious and in- 
 conspicuous felt arrangement to be worn 
 under the left arm by right-handed batters. 
 
 125 
 
Rebellion 
 
 And all present felt again that there had been 
 injustice in the preference of McClaughrey. 
 
 Whenever they asked Moxey where he 
 lived, he answered, "West," and let it go at 
 that. He always turned up for the next game, 
 no matter how often plans had been changed 
 since he had last seen any of them. That was 
 all they knew about him. He caught for 
 them, often won for them, drank beer with 
 them and then disappeared completely until 
 the next half-holiday. 
 
 Perhaps Al was his most intimate friend, 
 and Al was the only one who learned his 
 secret. "Say, Al," he blurted out almost 
 fiercely one evening, "your folks is Irish, 
 ain't they?" 
 
 " Irish- American, " corrected Al. 
 
 "Well, mine's Yiddishers, and the most 
 Yiddish Yiddishers y'ever see." 
 
 Moxey seemed very bitter about it and Al 
 waited for more. 
 
 "My old man, well " Moxey swal- 
 lowed. It seemed to Al as if he would not go 
 on, but finally it came out with a rush. "He 
 pushes a cart yes, sir honest to God, he 
 pushes a cart I thought maybe I ought to 
 tell you, Al." 
 
 126 
 
Moxey 
 
 "He does?" It was a shock to the Irish- 
 American, which showed in his tone. 
 
 "Yes, sir, he does," Moxey answered de- 
 fiantly, "and if you don't like it why well, 
 I won't say nuthin' ugly to you, Al you're 
 only like the rest. S'long." 
 
 Al threw his arm around the other's shoul- 
 der. "Forget it, Moxey." Which was the 
 only oath ever taken in this particular David 
 and Jonathan affair. 
 
 Not long afterwards, Moxey proposed to 
 Al attendance at a prizefight just across the 
 State line, the Illinois laws being unfavora- 
 ble to such exhibitions of manly skill or bru- 
 tality, whichever it is. It was Al's first fight. 
 
 They boarded a special train, filled with 
 coarse men bent upon coarse pleasure. But 
 then, if they had been bent upon refined 
 pleasure they wouldn't have been coarse or 
 it wouldn't have been pleasure. 
 
 The prizefighting question illustrates well 
 the gulf between the social and the individual 
 conscience and demonstrates that the whole 
 is sometimes considerably greater than the 
 sum of its parts. Probably eight out of ten 
 men in this country enjoy seeing two hearty 
 young micks belt each other around a padded 
 
 127 
 
Rebellion 
 
 ring with padded gloves. But they hesitate 
 to come out in the open and proclaim their 
 enjoyment, for fear of writing themselves 
 down brutes, and the deepest yearning of the 
 American people at the present day is to be 
 gentlemanly and ladylike. 
 
 So whenever sparring matches are pro- 
 posed the community works itself up into a 
 state of fake indignation. All the softer and 
 sweeter elements telegraph the Governor and 
 if that isn't enough, pray for him; and inas- 
 much as the Governor gets no immoral sup- 
 port on the other side from those who are 
 afraid of jeopardizing their gentlemanliness, 
 he yields, and appears in the newspapers as 
 a strong man who dared beard the sports, 
 whereas, he was really a frightened politician 
 who didn't dare beard the Christian En- 
 deavorers. 
 
 One of the most illuminating essays of the 
 late and great William James concerned 
 Chautauqua Lake. He spent a week at that 
 beautiful camp, where sobriety and industry, 
 intelligence and goodness, orderliness and 
 ideality, prosperity and cheerfulness pervade 
 the air. 
 
 There were popular lectures by popular 
 
 128 
 
Moxey 
 
 lecturers, a chorus of seven hundred voices, 
 kindergartens, secondary schools, every sort 
 of refined athletics, and perpetually running 
 soda fountains. 
 
 There was neither zymotic disease, poverty, 
 drunkenness, crime or police. 
 
 There was culture, kindness, cheapness, 
 equality, in short what mankind has been 
 striving for under the name of civilization, a 
 foretaste of what human society might be, 
 were it all in the light, with no suffering and 
 no dark corners. 
 
 And yet when he left the camp he quotes 
 himself as saying to himself : ' * Ouf ! What a 
 relief. Now for something primordial to set 
 the balance straight again. This order is too 
 tame, this culture too second-rate, this good- 
 ness too uninteresting. This human drama 
 without a villain or a pang; this community 
 so refined that ice cream soda is the utmost 
 offering it can make to the brute animal in 
 man ; this city simmering in the tepid lake- 
 side sun; this atrocious harmlessness of all 
 things I cannot abide with them." 
 
 But whether he could or not, the rest of us 
 have to, and the country moves Chautauqua- 
 ward with decorous haste. From anti-can- 
 
 129 
 
Rebellion 
 
 teen and anti-racing to anti-fights and anti- 
 tights, the aunties seem to have it, the aunties 
 have it, and the bill is passed. 
 
 Al viewed this national tendency with 
 mixed feelings ; with joy when he tasted for- 
 bidden fruit and sneaked off across the state 
 line with Moxey in a special train full of bar- 
 tenders and policemen off duty and gay brok- 
 ers and butchers to see more than the law 
 allowed ; with sorrow when he considered the 
 future of his country, as a gray, flat and 
 feminine plain. 
 
 The preliminaries had been fought off; 
 there was the customary nervous pause be- 
 fore the wind-up. Young men with official 
 caps forced their ways between the packed 
 crowds with "peanuts, ham sandwiches and 
 cold bottled beer." The announcer, a tall 
 young man in shirt sleeves, who looked as 
 if he might be a fairly useful citizen himself 
 in case of a difference, made the customary 
 appeal. 
 
 ' ' Gen-tul-men, on account of the smoke in 
 the at-mos-phere, I am requested to request 
 you to quit smoking." (Pause.) "The box- 
 ers find it difficult to box in this at-mos-phere, 
 and you will wit-ness a better encounter if 
 
 130 
 
Moxey 
 
 you do." (Applause, but no snuffing of 
 torches.) 
 
 "The final contest of this evening's pro- 
 ceedings," called the announcer, first to one 
 side of the ring, then to the other, "will be 
 between Johnny Fiteon and Kid O'Mara, 
 both of Chicago, fer th' bantamweight cham- 
 p'nship o' th' world." 
 
 Handclappings and whistlings. But the 
 announcer, being gifted with the dramatic in- 
 stinct, knew how to work up his climaxes, 
 which, so far as he personally was con- 
 cerned, would culminate with the tap of the 
 gong for the first round. It was his affair 
 to have the house seething with excitement 
 when that gong tapped. 
 
 "Gen-tul-men," continued the announcer; 
 then he spied two plumes waving in the mid- 
 dle distance and made the amend, to de- 
 lighted sniggers: 'Ladees and gen-tul-men, 
 I take pleasure in in-ter-ducing Eunt Keough 
 of Phil-ur-del-f y-a. " A diminutive youth 
 with a wise face stepped in the ring and 
 bobbed his head to the cheers, and muttered 
 something to the announcer. "Eunt Keough 
 hereby challenges the winner of this bout, for 
 the championship of th' world in the 115- 
 
 131 
 
Rebellion 
 
 poung class, to a finish." A tumult ensued. 
 The Eunt backed out of the ring to hoots of 
 "fourflusher" and howls of approbation. 
 
 "Ladees and gen-tul-men, I now take 
 pleasure in in-ter-ducing to you Mr. Ed Fite- 
 on, father and handler of Johnny Fiteon, who 
 wears th' bantamweight crown o' th' world." 
 
 The crowd made evident its vehement 
 gratitude for Ed's share in Johnny's crea- 
 tion. 
 
 "Chee," whispered Moxey to Al, as they 
 sat close and rapt, with shining eyes, on the 
 dollar seats high up and far away, "they'd 
 tear up the chairs for Johnny's mother if 
 they'd perduce her." 
 
 But now something was happening by the 
 east entrance. The cheering suddenly ceased, 
 A low anxious buzzing whisper ran over the 
 entire assemblage. Men stood up to look 
 eastward regardless of monitions from be- 
 hind to sit down. Something was cutting 
 through the crowd from the east entrance to 
 the ring. It was Kid O'Mara in his cotton 
 bathrobe preceded by a gigantic mulatto and 
 followed by two smaller Caucasians. 
 
 Moxey 's bony fingers dug suddenly into 
 Al's biceps. "Kid, you gotta do it, Kid, you 
 
 132 
 
Moxey 
 
 gotta, " he whispered. "0, fer God's sake, 
 Kid." 
 
 Al was surprised. "Are you with 
 O'Mara?" he asked. 
 
 "Am I with him?" answered Moxey with 
 a sob in his voice; "am I with him he's me 
 cousin." 
 
 "O'Mara your cousin?" 
 
 "Lipkowsky's his right name same as 
 mine. Look at his beak and see. ' ' 
 
 There was no doubt of it. "Kid 
 O'Mara's" proboscis corroborated Moxey 's 
 claim. 
 
 Johnny's entrance a few minutes later was 
 still more effective and his reception warmer. 
 Fight fans are courtiers, always with the 
 king. 
 
 When the two boys stripped, Johnny show- 
 ed short and stocky, the Kid lank and lithe. 
 Johnny depended on his punch, the Kid on 
 his reach. 
 
 They fought ten rounds and it was called 
 a draw, probably a just decision inasmuch as 
 the adherents of each contestant proclaimed 
 that the referee had been corrupted against 
 their man. 
 
 Besides, a draw meant another fight be- 
 
 133 
 
Rebellion 
 
 tween them with, plenty of money in the 
 house. 
 
 This evening in fistiana was perhaps the 
 most powerful single experience which in- 
 fluenced Al at this period of his life. For a 
 long time he sat silent beside Moxey on the 
 return trip, pondering the physical beauty of 
 Johnny and the Kid and ruefully comparing 
 their bodies with his own. 
 
 He sighed, "And now I s'pose your cous- 
 in '11 go out and kill it to-night ?" 
 
 "Not him," Moxey reassured; "he never 
 touches it in any form or shape, understand. ' ' 
 
 "He's training all the time?" continued 
 Al, bent on deciphering the secret ways of 
 greatness. 
 
 6 1 Yep. So you might say. ' ' 
 
 "Oh," then Al relapsed into silence to 
 wrestle with the angel of training all the 
 time. 
 
 Like most young fellows, Al regarded his 
 body as the source of all the happiness that 
 amounted to anything. The brain was mere- 
 ly its adjunct, its money maker and guide. 
 Its operations might lead to life, but they 
 were not life like the body's 
 
 It flashed upon him in the train bound home 
 
 134 
 
Moxey 
 
 from the fight that he might achieve joy in 
 either of two ways, by going in for sports or 
 "sporting," by perfecting the animal in him 
 or by abusing it, by getting into as good 
 shape as Kid O'Mara or into as bad shape 
 as the pale waster crumpled in the seat across 
 the aisle. 
 
 So began a struggle in him, not yet ended, 
 between the Ormuzd and Ahriman of phys- 
 ical condition. His high achievement thus 
 far has been sixth place in a river Marathon 
 swimming race, his completest failure thirty- 
 six successive drunken hours in the restricted 
 district. 
 
 135 
 
XI 
 
 FUSION 
 
 Al wasn't much of a head at books. 
 Georgia persuaded him to start in high 
 school, but he soon came out, for he found 
 that it interfered with the free expression of 
 his personality. There were too many girls 
 about one and he became extremely appre- 
 hensive lest he develop into a regular lah- 
 de-dah. 
 
 Georgia was more afraid of his developing 
 into a regular rough and tough, so they had 
 a very intense time of it in the flat while the 
 question was under discussion. 
 
 Mother Talbot sided with neither of them. 
 She wanted Al to continue his instructions, 
 but in the institutions under the direction of 
 the Church. She couldn't reconcile herself 
 to APs getting his learning in a place where 
 the very name of God was banned, as it was 
 in the public schools. 
 
 Indeed in her opinion, and you couldn't 
 
 136 
 
Fusion 
 
 change it, no, not if you argued from now un- 
 til the clap of doom, the main trouble with 
 everything nowdays was impiety and weaken- 
 ing of faith, brought about how? Why, by 
 these public schools, these atheist factories 
 that were ashamed of the Saviour. 
 
 For her part, she couldn't see her son go- 
 ing to one of them with any peace of mind, 
 and she wanted them both to remember, that 
 he would go against her consent and in spite 
 of her prayers. What's more, if he was un- 
 dutiful in this matter he'd probably find him- 
 self sitting between a Jew and a nigger, 
 which she must say would serve him right. 
 
 Did Georgia think, she inquired on another 
 occasion, that the priests weren't up to teach- 
 ing Al, or what ? To be sure, learning was a 
 fine thing for a boy starting out in the world 
 and she approved of it as much as any one, 
 but who ever heard of an ordinary priest 
 who hadn't more wisdom in his little finger 
 than a public school teacher had in her whole 
 silly head! 
 
 In a church school he would receive in- 
 structions not only in temporal, but also in 
 divine learning. He would be taught not 
 merely history and mathematics and such 
 
 137 
 
Rebellion 
 
 like, but also goodness and pure living, which 
 were far more important for any young 
 fellow. 
 
 But Georgia could not be convinced. She 
 said she had been to a convent and if she had 
 it to do over again she would go to public 
 high school just as Al, who not only was a 
 considerate and loving brother, but also could 
 see clearly how sorry he would be in after 
 life if he didn't, was about to decide to do. 
 
 She finally had her way and Al picked up 
 his burden and found it not so difficult to 
 carry after all. For he joined the Alpha 
 Beta Gammas and rose rapidly in that order, 
 becoming its most expert and weariless 
 initiator, a very terror to novitiates. But 
 precisely at the moment when the Alpha 
 Bets reached the zenith of their glory, the 
 skies fell upon them the edict coming from 
 above that all fraternities must go. 
 
 Al went too. The place was indubitably fit 
 for nothing but girls now. And whatever 
 Georgia might say, this time he was going to 
 stick, for in the last analysis she was a female 
 and her words subject to discount. 
 
 He stuck, discounting the female; and she 
 was distressed like a mother robin in the 
 
 138 
 
Fusion 
 
 tree, whose youngling, that has just fluttered 
 down, persists in hopping out of the long 
 grass upon the shaven lawn, when, as all 
 robinhood knew, there were cats in the 
 kitchen around the corner of the house. 
 
 It is the impulse of youth to travel far in 
 search of marvels, a vestige, so it is said, of 
 the nomadic stage of human development, 
 when the race itself was young. It was as 
 member of a demonstration crew for a 
 vacuum cleaning machine that Al enjoyed his 
 wander 'jakre. He went among strange people 
 and heard the babbling of many tongues 
 without passing out of Chicago. 
 
 Like a reporter, or a mendicant friar of 
 old, he knocked on all doors. The slouch, the 
 slattern, the miser and the saint opened to 
 him; the pale young mother with a child at 
 her breast and another at her skirts and both 
 her eyes black and blue ; or the gray old sew- 
 ing woman who for her plainness had known 
 neither the bliss nor the horror of a man. 
 One rolling-mill husky in South Chicago 
 chased him down stairs with a stick of wood, 
 and another heaved his big arm around him 
 and made him come in and wait while little 
 Jerry took the pail to the corner. 
 
 139 
 
Rebellion 
 
 He came upon a household where one life 
 was coming as another was going, and a little 
 girl of twelve who could no longer contain 
 the excitement of the day beneath her small 
 bosom followed him into the entry way as 
 he hastily backed out, and whispered between 
 gasps to catch her breath her version of 
 family history in the making. 
 
 He learned early the value of the smooth 
 tongue, the timely bluff and the signed con- 
 tract; and grew rapidly from boy to man in 
 the forcing-bed of the city. 
 
 Meanwhile Moxey, not yet twenty, was 
 swimming in a sea of sentiment. There was 
 a young Italian girl who worked in the paper- 
 box factory. 
 
 "Angelica," said he, "come to the dance 
 to-night." 
 
 "Nit," she responded. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Oh, they'd give me the laugh, if I " 
 
 She paused tactfully." 
 
 "Account of ," he drew a semi-circle 
 
 about his nose and laughed unhappily. 
 
 "We-ell." It was explicit enough. 
 
 "Can't see a guinea has anything on a 
 
 140 
 
Fusion 
 
 Yiddisher." Tit for tat in love's badinage. 
 
 "I'm no guinea, I'm not," she exclaimed 
 passionately. "I'm Anmrrican. " 
 
 "So'm I," he answered briskly. "I'm 
 Anmrrican and I don't wear no hoops in 
 my ears." Perhaps that would hold her for 
 a while. It did. She retreated in tears, 
 thinking of her sire's shame. 
 
 But her bosom was deep and her lips were 
 as red as an anarchist flag, and her little 
 nose tilted the other way. So why stay mad 
 with her? Her eyebrows nearly met in the 
 center, though she was only sixteen. 
 
 And as for dancing well, he'd looked 'em 
 all over in vaudeville and he couldn't see 
 where they had anything on her. More steps 
 perhaps, but no more looks or class. 
 
 And Angelica went to dances with Irishers, 
 loafers who 'd never take care of her, and she 
 wouldn't go with him. Well, he'd see if she 
 wouldn't. He'd own that little nose of hers 
 some day or know why. He'd make money, 
 he'd be rich, he'd woo her with rings and pins 
 and tickets of admission. He would be ir- 
 resistible in his lavishness. 
 
 Johnny Fiteon, bantamweight champion of 
 
 141 
 
Rebellion 
 
 the world, contributed to the discomfortnre 
 of those members of his race who liked to 
 dance with Angelica, for on his second time 
 out with Moxey 's cousin he lost the decision 
 by a shade. 
 
 Moxey knew he would beforehand. Johnny 
 redeemed himself in their next encounter, 
 however, and put the cousin away, so there 
 could be no question about it. 
 
 And again Moxey, knowing beforehand 
 that he would, prospered and showered An- 
 gelica with brooches. Also he purchased an 
 equity in a two-story frame cottage with 
 Greeks in the basement and Hunkies above. 
 One shouldn't, he reflected, depend too much 
 on sports to keep up the supply of brooches. 
 
 " Aggie," said he, as they returned from a 
 dance together, "take a peep at this." He 
 extracted a diamond solitaire pin from his 
 tie and stopping under an arc light gave it to 
 her to examine. 
 
 "I seen it," she snapped. "You been 
 flashing it at me all evening. Think I'm 
 blind?" 
 
 "Make up into a nice ring, wouldn't it?" 
 
 Angelica was wise. She knew what men 
 
 142 
 
Fusion 
 
 were after. She didn't work in a paper-box 
 factory for nothing. She would let them go 
 just so far, to be sure, if they were good 
 fellows, but she could draw the line. Indeed 
 she had already drawn it once or twice witk 
 five thick little fingers on astonished cheeks. 
 She measured her distance from the ardent 
 Hebrew unconscious of his danger, but still 
 she paused for greater certainty. Did the 
 diamond mean another proposition or was 
 it maybe a proposal this time? 
 
 "I got my uncle in jail in Napoli," she 
 said very quietly. 
 
 "I'm sorry," he answered simply. "But 
 what of it? They had my brother Steve in 
 Pontiac once." 
 
 "My uncle he killed the man that spoilt 
 his daughter." 
 
 "That ain't nothing to be ashamed of, 
 Aggie," he spoke kindly, seeking to console 
 her, and took her small and stubby hand 
 gently in his long sinewy ones; "he done 
 right." 
 
 She never let him know, for her dignity, 
 how low she once had feared he held her, 
 and she kissed him goodnight many times. 
 
 143 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "They say you people are good to their 
 women, Moxey," she whispered. "Ours 
 ain 't, always. ' ' She paused. * ' Gee, my pa '11 
 have a fit." 
 
 Moxey laughed. "Mine too, I guess," 
 said he, "but we won't have to ask them for 
 nothing, understand. ' ' 
 
 144 
 
xn 
 MOXEY 'S SISTER 
 
 "You'll stand up with me, won't you?" 
 Moxey asked, a bit anxiously. 
 
 "Sure, of course," said Al. 
 
 "It's at night, and" here was to be at 
 least one wedding where the groom was no 
 lay figure "dress suits de rigger, under- 
 stand." 
 
 "Sure, of course,"Al assented impatiently. 
 Did Moxey think he didn't know anything? 
 
 "We ain't going to tell the old folks for 
 a couple of weeks to save hard feelings on 
 both sides, that's our motto. And the kids 
 is to be Catholics, she stood pat on that." 
 
 ' ' Sure, of course, what did you expect 'em 
 to be, kikes?" Perhaps Al spoke a trifle 
 too explicitly, for Moxey flushed as he fre- 
 quently did. It was his last remaining signal 
 to the world that his hide wasn't as tough as 
 he pretended. 
 
 "I ain't marr'in' her just because she's a 
 
 145 
 
Rebellion 
 
 peach," Moxey rhapsodized, "but she is. 
 Wait till you see her and I'll leave it to you. 
 But she's got principle, too. Her uncle killed 
 a fellow for wronging his daughter and Aggie 
 says he done right, if he is still doing time in 
 the old country. Oh, there's plenty of prin- 
 ciple in dagoes, you can say what you like. 
 When you go foolin* around their women you 
 gotta take a chance." 
 
 It was as if Moxey had pressed a bell in 
 his friend's mind and opened a chamber 
 there, where vague shapes appeared and sus- 
 picion had been gathering. For Al had ob- 
 served Georgia's mysteries and evasions, her 
 care before her mirror, her new hats and 
 pretty ribbons, her day-long Sunday ab- 
 sences. Twice he had met her on the street, 
 walking and chatting most gayly with some 
 strange man. Besides his mother had 
 plainly hinted that all might not be right. 
 
 "What do you think a fellow ought to do 
 if a man's after his sister?" Al asked slowly. 
 "This unwritten law thing don't seem to 
 work any more except down South." 
 
 "You can't lay down no rule," said Moxey. 
 "Depends on if you like your sister." 
 
 "If you do?" 
 
 146 
 
Moxey's Sister 
 
 "Then go the limit and take a chance with 
 your jury." He paused and great shame 
 came to his cheeks again. "I had a sister, 
 oncet . . and she, well y' understand. 
 . . . I sometimes thought I oughta of 
 killed him . . . but I never did . . . 
 I kept askin' myself * what's the good of kill- 
 ing him now? Becky's done for anyhow, and 
 it'd just do for me, too.' . . . The time 
 to look out for a girl is beforehand, not 
 afterwards." 
 
 There was no doubt about that, especially 
 in theory. But Al contemplated somewhat 
 dubiously the task of safeguarding Georgia. 
 She was so blamed independent. She might 
 say he was impertinent, or she might just 
 laugh at him. She was fairly certain, at all 
 events, not to acquiesce readily in any watch 
 and ward policy which he might seek to in- 
 stitute for her benefit. Still in a well 
 conducted family the men were supposed to 
 look out for the women and keep the breath 
 of dishonor from them. He was the man of 
 the family now, if he was only eighteen, and 
 so it was up to him to find out if Georgia was 
 in danger, and if she was, to get her out of it 
 beforehand. 
 
 147 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "I seen your sister once," remarked 
 Moxey, guessing his thoughts. 
 
 Al was silent. 
 
 "Looked like she could take care of her- 
 self." 
 
 "Oh, she's got good sense," said Al, "but 
 you know the riddle, ' Why's a woman like a 
 ship? Because it takes a man to manage 
 her.' " 
 
 "Yes," assented Moxey, "and they have 
 more respect, understand, for the fellow who 
 can say no to 'em when it's right." 
 
 So after supper that evening, instead of go- 
 ing over to the pool parlor, Al stayed at home 
 waiting for his mother to go to bed, when he 
 could have a talk with Georgia and pump her 
 and find out about this strange man she knew, 
 and if necessary say no. 
 
 His mother drew up to the lamp and 
 darned his socks and talked and talked on 
 endlessly it seemed to him. He felt a little 
 abused when nine o'clock came, which was 
 her bed time, and still she made no move to 
 
 go. 
 
 She did get a little tiresome at times. He 
 would acknowledge that frankly to himself, 
 though he would not let her see it for 
 
 148 
 
Moxey's Sister 
 
 worlds except by staying away from her 
 most of the time, and not paying atten- 
 tion to her when he was with her. 
 
 If his most affectionate greeting of the day 
 came as a rule when he said "Good night, 
 mother dear," he didn't realize it; and it 
 would have amazed him to know that some- 
 times she sniffled for as much as half an 
 hour after she went to bed, because he had 
 shown so plainly that he was glad to be rid 
 of her. She supposed in her sadness that he 
 was an unnatural, almost unparalleled ex- 
 ample of unfilial ingratitude; not suspecting 
 he was only a rear rank file in the Ever Vic- 
 torious Army of Youth. 
 
 Al wound his watch. "Gee, quarter of 
 ten," he remarked, through a yawn. He 
 stretched himself elaborately. Mother was 
 certainly delaying the game. Until she went 
 he couldn't have his round-up with Georgia, 
 who was in one of her after-supper reading 
 spells and had hardly said a word all evening. 
 
 She now had a fad for those little books 
 bound in imitation green leather that consti- 
 tuted the World's Epitome of Culture series 
 and cost thirty-five cents apiece, or two maga- 
 
 149 
 
Rebellion 
 
 zines and an extra Sunday paper, as she put 
 it. 
 
 She had been through twenty of them al- 
 ready and was now on her twenty-first. He 
 didn't deny that it was creditable to go in 
 for culture. If that was the sort of thing she 
 liked, why, as the fellow says, he supposed 
 she liked that sort of thing. It's a free coun- 
 try. But as for him, when he was tired with 
 the day's work, he thought he was entitled 
 to a little recreation a game of pool, a 
 couple of glasses of beer, maybe a swim in a 
 "nat" he wasn't bad at the middle dis- 
 tances and he couldn't see drawing up a 
 chair under a lamp and going to work again, 
 for that was what it amounted to, on a little 
 green Epitome that you had to study over to 
 get the meaning, or maybe look in the diction- 
 ary, as she was doing now. She had told him 
 that they were more interesting than the 
 other kind of books and had even got him to 
 start on a couple she said he was sure to like, 
 because they were so exciting Marco Polo 's 
 Travels and Froissart's Chronicles but they 
 didn't excite him any, and he made only 
 about thirty pages in each of them. 
 
 Indeed, it was his private opinion that 
 
 150 
 
Moxey's Sister 
 
 Georgia was more or less bunking herself 
 with this upward and onward stuff. She fell 
 for it because it helped her feel superior. 
 And then she worked herself up to believing 
 she really liked it because people were sur- 
 prised she knew so much and said she had a 
 naturally fine mind. A vicious circle. 
 
 In all of which cogitations he was perhaps 
 not entirely astray; though her chief incite- 
 ment was more concrete than he supposed. 
 She wanted to impress Stevens in particular, 
 rather than people in general she was de- 
 termined to keep even with him so that he 
 could never talk down to her as to a mere 
 "womanly woman" who held him by sex and 
 nothing more. 
 
 When at last Mrs. Talbot arose, Al hasten- 
 ed to her, kissed her affectionately, slipped 
 his arm around her, impelled her towards the 
 door, opened it rapidly, kissed her again, 
 closed it firmly behind her, lit a cigarette, 
 and began: " Georgia, I want to have a 
 heart to heart with you." 
 
 " In a second. ' ' She read the last half page 
 of her chapter so rapidly that she was com- 
 pelled to read it over again for conscience* 
 
 151 
 
Rebellion 
 
 sake, then inserted her book-mark and turned 
 to him: "Fire away." 
 
 "Who's the mysterious stranger!" 
 
 She had known it was coming for the last 
 half hour. From the corner of her eye, she 
 had spied the importance of the occasion ac- 
 tually oozing out of young Al. At first she 
 thought of side-stepping the interview, but 
 eventually decided not to, partly to please the 
 lad and more still to hear how her case would 
 stand when discussed aloud. She had been 
 in a most chaotic state of mind ever since the 
 agreement with Stevens to pretend; that 
 which wasn't clear then was hazier now; she 
 was of ten minds a day whether to give in 
 to her lover or to give in to the Church. 
 Now she would listen to Georgia and Al talk 
 about the case as if they were two other 
 people, in the hope of finding guidance in her 
 eavesdropping. 
 
 "He is a man in the office whom I like," 
 she answered. 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 "A lot." 
 
 "And he does, too?" 
 
 "Yes, a lot." 
 
 152 
 
Moxey's Sister 
 
 "Hmm you know I hate to preach, but " 
 Hesitation. 
 
 "You think you will, all the same. Go on, 
 I'm listening. " 
 
 "You know I'm liberal. If you were just 
 fooling with this fellow, I'd never peep, hon- 
 est, I wouldn't." 
 
 She smiled, "I'll promise to only fool with 
 my next beau. ' ' 
 
 "Now, this is no laughing matter," he re- 
 buked her levity. "If you're really stuck 
 on each other it may bust you all to pieces 
 before you're done with it unless you quit 
 in time." 
 
 "What do you mean by 'quit'?" 
 
 * l Give up seeing him altogether. It would 
 be safer." 
 
 "Yes, so it would. But what's that got 
 to do with it!" 
 
 "A woman can't afford to take chances," 
 he retorted impressively. 
 
 "It seems to me the people who get the 
 most fun out of life are the ones who do 
 take chances. Your little tin hero, Eoose- 
 velt, for instance you like him because he'd 
 rather hunt a lion or a trust than a sure thing. 
 Jim Horan didn't eat smoke for the money 
 
 153 
 
Rebellion 
 
 in it, but because he thought a wall might 
 fall on him some day or might not. That's 
 what he wanted to find out. Well, perhaps I 
 want to find out if a wall will fall on me some 
 day or not. ' ' 
 
 Al was astounded. There was something 
 more than bold, something hardly decent in 
 the comparison of her own dubious flirtation 
 to a great fireman 's martyrdom or a soldier- 
 statesman-sportsman's courage and career. 
 
 "But, Georgia, " he expostulated, "you 
 speak like a man in a manhole. Horan and 
 Eoosevelt did their duty taking chances. " 
 
 "Bubbish," she said. "They acted ac- 
 cording to their natures and I will act ac- 
 cording to mine some day." 
 
 He looked unutterably distressed, for Ee 
 loved her, and foresaw ruin enfolding her. 
 He knew that women aren't allowed to act 
 according to their natures, if their natures 
 are as natural as all that. 
 
 "I haven't seen Jim for over a year," she 
 went on, "nor heard of him for ten months. 
 He may be dead. He is the same as dead to 
 me. My heart is the heart of a widow grate- 
 ful for her weeds. The Church may say 
 otherwise and I might obey unwillingly 
 
 154 
 
Moxey's Sister 
 
 but my own being tells me that there is noth- 
 ing wrong in my love for Mason Stevens 
 any more than it 's sin to breathe air or drink 
 water. That's how we're made. When I 
 lived with Jim, I played no tricks. But that's 
 over now, it's over for good. What's the 
 difference whether he's under the sod or 
 above it, so far as I'm concerned?" Her 
 eyes were alight and she walked back and 
 forth, gesticulating like a Beveridge, per- 
 suading herself that what she wished was 
 just because she wished it. "I've got a few 
 good years of youth left. I'll not throw 
 them away for a religious quibble." 
 
 "You mean divorce and marry again 
 openly?" 
 
 "What does the ceremony matter? I'm 
 not sure we'd take the trouble of going 
 through it," she shrugged her shoulders, "the 
 Church says that it means nothing anyway; 
 that it makes the sin no less." 
 
 "But, Georgia," he was beginning now to 
 fear for her common sense, "for God's sake, 
 if you do such a thing, first go through the 
 civil form anyway." 
 
 She laughed triumphantly. She had 
 caught him. "There spoke your heart. Of 
 
 155 
 
Rebellion 
 
 course, we'll have a legal marriage. You 
 see the Church hasn't convinced you, either, 
 that divorce and remarriage is the same as 
 adultery." 
 
 She had crystallized her vague desires into 
 positive determination by the daring sound 
 of her own words. 
 
 156 
 
xm 
 EEENTER JIM 
 
 Al reflected moodily that arguing with a 
 woman never gets you anything. If he had 
 been trying to interest Georgia in a vacuum 
 cleaner, he would have known better than 
 to start in by arousing her to a fervor for 
 brooms. Now he would have to wait a few 
 days until she had cooled out, and then try 
 her on a different tack, appealing to her affec- 
 tion and begging her not to bring disgrace 
 upon the whole family. 
 
 She was half-sitting, half-kneeling on the 
 window seat, her elbows on the sill, her 
 cheeks in her hands, looking out into the dim 
 urban night. Directly to the south, over the 
 loop, where Chicago was wide awake and 
 playing, the diffused electric radiance was 
 brightest and highest a man-made borealis. 
 
 She took pride in her big city. It was un- 
 afraid. It followed no rules but its own, and 
 
 157 
 
Rebellion 
 
 didn't always follow them. It owned the fu- 
 ture in fee and pitied the past. It said, not 
 "Ought If" but "I will." It was modern, 
 just as she was modern. She was more char- 
 acteristically the offspring of her city than of 
 her mother. For she was new, like Chicago ; 
 and her mother was old, like the Church. 
 
 So she pondered in the pleasant after-glow 
 of decision, buttressing her resolve. 
 
 The bell rang from the vestibule below and 
 she went to the speaking tube to find out what 
 was wanted. "Yes?" she inquired, then 
 without saying anything more she walked 
 slowly to her room. 
 
 "Who was it!" asked Al, but she closed the 
 door behind her without answering. Funny 
 things, women. He went to the tube himself. 
 
 "What you want?" 
 
 "It's Jim." 
 
 "Jim! well, for the love of goodness god- 
 ness Agnes d'you want to come up!" 
 
 "Yes, if it's all right." 
 
 Al pressed the door-opener, but before 
 climbing the stairs Jim shouted another 
 question through the tube: "Wasn't that 
 Georgia who spoke first?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 158 
 
Reenter Jim 
 
 "Well, why did she how is she, anyway?" 
 
 "Fine. Come along." 
 
 There was a great change in Jim. He must 
 have taken off forty or fifty pounds. His 
 eyes were clear, his skin healthily brown, and 
 he had hardened up all over. He looked a 
 good ten years younger than the last time 
 Al saw him, except for one thing, that his 
 hair had thinned out a great deal. He was 
 almost bald on top. 
 
 They shook hands and Jim gave him a solid 
 grip. "Cheese," said the younger fellow 
 heartily, "you look good primed for a bat- 
 tle, almost." He put his fingers on the oth- 
 er's biceps. 
 
 Jim drew up his clenched fist, showing a 
 very respectable bunch of muscle. ' ' More 
 than there ever used to be, eh?" he asked, 
 smiling broadly. 
 
 Al whistled, stepped back for a better look 
 at the miracle, and whistled. "And yet they 
 say they never come back. Hm-m-m how'd 
 you do it?" 
 
 "Working. Kousty on a dredge in Okla- 
 homa. ' ' 
 
 "Eousty?" 
 
 "Toted coal to the firemen, later got to 
 
 159 
 
Rebellion 
 
 firing myself on the night shift. We kept 
 her going steady. Funny thing, irrigating 
 way out there, t'hell an' gone, in the middle 
 of the frogs barking and the cattle bawling 
 feeding your old thirty-horse and watching 
 the old scoop lifting out her yard of sludge 
 every six minutes. You got so it seemed 
 the most natural thing in the world, but it 
 ain't, is it?" 
 
 ' ' What 'd they pay?" 
 
 "Fifty and board. But the money's being 
 in the business. Me and our day trainman 
 was talking of getting shares in a dredge. 
 There's work there for a thousand years. 
 "Where's Georgia?" 
 
 Al nodded his head toward her door. 
 
 "So's not to see me?" 
 
 Al nodded. 
 
 ' 1 1 came clear from there in the busy season 
 for the sight of her and I didn't come alone. 
 I've three hundred here," said Jim, taking a 
 roll of bills from his pocket. "And to be 
 turned down this way, with my heart full of 
 
 love " He was greatly moved and he 
 
 showed it, for his lip trembled and his voice 
 shook. 
 
 Al was sorry for him. "Aw, she'll come 
 
 160 
 
Reenter Jim 
 
 around. She's got a stubborn streak, you 
 know that, but she does right in the end. 
 Give her time. I'll talk to her." 
 
 Jim felt sure that she must have heard 
 their conversation, especially the last part of 
 it, for he had talked quite distinctly and he 
 remembered from the old days how readily 
 all the sounds in the flat penetrated into that 
 room. He got on his hands and knees and 
 looked at the crack beneath her door to see 
 if her room was lighted. 
 
 " She's sitting in the dark," he whispered, 
 "Would it be all right to knock?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Al uncertainly. 
 
 Jim knocked softly, then a little more loud- 
 ly, but there was no answer. He put his ear 
 to the door to listen, then tip-toed away. 
 
 " She's crying," he whispered to Al, " cry- 
 ing to beat the band. Those heavy deep kind 
 of sobs. I could barely hear her. Must have 
 her face in the pillow. Now what do you 
 know about that?" 
 
 "That's a good sign," said Al, "means 
 she's coming around. When she just turns 
 white and don't speak " 
 
 Jim privately opined that he understood 
 Georgia's moods vastly better than Al ever 
 
 161 
 
Rebellion 
 
 would, and was in no need of instruction on 
 this subject. 
 
 "You mean when she has one of her 
 silences, ' ' he said, giving the thing its proper 
 name. 
 
 "Yes, that's when yon can't handle her. 
 But now, she's begun to melt already. So 
 to-morrow evening come for supper, and I 
 bet my shirt you are all made up in thirty 
 minutes." 
 
 Jim wrung his hand. "You're a thorough- 
 bred, Al and take this from me now, I've 
 learned sense. If I get her back, I'll keep 
 her. No more booze, never one drop." 
 
 He counted out four five-dollar bills upon 
 the center table. "That's what I borrowed, 
 when I quit," he explained. As he reached 
 the door he turned to confirm his happy ap- 
 pointment. ' ' Six thirty to-morrow evening!' ' 
 
 162 
 
XIV 
 
 THE PALACE OF THE UNBOEN 
 
 The following morning brother and sister 
 rode down-town together in the cars. " Don't 
 you think you might have consulted me be- 
 fore asking Jim to supper V she inquired. 
 
 " Don't be foolish," he replied cheerfully, 
 "you were locked in your room." 
 
 She worked all day in that state of sup- 
 pressed excitement which presages great 
 events, from the first ride on the lodge goat 
 to the codicil part of uncle's will. Every- 
 thing she saw or touched was more vivid than 
 usual to her senses. Her typewriter keys 
 seemed picked out in the air against a deep 
 perspective, their lettering very heavy, their 
 clicking singularly loud. One of the little 
 flags caught in a ventilation grill, and in- 
 stead of fluttering out freely, flapped and 
 bellied, making a small snapping noise. A 
 flag wasn't meant to do that, so she crossed 
 the big room, pulled up a chair and released 
 
 163 
 
Rebellion 
 
 it, somewhat to the surprise of the youth 
 sitting directly beneath it. 
 
 The old man, usually rapid enough with 
 his letters, seemed hopelessly slow and awk- 
 ward this morning, and she had to bite her 
 tongue to keep from helping him out with the 
 proper word when he got stuck. He was 
 leaning back in his swivel chair, wasting in- 
 terminable time with pauses and laryngeal 
 interjections, the tips of his fingers together, 
 his eyes half closed, droning out his sen- 
 tences. He wore a little butterfly tie, to-day, 
 blue spots on brown, just below his active 
 Adam's apple and thin, corded neck. Under 
 the point of his chin was a little patch which 
 his razor had skipped, hopelessly white. She 
 wondered what could be in it for him any 
 more, and why he didn't retire. 
 
 She rattled off her letters, then added a 
 note for Stevens, "Dinner to-night?" and left 
 it in the S compartment of the Letters Re- 
 ceived box. 
 
 When he came in later for his afternoon 
 mail he caught her eye and nodded, and on 
 the way out of the old man's office stopped 
 at her desk for a few hasty words: "What 
 time, and where?" 
 
 164 
 
The Palace of the Unborn 
 
 "Wherever you like at six thirty. " 
 
 "Max's?" he suggested, "we'll have 
 snails." 
 
 ' l Oh, what a perfectly dear place in every 
 sense of the word." 
 
 "My treat," he said. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You never dined with me before; you 
 might let me celebrate. 
 
 "We'll celebrate anyway, Dutch. Make it 
 Max's." 
 
 He didn't prolong the argument. They had 
 long before made a compact that the expenses 
 of their expeditions should be shared. 
 
 "I suppose," he inquired, "your six thirty 
 really means seven. I've an appointment, 
 might keep me till then, unless " 
 
 "I'll meet you on the stroke of half-past," 
 she said, and was as good as her word. 
 
 They had snails a la Max, whereof the 
 frame is finer than the picture, as well as 
 Maxian frogs' legs, boned and wrapped in 
 lettuce leaves, and, not without misgivings, 
 a bottle of claret. 
 
 Stevens, unaware that it was their last 
 time of pretending, abided by the rules. They 
 talked shop and shows and vacations. Georgia 
 
 165 
 
Rebellion 
 
 slipped in a few appropriate words concern- 
 ing her cultural progress. They were both 
 somewhat severe upon the orchestra, because 
 there was too much noise to the music, so 
 Mason beckoned the head waiter and "re- 
 quested" the barcarole from Tales of Hoff- 
 man, and they floated off in it toward the 
 edge of what they knew. 
 
 It is said that most people have at least 
 two personalities. In this respect Georgia 
 was like them. One side of her was the 
 woman of 1850, and the times previous; 
 whether mother, wife, daughter, maiden or 
 mistress, primarily something in relation to 
 man, her individuality submerged in this re- 
 lationship, as a soldier's individuality is sub- 
 merged in his uniform. 
 
 The other aspect of Georgia's nature was 
 that of the "new woman," the women hoped 
 for in 1950. Bold, determined, taught to 
 think, relentless in defense of her own per- 
 sonality, insistent that men shall have less 
 and she shall have more sexual freedom, she 
 is first of all herself and only next to that, 
 something to a man. 
 
 When the woman of 1850 managed to get 
 in a word about Jim and his fruitless wait at 
 
 166 
 
The Palace of the Unborn 
 
 home, the woman of 1950 answered, ''Shall 
 you now be absurd enough to leave the man 
 you love for one you hate ? ' ' 
 
 "Shall we take in a show?" he suggested 
 when they had finished their coffee. 
 
 "I believe I'd rather walk home." 
 
 "Why, it's five miles." He was somewhat 
 disconcerted by her energy, for he was dis- 
 tinctly let down, in reaction from his day's 
 work, and his afternoon's excitement of look- 
 ing forward to an unusual meeting with her, 
 which had turned out after all to be more 
 than commonly placid. 
 
 "Five miles and a heavenly night. The 
 first of spring. Come, brace up." 
 
 ' ' You must be feeling pretty strong. ' ' 
 
 "No," she said, " I am getting a bit head- 
 achy, I want some air, to get out of four walls 
 and merge into the darkness if you know 
 what I mean. ' ' 
 
 "You're not going to be sick?" he asked 
 concernedly. 
 
 "0, no it's just a touch of spring fever, I 
 imagine. ' ' 
 
 There is a cement path with a sloping con- 
 crete breakwater which winds between Lake 
 Michigan on one side and Lincoln Park on 
 
 167 
 
Rebellion 
 
 the other for a distance of several miles. 
 Here come the people in endless procession 
 from morning until midnight, two by two, 
 male and female, walking slow and talking 
 low, permeated by the souls of children beg- 
 ging life. 
 
 It is a chamber of Maeterlinck's azure pal- 
 ace of the unborn. 
 
 Presently, by good luck, Georgia and her 
 lover came upon a bench just as another 
 couple was quitting it the supply of benches 
 being inadequate to the demands of pleasant 
 evenings in spring. The departing two 
 passed, one around each end of the seat, and 
 walked rapidly, several feet apart, across the 
 strip of lawn and bridal path beyond. They 
 were delayed at the curb by the stream of 
 automobiles and stood out in clear relief 
 against the passing headlights. 
 
 It was evident they had been quarreling, 
 for the man looked sullen and the woman, 
 half turned away, shrugged her shoulders to 
 what he was saying. 
 
 Georgia had been watching them. "Too 
 bad," said she, "they're having a row." 
 
 "Perhaps they're not meant for each 
 other." 
 
 168 
 
The Palace of the Unborn 
 
 "Everyone quarrels sometimes," she an- 
 swered, " meant or not." 
 
 "Do you think we would, if " 
 
 "I'm sure of it," she replied sharply. 
 ""We're human beings, not angels." 
 
 There was doubtless common sense in what 
 she said, but nevertheless it delighted him 
 not. He wished that she could in such mo- 
 ments as these, yield herself fully to the illu- 
 sion which possessed him that their life to- 
 gether would be one sempiternal climax of 
 joy. 
 
 "I honestly believe," he asserted solemnly, 
 "that sometimes two natures are so perfectly 
 adjusted that there is no friction between 
 them." 
 
 "Kubbish," she replied, quoting a newly 
 read Shaw preface, "people aren't meant to 
 stew in love from the cradle to the grave." 
 She couldn't understand her own mood. 
 She had arranged this evening with Stevens 
 to tell him that she was ready to marry him, 
 and she found herself unable to. Her con- 
 scious purpose was the same as ever. 
 
 Yet as often as she summoned herself to 
 look the look or keep the silence which would 
 put in tram his declaration, it seemed as if 
 
 169 
 
Rebellion 
 
 she received from her depths a sudden and 
 imperative mandate against it. 
 
 It was her long silence while she was pon- 
 dering over these strange things which gave 
 him a false cue and he entered to the center 
 of her consciousness. 
 
 "This wasting of ourselves must go on un- 
 til he dies?" 
 
 "The only way out is death," she said 
 slowly, "or apostasy." 
 
 * i Apostasy f ' ' The word had an ugly sound 
 even for him. 
 
 "I know one woman who did it for love of 
 a man." 
 
 "And she is happy?" 
 
 Georgia did not answer at once. 
 
 "And she is happy," he repeated seriously, 
 as if much depended on the question, "or 
 not?" 
 
 "She says she is," she answered, "but I 
 don't think so. She doesn't look happy 
 ahout the eyes one notices those things. 
 She seems changed and reckless and and 
 she's not always been faithful to her hus- 
 band. I found it out." 
 
 "You found it out?" 
 
 "Yes, she asked me to go to a dinner party. 
 
 170 
 
The Palace of the Unborn 
 
 Her husband was away from town there 
 were four of us and I could tell what it 
 meant. She wanted me to do what she was 
 doing and we had been friends so long we 
 took our first communion together.'' 
 
 66 Georgia, " he asked, chilled through with 
 fright, ' ' do you often have that sort of thing 
 put in your way 1 ' ' 
 
 "I have plenty of chances to make a mess 
 of life," she replied, " every woman does, 
 who's passable looking, especially downtown 
 women." 
 
 "Dearest heart," he begged, "I can't go 
 on thinking of that the rest of my life. Marry 
 me and let me shield and shelter you from all 
 this " 
 
 "This what?" 
 
 "Temptation," he blurted, "and rotten, 
 unwomanly down-town life. A woman ought 
 to be taken care of, in her own home, by the 
 man who loves her and respects and honors 
 her." 
 
 Georgia smiled. "Do you know," she 
 asked, "that's almost exactly word for word 
 the way he talked to this friend of mine and 
 persuaded her to get her divorce and leave 
 the Church and marry him almost word for 
 
 171 
 
Rebellion 
 
 word she told me about it at the time. And 
 now she's fooling him. It didn't shield 
 her from temptation." 
 
 "But I have known people to be divorced 
 and marry again and live perfectly happy 
 and respectable lives." 
 
 "Protestants weren't they?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Ah, that's the point. They do what they 
 think is right, but a Catholic does what she 
 knows is wrong, and begins her new marriage 
 in a wilful sin, so what can grow from it but 
 more sin?" 
 
 Her voice, naturally full and resonant like 
 a trained speaker's, was thin and uncertain 
 as she told of the apostate. Her other self, 
 the woman of the past, was ascendant, but she 
 fought against what she conceived to be a 
 momentary weakness, and forced her resolu- 
 tion as a skillful rider forces an unwilling 
 horse over a jump. "But if you want me," 
 she said in words that trembled, "you can 
 have me." 
 
 "If I want you " He took her in his 
 
 arms and kissed her. 
 
 It seemed to her definitely in that instant 
 that nothing could ever be quite the same 
 
 172 
 
The Palace of the Unborn 
 
 with her again, that a certain fine purity had 
 passed from her forever and she must live 
 thereafter on a lower plane. 
 
 All the modernistic teachings, books, lec- 
 tures, pamphlets with which she had in re- 
 cent years packed her head, on woman's right 
 to selfhood, parasitic females, prostitution 
 in marriage, endowed motherhood, sexual 
 slavery; and all the practical philosophy of 
 the success school which she had learned from 
 years of contact with money-makers, that life 
 is more for the daring than for the good, 
 were washed away by the earlier-formed and 
 deeper-lying impressions of her youth. 
 
 She was aware of a fleeting return of her 
 virginal feeling that to give herself to one 
 man was humbleness sufficient for a lifetime ; 
 but to give herself to two would be the per- 
 manent lowering of pride. 
 
 But she felt that for her the moving finger 
 had writ and passed. There could be no more 
 going back or shadow of turning. Hence- 
 forth, for good or evil, she belonged to this 
 man. 
 
 She yielded to his kisses, as many as he 
 wished, in passive submission. 
 
 "You will always be good to me promise 
 
 173 
 
Rebellion 
 
 that, promise me, dear," she begged, "be- 
 cause if you're not I'll " Her voice 
 
 choked and two tears rolled down her cheeks. 
 Gone was her freedom and her pride. She 
 spoke, not as her ideal had been, partner 
 speaking to partner on even terms, but as a 
 servant to her master, asking not justice but 
 mercy. 
 
 Her solitary happiness in this hour was the 
 feeling that the man was the stronger, that 
 despite his greenness and awkwardness and 
 the ease with which she had hitherto con- 
 trolled him, fundamentally his nature was 
 bigger than hers and that she was compelled 
 to follow him. In her new feebleness she 
 rejoiced that she sinned not boldly and reso- 
 lutely, but because she had been taken in the 
 traditional manner by the overpowering 
 male. 
 
 "I have been looking forward to this for 
 longer than you suspect, ' ' said she, * i and now 
 that it's come, I feel as if I were at a play 
 watching it happen to some one else. ' ' 
 
 He put his hand on her shoulder, then 
 quickly turned her white face to his. "Why, 
 what is the matter?" he asked. "You are 
 shaking like a leaf." 
 
 174 
 
The Palace of the Unborn 
 
 "I think I'd better go home. It is damp 
 and cold sitting here." After they had gone 
 a few steps, she said, with a weak little 
 laugh, "I've lost my enthusiasm for walk- 
 ing. Put me on the car." 
 
 He began to be thoroughly frightened. 
 " Don't worry, dear," she reassured him. 
 "Nothing can change us now. ."We belong to 
 each other for keeps." 
 
 They said little to each other in the bright- 
 ly lighted street car. She sat slightly crum- 
 pled, her shoulders rounded, swaying to the 
 stops and starts. She breathed slowly 
 through her lips, and her eyes had the 
 strange wide-open look of a young bird's, 
 when you hold it in your hands. And he, but 
 partly understanding, yearned for her help- 
 lessly, and covenanted with his nameless gods 
 that no sorrow should ever come to her from 
 him. 
 
 She hung to his arm as they walked up the 
 half -lighted street where she lived, between 
 rows of three, four and five story flat build- 
 ings full of drama. Outside her own she 
 stopped and looked up to her windows. They 
 were brightly lighted. 
 
 Instead of using her key, she rang the bell 
 
 175 
 
Rebellion 
 
 to her apartment. She heard APs voice in 
 answer. 
 
 "Is Jim there 1" she asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 She turned to Stevens with a flash of her 
 old positiveness. 
 
 "I must go somewhere else. And I don't 
 feel like telling my troubles to any friend to- 
 night. So will you take me to a hotel ? ' ' 
 
 They returned to the car line by an unusual 
 street, lest Al should come looking after her, 
 she driving her sick frame along by sheer 
 will, her lover resolved that if need be he 
 would save her from herself. 
 
 She waited while he engaged her room, and 
 when he came bringing her key, he said, "I 
 have put you down as Miss Talbot." 
 
 "Oh, you were nice to think of that. I 
 like to imagine sometimes it still is so. ' ' She 
 took his hand. "Good night, dear," she 
 whispered. ' 1 1 will be a true wife to you. J ' 
 
 176 
 
XV 
 
 ME. SILVEEMAN 
 
 Stevens called up Georgia's room in the 
 morning to ask how she had slept and she 
 reported, "Well that is, pretty well," which 
 wasn't true, for she had tossed wretchedly 
 through the night. By careful brushing and 
 buying a shirtwaist she managed to measur- 
 ably freshen her appearance, though she 
 reached the office with tired eyes and hectic 
 splotches beneath her eyes. Al was there be- 
 fore her waiting with white face. 
 
 ' ' Georgia, ' ' he began miserably, " I 've been 
 hunting the town for you. Where have you 
 been?" 
 
 " Alone." 
 
 "You've frightened us half to death. 
 Mother's sick over it." 
 
 "You can have Jim in the house, or me, 
 but not both of us." 
 
 She would give him no more satisfaction, 
 and he was turning away angry at her 
 obstinacy, when Mason came up to greet her. 
 177 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "Good morning. " 
 
 "Good morning." 
 
 Al quickly divined that here was the man. 
 It was written in the way he looked at her, 
 and in Georgia's sudden sidelong glance at 
 Al to see if he saw. 
 
 "I'd like a word with you," said the broth- 
 er to the lover, tapping him on the shoulder 
 with studied rudeness, "now." 
 
 Stevens didn't understand the situation, 
 but he was properly resentful, and lowered 
 at the stranger. In these subtle days of com- 
 merce, finger-tips on collar bones may con- 
 vey all that was once meant by a glove in 
 the face. 
 
 i ' My brother, Mr. Stevens, ' ' she explained. 
 They did not shake hands. Mason was not 
 quite sure from the young fellow's expres- 
 sion just what might happen, but he was sure 
 it had better not happen right there. "Let's 
 get out of the office and you can have as 
 many words as you want," said he. Georgia 
 arose to go with them. 
 
 4 'No, don't you come," said Stevens. 
 
 "I think perhaps it would be better." 
 
 "But it wouldn't. You stay here," the 
 man answered with great positiveness. She 
 
 178 
 
Mr. Silverman 
 
 sank obediently in the chair, to the disgusted 
 amazement of her brother, and let them go 
 alone. 
 
 "Were you out with her last night ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The lad sunk his hand to his coat pocket, 
 his wild young brain aflame with violence and 
 romance and vengeance and the memory of 
 Moxey's sweetheart's uncle who had slain the 
 despoiler of his home. Stevens was near 
 death and he knew it, but he never batted an 
 eye as Al reported later to Moxey. 
 
 ' i I knew it damned well. She said she was 
 alone." His hand tightened on the auto- 
 matic, pressing down the safety lock, and he 
 pointed the gun, so that he could shoot 
 through his pocket and kill. 
 
 "She was, after eleven. I left her then." 
 
 "Prove it. You've got to," insultingly. 
 
 ' ' Go look at the hotel register, for the name 
 of Miss Georgia Talbot." 
 
 Al grunted. Here was a concrete fact 
 subject to verification, yes or no. "All right," 
 he vouchsafed curtly, "if it turns out that 
 way but one more thing keep away from 
 her after this altogether understand." Al 
 shot out his jaw and swung around his pocket 
 
 179 
 
Rebellion 
 
 with the barrel pointing straight at Stevens' 
 middle. He looked just then a good deal like 
 a young tough delivering a serious threat, 
 which he was. 
 
 Stevens shoved his derby hat back and 
 laughed. "If you think you can run me 
 around with the pop-gun, guess again. I'm 
 going to marry Georgia and you're coming 
 to the wedding/' he stepped right up to the 
 gun and tapped Al sharply on the shoulder, 
 "understand." 
 
 It was perhaps a chancy thing to do, for 
 the lad had worked himself into a state of 
 self-righteous anger, and his vanity was sav- 
 agely exulted by the sensation of putting it 
 over on a full-grown man to his face. But 
 Stevens had acted instinctively as he fre- 
 quently did in stressful moment and his in- 
 stinct played him true this time. 
 
 "She ain't allowed to marry again, so you 
 keep off the grass," he answered loudly, but 
 his voice broke and shot up an octare as he 
 took his hand from his pocket to clench his 
 fist and shake it in the other's face. 
 
 Whereat Stevens knew he had him and an- 
 swered quietly in his most matter-of-fact 
 business tones, "That's for her to say and 
 
 180 
 
Mr. Silverman 
 
 she's said it." He smiled. "You know she's 
 free, white, and twenty-one." 
 
 Al, not sure just what his next step ought 
 to be, walked away, probably to consult with 
 Moxey, muttering as he went, "Well, remem- 
 ber I warned you. ' ' 
 
 Stevens returned to the office and explained 
 the incident briefly to Georgia, "Oh, the kid 
 was excited at first, but I reassured him." 
 While they were talking the old man rang 
 her buzzer and asked her to have Mr. Stevens 
 come in. 
 
 A dark, beaked, heavy-browed, much- 
 dressed gentleman was in the old man's 
 office, introduced to Mason as Mr. Silverman. 
 
 Mr. Silverman deserves a paragraph or 
 two. He was said to be a Polish, a Eussian 
 or a Spanish Jew, but nobody knew for sure 
 or dared ask him, for he didn't like it. At 
 sixteen or thereabouts, he came to the com- 
 pany as an office boy, and in two months was 
 indispensable. At thirty-seven, owing partly 
 to the conscientious performance of his duties 
 and more to his earnestness in pulling feet 
 from the rungs above him, and stamping fin- 
 gers from the rungs below, he was elected to 
 a position especially created for him, to-wit, 
 
 181 
 
Rebellion 
 
 Executive Secretary to the President of The 
 Eastern Life Insurance Company of New 
 York, which gave him everything to say about 
 the running of it except the very last word. 
 
 Perhaps once a quarter he was reversed, 
 and always on some extremely important 
 matter involving the investment of funds. 
 This galled him beyond measure, but he kept 
 it to himself. 
 
 At the last annual election, he would have 
 presented himself as a candidate for presi- 
 dent, or at least for first vice-president with 
 power to act, but after sizing up the way the 
 proxies were running for the new directorate, 
 he knew that crowd would never stand for 
 him, so he squelched his own boom for the 
 time being, and waited. The title was re-con- 
 ferred for the fifteenth time upon a charming 
 but delicate plutocrat of the fourth genera- 
 tion of New Yorkers, who was compelled to 
 spend his term health-hunting in European 
 spas, where Mr. Silverman took delight in 
 sending him for decision a copious stream of 
 unimportant but vexatiously technical ques- 
 tions, which much disturbed the inyalid's se- 
 renity, for he had entered the company at the 
 top, and didn't know detail. Mr. Silverman 
 
 182 
 
Mr. Silverman 
 
 himself settled the more important matters, 
 inasmuch as there wasn't time to send to Eu- 
 rope and wait for an answer. Whenever he 
 reached for a stronger hold, he had an in- 
 controvertible excuse, and he got to know Mr. 
 Morgan personally. 
 
 He was stocky, with ample room for his 
 digestion, and like most fighting men, he had 
 a good thick neck that carried plenty of blood 
 to his head. His unpleasantest trait was his 
 shame of race, and his most agreeable one 
 an understanding love of music. His only 
 exercise was strong black cigars, and every- 
 one on the company's payroll dreaded his 
 seemingly preternatural knowledge of what 
 was going on. 
 
 ' ' Mr. Stevens, ' ' said he, i ' sit down. I have 
 heard of you." Then to allow that pregnant 
 remark to sink in he turned to Georgia. 
 "Take this, please: 'Mr. W. F. Plaisted, 
 General Agent in charge S. W. Division, 
 Eastern Life Insurance Company, Kansas 
 City, Mo. Dear Sir: Please furnish the 
 bearer, Mr. Mason Stevens, with whatever in- 
 formation he desires. He is my personal 
 representative. With kind regards, Yours 
 truly, Executive Secretary to the President.' 
 
 183 
 
Rebellion 
 
 i l That is all. ' ' He nodded to Georgia, and 
 she departed. The old man pussy-footed 
 after her, leaving the other two together in 
 his private office. 
 
 "You are to take the nine o'clock train to- 
 night for Kansas City to prepare a report 
 for me on why we aren't getting more busi- 
 ness in the town and our competitors less. 
 Here are some letters from New York to cer- 
 tain banks there which will admit you to their 
 confidence. Find out all you can about Plai- 
 sted and his office before you go to him. Send 
 me a night letter to my hotel every night as 
 to your progress. Use this code." He took 
 a typewritten sheet of synonyms from his 
 pocket. "Should you cross the trail of an- 
 other investigator for the Eastern, you are 
 not to reveal yourself to him. This point you 
 are to bear in mind. ' ' He paused for an an- 
 swer. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Stevens. 
 
 ' ' Your expense money will be liberal ; and 
 mind, no talk not even a hint to your best 
 girl. I suppose, of course, there i one." 
 Mason smiled, but did not answer. "I am 
 told you are not married." 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 184 
 
Mr. Silverman 
 
 " Perhaps it is just as well. Women are 
 to live with, not to travel with, and you're 
 still traveling." Mr. Silverman lit a fifty- 
 center, and then, being a natural-born com- 
 mander, topped off his instructions with 
 hopes of loot. "Good luck, young man. 
 You're shaking hands with your future on 
 this trip." 
 
 Mason came from the interview conse- 
 crated to the task of getting the goods on 
 Plaisted. Going after him was like going 
 after ivory in Africa. Landing a prospect 
 was as tame relatively as plugging ducks on 
 the Illinois Kiver. For Plaisted had been a 
 big man in the company in his day, though 
 getting a little old now. With solid connec- 
 tions through Missouri, Kansas and the 
 Southwest, if he fell, he'd fall with a smash. 
 
 Mason rather fancied that in company 
 politics he could see as far through a grind- 
 stone as his neighbor, if it had a hole in it. 
 He knew that there was a hidden but bitter 
 fight for control of the business between the 
 old New York society crowd who had in- 
 herited it, and the younger abler men, under 
 the leadership of Silverman, who had grown 
 up from the ranks. He knew that his own 
 
 185 
 
Rebellion 
 
 boss, the old man, lined up with Silverman, 
 but that Plaisted had delivered the south- 
 western proxies in a solid block, for the New 
 York ticket. He therefore inferred that Sil- 
 verman didn't feel strong enough to remove 
 Plaisted without a pretty plausible reason 
 and that he was being sent to Kansas City 
 to find the reason ; and failing that, to make 
 one, which, as it turned out, was precisely 
 what he did. 
 
 He set out on his mission with as little 
 compunction as a soldier who had received 
 orders to shoot to kill. For, as he told him- 
 self, surely Plaisted had also pulled down 
 men in his time. Life is a battle. Therefore 
 is it not well to be with the conqueror and 
 share in the cut? 
 
 If he could now make good with Silverman, 
 and, more especially, convince him that he 
 was a live one who would keep on making 
 good, the Jew would certainly recognize him 
 in the reorganization. He had visions of tool- 
 ing along the macadam in his Panno Six to 
 a vined house in the suburbs, hidden by tall 
 trees, where, in a trailing gown, Georgia 
 would walk through her flowers to meet him, 
 with a small hand clinging to each of hers. 
 
 186 
 
Mr. Silverman 
 
 Plaisted had now become, to all intents and 
 purposes, his competitor; and going after 
 your competitors is the life of trade. As for 
 Mrs. Plaisted if there was one who was 
 she against Georgia? 
 
 187 
 
XVI 
 
 GEOEGIA LEAVES HOME 
 
 He expected to be gone several weeks, so 
 Georgia telephoned the janitor to tell mama 
 that she would stay down for dinner, again, 
 but would be home soon afterwards. Mason 
 took her to the top of a tall building, where 
 there was a sixty cent table d'hote. The 
 topic, of course, was his forthcoming trip 
 from routine to adventure and its probable 
 effect upon their fortunes. 
 
 For all the wise saws about not talking to 
 women, one may hardly dine with his fiancee 
 of a day without mention of the marvelous 
 opportunity which dropped before one that 
 morning as from the skies. Especially if she 
 is in the same business and heard it drop. 
 
 So, little by little, one thing leading to an- 
 other, he told her everything he knew or 
 guessed or hoped. He did not once forget 
 Silverman's injunction to silence, as he bab- 
 bled on. It stuck in his mind like a thorn in 
 
 188 
 
Georgia Leaves Home 
 
 the foot; and, telling himself he was a fool 
 to talk, he talked. The precise moment didn't 
 seem to come when he could frankly say, 
 without offense, "Georgia, that part of it is 
 a secret/' And he didn't see how to tempor- 
 ize widely, for it had become physically im- 
 possible for him to lie to her, though, of 
 course, he retained the use of his faculties 
 for commerce with others. 
 
 So he passed on the ever heavy load of 
 silence, hoping that she could hold her tongue 
 if he couldn't. It was as much her affair as 
 his anyway, so he felt, and if by her indis- 
 cretion she should cut him out of Silverman's 
 confidence and future big things, she would in 
 the same motion cut herself out of a Panno 
 Six and a house in the trees and a richer cir- 
 cle of friends. 
 
 But, inasmuch as she was a case-hardened 
 private secretary, she kept her faith with 
 him in this thing at least. If he never has 
 a Panno Six it wasn't her fault. 
 
 The most surprising thing to her in his 
 narrative was that it did not more greatly 
 interest her. It seemed to her a far-off affair, 
 impersonal, like something she was reading 
 in the papers. Stevens seemed to stand out- 
 
 189 
 
Rebellion 
 
 side her area of life, which had become nar- 
 row and curiously uneasy, heavy with a fu- 
 ture in which he was not concerned. 
 
 At first he attributed the listlessness, which 
 she tried to conceal but could not, to one of 
 the widely advertised feminine moods, and 
 he tried his best to divert her not merely with 
 pictures of their future, blissful and automo- 
 bileful, but also with quips and cranks and 
 wanton wiles. No go. 
 
 So when course VI of the table d'hote nuts 
 and pecans, three of each to the order was 
 ended, he suggested that perhaps she would 
 better go directly home instead of waiting 
 downtown with him until his train went. She 
 acquiesced. They walked to the "L" in 
 silence. 
 
 Imagine the chagrin of a knight riding off 
 to the bloody wars from a ladye who didn't 
 care if he never came back. That was how 
 it struck him. She took his arm to climb the 
 steep iron stairs, and at the top stopped a 
 moment to get her breath. 
 
 "Dear heart," she said, "don't have all 
 those awful thoughts about me don't you 
 suppose I know what you're thinking? I've 
 
 190 
 
Georgia Leaves Home 
 
 been dull to-night, but my head is simply 
 splitting. I believe I 'm in for the grip. ' ' 
 
 He looked at his watch. "I'm sure I can 
 take you home and get back in time." 
 
 "Bather than have you risk it, I'll stay 
 down until your train goes." 
 
 "Promise me then to get a doctor and go 
 right to bed." 
 
 "I'll go right to bed I can barely hold my 
 head up, and I'll get a doctor in the morning 
 if I'm not better." 
 
 There were only two or three other people 
 on the long platform, so he kissed her good- 
 bye. Then the screened iron gate was slapped 
 to behind her, the guard jerked his cord, she 
 smiled weakly and waved her hand back at 
 him, and it was all over for a much longer 
 time than he had any idea of. 
 
 He watched her train until the tail lights 
 turned the loop, then said "Hell," lit a cigar, 
 pushed his hat back, sighed and went to check 
 his trunk. 
 
 He sat up in the smoking compartment 
 gassing with drummers until the last of them 
 turned in, sympathized for awhile with the 
 Pullman porter, who suffered volubly as soon 
 as Mason gave him permission to. He had 
 
 191 
 
Rebellion 
 
 been married that very afternoon and now 
 lie was off to Los Angeles and back, a ten- 
 day journey, leaving behind him as a dark 
 and shining mark for those who realized the 
 devilishness of his itinerary an unprotected, 
 young, gay-hearted bride. He appreciated 
 the snares that would be set for her by his 
 brothers of brush and berth. He'd been a 
 bachelor himself. "Yas, sah, railroadin' is 
 sure one yalla dawg's life for a fambly 
 man." 
 
 Stevens lay awake a long time that night 
 thinking of the future, and Georgia lay 
 awake a long time considering the past. She 
 felt hot and thirsty ; three or four times she 
 got out of bed and ran the faucet until the 
 water was cold and bathed her face and 
 drank. 
 
 After she had left Stevens she had taken a 
 cross seat in the car facing homeward, and, 
 placing her burning cheek against the window 
 for coolness, had dozed off for many stations. 
 When she awoke with a start at the one be- 
 yond her own, her personality had slipped to 
 its earlier center as definitely as when a 
 clutch slips from high to second speed. 
 
 It is said that the last step gained by the 
 
 192 
 
Georgia Leaves Home 
 
 individual or the race is the first step lost, 
 in sickness, age and fear. So Georgia's ill- 
 ness began its attack on the topmost layer of 
 her character, that part of it which had been 
 built in the recent years. She was driven, 
 as it were, to a lower floor of her own edifice 
 and no longed saw so wide a view. 
 
 Her pride and self-will crumbled for the 
 sick aren't proud and her modernity tric- 
 kled away. After all, was it not more peace- 
 ful to do what people thought you ought to, 
 than to fight them constantly for your own 
 way? Life was too short and human nature 
 too weak for the stress and strain of such 
 ceaseless resistance as she had made in the 
 past few years against her family, the friends 
 of her family, and the Church. For God's 
 sake let her now have peace. 
 
 Yes, for God's sake. The words had come 
 irreverently to her mind. But after all, could 
 she or anyone else have peace except from 
 God? and was there any other gift as sweet! 
 
 She knew there was one sure anodyne for 
 her troubled spirit, and only one the con- 
 fessional. She had kept away too long al- 
 ready, for more than two years. She would 
 go to-morrow, or perhaps the next day, and 
 
 193 
 
Rebellion 
 
 wash her soul clean. Father Hervey would 
 talk to her as if to rip her heart strings out, 
 but in the end he would leave her with peace, 
 after she had promised and vowed to give up 
 her mortal sin. Poor Mason, that meant him. 
 She wept a few weak tears, then dried her 
 eyes on the corner of the sheet. 
 
 So this was to be the end of her spiritual 
 adventuring, the end of the free expression 
 of her free being, and selfhood, and all those 
 other valorous things she had rejoiced in. 
 
 She wasn't able any longer to go on with 
 it. She must desert the army of women in 
 the day of battle, the army led by Curie, Key, 
 Pankhurst, Schreiner, Addams, Gilman, and 
 cross over to the adversary, the encompass- 
 ing Church. It would absorb her into its vast 
 unity as a drop disappears in the sea. It 
 would think for her and will for her. She 
 would be animated witli its life, not her own ; 
 but it would suffuse her with the comfort 
 that is past understanding. She would eat 
 the lotus and submit. She was not strong, 
 like great people. 
 
 Perhaps the priest would suggest her re- 
 turn to Jim. But that wasn't in the law. He 
 could only suggest and urge it. He could 
 
 194 
 
Georgia Leaves Home 
 
 not insist on it She couldn't go back to Jim, 
 she couldn't, she couldn't. She sobbed as if 
 there were a presence in the room which she 
 hoped to move by her tears. 
 
 A clear vision of her husband came before 
 her, as she had often seen him, sitting on 
 the edge of this very bed, in undershirt and 
 trousers, leaning forward, breathing abomin- 
 ably loud, his paunch sagging, unlacing his 
 shoes. Eight or wrong, good or bad, heaven 
 or hell, that was one sight the priest should 
 never make her see again. She hated Jim 
 and loathed him forever. 
 
 As she was dressing next morning she 
 called to Al to please go down and telephone 
 for the doctor, for she knew she could never 
 go through the day's work without medicine. 
 
 Presently Dr. Eandall bowled up, a jolly 
 stout man, smiling gayly and crinkling up 
 the corners of his eyes, though he had slept 
 just eight hours in the last seventy-two. The 
 family was glumly finishing breakfast when 
 he came. Throughout the meal Mrs. Talbot 
 had been burningly aware of the contrast be- 
 tween decent, self-respecting women with a 
 thought to themselves, and brazen young fly- 
 by-nights in thin waists, who run after men 
 
 195 
 
Rebellion 
 
 and make themselves free ; but she threw only 
 a few pertinent remarks into the atmosphere, 
 because the poor girl was so evidently out of 
 sorts, with her high color and not touching a 
 bite of food. Indeed, a body could hardly 
 help feeling sorry for her, for all her wicked 
 pride of will ; very likely this sickness was a 
 judgment on her for it. 
 
 When Dr. Eandall had considered her 
 pulse, her temperature and her tongue, and 
 asked half a dozen questions, he told Al to 
 send for a carriage and take her immediately 
 to Columbus Hospital. 
 
 "Why, doctor/' exclaimed Mrs. Talbot, 
 terrorized, "is it anything serious ?" 
 
 "Typhoid I'll go telephone to let 'em 
 know you're coming." 
 
 The doctor departed and Mrs. Talbot took 
 Georgia on her lap and crooned over her un- 
 til the carriage came. 
 
 196 
 
XVII 
 
 THE LIGHT FLICKERS 
 
 It was decided that Georgia was to have 
 a bed in a ward at eight dollars a week. 
 Private rooms were twenty-five and they 
 couldn't afford that during the month she 
 would be laid up, particularly since her pay 
 would stop automatically after her third day 
 of absence. The office rule was very strict 
 on that point. 
 
 She sat limply in the waiting room while Al 
 was attending to her registration and her 
 mother was upstairs with the nurse unpack- 
 ing her things. On the opposite wall were a 
 couple of windows, sharply framing vistas 
 into the park across the street, and she saw 
 two fragments of the path where she had 
 often walked on Sunday mornings with 
 Stevens. 
 
 It was this same wall in front of her which 
 had seemed so sullen gray and prison-color 
 from the other side and which had sometimes 
 turned their talk to sombre things death 
 
 197 
 
Rebellion 
 
 and immortality. From the inside, as she 
 now saw it, the wall was not gray but cheer- 
 fully reddish brown, patterned vertically like 
 a thrasher's wing. 
 
 Two pictures hung by the window, of the 
 pope and of Frances Xavier Cabrini, founder 
 of the order of nuns that conducted the hos- 
 pital. They were photographs, she thought, 
 or reproductions from photographs. 
 
 She looked closely at them, first at the old 
 man, then at the old woman. She saw in 
 them more than she had ever seen in such 
 pictures before. They offered at least one 
 positive answer to the riddle, perhaps the 
 safest answer for such as she to submit 
 oneself through one's lifetime so as to attain 
 at the end of it the matchless serenity of 
 those two untroubled faces. 
 
 It came to her then in a moment of more 
 than natural revelation, as it seemed, that 
 she must seek the peace which these two had 
 found. 
 
 She crossed slowly to the desk in the cor- 
 ner, to write what she knew might be the last 
 of the thousands of letters she had written. 
 
 My dear, she began on the hospital paper, 
 I am here mth, not to cause him anxiety in 
 
 198 
 
The Light Flickers 
 
 the beginning of his great enterprise, a touch 
 of the grip. Nothing serious. In haste and 
 headache. Georgia. 
 
 She paused. Even if it must end by her 
 giving him up, she loved him. Should she, 
 by an omission so significant, upset and dis- 
 tress him and perhaps hinder him in a task 
 which, well performed, would bring great 
 things to him, if never now to her? I love 
 you, she added, always. 
 
 A second note she dated a week forward. 
 My dear, I haven't pulled around again as 
 soon as I expected, but the rest has done me 
 a world of good. Don't worry about me 
 they say I've a constitution like a horse. For 
 my sake, make good, Mason you've got to. 
 With love, lots of it, always, G. 
 
 A third she put two weeks ahead. Dearest, 
 I'm doing fine and will be out soon now. Your 
 letters have been such, a comfort. It's almost 
 two thousand years since we've seen each 
 other, isn't it? I love you, dear. Georgia. 
 
 She put them in their envelopes, addressed 
 them, and wrote 1, 2 and 3 respectively in 
 the upper right hand corners in such a way 
 that the stamps would conceal them. Al 
 came in as she was finishing, and she ex- 
 
 199 
 
Rebellion 
 
 plained how she wanted them mailed a week 
 apart. At first he refused, but at last was 
 over-persuaded by her misery. He promised 
 to do her errand as she asked, and kept his 
 promise faithfully. 
 
 A page boy chanting "Mis-ter Stev-uns, 
 Mis-ter Eiggle-hei-murr, Mis-ter An-droo 
 Brown, Mis-ter Noise, Mis-ter Stevuns," 
 caught Mason in the grill paying a lot of at- 
 tention to a first vice-president over a 
 planked tenderloin, German fried and large 
 coffee. Accordingly he made his first report 
 not to Silverman, but to the old man, thus : 
 
 Night Letter 
 
 548 ch jf 63 
 
 Kansas City Mo 10/17 
 Fredk. Tatton, 
 
 Eastern Life Insurance Co. 60 Monroe st., Chicago. 
 
 Strict confidence am engaged marry your secretary 
 Georgia Connor who now sick columbus hospital 
 please arrange hospital authorities give her best care 
 private room special trained nurse my expense don't 
 let her know my participation say attention comes 
 from company gratitude her fidelity ability also keep 
 her name payroll until return duty charge my account 
 confidential my progress here satisfactory wire answer 
 collect. Stevens 814 AM 
 
 200 
 
The Light Flickers 
 
 The old man himself had not been entirely 
 immune to Georgia's charm, although in the 
 office and before him she had steadily veiled 
 her personality behind her status as a precise, 
 prompt and well-lubricated appanage of a 
 Standard Typewriter No. 4. So it was only a 
 well subdued charm that the old man sensed 
 in her, stimulating as a small glass of syrupy 
 liqueur. 
 
 It seemed to him pathetic that the silent, 
 presentable, self-respecting young woman, to 
 whom for over a year now he had been re- 
 vealing his most private, money-making 
 thoughts almost as fast as they came to him, 
 might never smile him another "good morn- 
 ing, " agree with him pleasantly that it was 
 hot or cold or wet, and get rapidly to work 
 on his business. 
 
 She was so accustomed to his ways, and he 
 hated the thought of breaking in another one 
 but, damn it, that wasn't all by any means, 
 he liked the girl on her own account she 
 was such a little lady. 
 
 The old man did some rapid telephoning 
 and was able to answer Stevens' wire half 
 an hour after he got it. 
 
 201 
 
Rebellion 
 
 Chicago Ills. Oct.18 
 
 Mr. Mason Stevens, 
 
 Hotel Boston, K C Mo 
 
 Best accommodations provided as stipulated salary 
 continues your expense diagnosis simple case typical 
 convalescense anticipated will wire promptly new de- 
 velopments regarding patient warm congratulations 
 
 Fredk. Tatton 949 AM 
 
 The old man naturally supposed that 
 Mason knew the nature of Georgia's illness 
 and was trying to reassure him, in a kind- 
 ly way, that as typhoid cases go it was only 
 a very little one. 
 
 Indeed, the old man, if he was a little lax 
 later on in wiring all the developments in the 
 case because he didn't want to frighten the 
 young man into throwing up his investiga- 
 tion in the very middle of it was more valu- 
 ably helpful in another way. 
 
 When the fever reached its crisis he got a 
 great specialist out of bed for a three o 'clock 
 in the morning consultation over the little 
 stenographer, and charged his costly loss of 
 sleep to the company instead of to Mason 
 Stevens, Mr. Silverman cordially approving. 
 
 They said afterwards that Georgia could 
 not have taken another small step toward 
 
 202 
 
The Light Flickers 
 
 death, without dying. She flickered and gut- 
 tered like a lamp whose oil has been used up. 
 For a few moments it seemed that her light 
 had been put out altogether, but there must 
 have been a tiny spark hidden somewhere in 
 the charred wick, for the doctors brought her 
 back by artificial stimulation, and you can 
 not stimulate the dead. 
 
 If specialists and private rooms and nurses 
 give sick people more chance of getting well, 
 then Stevens and the old man and Mr. Silver- 
 man saved Georgia by their care of her, for 
 she could not have had less chance to live 
 and lived. 
 
 203 
 
XVIII 
 
 THE PKIEST 
 
 The crisis of the fever came upon Georgia 
 so suddenly that she had lapsed into semi- 
 consciousness before the arrival of Father 
 Hervey. She was able, in making her confes- 
 sion to him, barely to gasp out a few broken 
 sentences of contrition. 
 
 He anointed with holy oil her eyes, ears, 
 nostrils, lips, hands and feet, absolving her 
 in the name of the Trinity from those sins 
 which she truly repented. 
 
 When at last she came out of the shadow, 
 her mother believed that it was the priest 
 even more than the doctors who had saved 
 her, for it is taught that the reception of Ex- 
 treme Unction may restore health to the body 
 when the same is beneficial to the soul. 
 
 A few days later the priest came again 
 to see her and was amazed at the rapidity 
 of her convalescence. 
 
 "You're out of the woods this time, Geor- 
 
 204 
 
The Priest 
 
 gia," he said, "sure enough. But I can tell 
 you you had us frightened.'' He spoke with 
 just the barest shade of a tip of a brogue, 
 too slight to indicate in print. 
 
 His coat was shiny, his trousers slightly 
 frayed at the bottom, and his shoes had been 
 several times half-soled. A parish priest, 
 throughout his life he had kept to the vow 
 of personal poverty as faithfully as a Jesuit. 
 
 He stayed for half an hour and made him- 
 self charming. He asked the nurse not to 
 leave the room, saying that he needed an au- 
 dience. He had some new stories, he said, 
 and he wanted to test them, which he couldn't 
 do on Georgia alone, she was so solemn. Be- 
 sides, she was almost sure to hash them up 
 in repeating them, and he had a reputation 
 to preserve. There was a shepherd in County 
 Clare whose wife was from County Mayo, 
 with the head of the color of a fox, inside and 
 out. And so forth. 
 
 First the women smiled with him, then 
 laughed, then roared. His touch was sure, 
 his shading delicate, his technique perfected. 
 He had them and he held them. It was ex- 
 cellent medicine for the sick he gave them. 
 
 Then he told them a little parish gossip 
 
 205 
 
Rebellion 
 
 of wedding banns he thought he would short- 
 ly be requested to publish. His eyes twin- 
 kled at Georgia's astonished "You don't say 
 
 well, what she sees in him " And he 
 
 finished his pleasant visit with a couple of 
 little anecdotes, each with a moral subtly in- 
 troduced; simple tales of heroism and self- 
 sacrifice that had lately come under his 
 notice. 
 
 When he arose to go Georgia and the nurse 
 bent their heads. He offered a short little 
 prayer, gave them his blessing and departed. 
 
 He had not said a word in a serious way to 
 Georgia of her affairs. But she knew that 
 he was merely postponing. 
 
 Before his decisive interview with her he 
 prayed earnestly for strength; for strength 
 rather than guidance, for he felt no shade 
 of doubt that the path which he would urge 
 her to take was the right one. The Church 
 had pointed it out long ago, and that settled 
 it. He never questioned the wisdom or the 
 inspiration of the great policies of the 
 Church. He was none of your modernists, 
 questioners and babblers; he was a veteran 
 soldier, a fighting private in the army which 
 will make no peace but a victor's. 
 
 206 
 
The Priest 
 
 "Georgia," lie began, "do you feel strong 
 enough for a serious talk? For if you don't 
 I will come later. ' ' 
 
 She was sitting up in bed. Her skin had 
 the translucent pallor of one whose life has 
 hung in the balance. Her hair, braided and 
 coiled about her head, had lost its peculiar 
 gloss and become dry and brittle. 
 
 "Yes, Father; I am strong enough. As 
 well have it over with now as any time. ' ' 
 
 There was more of defiance in her words 
 than in her heart, for she could not help be- 
 ing a little afraid of this gentle, gray old 
 man with the Roman collar. Since her child- 
 hood he had stood in her mind for strange 
 power and mystery. Even in her most rebel- 
 lious days before her sickness she had not 
 been willing to confront him. She had evaded 
 him, run away from him. Now she could not 
 run away. 
 
 "I have seen Jim since I was here last," 
 said he, "and " 
 
 "Father, I know what you're going to say 
 and a reconciliation is impossible. 
 
 1 1 You know that he has stopped drinking ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes, I heard so." 
 
 207 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "It is true. He looks fine, fine. Brov/n 
 and strong/' 
 
 "I didn't think he ever could do it," said 
 she, shaking her head. i ' He is fighting a bat- 
 tle he has lost so often." 
 
 ' ' There is none who could help him so much 
 in his struggle as you." 
 
 ' ' Oh, there, ' ' she answered quickly and bit- 
 terly, "I think you are mistaken. He has 
 paid very little attention to me or my wishes 
 for four or five years past." 
 
 "Then," said the priest," he has learned 
 his lesson, for now he depends on you more 
 than on any other person." 
 
 She did not answer, but closed her eyes and 
 clenched her fists as tightly as she could, sum- 
 moning her will to resist. But she realized 
 that her will, like her body, was not in health. 
 The sick bed is the priest's harvest time. 
 
 "My child," he said gently, "there is a 
 human soul struggling for its salvation. Will 
 you help or hinder it f " 
 
 "I do not think that is quite a fair way 
 to put it." 
 
 "Not fair? With all my soul I believe it 
 to be true. And, remember, in helping him 
 
 208 
 
The Priest 
 
 to his salvation you are bringing your own 
 nearer." 
 
 "But must we consider everything, every- 
 thing from the standpoint of salvation? Of 
 course, I want to go to Heaven when I die, 
 but I want to be as happy as I can here on 
 earth, too. And that's impossible if I live 
 with Jim." 
 
 "If you had a child," he asked patiently, 
 as if going clear back to the beginning again 
 with a pupil that could not learn easily, ' i and 
 he said to you, * Mother, I don't want to go 
 to school, for it makes me unhappy and I 
 want to be as happy as I can,' would you 
 let him have his way?" He paused, but she 
 did not answer, so he went on to make his 
 point clearer. "Of course you wouldn't if 
 you loved your child. You would make him 
 undergo discipline and accept instruction, if 
 you wanted him to be a fine, strong, brave 
 man. Our life on earth is but our school 
 days our preparation for the greater life to 
 oome. And we are not always allowed to 
 seek immediate happiness any more than lit- 
 tle children are." 
 
 She felt that she was being overcome in 
 argument by the priest, as everyone must be 
 
 209 
 
Rebellion 
 
 who accepts Ms fundamental premise, name- 
 ly, that he is more intimately acquainted with 
 the secrets of life and death than laymen are. 
 
 But far below the reach of argument and 
 theological dialectics, which are surface 
 things, from the deep springs of her life the 
 increasing warning flowed up to her con- 
 sciousness that it was the abomination of a 
 slave to embrace where she did not love. 
 
 "Father," she said, not trying to argue 
 any longer, but just to make him see, "Oh, 
 don't you understand? Man and wife are so 
 close together like that." She placed her 
 two palms together before her in the attitude 
 of prayer. 
 
 He raised his hand solemnly, to pronounce 
 that phrase which perhaps more than any 
 other has influenced human destinies, "And 
 they shall be two in one flesh." 
 
 "But to live so close with a man you don't 
 love or care for, oh, that is vile, utterly, ut- 
 terly vile. ' ' 
 
 He could not entirely sympathize with the 
 intensity of her point of view. If one 's earth- 
 ly love did not turn out as well as the dreams 
 of it, in that it merely resembled other phases 
 ^f mortal existence, to be submitted to. He 
 
 210 
 
The Priest 
 
 knew many married couples that fell out at 
 times, but if they tried to make the best of 
 things as they were, on the whole they got 
 along pretty well. He was inclined to depre- 
 cate the modern tendency to invest with too 
 much dignity the varying shades of erotic 
 emotion. It was one of the things which led 
 to divorce this beatification of earthly, flesh- 
 ly love. 
 
 Had not the highest and holiest lives been 
 led in the entire absence of it, by its ruth- 
 less extirpation? Not merely saints, martyrs 
 and great popes, but ordinary priests like 
 himself, ordinary nuns like the hospital sis- 
 ters, had yielded up that side of life freely 
 and been the better for it, more single-mind- 
 ed in the service of the Lord. 
 
 He did not believe that a woman who had 
 met with disappointment in this regard 
 should make of it such a monument of woe. 
 Let her contemplate her position with a little 
 more courage and resignation; let her not 
 exaggerate the importance of her own per- 
 sonal feelings ; let her yield up her pride and 
 stubbornness and essay to do her duty in 
 that relationship which she had chosen for 
 herself, with the sanction of the Church. 
 
 211 
 
Rebellion 
 
 Father Hervey had sat in a confessional 
 box for nearly fifty years. He knew a very 
 great deal about marriage from without. He 
 had seen its glories and its shames reflected 
 in the hearts of thousands. But he never felt 
 its meanings in his own heart, at first hand. 
 
 Perhaps if its priesthood were not celibate, 
 the Eoman Church would not so unyieldingly 
 insist upon the indis solubility of marriage. 
 But if its priesthood were not celibate, the 
 Eoman Church would almost surely lose 
 much of its grip upon the imagination. The 
 mind of the average laymen, Catholic or not, 
 cannot but be powerfully moved by the spec- 
 tacle of a body of educated men, leaders in 
 their communities, voluntarily renouncing the 
 most appealing of human relationships for 
 the sake of a supernatural ideal. 
 
 It is because the average man does not and 
 cannot live without women which causes him 
 to regard a priest with a species of awe. 
 Eeason as you will about it, justify the mar- 
 ried clergy with the words of St. Paul and 
 God's promptings within us, the fact remains 
 that the Eoman priest alone does what we 
 can't do, lives as we couldn't live; he alone 
 demonstrates that he is of somewhat different 
 
 212 
 
The Priest 
 
 clay; he alone mystifies us; and mystery is 
 the essence of sacerdotalism and authority. 
 
 " Georgia, " resumed Ffther Hervey, "if 
 all your pretty dreams have not come true, 
 remember they never do in this life. You 
 must learn to compromise. ' ' 
 
 "I will compromise, Father that I will do, 
 but I won't surrender utterly. " She drew 
 herself straighter up in bed, leaning forward 
 without the prop of the pillow. Her excite- 
 ment seemed to invigorate her. "There is 
 another man " 
 
 "Another man?" he asked sternly. 
 
 "Yes, but I will give him up. I love him, 
 but I will give him up. On the other side, I 
 will never take Jim back. That is my com- 
 promise." 
 
 "Is that not something like saying you 
 would not commit murder, but would compro- 
 mise on stealing?" 
 
 "Father, that is the best I can do." 
 
 "If he continued in his former evil ways," 
 and there was an unusual tone of pleading 
 rather than command in Father Hervey 's 
 voice, "I would not urge you to return to 
 him. It is recognized that there are cases 
 where living apart is advisable. But here is 
 
 213 
 
Rebellion 
 
 poor Jim, doing his best and needing every 
 helping hand, and you won't extend yours. It 
 is not fair, Georgia, and it is not kind to 
 him or to yourself. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I can 't go back to him, Father. It is im- 
 possible. I hate him when I think of it. I 
 can't live with him again. It is inconceiv- 
 able. It is a horror to imagine. ' ' She avert- 
 ed her head ^nd put her hands before her as 
 if pushing away the image of her husband. 
 
 "In the top drawer of the bureau, " she 
 said, "you will find some letters one for 
 every day I have been here. They are from 
 the other man. You may take them if you 
 wish and I will give you my promise to re- 
 n eive no more from him. ' ' 
 
 The priest felt as if he were touching un- 
 clean things when he took up Stevens' let- 
 ters. There were more than twenty 01 them, 
 and most of them were very thick. 
 
 "You have read them all?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Father Hervey wrapped and tied the let- 
 ters in a newspaper and rang for an attend- 
 ant. 
 
 "Kindly put this package in the furnace, " 
 
 214 
 
The Priest 
 
 he directed, "just as it is, without undo- 
 ing it." 
 
 "You have wandered far," he said quietly, 
 then took up his soft black hat and departed 
 without prayer or blessing. 
 
 She sank back among her pillows, exhaust- 
 ed from the conflict. She had won, she told 
 herself, she had won, but it was without joy. 
 
 She had definitely given up Mason, as she 
 knew she must from the beginning of her 
 sickness, from the day that she entered the 
 hospital. Perhaps that had been part of the 
 price of her getting well. 
 
 But she had also stuck to her purpose about 
 Jim. She had refused to violate her natural 
 feelings to the extent of entering into life's 
 deepest intimacies with the one person in all 
 the world whom she most disliked. She had 
 put her will against the priest, the holy man, 
 and she had not given in. She knew that 
 not many women could have done that so 
 openly and so successfully. 
 
 He had left her without prayer or bless- 
 ing. She was not at peace with the Church 
 which meant her eyes fell upon the sacred 
 picture on the wall opposite which meant 
 that she was not at peace with The Maa 
 
 215 
 
Rebellion 
 
 whose mournful sufferings and woe had been 
 for her. 
 
 Fear slowly came over her. 
 
 216 
 
XIX 
 
 SACEED HEAET 
 
 The picture which she saw on the wall 
 opposite, across the foot of the bed, was of 
 the Sacred Heart of Jesus. 
 
 It was the thing which she had seen often- 
 est and looked at longest since she had been 
 in the hospital. It hung directly before her 
 eyes as she lay in bed with her head on the 
 pillow. She saw it first on waking and last 
 before sleeping. Sometimes when she awoke 
 suddenly in the middle of the night she could 
 feel the picture still there, watching her in 
 the darkness with mournful eyes. 
 
 When first she looked at it she realized 
 how crude it was in execution. Its colors 
 were glaring. The Man wore a shining white 
 cloak which he drew back to show underneath 
 a blue garment. On this, placed apparently 
 
 217 
 
Rebellion 
 
 on the outside of it, was a Sacred Heart of 
 red, girt in thorns. Holy flames proceeded 
 from it, and there was a nimbus of encircling 
 light. 
 
 She saw that it would have been better if 
 the Sacred Heart had seemed to glow through 
 His garment, instead of being obviously 
 superposed upon it; that softer blue and 
 grayer white and less scarlet red would 
 have been truer tones for a religious picture. 
 She took not a little pride in her critical 
 perceptiveness. 
 
 But as she lay watching the picture day 
 after day, she appreciated the superficiality 
 of her first judgment of it. She had been 
 looking at colored inks and the marks made 
 by copper plates, not at a symbol of eternity. 
 
 Does one estimate a put-by baby's slipper, 
 or a lock of someone's hair, or a wedding 
 ring by its intrinsic worth? If the west side 
 print shop which made the picture before her 
 had failed, it could have done nothing else 
 with that subject to portray. All attempts 
 to represent Christ must fail. Rafael had 
 failed. Everyone would fail. 
 
 Even the Church had failed. There had 
 
 218 
 
Sacred Heart 
 
 been bad popes, had there not! But the 
 Church had tried to represent Him. The 
 Church had come nearer to doing so than any 
 other enginery or person. The saintliest per- 
 sons had belonged to her and died for her 
 and in her. 
 
 One Church, she knew, He had founded, 
 and left behind Him. One and but one. 
 * i Thou art Peter and on this rock I will build 
 my church. ' ' It was unequivocal. Christ did 
 not say " churches, " He said "church." 
 There was but one which He had built. 
 
 And she had defied it; she had hardened 
 her heart against it; she had sent away its 
 appointed minister in order to exalt herself. 
 
 Her eyes were drawn again to the Sacred 
 Heart, bound in the thorns which she and hers 
 had placed there. So it had been, so it would 
 be. Christ was crucified again each day, in 
 the hearts of the people whom He loved. Had 
 she not herself also given Him vinegar upon 
 a sponge? 
 
 She felt the tears trickling down her cheeks 
 as she thought of her own supreme selfish- 
 ness, and she looked through blurred eyes at 
 the representation of the most supremely un- 
 
 219 
 
Rebellion 
 
 selfish face that mankind has been able to 
 conceive. 
 
 Then suddenly divine forgiveness seemed 
 to descend upon her and level the bounds and 
 limits of her ego ; the barriers of her nature 
 gave way and she found herself at one with 
 all creation ; she, and humanity, and nature, 
 and God were together. Her soul seemed to 
 quicken itself within her and ineffable light 
 shone about her. 
 
 She fell on her knees at her bedside, her 
 adoring eyes upon the pictured countenance 
 of her Savior. Over and over again she re- 
 peated that wonderful word learned at the 
 convent, which expresses all prayer in itself. 
 i i Peccavi, ' ' she prayed, ' ' peccavi, peccavi. ' ' 
 
 It seemed to her at last, when she arose 
 from her knees that she had washed all her 
 sins away with the passion of her contrition ; 
 that she had been born again in the spirit 
 and become pure. In her ecstasy she thought 
 that the face of her dear Lord regarded her 
 now less mournfully, and that there was joy 
 in His smile where there had been only sor- 
 row. 
 
 She knew for the first time in her self- 
 
 220 
 
Sacred Heart 
 
 willed life the peace unspeakable of entire 
 self-surrender. Her tears continued, but they 
 were tears of joy, and she sobbed as some- 
 times prisoners sob when pardoned unex- 
 pectedly. The miracle of deliverance rolled 
 over her soul like a flood, washing away the 
 barriers of self-control. 
 
 During her weeks in the hospital she had 
 lived in an atmosphere of perfect faith, as 
 intense and vital, almost, as that of the mid- 
 dle ages. Those who had carried and com- 
 forted her through her sickness, nurses and 
 gentle nuns, could not doubt that Christ had 
 died to save them and to save her. 
 
 She was environed with Catholicism. 
 Sometimes she could see through her partly 
 opened door a black-coated priest passing in 
 the hall to shrive a dying sinner. The chimes 
 and chants from the chapel came faintly to 
 her ears with benediction. The picture of 
 the Sacred Heart hung before her eyes in un- 
 ceasing reminder of 'the whole marvelous 
 fabric of the Church. 
 
 Because of her lowered vitality and her 
 days of idleness in bed, her receptivity to ex- 
 terior impressions was greatly increased. 
 The steady stream of suggestions of her 
 
 221 
 
Rebellion 
 
 ancient religion which had flowed in upon 
 her welled higher and higher in her subcon- 
 sciousness until they crossed the line of con- 
 sciousness and took sudden and complete pos- 
 session of her mind. 
 
 222 
 
XX 
 
 SUEEENDEE 
 
 The next morning Georgia sent for Jim. 
 Before he came she wrote to Stevens : 
 
 Dear Mason / am going to take my hus- 
 band back. I have been here now for nearly 
 a month, and I have had plenty of time to 
 think things over, you may be sure. What I 
 am going to do is best for both of us for 
 all three of us. There is no doubt of that in 
 my mind. I know it. 
 
 Please don't answer or try to see me. That 
 would simply make things harder for us, but 
 not change my plans. 
 
 It is my religion that has done it, Mason. 
 Do you remember that I once told you, when 
 it came to the big things I didn't believe I 
 would dare disobey? I was right in this 
 respect that I can't bring myself to disobey, 
 but it is not so much from fear as I thought 
 it would be. It is a sense of "ought." That 
 is the only way I can put it. I have a feel- 
 
 223 
 
Rebellion 
 
 ing, tremendously strong, but hard to define 
 in words, that I ought not, that I must not 
 go on with what we planned. 
 
 This feeling is stronger than I am, Mason. 
 That is all I can say about it. 
 
 So good-bye. May God bless you and make 
 you prosperous and happy in this life and the 
 next one. This is my prayer, my dear. 
 
 Georgia. 
 
 The nurse took the letter to the mail box 
 in the office and when she returned, looked 
 at her patient curiously, saying, "Your hus- 
 band is waiting downstairs to see you." 
 
 "Do you mind asking him to come up, 
 nurse?" 
 
 Jim, who had now been in the city for a 
 month, had lost some of his open-air tan 
 and regained a portion of his 'banished 
 poundage, but still he looked far better than 
 Georgia had seen him for years. He made 
 a favorable impression upon her from the 
 instant he crossed the threshold. He was the 
 Jim of the earlier rather than of the later 
 years of their married life. His aspect 
 seemed to confirm the truth of the revelation 
 which she had received concerning him. 
 
 224 
 
Surrender 
 
 "How do you do," she asked formally. 
 
 * * Very well, thank you, ' ' he replied. ' ' How 
 do you do ? ' ' 
 
 "Much better won't you be seated?" 
 
 Jim, first carefully placing his brown derby 
 hat under the chair, sat where the priest had 
 been the day before. 
 
 She felt a certain numbness of emotion as 
 she looked at him, but none of that loathing 
 and disgust without which, as she had come 
 to believe, he could not be in her presence. 
 Doubtless, she reflected, she had exaggerated 
 her dislike for Jim, to justify herself for 
 Stevens. 
 
 "Georgia," said Jim slowly, "I didn't act 
 right before. I know it and I'm sorry and 
 ashamed. It was drink that put the devil 
 in me, same as it will for any man that goes 
 
 against it hard enough Some people 
 
 can drink in moderation it doesn't seem to 
 hurt them. But I can't. When I got started 
 I tried to drink up all the whiskey in North 
 Clark Street. Well, it can't be done. I'm 
 onto that now. No more moderate drinking 
 for me. From now on I'm going to chop it 
 out altogether." 
 
 He paused for a word of encouragement, 
 
 225 
 
Rebellion 
 
 but she remained silent. A little nodule of 
 memory, which had been lying dormant in 
 her brain, awoke at his words, "from now 
 on I'm going to chop it out altogether." How 
 many times she had heard him say that be- 
 fore and every time he had thumped his 
 right fist into his left palm, just as he was 
 doing now. 
 
 "All I ask from you is another chance/' 
 he continued. "You know about the prodigal 
 son. That's me. I've come back repentant. 
 I know I've brought you misery in my time 
 and plenty of it. So if you stick on your 
 rights and never forgive me, you don't have 
 to. What do you say, Georgia 1 ' ' 
 
 Again he paused, but she did not speak, 
 sitting with her head bent, picking with her 
 fingers at the coverlet. 
 
 "It wasn't me that did you the harm," 
 he pleaded, "it was the whiskey in me, and 
 if I keep away from that why the rest of me 
 isn't so bad. You used to think that yourself 
 once, Georgia." 
 
 She waited for him to continue, fearing 
 what he would say next, and he said it. "But 
 if you're through with me, I guess the only 
 friend I've got left after all is whiskey. He 
 
 226 
 
Surrender 
 
 put me to the bad all right, but he won't go 
 back on me now I'm there. Whatever else 
 you can say about him, he's faithful. He's 
 always got a smile for you when you're blue, 
 and he'll stick to you clear through to the 
 finish." 
 
 Yes, that was Jim of old, word for word 
 and motive for motive, who thought the 
 proper remedy for disappointment was 
 drunkenness. 
 
 "Oh, Jim," she cried, "why did you say 
 that?" 
 
 He misunderstood her completely. He felt 
 that he was making a most effective threat. 
 "I said it because it's true," he answered 
 roughly, "that's why. You've showed me 
 where I stand you've given me my answer 
 just as loud as if you'd been shouting it. 
 Good-bye. Likely I'll be laying up in a barrel 
 house on the river front pretty soon, and 
 pretty soon after that they'll be taking me 
 out to Dunning and planting me in the ground 
 with just a little stick and a number on it, 
 or else " a catch came into his voice as 
 the pathetic picture swam vividly before his 
 eyes, for like most drunkards he possessed 
 something of the artistic temperament, "or 
 
 227 
 
Rebellion 
 
 else maybe they'll cut me up to show the 
 young internes and the trained nurses which 
 side the heart's on." 
 
 Yes, he was doing the baby act again, mak- 
 ing excuses and threatening suicide. He 
 might have deceived Al and Father Hervey 
 for a month or more with his ' ' reform, ' ' but 
 he couldn't deceive her for ten consecutive 
 minutes. She had seen into the core of his 
 nature, that it was weak and unstable as 
 ever. Sooner or later he would relapse. 
 What had been would be again. 
 
 He arose as if to leave, then hesitated to 
 give her one last chance to relent. 
 
 ' ' S 'long, ' ' he said, slowly opening the door. 
 
 "You can come home, Jim if you want." 
 
 "If I want!" He went to her quickly and 
 took her in his arms and pressed his lips to 
 her cold ones until she shuddered in his em- 
 brace. 
 
 When at last he left her she looked to the 
 picture of the Sacred Heart as if for ap- 
 proval, and whispered, "Not my will, but 
 Thine, be done." 
 
 228 
 
XXI 
 
 WORSHIP 
 
 A few days later Georgia was discharged 
 from the hospital with the warning that she 
 was convalescent, but not cured. She might 
 by indiscretion in the ensuing weeks make 
 herself a semi-invalid for the rest of her life ; 
 she might even bring about an acute relapse, 
 in which case she would be likely to die. 
 
 She telephoned the old man that she was 
 ready to report the following Monday, but 
 he ordered her to stay away for at least an- 
 other week, saying that her place was abso- 
 lutely safe and her salary running on. She 
 thanked him so earnestly for his kindness 
 that he was minded to break into her secret, 
 congratulate her on her engagement, tell her 
 it was Stevens who had been kind and gen- 
 erous, but according to his promise he re- 
 frained. He supposed she would quickly dis- 
 cover the facts after their marriage anyway. 
 
 Jim was rodman with the surveying de- 
 
 229 
 
Rebellion 
 
 partment of an important landscape garden- 
 ing firm. Sometimes his employment kept 
 him out in the country for two or three days 
 at a time, but he turned in ten or twelve dol- 
 lars every Saturday night and the family 
 was more comfortable than it had ever been. 
 
 Georgia had in fairness to acknowledge 
 that Jim had shown unexpectedly decent 
 feeling. During her fortnight of convales- 
 cence he had assumed no right of proprietor- 
 ship, made no demands. He slept on a 
 lounge in the front room and never went to 
 her room without first knocking. She wished 
 that things might go on so indefinitely, but 
 she knew that it was now a question of days, 
 perhaps of hours, before she must reassume 
 all the obligations of wifehood. She was get- 
 ting well so rapidly and so evidently that 
 soon she would have no excuse for not meet- 
 ing them. 
 
 She was grateful to Jim for his courtesy; 
 and they spoke to each other more kindly 
 than ever before. They had ceased to act 
 upon the theory that it did not much matter 
 what one said to the other since the other 
 had to stand it anyway. She had already 
 
 230 
 
Worship 
 
 taken over a, year out of their lives together 
 to show that she did not have to stand it. 
 
 Their example was not without its in- 
 fluence upon the other members of the fam- 
 ily, Al and Mrs. Talbot, and there was far 
 less wrangling and friction in the household. 
 
 Not without hesitating dread Georgia 
 brought herself to the grilled shutter of 
 Father Hervey's Gothic confessional box. 
 She had been derelict in this as in other obli- 
 gations; except for her brief and half de- 
 lirious words of general contrition in the hos- 
 pital, it was her first confession for three 
 years. 
 
 Sinking to her knees she whispered, " Bless 
 me, Father, for I have sinned. ' ' 
 
 She began the prayer of the penitent. "I 
 confess to Almighty God, to blessed Mary, 
 ever Virgin, to blessed Michael, the archan- 
 gel, to blessed John the Baptist, to the holy 
 apostles Peter and Paul, and to all the saints, 
 that I have sinned exceedingly in thought, 
 word and deed, through my fault, through my 
 fault, through my most grievous fault. " 
 
 As she told her secret sins and pettiness 
 to the priest, it seemed that the poison of 
 them was being drained from her memory 
 
 231 
 
Rebellion 
 
 where they had become encysted. Her heart 
 was cleaned and purified and lightened by the 
 process of the confessional. 
 
 It is indeed doubtful whether any other 
 ecclesiastical instrument since the world be- 
 gan has lifted so much sorrow from mankind. 
 
 Georgia's conspicuous and mortal sins 
 were two Doubt and her continued enter- 
 tainment of that feeling for Mason Stevens 
 which, since it was unlawful, the Church de- 
 nominated Lust. 
 
 Doubt had followed naturally on absorption 
 in worldly affairs, dangerous associations and 
 reading, and neglect of her obligations to the 
 Church. Especially reprehensible had been 
 her frequent attendance at the Sunday Eve- 
 ning Ethical Club, where the very air was 
 impregnated with dilute agnosticism. 
 
 In future she must be more careful in her 
 choice of reading. Materialism and atheism 
 were skillfully concealed in many a so-called 
 sociological treatise. Not that sociology lacked 
 certain elements of truth, but the danger for 
 untrained minds lay in exaggerating their 
 importance until they overshadowed greater 
 truths. She would do well hereafter to leave 
 sociology to sociologists. 
 
 232 
 
Worship 
 
 The Sunday Evening Ethical Club was 
 anathema. She must not go there again nor 
 to any similar place where veiled socialism 
 and anarchy were preached. 
 
 The confessor was rejoiced that her duty 
 toward her husband and toward herself, for 
 the two duties were one, had been so unmis- 
 takably revealed to her. Did the image of the 
 other man ever trouble her mind ? 
 
 Yes, Georgia acknowledged it did. 
 
 That was to be expected, in the beginning. 
 But it would cease to trouble her before long. 
 Did this image occur to her often? 
 
 Yes, she said, it did very often, almost 
 continually. It was not always actively be- 
 fore her, she explained, but it seemed never 
 far away, as if it were just beneath the sur- 
 face of her ordinary thoughts. 
 
 In that case it would be impossible to ab- 
 solve her and she would remain in a state of 
 mortal sin unless she would promise solemnly 
 to refrain from all further thoughts of that 
 man, and if ever they arose unbidden to 
 banish them immediately, as an evil spirit is 
 cast out from one possessed. 
 
 The priest waited, but the woman remained 
 silent. 
 
 233 
 
Rebellion 
 
 Did she remember, lie asked severely, the 
 words of our Savior, that "he who looketh in 
 lust, committeth adultery. " If she kept this 
 idol in her heart, no priest had power to for- 
 give her sins in His name. Her choice was 
 before her, her Lord or her flesh. 
 
 Her head was bowed, her hands clasped 
 before her, and she felt tears trickle slowly 
 upon her knuckles. 
 
 "Oh, I promise, Father, " she whispered, 
 "to try never to think of him any more, 
 and to put him out of my mind when the 
 thought comes unbidden. ' ' 
 
 The sincerity of her intention was evident 
 in the tones of her voice and she was offered 
 her penance; to be hereafter scrupulous in 
 her religious observances; to hear one mass 
 a week besides the Sunday mass for two 
 months ; to say her prayers night and morn- 
 ing always reverently on her knees, not stand- 
 ing or in bed; with the addition of five Our 
 Fathers and Hail Marys night and morning 
 until her penance was completed ; to endeavor 
 to influence her family to go with her to Sun- 
 day mass each week ; and to examine her con- 
 science daily. 
 
 The wise and gentle old priest had not been 
 
 234 
 
Worship 
 
 harsh with her, and she accepted humbly and 
 gratefully the penance he imposed. 
 
 He prayed to God to regard her mercifully 
 and to lead her to eternal life, then raising 
 his right hand he recited over her the conse- 
 crated syllables of the sacrament, ending with 
 the solemn words of peace, Ego te absolvo a 
 peccatis in nomine Patris, here he made the 
 sign of the cross, et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. 
 Amen. (I absolve thee from thy sins in the 
 name of the Father and of the Son and of the 
 Holy Ghost. Amen.) 
 
 Georgia left the confessional and went to 
 the other part of the church to pray for a 
 clean and strengthened spirit. 
 
 The Sunday following she went with Jim, 
 Al and Mrs. Talbot to the cathedral where 
 pontifical mass was celebrated. Encrusted 
 with the accumulated observances of cen- 
 turies of faith, it is, perhaps, the most intri- 
 cate, aesthetic and impressive religious rite 
 ever practiced by mankind. 
 
 Prom the archbishop seated on his throne, 
 wearing his two-horned mitre in sign of the 
 two testaments, his emerald ring as spouse of 
 the Church, his silken tunic and dalmatic, his 
 gloves of purity; with his shepherd 's crosier 
 
 235 
 
Rebellion 
 
 in bis hand, his woolen pallium over his shoul- 
 ders, bound with three golden pins in memory 
 of the three nails which fastened Him ; from 
 the archbishop crowned with gold to the least 
 acolyte in surplice of white to recall His life, 
 and cassock of black to recall His sorrow, the 
 hierarchical symbolism is complex, mysteri- 
 ous, complete, beautiful. 
 
 When Georgia, genuflecting and signing 
 herself with holy water, passed through the 
 cathedral's double doors which prefigure the 
 two sides of His being, she felt as if she were 
 coming home again after a long, unhappy 
 journey. The clustered shafts of the columns 
 carried her eyes up to the high, darkened 
 groins of the roof. The south sun streamed 
 in colors through the saints of the windows. 
 In the east, on the altar, the tall slender 
 candles burned purely. 
 
 The incense puffed from the swinging cen- 
 ser, like smoke, familiar and pleasing to her. 
 When the priest nine times uttered Kyrie 
 eleison, the prayer of fallen humanity, she 
 felt as if a friend were interceding for her 
 before a great judge. 
 
 It made her proud to see the slow evolu- 
 tions of the choir, regular and disciplined, to 
 
 236 
 
Worship 
 
 hear as if far away their solemn chants in 
 stately Latin, to feel that she belonged to 
 the same fabric of which they were a part. 
 
 As the service proceeded, the priests pass- 
 ing back and forth before the altar making 
 obeisance and kissing its holy stone in ancient 
 and regular form, the world outside receded 
 continuously further from the people in the 
 church, and they became increasingly merged 
 into one single, splendid act of worship. 
 
 Holding the jewelled paten with its bread, 
 above the jewelled chalice with its wine, the 
 archbishop made three signs of the cross to 
 commemorate the living hours of the cruci- 
 fixion; then moving the paten he made two 
 signs to signify the separation of His soul 
 and body. The altar bell tinkled, a symbol 
 of the convulsion of nature in that supreme 
 hour. A great sigh went through the Church. 
 
 Upon the altar before them was Christ 
 Himself. What had been bread was now be- 
 come His real body ; what had been wine was 
 now become His actual blood. .< > It is 
 the great miracle of Christian practice. 
 Whether it actually takes place, whether it 
 is a true miracle or a false one, is a question 
 which with its implications has slain, im- 
 
 237 
 
Rebellion 
 
 poverished and dishonored many millions of 
 human beings, half of whom perhaps believed 
 that the miracle happened and half of whom 
 believed that it did not. 
 
 Georgia and Jim, having fasted from the 
 night before, received communion. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot from her pew in the middle of 
 the church, as she watched them kneeling to- 
 gether at the altar rail, was happier than she 
 had been for many years. 
 
 23S 
 
XXII 
 
 KANSAS CITY 
 
 Kansas City is growing vain and beautiful. 
 She has, within recent years, spent ten mil- 
 lion dollars on her looks not to increase her 
 terminal facilities or make her transit rapider 
 but simply and solely on her looks, to clear 
 up her complexion and improve her figure. 
 
 Beauty pays dividends to towns, as to 
 women and gardeners. Since Kansas City 
 put in its park and boulevard system for ten 
 million, adjoining real estate has advanced 
 twelve, or according to the inhabitants, fif- 
 teen million. 
 
 Mason Stevens decided he would like to get 
 transferred to Kansas City, with a raise of 
 salary. Then he could pick out a small house 
 in the trees at the end of one of the new 
 macadam roads, and eventually go back and 
 forth in a Panno Six just as he had planned. 
 He put in a good many odd hours with the 
 maps and prospectuses of proposed, sug- 
 gested or hoped for subdivisions. 
 
 239 
 
Rebellion 
 
 If he could arrange with Mr. Silverman to 
 shift him, he would send for Georgia and 
 they would scout for a lot near a boulevard 
 end. The land out there was bound to appre- 
 ciate in value as the town built up and the 
 parkways were still further extended. He 
 would like to buy one lot for himself and an- 
 other for investment. He would have to buy 
 on time, but that's an incentive to a young 
 business man. 
 
 He felt confident of Georgia's enchantment 
 with the project. The view from the bluffs 
 was finer than anything one could get in Chi- 
 cago for the same money. Besides the proc- 
 ess of social stratification was not so far 
 along. Kansas City was to Chicago as Chi- 
 cago to New York, and New York to Lon- 
 don. Comers-up, like himself and Georgia, 
 would be more important more quickly in the 
 smaller city. 
 
 Mason soon found out that there was not 
 much to be said against Mr. Plaisted, the lo- 
 cal agent in chief, except that he was getting 
 old. In routine matters and methods he was 
 excellent, but had ceased to be creative. In 
 the terminology of a great art, he had lost 
 his wallop. 
 
 240 
 
Kansas City 
 
 It was the time when the big life companies 
 were beginning their drive to get business in 
 block; to insure for one large premium paid 
 in a lump sum, the entire working force of a 
 bank or business house. When the employe 
 was honorably retired, say at sixty or sixty- 
 five, after a stipulated number of years of 
 steady work, he would be pensioned until he 
 died, which pension might in whole or in part 
 be continued to his wife if she survived him. 
 Or he might receive, upon superannuation, an 
 endowment equaling three years' salary. If 
 he died before retirement his relict might be- 
 come the beneficiary of an ordinary life 
 policy. There were still other plans and com- 
 binations and permutations thereof, whose 
 details were more or less veiled in a haze of 
 actuarial figures, but whose broad effects 
 were alike calculated to incite fidelity in the 
 employe by holding out to him the prospect 
 of a comfortable decline if he stuck to his em- 
 ployer through youth and middle age. 
 
 Mason quickly reported to Mr. Silverman 
 that within six months the New England Life 
 had written two such block policies for cor- 
 porations and that three other rival com- 
 
 241 
 
Rebellion 
 
 panies had secured one each, while the East- 
 ern had obtained none. 
 
 Silverman telegraphed sharply to Plaisted, 
 "Why don't you get any corporation busi- 
 ness in bulk? Our competitors do." 
 
 Mr. Plaisted responded with a laborious 
 letter of explanation. 
 
 Then it developed that the New England 
 Life had things already in shape for a third 
 big deal the Phosphate National Bank. 
 Mason got the first wind of it, not in Kansas 
 City, but by a direct tip from Mr. Silverrnan 
 in New York, with instructions to investigate 
 promptly. Within six hours he was able to 
 report back that the proposed premium would 
 exceed five thousand dollars a year, and fur- 
 thermore that the Phosphate Trust & Sav- 
 ings, being controlled by the same parties as 
 the Phosphate National, was preparing to fol- 
 low its lead. That would make four banks 
 for the New England in half a year and 
 greatly increase its already disturbing 
 prestige. 
 
 Silverman answered, i i Immediately use all 
 proper methods secure Phosphate business 
 for us. We must maintain prestige. Au- 
 
 242 
 
Kansas City 
 
 thorize you act independently Plaisted your 
 discretion. Draw on me in reason. " 
 
 Mason drew on him for one thousand dol- 
 lars, and obtained two five hundred dollar 
 bills, one of which, after duly cautious pre- 
 liminaries, he handed to the cashier, the other 
 to the auditor of the Phosphate National. 
 Again, after duly cautious preliminaries, they 
 accepted. These two gentlemen had been de- 
 tailed a committee to draw up for the con- 
 venience of the bank's Board of Directors an 
 analytical syllabus of the differing proposi- 
 tions offered by the competing insurance com- 
 panies. The Eastern Life got the Phosphate 
 National's business, followed by that of its 
 subsidiary, the Trust & Savings Bank, and 
 Mason got Mr. Silverman 's congratulations. 
 
 Two days later Silverman walked unex- 
 pectedly into Plaisted 's office. Plaisted, who 
 had just that instant signed his name to a let- 
 ter addressed to his visitor in New York, was 
 rattled. 
 
 "Mr. Plaisted, " said Mr. Silverman, biting 
 off the end of a three-for-a-dollar, "I have 
 found out what is the trouble, that is, the 
 main trouble with your agency here." 
 
 Plaisted winced. He hadn't realized that 
 
 243 
 
Rebellion 
 
 there was any trouble, and certainly not any 
 main trouble with his agency. ' l Yes, Mr. Sil - 
 verman." 
 
 1 ' You 're undermanned. ' ' 
 
 "Why, yes perhaps. IVe thought of 
 breaking in a few new agents this winter. ' ' 
 
 "No," said Silverman, "I mean you're un- 
 dermanned at the top. Weak on the executive 
 side." 
 
 "Oh," said Plaisted. 
 
 "You need new blood, new ideas, new life, 
 hustle," he snapped his fingers with each 
 successive word i t speed force energy 
 vigor enterprise vitality dynamics 
 do you get me?" 
 
 "I yes I'm sure I do," answered 
 Plaisted, in considerable apprehension. 
 
 "I suggest therefore that you appoint 
 young Stevens you have met him ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes," answered Plaisted, who detested 
 the ground Mason walked on, "I have met 
 him." 
 
 "I suggest you appoint him as your first 
 assistant," remarked Mr. Silverman, calmly 
 eyeing Plaisted. "He will take the burden of 
 details off your shoulders." 
 
 "I ah don't know, Mr. Silverman, if 
 
 244 
 
Kansas City 
 
 that would be entirely wise. You see our 
 methods his and mine " 
 
 "I have made my suggestion, Mr. 
 Plaisted," answered Silverman slowly. "In 
 my judgment that would be the best thing 
 to do." 
 
 The two men looked at each other until at 
 last Plaisted dropped his eyes murmuring, 
 " I will think it over." 
 
 "I leave at two. I should like to know 
 your decision before then. ' ' 
 
 Plaisted yielded by telephone within halt* 
 an hour. 
 
 He wasn't deprived of the corner room; he 
 would continue to sign General Agent after 
 his name. But he realized bitterly that he 
 had left to him only the shadow of his long 
 authority. The substance had passed to the 
 young stranger. 
 
 At the beginning of the following year 
 Plaisted was granted a six months' leave of 
 absence with pay, and soon after his return 
 resigned. He now travels peevishly from 
 Palm Beach to Paris and back again in com- 
 pany with a valet-nurse. 
 
 Georgia's letter of farewell came in the 
 afternoon mail, just after Mr. Silverman 's 
 
 245 
 
Rebellion 
 
 departure. Mason read it over every night 
 for a month and found it bad medicine for 
 sleep. The lines in his shrewd face deepened 
 perceptibly. Finally he locked the letter up 
 in his safe deposit vault, and seemed to rest 
 better afterwards. 
 
 He dickered with the hotel for room and 
 bath by the year and got thirty-three per cent 
 off. He was known by his office force as a 
 hard man to please. 
 
 246 
 
YTTTT 
 
 THE LAST OF THE OLD MAN 
 
 Georgia pressed the knob of the time clock 
 at fifteen minutes to nine the next morning. 
 When she opened her locker to hang up her 
 hat and jacket she discovered a novel which 
 she had drawn from a circulating library six 
 weeks before and which had been costing her 
 two cents a day ever since, a box of linen col- 
 lars, an umbrella she thought she had lost, 
 and a shirt waist done up in paper. 
 
 She went from the locker hall into the room 
 of the office, half expecting to find it changed 
 in some way, but everything was the same. 
 The same clerks were stoop-shouldered over 
 the same desks, the same young auditor was 
 lolling back in his swivel chair, pulling his 
 stubby mustache, his elbow on the low ma- 
 hogany railing that marked him off from his 
 assistants. That was how he always began 
 the day. At nine precisely he would ring for 
 a stenographer and dictate from notes. He 
 
 247 
 
Rebellion 
 
 never dictated straight from his head, prob- 
 ably because his work was so full of figures. 
 
 Georgia was taken back by the casual way 
 in which she was greeted. Several arose and 
 shook hands and were briefly glad to see her 
 again ; others simply nodded a good morning. 
 An oldish bookkeeper asked, "Been away, 
 haven't you? " 
 
 The girls of the lunch club, however, wel- 
 comed her warmly as they came in one after 
 the other and found her seated at her old 
 desk, just outside the old man's door. But 
 even they, she felt with a twinge of bitter- 
 ness, failed to grasp the stupendousness of 
 her experience. 
 
 Since last she had been in the office she 
 had knocked at the gate of death and lost her 
 lover and found her faith, yet the people of 
 the office seemingly perceived no change in 
 her except that she was pale. 
 
 All that they knew of her was the surface 
 and that, she reflected, was all she knew of 
 them. Perhaps during her absence the oldest 
 bookkeeper had received notice to quit at the 
 end of the year and dreaded to tell his invalid 
 wife ; perhaps he had had a daughter die, not 
 recover, from typhoid ; or his son had gone to 
 
 248 
 
The Last of the Old Man 
 
 prison or received a hero medal or become a 
 licensed aviator. 
 
 The young auditor might be frowning and 
 pulling his mustache because he had recently 
 acquired a chorus lady for a stepmother. 
 The tall, red-puffed girl with the open-work 
 waist and abrupt curves might, as had been 
 suspected, be no better than she should be. 
 It wouldn't surprise Georgia greatly if that 
 was so. 
 
 But, she reflected, what of it! None of 
 them mattered to her, just as she mattered to 
 none of them. 
 
 For everyone she supposed it was much the 
 same; four or five people one knew and the 
 rest strangers. 
 
 She slipped some paper into the machine 
 to try her fingers. She wrote hadn't, 
 "hand't" and stenographer, "stoneg- 
 rapher." She was not pleased to find who- 
 ever had been subbing for her had put ^ black 
 ribbon on her machine. She liked purple 
 better. 
 
 Mechanically she pulled at the upper left- 
 hand drawer where she had kept her note 
 books and pencils, but it was locked. And she 
 
 249 
 
Rebellion 
 
 didn't have the key. She had sent it by 
 Al from the hospital. 
 
 Miss Gerson walked briskly to the desk. 
 "Oh," she said, "Miss Connor, you're back." 
 
 "Yes. How do you dof" They shook 
 hands. 
 
 "That's fine you do look a little pale we 
 were all so sorry to hear of your illness. I Ve 
 been your understudy," she gave a little 
 sigh, "using your desk. I'm afraid its clut- 
 tered up with my things. If I'd only known 
 you were returning to-day I'd have left it 
 spick and span for you." She took out the 
 key and unlocked the master drawer, which 
 released the others, and removed her note- 
 book, pencils, erasers, some picture postal 
 cards, a broken-crystalled lady's watch, an 
 apple and a book on etiquette. 
 
 "I think the old man's just fine to work for, 
 don't you!" she asked as she collected her 
 belongings. 
 
 "Indeed I do," said Georgia jealously. 
 "Will you be at the club for lunch to-day?" 
 
 "Indeed I will," responded Miss Gerson, 
 departing. 
 
 The telephone tinkled on Georgia's desk. 
 
 250 ' 
 
The Last of the Old Man 
 
 "Hello," came the voice, "is this Miss Ger- 
 son?" 
 
 "Did you wish to speak to her person- 
 ally?" 
 
 "I wish to speak with Miss Gerson, Mr. 
 Tatton's secretary." 
 
 "This is his secretary," said Georgia. 
 
 "This is St. Luke's hospital," said the 
 voice. ' ' Mr. Tatton wants you to take a cab 
 and come right down here to see him, and 
 say hello I'm not through bring your 
 typewriter. Eight away." 
 
 The old man was propped up in a chair, 
 fully dressed, when Georgia arrived. "Oh, 
 Miss Connor," he said when he saw her, "I 
 wasn't expecting you. All the better, though. 
 Glad you're well again. I'm not." He held 
 his hand to his side and seemed to have dif- 
 ficulty with his breathing. 
 
 ' ' Take this, ' ' he said. < ' Date it and write : 
 Codicil. And I hereby declare and publish, 
 being of sound mind and body, and in the 
 presence of witnesses, that I do now revoke 
 and cancel and make of no effect and void, in 
 whole and in part, the clause numbered 
 seven then put also figure seven in paren- 
 thesis in the foregoing instrument, will and 
 
 251 
 
Rebellion 
 
 testament of date July second, nineteen hun- 
 dred and five. I expressly withdraw and 
 withhold all the bequests therein made, 
 named and stipulated.'' 
 
 Georgia took his words directly on the 
 machine. A nurse and an interne witnessed 
 his signature. 
 
 "Now," said the old man, "take this in 
 shorthand, to my wife, care Platz & Com- 
 pany, Bankers, 18 Eue Scribe, Paris, France. 
 
 "Dear Marion: Except for those three 
 pleasant days last summer we haven't seen 
 each other for six years, and as you will 
 know long before you read this, we shan't 
 see each other alive again. 
 
 "I deeply regret that, especially of later 
 years, our marriage has been so unsuccess- 
 ful. I apprehend clearly that the fault lay 
 with me insofar as I quote had grown so 
 very prosy end quote as you remarked 
 last summer. 
 
 "My last wish is that you will bring Elsie 
 home and keep her here until she marries 
 some decent American with an occupation. 
 Underline those last three words, Miss Con- 
 nor. She is now a young woman of seven- 
 teen, and it was evident to me last summer 
 
 252 
 
The Last of the Old Man 
 
 that her head is fast becoming stuffed with 
 nonsense. She is learning to look down on 
 her country and her countrymen and mark 
 my words underline mark my words, Miss 
 Connor if you encourage her to marry 
 some foreign scamp she will be very un- 
 happy. I know you don't agree with these 
 views, but I know they are sound, and if you 
 keep Elsie over there you will live to see 
 that proved; although I hope not. 
 
 "Give my love to Elsie and remind her of 
 her old dad now and then. 
 
 "Good-bye, Marion. You and Elsie are 
 the only women I ever loved. 
 
 "That's all, Miss Connor. Now what I 
 want you to do is this: If I don't come out 
 of this operation appendicitis please write 
 that up and mail it. Just sign it Fred. If 
 I do get well, destroy your notes and don't 
 send the letter. 
 
 "Oh, you better add a postscript P. S. 
 I am dictating this because I have neither 
 the time nor the strength to write myself. I 
 was attacked suddenly." 
 
 Two nurses and a doctor who had been 
 waiting now gathered about the old man, 
 lifted him gently to the bed and began to 
 
 253 
 
Rebellion 
 
 undress him. He held out his hand. * ' Good- 
 bye, Miss Connor," he said. 
 
 He died, and Georgia sent the letter to his 
 wife. 
 
 254 
 
XXIV 
 
 THE NEW KING 
 
 Samuel Cleever, a tall, thin dyspeptic with 
 a pince-nez and English intonation, was 
 moved from Newark, N. J., to succeed the 
 old man. 
 
 His first conference with Georgia was brief. 
 "Good morning, Miss Ah-ah-" 
 
 "Connor." 
 
 "Quite so. Do you understand the Singer 
 cross-filing reference system?" 
 
 "I understand cross-indexing and card- 
 catalogues." 
 
 "The Singer system specifically, do you 
 know that?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "So I feared." 
 
 "But I could learn quickly." 
 
 "Quite so. But to be frank," said Mr. 
 Cleever, "I have brought my private secre- 
 tary with me from Newark." New kings 
 make new courts. 
 
 255 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Georgia in a low voice. 
 
 "I will assign you to the auditing depart- 
 ment for the present." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 She felt many eyes upon her and her cheeks 
 were burning as she walked down the long 
 room carrying her business belongings to a 
 narrow flat-top which the young auditor 
 pointed out to her. It was next the inside 
 wall. 
 
 The color came to her face in waves as 
 she passed Miss Gerson's desk and she had a 
 furious sensation that her habit of blushing 
 was damnable. Why, she asked herself an- 
 grily, couldn't she at least appear calm in 
 unpleasant situations! 
 
 Her new work was less interesting, more 
 mechanical. There were rows on rows of 
 figures in it, and much technical accounting 
 jargon. She ceased to throw in overtime to 
 the company, quitting sharply each night on 
 the dot of five thirty. On pay night she 
 found, as she had feared, that her salary had 
 been standardized. She received the regular 
 class A stenographer's $15 instead of the 
 private secretary's $20. 
 
 On Tuesday of her second week in the au- 
 
 256 
 
The New King 
 
 diting department, Mr. Cleever sent for her. 
 Hoping devoutly that the new secretary had 
 sprained his wrist (Mr. Cleever 's secretary 
 was a young man, Mrs. Cleever having been 
 a stenographer herself), Georgia took her 
 notebook. 
 
 But Mr. Cleever wanted instead to inform 
 her that the system of bookkeeping whereof 
 she was the apparent beneficiary disaccorded 
 with his notions of system. 
 
 Since that remark seemed to leave her in 
 the dark, he tossed across his table to her a 
 report from the auditor's department which 
 showed that in the past seven weeks she had 
 been credited with $140 which had been 
 debited to Mason Stevens, also that Colum- 
 bus Hospital bills for $129.60 (including ex- 
 tras) had been paid by the company and 
 charged to Stevens, and that a doctor 's state- 
 ment for $300 had been settled by the com- 
 pany and charged to Mr. Silverman 's private 
 fund. As to the last item, Mr. Cleever ex- 
 plained he, of course, had nothing to say, but 
 as to the other two, although he had neither 
 the desire nor the right to inquire into her 
 personal affairs or her conduct out of the 
 office, he must henceforth make it an un- 
 
 257 
 
Rebellion 
 
 deviating rule not to permit the use of the 
 company's books to facilitate private finan- 
 cial transactions between employes. 
 
 As Mr, Cleever's precise syllables clicked 
 on, she looked from him to the two page re- 
 port in her hand, and back again to him. Her 
 lips were partly open and she breathed 
 through them. 
 
 When he spoke of his desire not to inquire 
 into her conduct out of the office, she thought 
 she distinguished a discreet sneer in his 
 modulated voice. 
 
 She knew instantly that it was out of the 
 question for her to remain in the place. The 
 report she held had been typewritten by a 
 woman in her own department. It would 
 spread from her to the other women and then 
 to the men. Her engagement to marry Stev- 
 ens could never now be announced in explana- 
 tion. She would be construed as she herself 
 had construed the tall, red-headed girl with 
 the abundant figure. 
 
 She felt a flood rush over her face, suf- 
 fusing it to the roots of her hair. She saw 
 that Cleever saw it, and that he took it for 
 confirmation of his suspicions. 
 
 258 
 
The New King 
 
 "Mr. Cleever, I assure you I never knew 
 anything of this until this moment." 
 
 "Of course, Miss Connor, " he responded 
 drily. " Please understand I make no criti- 
 cism of the method of my predecessor. But 
 in future " 
 
 "It will stop, Mr. Cleever. I wish to hand 
 in my resignation." 
 
 "We are sorry to lose you, Miss Connor, 
 but of course if that is your decision " 
 
 "Yes, sir, it is." 
 
 He bowed slightly. "Then at the end of 
 the week, Saturday?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, Saturday night." 
 
 He again bowed slightly to signify that it 
 was understood and that their talk was 
 ended. 
 
 She took her lunch hour to write to Mason. 
 She put many sheets in the machine and 
 crumpled them into the waste basket in ac- 
 complishing this : 
 
 Dear Mason: I have just learned of your 
 kindness to me at the hospital. Thank you 
 for the thought. 
 
 I find that I owe you $269.60, which I will 
 repay in installments. I enclose $12 for first 
 
 259 
 
Rebellion 
 
 installment. I regret that I am unable to 
 pay it all at once. I am leaving the office. 
 Please don't write. 
 
 Congratulations on your success. 
 
 Sincerely, 
 
 Georgia Connor. 
 
 She felt as she dropped the note in the 
 mail chute that Mason was a man to love. 
 Imagine Jim doing her a great service and 
 keeping it quiet. Jim took his affections out 
 in words and physical embrace. Jim she 
 caught herself up suddenly. This wasn't he- 
 ing resigned, as she had prayed God she 
 might be. 
 
 She answered half a dozen want ads be- 
 fore she could get the upset price she had 
 determined on eighteen dollars. She cov- 
 enanted for this finally with a frowsy look- 
 ing, bald little lawyer, in an old-fashioned 
 five-story, pile-foundationed, gray stone 
 building on Clark street, put up soon after 
 the fire. The windows were seldom washed 
 and there were two obsolete rope elevators. 
 
 The little lawyer, Mr. Matthews, had a 
 large single room in which he sublet desk- 
 room to a pair of young real-estaters. 
 
 260 
 
The New King 
 
 Georgia didn't like the looks of the place, 
 but inasmuch as Mr. Matthews didn't haggle 
 an instant about her salary, she took it. 
 
 She had nothing important to do. Mr. 
 Matthews' mind was fussy and unsystema- 
 tic. He had little business and set her to 
 copying over his briefs of bygone years. 
 "Codifying," he called it; why she never 
 knew. 
 
 She shrewdly suspected she was engaged 
 rather as a "front" to impress clients than 
 to work at her trade. 
 
 Whenever a visitor, whether collector or 
 suspender peddler, came to see Mr. Mat- 
 thews, that attorney bade him sit a few min- 
 utes while he finished up a letter that had 
 to catch the Twentieth Century or the five 
 thirty Pennsylvania Limited, as the case 
 might be. Then he would fake a letter and 
 Georgia would help him at the end by in- 
 quiring, "Special delivery, I suppose, sir?" 
 
 It answered her purpose for the time be- 
 ing, but she hadn't the vaguest intention of 
 staying. She saw there was no future. 
 
 Mr. Matthews each morning requested her 
 to oblige the young real-estaters by "helping 
 them out" with their correspondence. 
 
 261 
 
Rebellion 
 
 " Helping them out" meant doing it all. 
 Mr. Matthews was brimming with euphem- 
 isms. Likewise they, the real estaters, got 
 to asking her to "help out" their friends, 
 which she good-naturedly did in hours. 
 
 Saturday Mr. Matthews didn't turn up, 
 nor yet Monday. Tuesday when Georgia 
 suggested her payment, he said he was ex- 
 pecting a check that afternoon. Thursday, 
 when she insisted on it, he told her to collect 
 half from the real-estaters, since she had 
 been working for them as much as for him. 
 
 She couldn't see it that way at all. He 
 had engaged her. 
 
 He fell into legal phraseology. "Qui facit 
 per alium," or something of the sort; and 
 she told him nettly she wasn't a fool and that 
 if he didn't pay her immediately she would 
 attach his furniture. 
 
 He turned his pockets inside out, showing 
 a ten-dollar bill and eighty-five cents. She 
 took the bill and walked out. But it wasn't 
 much of a triumph. Her wages during her 
 employment by Mr. Matthews had averaged 
 six dollars a week. 
 
 She was therefore unable to send Mason 
 another installment; and couldn't help being 
 
 262 
 
The New King 
 
 relieved because, despite her injunction, he 
 had written her. 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Connor: Please do not hurry 
 at all in that matter. Indeed, I would be 
 pleased to consider it an investment bring- 
 ing in 5/ , or if you prefer, tf% a year. If 
 you pay me $16.18 annually (or $4.18 more 
 during the balance of the current year), that 
 would be an advantageous business arrange- 
 ment for me. I hope you may see your way 
 clear to agreeing to this. 
 
 "With kind regards, 
 
 "Very truly, 
 
 "Mason Stevens.' 9 
 
 263 
 
XXT 
 
 JIM BEENLISTS 
 
 Georgia smiled a little woefully oyer the 
 transparent intention of Stevens' letter. He 
 was so obviously trying to do her a great 
 kindness and disguise it as business by his 
 talk of six per cent. 
 
 She knew that with young men and small 
 sums interest rates lose their meaning. Ev- 
 erybody would rather have a quarter down 
 than a cent a year forever. Any young 
 hustler on a salary would rather have $270 
 cash than an unsecured promise of $16 an- 
 nually. 
 
 Oh, he was naive and boyish as ever to 
 think she wouldn't promptly penetrate his 
 little plan. She had always seen through his 
 various tricks and stratagems in regard to 
 her from the very beginning. She didn't re- 
 member one time when he had fooled her suc- 
 cessfully. It was like having a young son 
 who hardly needs to talk to you at all, you 
 
 264 
 
Jim Reenlists 
 
 can read his mind so easily as it runs along 
 from thing to thing. 
 
 She went to a newspaper office to answer 
 one advertisement and insert another. The 
 one she answered was for "A rapid typist 
 beginners not wanted. State name, experi- 
 ence, age, education." A blind address was 
 given. "Y 672, " care of the paper. She 
 wrote an appreciative account of her talents, 
 but was grieved to discover that Y 672 was 
 none other than the Eastern Life Assurance 
 Company. Evidently Mr. Cleever was going 
 in for many changes. 
 
 Ten days later she was with a mail order 
 house, in a huge reenforced concrete block- 
 like building, just across the river on the 
 west side. The roof of this enormous edifice, 
 according to advertisement, covered 99 acres 
 of floor space, or some such dimension. The 
 firm didn't do a retail business in Chicago, 
 so everything was rough and ready. The 
 clerks worked in their shirt sleeves, usually 
 blue ones. They were a bigger, thicker- 
 necked lot than the downtowners, and freer- 
 tongued before the women. She wasn't at 
 all disconcerted, however, by any amount of 
 the " damns" and "hells." 
 
 265 
 
Rebellion 
 
 She was described on the books of the com- 
 pany as "Stenographer; Class A; Female; 
 First six months' of employment; salary 
 $12." The understanding was that if she 
 made good she would be promoted, and this 
 she promised herself to do, but didn't. 
 
 The advertisement which Georgia put in 
 the paper was : 
 
 TO KENT 2667 Pearl Ave., beautiful dou- 
 ble front room, near lake and park; single 
 gentleman; breakfast if desired; reasoa- 
 able. Connor, third flat. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot could not be brought to low- 
 ering caste by taking a roomer until Georgia 
 explained about her debt to Mason. This 
 veered the older woman's mind violently 
 about, and she began immediately to figure 
 if it wouldn't be possible to squeeze in two 
 persons instead of one which proposition 
 Georgia promptly vetoed. 
 
 Jim acquiesced gloomily in the loss of the 
 front room. He didn't see why paying 
 Stevens' interest at six per cent wouldn't 
 satisfy the nicest sense of honor. Six per 
 cent was a good investment for anybody. 
 Lord knows he wished someone was paying 
 it to him. He would feel ashamed to have 
 
 266 
 
Jim Reenlists 
 
 a visitor shown back to the dining room in- 
 stead of forward to the parlor. 
 
 Al alone contemplated the subject with 
 equanimity. He dismissed it by saying that 
 it wouldn't get him anything one way or the 
 other. To him the parlor meant the place 
 where the family gathered together after sup- 
 per to bore him. He'd rather sit in a back 
 room and chin with the crowd across a round, 
 yellow, slippery table, or go across to Jonas' 
 and try to win a little beer money at Kelly 
 pool. He seldom analyzed his emotions; he 
 simply knew it was fun to squat down by the 
 rectangular green cloth table, squint his eye, 
 and sight his shot, while the crowd watched 
 him through the cigarette smoke, then to 
 straighten up decisively as if he had solved 
 the problem, tip his hat back, whistle through 
 his teeth, chalk his cue and put the ball in. 
 Contrariwise it was darned little fun in the 
 front room after supper. 
 
 The applicant for lodging with whom 
 Georgia finally agreed on terms was Mr. 
 Cyrus Kane, copy reader on an afternoon 
 newspaper. He was a widower of forty-five, 
 quiet, neat and regular pay. He never once 
 had a visitor to see him. He didn't kick. 
 
 267 
 
Rebellion 
 
 But to balance all these excellent qualities 
 was one major drawback: bis unalterable 
 condition was tbat be should be served in bed 
 with a pot of black coffee at five o 'clock each 
 morning. He explained he had to be at the 
 office at six, and that he couldn't stir without 
 coffee; in fact, he said he was a regular 
 caffein fiend. Georgia hesitated, then added 
 a dollar and a half to her price, which he ac- 
 cepted, agreeing to pay $5.50 a week. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot paled a trifle when informed 
 that she had been elected to arise at 4 :45 A. 
 M. every day and set Mr. Kane's coffee on 
 the gas ring until it was hot enough to take 
 in to him. But she agreed because she felt 
 that so she was helping to clear Georgia's 
 honor. On the first Sunday morning of this 
 stay Mrs. Talbot missed the coffee because 
 she knew that Mr. Kane's paper didn't pub- 
 lish that day and supposed, or anyway hoped, 
 that he would sleep late. At six the whole 
 family was awakened by his loud mutterings 
 to himself which percolated through the flat. 
 
 "They agreed to bring my coffee at five; 
 they agreed; and here it is near seven and 
 
 not a sign of it. Not a sign of it. 
 
 it. I'll leave, yes by I'll leave!" He 
 
 268 
 
Jim Reenlists 
 
 thrashed about furiously in his bed, turning 
 over and over, and striking the pillow with 
 clenched fists in his rage. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot, in sack and skirt over her 
 nightgown, stockingless, her gray hair loose, 
 went running in to him with his pot of steam- 
 ing black dope. He smiled cherubically when 
 he saw her. It was the only trouble they 
 ever had with him. 
 
 On Mr. Kane's coming Jim had to clear 
 out of the front room, so he went to 
 Georgia's. 
 
 That evening as she undressed rapidly in 
 the light before his approving eyes she had 
 a sudden strange relieved feeling that after 
 what she had been through in the past few 
 months a little more wouldn't greatly mat- 
 ter one way or the other. 
 
 It would certainly be unpleasant to have 
 Jim pawing her again, but she had success- 
 fully postponed it much longer than she ex- 
 pected, so now she had better be philosophi- 
 cal about it. As far as she could gather most 
 women obliged their husbands and not them- 
 selves in the frequency of their embraces. 
 
 Why, therefore, excite her imagination and 
 her sense of horror, and try to make a tre- 
 
 269 
 
Rebellion 
 
 mendous hard luck story out of what after 
 all was a perfectly common and commonplace 
 situation? Let her avoid it whenever pos- 
 sible and accept it with calm equanimity when 
 necessary. 
 
 It was rather ridiculous to think herself 
 a shrinking victim of masculine passion. She 
 had borne this man a child, she was scarred 
 with life, a matron of nearly ten years stand- 
 ing. 
 
 "And I look every bit of it," she com- 
 mented half aloud, as she stood before the 
 mirror slipping off her corset cover. 
 
 "What'd you say?" he asked, turning his 
 eyes toward her. He was seated on the bed 
 stooping over, trying to undo a hard knotted 
 shoe lace with his blunt finger nails. 
 
 "I said hurry up I'm sleepy." 
 
 "You just bet I will," he answered eagerly. 
 
 Not long after this domestic readjustment 
 Jim was smoking, his wife reading and his 
 mother-in-law sewing in the dining room after 
 supper when the doorbell rang from the 
 vestibule below. Georgia pressed the opener 
 and admitted Ed Miles, the boss of the ward, 
 "the big fellow." She wasn't a bit glad to 
 see him. She thought that to keep Jim away 
 
 270 
 
Jim Reenlists 
 
 from politics and politicians was the only 
 way to keep him away from drinking. 
 
 The big fellow made a formal call. He 
 sat on the edge of his chair, his gray derby 
 hat pushed under it, and constantly ad- 
 dressed Georgia as ma'am. Although she 
 mistrusted him every moment of his visit, 
 she felt the power of him, the brusque charm 
 of his vitality, the humor of his laugh. 
 
 When he rose to go he said good-bye po- 
 litely to the women and then to Jim, who 
 could tell by the pressure of the big fellow's 
 hand that he wanted a word alone with him. 
 
 "I'll see you to the door, Ed," said Jim, 
 and they walked out together. 
 
 Georgia noticed thankfully that her hus- 
 band did not take his hat and that he was 
 wearing slippers. 
 
 "I want you to do me a little favor, Jim. 
 You know we have our ward club election 
 the first Monday of the new year. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Come around." 
 
 " I ain 't a member of the club any more. ' ' 
 
 "I'll fix that and your back dues, too." 
 
 "I promised my wife to keep out of 
 politics." 
 
 271 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "I don't blame her either. You were go- 
 ing some for a married man. But the fact 
 is, they're trying under cover to take the or- 
 ganization away from us." 
 
 "I heard there was a little battle on." 
 
 "It's more than that. It goes deep. 
 They've got backing. Now if my friends 
 throw me down " 
 
 "You know damn well I wouldn't throw 
 you down, Ed." 
 
 "If you don't come to the front when I 
 need you, it's the same thing. And I need 
 you now. This is confidential, y 'under- 
 stand?" 
 
 "Sure." 
 
 "Because I wouldn't let it get out I was 
 worried." 
 
 The two men were standing side by side on 
 the front stoop in a stream of arc light from 
 the street lamp. 
 
 "I want your vote," said Miles, "for old 
 sake's sake." 
 
 "I dassen't go into politics regular, Ed." 
 
 "I don't ask you to." 
 
 "But I might slip up to the ward meeting 
 one night, just doing my duty as a citizen." 
 
 "You're a good fellow, Jim." There was 
 
 272 
 
Jim Reenlists 
 
 a trace of huskiness in the big fellow's bass 
 voice and Jim felt himself again moved by 
 his old loyalty to his leader. The two shook 
 hands warmly, fervently, with the facile emo- 
 tions of politicians. 
 
 "One thing about me I never quit on my 
 friends when they need me." There was a 
 perceptible huskiness in Jim's voice also. 
 
 "I know it damn well," said the big fel- 
 low, throwing his arm about the other's 
 shoulder, "because you're a thoroughbred." 
 He thrust his hand into his side pocket and 
 brought forth several dozen large glazed 
 white cards bearing the legend, "For Presi- 
 dent Fortieth Ward Club, Carl Schroeder," 
 with an oval half-tone of the fat-faced candi- 
 date. 
 
 "I don't know's I've got time to make any 
 canvass, Ed," said Jim, slipping the cards 
 back and forth through his fingers. "So 
 you're running Carl, eh?" 
 
 The big fellow boomed a laugh. "You 
 didn't know it Reuben come to town. Sure 
 we're running Carl, and he said only this 
 morning if he could get you with him he'd 
 walk in. ' ' 
 
 273 
 
Rebellion 
 
 Jim was pleased. "Did Carl say that, 
 honest !" 
 
 "Come on up to the corner and he'll tell 
 you himself." 
 
 "I haven't got my hat." 
 
 "Take mine." The boss slipped his gray 
 derby on Jim's head. It descended to his 
 ears. "You're a regular pinhead," ex- 
 claimed the big fellow loudly, and they both 
 laughed. 
 
 They walked up to the saloon, Connor's 
 slippers flapping against the pavement flags 
 with every step. 
 
 The saloon welcomed Jim as if he had been 
 a conquering hero. It was light and warm 
 and gay and full of men. 
 
 Carl Schroeder and Jim went into the pri- 
 vate office and whispered importantly to- 
 gether for half an hour. When they came 
 out, Carl was smiling and announced, clap- 
 ping Jim on the back, "This old scout's 
 brought be the best news in a week. What '11 
 you have, boys?" 
 
 Jim took lithia, explaining he was wagon- 
 ing, and they congratulated him and took 
 whiskey themselves. He left reasonably 
 early, half a dozen rounds of lithia having 
 
 274 
 
Jim Reenlists 
 
 given him a rather sloppy-weather sensation 
 within. Besides, the other fellows had got to 
 feeling good and were talking to beat the 
 band, and he just sat there like a bump on a 
 log without a thing to say. 
 
 Not that the drinkers seemed particularly 
 wise or witty, for some of them began to 
 sound increasingly foolish as he listened to 
 them, cold sober. But the liquor put them on 
 a different plane from him, lower perhaps, 
 but also wilder, freer, less deliberate and re- 
 strained. Their thoughts didn't follow the 
 same sequence as his and he couldn't meet 
 their minds as they seemed able to meet each 
 others. He was self-conscious and glum and 
 awkward, like a new millionaire in the hands 
 of his first valet. And he knew that one drink 
 of whiskey would alter all that and put him 
 in right. But he didn't take it. 
 
 The big fellow saw him to the door, giving 
 him a cap that he picked up in the private 
 office to go home in. 
 
 " You '11 do what you can for the organiza- 
 tion in your precinct?" 
 
 "Sure." 
 
 "And we won't forget you." 
 
 "Thanks, Ed, that's mighty fine of you." 
 
 275 
 
Rebellion 
 
 They shook hands ; then Jim felt his fingers 
 closing over a ten-dollar bill which had been 
 pressed into his palm. It was easy money, 
 he thought, as he paddled home in his cap 
 and slippers. All he'd have to do to earn it 
 would be to get around among the neighbors 
 evenings for a couple or three weeks. 
 
 When Georgia, who had been waiting up 
 for him with a peculiar fluttering of the heart 
 each time that she heard a step on the stairs, 
 found that he was entirely sober, she kissed 
 him of her own accord. 
 
 276 
 
XXVI 
 
 EVE 
 
 Some six months later, on a hot, sticky 
 afternoon in July, Georgia came away from a 
 State Street department store carrying a 
 paper-wrapped parcel under her arm. She 
 had come down town to take advantage of an 
 odds and ends sale of white goods advertised 
 that morning. 
 
 In spite of the heat which beat down from 
 a cloudless, windless sky and radiated up 
 from the stone pavements where it had stored 
 itself, she wore a long bluish-gray pongee 
 coat. There were dark rings under her eyes 
 and she felt ill and dispirited as she waited 
 at Dearborn and Eandolph for a North Clark 
 Street car, which would drop her a block 
 nearer her flat than the L would. 
 
 The car was slow in coming and a crowd of 
 fifteen or twenty gathered to wait for it. 
 Most of them were women homeward bound 
 after the morning's shopping excitement. 
 One of them also wore a long bluish-gray 
 
 277 
 
Rebellion 
 
 coat and Georgia remembered having seen 
 her at the white goods remnant counter. 
 They caught each other's eyes and smiled 
 faintly but did not speak. 
 
 When the car stopped there was the cus- 
 tomary rush for seats and Georgia had to 
 content herself with a strap. She balanced 
 her bundle against her hip and shifted her 
 weight uncomfortably from foot to foot sway- 
 ing to the motion of the car, envying men. 
 
 A passenger who looked like an oldish 
 maid, with gold-rimmed spectacles and 
 tightly drawn thin hair, half rose and beck- 
 oned to Georgia. 
 
 "I'm getting out at the next corner/' she 
 said, and sliding across the knees of the per- 
 son next to her, gave Georgia a seat next the 
 window on the shady side. 
 
 ' ' Thank you, thank you very much indeed, ' ' 
 said Georgia gratefully. Several blocks later 
 she turned and saw the maiden lady still 
 standing on the back platform leaning 
 against the controller-box and trying to write 
 something on the back of a paper novel with 
 a fountain pen. She had a sudden warm 
 feeling for this unknown friend who had done 
 her a small kindness with delicacy. 
 
 278 
 
Eve 
 
 Then, for she was nervously unstable and 
 the hues and tinges of her emotions followed 
 each other very rapidly like magic lantern 
 slides, she became suddenly and deeply hu- 
 miliated. Was she already so noticeable that 
 strange women, much older than she, would 
 offer her their seats! From day to day she 
 had gone on, still hoping that she was able 
 to deceive the casual eye. Henceforth she 
 felt that she could not by any stretch of will 
 bring herself to go out of the house except 
 at night. 
 
 The car made moving pictures for her as 
 she looked through the heavy wire grill which 
 kept people from putting their heads out of 
 the windows, at the men slowly walking up 
 and down the hot sidewalk in their shirt 
 sleeves or stopping to talk under the project- 
 ing awnings of saloons and fruit stores, at 
 the wrappered women sitting stupidly in the 
 upper windows of run-down brick buildings 
 devoted to light housekeeping, at children 
 sucking hokey-pokey cones or playing ball in 
 a side street. 
 
 The children seemed to her the only ones 
 with joy. Perhaps that was because they 
 didn't know what they were up against. 
 
 279 
 
Rebellion 
 
 The motorman clanged his gong angrily 
 twenty times, then had to slow down and stop 
 behind a lumbering coal wagon while the 
 driver, a much blackened and begrimed Irish- 
 man, climbed leisurely from his seat and 
 fussed with the neck yokes of his team, swear- 
 ing sulkily at the motorman the while. A 
 messenger boy got back at him, in the opin- 
 ion of the front platform, by hailing him as 
 Jack Johnson, the hope of the dark race. 
 The teamster responded with some dirty lan- 
 guage. It was a bad, hot day for tempers. 
 
 Georgia had time during the delay to be- 
 come interested in a little drama which was 
 then being enacted directly across the street 
 from her. Its impelling power seemed to be 
 a dead white horse which lay on the soft 
 sticky asphalt, surrounded by a fringe of men 
 and boys who stared quietly at a little pool of 
 blood that came from a round hole above the 
 animal's eye. 
 
 The horse's mate stood stolidly in harness, 
 hitched still to his wagon. She wondered if 
 now he would have to pull it home alone. A 
 man with a note book pushed through the 
 crowd. He was evidently in authority of 
 some sort. He asked a little boy something 
 
 280 
 
Eve 
 
 and the boy turned and pointed toward an 
 alley entrance cat-a-corner from where he 
 stood. 
 
 Then a big man with a whip in his hand, a 
 leather strap around his waist and a union 
 button in his cap, probably the driver of the 
 dead horse, threw his cap on the ground and 
 stamped his foot, shook his fist at the boy 
 and turned his back on the man with the note 
 book and refused to answer his questions. 
 She couldn't understand it at all. It seemed 
 very unreasonable. 
 
 Then a street car bound the other way 
 rolled up and came to a stop between her 
 and the white horse. Mason Stevens sat on 
 the seat precisely opposite hers, so near that 
 they could have shaken hands if the two 
 grilled iron screens had not been in the way. 
 She noticed that his jaw fell open, like a dead 
 person's. 
 
 She heard her conductor and the other con- 
 ductor jerk simultaneously the go-ahead 
 signals and the cars, quickly getting up speed, 
 went in different directions. She did not turn 
 her head, but she could feel the moment when 
 he flipped onto the back platform. Then she 
 
 281 
 
Rebellion 
 
 heard him come up the aisle, breathing 
 heavily from his run. 
 
 The seat beside her had become vacant and 
 she had placed her paper package of white 
 goods on it. Now she took it into her lap and 
 crossed her arms over it. He sat down. 
 
 "How do you do?" he said. 
 
 "How do you do?" 
 
 They both stared straight ahead, not dar- 
 ing at first to look at each other. 
 
 "It's quite a while since we saw each 
 other, ' ' she ventured after a long pause. 
 
 "Yes, quite a while, but " he stopped. 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 Then Georgia, first to regain control of 
 herself, laughed, breaking the tension. 
 "What are you doing here?" she asked. 
 "Where have you come from and where are 
 you going?" 
 
 ' *T got in from New York this morning and 
 I'm going home that is, to Kansas City, this 
 evening. Had to see Cleever here." 
 
 "Is everything going well with you?" 
 
 "Yes, that is yes." 
 
 "Business good?" 
 
 "Fine." 
 
 282 
 
Eve 
 
 "Happy?" 
 
 "Oh, yes are you?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," she said, then added "very." 
 
 They paused. "Don't let me keep you if 
 you have business," she suggested. 
 
 "I haven't," he answered. 
 
 He thought that never in his life had he 
 seen her look so ill, but doubted how to speak 
 of it. 
 
 "You got all over your typhoid, of 
 course," was the way he put it. 
 
 "Oh, yes, completely." She read him as 
 usual, and saw what was in his 'mind, that 
 her appearance had shocked him. 
 
 "Oh, don't look at me that way, Mason," 
 she exclaimed suddenly; "I know I've gone 
 off a lot, but don't rub it in." 
 
 "You're nothing of the sort. You are a 
 bit fagged out, that's all." 
 
 "Yes," she said, "a bit fagged. Besides, 
 I'm a staid, settled-down old thing and you, 
 perhaps you're married by this time. Are 
 you?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Engaged, then?" She spoke casually, 
 but there was a beating at her heart. 
 
 "Not even that." 
 
 283 
 
Rebellion 
 
 She pressed the button for the car to stop. 
 She had a morbid hope that she might still 
 keep her secret from him. But when he 
 helped her off the car and they started to 
 walk toward her home, she saw it in his eyes. 
 
 "You understand now?" she faltered. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 They walked a hundred steps in silence. 
 "Tell me one thing, Georgia," he said, "you 
 are happy?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered firmly. 
 
 "That's all I care about." 
 
 When they reached her door he gave her 
 the package of white goods which he had been 
 carrying. 
 
 "Georgia," he said, as they shook hands 
 good-bye, "remember this if you ever need 
 me, I'll come." 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" 
 
 "I mean if you ever need me I'll come 
 from anywhere." 
 
 She looked down at her ungainly figure in 
 wonderment. "Surely you don't mean that 
 now. I'm I'm so ridiculous." 
 
 His voice choked. "God bless and keep 
 you. God bless and keep you always, my 
 dearest," he said, then went away. 
 
 284 
 
Eve 
 
 She walked slowly and heavily up to the 
 third flight, carrying her burden. When she 
 opened the door with her latchkey she found 
 her mother in blue gingham apron, cleaning 
 Mr. Kane's room. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot paused in her operations. 
 "Well," she vouchsafed, "Jim has turned up 
 just after you left. He's asleep in your 
 room." 
 
 "Drunk?" asked Georgia. 
 
 "Of course," said Mrs. Talbot, emptying 
 her carpet sweeper. 
 
 285 
 
XXVII 
 
 THE NAPHTHALINE EIVEE 
 
 And oh, of all tortures 
 That torture the worst, 
 The terrible, terrible torture of thirst 
 For the naphthaline river 
 Of Passion accurst. 
 
 Poe. 
 
 Jim was a dipsomaniac, not a villian. His 
 vice made no one else so abysmally wretched 
 as it made himself. 
 
 After each spree he descended into the deep 
 hell of remorse. He thought of pistols, 
 razors and the lake. "Would not everyone he 
 cared for be the better for his disappearance f 
 Was it not decenter to die than to live on, a 
 reeking beast, a stenchful sewer for whiskey? 
 
 Then as his long enduring body began once 
 more patiently to expel the poison he had 
 thrust into it, he slowly cheered up. He 
 wouldn't kill himself, he would swear off for- 
 ever and ever, so help him God, amen. 
 
 286 
 
The Naphthaline River 
 
 In a few days he was completely reassured, 
 and not a little proud of his evident self- 
 control. He bragged of it casually. He was 
 Pharisaical. He pitied drinking men. ' l No, ' ' 
 he would say, raising a deprecating hand 
 when invited to smile with them, "I've cut it 
 out for good. I don't like it, and," laughing, 
 "it don't like me. I've had enough in my 
 day to keep up my batting average for the 
 rest of my life, and enough is sufficiency. A 
 little ginger ale for mine, thank you." 
 
 And the best of it was that the whiskey 
 didn't seem to tempt him any more. It was 
 almost too easy, this being good. Nothing 
 to it, if a fellow simply made up his mind. 
 
 Old Col. E. E. Morse had certainly stam- 
 peded him the other morning when he was 
 getting over his headache. He smiled a trifle 
 wryly. Yes, he'd actually gone so far as to 
 contemplate suicide, which was a great sin, 
 to avoid getting full, which was a less one 
 and now here he was, never feeling better in 
 his life and not touching a drop. 
 
 The old colonel certainly did make a goat 
 of a fellow. He had acted more like a boy 
 than a grown-up man. The blood curdling 
 oaths he'd taken with eyes and hands raised 
 
 287 
 
Rebellion 
 
 to heaven, by his mother's soul and his hope 
 of meeting her again. The memory of his 
 hysterical state somewhat embarrassed him. 
 
 Some drank and some didn't; just as 
 some had blue eyes and some brown. Bis- 
 marck and Grant, for instance, drank. It 
 was foolish on the face of it to suppose that 
 those giants among men were in the habit of 
 lying awake nights, agonizing over the ques- 
 tion of a glass of beer or two with their even- 
 ing meal. That wouldn't show they were 
 strong, but weak. 
 
 At this point he dropped from his vocabu- 
 lary the word "drunk," with its essentially 
 ugly sound, and substituted "loaded," which 
 is pleasanter, then "jagged," which is pleas- 
 anter still, especially if one humorously 
 places the accent on the final ed. A further 
 alteration in his barroom terminology made 
 it stewed, soused, plastered, anointed, all lit 
 up, sprung, ossified. 
 
 When a periodical gets around again to the 
 point of calling intoxication by pet names his 
 next spiflication is not very far ahead of him. 
 
 In gradually divesting itself of the hideous 
 and demonic character which he was wont to 
 ascribe to it in the first moments of his 
 
 288 
 
The Naphthaline River 
 
 passionate remorse after a debauch, alcohol 
 achieved the necessary preliminary work 
 preparatory to his next one. The curious 
 thing was that he always realized in the heat 
 of a new resolution precisely how the next 
 attack would presently begin against him. 
 
 ' ' Never again, " he would say to himself, 
 " never again, Jim Connor, if you're worth 
 the powder to blow you to hell. Never again, 
 understand! Never mind about George 
 Washington and Grover Cleveland. You 
 quit. Don't you care if the doctors say it's 
 a food. It isn't a food for you. Leave it 
 alone or die. It's been your steady enemy 
 since you got into long pants. Hate it." 
 
 But in spite of efforts that were some- 
 times gallant he could not keep his hate hot. 
 The further he got from his last spree, the 
 less horrible and more amusing it seemed in 
 retrospection. 
 
 The furiously emotional character of his 
 resolution gradually cooled off and lost its 
 driving power. 
 
 Only near the end of a period of abstinence 
 did alcohol make a direct assault upon his 
 body, and even then in skillful disguise. 
 His digestion went back on him. He would 
 
 289 
 
Rebellion 
 
 conscientiously seek to fend off his misery 
 by pills, powders, salts, extracts, soda and 
 charcoal tablets, pepsin gum, by giving up 
 smoking, coffee, dessert, by hot water before 
 meals and brisk walks ; but he adopted these 
 measures dispiritedly. A still small voice 
 had begun to whisper that they wouldn't do 
 and that only one thing would. 
 
 If that one thing were taken privately just 
 before supper, say downtown where the 
 crowd wasn't around to kid him for seeming 
 backsliding and if it were immediately fol- 
 lowed by half a teaspoonful of ground coffee 
 from the receptacle made and provided for 
 such contingencies, Georgia would be neither 
 the worse nor the wiser and he would get his 
 appetite back. 
 
 "Mind," said the small voice, "just one." 
 Why of course, he quickly agreed with him- 
 self, just one. That was all he needed. He 
 didn't want the stuff for its own sake. He 
 got no pleasure out of it. In fact he rather 
 disliked the taste of it. But purely and 
 simply for medicine, as a last resort. Hadn't 
 he already tried every other damn thing on 
 the market? 
 
 Usually he escaped detection the first day 
 
 290 
 
The Naphthaline River 
 
 or two and went to bed at night triumphant 
 and respectable, his secret locked successfully 
 in his breast, excitedly convinced that at last 
 he had learned to drink like a gentleman. 
 
 Presently he sensed the need of a more 
 exact definition. How many drinks did a 
 gentleman take a day? Two or three, or even 
 more on special occasions ? Was getting wet 
 or cold a special occasion? What was a 
 ' ' drink " anyway two fingers, three, or a 
 whiskey-glassful? How much beer equaled 
 how much spirits ? Wasn 't liquor mixed with 
 seltzer less harmful to the lining of the 
 stomach than the same amount taken 
 straight? It ought to be, for a highball, ac- 
 cording to test, averaged no more alcohol 
 than the light wines of France and Italy, and 
 as was well known, a drunken man was sel- 
 dom seen over there. This being indisput- 
 able, might not one increase one's prescribed 
 allowance of whiskey if one diluted it con- 
 scientiously? 
 
 He never tired of these and similar ques- 
 tions. They fascinated him and centered his 
 consciousness. His mind revolved around 
 the whiskey proposition like a satellite 
 around its principal. He might hate, loathe, 
 
 291 
 
Rebellion 
 
 abominate whiskey, or pooh-pooh it, or com- 
 promise with it, or succumb to it. But he 
 thought of it most of the time, endlessly 
 readjusting his relations with it, like an old 
 man in the power of a harlot. 
 
 Sometimes he would admit that there was 
 much to be said against the cumulative effect 
 of a drink every day. Twenty- four hours 
 was hardly long enough to get wholly rid of 
 the last one before you put the next one in 
 on top of it. Would it not, possibly, be more 
 advantageous to one's system, for instance, 
 to get a slight skate on Saturday night, 
 nothing serious, a mere jolly, harmless bun, 
 and cut it out altogether for the rest of the 
 week, than to go against it daily? This 
 suggestion usually presented itself early on 
 Saturday evening, after he had got a good 
 start. After a little argument pro and con, 
 the pros won. 
 
 The pros always won without exception, 
 yet Jim never once neglected to go through 
 the form of argument. It was astonishing 
 with what perfect regularity he repeated 
 time after time the same mental sequence in 
 his circlings around whiskey. 
 
 He did not necessarily lose his job at each 
 
 292 
 
The Naphthaline River 
 
 spree. He was not the explosive type of 
 drunkard. He managed sometimes to drag 
 himself wearily through the motions of work 
 in the day time, slipping out every hour or 
 two, on some excuse, to "baby it along. " 
 But from night to night his drunkenness 
 would deepen until at last, with his nerves 
 shattered and money gone, he stumbled home 
 to his women folk to be nursed, to threaten 
 suicide, while they telephoned lies to his em- 
 ployer, to take his solemn pledge, and to be- 
 gin his cycle over again. 
 
 Four times during his wife's second preg- 
 nancy he made the complete circle. 
 
 She put up with his lapses more humbly 
 then ever before in their married life. Each 
 time that he renewed his pledge her sustain- 
 ing hope returned that he would keep it this 
 time, until at least the baby was born and 
 she was well enough to return to work, 
 
 Then she wouldn't be afraid any more. 
 Disencumbered, her strength restored, she 
 would be wholly able to take care of herself 
 and her child. She could earn two livings. 
 She knew precisely how to go about it. 
 There was nothing haphazard in her plans. 
 Either she would promptly find another first 
 
 293 
 
Rebellion 
 
 class secretarial position or else she would 
 go into business on her own hook, get a small 
 room about eight feet by eight, at $1.50 or 
 $1.75 a square foot, in a big office building 
 and put on the door 
 
 G. CONNOR 
 
 STENOGBAPHEK COURT REPORTER 
 NOTARY PUBLIC 
 
 She could see it in her mind's eye. It 
 looked fine. But it was several months off 
 yet, slow months of discomfort, culminating 
 in hours of the acutest agony a human being 
 can suffer and live. She knew. She had 
 been through it once already. 
 
 But she would never go through it again, 
 after this time. Never. They might say 
 what they liked about race suicide, this was 
 the last for her. 
 
 In the meantime she must keep Jim as 
 straight as possible and get all she could 
 out of him. For presently there would be 
 some heavy bills to pay. She kissed and 
 flattered htm, and went through his pockets 
 at night, racing the bartenders for his money. 
 Wasn't a business woman a big fool, she 
 
 294 
 
The Naphthaline River 
 
 often asked herself, to get in this fix for a 
 man she didn't lovef 
 
 The Church the Church took a pretty 
 theoretical view of some things. 
 
xxvin 
 ALBERT TALBOT CONNOR 
 
 When her grandson was eight days old, 
 Mrs. Talbot took him to be baptized. Georgia, 
 not yet out of bed, protested against the pre- 
 cipitancy, but her mother was armored in 
 shining faith and prevailed. 
 
 "You know your baby's sickly," she ex- 
 plained, "and not doing well. We cannot 
 afford to take any chances in case anything 
 happened." 
 
 So she dressed up the mite in his best 
 white lace, and herself in her best black silk 
 and sailed off to church in a closed carriage. 
 He was named Albert Talbot. 
 
 Until he was brought back to her, Georgia 
 felt savagely that there was something 
 ridiculously primitive, something almost 
 grotesque in the proceeding. To take her 
 baby from her, she could hear him crying 
 all down stairs, to a church a mile away, to 
 be breathed on by a priest and touched with 
 spittle and anointed with oil and wetted 
 
 296 
 
Albert Talbot Connor 
 
 with water how could such things make her 
 perfect babe more perfect! 
 
 Why should this naive physical rite send 
 her son to Paradise if he died; and more 
 especially why should the lack of it bar him 
 out of Paradise forever? It was not fair to 
 put such mighty conditions upon him. He 
 was only a baby. 
 
 "When young Albert was returned to her 
 arms and her breast, she forgot her griev- 
 ance. Anyway, he was on the safe side of 
 baptism now. It couldn't do him any harm 
 and it might do him an eternal and supreme 
 good. It was better to take no chances with 
 the supernatural. 
 
 She asked the doctor when she could wean 
 him. "I am behind in my bills, you know," 
 she explained, "especially yours, doctor. 
 I'd better get to work." 
 
 "I can't conscientiously advise you to do 
 anything of the sort/ he answered. 
 
 "But why not? Most babies are put on a 
 bottle nowadays." 
 
 "This one is a delicate little fellow not 
 five pounds at birth. You want him to get 
 strong mother's milk is the best medicine." 
 
 297 
 
Rebellion 
 
 ' ' That settles it," she said slowly. "How 
 long will it be? Six months?" 
 
 "Yes, six months anyway, perhaps more 
 perhaps a year. It depends on how he does. 
 I won't disguise it from you he's worried 
 me once or twice." 
 
 A year! She didn't know a child was ever 
 nursed a year. A year more of humbleness 
 to Jim, of asking money from her brother, 
 now called big Al, of fear that Mr. Kane 
 might get annoyed and leave, of contriving 
 and skimping and bill dodging. Another 
 year of "womanly" womanhood, clinging to 
 males for support. 
 
 The doctor saw her disappointment. "It's 
 your sex' share of the world's work, you 
 know," he said, "your duty to society." 
 
 "I have a baby and we're poor. If I'd 
 had none, we'd be well off this moment," she 
 said sharply. "If I really have done a duty 
 to society why does society punish me for 
 it?" 
 
 "I don't know," said the doctor. 
 
 He came rather frequently to the flat at 
 this time, partly on the baby's account, 
 partly on Mrs. Talbot's. 
 
 The river of life in the elder woman was 
 
 298 
 
Albert Talbot Connor 
 
 becoming sluggish ; rheumatism crippled her. 
 The doctor veiled his explanation. "Syno- 
 vial infusion/' he called it, "hut," he added 
 reassuringly, "pericarditis is not in the least 
 to be apprehended. I will stake my reputa- 
 tion on that." Which gave her new heart. 
 
 The rivulet of life in the child trickled un- 
 certainly, obstinately refusing to increase. 
 6 ' Hmm, ' ' he muttered once, * * micro cephalic. ' ' 
 
 "What does that mean?" Georgia asked 
 with quick suspicion. 
 
 "It means that he has a rather small 
 head," smiled the doctor, "but then he is a 
 rather small boy." 
 
 "Yes, he is tiny, isn't he?" said the mother 
 pressing him to her soft, distended breast. 
 ' ' Little one little one of mine. ' ' She looked 
 at the doctor proudly. "He knows me," she 
 said, "don't you think so?" 
 
 "Of course he does," he answered, and 
 she knew that nothing else which had ever 
 been or ever would be really mattered. 
 
 Whenever the doctor came to the flat he 
 found time to tarry in the midst of his busy 
 life of many patients and small fees for a 
 chat with Georgia. He was a happy, crinkled, 
 red faced, blue-gilled little man, who in- 
 
 299 
 
Rebellion 
 
 evitably suggested outdoors, though he 
 wasn't there much, for he drove a closed 
 electric runabout. He always meant some 
 day to write a novel, a true novel, something 
 on the order of "The Old Wives ' Tale," 
 showing people as they really were. He 
 thought he had the necessary information. 
 He had seen all sorts of folks come and go 
 for thirty years. But he never seemed to 
 get around to the actual writing. He was so 
 pressed for time. 
 
 Georgia Connor, nicely disguised, would 
 be a good character for his book. Change 
 the color of her hair, for instance, put a 
 couple of inches on her height, make her 
 something else but a stenographer, say a 
 cashier and neither she nor anybody else 
 would suspect. So he had many little talks 
 with his model, getting material. Besides, 
 he liked her. She was intelligent, she never 
 bored him and she always had her own point 
 of view, and half the time an unexpected 
 one. She had been twice educated first by 
 the convent and next by the loop. One could 
 never tell which side of her was going to 
 speak next. 
 
 Eventually one side would prevail. Which 
 
 300 
 
Albert Talbot Connor 
 
 it would be depended on the baby question. 
 If she had enough of them tugging at her 
 skirts she'd revert to type. He knew. He'd 
 seen 'em come and go for thirty years. Per- 
 sistent mothers don't aviate. 
 
 When little Al was a month old, shortly 
 after midnight on the thirteenth of Novem- 
 ber she will never forget the day Georgia 
 awoke suddenly as if a pistol had been shot 
 off by her ear. The baby was wailing in a 
 feeble little singsong. She looked at the 
 clock. It wanted half an hour to his feeding 
 time. 
 
 She walked slowly up and down the room, 
 whispering to her son. Sometimes she 
 stopped at the open window to look out into 
 the cool pleasant night, but nothing she knew 
 how to do made any difference. He kept 
 steadily on with his heart-breaking little 
 singsong wail. 
 
 At one precisely, before the single stroke 
 of the small clock had stopped ringing 
 through the room, she gave him breast. He 
 took a little, then gasped and choked and 
 "spit it up" again. She waited ten minutes 
 as she had been instructed, then gave him 
 a very little not more than three or four 
 
 301 
 
Rebellion 
 
 swallows. He rejected it. After twenty 
 minutes she tried again. The warm, white 
 life-giving fluid ran over his lips and chin, 
 and trickled down his neck, wetting the neck- 
 band and sleeve of his thin woolen garment. 
 But he kept a little down she thought. And 
 then after awhile a little more. She did not 
 wish him to be as far from her as his crib, 
 so he dozed off in the crook of her elbow, 
 while she took short naps a few minutes at a 
 time until dawn. 
 
 At five she took in Mr. Kane's coffee. This 
 duty now accrued to her, because the doctor 
 had warned Mrs. Talbot not to overdo. 
 
 When Georgia returned with her empty 
 tray she dropped into a chair for just a 
 moment's rest. An hour later when she 
 awoke she found little Al lying rigid on the 
 bed, his small fists clenched, his eyes rolled 
 up until only the whites could be seen 
 through his half-closed lids, his under lip 
 sucked in between his gums. She was not 
 sure that he breathed. 
 
 Hastily she ran to the bathroom and 
 turned the hot water tap on full. Hastily 
 she ran back, and took the child in her arms. 
 She knocked at the door of big Al's room. 
 
 302 
 
Albert Talbot Connor 
 
 "Al," she cried, "Al, Al, Al wake up." 
 
 "What eh, oh, what?" came a sleepy 
 voice. 
 
 "Telephone the doctor, quick, quick, quick, 
 the baby is Oh, hurry, Al." 
 
 She ran to the bathroom and put her hand 
 in the running stream from the faucet. Tepid, 
 only tepid. Would it never get warm? If 
 God ever wanted anything more from her 
 in the way of belief or devotion let Him 
 make this water hot, now, on the instant. 
 
 Her wet hand and her dry one moved 
 rapidly together at her baby's clothes, un- 
 pinning the safety pins. Even in her haste 
 she put them in her mouth mechanically, one 
 after another. Once more she plunged her 
 hand into the water. Warmer now, yes, al- 
 most warm enough. She put the round rub- 
 ber stopper in the escape. 
 
 She lowered the stiff and naked little child 
 into the tub, one hand behind his neck, the 
 other held to shelter his face from the spray 
 of the hot water which was pouring from the 
 open tap. 
 
 Al stood at the door in bare feet, his 
 trousers slipped on over his nightshirt. 
 
 303 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "D'you want the doctor to come right 
 away?" he asked. 
 
 "Do you mean to say you haven't gone 
 yet?" she said piteously without turning her 
 head as she knelt by the bathtub, "of course, 
 right away now, this instant." 
 
 The young fellow departed on the run for 
 the janitor's telephone in the basement. 
 
 The water had become quite hot, but still 
 the child did not relax. Georgia tried to undo 
 one tiny fist with her forefinger, but she felt 
 with agony of heart that it would not un- 
 clench easilv. She sensed a touch on her 
 shoulder, then saw another older hand put 
 in the water behind the child's head. 
 
 "No, mother, you shan't," she said, "it is 
 my baby, leave him to me." 
 
 "Shall I ask Father Hervey to come?" 
 said Mrs. Talbot. 
 
 Georgia was too intent to answer. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot walked slowly down stairs, 
 stiff with rheumatism. She met Al coming 
 up, four steps at a time. 
 
 "How is he?" he shouted as he passed. 
 She turned to explain, but he vanished out 
 of sight around the turn at the landing, not 
 waiting for an answer. 
 
 304 
 
Albert Talbot Connor 
 
 When she got Father Hervey on the tele- 
 phone he asked if she was speaking of the 
 young child he had baptized a month or so 
 back. 
 
 4 * Three weeks come Tuesday,'' she said. 
 
 "Ah, then he has been baptized. That, at 
 least, is well." 
 
 1 ' But Father, if you could come, and pray, 
 maybe it would save his life here, too." 
 
 He hesitated but a moment. Truly there 
 was no priestly obligation to visit sick in- 
 fants who had already been baptized, when- 
 ever their grandparents became excited. To 
 baptize dying babies or to administer the last 
 rites to those who had reached the age of 
 reason was his duty. This was not. But if 
 he did it, it would be an act of human kind- 
 ness. 
 
 "I will come," he said over the wire, "at 
 once." 
 
 305 
 
XXIX 
 
 THE DOCTOR TALKS 
 
 When the doctor arrived the convulsion 
 had passed. Little Al was lying in his crib, 
 asleep, breathing easily, the snarls in his 
 nerves unravelled. Georgia explained what 
 had happened. 
 
 "You did just the right thing," said the 
 physician. 
 
 "Doctor," she asked slowly, "will he ever 
 be well?" 
 
 "What do you mean by well?" 
 
 "I mean, when he grows up will he be as 
 strong and and bright as other men?" 
 
 "That is impossible to answer, Mrs. Con- 
 nor, without the gift of prophecy." 
 
 "Don't put me off," said she staring at 
 him, "tell me the truth. I have a right to 
 know." 
 
 "I should first have to have a little more 
 definite knowledge of his antecedents, his 
 family history. Is there anything which 
 might explain " 
 
 306 
 
The Doctor Talks 
 
 "Not on our side of the family, " Mrs. Tal- 
 bot interrupted quickly, "they're clean peo- 
 ple, every one." 
 
 "His father," said Georgia, "is a drunkard 
 and the son of a drunkard." 
 
 "In that case it is possible, mind you I 
 only say possible, that he has inherited a a 
 nervous tendency." 
 
 "Inherited, ah, I knew. There was some- 
 thing in me that warned me steadily not to 
 go back to him. Something that made me 
 shudder to think of it. But at last I gave in, 
 because everyone in the world seemed in a 
 conspiracy to make me. ' ' 
 
 "Yes," the doctor answered drily, "we 
 run into such histories frequently." 
 
 "But," she pleaded suppliantly, as if he 
 had the power to do or undo, "surely my 
 baby can grow out of this nervous tendency. 
 Tell me he can grow out of it. With the right 
 care and training, surely he can grow out 
 of it." 
 
 He placed his hand on her shoulder, and 
 honesty seemed to her to be patent and ap- 
 parent in his voice. "Yes," he said, "it is 
 possible, it is probable. I have seen many a 
 mother make her child over with love." 
 
 307 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "Ah, that's all I want," she gave a happy 
 little sigh, "for I can do what they have 
 done." 
 
 There was a tap at the door. Mrs. Talbot 
 opened it and Father Hervey came in. 
 "Oh," she said, "Father, the baby's well 
 again. I shouldn't have bothered you." 
 
 "I'm glad for once it's an occasion for 
 rejoicing, ' ' he said quietly. ' ' Good morning, 
 doctor." 
 
 "Good morning, Father. Was the poor 
 fellow long after I left?" 
 
 "About half an hour." 
 
 "Were you at a deathbed last night, you 
 two?" asked Georgia. 
 
 "Yes, Georgia, we were," said the priest. 
 
 "It seems somehow strange," she pond- 
 ered, "that you two, so different, should be 
 called together at the end." 
 
 "Oh, it happens often enough," explained 
 the doctor. "Poor people. They want to 
 keep them here a little longer, and the priest 
 to bid them Godspeed in case they've got to 
 go." 
 
 "It must be terrible," reflected Mrs. Tal- 
 bot, "to die without a priest." 
 
 "Yes," answered the doctor, "Catholics 
 
 308 
 
The Doctor Talks 
 
 have the best of us there. They always go 
 hopefully, and they're the only ones that do. 
 I've sometimes wished that I could accept the 
 faith, but " he shook his head slowly. 
 
 "Why can't you?" said Georgia quickly. 
 Father Hervey smiled. He and the doctor 
 were trusted friends. There was no poach- 
 ing on each other's preserves. 
 
 "Do you honestly believe in a future life?" 
 she asked again, staring at the man of science 
 with her peculiar little wide-eyed stare. 
 
 1 ' Yes, I believe all of us here will probably 
 have it except perhaps Father Hervey. ' ' 
 
 "Well, doctor," said Mrs. Talbot most in- 
 dignantly, "I must say you've no call to be 
 disrespectful. If any of us is certain to have 
 it, it's him." 
 
 "Oh, that's one of his little jokes," he 
 said, "he means the rest of you'll likely leave 
 children behind you to be carrying your liv- 
 ing eyes and nose and mouth about the earth 
 long after the headstones are atop of you 
 and that's denied me." 
 
 "If they'd been denied me," its chronic 
 undertone of humor momentarily leaving the 
 doctor's voice, "or were taken now I'd just 
 as soon quit. I've four; one's learning to 
 
 309 
 
Rebellion 
 
 crawl, one to walk, one to read and the old- 
 est, " lie made a vain effort to conceal his 
 pride in such a son, "Oh he's a boy. He 
 can work his mother as easy as grease with a 
 sore throat story whenever he wants to stay 
 out of school. Pretty clever, eh, with a doctor 
 right in the family? He'll be a great bunco 
 steerer or a great lawyer some day and 
 make his name he's a junior bristle in the 
 headlines of 1950. That's the real life after 
 death our blood lives on, we don't." 
 
 "Yes," said Georgia tenderly glancing at 
 the crib, "our blood lives on, it lives on." 
 
 "When a little shop girl takes the boat over 
 to St. Joe, ' ' said the medical man, folding his 
 arms, well started on his favorite eugenics, 
 "she may be preparing a blend that will en- 
 dure as long as the race ten thousand or 
 one hundred thousand years, while any of 
 the descendants are alive. Marriage true 
 marriage, where children grow up and beget 
 others outlasts death by centuries, perhaps 
 eons." He paused to let it sink in. "What- 
 ever else there may be in addition," he said, 
 bowing slightly in the direction of the priest, 
 "this much is certain true in our children 
 we find immortality. ' ' 
 
 310 
 
The Doctor Talks 
 
 "Yes," said Georgia softly, looking at the 
 crib where lay her child, "in our children 
 there is immortality. My sweet little lamb," 
 she whispered, going to her child, "my 
 sweet " her voice changed suddenly, grow- 
 ing very harsh. "Doctor," she said, "come 
 here." 
 
 The doctor placed his ear to the child's 
 heart, then took his stethoscope from his 
 satchel to listen for the least fluttering. He 
 heard none. As he straightened up again, 
 she saw his answer in his face. 
 
 "Is he dead!" she asked. 
 
 "Yes." He spoke to the priest. "I will 
 come this afternoon, in case I can be of any 
 use," he whispered, and quietly withdrew. 
 
 The priest sprinkled the small dead body 
 with holy water. Mrs. Talbot and Al fell on 
 their knees, but Georgia stood. She was un 
 able to kneel to a God who had done that. 
 The priest prayed, half murmuring. Then in 
 a louder voice he said, "As for me, Thou hast 
 received me because of mine innocence." 
 
 "And hast set me before Thy face for- 
 ever," muttered Mrs. Talbot, who knew the 
 response. Al was silent, for he was not sure 
 
 311 
 
Rebellion 
 
 of the words. Georgia stood dumb, watching 
 her child with her wide-eyed little stare. 
 
 "The Lord be with thee " came the deep 
 musical voice of the priest. 
 
 "And with thy spirit, " muttered Mrs. 
 Talbot. 
 
 There was a moment of silence, then came 
 a knock at the door. It was repeated twice, 
 imperatively. 
 
 Then the door was opened from outside 
 and Carl Schroeder, president of the Fortieth 
 "Ward Club, entered, half carrying and half 
 guiding Jim Connor, who was stupidly drunk. 
 
 Schroeder placed Jim in a chair and 
 quickly slunk out. Jim swayed an instant in 
 the chair, trying to hold his balance, then fell 
 forward out of it. His hand struck the crib 
 as he lay inert, unknowing, obscene. 
 
 Georgia looked at him for an instant, she 
 began to giggle, to laugh. Her laughter grew 
 louder and louder. It came in waves, each 
 wilder and higher than the last. 
 
 It was long before they could quiet her. 
 
 312 
 
I 
 
XXX 
 
 FRANKLAND & CONNOR 
 
 Georgia and Jim Connor parted at the 
 cemetery gate after the burial of their son. 
 They have not, since then, seen each other. 
 
 Exclusive of her debt to Stevens, Georgia 
 owed more than two hundred dollars, nearly 
 half of which was for the funeral. Mrs. Tal- 
 bot had ordered eight carriages. 
 
 Big Al behaved very well, turning in every- 
 thing beyond carfare and lunch money for 
 several weeks. Then he relaxed to the extent 
 of five bright neckties and a pair of pointed 
 patent leathers. But on the whole he was a 
 very good boy, and Georgia told him so. 
 
 Her own wardrobe was in no condition for 
 effective job-hunting. "Old faithful," the 
 tan suit, once the pride of her heart and the 
 queen of her closet, had dated beyond hope. 
 Time had robbed the tan, not so much of 
 substance as of essence, of smartness and 
 caste. 
 
 313 
 
Rebellion 
 
 The models of Paris hadn't worn a six 
 yard pleated skirt for three years. So 
 Georgia couldn't either, without proclaiming 
 to her kind that she was either green or 
 broke. 
 
 As for the blue serge, that was out of the 
 question too, because it was simply worn out. 
 She bought a black broadcloth coat and skirt 
 that fitted wonderfully, as if they had been 
 made for her, and a half dozen ruffled shirt 
 waists. To these she added a severe black 
 toque and low laced shoes. The total outlay 
 ran to eighty-five dollars, but she considered 
 it essentially a business investment, as no 
 doubt it was. 
 
 She was pale, and her face had grown thin, 
 which made her big eyes seem bigger. Her 
 heavy black hair worn low on her forehead 
 accentuated her pallor. She was what is fre- 
 quently termed ' l interesting looking. ' ' At all 
 events many people on the street were inter- 
 ested enough to turn and look again. 
 
 She clung to the idea of an office of her own 
 some day, but because of the impracticability 
 of starting business with a capital of five 
 hundred dollars less than nothing, concluded 
 to begin as assistant to some already estab- 
 
 314 
 
Frankland & Connor 
 
 lished stenographer. Thus, she could learn 
 the game, make acquaintances, get a follow- 
 ing. Then when it was time to take the 
 plunge, it would be simple enough to circu- 
 larize this trade and switch at least part of 
 it over to herself from her former employer. 
 
 She went up and down in many elevators 
 and through many ground-glass doors in her 
 hunt for work. One prosperous-looking, 
 buxom, extreme blonde of thirty - eight, 
 dressed a coquettish twenty-five, paid her a 
 compliment. 
 
 " Listen, 7 ' she said in a stage whisper, 
 motioning to Georgia with a stubby forefinger 
 to bend her head nearer, "listen. I wouldn't 
 hire you for a dollar a week." She laughed 
 merrily. "You're too much of a doll-baby 
 yourself. ' ' 
 
 Georgia noted that the blonde lady's two 
 assistants, hammering away in the dark 
 inside corners of the room, were without 
 menace, sallow and flat-chested. 
 
 In a small suite in the newest, highest- 
 rented building in town, she found three tall, 
 thin young men, apparently brothers. They 
 were all very busy, writing by touch, their 
 eyes fixed steadily on their notes. She spoke 
 
 315 
 
Rebellion 
 
 to the nearest, but his flying fingers did not 
 even pause for her. "No women, " he re- 
 plied succinctly. 
 
 Many of the public stenographers had no 
 employes ; few more than one. Georgia found 
 several places where they had just hired a 
 girl. Apparently it was nowhere near so easy 
 to find a place where they had just fired one. 
 It was getting discouraging. 
 
 But her luck turned at the sign of L. Frank- 
 land, room 1241, the Sixth National Building. 
 1241 had a single narrow window which gave 
 upon eight hundred others in the tall rec- 
 tangular court. The room was not strategi- 
 cally desirable because there was another 
 stenographic office between it and the elevator 
 bank. Georgia felt sure she had seen L. 
 Frankland before, but couldn't just place her. 
 
 ' i Do you need help f I am an expert stenog- 
 rapher. " That was her formula. 
 
 "Yes, I do," came the wholly surprising 
 answer. Georgia promptly sat down. 
 
 "But," continued L. Frankland, "I cannot 
 afford to pay for it." 
 
 Georgia rose. "In that case," she said 
 stiffly, "good-day." 
 
 316 
 
Frankland & Connor 
 
 "Why not," suggested L. Frankland, "go 
 in with me as partner! " 
 
 "Partner that would be fine but I 
 haven't any money." 
 
 "Neither have I and I'll be turned out of 
 here a week from to-morrow if I haven't 
 twenty- seven fifty by then. That's how much 
 I'm behind." She smiled cheerfully. Then 
 Georgia remembered her. She was the nice 
 old maid who had given her the seat in the 
 car on the day she had met Mason. 
 
 "What's your rent?" 
 
 "Twenty-seven fifty." 
 
 "What arrangements do you want to 
 make!" 
 
 "Fifty-fifty on everything." 
 
 "I'll take a chance," said Georgia, remov- 
 ing her hat. "But," she exclaimed, looking 
 around, "why you've only got one machine 
 and a double keyboard at that. I'm not used 
 to them." 
 
 "We can rent another for a dollar a week 
 any sort you want," L. Frankland sug- 
 gested with ready resource. 
 
 "We can't get it here to-day. Let's see, 
 Miss, Miss ah what is your name?" They 
 
 317 
 
Rebellion 
 
 told each other. "Miss Frankland, are you 
 a fast writer f " 
 
 "No," she answered, composedly rattling 
 off a few test lines "Now is the time for all 
 good men to come to the aid of their party." 
 It was true enough. She was slow. 
 
 "How much work do you get?" 
 
 "Four ten-cent letters and a short brief 
 this morning. That's all to-day." 
 
 "What's the idea now wait!" asked 
 Georgia, taking off her coat and leaning 
 against the solitary desk. 
 
 ' ' Yep like young lawyers. ' ' 
 
 6 1 No use our both waiting with one machine 
 between us. I tell you what you go over 
 to the Standard Company, on Wabash Ave- 
 nue, and order a number four sent here, then 
 traipse around to some other public offices 
 you can find plenty in the back of the tele- 
 phone book and see if they won't sublet us 
 some of their work at half rates. I'll hold 
 down the place, and get the hang of this key- 
 board while you're gone." 
 
 L. Frankland saluted. "Aye, aye, ma'am," 
 said she. "I likewise do now promote you to 
 be captain of this brig." 
 
 318 
 
Frankland & Connor 
 
 When she returned she brought a sheaf, the 
 manuscript of a drama. 
 
 Georgia knocked it out in twenty-four 
 hours, in triplicate, and took it back to the 
 firm of origin in the Opera House Block. 
 "Z. & Z. Theatrical Typists" was the sign 
 on the door. 
 
 The room was small, and thick with smoke. 
 There must have been a dozen men in it, all 
 important-looking. Mr. Zingmeister, the 
 senior partner, a fat young Hebrew, received 
 Georgia's work. 
 
 "Botten," he said, glancing through it. 
 
 "Why!" she asked sharply. 
 
 4 * Wrong spacing. A script plays a minute 
 to the page if typed right. How could anyone 
 tell how long this would play?" He held it 
 up between two fingers, contemptuously. 
 
 ' ' Give me a sample act for a guide and I '11 
 do it over for nothing." 
 
 He hesitated. "Too many novices in this 
 profession already," he grumbled. 
 
 "My time's up," said she, reaching for her 
 work. "If you don't want to pay me for it, 
 I'll take it back." 
 
 He laid his hand on it. 
 
 "Come, come," said she, impatiently. 
 
 319 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "Oh, keep your shirt on while I think it 
 over/' he answered. "All right, do it over 
 again and do it right/' he sighed plaintively, 
 "and space it this way. Speeches solid. Drop 
 two for character's name. Capitalize them 
 caps, understand ! with red underlines. Also 
 red underline the business, so." 
 
 He demonstrated with a spoiled page from 
 the waste basket. 
 
 "That'll give you the code, understand," 
 he concluded, shoving it in her hand. "Now 
 shake a foot." 
 
 The important-looking beings in the room 
 apparently neither saw nor heard. Save for 
 the clouds of smoke that issued from them 
 they might have been graven. 
 
 When she got back to 1241 she was bursting 
 with an idea. 
 
 "How long does your lease run, Miss 
 Frankland?" she asked. 
 
 "Until May first." 
 
 "You can't get out of it?" 
 
 "No, I signed up." 
 
 "Well, if we don't pay our rent they'll put 
 us out." It proved to be a prophecy. 
 
 Frankland & Connor found a bigger room 
 for sixteen a month in the theatrical district, 
 
 320 
 
Frankland & Connor 
 
 which for some unexplained reason converges 
 from three sides upon the Court House. They 
 described themselves as "experts in theat- 
 rical work," and presently they were. 
 
 They learned to give a dramatic criticism 
 with each receipted bill. The play they had 
 just transcribed was deeply moving, especial- 
 ly in the big scene, or one long roar, sure-fire. 
 Playwrights were as thick as July blackber- 
 ries and the firm prospered. 
 
 Occasionally Georgia sat up most of the 
 night with a scared author and an impatient 
 stage director, altering the script of a play 
 after it had flivvered on the opening, and get- 
 ting out new parts for it. 
 
 At first, she and L. Frankland found them- 
 selves forced into overtime almost every even- 
 ing, because the theatrical people were invar- 
 iably in such a raging hurry to get their work 
 done, vast enterprises apparently hanging 
 upon the rapid, if not the immediate, comple- 
 tion thereof. With growing experience, how- 
 ever, the firm learned to promise impossibil- 
 ities for the sake of peace, but not to attempt 
 them. 
 
 When the orders came in faster than they 
 could handle them, Frankland & Connor 
 
 321 
 
Rebellion 
 
 jobbed them out again at fifty per cent. 
 Georgia had three or four private stenograph- 
 ers on her list who were glad to pick up a lit- 
 tle pin money on their employers' machines 
 after hours. Perhaps in hours, too. She 
 didn't know or care. 
 
 At the end of a twelvemonth she had paid 
 off her debts, except the one to Mason, on 
 which she sent interest. 
 
 She was also able to employ a woman to 
 help her mother with the housework two af- 
 ternoons a week. 
 
 Early in the firm's second year of existence, 
 L. Frank! and came in one Monday morning 
 with a long face, a rare thing for her. 
 
 "I want to make a change," she said, "I'm 
 not satisfied. I've been thinking it over. This 
 isn't an impulse." 
 
 "A change?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Georgia was genuinely distressed, because 
 she had grown very fond of Miss Frankland. 
 There was no more cheerful person in the 
 world, she thought, than this dry, twinkling 
 old maid. And she had hoped her feeling was 
 returned. Eeal friendships were too rare to 
 be tossed away so suddenly. 
 
 322 
 
Frankland & Connor 
 
 "I'm not satisfied, " repeated L. Frankland, 
 "because the present deal between us isn't 
 fair. You've pulled the big half of the load 
 ever since we started so, give me a third in- 
 terest instead of a half I'd be better pleased, 
 honest Injun, hope to die." 
 
 "Oh, shut up, Frank, and get to work. I've 
 no time for foolishness," responded Georgia, 
 much relieved. "Fifty-fifty it started and 
 fifty-fifty it sticks." 
 
 Which it did. 
 
 323 
 
XXXI 
 
 THE STODGY MAN 
 
 Mrs. Talbot was beginning to break. Her 
 bones ached barometrically before rain; she 
 noticed that after she had been on her feet 
 a great deal, on cleaning days for instance, 
 her ankles began to puff. Also she learned 
 to avoid short breath by taking the stairs 
 more easily. Sometimes she grew dizzy and 
 little black specks floated before her eyes. 
 
 Fortunately she regarded her symptoms 
 as a series of disconnected, unrelated phe- 
 nomena. The heart was one thing, the liver 
 another, rheumatism a third. Swollen joints 
 were still different. That came from over- 
 doing. For different diseases different 
 remedies. She took her medicine very con- 
 scientiously, treating her symptoms, not her 
 annodomini. 
 
 She thought of her children as young, not 
 of herself as old. She wasn't sixty yet, just 
 the time when people learn at last to profit 
 by experience the same age as most of the 
 
 324 
 
The Stodgy Man 
 
 people she knew, Mrs. Conway, for instance, 
 and Mrs. Schweppe, Mrs. Keough and Mrs. 
 Cochrane. 
 
 The last two had recently been the victims 
 of a sad and striking coincidence. They had 
 lost their husbands within twenty-four hours 
 of each other, in the preceding February, on 
 the seventh and eighth of the month as Mrs. 
 Talbot recalled it, anyway it was of a Tues- 
 day and Wednesday. Dan Keough, to be 
 sure, had been ailing some time, but it would 
 have been a day's journey to find a heartier 
 looking man than Jerry Cochrane, up to the 
 very day he came home coughing. And a 
 week after, they laid him out. 
 
 They say a green Christmas makes a fat 
 churchyard, and goodness knows last win- 
 ter proved it. It had been very wet and 
 sloppy, hardly any snow at all until January, 
 and then it didn't last long. She had fol- 
 lowed the hearse to Calvary one, two, three, 
 four times in a twelvemonth. The climate 
 had lately changed for the worse. She could 
 remember when all the Christmases were 
 white and didn't use to kill people. 
 
 The first time that Georgia suggested giv- 
 ing up housekeeping, mama vehemently re- 
 
 325 
 
Rebellion 
 
 pudiated the idea. The third time she agreed 
 to it, but on one sole condition, namely, that 
 the change was to be only temporary. They 
 were to take another flat as soon as she got 
 to feeling more like herself again. 
 
 The family moved to the parlor floor of a 
 long and narrow gray block house farther 
 north. What had been designed, in 1880, for 
 the front parlor was now the living room of 
 the suite. Georgia put a piano in it, and Al 
 a rack of bulldog pipes and a row of steins, 
 like college men. The back parlor became 
 Mrs. Talbot's room, the dining room 
 Georgia's, and Al took the small one in the 
 rear, overlooking the back yard. 
 
 The meals were served, 7 to 8:30, 1 to 2, 
 6 to 7, in the half-basement immediately 
 under the front parlor. They were standard- 
 ized corned beef Thursday, fish Friday, 
 roast beef Saturday, chicken Sunday. Mrs. 
 Talbot and her children had their own private 
 table, and they gave her the best seat with 
 her back to the window, as titular head of the 
 family. They had an arrangement that the 
 young folks were never to be away from sup- 
 per at the same time and leave mama alone. 
 
 Georgia saw no reason why she should not 
 
 326 
 
The Stodgy Man 
 
 now and then accept an invitation from some 
 man or other to dine and go to the theatre, 
 provided she had sized him up for a decent 
 sort. She always made the condition, though, 
 that she would provide the theatre seats, 
 which she usually managed to do inex- 
 pensively, owing to her acquaintance with 
 advance men and agents in a rush to get 
 their Sunday flimsies written. 
 
 At intervals she received an avowal which 
 flattered her sufficiently, if made well. And 
 she had plenty of hints that she might evoke 
 a declaration without any serious difficulty. 
 
 But she had very little trouble in keeping 
 men where she wanted them, for she had the 
 faculty of knowing what they were going to 
 think before they thought it. 
 
 A young, pink-cheeked, country lawyer 
 lately moved in from Iowa, and famous there 
 as a stump orator, gave her the biggest sur- 
 prise. She liked him ; she appreciated he had 
 real brains. But on the very first evening 
 that they ever went anywhere together, when 
 he was driving her home from the play, he 
 became suddenly and violently obsessed with 
 the idea that a taxicab was liberty hall. 
 After a few seconds ' struggle, she rapped on 
 
 327 
 
Rebellion 
 
 the window, made the chauffeur stop, and 
 went home in the car after a few pat words 
 to her host. 
 
 There came from him next morning by 
 special messenger sixteen closely and cleverly 
 written pages, which started with a graceful 
 and humble expression of contrition and 
 ended with an offer of marriage. 
 
 The messenger was to wait an answer. He 
 didn't have to wait long. She at once ac- 
 cepted the apology and rejected the proposal. 
 
 She admitted frankly that as a rule she 
 liked men much better than women (except, 
 of course, L. Frankland). They had a bigger 
 outlook. But she didn't want and wouldn't 
 have even the mildest sort of a flirtation. 
 
 She thought it would be cheap and 
 cowardly and absurd, after murdering real 
 love as she had done, to philander across its 
 grave. 
 
 When at last she was able to pay back 
 Mason's loan in full, with accumulated in- 
 terest, she was surprised to find how little 
 happier it made her. For nearly three years 
 she had lived with her debt on the assumption 
 that it was life's most insupportable burden. 
 Now that it was settled, she began to realize 
 
 328 
 
The Stodgy Man 
 
 that she had entertained the angel of success 
 in disguise. The debt had been her most 
 dynamic inspiration. 
 
 The man she loved had borrowed to lend 
 to her. Quite possibly in so doing he had 
 saved her life. In return she had broken her 
 promise to marry him. Immediately he had 
 begun to prosper and she to fall on evil days. 
 Pride could not be more humiliated. To save 
 her face before him, it was absolutely indis- 
 pensable for her to prosper also in her turn, 
 by her own will and skill ; to pay him off to 
 the last accumulated mill of interest ; to prove 
 to him that she had done as well without him 
 as he had done without her; to make him 
 know that she was very, very happy and 
 content. 
 
 When her hopes came true and she en- 
 larged her quarters and took a third assistant 
 and opened a checking account, and alter- 
 nated Saturdays off with L. Frankland; 
 when her hopes came true they weren't hopes 
 any more, but history. For anyone with the 
 gambler's instinct, and Georgia had more 
 than a little of it, yesterday is a dull affair 
 compared with to-morrow. 
 
 It gives one a mighty respectable feeling 
 
 329 
 
Rebellion 
 
 to have the receiving teller smile and say, 
 4 1 What you again 1 ' ' when you come to his 
 window. Then he writes a new total in your 
 book in purple ink and you peek at it once 
 or twice on your way back to the office. 
 
 Yes, success was very sweet and creditable. 
 It did away with a heap of worry around the 
 first of the month; any woman is happier 
 for not having to make last year's suit do; 
 and people are certainly more polite. 
 Money's the oil of life. But it isn't life. 
 
 If you're only thirty, and the dollar's all 
 you want, or get Georgia leaned back in her 
 pivot chair and stretched her arms above her 
 head and yawned, ho-ho-hum, the stodgy 
 man will get you if you don't watch out. 
 
 " Frank," she asked, "do you ever feel 
 like an automaton that's been wound up and 
 has to keep going till it runs down?" 
 
 "Sure. Everybody does, now and then." 
 
 "But what's the use? what's the answer?" 
 continued Georgia querulously. 
 
 L. Frankland looked over her spectacles 
 and her shoulder, her hands still on the key- 
 board. "The answer," she said vivaciously, 
 ' ' for a woman is a man ; for a man the answer 
 is a woman. Whoever made us knew what 
 
 330 
 
The Stodgy Man 
 
 he was about, and don't you forget it. What's 
 your idea?" 
 
 " Let's hear yours out first." 
 
 ".Once when I was a young thing," said L. 
 Frankland, swinging around, " I waited for 
 an hour in my wedding dress, but he never 
 came. He was killed on the way to the church 
 by a runaway horse. I decided to remain true 
 to his memory. I had other chances after- 
 wards, when I was still a young thing," she 
 smiled whimsically, "but I refused them. 
 I'm sorry now." 
 
 "Frank, you remember my telling you 
 about that money I owed to the man I spoke 
 about?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And how it worried me?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, I paid it off last week, and I've 
 been miserable ever since." 
 
 "That's because you felt you were snap- 
 ping the last thread. Is he still in love with 
 you?" 
 
 "No. At least I don't see how he could 
 be. It's been so long, and the last time he 
 saw me," Georgia laughed unhappily, "I 
 wasn't very lovely." 
 
 331 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "If he saw you now, young lady, he'd have 
 nothing to complain of," was the cheerful 
 retort. "By the way, has he sent you a re- 
 ceipt for the money?" 
 
 "No, not yet." 
 
 "The best sign in the world," said Lu 
 Frankland, slapping her knee excitedly. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because it shows he's thinking about it. 
 It's not routine to him. Georgia, if you have 
 another chance given you, don't be afraid to 
 take life in your own hands," the old maid 
 said gently, l i if you know that you love him. ' ' 
 
 "I have always known that, since the be- 
 ginning, ' ' the young woman answered slowly, 
 "but even if by a miracle he still does, it 
 is too late now. I've taken three of the best 
 years of my life away from him and wasted 
 them, thrown them away. You know how 
 it is with us women. We have only twenty 
 years or so when men really want us. More 
 than half of mine are gone. It wouldn't be 
 fair to go to him now. He should marry a 
 young girl. He is a young man." 
 
 "You've wasted a lot of time already, and 
 to make up for it you'll waste the rest. 
 
 332 
 
The Stodgy Man 
 
 That's supreme logic. And yet," with heavy 
 sarcasm, "man says we can't reason." 
 
 Georgia smiled at her friend's earnestness. 
 "Oh, I'm in the rut, Frank. What's the use 
 of talking any more about me? Come on to 
 lunch. The girls," she nodded in the direc- 
 tion of the three employes in the outer of- 
 fice, "can hold the fort for an hour. There 
 isn't much doing." 
 
 When their meal was finished they matched 
 for the check, and L. Frankland was stuck. 
 "Do one thing anyway," she said as she 
 swept up her change, minus a quarter, "get 
 your divorce. Then you can marry him 
 straight off, if he asks you again and you 
 change your mind. You wouldn't like to go 
 through all that rigmarole under his eyes, 
 while he was standing by, waiting." 
 
 "No I guess I won't bother. What's the 
 use? I won't change my mind. Here I be 
 and here I stay." 
 
 "You're a big fool," responded L. Frank- 
 land. "That's what I think." 
 
xxxn 
 EEBELLION 
 
 Georgia walked home to the boarding house 
 that evening, as was her custom when the 
 weather was fair. It was quite a tramp, 
 three miles, but then the fresh air and exer- 
 cise made one feel so well. Besides, if one 
 wants to be sure of staying slim 
 
 Mrs. Plew, the landlady, was standing on 
 the front stoop when she arrived, talking 
 of carving knives to an old-fashioned scissor - 
 grinding man, the sort who advertise with a 
 bell and a chant. 
 
 ' ' Good evening, Mrs. Connor." 
 
 "Good evening, Mrs. Plew." 
 
 "Lovely weather we're having." 
 
 "Yes indeed, isn't it? My partner she 
 lives in Woodlawn saw two robins this 
 morning. The buds ought to be out pretty 
 soon now." 
 
 Mrs. Plew laughed. "The German bands 
 are out already. That's the surest sign I 
 know. Oh, Mrs. Connor," Georgia, who was 
 
 334 
 
Rebellion 
 
 on the top step turned, " there was a young 
 man came to see you this afternoon. He 
 waited nearly an hour. He didn't leave his 
 name." 
 
 "Did he say anything about coming back?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "And he didn't leave his name?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "What did he look like?" 
 
 "Well, he was tall, blue clothes, black 
 derby hat. He had on a blue tie with white 
 dots. I don't know as I can describe him 
 exactly. It was kind of dark in the hall and 
 I didn't get a good look at him." 
 
 Georgia paused with her hand on the knob 
 of the living room door, as she heard talking 
 within, her mother's uninflected murmuring 
 and a musical masculine voice, deeper than 
 Al's. It must be Father Hervey, patient 
 man, who came regularly once a fortnight, 
 nominally to confer with Mrs. Talbot as to 
 the activities of the ladies' advisory board 
 of the children's summer-camp school. But 
 his visits were less for the summer school 
 than for mama, to cheer her in her feeble 
 loneliness. 
 
 Georgia slipped back to her own room, by 
 
 335 
 
Rebellion 
 
 way of the hall. An instinct has been grow- 
 ing in her of recent months to avoid falling 
 into talk with the priest. He was so sure 
 and strong and dominating; and she wanted 
 to think for herself. 
 
 Al was whistling loudly in his back little 
 cubicle, performing sartorial miracles before 
 his square pine-framed mirror, with a tall 
 collar that lapped in front and a very 
 Princeton tie, orange and black, broad 
 stripes. 
 
 She smiled reminiscently, regretfully, as 
 she stood in the shadow and watched his gay 
 evolutions through the partly opened door. 
 He had so very much ahead of him that was 
 behind her. He had the spring. 
 
 "Why such splendor ?" she asked finally. 
 
 "Oh, I didn't know you were there. Why," 
 he explained, amazed that explanation was 
 necessary, "to-night is the big night. Our 
 Bachelor's Dance. Don't you remember you 
 were invited as chaperone. I'm on the 
 committee. ' ' 
 
 "Hope you have a good time. Who are 
 you taking?" 
 
 He colored defiantly. "Annie Traeger." 
 
 336 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "Oh-ho, I thought it was Delia Williamson 
 that you " 
 
 "It was, but she got too gay, so I thought 
 I'd teach her a lesson. " 
 
 "Poor Delia," sighed Georgia, mischie- 
 vously. 
 
 "Oh, I'll have a dance or two with her," 
 Al promised, putting on his coat and giving 
 his hair a last pat with the tips of his fingers. 
 He departed with the trill of a mocking bird. 
 He had been a famous whistler from child- 
 hood. 
 
 Georgia tiptoed to the door of the living 
 room. There was no sound. Father Hervey 
 must have gone. She turned the knob and 
 went in. 
 
 "Good evening, my child," said the priest, 
 rising courteously and extending his hand. 
 ' ' I was resting a moment, hoping you might 
 be home." 
 
 "Good evening, Father. Thank you so 
 much. ' ' 
 
 "Your mother," he lowered his voice, 
 "isn't as strong as her friends might hope, 
 I'm afraid. She just had a faint spell, and 
 she's in there now, lying down. It quite 
 worried me, Georgia." 
 
 337 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "Yes, sometimes I'm afraid she won't get 
 better." 
 
 "She has told me she wished to resign from 
 the advisory board of our summer school. 
 That shows how she thinks she is. You know 
 how much interest she always took in the 
 work as long as she was able." 
 
 6 * Yes poor mama. ' ' 
 
 ' l It would be a great comfort to her if you 
 would take her place. ' ' 
 
 "Me?" exclaimed Georgia, startled. 
 
 "Yes. She is very anxious to keep it in 
 the family, as it were, ' ' he explained, smiling. 
 
 "Let's see," asked Georgia slowly, "who's 
 on that board?" 
 
 "Mrs. Conway." 
 
 "Mrs. Conway," she repeated, picking up 
 a newspaper and writing on the margin. 
 
 "Mrs. Keough, Mrs. Schweppe, Mrs. 
 Cochrane." 
 
 Georgia wrote on the newspaper after each 
 name. "And mama," she added. She 
 footed the total. "Those five women aggre- 
 gate more than two hundred and fifty years," 
 she bitterly exclaimed. "They're an ad- 
 visory board, because they can only advise 
 about life. They're past living it. And I 
 
 338 
 
Rebellion 
 
 am just thirty. No, Father, I won't go on 
 the board yet." 
 
 She was curiously resentful, as if she had 
 received an insult. She walked quickly to 
 the window and threw it open, looking out 
 and turning her back to the priest until she 
 might collect herself and control her strange 
 agitation. 
 
 ' i Very well," he answered gently, "I only 
 hoped that it might please your mother." He 
 took his hat in his hand and stood up. "Be- 
 fore I go," he said, "I think I should tell 
 you that I have had news from your hus- 
 band." He took a letter from his pocket and 
 held it out toward her. 
 
 "No I won't read it, thank you." 
 
 "He's on a farm in Iowa," the priest said, 
 "I managed it. He's been doing hard work 
 and is much better." 
 
 "Yes, he may raise himself up a little, and 
 then just when people are beginning to hope 
 for the hundredth time, he'll relapse and 
 wallow." 
 
 "Yes, I am afraid sometimes he is hope- 
 less." The despondency was plain in his 
 voice. 
 
 "He's quite hopeless. He's incurable. 
 
 339 
 
Rebellion 
 
 It's a disease; but it works slowly on him, 
 like leprosy." 
 
 "Do you think a drunkard is wholly to 
 blame for his malady?" 
 
 "Oh," said Georgia, "I'm not sure that 
 anyone's ever to blame for anything. It 
 just happens, that's all." 
 
 Mrs. Plew knocked and half opened the 
 door. "That young man's back," she said, 
 "shall I show him in?" Before Georgia 
 could answer Stevens came into the room. 
 
 Without greeting of any kind, in rapid, 
 mechanical words, as if he had learned his 
 piece by heart, he explained his abrupt 
 coming. 
 
 "I have received a business offer," he 
 began, "which if I accept will take me away 
 from America for a term of years. It is to 
 superintend, on behalf of Mr. Silverman, the 
 reorganization of certain life companies 
 along modern American lines in South 
 America. Headquarters, Eio de Janiero, 
 Brazil. I have come for your advice, and 
 your advice will govern. Shall I or shall I 
 not accept the offer?" He stopped abruptly, 
 looking at her with a harsh, almost savage 
 expression, as he waited for her reply. 
 
 340 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "You know what I mean," he burst out. 
 i ' Answer me yes or no. ' ' 
 
 "You know Father Hervey, Mr. Stevens, " 
 she said coolly. 
 
 "I think I have heard of you before, Mr. 
 Stevens/' the priest bowed slightly. 
 
 "And I have heard of you," answered the 
 young man bitterly. He turned to Georgia. 
 "Answer me," he repeated, "yes or no." 
 
 "If it is an advantageous offer from a 
 business point of view," she said gently, "I 
 think you should go, Mason." 
 
 "That settles it," said he between his 
 teeth. "You'd made it plain enough with 
 your silence. I said I'd come when you sent 
 for me. I waited and waited, but you never 
 sent. Every single day I've looked in the 
 mail hoping, and the only thing I got from 
 you was money. And when I found that 
 Connor had left you, had been gone a year, 
 I had a little hope again that Oh, Georgia," 
 he exclaimed in his wretchedness, "you did 
 care for me once. Why did you stop ? ' ' 
 
 "I haven't stopped, Mason, but " she 
 motioned toward the priest in his black and 
 solemn garments, standing beside them like 
 
 341 
 
Rebellion 
 
 a stern guardian, "but " she said, and her 
 shoulders seemed to droop forward irreso- 
 lutely, "I'm helpless." 
 
 Stevens took a step toward Father Hervey 
 and there was almost a threat in his gesture. 
 "Don't you see," he said, his two fists 
 clenched, "that if someone in the barroom 
 had cracked Jim Connor over the head with 
 a whiskey bottle during his last spree or if 
 D Ts had hit him five per cent harder after- 
 wards I could have her with your blessing 
 and we'd be happy oh, so happy as we'd 
 be, Georgia! It isn't as if I wanted to break 
 up a home. The home's broken up already. 
 Don't you see? And you're telling her she 
 can't move out of the wreck. She's got to sit 
 in the rubbish as long as the man who made it 
 is able to make more." 
 
 "Young man," the priest answered not un- 
 kindly, "will you listen for a moment to an 
 old man? I believe that you are a decent sort 
 that your love for Georgia is honest " 
 
 "If there is any honesty in me," and Stev- 
 ens' voice caught and broke. 
 
 "Yours, I am afraid," Father Hervey went 
 on, including them both in his words, "is an 
 example of those rare and exceptional cases 
 
 342 
 
Rebellion 
 
 where at the first sight marriage and divorce 
 would seem almost permissible ' 
 
 "Yes," Stevens interrupted eagerly. 
 
 "But those cases, too," continued the 
 priest in his melodious, resonant, trained 
 voice, "have been thoroughly contemplated 
 and considered by the deep wisdom of the 
 Church." He waited an instant, then pro- 
 nounced sentence. 
 
 "They must be sacrificed for the rest. For 
 if a single exception were once made, others 
 would inevitably follow ; and just as a trickle 
 through a dike becomes a stream, and the 
 stream a torrent, so whole people would be 
 inundated in a flood of bestiality. If Georgia 
 is, as you say in any sense deprived of her 
 womanhood, it is for the sake of millions on 
 millions of others, who while the Church can 
 raise her voice and that, my friend, will be 
 while the world lasts shall not be abandoned 
 in their helplessness." 
 
 But Stevens, who had not been listening 
 to the priest's words as soon as he saw what 
 conclusion they were coming to, clapped his 
 hands softly together and smiled. 
 
 "I have it," he said, "I have it at last. 
 I will give Jim Connor a job in the Eio 
 
 343 
 
Rebellion 
 
 branch with good pay, too to drink him- 
 self to death on. Why not," he asked him- 
 self vehemently, as if he would convince 
 himself, "that's practical." 
 
 "It would be murder, " the priest spoke in 
 a voice of horror. 
 
 "Not by the letter of the law and that's 
 what you 're enforcing. ' ' 
 
 "Of course I shall warn him." 
 
 "My pay will talk louder," said Stevens, 
 knowing that the drunkard is always on 
 ticket-of-leave, "and he'll have all the time 
 off he wants for aguardiente, stronger than 
 whiskey, and cheaper. No white man can go 
 against it for long in that climate." 
 
 Georgia stood back, fascinated by the duel 
 of the two men. 
 
 "You must be mad, Stevens," said the 
 priest with a note of fear in his voice, as if he 
 realized that for the first time he was losing 
 control of the situation. 
 
 "I'm a grown man. No other man can 
 say 'No' to me forever. If Connor's the one 
 obstacle to our marriage I'll remove it." 
 
 The two men looked at each other with 
 steady and increasing anger. 
 
 The woman laid her hand upon her lover's 
 
 344 
 
Rebellion 
 
 shoulder. "I will get an absolute divorce, 
 Mason, " she said. 
 
 "What is the meaning of that?" the priest 
 asked, and his deep voice shook. 
 
 "I could give you my soul, Father, but 
 not his, too." 
 
 Stevens took her hands in his and they 
 stood together, separated by nearly the 
 width of the room from the old priest. He 
 turned his eyes from them as from an im- 
 pious spectacle, and looked upward, his lips 
 moving silently as if in prayer. When he 
 spoke, there was new force in his voice, as 
 if he had received help and strength. 
 
 "Georgia," he spoke with conscious 
 dignity, in the full authority of his office, 
 "for fifteen hundred years your people 
 whoever they were, artisans, farmers, lords 
 and beggars, have belonged to our faith. 
 The tradition is in your blood. You cannot 
 cast it out. And as you grow older, and your 
 blood cools, the fifteen hundred years will 
 speak to you; you will regret your sin bit- 
 terly; and in the end you will leave him or 
 you will die in fear. ' ' 
 
 "No, Father," she said, slowly as if feel- 
 ing for her words. "It is all much plainer 
 
 345 
 
Rebellion 
 
 now. God is not a secret from the common 
 people. He talks to each of us direct, not 
 roundabout through priests and books and 
 churches. He has put His purpose straight 
 into our natures. He doesn't deal with us 
 at second hand. And I begin to see His mean- 
 ing He gave us life to live and to make 
 again." 
 
 "According to His ordinance." 
 
 "Yes," her answer came quickly and 
 boldly, "according to his ordinance, written 
 in the heart of every woman that the sin of 
 sins for her is to live with a man in hate. 
 When she does that street girl or wife 
 she's much the same. Oh, there's many and 
 many a degradation blessed by the wedding 
 ring. That's against His plan, or why should 
 He warn us so? Women at least common, 
 average women like me were put here to 
 love, not just to submit. If you forbid us to 
 love in honor, you forbid us to live in honor. 
 And the life God gave me, I will use and not 
 refuse." 
 
 "My child! If you do not repent in 
 time ' the suffering was plain in the old 
 man's voice. 
 
 346 
 
Rebellion 
 
 "I cannot repent that I have become my- 
 self. " 
 
 "Then," he slowly uttered the inexorable 
 words, "you cannot receive absolution." 
 
 "Father," she answered, "the only thing 
 I am sorry about, and I am sorrier than you 
 know, is that it will make you, personally so 
 unhappy ! ' ' 
 
 For a few seconds there was neither move- 
 ment nor sound in the room. Then the old 
 priest, with trembling hands and bent shoul- 
 ders, passed from the room, and forever from 
 Georgia's sight. 
 
 347 
 
xxxm 
 THE APE 
 
 Father Hervey went slowly and cautiously 
 down the front steps, holding to the rail with 
 his right hand and putting his left foot for- 
 ward for each separate step. He did not 
 remember being so weary and discouraged 
 for many years. He walked back to the 
 parish house, his head slightly bowed, his 
 hands clasped behind him, unnoting, or nod- 
 ding slightly and in silence to those who 
 greeted him. 
 
 Among all the backslidings that he could 
 remember in his long pastorate there had 
 been few, perhaps none, that had saddened 
 him more than this one. He had grieved for 
 many a vain and foolish sheep that had 
 strayed away into the briers of sin, not to be 
 found again, until, wounded and wasted, it 
 stumbled home to die. For such is the na- 
 ture of sheep and poor souls. 
 
 But Georgia's case was not within that 
 parable. She was not weak or will-less. Her 
 
 348 
 
The Ape 
 
 sin had been with cold deliberation, in open, 
 defiant rebellion against the Church, know- 
 ing the price of what she did. Very well, let 
 her pay it. His old lips drew together in a 
 thin bloodless line, as in his mind he con- 
 demned her in reprisal for her few years of 
 rebellious happiness to eternal and infinite 
 woe. God was merciful, but also he was just, 
 and that was justice. Yet the priest could 
 not persist in the mood. Presently, in spite 
 of himself he softened toward her. That she 
 the little child whom he had held in his 
 arms and breathed upon at the baptismal 
 font, had come at last to this 
 
 It was the age, this wicked age of atheism, 
 he told himself fiercely, that had corrupted 
 her. She could not be altogether, altogether 
 to blame that the current had been too swift 
 for her to swim against. Perhaps the gentle 
 Savior would yet touch her spirit with His 
 mercy and guide her at last to the foot of His 
 throne. 
 
 Doubt poisoned the very air she breathed ; 
 it broke out like boils and deep sores in the 
 newspapers and books, symptoms of the cor- 
 ruption beneath; it was strident in the crass 
 
 349 
 
Rebellion 
 
 levity of the talk and slang of the street. It 
 could not be escaped. 
 
 America, save for the Catholic fifteen mil- 
 lion, doubted. The faithful stood like an 
 island rising out of the waters of agnosti- 
 cism. Was it strange that where the waves 
 beat hardest, some of the sand was washed 
 
 Fifty years ago when he was a young man 
 there had arisen in the world the great anti- 
 Christ, who had been more harmful than 
 Luther Darwin, the monkey man. The 
 Protestant churches, as ever uninspired, had 
 first fought, then compromised with him. 
 They tried to swallow and digest Darwinism. 
 But Darwinism had digested them. The an- 
 thropoid ape had shaken the throne of 
 Luther's Jehovan God. The greater anti- 
 Christ had consumed the lesser. 
 
 The Church alone stood firm. She had ad- 
 mitted no orang-outangs to her communion 
 table, and now her policy was justified by its 
 fruits. Her faithful remained the only Chris- 
 tians in Christendom. 
 
 Ecclesia Depopulata, ran the old prophecy, 
 the Church deserted. And the time was near 
 upon them for the fulfillment of the words. 
 
 350 
 
The Ape 
 
 France, Italy, Portugal, and even Spain, were 
 in revolution against the Keys of Peter. The 
 evil days were coming, Ecclesia Depopulates. 
 
 But a new age of faith was to follow, so 
 also it was prophesied. The deathless Church 
 could not die. Once again she was to rule a 
 pious world in might, majesty, dominion and 
 power and her sway would endure until the 
 last day. 
 
 He fell upon his knees in his bare ascetic 
 study and presently arose refreshed, a fight- 
 ing veteran in the army that will make no 
 peace but a victor 's. 
 
 351 
 
XXXIV 
 
 WHICH BEGINS ANOTHER STORY 
 
 MAKES DIVOECE SPEED BECOHD 
 
 Judge Peebles Sets New Pace for 
 Untying Nuptial Knots. 
 
 Cupid went down for the count in the 
 courtroom of Circuit Judge James M. 
 Peebles when five couples were legally 
 separated yesterday afternoon between 3 
 and 4 o'clock about ten minutes for each 
 case. This is said to establish a new record 
 in Cook county for rapid-fire divorce. The 
 cases, which were uncontested, were as 
 follows : 
 
 Each el Sieglinde vs. Max Sieglinde; 
 abandonment. 
 
 Harmon A. Darroch vs. Lottie Dar- 
 roch; infidelity. 
 
 Mary Stiles vs. Jonathan Stiles; drunk- 
 enness. 
 
 Georgia Connor vs. James Connor; 
 drunkenness. 
 
 Sarah Bush vs. Oscar Bush; drunken- 
 ness and cruelty. 
 
 None of the defendants appearing, the 
 decrees were entered by default. 
 
 Georgia read the item twice and smiled 
 bitterly. So her divorce was one of the 
 11 rapid fire" variety! They said it had taken 
 ten minutes. She knew it had taken ten years. 
 
 352 
 
Which Begins Another Story 
 
 And Bush, Darroch, those other people 
 might they not also have walked in Gethse- 
 mane? Was this what the papers meant by 
 their humorous accounts of "divorce mills "? 
 She had received an especially vivid impres- 
 sion of Mr. Darroch and never would forget 
 him. His case had come just before her own. 
 He had spoken in a nasal, penetrating voice 
 and she heard plainly every word when he 
 testified. He was a short middle-aged man 
 whose young wife, after ruining him by her 
 extravagance, had run away with a tall 
 traveling salesman. Even after that Mr. 
 Darroch had offered to forgive her and take 
 her back. But she wouldn't come. Then 
 finally he divorced her, as the reporter put it, 
 with record-breaking speed. 
 
 The day after her decree was granted 
 Georgia Talbot Connor and Mason Stevens 
 went by automobile to Crown Point, Indiana, 
 where, with Albert Talbot and Leila Frank- 
 land as witnesses, they were presently as- 
 sured by a justice of the peace that they now 
 were man and wife. 
 
 She was compelled to cross the state line 
 for the ceremony because the laws of Illinois 
 forbade her remarriage within a year; and 
 
 353 
 
Rebellion 
 
 she thought that she had waited long enough, 
 the state legislature to the contrary notwith- 
 standing. 
 
 The party of four, when they returned to 
 Chicago had a bridal dinner in a private 
 room, with white ribbons and cake. When 
 it was finished Georgia kissed L. Frankland 
 for the second time in their lives. The first 
 time was in the automobile on the way back 
 from Crown Point. 
 
 "Good-bye, Al," she said to her brother. 
 "You must come to see us in Kansas City 
 soon." 
 
 "Yes, indeed," said Stevens. 
 
 "I certainly will," promised Al. 
 
 "And mama," she spoke a little wistfully, 
 "tell her we'd like her to come too if she 
 would. Tell her, Al." 
 
 "Yes, all right." 
 
 "I'll send you something every week for 
 her. Maybe, I'm not sure, maybe I'll keep 
 on working." 
 
 "Maybe you won't," Mason interjected 
 with conjugal promptitude. 
 
 "Don't be too sure," she laughed, "and 
 anyway, if you don't behave nicely I can al- 
 ways go back to L. Frankland." 
 
 354 
 
Which Begins Another Story 
 
 When the man and his wife were alone in 
 their room he returned to the moment of 
 their betrothal. 
 
 " Dearest/' he said, "when the priest went 
 out and left us " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I felt almost as if he were trying to lay 
 a curse on us." 
 
 "Yes, that was the meaning of it." 
 
 "When he said you couldn't receive abso- 
 lution." 
 
 "Yes, our their teaching is that without 
 absolution a soul in sin is damned eternally." 
 
 "And you will never be afraid?" he asked, 
 almost fearful of his wonderful new happi- 
 ness. 
 
 She pressed her husband's hand against 
 her breast, so that he felt the strong and 
 steady beating of her heart. 
 
 "No," she answered him, "I will never be 
 afraid. For I believe that God will under- 
 stand everything." 
 
 THE END. 
 
 355 
 
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