In the Current 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM BULLOCK 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 WILLIAM RICKEY & COMPANY 
 1911
 
 Copyright, 1911, by 
 
 WILLIAM RICKEY & COMPANY 
 
 Registered at Stationers^ Hall, London 
 (All Rights Reserved) 
 
 Printed in the United States of America 
 
 PBKSS OF WILLIAM G. HEWITT, 61-67 NAVY ST., BROOKLYN, N. Y.
 
 IN THE CURRENT
 
 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 SOMETIMES I look back upon the days of my rebellion, 
 and as I pass them in review I laugh a little and cry a 
 little. Not that the tears mean sorrow or remorse or re- 
 pining, or any spiritless thing like that, but simply 
 that my eyes grow red as any woman's eyes grow 
 red when she happens on a long-lost, half-forgotten 
 doll of her childhood. On these occasions it pleases 
 me to imagine I am romantically inclined, as I am 
 sure every woman should be. Still, again, when I 
 cease my laughter and dry my tears the feeling 
 steals over me that I am hopelessly practical. Ah, disil- 
 lusioning experience! What a world it would be for us 
 heart-trembling women if experience did not rob us of all 
 or nearly all our blessed heritage of sentiment ! And yet, 
 contrary creature that I am, I would not no, not for all 
 the world itself give up one tittle of all I have learned 
 since I was a reckless, headstrong, know-nothing girl 
 two years ago. 
 
 Two years! How long is that? Is it a lifetime or a 
 day ? I don't know ; I cannot even pretend to answer for 
 myself, and how then shall I answer for you? I suppose 
 the mere period of six years signifies nothing. It might
 
 2 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 as well be six years or twelve years or twenty. I re- 
 member I used to measure by the years thirty years, one 
 gray hair ; forty years, two gray hairs ; fifty, all of three ; 
 and sixty oh, I shuddered at the thought! But never 
 mind; I am not bothered with such dreams to-day and 
 I am only twenty-one. 
 
 Goodness, what a sage person I have become ! I wonder 
 if there is another woman in the world so wise or so 
 foolish as I? A riddle of a question; that's how I have 
 found everything. I am such a queer individual that I 
 keep a little globe on the corner of my dressing-table, and 
 every day when I revolve it on its few inches of wire 
 pedestal I say: Riddles, riddles everywhere. 
 
 I wonder also, now as I set this down, if you will laugh 
 in derision or scoff at me. Please don't. Although I 
 assure myself I have learned so much, I am still very 
 sensitive. And by reason of my knowledge I do not 
 want to change. I dislike people who lack sensitiveness ; 
 more, I have an aversion toward them and shun them. 
 I believe that sensitive women make the best wives. It 
 casts them in such contrast with their husbands, for men 
 to me are so hard and untouchable in the nerves that 
 frequently I cannot forgive them for being just men. Of 
 course, you will smile at the deftness with which I in- 
 sinuate compliment to myself; still I don't dread your 
 merriment, because I can share in it. If I have not natural 
 appreciation of humor, a good substitute for it has been 
 pounded into my little head. Experience again ! Can we 
 never rid ourselves of the thing? I'm afraid not but 
 come, I fear I weary you. With my talk of experience, I 
 am hinting at the end of my story, and you very well know 
 that the richest enjoyment waits on the brave reader who 
 resists the temptation to turn the last pages first, to dis- 
 cover in ill-season what happens to the heroine.
 
 IN THE CURRENT 3 
 
 Did I say heroine ? I didn't mean it, at least, not in my 
 case, for I never could discern anything of a heroic na- 
 ture in my foolish self. Anyway, I am opposed both to 
 heroes and heroines. I think so much depends upon cir- 
 cumstances that I insist a hero or a heroine always is made 
 by accident. I can sit this minute with my eyes closed 
 and picture myself a heroine had I been born amid 
 different surroundings. That's it. Children are such 
 contrary mortals ! An irrepressible little sinner of a baby 
 will choose the most pious of parents, and often and often 
 it is the other way around. Were I in a position to make 
 full confession probably you would be shocked to hear I 
 was an incorrigible from the start, nothwithstanding the 
 fact my father wore one of those soft, pancaky black hats 
 so becoming to country rectors. Perhaps, had I known 
 my mother I should have been different a perfect little 
 lady, in truth. It is a decided disadvantage, I am sure, for 
 a baby, a girl baby particularly, to be left without a 
 mother, because wise as country rectors undoubtedly are 
 they don't know everything. I am so sure of that I make 
 free to emphasize it ; yes, emphasize it without one word 
 of qualification. Long ago whenever the mischievous 
 spirit in me asserted itself it was the favorite admonition 
 of my father that mother died when I was three days old, 
 and that I should be very, very good so that I might meet 
 her in heaven. And I remember once I asked : "Papa, do 
 all mothers go to heaven ?" and when he answered "Yes," 
 I said : "When I grow up I'll be a mother and that lets me 
 do as I please now, doesn't it, papa ?" I always was quaint 
 in argument. 
 
 I will not bother you with the details I know of my 
 childhood and early girlhood. They are dull, drab, 
 monotonous details. It is my desire that you share with 
 me the acquaintance of a girl 19 years old; a girl who
 
 4 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 imagined herself much older, which is a mistake, I have 
 found, only made by the very young, especially the very 
 young of my own dear sex. I invite you to go on a 
 journey with me, and you accept. Very well, off we go. 
 From North and South, from East and West we transport 
 ourselves to a knoll a knoll that lacks the size and dignity 
 to be called a hill on the Long Island coast, where the 
 Atlantic when angry rolls as if threatening to overwhelm 
 the land. 
 
 Here we are, then, you and I, and I fancy as you look 
 at me you read the whole story of my old-time loneliness 
 and discontent. It makes me deeply reflective to come 
 here now. But stay we are not in the present. We are 
 back in a summer afternoon two years ago, one of those 
 fairest of days that always appealed to me as a solace for 
 the fate that held me in that slow, uninteresting country 
 spot. I mark your surprise. You are silent, yet with your 
 eyes you question me how man or woman could languish 
 here in this place with Nature's hand resting free over 
 land and sea. True, and I ask you : What if this were all 
 you knew? What if this half-moon of tree-tops and fields 
 and sand, and this half-moon of water all encompassed 
 by the horizon of the knoll where we sit, meant the whole 
 world to you? What then? What then, if the spirits of 
 restless forefathers stirred in your breast? What if the 
 little you knew filled you with a longing to break through 
 that horizon line, to stamp your foot on forbidden 
 ground? Ah, I may have been a silly young thing, still 
 still, as I sit here this moment at my little mahogany 
 desk and meditate on it all, I believe to the contrary. 
 
 Did I make a slip and say mahogany desk? I thought 
 we were on a knoll. Of course we are, and now I have a 
 request to make of you. I want you to leave that knoll- 
 top ; to retire down the land side a few paces, and conceal
 
 IN THE CURRENT 5 
 
 yourself there and peep at the girl sitting above, with her 
 knees caught in her arms and looking far out to sea. One 
 other request : May I crouch beside you behind that patch 
 of wispy scrub ? You protest. You say : "Why, you are 
 the girl up there." And I reply : "Oh } no ; I'm not. She's 
 only 19, and I am 21." You make room for me, and I 
 crouch beside you. I murmur : "Thanks ; I thought you'd 
 understand. Now we'll shadow Frizzie's footsteps until 
 she catches up with me." I crouch still lower, for I have 
 a dread Frizzie may cast reproachful eyes in my direc- 
 tion, and I repeat to myself in secret : Catches up with me. 
 What a thought !
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 "FRIZZIE," I asked myself, "why does your father seek 
 to have you marry against your will ?" 
 
 I was silent at the question. For a few moments I sat 
 tense and motionless, then I threw a defiant laugh to the 
 wind. Marry me off ? Marry me off ? Wait and see. It 
 takes two to make a wedding ! 
 
 My mood changed, and I felt very lonely sitting there. 
 The great trouble was I had been left too much to myself; 
 instead of loneliness taking a form of occasional relaxa- 
 tion, it had become a depressing habit. Still, I was not 
 discouraged. I did not grieve hopelessly. Rather, I 
 smiled on the future. 
 
 It took no effort for me to be optimistic. Optimism 
 was a large part of my nature. I went to a certain point 
 in depression, then dispelled gloom by laughing at it. So 
 although I was lonely on the knoll that day, I was not an 
 object of commiseration. Pity was wasted on a person 
 of my disposition. Melancholy struck hard at the start, 
 but it was evaporated quickly by my light-heartedness, 
 like the ocean fog before the morning sun. 
 
 I blamed myself for delay in asserting my will. My 
 wedding dress was finished; Mrs. Clark was to bring it 
 that afternoon from Covey. In one short week I was to 
 be married. The guests had been bidden; Norman had 
 made the last arrangement for our honeymoon. We were 
 to go to Niagara Falls, to the Thousand Islands, and to a 
 lake in Canada. We were to sail down the St. Lawrence
 
 IN THE CURRENT 7 
 
 to Quebec, and from Quebec we were to sail to New 
 York, to spend a whole week there. It was an itinerary 
 promising wonders to a girl such as I. It would be one 
 flight away from my prison. It was a journey glorious 
 to contemplate, and what, then, was the reason of my 
 growing spirit of discontent? I did not know, unless it 
 was I wished to go alone. But that was simply, utterly, 
 impossible. Then perhaps it was because I did not love 
 Norman as much as I had confessed to him. 
 
 Love ? Love ? I turned the word over and over in my 
 mind. What did I know ? Only yesterday my father had 
 told me love was the ruling impulse in the hearts of 
 maidens young and happy like to myself. Did father 
 know ? That was the question, not for him but for me to 
 answer. A month before I had no doubt. Then I waited 
 in joyous anticipation for Norman's coming ; I missed him 
 every hour he was away. Only a month only four weeks 
 ago it was my delight to lead Norman to this knoll, and 
 to talk with him about how happy we should be. But I 
 counted up now, and to my surprise found that ten days 
 had passed since I had guided him in this direction, still 
 he had been over to see me every day. Once he had 
 shared this knoll with me ; now I jealously reserved it to 
 myself. I was just as I was before father made such a 
 fuss about bringing Norman to the house, as if Norman 
 and I had not played together as children. I was just as 
 I was before Norman's father that funny old man and 
 Norman's mother that middle-aged autocrat came 
 ostensibly for an afternoon call and stopped to dinner. 
 
 I had been blind. I did not at first realize the meaning 
 of it. I did not comprehend that conversation about the 
 friends my mother and Norman's mother had been 
 through their girlhood. It pleased me to credit the story 
 when I first heard it, but I have grown to think better of
 
 8 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 my mother. That horrid Mrs. Clark ! Did she ever think 
 a girl had a heart of her own ? Did she ever think a girl 
 should be consulted about such a trifling thing as her 
 marriage? 
 
 It was one evening after father and Mr. Clark and 
 Norman had left the table to smoke on the veranda that 
 Mrs. Clark revealed herself. She began by asking me to 
 pour for her another cup of coffee, although five minutes 
 before she had lectured me against coffee-drinking. She 
 took the last bit of cheese, asked me to pass the crackers, 
 then opened up on me. 
 
 "You and Norman should be very happy," she said, 
 with an attempt at a gracious smile. 
 
 "Happy, Mrs. Clark !" I exclaimed. 
 
 "When you are married, child," she said, continuing as 
 if I had not interrupted her. 
 
 "And are we going to be married?" I asked foolishly 
 enough, and unable to check my surprise. 
 
 "Why, of course, my dear, Frizzie," she said, trying to 
 soothe me. "Can it be possible Norman has not spoken 
 to you?" 
 
 "He has not spoken," I replied with all the reproving 
 emphasis I could command, and just to show I was not 
 deceived I added: "I thought, Mrs. Clark, it was the 
 custom for a young man to speak the first word to the 
 young woman he wishes to be his wife." 
 
 She exasperated me by taking time to nibble at the 
 cracker and cheese, but I contained my feelings. Her 
 defense, when it came, was clumsy, just as was every- 
 thing she did. 
 
 "Of course, it is usual for the young man to speak first, 
 Frizzie, my dear, but you understand I thought Norman 
 already had spoken. It was thoughtless and careless of 
 me not to ask him. Please excuse me, Frizzie. I've been
 
 IN THE CURRENT 9 
 
 prompted only by a mother's interest in Norman, and, 
 may I say, by my interest in you, my child. You are to 
 be my daughter, you know, or at least I have always 
 wished it ever since you and Norman have been children. 
 It's your father's wish also, and I never, never should 
 have spoken, Frizzie, had your mother been alive to speak 
 for me. I do so wish you and Norman to marry. There 
 are so many reasons why you should, and they're all so 
 natural. Our families, have been friendly so many, many 
 years since long before you were born, my child." 
 
 She sighed as if in flood of recollection, and settled back 
 heavily in her chair. I was indignant and about to make 
 vigorous reply when Norman entered the room and dis- 
 armed me. He looked first at his mother, then at me, and 
 read it all in our faces. 
 
 "Mother, you've been talking to Frizzie," he said rather 
 sharply, and by her sudden flush and nervous movement 
 Mrs. Clark betrayed herself. "I thought there was a pur- 
 pose behind the sudden interest of father and Dr. Peabody 
 in the veranda and their anxiety to have me smoke and 
 talk with them. It's something new for them to care for 
 my conversation. I don't like it, mother ; I don't like it," 
 Norman ended, his voice rising in earnest rebuke. 
 
 I am afraid we women are frail and wavering, else how 
 could it have taken me so long to discover what really lay 
 in my heart? Mrs. Clark sniffled and whimpered, and 
 muttered a little about undutiful sons; then, with her black 
 silk skirt rustling as it swept the floor, she walked out with 
 an air of injured innocence. I half suspect now it was 
 part of her plot, because it left Norman and me alone 
 with the vital problem uppermost. I said nothing. To be 
 candid, I could not have spoken a word had I wished it. 
 I was tongue-tied, but I was brave, for I put both my el- 
 bows firmly on the table and pressed my palms hard
 
 io IN THE CURRENT 
 
 against my cheeks. Some persons might call that a guard 
 against timidity, but I don't. Norman was at the opposite 
 side of the table. He watched me in silence for almost a 
 minute. I could see the marble clock tick on the mantel- 
 piece. Then, still without speaking, he came quickly to 
 my side and caught my right wrist in his hand. I can feel 
 his grip yet. I looked up at him defiantly. I wanted to 
 cry out, yet I did not. 
 
 "Frizzie, it doesn't matter what my foolish mother says 
 or does," he said. "You'll marry me, won't you ? They've 
 all been talking for the last few weeks, and they think I 
 never thought of it before. Don't believe that. If I hadn't 
 thought of it before they spoke to me, I'd never say to you 
 what I'm saying now. Will you marry me, Frizzie ?" 
 
 I caught for breath. He stepped back and stood wait- 
 ing. "Do you really and truly wish to marry me, Nor- 
 man?" I asked, at length. 
 
 "Really and truly, Frizzie," he replied, just like a boy. 
 "I can't live without you." 
 
 I laughed lightly at his assertion. It flattered me, yet 
 I felt it was what every girl might expect. "Well, if you 
 wish it so sincerely, Norman," I replied, "I will marry 
 you." I said it without the slightest difficulty. Perhaps, 
 had it come from the very bottom of my heart I should 
 have been less confident. 
 
 Norman gave an exclamation of pleasure at my words, 
 and, without the slightest hint of an invitation, snatched 
 me bodily out of my chair and kissed me. I confess I did 
 not seriously object, although I was covered with con- 
 fusion. He put me back quickly on my feet, and we went 
 out on the veranda. Mrs. Clark was waiting, and, after 
 she had ceased crying on my neck, father gave me a 
 deliberate kiss squarely on the lips, and Mr. Clark kissed
 
 IN THE CURRENT n 
 
 me on the tips of the fingers, bowing the while like a 
 knight of old. 
 
 It was a novel experience for me while it lasted, and I 
 cannot say I did not enjoy it. I did, every moment of it. 
 We all sat in the cane-chairs in the growing dusk, and I 
 stole sly glances at Norman every time his face was 
 silhouetted by a lighted match held up to his cigar. Natu- 
 rally he caught me at it, and I suppose that was the reason 
 his cigar required his attention so often after that. 
 
 For more than a month my heart was lighter than a 
 bird on the wing. Then suspicion of myself entered in, 
 and drive it away I could not. A whole night I tossed in 
 unrest, and in the morning arose firm in the resolution 
 I would not marry him. 
 
 Why? Sitting there on that knoll I could not explain 
 to the satisfaction of myself. Only that when I looked to 
 the future I saw nothing except going on living, 
 living, living, exactly the same as before. It might 
 even be worse. At first Norman filled every long- 
 ing in my heart. At first I fancied we sat as 
 one on the knoll, then slowly but steadily it began 
 to creep into my mind we were sitting far apart. 
 A barrier rose between us. I fought against the feeling. 
 I told myself it was not genuine, nor just. When Norman 
 turned his hand up on the ground in invitation I laid my 
 fingers on his. But the touch was not the same. I 
 pinched him on the arm, as if in play, but in reality it was 
 to assure myself he was there the same Norman as of 
 old. I would laugh at my fears, again I would be pos- 
 sessed by them. That honeymoon ! Yes ; and suppose we 
 were to extend our travels to go around the world ? We 
 should take this cramped corner of Long Island with us, 
 and after all the traveling we should return home to the 
 same cramped corner to settle down for life in it ! I could
 
 12 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 not marry Norman, and I prayed for strength for the 
 crisis. 
 
 I arose and stood silently gazing upon the Atlantic. 
 Never before had I felt so lonely. Oh, if Norman could 
 have stood beside me and shared my feelings ! Then all 
 would have been light instead of gray ! I welcomed the 
 breeze as it blew over the water and the sand, and cast 
 into folds the soft linen of my dress, and stirred the hair 
 about my temples. Why, I asked myself, was the wind 
 free to blow unrestrained while I was required to curb 
 the thoughts and desires that demanded the whole wide 
 world as a domain for me to live in? There must be 
 instincts of which father and Mrs. Clark and Mr. Clark, 
 and, most of all, Norman, never dreamed at work in my 
 breast. Perhaps that was why I came to that knoll every 
 day, rain or shine, blow or calm. 
 
 Sometimes I fancied I fed my nature on the changes of 
 the sea and on the different aspects of the woods, broken 
 by patches of truck-farms behind me. I loved the roar 
 of the tide when it beat upon the shore. I sang in delight 
 when Neptune raised his scepter and sent white chargers 
 on a race toward the spot where I, too, sat on a throne. 
 My heart warmed when the sun splashed gold on the 
 water ; it went cold when blackness rode in on the wings 
 of a cloud. Often I pictured myself putting out from 
 land in a seashell for a ship and an ostrich feather for a 
 sail, to skim the seas in quest of a magical realm. For 
 a time this magical realm was for two lovers to share, but 
 now but now I had found only one of the lovers had the 
 imagination to travel there.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE knoll I called mine was like a sentinel set against 
 the ceaseless toiling- of the ocean. Yet I believed the sea 
 made it. I was certain that if my eyes could cut like drills 
 straight down from the crest where I stood they would 
 uncover a great, round boulder at the level of the beach. 
 Further, I was sure, the waves had wrapped the boulder 
 in layers and layers of sand until an observatory was 
 raised for me. But what lay beneath the boulder? Ah, 
 there I was how little I knew ! 
 
 When the moon was at the full the tide reached out for 
 my citadel with bold, ambitious arms, but I claimed as a 
 defense a wide ribbon of beach, which received the tide 
 on its breast and threw it back in foaming fury upon it- 
 self. I was elated to think all this was wrought through 
 years and ages to wait in readiness for me. I saw myself 
 as a guest of Nature ; it was only when I remembered no 
 one shared my sympathy, my delight, that I tasted a little 
 bitterness in the sweet. 
 
 Frequently I wished my knoll was bare sand all around. 
 But up its back vegetation was creeping slowly. The path 
 I had worn skirted several clumps of stunted shrubbery. 
 I had marked a dark line through a grass-covered spot. 
 Already I shrank from the inevitable day when the shrub- 
 bery and the grass would mount to the top and spread 
 over the face as if bidding defiance to the sea which had 
 made the invasion possible. The recent Spring had sent 
 out tendrils as an advance guard of Time's intent. I had 
 
 13
 
 14 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 been tempted to snip these audacious intruders, but I had 
 restrained myself in humble respect for a patient persist- 
 ence which would mock my petty jealousy in the end. 
 
 But in that hour I was constrained to put such thoughts 
 out of mind. There was work to do. So I took to the 
 winding path, firm in the resolution to face my father and 
 tell him of my decision. I felt like running to him. I 
 knew he was in his study, extracting a sermon from a 
 carefully selected text. I quickened my footsteps only to 
 check them and go slower than before. Why hurry? I 
 had hours before me. I went through a neck of woods, 
 passed through a stile to the road, and had interest to 
 observe that dust had been flung on the leaves to right 
 and left by the flight of many automobiles. I reflected 
 that city folk liked the country. I asked myself if they 
 still would like it were they condemned to live and die 
 in it. 
 
 I turned a corner and found myself in front of my home. 
 A heavy wooden gate, swinging to both sides from the 
 middle, barred the entrance. I leaned across the gate and 
 surveyed the view before me. The house was severe in 
 the studied plainness of its boards and shingles and its 
 two brick chimneys. It was a house to indicate the humor 
 and habits of its owner. The one relieving feature was 
 the wide veranda, reached by four low steps, and running 
 across the blunt square front of the two stories and attic. 
 The house was forbidding almost in its fresh coat of dull 
 green paint. The general aspect of austerity was accen- 
 tuated by the drab awnings, now, because the sun was 
 sinking, pulled flat against the upper half of the windows. 
 The well-kept driveway ran straight as an arrow from 
 the gate to the veranda steps, where it reached out to span 
 the house on both sides and to converge in the rear to run 
 to the stable and coach-house hidden far back in the trees.
 
 IN THE CURRENT 15 
 
 I could not see these low buildings from where I stood, 
 but I had every detail of their setting clearly in mind. 
 
 Nothing ever changed there. It seemed as if the house 
 had stood in its clearing for ages. The lawn, so monot- 
 onously exact in its four right angles, was unbroken by 
 a flower-bed. The grass lay uniformly smooth and green 
 from the clipped edges of the driveway to the vine- 
 covered fence, backed close against the wood on three 
 sides and cutting off the road in front. Father was very 
 proud of that lawn, and it was just like him to say it was 
 an oasis that cheered his heart at every homecoming. 
 
 Poor father! I could not help repeating that to myself, 
 although I realized it was not proper in the strictest 
 parental sense. I loved my father ; I shall have you un- 
 derstand that. He was a good and a great man. There 
 was not another in Suffolk County one-half so popular 
 as he. It was said he was respected, even beloved, by 
 everybody, and I believed it. That he loved me I had not 
 the slightest doubt, and why, then, did I say, Poor father! 
 I'll tell you! 
 
 It was because when I thought of his love I thought of 
 different kinds of love. It was plain, even to a young, in- 
 experienced girl like myself, that all love cannot be alike. 
 
 There was a vast difference between my love and the 
 love of my father. I was so tender and warm toward 
 him ; he was so precise and cold toward me ! I was con- 
 vinced father was not equal to a great affection. That 
 was an odd conviction for a girl of nineteen, still I took it 
 for fact without reasoning on it. It impressed me father 
 always was impelled by a strict sense of duty. Oh, al- 
 ways, always that, and never the slightest cause for my 
 taking offense of any kind. Yet his attitude was irritating. 
 I was his daughter, and that seemed to be all-sufficient 
 to him. He thought he loved me as a father should love,
 
 1 6 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 still I was not satisfied with his love. There was some- 
 thing lacking, perhaps something repelling, in it. There 
 were barriers between us, just as there was a barrier be- 
 tween Norman and me. Now and then I went to him and 
 laid my head against his breast, but ever and always there 
 was a mysterious influence that held me from making him 
 my confidant. Only a few days before he had asked me : 
 "Why is it, Frizzie, you never confide in me?" And 
 truthfully I answered : "I don't know, father." 
 
 From the gate there I could see him bent over his flat- 
 topped desk in the study on the second floor. His study 
 was across the wide hall from my room. He had the same 
 view of the sea, yet he never stood in the window to look 
 out except when the wind whistled about the house and 
 the waves broke in sullen roars on the beach. Then he 
 only said : "Pity the poor souls who go down to the sea in 
 ships!" Pity them? I envied them. 
 
 A rusty hinge creaked sharply as I swung one-half of 
 the gate before me. At the sound, Nipper lifted himself 
 from the veranda, and came wriggling in his rough terrier 
 coat down the driveway to meet me. I laid a hand gently 
 on his head. "Hello, Nipper!" I said, and he wriggled 
 still more briskly. "No, begone!" I commanded, and a 
 sudden look of disappointment showed in his eyes as I 
 walked past him to the house. Timidity was rising 
 within me, and to suppress it I found it necessary to walk 
 quickly and firmly. 
 
 Father heard me ascending the stairs. When I reached 
 the top I saw him smiling through the open door. I 
 smiled in return, although my cheeks felt bloodless and 
 cold. 
 
 "Come in and sit beside me, Frizzie," he said cheerily, 
 and I crossed the study floor and took a chair close to his 
 desk.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 I HAD recited a speech. I thought I had it on the tip of 
 my tongue, but I could not call up a word. I shifted un- 
 easily in my chair, and looked in abstraction at the floor. 
 
 "You have something to tell me, Frizzie," said my 
 father. "I can see that." 
 
 The mere sound of his voice revived my courage. I 
 raised my eyes to his gravely and laid my left hand on 
 the corner of the desk. 
 
 "Do you remember once you told me, father," I said, 
 "that I should learn to think for myself; that I should 
 think and exercise independence?" 
 
 "I remember it distinctly," he replied. "And I repeat 
 the injunction. To think and act for oneself is the only 
 safe plan in this world." 
 
 I was on the point of pouring out all that was in my 
 heart, but his tone was so quiet and deliberate it gave me 
 alarm. He put his pen on the rack and sat watching me. 
 I let my eyes take in the room. 
 
 What an uninviting place it was ! Around three sides 
 in oak shelves were books of weighty teaching. Near the 
 door, where father could reach it as he entered, was the 
 book he had recommended as an introduction to all his 
 prized volumes. It's strange how the mind works. I took 
 time at that moment to recall an incident connected with 
 that book. In a defiant mood once I asked father what 
 selection a girl could make from the crowded shelves, and 
 in all seriousness he handed me that book, entitled, "The 
 
 17
 
 1 8 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 Meditations and Vows of Joseph Hall." Ever after I 
 hated, yes, hated, the sight of those shelves. 
 
 Why had father denied me the treasures of romantic 
 fiction ? Why had he been so short-sighted, so foolish, as 
 to allow me to whet my appetite with stolen sweets ? He re- 
 ceived a few magazines into the house sedate magazines 
 they were ! He had told me repeatedly the time for novels 
 and such trash, as he called it, was after marriage. But 
 was it? Once he discovered me in tears over the story 
 of a gallant cavalier and a pensive maid, and he caused 
 other tears to fall by a lecture upon the sobriety becoming 
 young womanhood and the benefits to be derived from 
 studious application to his library. 
 
 That library! Hundreds and hundreds of books, and 
 not one telling of liquid eyes and golden tresses and 
 serenades. What did father intend me for? The ministry? 
 
 I almost laughed outright when I thought of it. I 
 glanced at him and found him observing me closely. I 
 permitted my gaze to wander to the steel engravings, in 
 their plain black frames, of Washington and Lincoln, on 
 the wall where father had only to raise his head from the 
 desk to see them. Near the window, on an ebony pedestal, 
 was an alabaster bust of Luther, a man after father's own 
 heart. What was Luther to me? A thought took hold 
 of me. 
 
 "Norman likes this room, father?" I said. 
 
 "He likes it better than any room in the house," he re- 
 plied, with an honest ring of pride. 
 
 "I cannot understand why he should," I said, with a 
 slight shudder. 
 
 "What is troubling you, Frizzie ?" asked father, firmly. 
 I had to struggle to find voice. 
 
 "I wished to tell you yesterday, father, but I was not 
 entirely decided, and I lacked the courage."
 
 IN THE CURRENT 19 
 
 "But you found the courage to-day. That's a hopeful 
 sign." It impressed me how analytical he was. He nipped 
 his gold glasses off his nose and laid them across the bold 
 title of his sermon. I leaned over and read : "Faith, Hope 
 and Charity the best of these is Charity." I looked up. 
 
 "That's a funny title for a sermon by you," I said im- 
 pulsively. 
 
 "I won't discuss that with you, Frizzie," said father in 
 a voice that chilled me, and at the same time roused me 
 to hostility. 
 
 "Then you will discuss Norman," I cried petulantly. 
 
 "I thought it was Norman," said father, as if commun- 
 ing with himself, and I felt ashamed for my rudeness. 
 "What is about him now?" he asked, addressing himself 
 directly to me. 
 
 I moved forward and placed both hands on his knees. 
 
 "I don't wish to marry him, father," I said. 
 
 He pushed back his chair, arose hastily, and walked to 
 the opposite side of the desk and stood there white with 
 anger. 
 
 "So this is the reason for your serious face these last 
 few days ? Do you think this is the time to tell me this 
 with the wedding one week off? You cannot go back 
 now. You must marry Norman." 
 
 I felt an impulse to cry, but I bit my lip to better effect 
 than that. "Have I not the privilege to think or speak ?" 
 I asked. 
 
 "You have that privilege, as everybody has," replied 
 father, and before he could utter another word I ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 "Then I demand my right, father." 
 
 I knew it was a peremptory challenge not becoming a 
 girl to a parent, yet what was I to do ? I was excited. I 
 restrained myself with difficulty, and I believe my earnest-
 
 20 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 ness impressed father, for he checked himself when about 
 to reply and waited silently. I clenched my hands in 
 my lap. 
 
 "You told me that every girl should be careful whom 
 she married!" I said. "You told me that, because you 
 said marriage was a serious contract, that it was for all 
 time, and that if it did not bring happiness it brought 
 misery." 
 
 "I told you that, Frizzie," said father briefly. 
 
 "Well then, father," I went on, "I have thought it all 
 over and I have decided in my heart marriage would 
 mean misery for Norman and me." I was unable to say 
 more. Words left me. I was confused, and, to my sur- 
 prise, all the sternness faded from father's face. He 
 smiled and even laughed. He came beside my chair and 
 pressed my hair with his hand. 
 
 "My dear Frizzie, my dear daughter," he said. "You 
 must rid yourself of all such foolish thoughts. Tut, tut, 
 Frizzie ! That's no way to repay your father. How can 
 you complain?" 
 
 I was moved to heated impulse. 
 
 "It's because I'm a girl, I suppose, father, and can't 
 have my own way," I exclaimed. 
 
 "Girls! Girls!" said father good-naturedly. "Why, 
 Frizzie, you girls have all the advantages. Boys must go 
 a-hunting, you know. As for the girls well, they just 
 sit at home and wait for the quarry to come to them. And 
 we, poor fellows, are the quarry, and the girls just take 
 us on the wing ! Isn't that so, Frizzie ?" 
 
 I had never dreamed father could talk so lightly. It 
 was a new revelation of him to me. I was not pleased. 
 His diplomatic hand was too apparent. 
 
 "I have not been away from Covey a day, father," I 
 said, "and what quarry, as you say, has come near me?"
 
 IN THE CURRENT 21 
 
 The question contained so much truth that father was 
 impressed. I was famished for companionship in that 
 remote, listless country spot. I was without the associa- 
 tions of school, for father had practised economy in in- 
 structing me out of the fulness of his secular and religious 
 learning. He had held me aloof from the girls of the 
 farms and the village of Covey. The few girls of my 
 station he favored had gone to schools in the city; they 
 were friends of other days. And why talk of sitting and 
 waiting for quarry when Norman was the only youth 
 father had welcomed under his roof? 
 
 I looked at father and thought he felt guilty, yet preju- 
 dice prevailed. What could an innocent, simple-minded 
 girl know? Why should a daughter of the proper and 
 pious Dr. Peabody entertain a romantic notion? 
 
 "Every young woman in Covey envies you," said father. 
 "Were I actuated only by selfish reasons, I should say you 
 have a matrimonial prize in Norman. But I have not 
 been moved by any worldly feeling like that. He is the 
 best husband for you in every particular, Frizzie, and 
 trust in my discernment and experience." 
 
 Something like a lump came into my throat, and I arose 
 and with my hands clasped behind my back went to the 
 window. I looked out across the lawn and over the 
 spread of trees to the Atlantic swinging in a silvery 
 crescent. Father did not move from the desk. I knew 
 he was watching me intently and waiting in patience. 
 His patience always nettled me. I thought of that as I 
 lingered in a survey of the scene spreading gloriously be- 
 fore me. I turned away from the window, and walked 
 close to him. 
 
 "Does your heart ever beat faster when you look at the 
 ocean, father ?" I asked quietly. 
 
 "Of course, not," he replied.
 
 22 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "Mine does," I said. 
 
 "That's because you are romantic," said my father, 
 "and romance has no place in the life of to-day. It be- 
 longs to another and an irresponsible time." 
 
 "I don't think so," I asserted, and my voice softened as 
 my thought traveled afar. "The sea fills me with a spirit 
 of freedom oh, so much freedom! It lies calm and it 
 rolls and tosses it does just what it wills. I am jealous 
 of the sea and of the wind that blows over it." 
 
 "You must grow beyond these fancies, Frizzie," said 
 father, but I detected a little sympathy in his tone. 
 
 "If I ever do I'll grow smaller," I replied with con- 
 viction. "You never sat on the beach, father, and won- 
 dered what lay away off behind the rim of the ocean, 
 where your eyes cannot follow ?" 
 
 "I am glad to say I have never given rein to my imag- 
 ination to that illogical extent," said my father. 
 
 "Well, I have," I responded in elation. "And I've often 
 turned from the sea and looked at these woods and 
 thought that their dwarfed oaks and starved pines meant 
 just living here growing up a little, waiting a little, and 
 then dying!" 
 
 I saw pain in father's eyes, and disappointment and 
 alarm were in his voice as he exclaimed: "Why, you're 
 not a child !" 
 
 "Oh, no, not for ever so many years," I replied in 
 simple earnestness. 
 
 "You don't know what you are saying," protested 
 father. 
 
 "Do you know any more than I?" I asked innocently. 
 
 "I won't answer that," he said. "You must cast aside 
 all these imaginative follies." 
 
 "How can I cast them aside?" I asked. "How can I 
 be anything but what I am myself ?"
 
 IN THE CURRENT 23 
 
 "You never needed my advice more than you do now," 
 said father. 
 
 "Suppose your advice was wrong, father? Suppose I 
 did as you told me and married Norman and was un- 
 happy what would you do then ?" 
 
 "You won't be unhappy," he said. "You and Norman 
 will not have a worry. He's independent, and you your- 
 self will have the savings of my lifetime. I have hoarded 
 for you all the pennies that have dribbled into my pocket 
 from this penurious parish. It isn't a proud confession, 
 but you are my daughter. You are everything to me. Do 
 you hear, Frizzie ? Norman's parents and I talked of this 
 marriage when you and Norman were playing as chil- 
 dren. Your mother would have wished it. You encour- 
 aged it until now, and that's the greatest reason." 
 
 "I should be happy to please you all," I said. Father 
 took the words for a surrender. He came to me with his 
 hands held out. 
 
 "Good, good !" he said. "I knew you would be sensible 
 in the end, Frizzie. I always saw you had a warm spot in 
 your heart for Norman." 
 
 "A warm spot in my heart for Norman is only a begin- 
 ning," I said. "You know my whole heart should be 
 warm should glow with love for him." 
 
 "That's what the sentimentalists say," rebuked father, 
 and in an impatient voice he asked, "What is it you desire, 
 Frizzie ?" 
 
 "Father !" I cried. "I want a castle with turrets pierc- 
 ing the sky, with soldiers on the battlements in silver 
 armor !" 
 
 Father smiled. "You should have lived in the time of 
 the Crusades," was all he said. 
 
 "I don't mean a real castle ?" I explained. 
 
 "What then ?" asked father as quietly as before.
 
 24 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "I don't know," I said truthfully. "It's only that I want 
 something something that's not here in Covey." 
 
 Father's face darkened. "I will not have another word 
 of this silly talk," he said sternly. "You had ample time 
 to think. You must realize it's too late to alter your mind. 
 Besides, if you reasoned you would not wish to alter it." 
 
 I burst forth in anger. "How was I to think, father? 
 How was I to realize anything when you never told me 
 anything? You watched over me, guarded me on every 
 side, you kept me in a cage, and now you have another 
 cage ready for me! You've made Covey a hated prison 
 to me, and you'd make it my prison always. You told me 
 there was not a cloud in the sky, but there are clouds, 
 father, clouds for you and clouds for me, and your clouds 
 never touch mine and mine never touch yours! You 
 thought you were nourishing my mind, but you starved 
 it. You denied me the truth. But do this : tell me now 
 that Covey here around us is all the world and I'll go out 
 and marry Norman for you to-morrow. I'll marry him 
 this hour if you tell me. But, father, I'll never marry him 
 till I know from you or learn for myself. And you won't 
 tell me, because you can't. You can't father I know that 
 much. You see nothing in the sea, and Norman told me 
 he saw a lot of fishes! If you were a girl, would you 
 marry a man like that ?" 
 
 "I will telephone to Norman to come over," said father, 
 without a word for my outburst. I was flushed and 
 nervous, but was thrilled with a sense of triumph at 
 having spoken so bravely; and I did not interfere when 
 father lifted the telephone from his desk. I was quickened 
 to action again by his conversation. 
 
 "There's no need to hurry, Norman," I heard him say. 
 "Anytime this evening. . . . Frizzie and I only wish
 
 IN THE CURRENT 25 
 
 to speak to you about a little thing. . . . We'll tell 
 you when you come." 
 
 I could endure it no longer. I snatched the tele- 
 phone from father's hands and backed away from him. 
 
 "It's not a little thing it's all everything!" I poured 
 into the instrument. "You mustn't come." I could hear 
 Norman protesting. I waited an instant. "Why do I say 
 that ?" I asked. "I will tell you, Norman : it's because I 
 will never marry you. Never, never, never, Norman !" 
 
 I did not give him a chance to reply. I caught the 
 receiver in its hook. I placed the telephone firmly upon 
 the desk and looked straight at father. 
 
 "If Norman comes to this house," I said, "I will tell 
 him I will never speak to him, never see him again !"
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 WOULD you believe I spent an hour before the mirror 
 preparing for Norman? I actually did, and, further, I 
 regretted I could not take more time because of dinner. 
 When I went to my room I lifted with a snap a photo- 
 graph of Norman, and flung it face down upon my 
 dressing-table. Then I dropped into a wicker chair which 
 I had rescued from palpable signs of old age with an 
 elaborate ribbon dressing, and debated whether I should 
 array myself. 
 
 I make no apology for my decision. In fact, I feel an 
 apology is not necessary. I did not have a qualm about it. 
 It did not suggest itself to me that father might interpret 
 wrongly. All I did was to follow impulse, or was it in- 
 stinct ? When I tried to reason against it, I found myself 
 without an argument. I reflected I should look my pret- 
 tiest for a rural vestryman humored as a guest at our 
 table; it was imperative I should extend the same honor 
 to Norman, the more so as he was coming to receive his 
 dismissal. 
 
 Screened from sight by the curtains I saw Norman 
 drive up in his buggy. Father went down to meet him, 
 and they clasped hands warmly. Norman caught a rein 
 around the gatepost, and as he walked beside father up 
 the driveway I was moved to break a rose from a vase, 
 filled by Norman's token only that morning, and bury the 
 stem in my hair. I lifted the photograph and glanced at it, 
 and promptly dropped it face down again. 
 
 I tiptoed into the hall, and the voices of Norman and 
 
 .26
 
 IN THE CURRENT 27 
 
 father reached me from the parlor. I started to descend 
 the stairs, and had gone just two steps when a familiar 
 sharp treble shot in through the open window behind me. 
 I hastened back, and, as I expected, saw Mr. and Mrs. 
 Clark in their antiquated open carriage, with the handy- 
 man-about-the-house turned coachman for the occasion, 
 and presenting a ridiculous figure in the faded grandeur 
 of a pepper-colored livery which had been handed down 
 more than once in its checkered career. 
 
 I returned to my room disturbed and angry. I could 
 manage father and Norman ; Mr. Clark did not count. It 
 was otherwise with Mrs. Clark. I still feared her. She 
 was so coolly assertive. She took the leadership as so 
 inalienably her own. I disliked her. I confess frankly, 
 I hated her. 
 
 It was not necessary for me to go near the curtains now. 
 I knew what was happening; it had happened so often, 
 and always without variation ! The carriage rolled slowly 
 up the driveway. Father and Norman were on the 
 veranda steps. Mr. Clark alighted with groans for his 
 gout. Mrs. Clark sat back grandly and loftily until all 
 three men gathered to assist her out. At last on the 
 veranda, she bestowed smiles on father and Norman, and 
 spared frowns and tart words for the husband she made 
 her slave. There was the same old bustling entrance, the 
 same commotion in the hall, the same retreat of voices as 
 Mrs. Clark moved into the parlor, with the men in her 
 train. 
 
 I was ready for tears, but I stamped my foot and forced 
 a laugh. Tears ? Not for that domineering woman. Why 
 should I fear her ? I was before the looking-glass. I sur- 
 veyed myself with satisfaction from my white slippers to 
 the rose in my hair. I felt conscious of my power. It was 
 for Mrs. Clark to fear me.!
 
 28 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 Youth has its advantages. Mrs. Clark was fifty if she 
 was a day. She weighed a full two hundred pounds. She 
 wore her black silks and her poke bonnets of necessity. 
 Try to imagine her in my fluffy white summer dress ! I 
 had not stretch of mind enough for that. Ill-temper was 
 the only weapon she had left. I was sure of it. It was 
 her hold on dominion. "The old autocrat !" I half-hissed 
 in my resentment and bitterness. "I'll clip her claws !" 
 
 Why had she intruded at such a time ? It was a secret 
 with herself. Mrs. Clark was not a confiding nature. She 
 was exactly the reverse. Perhaps she had seen Norman 
 turn from the telephone surprised and dejected, and 
 suspected trouble. It was a theory in keeping with her 
 suspicious disposition still I was glad she had come. 
 
 I had brought about a new situation. I remembered a 
 phrase in father's conservative newspaper. I was playing 
 a "leading role." I liked that phrase, aye, I loved it. I 
 was of importance for the first time in my life. I had 
 asserted myself. I was doing my own thinking ; I would 
 act for myself ! 
 
 I was elated. I danced about the room. I clapped my 
 hands in rejoicing. I stood Norman's photograph up. 
 What did I care? I could look at it without a quiver. 
 Mrs. Clark? Oh, ho! Out of the room and down the 
 stairs I went, running and wishing for wings to carry me 
 faster. I burst into the parlor. I ran with speed un- 
 checked to the mahogany table, stopped there abruptly, 
 and cried out: 
 
 "You are all here you father and Norman and Mr. 
 Clark and Mrs. Clark and you all must know : I won't 
 marry Norman." 
 
 Mrs. Clark did not disappoint me. She provided the 
 sensation I wished. She was pressed into an armchair. 
 She caught for breath. Her red cheeks blazed and seemed
 
 IN THE CURRENT 29 
 
 about to burst. She tried to rise, but could not gather 
 strength. She sank back in the chair, and feebly gasped, 
 "My son!" 
 
 "That's it exactly, Mrs. Clark," I said, stepping aggres- 
 sively toward her. "It's all your son. It's all your son 
 and all yourself, without a generous thought for me. 
 You'll have to find somebody else for Norman to marry." 
 
 She rose at me in fury. "You ungrateful, spiteful, 
 mean little pussy cat !" she stormed. "I could whip you. 
 You won't marry Norman ? I'm glad you won't. He 's 
 well rid of you. A fine, obedient wife you'd make !" 
 
 I laughed boldly at her. "That's it again, Mrs Clark," 
 I said, "an obedient wife !" 
 
 "You won't marry Norman with every preparation 
 made ?" she cried as if suddenly realizing the full import 
 of my ultimatum. "With flowers ordered for the house 
 and for the church, and with your trousseau ready ? You'd 
 make us all the laughing stock of Suffolk County ! You'd 
 have my son and me written up in the papers! You'd 
 disgrace us just for the sake of your mean, nasty temper ! 
 It's easy to see you've been without a mother's hand 
 over you." 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Clark," I said in quiet sarcasm, "and you as 
 a mother never asked me if I happened to love your son." 
 
 "Why should I ask you or any girl?" she retorted. 
 "Who wouldn't love my son? And, besides, there's alto- 
 gether too much nonsense about love in these days. I 
 didn't marry Mr. Clark for love, and look how happy 
 we've been. You can't dress and eat and have your 
 servants and your horses on love. It's all very consoling 
 to people who haven't a dollar to marry for love, but 
 families in our position must be business-like." 
 
 Father came between us. "Now, now, please, no more 
 of this," he said in a placating tone.
 
 30 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "I won't listen, Charles," said Mrs. Clark. "Your 
 daughter is undutiful." 
 
 "You must listen, Mrs. Clark/' said father firmly. 
 "Now, both of you sit down." 
 
 Mrs. Clark seemed inclined to protest further, but she 
 cowed before the stern look of father and settled herself 
 in the armchair. I was at a loss what to do, and I felt a 
 dread of the situation slipping away from me. Father put 
 a hand on my shoulder, and I sank to a seat. As usual, 
 father was very deliberate, and walked slowly around the 
 table to a chair, from which he took an open newspaper 
 and folded it before sitting down. I half turned my head 
 and saw Norman on the piano-stool. He was very pale 
 and he looked at me without the slightest sign of recogni- 
 tion. I glanced around for Mr. Clark and found him in 
 a corner squirming in apprehension in a Morris chair. 
 Father drew himself up, and his face was as grave as 
 when he prepared himself to deliver a sermon. 
 
 "It is plain to me there is only one thing to do at 
 present," he said, "and that is, to take time to search our 
 hearts before arriving at a decision. It is seldom we do 
 not regret action taken on impulse. Perhaps we have not 
 given enough thought to my daughter. Perhaps her pride 
 has been hurt by us taking so much for granted ; perhaps 
 when she has had time for reflection she will come to the 
 conclusion we so earnestly desire." 
 
 "I have decided for all time/' I said. 
 
 "I wish for nothing but your happiness, Frizzie," said 
 father. "That is my prayer. I believe you would find 
 happiness as Norman's wife. I would not ask you to do 
 anything against your will, but I do ask you to reason a 
 little." 
 
 "Girls never reason," snapped Mrs. Clark, tossing her 
 handkerchief angrily in her lap.
 
 IN THE CURRENT 31 
 
 "Maria? Maria?" ventured Mr. Clark in gentle reproof. 
 
 "Sir !" returned Mrs. Clark, and the little man subsided 
 instantly. 
 
 "I cannot see why this slight trouble should not be 
 smoothed out to the satisfaction of everybody," continued 
 father in the same even voice. "I propose this : let 
 Frizzie have until to-morrow. Then she and I will drive 
 over to The Beeches." 
 
 "To talk as we are talking now, father?" I asked. 
 
 "More amicably I hope, Frizzie," replied father, trying 
 further to calm me with a smile. 
 
 Norman came to the table and I was glad. He had 
 disappointed me. I had looked for him to show emotion. 
 Deep down in my heart there may have been a longing 
 for him to throw himself at my feet. That would have 
 been flattering to me, but, of course, it would have meant 
 the loss of his last chance. 
 
 "Now we'll hear what my son's got to say," said Mrs. 
 Clark. Norman looked straight at her. 
 
 "Mother, it is not for you to decide," he said, and the 
 woman gasped. "It is not for Dr. Peabody to decide. It 
 is not for father nor for me to think for Frizzie, or to tell 
 her what to do. Frizzie must and shall decide for herself." 
 
 The blood rushed to my cheeks. I felt like screaming, 
 or swooning. It was a manly speech, and I had not ex- 
 pected it. The room seemed to be in a whirl before my 
 eyes. It was Norman, after all, who was master. The 
 humiliation was mine. Faintly I heard Mr. Clark say, "I 
 admire you, my boy." More distinctly I heard Mrs. Clark 
 storming at the devoted old man for that honest bravery 
 on his part. I saw father arise and stand across the table 
 from the chair where I sat. His face was colorless and 
 drawn. Where was I ? What was I doing ? What had I 
 said ? What had Norman said ? Yes, yes ! He had said
 
 32 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 it was all for me to decide. He also wished to withdraw. 
 He also was without love. Like his mother, he had been 
 engaged in a game of deceit. I was unable to control 
 myself. I sprang to my feet, and faced him in wrath. 
 
 "And you would have married me and when it would 
 have been too late you would have let it be known that 
 you never have loved me ?" I cried. 
 
 "You are wrong, Frizzie," he said. 
 
 "You were like your mother/' I went on. "You were 
 ready to sacrifice me. You were ready to marry me to 
 please your mother and my father, and not to please 
 yourself." 
 
 "Stop !" commanded father. 
 
 "I won't stop," I exclaimed, turning to him. "I'm filled 
 with loathing for the whole business. That's what Mrs. 
 Clark called it business !" I stamped my foot. "I hate 
 you all. I despise you all," I called, and could say no 
 more. I hung my head. I was becoming ashamed. I 
 know I had gone too far. One kind word from father or 
 Norman, or even from Mrs. Clark, and I should have 
 spoken a full apology. But the word did not come. There 
 was only silence silence that oppressed me, that crushed 
 the penitence rising in my breast. I could not understand 
 why Mrs. Clark held her tongue. I grew confused in 
 conflicting feelings, and stood still. 
 
 Presently I became conscious of Mr. Clark rising from 
 the chair in the corner. The dear old man ! There was 
 kindness in him, and courage when the occasion de- 
 manded. For once he closed his ears to his wife's austere, 
 "Benjamin!" I felt him close behind me, and I turned. 
 Would you believe it, there were tears in his eyes. Truly, 
 there were; and in the tenderest manner possible be 
 touched my arm, and said :
 
 IN THE CURRENT 33 
 
 "If I had a daughter, Frizzie, I should wish her to be 
 just like you." 
 
 Before I could reply, Mrs. Clark was on her feet. 
 
 "How dare you say that ! Your daughter, indeed !" 
 
 But Mr. Clark was not done. There was a protest of 
 righteous indignation left in him. 
 
 "Hang it all, I said it, Maria," he burst out, "and I'll 
 repeat it if you dare me." 
 
 With a show of vanity that might easily be excused in 
 so estimable a man, Mr. Clark stuck his hands under his 
 coat-tails, marched back to his corner, and was seated 
 before his wife recovered from her astonishment. But 
 almost immediately he began to sink in his chair, as if 
 from fear of the results of his temerity. However, Mr. 
 Clark could count on my sympathy and support. He was 
 a rebel like myself. 
 
 "This dreadful affair is becoming worse and worse," 
 moaned Mrs. Clark. "It will be the death of me." She 
 lifted a corner of her handkerchief to her eyes. 
 
 "Now, mother, there must be no hysteria," said Nor- 
 man, and she dropped the handkerchief quickly. 
 
 "You're against me too," she wailed. "My son ! My 
 own flesh and blood !" 
 
 "You know I am not against you," replied Norman. 
 
 "Well, maybe we ought to do what Dr. Peabody 
 advises. I feel the need of fresh air. If Frizzie will only 
 promise she'll come over to-morrow well, I'll say 
 nothing more to-night." She sighed heavily. "Might I 
 ask you for my sake to drive over, Frizzie. It will not 
 do any harm, and it may do a lot of good." 
 
 "I cannot refuse you when you put it like that, Mrs. 
 Clark," I said, collected once more. 
 
 "It's very good of you, child," she responded. "Oh, 
 dear, dear, after all my plans!" She moved across the
 
 34 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 room. "Come, Benjamin, come. And you, Norman, 
 come. Take my arm. We shall go." Norman stepped 
 to her side. She held out her hand to father. 
 
 "Good-by, Charles. I know this is not your doing." 
 
 Father was very cordial. "Don't worry, Mrs. Clark," 
 he said as he grasped her hand. "I am sure it will all 
 turn out for the best." 
 
 "I cannot leave the house without parting from you, 
 Frizzie," she said. "Come to me and take my hand, so 
 that we may show there is no ill-will." 
 
 I went over, but instead of taking her hand I presented 
 my right cheek and held myself so rigid she had to stand 
 on tiptoes to kiss it. She did not suspect my trick, and 
 Norman passed out with her without a word to me. Mr. 
 Clark lingered in a grasp of my hand. Finally, with even 
 more than his usual graciousness, he touched his lips to 
 my finger-tips. "God bless you, Frizzie," he said, and 
 followed Mrs. Clark out. How was it, I thought, such a 
 man should have such a wife? Father also went to the 
 veranda. There was a wait for the carriage, and Norman 
 returned. I was nervous and afraid. 
 
 "Don't prolong it, please, Norman," I requested. 
 
 "I won't, Frizzie," he said. "Will you come to- 
 morrow ?" 
 
 "Certainly," I replied. 
 
 "You didn't mean it when you told mother ?" 
 
 "I did mean it, but it might all have been ended here." 
 
 "Do you think that in your heart and soul ?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, I do Norman," I replied. 
 
 "Then you mustn't come, Frizzie. When you feel that 
 way, you are right about it, and you needn't be uneasy 
 about the flowers for the church or the house or the in- 
 vitations. And don't think of mother or me. It will all 
 be forgotten in a few days."
 
 IN THE CURRENT 35 
 
 I was opposed to him, yet I could not resist saying, "I'll 
 come, Norman." His face became almost radiant. "You 
 mean it, then ?" he asked, and I repented. I was against 
 yielding. "I may come, and I may not," I said. 
 
 "I believe you love me, or you would not be so contra- 
 dictory, Frizzie," was his surprising assertion, and he left 
 me a prey to dejection. 
 
 From the window I watched the carriage drive off, and 
 saw Norman in the buggy wave his hand to father. I still 
 was gazing out, half in abstraction, when I heard father's 
 step in the room. 
 
 "You have made a nice mess of things, Frizzie," he said. 
 
 "Do you think so, father ?" I demanded. 
 
 "Yes ; I'm afraid you have," he said coldly, and I was 
 all bitterness and anger again. I fairly raced to the door, 
 and stopped there a moment. 
 
 "I'm glad I've made a mess of it," I cried out. "I'm 
 glad I made a mess of it before you and Mrs. Clark had 
 time to spoil my whole life." 
 
 Before father had time to call I was across the hall. 
 "Frizzie!" came after me a second time, but I did not 
 halt. I gathered speed up the stairs, ran into my room 
 and banged the door behind me. I snatched Norman's 
 photograph off the dressing-table, tore it in two, threw 
 wide my arms and let the pieces fly. "That for him!" I 
 said, and dropped in exultation into my wicker chair. 
 
 I become quiet and thoughtful. I recalled Norman in 
 the parlor. He was manly and handsome. Yes, he was 
 handsome ! I recalled Mrs. Clark. Oh, Mrs. Clark ! My 
 mood changed again, and I leaned far back in my chair 
 and laughed. 
 
 Heavens, what a contrary creature I was !
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 HAD any one asked me why I went to Clark's the next 
 day I could not, try as I might, have made honest answer. 
 Neither could I explain why my father wished me to go 
 there. He had said he would not strive against my will, 
 and father never said anything he did not mean. But who 
 could know father? Were he not so wholly onesided it 
 would be comparatively easy to comprehend him. 
 
 Not infrequently in those days I drifted into musing on 
 him, and always it ended in my feeling nettled at myself. 
 It seemed so useless to approach father from my view- 
 point. It was like trying to draw the poles together. Yet 
 just as there must be some sympathy between the poles, 
 there was a degree of sympathy between father and me. 
 But our sympathies were remote and at cross-purposes. 
 It took me a long time to discover but I did discover it 
 that father and I were as one in tenacity and downright 
 obstinacy. I came to think, too, it was knowledge of my 
 kinship to him in this respect that led father to oppose me 
 with such determination. Had I been a boy, probably he 
 would have acted otherwise, for the plain truth was, father 
 believed the male sex should have a monopoly of will- 
 power. He was an old-fashioned man, whose idea of 
 happiness, I was sure, was a wistful-eyed, pensive, de- 
 pendent wife the type of woman so aptly described as 
 "clinging vine." I was not that kind. I was an un- 
 conscious champion of Women's Rights; I was for 
 equality. I was for absolute independence, and father did 
 
 36
 
 IN THE CURRENT 37 
 
 not see that I was what my circumstances were, and a 
 reflection of himself. 
 
 Had I been a sighing little body father would have bent 
 me as he would a straw, but all the spirit of revolt was 
 quickened in me by his assumption of arbitrary authority. 
 I was to blame, of course, for my rebellion, but father was 
 to blame and Mrs. Clark was to blame and also Norman. 
 They had made me know, for one thing, that I had a 
 temper ; they taught me to know I had the courage of that 
 same temper. 
 
 Fear was not absent from my heart, but I would not 
 turn back. I would go to Clark's despite the hesitancy 
 and reluctance within me. Father greeted me at break- 
 fast with more than usual cordiality. I expected argu- 
 ment, but he did not broach the momentous question. He 
 pushed back his chair and interested himself in his news- 
 paper. I rang for more coffee, and was so deep in musing 
 that Mother Ann had come to my side before I became 
 aware of her presence. 
 
 I called her Mother Ann because it pleased her no less 
 than it pleased myself. What a good old soul she was! 
 I was sure I should have loved her dearly and un- 
 reservedly had I not given way a little to the prejudice of 
 the world toward those who wait on it. Often I had felt 
 like bestowing my confidence on Mother Ann. But I 
 refrained, because I was something of a hypocrite, just as 
 you are, no doubt. Understand me. I have told I was a 
 striver for equality, but not for equality in every direc- 
 tion, and that is why we women cannot in a day gain 
 common footing with men. We are on an equality with 
 men in our hypocrisy ; our demands do not cover all social 
 grades. Of course, we assert they do, but as a matter of 
 fact they cover no more than the particular grade of so- 
 ciety to which we women as individuals belong. That's
 
 38 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 the great drawback to the world as I have found it. There 
 is never a full forgetfulness of self ; there is never a com- 
 plete merging of all interests, of your interest and of mine. 
 
 But I was dejected that morning, and the feeling tended 
 to draw Mother Ann and me together. We were drawn 
 together in spite of the reserve felt by me, and, I must 
 add, in spite of the reserve felt by the white-haired 
 servant. Mother Ann was proudj too. I have found that 
 pride belongs as much to one class as to another, and I 
 regret it usually happens that pride manifests itself in less 
 objectional form in workers than in their masters. 
 
 There must have been a pleading loneliness in my 
 eyes when I raised them to Mother Ann, for without a 
 moment's hesitation she pressed my shoulder softly with 
 her hand. And I was not in the least ruffled or indignant 
 or irritated ; instead, a sense of comfort stole over me, and 
 it was with heartfelt satisfaction I permitted her firgers 
 to pass in a caress across my brow. Father got up from 
 behind his paper and passed out to the veranda. 
 
 "I know what they're wanting you to do, Miss Frizzie," 
 she said, "and I'm telling you to do what pleases yourself 
 and nothing more." 
 
 "You do, Mother Ann?" I questioned eagerly. 
 
 "That's just what I do, Miss Frizzie," she replied. "I 
 couldn't hang around here without picking up things. I 
 know all, but I didn't have to hear them talking last night, 
 with me in the kitchen and the door open. I could see it 
 all in your face, Miss Frizzie. Many's the girl I've seen the 
 same way, and a sorry bride makes a sorry wife. I'll tell 
 you something, if you want to hear an old woman's clack." 
 
 "Sit down and tell me, Mother Ann," I said promptly. 
 She seated herself in father's chair, with a tray laid across 
 her knees. 
 
 "It's just this : I don't like Mrs. Clark half as much as
 
 IN THE CURRENT 39 
 
 you do. She's wicked as she can be. Not wicked so 
 she'd poison anybody, but wicked with her tongue. Your 
 own mother never liked her a cent's worth, Miss Frizzie." 
 
 "I knew that ; I knew that," I exclaimed in joy. 
 
 "Of course, you did, because there's a lot of your 
 mother in you, Miss Frizzie. Mrs. Clark always was a 
 pest around here, and your mother only stood her be- 
 cause she couldn't get rid of her. Women like Mrs. Clark 
 stick and burn like mustard plasters, but if I was you, 
 Miss Frizzie, I'd drive her out of my sight with a broom." 
 
 "But why do they want me to marry Norman? Why 
 did they ever plan it? Why are they so determined, 
 Mother Ann?" 
 
 "If I could tell you that, Miss Frizzie, I'd be able to 
 tell you how many husbands you'll have and when both 
 of us will die. Things like this just happen. They drifted 
 into it, and now they can't drift back ; and they're afraid 
 to stiffen themselves and burst back in spite of everything. 
 They're cowards; they're frightened for what people 
 would say. And they've been thinking on it so long 
 they're sure there's nothing better for the both of you. 
 That's the most I can make out of it, and it's more than 
 they can make out of it themselves. But you'll be think- 
 ing I'm making bold in talking to you like this, Miss 
 Frizzie ?" 
 
 "No, no, Mother Ann, I wish you to talk," I said. 
 "Go on." 
 
 "I couldn't just keep my mouth shut any longer," she 
 said. "I watched you grow up. I took you out of your 
 mother's arms a minute before she died. I was in the 
 house here when you were brought home from the 
 christening in the church. I looked at the hair rioting 
 over your head, just at it's rioting now. I took you in 
 my arms, and I said : 'Dr. Peabody, you may christen her
 
 40 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 Helen and all the rest of the fancy names, but she's always 
 going to be Frizzie to me.' That's the gospel truth, Miss 
 Frizzie; and from me calling it one and another took it 
 up until here you are this minute most forgetting your 
 real name." 
 
 I am happy to say I went straight to her and kissed her. 
 
 "If you were I would you marry him, Mother Ann?" I 
 asked, as I drew back. 
 
 She looked at me with a suspicion of a smile. "If I 
 were you I'd do what my heart bid me, and the world 
 might burn up before I'd do different. It's you that's 
 doing the marrying, and Mrs. Clark didn't do any great 
 shakes when she married, herself. Indeed, she didn't. She 
 married a man that had to be bossed, or he'd be no man 
 at all. She's been a good boss, I'll say that much for her, 
 but I'll say not a word besides." Mother Ann heaved a 
 long sigh. "I was married myself once," she went on, 
 after a pause, "and between you and me, Miss Frizzie, it 
 looks as if Mrs. Clark got the best of it. She's had her 
 husband anyway, but as for myself I don't know these 
 twenty-two years back whether I'm a married woman or 
 a widow. I took my mother's advice; if I had to do it 
 over again I'd take my own. Your father married us, and 
 a right, smart set-up pair we were. I thought my heart 
 was in the right place ; maybe he thought the same. But 
 if he did he didn't think it long after the wedding, for 
 at the end of the first six months he went away and from 
 that day to this he's never come back." 
 
 "I'm very sorry, Mother Ann," I said. 
 
 "You needn't feel sorry, Miss Frizzie," she replied. "I 
 lost no sleep over him. Any woman is a fool to cry her 
 eyes out over a man that doesn't think enough of her to 
 keep from running away and I wasn't a cross wife, 
 either. The only thing that worries me now is the fear
 
 IN THE CURRENT 41 
 
 he'll come back, for the likes of him never dies. What 
 would I do with him ? I'm better pleased working in this 
 house than working to keep the roof over the head of a 
 husband. I made my mistake in marrying him in the first 
 place, and watch out and don't make the same mistake 
 yourself, Miss Frizzie. When you meet the man that's 
 born for you, you'll know him without knowing it. I 
 hardly know what I mean by that myself, but maybe you'll 
 catch it." 
 
 "I catch it, Mother Ann," I said, "and thank you very, 
 very much." 
 
 "Then don't let go of it, Miss Frizzie," she said cheerily, 
 and, arising, bustled out with the tray in one hand at her 
 side and in the other hand holding out the coffee-pot 
 aggressively, as if it were a weapon with which to chastise 
 her truant spouse. 
 
 I thought on what she had told me. When you meet 
 the man that's born for you, you'll know him without 
 knowing it. Wise Mother Ann ! We find the truth where 
 we least expect it. The truth is in us, and sometimes the 
 Mother Anns point it out for us. Sometimes we learn to 
 see it, then we ourselves are Mother Anns. Did I know 
 without knowing when Norman first came courting? 
 There was a puzzle. I could not decide. Norman was 
 big and handsome, and kindly and brave, but was there 
 not more to be wished ? 
 
 I went up to my room and threw up the window and 
 gazed out upon my old friend the sea. And I did not 
 discern Norman out there. Neither was he anywhere in 
 the woods nor in the fields, as father and I passed through 
 them on the drive over the three miles of winding, dusty 
 road to The Beeches. Neither was it the Norman I was 
 looking for who came running out of the musky old 
 house to assist me out of the creaking surrey.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 IT hardly seems necessary to tell you from what The 
 Beeches took its name. The hoary, magnificent wood 
 surrounding the house and barns afforded the suggestion. 
 The name came without any exercising of the imagina- 
 tion. The Beeches meant a merging of things, and at the 
 time of which I write the process was apparent in more 
 than the mere externals. 
 
 The home of the Clarks had stood long enough to be- 
 come familiar with the beeches that wound it round. The 
 house and trees together seemed to be part and parcel of 
 the sloping hill on which they sat. The house, the trees, 
 the hill, separately and collectively, smacked of antiquity. 
 The place in a way reminded me of father's lawn. It was 
 like a verdant oasis set in the heart of the great expanse 
 of stunted oak and pine and the cultivation taking grip 
 with an effort in the sandy soil. 
 
 It was an ancestor of Mr. Clark who had found this 
 fertile spot, planted it, and handed down the house as an 
 example of the Colonial period. I had delighted as a child 
 to visit the old place with father and to romp with Nor- 
 man in the deep shadows of the trees. Now all that was 
 changed. In the newness and buoyancy of nineteen sum- 
 mers there was n room for veneration. When the horse 
 turned in from the road and began to climb the hill a feel- 
 ing of depression weighed on me. I remember the thought 
 crossed my mind it was as if I were driving into some- 
 thing akin to a tomb. 
 
 43
 
 IN THE CURRENT 43 
 
 It was such a substantial, eternal place ! It breathed so 
 strongly of a life going on and on without ever shaking 
 off its monotony and sluggishness! It seemed so un- 
 changing, so fixed in conservatism ; the oak walls of the 
 house seemed to defy time itself. 
 
 The low, round stones marking the sides of the drive- 
 way were mossgrown. The trees were gathering moss, 
 and their tops met in a funereal arch overhead. Per- 
 meating all was an atmosphere of other days and other 
 people, and I was not young enough nor yet old enough 
 to grow in appreciation. 
 
 And the Clarks went on and on like their home the 
 footprints of one generation followed by the next, and 
 the highest ambition of each successive head of the 
 family being to fill the office of district attorney of Suffolk 
 County. Benjamin Clark lived up to tradition, and kept 
 from dying of indolence by occasionally prosecuting a 
 neighbor for assult and battery, drunkenness, or the raid- 
 ing of a chicken coop. Norman Clark seemed likely to 
 realize the hope of his parents by one day rising to district 
 attorney; perhaps, he would prove better than his fore- 
 runners and be rewarded with a seat on the bench. I 
 knew that had been one of the dreams of the Clarks 
 through several generations, but it still waited for realiza- 
 tion. The family was rooted in itself; it needed a good 
 shaking up. It was like my own family; it was like all 
 the old, sedate families scattered about the county, all 
 boasting of long lines of ancestry, all only a few steps 
 removed from the Revolution. 
 
 Other families, whose only boast was great wealth, had 
 carried out an invasion within recent years. They had 
 settled themselves in what they called a "colony," with 
 their summer homes on green ridges won from yellow 
 sand dunes. These families played their golf and their
 
 44 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 tennis, drove their automobiles and their horses, sailed 
 their yachts and engaged in their other forms of amuse- 
 ments without once trespassing on the self-contented pri- 
 vacy of the Clarks, the Peabodys, and all the rest of the 
 old families rooted in the soil. The Clarks and the Pea- 
 bodys and their allies near and far were exceedingly, even 
 excessively, serious. 
 
 I could picture myself a bride coming up that driveway. 
 I should be like half-a-dozen, perhaps a dozen, brides be- 
 fore me. I should look suspiciously into the gloom of 
 the trees; it would not surprise me to see the brides of 
 other times look at me with grave faces from behind the 
 hoary trunks. The sound of distant laughter would be in 
 my ears. A line of embarrassed bridegrooms would wait, 
 each in turn to give me a quick embrace and a shy kiss. 
 And for that there would be hand-clapping, and the 
 laughing approval of the throng of guests, gathered in 
 the great, square dining-room, with oak panels on the 
 walls and massive oak beams across the ceiling. 
 
 It all was very clear to me. The marriage of the son 
 and heir was a red-letter day in the Clark family. It had 
 been a day of days always ; it would be a day of days when 
 I came there a bride. A bride ! Yes, and when the day 
 was done, and the guests had departed, I should take up 
 living where other brides had left off. I should prowl 
 around and explore the dim roominess of my new home. 
 I should fit the big iron keys to the big old-fashioned 
 iron locks. I should examine the heavy iron door 
 handles. I should watch the sun filtering through the 
 heavy window shutters. I should inspect the aged ma- 
 hogany furniture; the long line of Clarks in faded gold 
 frames would pass under my scrutiny, and then take up 
 the sameness of the life of all the brides who had pre- 
 ceded me.
 
 IN THE CURRENT 45 
 
 These thoughts and many more of a similar nature 
 possessed me when I accepted Norman's extended hand, 
 and laid the slightest possible weight upon him in stepping 
 down from the surrey to the sandstone flag, which was 
 scoured almost painfully clean, and lay the full width of 
 the doorway. I thought Norman suspected my state of 
 mind, for he withdrew his hand rather hastily and seemed 
 to take undue interest in a conversation about the weather 
 with father. We went slowly into the roomy hall, and 
 presently Mrs. Clark came rustling down the stairs, with 
 her husband carefully picking his steps behind her. 
 
 I must say, Mrs. Clark, appeared cordial. Whatever 
 she felt in her heart outwardly she was the soul of good- 
 nature for her. I even detected a degree of fervor in 
 the smack with which she saluted me. I was flattered 
 when she stood off and looked me up and down and said : 
 "How pretty you look, Frizzie." Her tactlessness came 
 out when she added : "You put me in remembrance of the 
 time when I was a girl." Gracious, if the day ever came 
 when I should look like Mrs. Clark in the present or in 
 the past ! 
 
 I shall not tax you with the details of that second con- 
 ference. It was a conflict much like the first. Father was 
 on his dignity again ; Mrs. Clark tried to be dignified and 
 couldn't. Mr. Clark was fidgety and nervous. He had a 
 difficult position, trying on the one hand to make clear his 
 sympathy for me, and on the other seeking to avoid the 
 wrath of his wife. Norman was pale of cheek, reserved, 
 unresponsive, and unsatisfying in his protests that the 
 wedding must wait upon my consent. As for myself I 
 was quick in temper and obstinate, a prey to a score of 
 doubts ; one moment admiring Norman, the next cold and 
 resentful toward him. I would think our ways perhaps 
 ran together, and again I would think our happiness de-
 
 46 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 pended upon our traveling apart. Not for a moment did 
 I lose my measure of sullen enmity for Mrs. Clark. I 
 opposed my father at every turn, and entertained the 
 secret wish that the problem could be left to the tender 
 disposition of Mr. Clark. 
 
 There was one exciting scene, however, which I cannot 
 pass over. This because it led to my discomfiture, and 
 showed what troubles may follow a thoughtless speech. 
 I am afraid my temper has been one of my greatest handi- 
 caps ; I know to a certainity it has ruled my tongue and 
 my actions many, many times too often. Of course, the 
 talk and general attitude of Mrs. Clark would tax the 
 patience of a saint, yet that was no reason why I should 
 have expended my wrath upon Norman. 
 
 Mrs. Clark had been babbling away at a great rate when 
 I lost control of myself. I ran to Norman and flaring in 
 anger demanded why he wished the engagement broken 
 when his every indication was for the wedding to go on ? 
 Norman's cheeks grew still paler at the question, then a 
 tinge of red showed in them. His eyes seemed to pierce 
 me, and I quailed as I realized sincerity was gripping 
 every fibre in him. 
 
 "Can't you read the truth, Frizzie; can't you guess it 
 even?" he asked, his voice rich in pleading. "Don't you 
 know the only reason I don't assert myself and take it 
 out of the hands of mother and Dr. Peabody is because 
 I love you ?" 
 
 "What !" I cried. "You mean to tell me that now ?" 
 
 Every speck of red went from his face, which was very 
 pale again. He did not heed my call, but turned on father 
 and Mrs. Clark. 
 
 "You've wrung it from me at last," he said, in a voice 
 sharp with reproach, "and you may draw what satisfac- 
 tion you can from it."
 
 IN THE CURRENT 47 
 
 "I've wrung nothing from you, Norman," put in Mr. 
 Clark. 
 
 "I've got to thank you for that, father," said Norman. 
 "Mother and Dr. Peabody wrung it from me, that's what 
 I've got to say." He paused, and Mrs. Clark had not the 
 heart to speak. Father only bowed his head, as if in silent 
 confession to the accusation. I wished I were a thousand 
 miles away. This was more than I had bargained for. 
 But escape was impossible, and Norman turned to me 
 again. 
 
 "I don't blame you, Frizzie," he said. "It's only that 
 your father and my mother thought they knew more than 
 either of us. They led me into this just as they led you. 
 They thought they put the idea of our marrying in my 
 head when it was there already. I wished to have my own 
 way about it, but they wouldn't let me. They thought we 
 were so young we both needed guardians. Had I been 
 left to myself and had you favored me, then that would 
 have been splendid. Had you refused me, then that would 
 have been all right, too. I should have gotten over it, but 
 they wouldn't listen to me. They knew better ; they knew 
 what was in your heart and what was in mine. They 
 drove me. They tried to drive you. But you were the 
 stronger, and their well-laid plan failed. You were 
 stronger than I, and I'm glad one of us had the courage 
 to fight. You're right, Frizzie. We can't and we won't 
 be married as a matter of business." 
 
 "Norman, Norman," wailed Mrs. Clark, "you mustn't 
 be so hard on me. I did everything for the best." 
 
 "That's just it, mother," replied Norman, "everything's 
 done for the best. And if it turned out for the worst you 
 wouldn't be the one to suffer for it. Why, you wouldn't 
 even give me time to propose for myself. You anticipated 
 that you remember that evening, Frizzie, when I entered
 
 4 8 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 the parlor and mother was talking to you ? I was never 
 even asked about the date for the wedding. All I heard 
 was that bridegrooms were of no account at weddings, 
 and that our wedding was to be just the same as the wed- 
 ding of father and mother, which was like the wedding 
 of grandfather and grandmother, and so on back through 
 a hundred years or more. I ought to have asserted myself, 
 but how could I ? My hands were tied. But, thank God, 
 the truth is out at last. We'll part this minute, Frizzie. 
 You'll go your way, and I'll go mine, and we'll forget all 
 about this. And I'll say just one word more, and then 
 have done forever : I loved you, Frizzie ; I loved you years 
 ago, and I still love you. That's the whole truth, and 
 whatever happens time will not change it." 
 
 His voice rang triumphant, and I stood helpless in a 
 rush of emotion. I saw, however, the blood mount in a 
 crimson flood to the roots of Mrs. Clark's straight black 
 and gray hair. 
 
 "I won't recall the invitations at this hour !" she almost 
 shrieked. "I won't try to explain what never can be 
 explained." 
 
 "It's settled, mother," said Norman, "and the invitations 
 will be recalled." 
 
 For a few seconds Mrs. Clark wavered on her feet. 
 Then her body seemed to lose all power of resistance. She 
 sent out several little cries of despair and grief. Finally 
 the well-meaning but misguided woman flopped back 
 heavily into her chair and burst into a torrent of tears. 
 It was the sight of Mrs. Clark weeping disconsolately 
 that kept me from breaking down. I could never afford 
 to make myself as ugly as that. I controlled myself with 
 a great effort, and just checked myself short of throwing 
 my arms around Norman's neck.
 
 IN THE CURRENT 49 
 
 It would be idle to attempt to deny he had made a pro- 
 found impression upon me. The truth was, he had never 
 looked so big and manly in my eyes as he did then. Why, 
 he had taken on inches ! And I was still fighting against 
 my impulse ; still actually close to surrender, when father 
 steeled me against conceding a point. Ever the same 
 collected and analytical man, he walked quietly to Nor- 
 man and put both hands on his shoulders. 
 
 "Do you think, Norman, that Frizzie could refuse you 
 after a speech like that? I don't." 
 
 Why did he say it? Why did he dare me, defy me? 
 Why did he rouse all the sleeping little devils in me 
 again ? Why, why ? Men are so foolish sometimes I be- 
 lieve they never will understand women. I know I cannot 
 understand them. If father could not rule by force he 
 would rule by stealth. Of course, I should have dismissed 
 him from consideration but how was anybody to reflect 
 in such a crisis? I am not one of the angelic .few, who 
 stop to reason in the heat of battle. And I was headstrong 
 and wilful and spiteful enough to let that interference 
 of father's turn the scale. I stormed like a little fury. I 
 railed at father and Mrs. Clark and at Norman. I refused 
 to stop; I continued against efforts at interruption until 
 my fiery outpouring was brought to an end by emotional 
 exhaustion. I glanced around and saw only unfriendly 
 faces. That was enough. Without another word I rushed 
 from the room, across the hall, and out of the house. 
 
 I halted on the doorstep, but the sound of excited voices 
 behind me sent me fleeing down the driveway. I went on 
 under the .arching trees, and I was close to the wrought- 
 iron gate at the highway when Norman's call reached me. 
 
 "Frizzie ! Frizzie !" came his voice, and I hurried to the 
 gate and turned with my back against it. I received Nor- 
 man with laughter ; just why I did so I couldn't tell. I did
 
 50 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 not shrink from him. I did not feel depressed at his 
 presence. Rather I was glad he was there with me, and 
 my gaiety rose as I swung open the gate and caught him 
 by the sleeve and dragged him into the roadway. 
 
 "Come, come, Norman," I cried, "away, away down 
 the road." 
 
 He went with me, not unwillingly, and we had reached 
 a turn at the foot of the hill where the woods gave way 
 to the patchwork of fields, when we came upon a young 
 man stretched flat in the dust working with the motor of 
 an automobile. 
 
 He heard our footsteps, drew himself out and rested on 
 one knee as if to wait for us to pass. I saw a smile spread 
 over his begrimed face. He sprang to his feet and stepped 
 forward with his hand held out to Norman. 
 
 "Why, hello, Clark," he said in good cheer, "who would 
 have thought of meeting you here !" 
 
 "Hello, Wesson," responded Norman, with more ani- 
 mation than was usual with him. "Where did you drop 
 from?" 
 
 "I'm headed for pop's place down near the end of the 
 Island, and it's just my luck to have this car break down. 
 I haven't seen you since we left college, Clark. Where 
 have you been hiding yourself?" 
 
 Norman did not answer the question, but introduced 
 Mr. Wesson to me, and I was unable to still a fluttering of 
 my heart. The name of Wesson was not unfamiliar to 
 me. I had heard Norman speak of all his classmates in 
 Yale. Three years before, when he returned from college, 
 he was full of college songs, and his mother grumbled 
 because of his mine of college slang. "Never mind, my 
 dear," Mr. Clark used to say, "the boy will get over it. 
 They all do." And Norman did get over it. Perhaps it 
 was because of the impatient criticism of his mother;
 
 IN THE CURRENT 51 
 
 perhaps it was because of the general effect of the prosaic 
 surroundings in which he moved. I never could decide 
 those things to my satisfaction, but before I had been 
 five minutes in the presence of Mr. Wesson I became 
 conscious that a wonderful change had been wrought in 
 Norman. Three years had robbed him of a liveliness, a 
 zest, an enthusiasm in living; he had become solid and 
 serious. It seemed he was gradually fitting into the drab- 
 ness of the life around him. It impressed me that Norman 
 used to be like Mr. Wesson, and I never stopped to ask 
 myself what there really was to choose between them. 
 Girls of my years, I very much doubt, do not look 
 beneath the surface. All I realized or cared for then was 
 that Mr. Wesson afforded something that I thought was 
 missing in Norman. The truth of it was, I was promptly 
 carried away by the young stranger. 
 
 I cannot resist the temptation to predict you will say, 
 "What an utterly foolish girl !" And the only defense I 
 can offer is the question : "Was there ever a foolish girl ?" 
 For my part, without a moment's hesitation, I answer: 
 "Not one." I cannot give a reason for my belief, yet I 
 am encouraged in the thought that I am not a victim of 
 blind optimism, or blind vanity. When I depend for ar- 
 gument upon popular prejudices I condemn myself forth- 
 with, but where is the girl so pitifully practical as to 
 ponder gravely these outward forms ? 
 
 It was enough that Mr. Wesson interested me in- 
 terested me greatly. I did not imagine for a moment I 
 could fall in love with him, but I liked the breeziness of 
 him; I liked his frankness, his perfect confidence in 
 himself. 
 
 His whole bearing pleased me. I felt he was a man to 
 trust. There was a wholesome ring in his laugh. There 
 was a flattering consideration in his manner that I never
 
 52 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 looked for in Norman until Mr. Wesson made its absence 
 so apparent. 
 
 In short, the young man stirred new feelings within me. 
 He gave me new thoughts, and I am constrained to con- 
 fess to you that had it come in that very first moment to 
 a choice between Norman and his friend I should un- 
 hesitatingly have given my hand to Mr. Wesson. I should 
 have been ready even to forego all my fancies about love, 
 and what I thought love meant. 
 
 What shall you and I, in our experience and wisdom 
 of the present, say of it all ? Just this : So the world goes 
 and we live and learn !
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MR. WESSON had been down again under the automobile 
 for ten minutes or more, before he arose and began to 
 knock the dust out of his clothes with his open hands. 
 
 "I've got it at last," he said, with gratification in his 
 voice. "It's taken me more than an hour, but I'm lucky 
 I haven't to get a farmer to tow me home. You have a 
 car, of course, Clark, and you know what tinkering it 
 means ?" 
 
 "No," replied Norman, "I'd rather have a fast horse 
 any day." 
 
 "It's great sport, though," laughed Mr. Wesson. 
 "There's so much trouble making them go." He smiled 
 invitingly upon me. "Do you care for a spin, Miss 
 Peabody?" 
 
 "I should be delighted, Mr. Wesson," I replied. 
 
 "Well, into the tonneau, both of you," he said spiritedly, 
 "and just say where you wish to go." 
 
 Norman seemed inclined to hold back, but I pulled him 
 in after me. "Could you take us to the sea, Mr. Wesson ?" 
 I asked. 
 
 "Why, that's hardly far enough to give the car a good 
 start," he laughed, and we were off. 
 
 The wind played pranks with my hair and brought red 
 to my cheeks. I fancied myself freer than ever before in 
 my life ; the country, as it rose in front and shot past out 
 of sight, seemed to take on a new meaning for me. It was 
 such a little place ! It was so easy to run away from it ! 
 
 53
 
 54 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 Free ! Free ! That was it. I felt the freedom in my veins, 
 in every nerve and fibre of me. At first I clung to Nor- 
 man, but I quickly overcame timidity, and drew aside 
 from him to sit there strong and pliant, responding to 
 every motion of the machine, thinking myself a part of it, 
 and glorying in a spirit of independence. 
 
 We came to familiar ground, and I leaned forward. 
 "Go slowly now, please, Mr. Wesson?" I requested. He 
 brought the automobile almost to a standstill. 
 
 "What an ideal spot !" he said, and I could not mistake 
 his earnestness. 
 
 "Ideal?" I asked in surprise. 
 
 "Yes," he returned, "with the woods making a frame 
 for the house, and the view of the beach and the sea. It's 
 all ideal." 
 
 I was silent in thought. What a contrary world it was ! 
 What did one know of it ? I felt the wheels spin rapidly 
 again. The wind now smote me sharply in the cheeks, 
 and it carried the salty breath of the ocean. We ran out 
 into the open until the Atlantic rolled almost up to us. 
 Once more the pace slackened. 
 
 "Here we are, Miss Peabody at the sea," said Mr. 
 Wesson. "That's what I call an inspiring view." 
 
 "Do you really think so, Mr. Wesson ?" I asked. 
 
 "Of course," he replied. "Look. You might think it 
 was a great burnished shield that the sun had laid across 
 the earth. To me there's nothing quite so good as the sea 
 with the sun upon it." 
 
 My heart beat in joy at the news. I forgot Norman 
 sitting beside me. I gave myself to dreams delicious 
 dreams. I was not awakened even when I found we were 
 heading into the dreariness of the woods. Norman sought 
 to engage me in conversation as we followed a circuitous 
 sweep to The Beeches. I answered his many questions
 
 IN THE CURRENT 55 
 
 almost mechanically. It was not until Mr. Wesson 
 stopped the car at the wrought-iron gate that I roused 
 myself to action. I deliberately left a glove on the seat, 
 and stepped out and faced Mr. Wesson, standing with his 
 cap in his hand. "My glove ; my glove, Norman," I said, 
 with excitement I could not hide, but the meaning of 
 which he mistook. I saw Norman step into the tonneau. 
 I felt my face grow crimson but I did not flinch. 
 
 "Please come to-morrow to the sea?" I asked. 
 
 Mr. Wesson gazed open-eyed at me, but gathered him- 
 self quickly. "At three/' he said, and I turned and in my 
 confusion almost snatched the glove from Norman. He 
 might have read me, but he was free of suspicion. 
 
 "Good-by, Mr. Wesson," I said, and barely touched his 
 fingers. I went straight to the gate and turned there and 
 felt a pang of guilt as Norman took Mr. Wesson's hand 
 in a hearty shake. Mr. Wesson did not look back, but I 
 could not resist the impulse to wave the glove in his direc- 
 tion, as the car was hidden in the dust it lifted from the 
 road. Oh, simple maiden!
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 BREAKFAST was over, and I began to count the hours. 
 How many were there? One, two, three seven hours a 
 day an age! Father had remained silent, and I was 
 thankful for that. I could see Mother Ann was anxious 
 to know what had happened at The Beeches, but I gave 
 her no opportunity to question me. From the breakfast 
 table I went out on the veranda. Nipper came wriggling 
 a morning greeting. I sent him away shrinking, with an 
 impatient command. I wandered around the house, and 
 roamed from room to room. I tried in vain to interest 
 myself in a book, which in contradictory goodness I had 
 drawn from one of the shelves in father's library. 
 Luncheon passed without a word on the great problem. 
 I went to my room, locked myself in, and attired myself 
 in one of my plainest and, I was sure, prettiest white 
 dresses. I spent minutes tying a ribbon in the back of my 
 hair. I went out to the road, and with a few wild flowers 
 in my hand waited and watched. 
 
 He came as I knew he would around by the sea. My 
 heart leaped when I saw him ; it thrilled with a sense of 
 kinship, aye, of proprietorship. I thought he had traveled 
 that way to pay tribute to me. He responded to the desire 
 in me. He followed a golden path. He was a Prince 
 Charming making fit approach to my knoll, to my 
 sanctuary, which suddenly was a spot not lonely and 
 desolate, I was convinced, but a place alive with all the 
 world, smiling for him and me. 
 
 56
 
 IN THE CURRENT 57 
 
 He tried to remonstrate, but I would not listen. He 
 was mine for that hour; mine to manage as I pleased; 
 mine to glory over to myself; mine to sit and admire; 
 mine to paint in rainbow colors as the man of all men 
 the man before whom to bare every secret, the man to 
 laugh and to sing with me and, perchance, to cry. 
 
 I led him there, going so swiftly along the beaten track 
 that he laughingly besought me not to outdistance him. 
 I showed him my seat. I placed him in it, feeling as if 
 I were bestowing a king on his throne. And so I was, for 
 I affirm that for me that day a king held court, and I was 
 the favored debutante, in my train and my jewels, bending 
 the knee before him. Why, even the Atlantic put its white 
 ruffles in order and paraded in slow dignity to the foot of 
 the seat of His Imperial Majesty. Oh, dreams of girl- 
 hood! Had I died then angels would have borne me off 
 in a hammock of silver cords. Dreams, dreams ! Bless 
 them one and all, for they must be born of another and a 
 better world. 
 
 Was I wrong? Was I misguided? Ah, well ; judge me 
 harshly ; measure me by your conventions ; reprove me by 
 your formalities; laugh at me in your worldly wisdom, 
 but, I implore, spare the last bitter word until you have 
 tried to see as I saw. I know otherwise now, but, but 
 those everlasting, uncontrollable buts! but how do I 
 know? Dear, dear; there it is once more! I lead you 
 back to that question of experience again. 
 
 "Why don't you go to the city?" That was what he 
 said when I had told him all, and I sprang to the thought. 
 All, all I told him sitting there. Looking up into his open, 
 sympathetic face, I poured out the whole painful story. 
 I told him of Norman, of father, of Mrs. Clark, of Mr. 
 Clark, of my isolation, of my yearnings, and of my drift- 
 ing toward despair. And he seemed to feel so deeply for
 
 58 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 me, seemed to have so complete grasp of the woe of me, 
 that after the last word had been spoken I felt as if I had 
 been relieved of a crushing, terrible burden. Neither was 
 I mistaken, I am sure to this hour, only at that time I did 
 not know that every saint is a sinner and every sinner 
 a saint. 
 
 We walked back to the automobile hand in hand. We 
 actually did, and I confess to a twinge of regret because 
 he did not manifest a desire to kiss me. Not that I should 
 have permitted it. Oh, no; only that such feelings will 
 take hold of us at times, and whether wicked or not ex- 
 plain them away we cannot. 
 
 I believed him honestly, honestly, I did when he 
 told me I was wasted in such a desolate corner of 
 creation; when he declared I was mentally far above 
 father and Norman and Mrs. Clark. Could I think to the 
 contrary ? Impossible, because such a lurking notion had 
 suggested itself to me more than once, and besides how 
 was I to resist the flattery in the argument? "You were 
 born to take the world captive," he said, and I believed 
 that, too. Poor Frizzle, I say to myself now when I think 
 of it. Poor Frizzle. I have no defense. I am tempted, 
 but I have not the assurance to resort to the plea I was 
 merely a woman, a very young and a very foolish, reckless 
 one at that. 
 
 But never mind ; we shall pass on. He rode away, and 
 after he had turned the corner I kissed my hand in that 
 direction. I returned to my home with light steps, keep- 
 ing time to the song that was in my heart. All the world 
 was bright, all merriment, all gladness. Away with 
 pining and gloomy reflection and dull brooding and 
 pressing care! On with laughter and gaiety, joy and 
 content ! The old earth spins merrily under dancing feet, 
 and the heavens themselves are gay !
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 FROM the gate I saw father in the library, bent over his 
 desk as usual. I went to him and put my arms around 
 his neck, and whispered in his ear : 
 
 "Daddy, daddy; I've got something to tell you. Can 
 you guess?" 
 
 An expectant smile lighted his face. "I'm sure I can't 
 guess, Frizzie," he said." I caught him closer. 
 
 "I will marry Norman," I said. 
 
 *^He arose from his chair, almost lifting me off my feet 
 with him, and caught me in a hearty embrace. 
 
 "I knew you would come to your senses, my child," he 
 said. "God bless you, Frizzie, and make you happy ; you 
 are your father's daughter, after all." 
 
 "I know I am my father's daughter," I said, and the 
 truth was hidden from him. He telephoned to The 
 Beeches. Mrs. Clark answered the call, and she fairly 
 made the wire thrill with her exclamations of elation and 
 selfish rejoicing. She spoke to me, after she had expended 
 some of her enthusiasm on father. Norman was out, she 
 said, grieving somewhere, but she would find him; she 
 would find him In a trice, and she would ride over with 
 him and all that had happened would be a secret for- 
 ever from the gossips of Suffolk County. She would bring 
 my wedding dress, too. Only that very hour she had re- 
 ceived it, and it was beautiful. 
 
 "Happiness is no word for the way I feel at present," 
 she said at last. "You'll be the pride of Norman and my- 
 self the pride of us all."
 
 60 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "I will try to merit your faith in me, Mrs. Clark," I 
 replied. 
 
 "No fear about that, Frizzie," she responded. "I shall 
 see you in just one hour and give you a mother's kiss. 
 Good-by, my darling." 
 
 I got the kiss as she promised. She was quick enough 
 this time to alight unaided from the faded carriage. She 
 wrapped me in an embrace that almost moved me to resist- 
 ance. But I endured it, because the lightness in me was 
 not so easily dispelled as that. I had initiative of my own. 
 I implanted a kiss squarely on the right cheek of Mr. 
 Clark, the first I had ever given that adorable old man. 
 Norman hung back embarrassed. His cheeks were flushed 
 and he shifted nervously on his feet. I went over to him 
 and kissed him boldly, to the unbounded delight of Mrs. 
 Clark. Such hugging and such kissing! I even kissed 
 father, and I made Mrs. Clark's joy complete by giving 
 her a smack of my own free will. I did it all realistically, 
 too; I prided myself on that. Not one suspected. When 
 I look back upon that scene now, really I think I was born 
 to be a great actress. 
 
 The liveliness of the dinner table ; the hum of animated 
 conversation; the laughter, the jests, the fun about the 
 bridegroom Norman would make, about the nervousness 
 of all bridegrooms, about them sometimes forgetting the 
 ring; the free advice to Norman and to me; the talk of 
 plans, of the coming of the best man all the way from 
 New Jersey, mind you and, favorite topic of Mrs. Clark, 
 the care I should exercise in my passing as a bride under 
 the eyes of the pick of the permanent society of Suffolk 
 County! Such a dinner as it was! Even father himself 
 relaxed, cracked jokes and laughed over them. Even Mr. 
 Clark enlivened the occasion, and was moved to declare 
 he felt younger by twenty years. Why shouldn't he, the
 
 6i 
 
 dear old man, with the thongs of his bondage loosened for 
 once ? No dejection, no gloom, no bitterness, no animos- 
 ity entered there. All was playfulness and mirth, and I 
 myself was j oiliest of all. None reading my secret, none 
 suspecting it none save Mother Ann, gliding noiselessly 
 in and out, and casting reproachful eyes at me as she 
 circled the table. 
 
 And at the end, Mrs. Clark insistent to put me in my 
 wedding dress. Not a glimpes might the men steal, she 
 said ; the blinds in my room were drawn carefully and the 
 door locked. Such fitting and such praising! Did Mrs. 
 Clark ever look upon so pretty a bride? Not one in all 
 her long list of brides, and the dress ! Ah, the dress it 
 was perfection itself; flawless in every line and seam; not 
 an alteration to make; not one more thing to do except 
 to catch the one last button in the middle of my back, 
 which Mrs. Clark left unfastened at the dictate of a super- 
 stitious scruple. 
 
 I stood forth and inspected myself in the mirror, and 
 right proud I felt. It was not an elaborate creation, but 
 it was the best Covey could produce, and I was not exact- 
 ing in those days as I am now. "It is my wedding dress, 
 Mrs. Clark," I said, not without emotion, but emotion far 
 removed from any thought of Norman's mother just then. 
 
 "Yes, your wedding dress, Frizzie," she said, "and I 
 cannot tell you how pretty and winning you look in it." 
 
 I fairly beamed upon her, and of course she imagined 
 it was because of the compliment she had paid me. Per- 
 haps that had something to do with it, but at bottom I was 
 actuated by another motive. 
 
 "Do you really and truly think I am pretty and winning 
 in my -wedding dress, Mrs. Clark ?" I asked. 
 
 "I do, Frizzie," she replied. "I do. You satisfy my 
 every wish. I always intended my Norman should marry
 
 62 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 only the prettiest girl in the county, and there's none 
 prettier than you." 
 
 The littleness of her ! I turned my head away to hide 
 my resentment at her selfishness. I was glad I had been 
 so emphatic in speaking about my wedding dress, and 
 thereby sowing the seeds for bitter reflection in the not 
 distant future. Mrs. Clark was in need of a good lesson, 
 and I vowed to my secret self I would give it to her. 
 
 Mrs. Clark assisted me in putting the dress away in a 
 corner closet which I cleared specially for its reception. 
 We descended the stairs together, Mrs. Clark with her 
 hand laid affectionately on my shoulder, and in the parlor 
 there was a renewal of the round of laughter and innocent 
 chaffing. The congratulations to Norman were repeated. 
 Again I insisted I was no less an object of congratulation, 
 and so it went for a full hour, when Mrs. Clark spoke the 
 last word with the exclamation : 
 
 "Only four days to the wedding now, Frizzie. My, 
 what a narrow escape you gave us !" 
 
 They drove off with much noisy merriment. Mrs. 
 Clark, of course, was busy with her cackling even busier 
 than usual Mr. Clark thought it incumbent to join in 
 with loud expressions of satisfaction; Norman remem- 
 bered something to shout back when they were out 
 through the gate; and even father so far forget himself 
 as to send a message after them when they were just 
 turning the corner out of sight. 
 
 Away, away they went, and I almost shivered when 
 father drew me close to him and guided me indoors. 
 What a transformation had been wrought in them all! 
 Father was not the same man now. He warmed toward 
 me in frank affection. He praised me. He told me of 
 his admiration, of the wonderful depths of his parental 
 affection. And I listened respectfully. I concealed my
 
 IN THE CURRENT 63 
 
 temper. I did not betray by word or look or gesture the 
 spirit of revenge that stirred within me. 
 
 I was not so contained when I was in my room, with 
 no one to see. I stood before the glass and let my feelings 
 express themselves in my face. My good looks were not 
 enhanced, but I did not care for that. I knew the reason 
 for the change in them one and all. It was because I had 
 consented to sacrifice myself; it was because I had con- 
 sented to subject my will to the will of father and to the 
 will of that hated woman. 
 
 All was changed ! Because I offered myself a sacrifice, 
 it was peace instead of war, calm instead of storm, smiles 
 instead of frowns. All changed a blithesome spirit in the 
 house ; peals of laughter in the hall ; light footsteps on the 
 stairs ; sunshine and springtime ; incense in the air, and in 
 the distance the soft, clear summons of the wedding bell ! 
 
 Not another hard word; not another thought for me. 
 No kind, sympathetic curiosity or inquiry as to whether 
 every little fear, every little doubt, had been dispelled. 
 Lonely before, lonelier now ! I had rebelled ; I had sur- 
 rendered, and all was well. But was it ? Only four days 
 to the wedding, Mrs. Clark had said. Well, well. Four 
 days!
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 ALL was in readiness. The hurry and bustle, the com- 
 ing and the going were past. Aunts and cousins and other 
 relatives had come from here and there and everywhere. 
 I made the acquaintance of most of them for the first time. 
 They saw a strong family resemblance in me ; they dinned 
 my ears with praise of Norman. They saw Mrs. Clark 
 at her very best, and they praised her, too. Some of them 
 were stopping at The Beeches; some were here in the 
 house with father and me. 
 
 I took the preparations quietly. I went to the little 
 church in Covey and approved the floral decorations. I 
 was permitted to peep at the wedding cake, which Mrs. 
 Clark herself concocted and baked. I was led covertly by 
 the proud mother into the ancestral hall of the Clarks, and 
 I was sincere in my admiration of its arrangement for the 
 great festivities. It was there the wedding feast was to 
 be held. Thus early Mrs. Clark was to be a mother to 
 me ; and the guests would not be cramped and crowded as 
 in our own comparatively little home. 
 
 The last good-night had been said, and now all was still. 
 Father was the last to leave me. He kissed me, and I 
 thought I detected tears in his eyes. "It will be lonely 
 here without you, Frizzie," he said, and he little thought 
 of what he spoke. 
 
 I had no regret for what I had done. Instead of that, I 
 was filled with a sense of elation, of joyous expectancy 
 and of sweet content. At last it was to be freedom. Free- 
 
 64
 
 IN THE CURRENT 65 
 
 dom, like the freedom of a bird on the wing ; I was to be 
 free as the wind itself. My wind blowing over the sea, 
 and my sea rolling as it willed they were to be no freer 
 than I ! The way had opened. It was impossible that I 
 should languish there, so away and leave dismay behind. 
 
 All was very, very still. I strained to listen, and the 
 only sound I heard was the tick, tick of the little clock on 
 the table near the head of my bed. The only light in the 
 house was here in my room. My room! It had been 
 mine since I could remember. The paper was mine, the 
 pictures were mine, this wicker chair, this dressing-table 
 the whole room was mine ! There had been no restraint 
 here, and for that I was thankful. 
 
 I had bought those curtains how proud I was that 
 day ! and I had hung them there where they were now. 
 I had arranged that corner, with its chintz-covered couch 
 and its corded and tasseled pillows. Well, good-by; I 
 would hold this room always in affection, aye t with some- 
 thing more than that. It was all mine and it was all a part 
 of me. It could not be taken from me ; I could not lose 
 it if I would. It would go with me wherever I went; 
 it was not material any longer. It might live only as a 
 memory, but a memory radiant and tender. Here to this 
 room had I come in my tears of joy and my tears of 
 sorrow; here had I worn my moods away; here had I 
 tried to reason ; here had I dreamed. My room always, 
 always, my room! 
 
 I took out my wedding dress and worked myself into it 
 and gazed at myself in the mirror. Mrs. Clark was right. 
 I was pretty. My wedding dress ! Taking it off and not 
 to put it on to-morrow forever! Please don't persist. 
 I shrink even now from dwelling upon that moment. I 
 put the dress back in the closet, but I could not close the 
 door. I took it out again and folded it on the bed and
 
 66 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 placed it in my little satchel. It was mine, too, and some 
 day who knows ? 
 
 I packed in silver articles and other things, and placed 
 the satchel at the door. Then I sat down at my little desk 
 and wrote a letter to father. Would you care to read it ? 
 Girls write such foolish letters, you know ! Still, you may 
 be curious, and well, here goes : 
 
 "DEAR FATHER, You needn't try to follow me. I'll 
 never come back ; never, never, never ! I'm sorry, but I 
 can't help it. I can't stand Mrs. Clark. I don't love Nor- 
 man I'm sure of that now. I told you that, but you 
 didn't seem to care. You just wanted me to please your- 
 self, not to please myself. Mrs. Clark was the same, and 
 I won't do it not in all my life. If you had not been so 
 hard and commanding; if Mrs. Clark had not been so 
 little and mean and overbearing; if Norman had been a 
 little more of himself and less of somebody else, all 
 might have been different, but it's too late now. I'm 
 going, and I'm glad, I'm rejoiced, I'm going! And now 
 at the very last moment, I'll tell you that if happiness never 
 comes to me, if I never find it, I'll never blame you. No, 
 never. I'll not even blame Mrs. Clark I forgive her now, 
 I forgive you one and all, and I promise that always I'll 
 think with kindness of Norman. It's the most I can do. 
 But Norman has done nothing. I might have learned to 
 love him had he been left alone if the two of us had been 
 free to meet each other and come and go without inter- 
 ference from you all so much wiser than ourselves ! It's 
 only this, father : I'm going away to live my own life, and 
 not to have some one else try to live it for me. You 
 wouldn't want somebody else to live your life for you, 
 and I won't, although I'm only a girl. I tried to make you 
 see Norman as I saw him just as a man, a plain, every-
 
 IN THE CURRENT 67 
 
 day man. That's all, and I cannot resist the feeling to 
 wish for something more. Could you, father, if you were 
 in my place? But that's foolish, for you're just a man, 
 too, like Norman. I'll be all right; please don't worry 
 about me. I've thought of all this for days and days, and 
 I never thought of the wedding. Good-by, father. Tell 
 Norman I wanted to write to him, but I was afraid." 
 
 Nothing more, except the little word "Frizzie" at the 
 end. I folded the letter, sealed it in an envelope and 
 slipped it under a corner of the inkstand. I crossed to 
 the dressing-table and took my silver purse a gift from 
 Norman and went to the door and lifted the satchel. I 
 felt a rush of emotion. I let the satchel fall from my 
 hand, and ran back to the bed and dropped on my knees. 
 I was old-fashioned enough for that, and, thank God, I'm 
 old-fashioned enough for it yet. Father's training had 
 not been all in vain. 
 
 I arose composed and with a sense of comfort. But 
 again I turned from the door, this time to turn the lamp 
 low, until the room was suffused with soft shadows. I went 
 out into the hall, there rested the satchel very softly on the 
 floor, and slipped back once more. I stood still with my 
 hands clasped together, between the bed and the dressing-- 
 table. It seemed to me there was a great peace there, and 
 the peace seemed to mock the restlessness in my heart. I 
 ran swiftly and pressed my lips against each of the four 
 walls, then passing out rapidly, as if afraid to trust my 
 feelings, I closed the door behind me. 
 
 I went noiselessly down to the turn of the stairs, where 
 instinctively I stopped to listen. Not a sound. I went 
 down a few steps more, and in the first glimmer of the 
 dawn I saw a figure between the portieres leading into the 
 parlor. My heart almost stopped beating. I was motion-
 
 68 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 less in genuine terror. I knew it to be Mother Ann, but 
 I could not utter a word. 
 
 It must have been a minute we remained there motion- 
 less and silent. Gradually I made out that her dear old 
 face was turned toward me in kindliness, and that she was 
 as frail under emotion as I myself. My fear left me, but 
 I could not keep back the tears. I was almost choking. 
 I put down the satchel and with what little order I could 
 command, went straight to her. She held her arms wide 
 to me, and folded me to her breast. 
 
 "Oh, Mother Ann, Mother Ann," I sobbed, and could 
 not say more. 
 
 "I knew this was what it was coming to," she said, 
 bravely drying her eyes. "I knew it. But you're not 
 going, Miss Frizzie?" 
 
 I pulled myself away. "Yes, I am going, Mother 
 Ann," I said. "Why should I stay here?" 
 
 "Hush, hush, Miss Frizzie, or they'll hear you." I 
 quailed in fear. "Come in here, into the kitchen, child, 
 and we'll close the door and talk." I followed her, and 
 found a lamp burning and two dining-room chairs beside 
 the kitchen table. 
 
 "You expected all this?" I asked. 
 
 "I saw the light under the door of your room, Miss 
 Frizzie." 
 
 I was not pleased. Neither was I flattered. I thought 
 I was safe in possession of my secret, yet Mother Ann 
 knew all. She gently but firmly pressed me into one of 
 the chairs, and seated herself opposite me. 
 
 "Do you know what you're about, Miss Frizzie?" she 
 asked. "You're going to New York, and tell me now, 
 what will you do when you get there ?" 
 
 "What shall I do here, Mother Ann?" 
 
 "I'm ashamed of you, Miss Frizzie," she said. "Where's
 
 IN THE CURRENT 69 
 
 the spirit in you? Stand up and say you won't marry 
 him. And if nobody backs you I'll back you. I'll back 
 you, Miss Frizzie, if it means that I'll never pass word 
 with the rector again. Stand up this morning when 
 they're all here, and say you won't marry him." 
 
 "I can't, Mother Ann, I can't." 
 
 "Then stand up in the church and say you won't. Fix 
 your mind on it now. Say it over and over to yourself 
 when you're driving to the church, so that you'll have the 
 courage ; and at the last minute rise up and say you won't . 
 Do that and it'll be an end of it. It'll be all over and 
 you'll come back singing to me, and in a month or two 
 some young fellow will come riding down the road and 
 carry you off. That's what you want, isn't it, Miss 
 Frizzie?" 
 
 "I'll go away, Mother Ann, I'll go away," I said. 
 
 "You mustn't do that, you mustn't, Miss Frizzie. 
 Think of what it means to your father. Think of what it 
 means to me. You're almost my very own, Miss Frizzie. 
 I can't bear to see you leave us. Why, child, it was you 
 kept me from fretting my life away over that scamp of a 
 husband of mine. It was me raised you, Miss Frizzie. 
 If I've never said so before to a soul but myself, you're 
 my child as much as your father's. It was me put the 
 woman in you, and it's me that's proud of you this 
 minute." 
 
 "I'm going, Mother Ann," I said. "I have the two 
 hundred dollars father has given me." 
 
 "If it was myself I wouldn't care," she replied. "But 
 to turn you out like this, Miss Frizzie ! It's like turning 
 you out to a pack of wolves." 
 
 "I will go, Mother Ann," I said firmly. 
 
 "I knew all along this would be the end of it," she 
 lamented. "I saw it in you, Miss Frizzie. Not one of
 
 yo IN THE CURRENT 
 
 them could reada you like me, and how could they, with me 
 reading you since you had the strength to put a foot under 
 you ? If there had been any one else but me ? But what 
 could I do in all this? If I'd said a word your father 
 would have snapped my head off and sent me out of the 
 house away from you. I couldn't take chances with 
 that, and I couldn't begin to tell you what to do, as they 
 tried to tell you. One woman can't tell another woman, 
 not even if one woman's gray-headed and the other's 
 turning sixteen. If they'd only let you alone but they 
 did they best they knew, Miss Frizzie. Don't forget that. 
 Your father used to be kind and all that to your mother, 
 but he never loved her the way her big heart wanted him 
 to. It was me saw that long ago, and your father's doing 
 by you as he did by your mother, Miss Frizzie he's doing 
 all he knows, all that's in him, and you can't ask more of 
 him. You can't make over people to suit you, Miss 
 Frizzie, and there's more women like Mrs. Clark in the 
 world than there's women like you and me. I'm older 
 than you are, and that's gospel truth ; and lots of women 
 would do the same as Mrs. Clark, and think your money 
 would look well and come in handy added to the money 
 of her son. It's only money makes marrying a bother. 
 But, money or not, you can't tell what will happen after 
 the wedding. Look at me, Miss Frizzie. I just walked 
 off to the church, and in six months I was a grass widow ; 
 and I'm a grass widow yet. If there'd been any money 
 between us maybe he wouldn't have run away, so you see 
 there's two sides to every case." In the brightening light 
 I saw the anxious look fade from her face, and she smiled 
 as she bent nearer. "I don't blame you, Miss Frizzie. I 
 might do it myself. But you won't go, you won't go? 
 Take an old woman's advice for once. Stay and fight 
 it out."
 
 IN THE CURRENT 71 
 
 "I won't, Mother Ann," I said. "I am going at once." 
 I arose, and she caught me by the arms. 
 
 "I can't stand it, Miss Frizzie, you don't know what 
 you're facing," she entreated. "Tell me, who put this in 
 your head ? There was some one. I've known it all along. 
 It was in your eyes, which were dancing, when you came 
 back that day with the wild flowers all crushed and broken 
 in your hands. Tell me ?" 
 
 "How could you guess?" I asked. "Mother Ann, you 
 saw me on the knoll?" 
 
 She hung her head for a moment in guilt, then she 
 looked at me boldly. "I only happened out there, Miss 
 Frizzie, but if that hadn't been it, maybe I'd have gone 
 any way; for you're the very life of me, and all that's 
 wrong is that you've had not a mother's soul to fit into 
 your own and be over you." 
 
 "I forgive you, Mother Ann," I said. 
 
 "Don't go near that young Wesson," she went on. She 
 saw my look of amazement. "I know him. He's been 
 down near here every summer these years and years. I've 
 heard about him, and you haven't, and he means only 
 harm to you, Miss Frizzie. Never go near him unless 
 he's promised, and it's to marry you. I can't bear it; I 
 won't let you go like that, Miss Frizzie. I won't ; I'll call 
 your father and hold you." 
 
 "Don't you dare do that, Mother Ann," I said. 
 
 "No, I won't, I didn't think when I said it," she replied. 
 "It's his own doing and not yours, Miss Frizzie, but you'll 
 not let Wesson take your soul away from you? Miss 
 Frizzie, if you only knew the danger you're running into ! 
 If Wesson doesn't mean to marry you he means to sell 
 you, and you love him, Miss Frizzie, you do I know 
 that I've seen it in you. Does he love you, Miss Frizzie? 
 If you tell me he does, I'll let you go and I'll watch for
 
 72 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 you to come back happy. Does he love you, Miss 
 Frizzie ?" 
 
 "I feel it in my heart, Mother Ann," I answered. 
 
 "Then I'm hardly frightened to let you go, Miss 
 Frizzie, for the heart is the only guard we women have. 
 But be sure, be sure, for we all make mistakes." 
 
 I moved to the door. "I won't make a mistake, Mother 
 Ann," I said. 
 
 She ran after me and seized me in her arms. "Oh, I 
 can't let you go, I can't, I can't," she cried. "Stay and 
 fight it out. Stay and have Mr. Wesson come to the 
 house and stand up beside you and say he'll marry you, 
 and it'll be all right." 
 
 I kissed her. "Good-by, Mother Ann," I said. "I am 
 fully decided, and if Mr. Wesson were to come here now 
 to marry me I should go just the same." 
 
 She embraced me, and caressed me with tears streaming 
 down her cheeks. "I won't say more, Miss Frizzie. But, 
 God knows, if I hadn't made a mess of my own life I'd 
 be with them in trying to make you marry Mr. Clark. But 
 it would be better you were carried home dead than mar- 
 ried against your will. Good-by, Frizzie, and God look 
 down on you. If you want me call me and I'll come 
 your own Mother Ann." 
 
 I turned at the gate. Mother Ann was in the door, 
 trying to lift her hand. Where the wood cut off the lawn, 
 I turned again. She still was there, and her hand went 
 to her lips. I took another step, and the corner of the 
 wood entered as a wedge between us.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 IMAGINE me ! Fit me together bit by bit, in my odd, 
 modest, neat, little country dress, my foolish little hat, my 
 funny little satchel, with its imitation leather and its 
 shining brass clasps, and my frank, confiding, weather- 
 blown face. I know you will laugh. I know you will say : 
 
 "Same old story! They all come to the city and the 
 city is hard on them the goody-goody girls !" 
 
 Laugh away. I don't care. That's the way of the world 
 when it does not pause to think. Laugh, laugh! You 
 have truth on your side, and, I maintain, so have I. It is 
 the same old story, but, happy fact, there are variations 
 to every story, just as I hope you will find variations in 
 mine. Pray, what is the whole world itself only an old 
 story ? Of course, it is, and yet I'm not satisfied with that 
 narrow definition. Now and then when I wonder what I 
 am, I feel that with each new experience, with each dis- 
 covery of a new truth, the world renews its youth. You 
 of the cities ! Who are you, what are you that you dare 
 to laugh at me? You cannot answer? Neither can I. 
 We mortals all are such enigmas ; we all are so unchari- 
 table! The child of the city is lost in the country; the 
 child of the country is lost in the city ! There we are 
 give and take on both sides. The score is even between 
 us, and strangers in city or country are not lost for long. 
 We are adaptable creatures ; revolution in our lives, after 
 the first shock of surprise, becomes more or less of an 
 unconscious process. Isn't that it? 
 
 73
 
 74 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 But there, enough of my homely, apparent philosophy ! 
 I know it is silly of me to ramble off in this manner, 
 especially when everybody is philosopher to himself. I 
 implore your pardon for these harmless digressions. It 
 is only that I cannot resist the temptation to show how 
 smart I am; in fact, this weakness has become a habit 
 with me. 
 
 The city had a disappointing effect upon me. I think 
 the first glimpse of a city is like the first view of Niagara. 
 I did not stand in awe of Niagara until I had seen it three 
 times. Now when I gaze upon it I ask myself if I ever 
 shall find it within me to accord it appreciation? The 
 might, the majesty, the sameness, the variety, the eternity 
 of it ! So with the imperious, complacent, colossal place 
 to which I turned my face. I did not realize the magni- 
 tude, the substantial grandeur, of it; the mass and the 
 rush of things were too much for my puny senses to em- 
 brace. It was a magnificent muddle ; it was a living pano- 
 rama, which it took me months and months to dissect a 
 little and examine in detail. 
 
 In the train I had time for reflection, and I made two 
 resolutions. One was to put my home out of mind, the 
 other was to carry myself with independence. I never 
 had been a dependent, I assured myself, and I could not 
 be one now. I vowed I would support myself; I enter- 
 tained pride in what I took to be sturdiness of disposition. 
 Without the slightest knowledge of anything to which I 
 might turn my hand, I still was supremely confident there 
 must be for me some place, some nook, some cranny, 
 where I might be cramped, perhaps but, above all 
 things, free. 
 
 I was all contrast, too. I remember I carried a card 
 in the hollow of my left hand under my glove, and that 
 I pressed the tips of my fingers into it, lest by an impos-
 
 IN THE CURRENT 75 
 
 sible chance it might be wafted away. I even presented 
 it reluctantly to the girl who received me in the entrance 
 to Mr. Wesson's office. 
 
 "Why, this is the card of Wesson, Jr.," said the girl, 
 in a tone of surprise that caused me much embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 "Mr. Wesson told me to present it here and he would 
 know it was from me," I replied. 
 
 "You're an innocent kid, for fair," said the girl, with 
 cool emphasis. "Oh, you needn't look indignant," she 
 continued. "I know what that means." She inspected me 
 critically from head to foot. "Well, I'll say for you," she 
 observed, "you're the best-looker of all that's been 
 here yet." 
 
 "What do you mean ?" I asked with bitter feeling. 
 
 "I mean nothing," was her reply, in a rising inflection 
 that confessed evasion. "But I'll tell you this much, Miss 
 Simplicity," she added. "You don't know young Wesson 
 like I know him, and if you only knew him half as well 
 you'd steer clear of him." 
 
 "I don't understand," I said. 
 
 "Of course you don't, you little child of the country," 
 she responded, in a voice that was rude and yet not with- 
 out a ring of sympathy toward me. "It's the same with all 
 us girls we don't understand until understanding is the 
 only satisfaction we've got left. But wait here, wait 
 here," she added with sudden animation, "I like your 
 kind, and I'll find out if Mr. Wesson is in." 
 
 She disappeared through a swinging door, and in a few 
 moments returned precipitately. 
 
 "I'm sorry, but Mr. Wesson has just stepped out, and 
 it's doubtful when he will return," she said. "It's just 
 as likely as not he won't be back before to-morrow. He's 
 uncertain."
 
 76 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "I must see him ; I must see him," I said in alarm. "I 
 cannot wait until to-morrow." 
 
 "Have you nothing else to do but wait for him?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "Nothing, nothing at all," I replied, and her face 
 lighted up. 
 
 "I'll tell you what we'll do," she said. "We'll go to 
 lunch. You'll be my guest. We'll be gone an hour, and 
 then we'll come back here and maybe Mr. Wesson will 
 be in." 
 
 "Oh, thank you," I said, and she caught me and pushed 
 me almost roughly into the public hall near the elevators. 
 
 "Don't move from there until I join you," she com- 
 manded. She rushed back into the office, and in a few 
 moments came running out again, pinning on her hat, 
 and with her coat slung carelessly over her left arm. She 
 hurried me to an elevator, and it was not until we merged 
 with the current of humanity in the street that she ceased 
 to urge me. Then she released a nervous hold on my arm 
 and seemed to breathe easier. 
 
 "Sometimes luck does favor me," she laughed, and I 
 walked beside her puzzling over the remark. 
 
 Five minutes later we stepped from an express elevator 
 into a restaurant covering the top floor of a building, 
 reaching three hundred feet above the sidewalk. We 
 were on the twenty-fifth floor, and from the windows to 
 east and west I saw the city spreading out like an illu- 
 minated map. The girl pointed out buildings here and 
 there. 
 
 "That grimy little place no bigger than a drygoods box 
 is St. Paul's Church," she said. "In there the sexton will 
 show you George Washington's pew. I've never wanted 
 to see that pew, though; it makes me creepy to think of 
 anything so old."
 
 IN THE CURRENT 77 
 
 "It is more than a hundred years old," I said. "I 
 wonder will the pew and the church be there a hundred 
 years from now." 
 
 "What difference does it make about that ?" she replied. 
 "A hundred years is too far for any woman to think 
 ahead. But before we go any further into the future, 
 we'd better think of something to eat." 
 
 "Why did you say after we had left Mr. Wesson's of- 
 fice, 'Sometimes luck does favor me'?" I asked, when 
 we had reached ice cream and coffee. 
 
 "You've been thinking over that, have you?" said the 
 girl. "I was wondering if you would. Well, I don't mind 
 telling you; I may as well get rid of it now as later. I 
 said I was lucky sometimes just because I managed to 
 give the slip to young Wesson." 
 
 "You mean Mr. Wesson was in the office when I 
 called?" I asked. 
 
 "That's exactly what I mean," she replied. I felt like 
 flying at her. I trembled with anger, but the girl sat 
 quiet and apparently unconcerned. 
 
 "You had no right to do that," I said, "and you must 
 take me to Mr. Wesson without delay. If you don't I 
 shall go to him myself and at once." 
 
 "Before you start," she said, "let me say a few words 
 to you." 
 
 "Why should I let you talk to me?" I replied angrily. 
 "I don't know who you are. I don't even know your 
 name." 
 
 "That's easily settled," she responded with cool assur- 
 ance. "My name's Winifred Caine, but everybody calls 
 me Winnie. They've got a sort of familiar-like name for 
 you, haven't they ?" 
 
 "I'm known as Frizzie, but my real name is Helen
 
 78 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 Helen Peabody," I replied without thinking. "But you've 
 been very unkind to me." 
 
 "You won't say that when you know me better, Friz- 
 zie," she said with an ease that compelled laughter on my 
 part. She spoke my name as if she had known me for 
 years, and strongly as I was inclined to it I could not con- 
 tinue to make a show of anger toward her. 
 
 "If you promise to take me to Mr. Wesson," I said, "I 
 shall be only too glad to listen to all you've got to say, 
 Winnie." 
 
 "Well, I declare, who would have expected that of 
 you!" she responded. "Winnie! Winnie, eh! You're 
 getting on, getting on fast, let me tell you. But here now, 
 this is no time for foolishness. It wasn't for fun or 
 charity I ran the risk of losing my job by taking you out 
 of Wesson's office. Not that I care a whole lot about the 
 old job, but it's easier holding it than looking for an- 
 other one. Do you want me to talk plain to you ?" 
 
 "Why^ of course, if there is anything to talk plain 
 about," I replied. 
 
 "Thanks, I would have talked out whether you had 
 said no or yes just the same. I was watching for you 
 when you came to-day." 
 
 "How did you know to watch ?" I asked, surprised. 
 
 "I heard your friend Wesson talking. That's all. Of 
 course, he doesn't know I heard, and, of course, you won't 
 tell him?" 
 
 "I promise you I won't," I said. 
 
 "There's nothing more to tell," she said, then with vigor 
 she continued : "But only this much : Don't you trust that 
 fellow Wesson. Don't trust any man. What did you 
 come up here from the country for? Because Wesson 
 told you the city was the place for you ? That was it, of 
 course I don't have to b told to know that. I've seen
 
 IN THE CURRENT 79 
 
 hundreds and hundreds of girls like you come from the 
 country in my time, and let me tell you it's taken not 
 more than a few months to make most of them so there 
 own fathers and mothers wouldn't recognize them. What 
 does Wesson care for you, or any other girl like you? 
 Are you in his set ? Have you millions to set against his 
 millions, or the millions his father, when he dies, will 
 throw to him like corn to swine? Do you think you're 
 going to marry him, then ? Get all crazy notions like that 
 out of your head. Don't go near Wesson. Stick by me 
 and I'll stick by you, and with the help of us both you'll 
 pull through ; and when the day conies for you to go back 
 to the country where you came from, you can go without 
 being ashamed." IF 
 
 "I'll never go back to the country," I avoXved. 
 
 "Well, that can wait awhile," retorted the girl. "What 
 are you going to do now ? Are you going back with me 
 to Wesson's office ? You'll find him there. I'll take your 
 card into him, and you'll walk into his private office and 
 it'll be the same as if we never sat here together, with me 
 making a fool of myself by ever opening my mouth." 
 
 "I'm in doubt, Winnie," I said earnestly. 
 
 'Tut it off till to-morrow then," she advised. "Get a 
 home, get some place or other behind you before you 
 go near his office. What would you do or say now if you 
 went to him without a room or some place to cling to? 
 Here, I've got it. Go and deposit yourself in that hotel 
 for women. I've never been near it, but it's a fine place, 
 even if it hasn't got all the disadvantages of a home." 
 
 "I will go there," I said, moved to it more by her breezy 
 assertiveness and odd turn of speech, so new and amusing 
 to me, than by faith in her contrary argument. 
 
 "You'll like it up there," she went on. "Anyhow, a few 
 days will give you a chance to look around and pick a
 
 8o IN THE CURRENT 
 
 boarding-house. You've got to come down to the 
 boarding-house, you know; most of the boarding-house 
 plants come straight from the country. That's what 
 makes boarding-houses so interesting. But you can't tell 
 what will turn up. Get up to the hotel first. Take a car 
 outside here in Park Row, and it'll land you near the door. 
 If they want to give you a dollar and a half room, ask for 
 one at a dollar. You've got a dollar with you, haven't 
 you?" 
 
 "I've got two hundred dollars," I said. 
 
 "What ! You've got two hundred dollars ? Whew, say 
 that again two hundred dollars ! If I had two hundred 
 dollars I'd take a trip to Europe. But here, you've got to 
 start, because I've got to show up in the office. I'll see 
 you this evening. Promise me you won't telegraph, tele- 
 phone, write or show your nose near Wesson before I 
 come up to you. I'll be there at seven-thirty. You can 
 stand waiting till then, Frizzie ? I like that name, Frizzie 
 it's 'cute enough for a song." 
 
 "I promise everything," I replied. I was attracted to 
 her, and in the street I held out my hand and said in all 
 sincerity: "You must like me, Winnie." 
 
 "Oh, I'll like you all right," she said. "I wouldn't be 
 doing this if I didn't like you more than a little bit, Miss 
 Simplicity." 
 
 "You called me that before," I reproved. 
 
 "It fits you, doesn't it?" she retorted. "Off with you 
 now. There's your car coming. If I don't run I'll get the 
 bounce sure." With a parting, "See you to-night," she 
 was lost in the restless throng, overflowing the sidewalk 
 into the street. And the throng, never caring, brushed 
 past me on both sides, leaving me lonelier than I ever had 
 been on the deserted shore of the sea I used to call 
 my own.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 So THIS was what it had come to ! What a cold, bare, 
 barren, cramped place was this new room of mine. I had 
 not the audacity to call it a home. With narrow shelves 
 around the walls it might have served in a pinch for the 
 kitchen closet in which Mother Ann every summer stored 
 preserves, and which I had raided so often. A miniature 
 bed, a miniature dresser, a miniature chair, a miniature 
 closet, set in a miniature triangle in a miniature corner ; a 
 miniature window, miniature curtains, and a miniature 
 design in the miniature rug on the floor ! All these and 
 a few other miniature effects might have appeared of 
 normal size to some people, but to me well, suppose I 
 had had my roomy wicker chair where should I put it? 
 The bed or the chair would have to go, and as I could not 
 sleep out in the hall the bed would gain preference and 
 remain because of its vulgar' utility. Perish all sentiment 
 in a hole in the wall ! 
 
 Strange though it may seem, I was amused by my first 
 experience of one of New York's pet institutions the 
 compressed room, like compressed dog-biscuit and com- 
 pressed breakfast- food ! New York builds high, I found, 
 and it also builds close together. 
 
 I went to the window, parted the curtains and looked 
 out. I saw acres of flat roofs, all a murky brown, with 
 hundreds of bleak chimney tops, like broken trunks in a 
 wood swept out of life and left desolate. Far in the 
 distance I saw a church spire. That was a comfort, but 
 
 Si
 
 82 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 between me and the church lived how many strangers, 
 and what church was it? It was not the friendly, rolling 
 voice of the tide that rose to me in that hotel window it 
 was the hard beat of feet and the sharp ring of wheels, 
 making hard and wearing out, I thought, the hearts of 
 men. No accented cadence, no thrill of sweet music in 
 that jarring swell ! Gone was my country, gone was my 
 sea, and as I looked out I wondered why I had given 
 them up for colorless monuments of mortar and brick 
 and steel. 
 
 I let the curtains fall together and went and sat on the 
 side of the bed. It was the hour in which I was to have 
 become a bride. That was true, and what of it? I felt 
 perfectly composed, perfectly contented. I had followed 
 my will. Life was beginning. Were I turning from the 
 altar now on Norman's arm life would be at an end. I 
 had no fear ; my mind was at rest. I felt a delicious sense 
 of physical weariness. I dropped back with my head on 
 the pillow, and the past and the present alike were 
 blotted out. 
 
 I was awakened by the buzz of the telephone near the 
 door. The room was thick in the gloom of early night. 
 I groped for the electric button and turned on the light. 
 I took down the telephone receiver, found Winnie was 
 downstairs, and requested her to come up. I went out to 
 receive her in the hall, but she rushed past me, spread a 
 newspaper on the bed and pointed to glaring headlines. 
 
 "It that all about you the headlines and the picture?" 
 she demanded. 
 
 "What picture?" I asked. 
 
 "There there in that paper under your eyes." 
 
 I looked down and there, sure enough, was an unmis- 
 takable likeness of myself ; and beside it was a picture of 
 Norman, while below both was a picture of the church,
 
 IN THE CURRENT 83 
 
 with a glimpse of the floral decorations for the wedding. 
 A fanciful artist had sketched a grief-stricken Cupid on 
 the steps of the church. Cupid's face was woebegone, 
 tears were rolling down his cheeks ; there was a pathetic 
 expression in his eyes, and in his hands were a broken 
 bow and a broken arrow. I raised my head slowly and 
 looked at Winnie in dumb bewilderment. 
 
 "Read those headlines," she said, and promptly she 
 read them for me : " 'Deserted at the altar! Look at 
 them in black ink three inches high every letter of them. 
 Listen to this : 'Suffolk County society gets biggest shock 
 in years. Rector's daughter flees from fiance four hours 
 before time for wedding. Believed to have eloped. Young 
 millionaire of fashionable Southampton set said to be 
 winning suitor. Rumor of an early morning night by 
 automobile.' " She dropped the paper and stared at me. 
 
 "Oh, Winnie, what shall I do?" I said. "I never 
 thought." 
 
 "Of course, you never thought," she replied, "but you 
 thought enough to keep all this from me. I guess, you're 
 not as innocent as you look." 
 
 "Oh, Winnie, what shall I do ?" I repeated. 
 
 "Stay where you are," she replied. "They'll never think 
 of looking for you here. They'll think a women's hotel 
 is the last place a woman would hide. You needn't 
 worry. New York's a big place." 
 
 "How did they get all that in the paper, Winnie?" 
 
 "The papers thrive on stuff like this," she replied. "If 
 it wasn't for fool women there'd be no papers." 
 
 "You don't call me a fool ?" I asked hotly. 
 
 "Of course, I don't," she returned. "Thank the Lord, 
 it's not ourselves but the other women are the fools. But 
 I don't blame you. I'd have run away in the same fix." 
 
 "How did they find out about Mr. Wesson?" I asked.
 
 84 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "They haven't found out," she replied. "Haven't you 
 caught on to our New York newspapers yet ? Don't you 
 know that everybody who isn't a candidate for the poor- 
 house is a millionaire with them ? The newspapers never 
 would let you elope with anybody but a millionaire, and 
 they'd never let you ride in a train. If you didn't run 
 away in an automobile, you should have that's the way 
 our newspapers look at it." 
 
 "How did they get the photographs, Winnie?" 
 
 "That's easy. Bought some photographer, of course. 
 That's one of the main assets of the photographing busi- 
 ness nowadays selling pictures to the newspapers." She 
 folded the newspaper, threw it in a corner, and seated 
 herself on the bed. "Let it lie there," she said. "I'm sick 
 and tired of newspapers. There's nothing to them but 
 breaking of engagements, elopements, weddings, divorces 
 and murders as if the world never did anything else. 
 They've got all about you in there. I know you as well as 
 if I'd lived in Covey all my life. I wouldn't marry that 
 fellow Clark myself. He took it all so matter-of-fact. 
 He was pale and serious-faced and all that, and he said 
 'maybe it was for the best.' I hate a man who says, 
 'maybe it's for the best.' He's got no get-up to him. 
 You're well rid of that Mrs. Clark, too. A terror of a 
 mother-in-law she would have been. Said you'd always 
 been rebellious, and that she had tried to be a mother to 
 you, and that her heart was broken for her son's sake. I 
 must say though, I don't dislike that father of yours. He's 
 a man all right. He's man enough to have his heart 
 breaking without ever showing it. I know that from him 
 saying you were free to go and that he wouldn't follow 
 you, and that if you wanted to return his home always 
 would be open to you." 
 
 "How could father do that?" I asked, feeling a little
 
 IN THE CURRENT 85 
 
 disappointment. "How could he let me go without trying 
 to find me and bring me back?" 
 
 "Your father's the only one down there that's got a 
 grain of common sense," she said. "He knows as well 
 as I know, and as you'll know some day, that the more 
 he'd follow you the more he'd drive you away. Do you 
 think if he came in here this minute and told you to come 
 home with him that you'd go ? Horses wouldn't pull you, 
 and the future's up to you, Frizzie." 
 
 "It is, Winnie," I said, "and I'm glad." 
 
 "I don't know that you've got any call to be glad about 
 it," she said. "You've got yourself into a pretty pickle. 
 I guess there's nothing ahead for you now but to go in the 
 chorus." 
 
 "In a play in a real, real theatre, Winnie?" I asked. 
 
 "I thought you'd be excited when I said theatre," she 
 responded. "That's one of the things I came here to warn 
 you about. When Wesson begins to talk theatre to you 
 whistle and look out of the window. They all do that. 
 When one of them has a girl on his hands he tries to run 
 her into the chorus. It's the only way they know of get- 
 ting rid of some of the responsibility." 
 
 "You puzzle me," I said. "Whom do you mean by 
 'they'?" 
 
 "I mean Wesson and all his crew all who are as black 
 in the soul as he is. I'm not going to tell you again to 
 steer clear of him. It's up to you, not up to me. You've 
 got me into enough trouble already. I've lost my job be- 
 cause of you." 
 
 "Winnie, how could that be?" I asked in dismay. 
 
 "Easy enough. I was crazy enough to leave that card 
 you gave me on the desk, and he found it and asked me 
 flat if you had been there and I didn't back water or beat 
 around the bush. I told him right out straight. I said
 
 86 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 you'd been there and that I'd taken you away, and that 
 I wouldn't let him crucify you if I knew anything 
 about it." 
 
 "You told him all that?" 
 
 "Yes, and I told him a lot more besides. I told him, for 
 another thing, that you were up here, and that if he car- 
 ried on as he's done more than a few times I'd make it 
 hot for him. He rose up on his ear, and fired me and 
 here I am." 
 
 "I am very, very sorry you were discharged, Winnie," 
 I said. 
 
 "Don't trouble yourself about that. I'm not sorry my- 
 self. I never liked it down there. The only one who was 
 any good was the old man old man Wesson, I mean. 
 He's the one can do the business. When he rushes in. 
 takes off his coat, rolls up his sleeves, strips off his tie, 
 and lets his collar hang loose by the button in the back, 
 you ought to see things hum. Old Wesson's the money- 
 maker ; young Wesson's the money-spender. If it wasn't 
 for his father Roy Wesson would be an encumbrance to 
 himself and everybody else. He's only one of those fel- 
 lows who give millionaires a name for being sporty and 
 regular dare-devils and all that and the rest, and still 
 more. If his father would only come up with the cash, 
 he'd have a racing stable and half-a-dozen steam yachts 
 and other such trifles. He'll have them some day when 
 the old man dies and leaves his life behind him in the 
 shape of twenty millions or so." 
 
 "I will never see Mr. Wesson, Winnie," I avowed, 
 thinking at the moment I meant it. 
 
 "You won't?" she responded. "Well, that's the only 
 sane thing I've heard from you. Shake him. Drop him 
 like a rattlesnake. You can't trust him, married or single. 
 If you were married he'd break your heart drinking."
 
 IN THE CURRENT 87 
 
 was shocked at her words, and I resented them. 
 Whatever Mr. Wesson might be I was sure he was not so 
 depraved as to drink. "Mr. Wesson never, never would 
 betray me by drinking, Winnie," I protested. 
 
 "He wouldn't, eh?" she replied. "I've not been down 
 there for a couple of years with my eyes shut. The old 
 man can take it in bucketfuls he's one of the bomb- 
 proof kind ; but the son well, temptation's been coming 
 his way since he was knee high, and he's no angel. He 
 hasn't got twenty years of dry life on a farm behind him 
 like his father, and I've watched him down there in the 
 office, and the road he's beginning to travel is a slippery 
 one, with a jumping-off place at the end." 
 
 "I refuse to believe all you say of Mr. Wesson is true, 
 Winnie," I said, "but I promise you I will not see him." 
 
 "We'll see what your promise amounts to," she replied, 
 and just then the telephone rang. "That's Wesson," said 
 Winnie, as she leaned forward expectantly, "and I dare 
 you say no to him." I went to the instrument shaking 
 in trepidation. I took down the receiver and heard his 
 voice. I listened, and turned to Winnie. 
 
 "It is Mr. Wesson," I said, "He wishes to come here 
 to the hotel to see me, and what shall I do?" 
 
 "Do?" she repeated with bitter sarcasm. "Tell him 
 you'll see him, of course." 
 
 I told him that, hung up the receiver, and turned again 
 to Winnie with my cheeks burning. "I couldn't help it, 
 Winnie," I said. "I will see him once, and never again." 
 
 "I'll make myself scarce," she said, in a hostile voice. 
 "Yes, you'll see him once ! You've only got to promise it 
 and you'll do it. Good-by." 
 
 "You're not going, Winnie?" I protested in much 
 alarm. 
 
 "Certainly, I'm going," she replied. "You don't think
 
 88 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 for a minute I'd stay around here and come between you 
 
 and Wesson." 
 
 "Please don't go?" I pleaded, but she went straight to 
 
 the door and there glanced back only for a moment. 
 "Go ahead," she said. "Paddle your own canoe." 
 I ran toward her with my arms held out entreatingly, 
 
 but she pulled the door closed after her as she went into 
 
 the hall. "Winnie ! Winnie !" I called. But she did not 
 
 answer, and I did not have the heart to open the door and 
 
 follow her.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 MR. WESSON had asked me to meet him in ten minutes. 
 I took the newspaper out of the corner where Winnie had 
 flung it, and dropped it behind the pillow. I pinned on 
 my hat, and went down to find him pacing nervously back 
 and forth between the hotel office and the street. He 
 guided me straight to a two-seated automobile, assisted 
 me into it, took a seat beside me and drove off. We had 
 swung into Fifth Avenue before our words grew beyond 
 bare exclamations of delight at meeting. 
 
 "I was anxious to get away from that horrid hotel," 
 laughed Mr. Wesson at length, as he slackened speed and 
 leaned back to let the car roll easily along. "We'll go 
 north to the park for a bite of dinner. I knew you had 
 the pluck to do it. There's an awful fuss over it all, 
 though." 
 
 "Do you think the papers will find me, Mr. Wesson ?" 
 I asked. 
 
 "There's not one chance in a hundred/' he replied. 
 "The risk isn't worth thinking about. I've arranged to 
 keep tab on them down in Covey. I've a detective down 
 there, and if they plan to follow you we'll head them off." 
 
 "You have a policeman watching father?" I asked. 
 
 "No, no," he laughed more heartily. "Only one of 
 those private detectives, who are all men of leisure. I've 
 had him down there two days, so there'll be no suspicion 
 attached to him. He'll just hang around the hotel in the 
 village, absorb all he hears, and some things he doesn't 
 hear, and report every day to me." 
 
 89
 
 90 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "I never heard of a business like that," I said. "It 
 doesn't sound honest." 
 
 "It's honest enough, "he replied. "We've got private 
 detectives in New York now for a host of things. We 
 couldn't get along without them; they're necessities. 
 Why, nine divorces in ten would fail only for the private 
 detective. They're into everybody's business for three 
 dollars a day, and whatever graft is in it." 
 
 "What is graft, Mr. Wesson?" I asked. 
 
 "Graft is the unearned perquisite of modern business," 
 he answered. 
 
 "I never could comprehend that," I said, joining in his 
 merriment. 
 
 "I doubt if I ever could comprehend it myself, but it's 
 the truth," he said. "You needn't fear, Frizzie," he 
 added, and looked ahead in silence for a few moments. "I 
 may call you that I hope, and, of course, you will call 
 me Roy?" 
 
 "I shall be greatly pleased," I said, and a second silence 
 between us lasted for a minute or more. 
 
 "If one of the reporters runs you down," he said at last, 
 "you've only got to change your hotel and you're lost 
 again. Only if one does find you refuse to talk. In two 
 days you'll be forgotten. Life moves swiftly here in New 
 York. To-morrow some other girl will run away and 
 your case will be ancient history. It's in at one ear and 
 out at the other with New York. There is no yesterday 
 or to-morrow with the newspapers here it's all to-day. 
 Have no fear, Frizzie, that little newspaper whirlwind 
 will blow over in no time. . . . But let's think of some- 
 thing else. Look about you. Can you imagine where 
 you are now ? We're passing through Millionaire's Row 
 the heart of the renowned and notorious Fifth Avenue. 
 Every house you see stands for one million, or two or
 
 IN THE CURRENT 91 
 
 three or maybe half a dozen or a dozen. It's a dingy 
 looking street, isn't it ? No one ever would think to look 
 at these houses, stacked together like cards on edge, that 
 Monte Cristo would be a piker in Fifth Avenue. You'll 
 pardon my slang, won't you? Slang is as thick in the 
 New York atmosphere as catarrh. Why, the best Monte 
 Cristo could do with his few kopecks would be to squat 
 in a Harlem flat. I'm afraid I shock you with my talk ?" 
 
 "I am very much interested in it," I said. "I am think- 
 ing of the millions and millions on both sides." 
 
 "There are oceans of dollars here oceans of gold," 
 said Roy. 
 
 "It is as if Moses stretched out his hand over the sea," 
 I said, "and we rode between walls of gold." 
 
 "That's it exactly," replied Roy, "only I fear if the 
 walls came down the Israelites would be swallowed up 
 with the Egyptians. . . . But here we are at the park 
 entrance, and we will leave Mammon behind. We're alto- 
 gether too profound. For my part, I can't be intellectual 
 when approaching a restaurant famous for its good 
 cooking." 
 
 We sped along a smooth road, that swept around care- 
 fully cut curves, with trees giving something of the aspect 
 of an impressive driveway. Beyond the trees was grass 
 that struggled to be green. There was an artificial ap- 
 pearance everywhere that did not please me. It struck 
 me this park showed the city making a poor attempt to 
 improve upon the country. We came to the restaurant, 
 an ugly, misshapen low building, lifted by a low hill out 
 of the shade of the trees, and with shrubbery growing 
 close to it on three sides. An obsequious individual 
 showed us to a table at an open window where there was 
 a view across the tree-tops of the roofs of houses in Fifth 
 Avenue.
 
 92 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "Now we'll start with a little cocktail for an appetizer," 
 said Roy. "Let's try a Manhattan. It's not a bit strong, 
 and it will put us in just the proper humor for dinner." 
 
 "No, thank you, Roy," I said. "I have never tasted 
 liquor and I never will." I was very serious, for I was 
 thinking of what Winnie had told me. 
 
 "Oh, humbug," he said good-naturedly. "When you're 
 in the city you've got to get over the pious notions of the 
 country. There's nothing wrong in a cocktail. I think a 
 total abstainer is just as intemperate as one who keeps on 
 with his nips and doesn't know when to stop. Any- 
 how, we know when to stop, and I only suggested it be- 
 cause I thought you'd like to do what New York does." 
 
 "No, Roy," I said firmly. 
 
 "Very well then," he responded with a smile. "It's 
 settled. We'll lift our spirits on aqua pura. It will pos- 
 sess the zest of novelty for me." He saw my dark face. 
 "Now don't look sorrowful over it, Frizzie," he said. 
 "There's nothing to it all. I'm not a lost soul. If every- 
 body who touches a cocktail was beyond salvation New 
 York would be another Sodom." 
 
 There were chattering groups at the tables around us, 
 and I had not been seated two minutes before I had lost 
 thought of cocktails and all they might mean to me. I 
 have a serious confession to make, and it is that I grew 
 ashamed of my clothes. There now, scold and revile me ! 
 Of course, I was a sinner, still was I not human, was I 
 not a woman? You know, we poor, frail women simply 
 cannot help it. Neither are we seriously to blame for it, 
 because the real sinner is the better-dressed woman who 
 stares at us so brazenly. I quickly came to know I was 
 out of my element there. I was so miserable I had to 
 fight to control an impulse to spring from the table and 
 take to my heels. There is no telling what I should have
 
 IN THE CURRENT 93 
 
 done had I not overheard two languid-looking creatures 
 at an adjoining table picking me to pieces. That angered 
 me so much that I silenced them with a stare. Had they 
 uttered another word really I think I should have flown 
 at them. Roy must have understood how I felt, for he 
 said in kindly voice: 
 
 "You won't find a particularly select crowd here this 
 late in the afternoon. It's more on the easy-going order, 
 and I don't mind telling you I don't care for it much. 
 But we won't bother, Frizzie. I suppose Winnie Caine 
 has been poisoning your mind against me?" 
 
 "She told me to be careful whom I trusted in New 
 York," I admitted frankly, and his face flushed in bit- 
 terness. 
 
 "I thought that of her," he replied. "That's always the 
 thanks one gets for helping somebody else. I got father 
 to take her down there in the office to meet callers, when 
 there really wasn't any need for her." 
 
 "You knew her before she came to work for you?" I 
 asked, unable to restrain my surprise. 
 
 "Not at all," he answered directly. "I mean she came 
 in and gave me such a hard-luck story that I induced 
 father to engage her." 
 
 "Oh, that's it," I said relieved. "She should have been 
 grateful." 
 
 "Instead of that she was prying into everybody's busi- 
 ness. I should have let her go long before she tried to 
 keep us apart. Had I not found that card by accident the 
 chances are she never would have opened her mouth about 
 you having been there." 
 
 "I should have telephoned to you, or come to you," 
 I said. 
 
 "I knew that," he replied, "but just the same I did not
 
 94 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 like her interference. Can she influence you against me 
 in the slightest, Frizzie?" 
 
 "I don't know," I replied. 
 
 "You must know," he persisted, and I weakened. 
 
 "She never could have kept us apart, Roy," I said, 
 "never." 
 
 "It does me good to hear you say that," he responded. 
 "I thought you wouldn't let her master you, especially 
 after you had the nerve to leave home the way you 
 did." 
 
 The mention of home stirred emotion in me. "Now 
 that I am in New York, Roy, what is there for me more 
 than at home ?" I asked. 
 
 "There's life," he answered. "There's variety. Wait 
 a few days till you get the fever of the city in your blood. 
 You'll never get it out again, and you won't want to. I 
 don't know just what it is gives this fever, but once it 
 gets hold we can't shake it off. Maybe it comes from 
 contact with so many people the magnetism, the exhila- 
 ration that comes from the brushing together of so many 
 minds. We would not like it here were we alone. When 
 you were without anybody to speak to down in the coun- 
 try you were lonely, were you not?" 
 
 "I was terribly, terribly lonely," I said. "But, Roy, I 
 should like to see the ocean now. I should like to sit on 
 the knoll where we sat. You remember?" 
 
 "I remember," he said. "I remember, and I treasure 
 the memory. I'll tell you what we'll do, Frizzie. Some- 
 time when everything is still, when it is just dawn, we 
 shall go there in the automobile, and we shall sit on the 
 knoll and look at the Atlantic just as we did thit 
 afternoon." 
 
 "Yes, yes, Roy," I said, "we will do that." 
 
 "And we'll run past your home and we'll swing around
 
 IN THE CURRENT 95 
 
 by The Beeches and Covey won't be so far away 
 after all." 
 
 "It would be glorious," I said. "I should have it all 
 with me still, and I should also have my freedom. Oh, 
 it's glorious, it's glorious." 
 
 I saw his face show irritation. "Hang it," he said, "I 
 thought we'd be left to ourselves here." 
 
 "What's wrong, Roy?" I asked. 
 
 "Nothing, only there are two girls and a fellow I know 
 over there, and they've spotted us. They're coming over. 
 They don't know enough to stay away." He arose and 
 outwardly, at least, received the newcomers with good 
 grace. Introductions were made quickly and with scant 
 ceremony. My new friends were Miss Camilla Delmont, 
 Miss Beatrice Collins and Mr. Prince Andrews. But I 
 won't stand on formality, because then and thereafter they 
 were Camilla, Betty and Prince. 
 
 Camilla was what I should call a tall and rangy girl. 
 She bristled with self-confidence. Her hair was raven 
 black, and there was method in the way she brushed it 
 back without a suggestion of a curling-iron. Had she 
 permitted her luxuriant tresses to fall far enough to hide 
 the tips of her ears she must inevitably have taken on a 
 Madonna-like cast of feature, but there was nothing of the 
 ingenue in Camilla to lead her to that. At first glance 
 her face looked like chiseled beauty, but under inspection 
 the beauty faded, became almost negligible, because then 
 her face appeared colder than marble. If anything, her 
 features were too regular. She looked at you with black 
 eyes that seemed to have had all the fire burned out of 
 them. Still I thought that selfishness or malice lurked in 
 their depths. Her eyelashes were long, her brow was 
 high and rounded. She was a supple and yet strong 
 figure in a tight-fitting black silk dress. Her hat and
 
 96 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 plumes were black, and altogether is was plain to see 
 Camilla had the sense to know black was her natural and 
 best color. 
 
 I felt I could hold myself indifferent to Camilla, yet 
 once or twice I was given to doubt. Despite all her mani- 
 fest confidence in herself, she did not impress me as satis- 
 fied with her lot. I came to think that the dead perfec- 
 tion of her face did not reflect her real or better self. 
 Her face, in truth, seemed to me a mask to hide her true 
 feelings. I took Camilla to be a silent, secretive girl, but 
 not so Betty. 
 
 There was more than an ounce of superfluous flesh on 
 Betty, still it would be a libel to call her fat. She was 
 just plump. She was not long waisted and finely curved 
 like Camilla, but short, or even unduly abbreviated. Un- 
 like the flawless neatness of Camilla, too, Betty was posi- 
 tively touseled. Nothing seemed to fit her. Her hair 
 evidently had known chemicals, and the result was an in- 
 effective strawberry verging on a blonde. Her arms were 
 short, and indicative of considerable circumference in ten 
 years, or even five. Her hands were thick and soft and 
 chubby, not firm and slender like Camilla's. Betty's face 
 was full, and frankness itself. There were only shallows 
 in her hazel eyes, yet they were not the eyes of innocence. 
 Betty did not set her lips straight and close as did Ca- 
 milla, because Camilla was deliberate and decisive, two 
 things Betty could not be if she tried. For Betty, how- 
 ever, it must be told her face contained merriment, 
 genuine good-nature, and seemed a fount of laughter; 
 in contrast to the parched surface of Camilla's. In 
 Betty's face also were warning signals of an honestly 
 hasty temper. Still, whatever Betty might or might not 
 be, she impressed me as a far more likable body than 
 Miss Camilla.
 
 IN THE CURRENT 97 
 
 Prince Andrews was a new type to me. He was scru- 
 pulously groomed, and of age indefinite. Gray showed 
 in his scanty hair ; his cheeks had a redness that did not 
 look healthy, that was not of out-of-doors, but seemed 
 the outcome of much good eating and drinking. His 
 clothes were cut with an evident design of diverting atten- 
 tion from his comfortable rotundity. His hands were 
 soft enough for a woman's, and his nails glistened. His 
 dark mustache was clipped short. His heavy eyebrows 
 gave him somewhat of a studious appearance, but there 
 that part of it ended. His eyes looked at you with cold 
 inquiry out of full sockets. When he smiled it was with 
 an effort, and as if to hide a sneer. I wondered if he 
 possibly could be an intimate of Roy's, for at least he 
 must have been twice Roy's age. How much more was 
 a mystery. And Roy plainly was manly, which Andrews 
 plainly was not. 
 
 "Playing hookey, eh, Roy?" said Andrews, as they 
 gathered at the table. 
 
 "I thought you had the girls down at Martin's," replied 
 Roy, anything but at his ease. 
 
 "Oh, you can never tell where we'll bob up," said Betty, 
 with an asperity that did not escape me. 
 
 "I should have preferred Martin's to this place," re- 
 marked Camilla, with an air partaking of superior lofti- 
 ness. "But they would insist on dragging me up here 
 into the wilderness, Roy ; and it's such a bore to have to 
 travel all the way back to the theatre." 
 
 "Well, I don't know," objected Betty. "I'm for a ride 
 in an auty-me-bubble any old time." There was a laugh, 
 in which I joined, at the jauntiness of her tone. She 
 seemed to resent my part in it, for looking coldly at me, 
 she added: "Of course, everybody around here under- 
 stands I know enough to say automobile?"
 
 98 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "Certainly we all do, Bet," said Roy. 
 
 "Well, I'm not so sure that you do, Mr. Sly," was her 
 sharp retort. 
 
 "My suggestion is that we all have a little drink," put 
 in Andrews, as if anxious to change the subject. 
 
 "That's good enough for me/' smiled Camilla. 
 
 "Me, too," hastened Roy nervously. 
 
 "I'm not drinking, thank you," said Betty, with an em- 
 phasis that froze geniality. She looked straight across 
 the small table at Roy. "How is it, Roy," she asked, 
 "you didn't look over when we came in?" 
 
 "Honestly, Bet, I never saw you," defended Roy. "I'll 
 leave it to Frizzie if I did." 
 
 "Leave it to her, is it?" said the girl, rolling the words 
 in contempt. "That'd be nice, wouldn't it!" 
 
 "Come now, come now, you two are always scrapping," 
 interposed Andrews. "Why don't you get together and 
 have it out good and hard for once and then kiss and 
 make up better friends than before?" 
 
 "It's only lately Roy's been this way, and I never scrap 
 if nobody doesn't want to scrap with me, and I'm treated 
 half-way decent," retorted Betty. "But I'm not the kind 
 of girl that goes off in a corner and cries her eyes out 
 when a man gets good and ready to throw her over." 
 
 "That's not true, Bet, and you know it," said Roy. 
 
 "Well, I'm not saying anything against anybody in 
 particular, but who's to blame for you breaking your date 
 with me this afternoon and throwing me back on Camilla 
 and Prince?" 
 
 "Do you mean me?" I asked, unable to restrain my 
 indignation longer. 
 
 "I didn't mention your name, did I?" returned the 
 wrathful girl, "but now that you've said it the name fits." 
 
 "You know you* don't mean a word of all you've said,
 
 IN THE CURRENT 99 
 
 Betty," said Camilla, moving herself slowly forward until 
 she was leaning far across the table, and looking at the girl 
 with steady gaze. Betty shifted uneasily. "You know 
 you don't mean it," said Camilla, with more emphasis 
 than before, and Betty brought her hand down on the 
 edge of the table with an impatient gesture. 
 
 "What are you talking about, Camilla?" she asked. 
 "Who said there was anything. . . . Make mine a 
 Martini." 
 
 I rode back to the hotel wrapt in silence, hardly realiz- 
 ing Roy's feeble attempts to promote conversation. I left 
 him abruptly at the door. I almost ran to the elevator. 
 I raced from the elevator to my room at the end of the 
 hall. I felt I needed a haven, and I thought my room 
 offered it.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 Now, WITH the door locked and the blinds drawn, 
 passing the world in review! What a world it was! 
 What a day it had been! Could it be possible that 
 twenty-four hours ago I was in my home with all in 
 readiness for me to go forth to meet my bridegroom? 
 Could it be possible I had known Winnie Caine less than 
 twelve hours? And Roy and Andrews and Camilla and 
 Betty? All possible, all true; experience was crowding, 
 and here I was alone in the city. 
 
 Alone! Alone in that hotel with its hundreds of 
 women. Who were they? Where did they come from? 
 Where were they going? What were their ambitions, 
 what their lives? Answer me one question. And out 
 beyond the hotel, out and out and around and around, 
 there were other hotels, other homes, hundreds and hun- 
 dreds, thousands and thousands of them and all strange 
 and closed to me. What if I were to wander out from 
 my room, out from my hotel, and knock at random 
 on a door ? Would I recognize a friend ? Would a word 
 of welcome greet me? Would the loneliness, once again 
 straining at my heart, find solace in the heart of another ? 
 Oh, cold, suspicious, repelling city! 
 
 But what's this? Was I giving myself to brooding, 
 was I taking a step toward regret, perhaps toward de- 
 spair? None of that. I shook myself, seated on the 
 comfortless little chair, and vowed I would set my face 
 to the light. I told myself the world is what we make it ; 
 
 100
 
 IN THE CURRENT 101 
 
 I resolved I would make the world right with me. I 
 thought of my home in Covey my real home after all. 
 What had happened there? What was father doing at 
 that moment? What was Norman doing? Norman! I 
 thought of him as a blundering fellow. Why had he not 
 asserted himself, and won me against my will ? He could 
 have done it, he could, he could ! And then I should have 
 flung away every misgiving, and loved him for a big, 
 strong, masterful man. I meant that, meant it all, and 
 meant more. 
 
 Now, why should I have thought such things? Still, 
 why not ? Sitting there with my hands clenched, I knew 
 why I had run from Norman. He wished me without a 
 struggle. He did not storm my heart. He did not fight. 
 I had too much imagination for him. He was a hum- 
 drum sweetheart. He was a tedious wooer, and, of 
 course, I was forced into rebellion. 
 
 I took the newspaper from behind the pillow and 
 spread it out on the coverlet. I read down the two 
 columns of my flight without feeling any emotion. I was 
 in a spirit of indifference. Covey was remote. Father 
 and Norman and Mrs. Clark were in the background in 
 my thoughts. The great question was the present. I 
 crumpled the paper in my hands and dropped it to the 
 floor. What of to-morrow ? How was I to eat, sleep and 
 clothe myself? Prosaic questions, yet they had to be an- 
 swered. I could not stop indefinitely in the hotel. I 
 could not wear my country clothes for long. Already I 
 had felt what it was to be at odds with Fashion. 
 
 Winnie came first in my thoughts. My heart glowed 
 in a sense of real friendship, of real affection for her. I
 
 102 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 liked her infinitely better than Camilla or Betty. There 
 was something in Winnie that drew me close to her. I 
 thought it would take little to make me love her but she 
 had gone from me ! The thought struck me like a blow. 
 She had left me in anger, and her anger was just. I had 
 promised her I would not see Roy, and I had broken my 
 promise. I was filled with uneasiness. I wanted Winnie's 
 advice. I wanted her assistance. She had told me to 
 "paddle my own canoe/' and she had gone from Wesson's 
 office. I could not find her. Unless she came back, I 
 must go out in the world again in search of a friend. 
 
 I remembered all she had told me about Roy, and for 
 one moment that night I heartily hated him. He had sent 
 Winnie away he had, he had done that. He had asked 
 me to drink, and Winnie had warned me! She had 
 warned me, too, I was not alone in Roy's thoughts, and 
 there were Camilla and Betty! Betty had talked of 
 being "thrown over" ? Did she mean that for Roy's ears ? 
 Still, what if she did? I had "thrown over" Norman. 
 Roy might have "thrown over" Betty for a similar 
 reason. 
 
 I tried to arrange all the events of the day in order, 
 but that was impossible. I tried to look at Roy as Winnie 
 looked at him, but that too was impossible. I could not 
 believe ill of him. He might be weak in some things, but 
 I had a woman's fondness for weakness in men. A 
 thousand Winnies might have raised their voices against 
 Roy, and it would have been in vain. I clasped my hands 
 over my heart, and I breathed his name. I clapped my 
 hands and I shouted his name. Roy, Roy! that was 
 enough for me. 
 
 Away then with dismal thoughts and in content and 
 confidence await the morrow ! My first day had gone 
 flown away on speeding wings! There was to-morrow
 
 IN THE CURRENT 103 
 
 and to-morrow and to-morrow and I was free, free, 
 free ! And I turned out the light, and I pulled back the 
 coverlet, and I stretched myself out and no misty, 
 startled faces appeared in the darkness over my bed !
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 IN the morning Camilla came. In response to a tele- 
 phone call I went down to the hotel parlor to meet her. 
 She glided toward me with perfect assurance, a majestic 
 looking creature in her loftily poised head, her delib- 
 erately regulated carriage, and in the defiance bid to a 
 homely world on the strength of her impassive, frigid 
 beauty. 
 
 "Don't be alarmed, dear Frizzie," she said, as she ex- 
 tended an immaculately gloved hand. "Roy has told me 
 all about you. Now, don't blame him. It was all in the 
 papers, you know, and with your picture. I've just 
 dropped in, as I told Roy I would, to keep you from 
 getting lonely and to help you in any way I can." 
 
 "It's very kind of you, Camilla," I responded. "Roy 
 did not tell me he had spoken to you." 
 
 "Oh, Roy never thought it necessary/' she said. "You 
 see Roy and Prince and Betty and I have been such good 
 friends, really true friends I should say. So there was 
 nothing in Roy's telling me about you, and, of course, if 
 he hadn't I should have guessed it, anyway." 
 
 "And do Betty and Prince know ?" I asked. 
 
 "I'm sure I can't tell you," she said, "but I should 
 imagine they do. You see, I never asked them what Roy 
 might have told them, but you may depend in any event 
 Prince would put two and two together. Prince is an 
 old-timer, and he doesn't say a great deal, but what he 
 doesn't know isn't worth knowing." 
 
 104
 
 IN THE CURRENT 105 
 
 "I'm afraid word will come to father yet, and he may 
 find me/' I said. 
 
 "No danger of that, dear Frizzie," she replied en- 
 couragingly. "Now let's sit here on this divan and tell 
 me what you've been thinking of doing with yourself to- 
 day. I don't mind saying, I've taken quite a fancy 
 to you." 
 
 "I'm glad to hear that, Camilla," I said, as I seated 
 myself beside her. She moved around until she was 
 facing me squarely. 
 
 "Now I know you're going to be offended with me," 
 she said, and more emphatically added, "I know it, I 
 know it, but there's no need to. I may be sticking my 
 finger into a hornet's nest, but I'm just going to run the 
 risk, because I know what it is to be a greenhorn like 
 you and with no one to advise you." 
 
 "Why, Camilla, I've not given you reason to think I'm 
 a hornet's nest, have I ?" I asked. 
 
 "Well, you never can tell," she replied. "Now here," 
 she went on with more animation. "You intend to stop 
 in New York ; you intend to put the country behind you ? 
 You want to be a real New York girl. Isn't that so?" 
 
 "Yes, that's just it, Camilla," I replied. 
 
 "Then I'll tell you why I came here, if it's going to 
 part us for ever," she said. She indicated her dress with 
 her hands. "How would you like a dress like this ?" 
 
 "Why, Camilla, I have never thought of anything 
 like that," I said, shocked at her taking such liberty 
 with me. 
 
 "If you haven't you're not human," she replied. "We 
 may as well be frank with each other. I've had to 
 swallow a lot of pride to come and talk to you like this, 
 but I've done it because not so very long ago I was from 
 the country myself."
 
 io6 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "You have come from the country, too?" I asked in 
 delight. 
 
 "I'm glad to say I am a country girl," she replied. 
 "I'm from a spot on the map of New Jersey where a 
 hundred trains shoot through every day and only two 
 stop one in the morning to take on commuters and the 
 other in the evening to let them off. When I first came 
 here I didn't have any one to tell me what to do, and I've 
 often regretted it since. Now, why don't you put yourself 
 in my hands ? I know just how you feel. I'd bet anything 
 you felt uncomfortable in the park restaurant last night. 
 What girl wouldn't? I tell you, Frizzie, if you hope to 
 go around with Roy you've got to do better than your 
 country dressmaker. He's a millionaire you know, and 
 men are awfully finicky about these things. My dear, 
 they're twice as bad as women about them." 
 
 "I have $200," I said. "Would that be enough, 
 Camilla?" 
 
 She laughed scornfully. "Two hundred dollars! 
 That'll give you a start all right, but in a year or two 
 it'll about keep you in gloves. But I'd be a poor friend 
 to you, Frizzie, if I stood by and saw you spend your last 
 cent. I have a better plan than that. We'll put a few 
 of the two hundred in a ready-made walking suit and a 
 hat and a couple of other things, and then I'll take you 
 uptown to Mme. Sylvie, my dressmaker, and she'll fit you 
 out properly." 
 
 "Mme. Sylvie is a Frenchwoman?" I asked. 
 
 "She's French like the most of the modistes in New 
 York," replied Camilla. "Her family name is O'Brien." 
 We both laughed, but she quickly returned to the point 
 at issue. 
 
 "Now, what do you say, Frizzie? You may trust me. 
 I know Mme. Sylvie very intimately, and her terms are
 
 IN THE CURRENT 107 
 
 very reasonable. A whole three months you will have to 
 pay, and at the end of that time you can settle up the first 
 bill and open up a second. Of course, if you just walked 
 in there a stranger with no one to introduce you, she'd 
 demand a big deposit and the balance on delivery; and 
 just stick you horribly. I have a taxi waiting outside, and 
 if you run up and pin on your hat we'll drive around to 
 Dacy's and get the suit, then have a bite of lunch in the 
 store, and then up to Mme. Sylvie's ; and after that a ride 
 in the park. How's that for a program?" 
 
 "It is truly splendid," I said ; and in a few minutes we 
 were in the taxicab, headed west for Broadway. 
 
 Dacy's got seventy-five of my dollars, part of it for a 
 hat and other things, but as I left the store I thought 
 the transformation that had been wrought in me was 
 worth the price. Camilla advised me in everything; she 
 hardly permitted me to express an opinion. She was 
 right; she knew more than I, and I had only to survey 
 myself in one of the tall mirrors to realize she had indeed 
 proved a friend to me. I walked out of the store with my 
 head held up with more confidence than I ever had felt 
 before. Suddenly I thought it was the duty of the world 
 to look at me, and I was more than willing to put myself 
 on show. All is vanity, said the preacher, but little the 
 preacher knows of vanity in his black coat ! 
 
 Mme. Sylvie received me as if I were a daughter. "I 
 was just going out to lunch when I got your telephone 
 from the store, Miss Delmont," she said to my com- 
 panion. "And this is your friend, Miss Miss Peabody. 
 Well, Miss Peabody, I'll be very glad to do anything for 
 you I possibly can. I like to help the girls out, especially 
 when they're good looking like you are. Don't take that 
 for flattery now I never flatter nobody. I'm a business
 
 io8 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 woman, and it's all business with me. I just can't help 
 that, now can I, Miss Delmont." 
 
 "I don't think you can, Sylvie," said Camilla. 
 
 "Well now, let's see what we can do in the way of dress- 
 ing you up, Miss Peabody. There won't be much trouble 
 in doing it. You'd look stunning in any old thing. My, 
 what a picture you would make in the Greek. If I could 
 be made over again I'd be just like you, that's all I'd ask. 
 There are few girls that come to me that are the likes of 
 you and Miss Delmont, if I do say it before you. How's 
 the show doing, Miss Delmont? They haven't begun to 
 hand out 'paper' yet, have they?" 
 
 "I don't think so, Sylvie," answered Camilla, "but 
 when they do you shall hear from me." 
 
 "That's too good of you, Miss Delmont. The girls 
 generally look out for me, and I just dearly love to see 
 them on the stage. They're so different from what they 
 are when they're walking around. You wouldn't think 
 sometimes they're the same girls. . . . Don't think I'm 
 wasting my time, Miss Peabody. I'm just taking you in, 
 and thinking what would be the best I can do for you. 
 Naturally, the very first thing you want is something for 
 evening, and a change with it. That's my advice to every 
 girl that comes to me when she first lands in New York. 
 'Nobody will bother you during the day,' I says, 'and at 
 the worst you can stay in bed, but in the evening you've 
 got to show yourself, and the better you look all the better 
 it will be for you.' If I might suggest, Miss Peabody, 
 I'd turn you out an opera coat and swell decolletee. That 
 will start you off nice and modish, my dear." 
 
 "Why, that was what Camilla advised me to get," 
 I said. 
 
 "See that, Miss Peabody," laughed Mme. Sylvie. "Two
 
 IN THE CURRENT 109 
 
 heads are better than one. I'd trust Miss Delmont's 
 judgment any time of the day or night, and I'm right 
 happy to think she agrees with me." 
 
 "Somebody must have wound you up, the way you're 
 talking, Sylvie," said Camilla. 
 
 "Oh, dear no," responded Mme. Sylvie, "I'm always 
 wound up, Miss Delmont, only don't you go and tell any- 
 body that. Now if you'll just step over this side, Miss 
 Peabody I'll show you my samples. I don't keep much 
 of a stock on hand, and nothing goes to waste. I've 
 accounts in all the big, first-class stores, you know, and 
 it's lots easier and cheaper to order goods up just as I 
 want it." 
 
 When Mme. Sylvie was running a tape measure over 
 me she engaged in lively conversation with Camilla. 
 "You know that Gale girl you introduced me to, Miss 
 Delmont, the one that married the Wall Street broker? 
 Well, she went on the honeymoon to Europe owing me 
 four hundred and sixty-seven dollars, and that's what I 
 call downright mean and a shame. She was such a fright, 
 too ! If I hadn't taken the trouble to smooth out all the 
 angles and curves and make her look like something, 
 she'd never have married higher in the social scale than a 
 painter. Doing it on my money, too !" 
 
 "I'm sure she will pay you when she returns, Sylvie," 
 said Camilla. 
 
 "I know she'll pay me," replied Mme. Sylvie. "She 
 told one of the girls she was coming back in the Cam- 
 pania, and I'm watching the steamship lists. The day 
 she lands I'll catch her on the telephone and if she doesn't 
 settle up I'll telephone her dear of a husband, that's what 
 I'll do." 
 
 "You wouldn't do that surely, Sylvie," protested 
 Camilla.
 
 no IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "Indeed, and I would," returned Mme. Sylvie with 
 great positiveness. "It wouldn't be the first time, neither. 
 If the girls want me to keep on helping them to half- 
 decent figgers for next to nothing they'd better not get 
 married. The way I look at it is this : When I give a 
 girl the shape to land a rich husband I ought to be good 
 and well paid for it." 
 
 "Sylvie, you remember that tan broadcloth I got a year 
 ago?" asked Camilla. 
 
 "Nothing goes out of here that I forget, Miss 
 Delmont." 
 
 "Well, I sold it, Sylvie got $10 and a green parasol 
 for it." 
 
 "I know," said Mme. Sylvie. "You sold it to Miss De 
 Vere, whose real name is McCarthy, and you've got the 
 green parasol and you haven't got the $10." 
 
 "Why, Sylvie, how do you know?" asked Camilla. 
 
 "Well, I guess I should know something about it," re- 
 plied Mme. Sylvie. "If you want to look at the dress I'll 
 show it to you made-over. It fits her like the paper on 
 the wall, and she's going to wear it in the sextette, if the 
 stage manager only will let her." 
 
 "I'll talk to the stage manager, and see that he doesn't," 
 said Camilla. "I'll have more than a green parasol." 
 
 I spoke to Mme. Sylvie about payment for her work. 
 "It will be time enough to talk of that, Miss Peabody, 
 when we see how the things turn out," she said. "I'm in 
 no hurry, anyway. You simply can't do that in the dress- 
 making business, now can you, Miss Delmont? And if 
 you tried dunning people you'd be without a customer in 
 a week. Would you believe it, I've women rich women, 
 too owing me for dresses these six years back. That's 
 what makes us get a name for charging high prices the 
 women who settle on the minute have to pay for the
 
 IN THE CURRENT in 
 
 women who hang on, and never pay only when they can't 
 help it." 
 
 I was not satisfied, but she talked so fast I could not 
 raise the subject again. I felt uncomfortable when I 
 came away. I passed few words with Camilla on the 
 drive back to the hotel. I did not like the actions of 
 Mme. Sylvie. She was too friendly ; she seemed too free 
 with her credit. Why should she be willing to trust me? 
 Why should she be insistent almost I should place myself 
 in her debt ? I was inclined to suspect Camilla had some- 
 thing to do with it. Camilla had telephoned to Mme. 
 Sylvie. I could not understand that. I could not under- 
 stand anything about the whole strange affair. I held 
 suspicion, and I determined to wait developments with my 
 eyes open.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 I ENTERED the hotel to meet Prince Andrews on his 
 way out. He had roses in his hand, the flowers showing 
 in a soft red through a covering of flimsy paper. He 
 bowed graciously, and held out the roses. 
 
 "I hope you won't think I am intruding, Miss Pea- 
 body," he said in meek politeness, "and please accept this 
 little token of esteem for so charming a young lady as 
 yourself." 
 
 "Oh, thank you, Mr. Andrews," I said, accepting the 
 flowers, and feeling more than a little flattered. 
 
 "It is a great pleasure to me indeed to have you receive 
 them," he said. "I hardly dared to venture here, Miss 
 Peabody, but I almost felt it my duty to come. I know 
 how trying are the first days for anybody in a cruel city 
 like this, and I hope this is not the last we shall see of 
 each other." 
 
 "Oh no, I hope not, Mr. Andrews," I said, "and I 
 thank you for the roses very, very much. I shall wear 
 one of them to dinner with Roy." 
 
 The faintest sign of alarm showed in his face, but was 
 gone in an instant. "I must beg you not to do that, Miss 
 Peabody, it would hardly be what you might call fair to 
 me, you know. Although really I shouldn't object Roy 
 and I have been such good friends. You may wear it if 
 you wish, only I must ask you to refrain from telling Roy 
 you got it from me. You will grant me that little favor, 
 if only for the reason to preserve this charming incident 
 
 112
 
 IN THE CURRENT 113 
 
 of the flowers between ourselves ? Perhaps, if you knew 
 the value I attach to flowers, Miss Peabody, you would 
 realize fully just what I mean by my otherwise rather 
 odd request. Every flower tells a different story to me." 
 
 "I love all flowers the same," I said, "and of course I 
 shall do as you wish, Mr. Andrews. I have decided now 
 I will not wear one of them. Instead of that I will keep 
 them all in my room." 
 
 "I only wish I were deserving of the compliment you 
 pay me," he said with another bow. "And Roy, the 
 young rascal, is to take you to dinner?" 
 
 "Why do you call Roy a 'young rascal,' Mr. Andrews ?" 
 I asked. 
 
 "Ah, Miss Peabody, it is easy to see you are not ac- 
 customed to the terms of speech with which I reveal the 
 esteem in which I hold my friends. 'Young rascal'! 
 Interpreted, that is to say: Roy is a splendid young fel- 
 low, chivalrous, brave and witty, a favorite with men 
 and, I may add, a favorite with women. Now with that," 
 he added, smilingly, "I shall be off." 
 
 "Why not wait until Roy comes?" I said. "He spoke 
 of an automobile ride before dinner, and you might ac- 
 company us." 
 
 "I cannot let myself think of the pleasure it would be," 
 he replied, and I thought there was evasion in his tone. 
 "I must plead the old excuse of a previous engagement. 
 The fact is, Miss Peabody, Betty and I are going to 
 Martin's, and I also promised to take her for a little spin. 
 So, you see, I have no time to lose. I'm sure the promise 
 of friendship implied in these flowers will keep all, even 
 the fact of my informal call, a secret between us." 
 
 I held out my hand. "I'm sure it will, Mr. Andrews," 
 I replied with much spirit, and I laughed as I watched 
 him go along the corridor to the street. I thought of all
 
 n 4 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 he had said, of all I reasoned he had left unsaid; and I 
 told Roy. He arrived before Andrews had been gone 
 ten minutes, and I carried one of the roses pinned near 
 my throat. 
 
 "Do you see this rose, Roy?" I asked. 
 
 "It's very pretty," he said flatly. 
 
 "Mr. Andrews gave it to me. How did he know I 
 was stopping here, Roy?" 
 
 "Andrews gave you that!" he exclaimed. "Camilla 
 or Betty must have told him. I warned them against it, 
 but you can't trust girls like that. I had to tell Betty 
 where you were to keep her from putting the reporters 
 on your track. If she had told them I knew you, they 
 wouldn't want anything more. That would be a choice 
 morsel of news for them. They'd leap at the conclusion 
 we'd eloped. They'd have us married. I had to bribe 
 her to keep her mouth shut she was mad in the park 
 last night for some reason or other and now she's gone 
 and told Andrews. You see how risky it all is ?" 
 
 "I see, Roy," I replied. 
 
 "I never thought Andrews would do a thing like that. 
 He did it because he thinks he has us in his power. But 
 he wouldn't dare give us away. If he did it would be 
 the last of him with me and a lot others besides. But 
 why didn't you throw the roses in his face, Frizzie?" 
 
 "Was it wrong to take them?" I asked. 
 
 "It wasn't exactly wrong, but it might give Andrews 
 a chance to laugh at me. You don't wish that, do you, 
 Frizzie ?" 
 
 "Never, Roy," I answered earnestly. "I will send the 
 roses back." 
 
 "No, keep them," advised Roy. "Only refuse others 
 he may offer you." 
 
 "You are disappointed in nie, Roy," I said. "But I
 
 IN THE CURRENT 115 
 
 will do as you wish, in this and whatever else you may 
 tell me." 
 
 "You will, Frizzie?" he rejoined quickly, and with an 
 emphasis that thrilled me. 
 
 "Yes, Roy," I said, fluttering in excitement, as I real- 
 ized he had read deep meaning into my words. Well, 
 perhaps he was right. My heart beat fast; my cheeks 
 grew heated. I was confused, and turned partly away 
 from him. I felt his hand on my shoulder, and powerless 
 to resist I moved slowly under his guidance until we were 
 face to face. 
 
 "You meant that, Frizzie, every word?" questioned 
 Roy. "Tell me that you meant it, from the bottom of 
 your heart?" 
 
 I hung my head, but quickly raised it. "Yes, Roy, I 
 meant it," I said. "And you, Roy, what about you?" I 
 entreated, almost overpowered by the rush of tender 
 feeling for him. 
 
 "You bet, I mean it more than you do, Frizzie," he 
 replied; and that was all that was spoken between us 
 then. But it was enough for me. Whatever Winnie 
 might say to the contrary, Roy merited my faith and 
 held it.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 WE crossed the Fort Lee ferry into New Jersey, and 
 Roy let his car run easily northward along the Palisades. 
 I admired in silence the broad sweep of the Hudson, 
 keeping us company on the right; for Roy was wrapt 
 almost gloomily in his thoughts. At length he took his 
 eyes off the dusty streak of road ahead, and turned to me. 
 
 "There's something I should have told you long ago, 
 Frizzie, only for the upset you gave me with that news 
 about Andrews." 
 
 "Tell me now, Roy," I urged. 
 
 He slowed down the car until it barely moved. "Nor- 
 man Clark was in to see me this afternoon," he said. 
 
 "Norman!" I exclaimed. "He knows? He suspects 
 you, Roy?" 
 
 "No, he doesn't. He suspects nobody. He's got it 
 pretty straight, I guess. He's satisfied you ran away, 
 Frizzie, because you couldn't bear the thought of a love- 
 less marriage." 
 
 "That is the truth, the whole truth, Roy," I assured 
 him. 
 
 "Only the whole truth on your side, Frizzie," said 
 Roy, and bent toward me. I saw that every bit of color 
 had gone from his cheeks, and that his eyes were very 
 grave. "There's one thing I want to say to you now, 
 Frizzie: Norman Clark loves you; and Norman's love 
 is a good thing for any woman to have." 
 
 116
 
 IN THE CURRENT 117 
 
 I looked at him in amazement. "Why do you speak 
 like that when it is too late?" I demanded. 
 
 "Why do I ?" took up Roy, almost regretfully. "Well, 
 between you and me, Frizzie, I can't take any pride just 
 at present in what I did to Norman; I can't say to my- 
 self I treated him exactly on the square. He made me 
 think of that side of it to-day; and, whatever else Nor- 
 man Clark may be, he's true as steel." 
 
 "But you are, too, Roy," I added. 
 
 "Oh, yes; I suppose I am; I'm glad you think so, 
 anyway, Frizzie. But somehow I've had it impressed 
 on me it was a rather shabby trick to advise an old class- 
 mate's fiancee to run away on her wedding day." 
 
 "I ran away of my own free will, Roy," I hastened, 
 in my impulsive way. 
 
 Roy brought his face still nearer, and I could not mis- 
 take his earnestness. "Look here, Frizzie," he said. "Do 
 you wish to go back? Norman's not half a bad sort. 
 He's big and whole-hearted and brave. He'll make you 
 a good husband. Tell me you want to go, and I'll take 
 you straight to the train. You will be happy with Nor- 
 man, I know." 
 
 "Happy !" I repeated bitterly. 'That's just what father 
 and Mrs. Clark kept telling me, and it is what you tell 
 me ! What about me, Roy ? Is Norman's love sufficient 
 for us both ? I'll never go back, Roy ; I'll never go back. 
 Don't you understand ?" 
 
 Roy reached over his right hand and grasped mine 
 firmly. "That settles it, little girl," he said, all his gravity 
 gone. "It would have struck me hard to let you go back 
 out of reach, but I felt it was only honorable to put the 
 case before you frankly." 
 
 "I am very glad you did, Roy, for now we both un- 
 derstand, don't we?"
 
 n8 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 He laughed lightly. "You bet we do, Frizzie; you 
 bet we do." He quickened the pace until the wind 
 smoothed back my hair at my temples. "Feeling good 
 once more, I am," said Roy breezily. "Norman first 
 and then Andrews had me right on edge. But don't you 
 wish to hear more about Norman's visit?" 
 
 "Certainly, Roy; I was on the point of asking you." 
 
 Roy leaned back, with only one hand on the steer- 
 ing wheel. "Well, the newspapers said he was taking 
 your desertion philosophically and staying at home, but 
 they were wrong, as they usually are. This morning I 
 got a wire from my private sleuth that Norman had 
 bought a ticket up to the city and had taken the ten 
 o'clock train out of Covey. That didn't impress me 
 much, for hunting a person's trail in New York is the 
 hardest kind of prospecting. I can't tell you how sur- 
 prised I was, though, when Norman walked into my 
 office. My first thought was that he knew everything, 
 but luckily I had enough sense to keep my mouth shut. 
 And in a minute he had made it clear he knew nothing 
 at all." 
 
 "Oh, that's good, Roy," I cried, in great relief. 
 
 "I don't know whether it is or not," went on Roy. 
 "Poor fellow, he was deep in the dumps. And he came 
 to me because he wanted somebody to confide in. Think 
 of that, Frizzie!" 
 
 For the first time, I felt serious. Also a wave of sym- 
 pathy swept over me. After all, it was something for me 
 to possess Norman Clark's love. And I had repaid him 
 shamefully. I had sinned against him terribly, wilfully. 
 I had been utterly selfish, giving not a single thought to 
 him ; instead, holding him up to ridicule, making him the 
 butt of scornful laughter and vulgar jest. I felt a lump 
 grow in my throat; I was stricken with sadness and re-
 
 IN THE CURRENT 119 
 
 morse. Tears rose in my eyes; I looked at Roy as 
 through a mist. 
 
 "Roy, Roy, what shall I do?" I implored. 
 
 "You're not going back on me now, are you?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "No, no, Roy; but Norman I did not realize before 
 what I had done to him." 
 
 He reassured me with the pressure of his fingers on 
 my arm. "That's all right, Frizzie. Don't worry. Isn't 
 it better to have it over and done with at once, than to 
 be married and having to face a lifetime of it?" 
 
 Roy's was the practical viewpoint. I saw that instantly. 
 Of course, I was only too anxious to accept his reason- 
 ing, but wasn't it true? I dropped sadness, forgot re- 
 morse. 
 
 "Go on, Roy, please tell me more?" I requested, quite 
 myself again. 
 
 Roy glanced at me admiringly. "You've got a sensible 
 little head on your pretty shoulders, Frizzie," he laughed. 
 
 "Don't tease me, Roy," I rebuked him, but not in un- 
 gratified tone. 
 
 "All right, I won't, Frizzie. And here goes for the 
 rest of it : Norman had a wild notion he might find you 
 in New York, and that then he might persuade you to 
 marry him here. It wasn't such a bad idea of getting 
 married in the city; only Norman did not realize until 
 he was on the train the hoplessness of ever persuading 
 you, even if he found you. He just came on up because 
 he could not endure the inactive torture in Covey. He 
 had to do something, and he took the train when he was 
 returning from an interview with your father." 
 
 "Did he tell you anything about father?" I inquired 
 anxiously. 
 
 "Yes, a lot. And the more he told me the more I grew
 
 120 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 in admiration for that estimable man. I fancy your father 
 is so strong it gives him points of weakness. He won't 
 search for you. He's all broken up, but the world won't 
 see it. He fell on Norman's neck the first time, Mother 
 Ann told Norman, he had given way since your mother 
 died. He sobbed and even cried." 
 
 "I can't believe that, Roy," I protested. "I can't be- 
 lieve father doing anything like that." 
 
 "I guess it was as much of a surprise to Norman as 
 it would be to yourself, Frizzie," continued Roy, unmind- 
 ful of my doubting words. "But his breakdown was only 
 for a minute or two. He soon recovered himself. And 
 he sat down with Norman and talked it over. He said 
 that as you had gone of your own free will, he would 
 leave the future to your own free will also. He showed 
 that he knew you thoroughly, Frizzie. I guess he knew 
 it were far better to leave the issue in your own hands. 
 He was convinced that to follow you, to find you and 
 plead with you, threaten or attempt to use force, would 
 only serve to add to the difficulty. He advised Norman 
 to wait after Norman had assured him he never would 
 love another. He said to wait, and that one day you 
 would come home ; and that you would come home bear- 
 ing aloft your shield, and not carried on it. Your father's 
 faith in you is wonderful, Frizzie." 
 
 "He still expects me to marry Norman," I reflected, 
 half to myself. "He won't forsake that ; he won't yield." 
 
 "He will yield no more than his daughter," said Roy. 
 
 "You favor him?" I cried almost angrily. "Well, 
 you're both mistaken. I'll never go back; and even if 
 I did, Norman would go on waiting." 
 
 "I am absolutely impartial, Frizzie," rejoined Roy, and 
 thereby did nothing to allay my uneasiness. 
 
 "What else did Norman tell you?" I asked abruptly.
 
 IN THE CURRENT 121 
 
 "Oh, as soon as your flight was discovered, all your 
 relatives and the others hurried away ; showing their tact 
 and good sense in that. The church was stripped by 
 your father's order, and the flowers sent to the hospital 
 in Southampton. Mrs. Clark went off to bed with a 
 splitting headache, and was still there when Norman 
 left. Mr. Clark wandered in and around the house; 
 whenever he met Norman, patting him on the shoulder 
 and telling him to bear up like a man." 
 
 "That's so like him," I said. 
 
 "Guess Mr. Clark is your one real sympathizer, Friz- 
 zie. He told Norman to try and think how hard it 
 must have been on you." 
 
 "The dear, old man !" I exclaimed, and felt comforted. 
 
 "That's about all," added Roy. "It looks now as if 
 you are safe. Norman was going back on the first train. 
 As soon as he had shaken my hand and left the office, 
 I wired to that private detective to come in off the job. 
 Norman made me feel ashamed for ever having sent 
 the detective to Covey." 
 
 "You did it with a good purpose in view, though, 
 Roy?" 
 
 "Yes, I suppose I did," he replied, half-heartedly ; then 
 suddenly gave attention to the car, and swung it sharply 
 in between neatly clipped hedges. "Let's forget it, Friz- 
 zie ; you've done your part, and I've done mine. Covey's 
 behind you at last, and let it stay there." He laughed 
 merrily. "Yes, and here we both are with a good dinner 
 before us. You can't beat this roadhouse all the way up 
 both sides of the river to Albany. Wow, but I'm hungry ! 
 How is it with you, Frizzie?" 
 
 "As with you, Roy," I replied ; but somehow, much as 
 Roy desired, I did not prove my words. 
 
 For Norman would not be dismissed, as I sat with
 
 122 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 Roy at the snow-white table; and neither would father. 
 Father in tears over me? It was more than I could 
 comprehend; and my spirits weighed until Roy and I 
 were speeding homeward under the blue light of the full 
 moon.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 SEVERAL days went past. In the mornings I roamed the 
 city finding new wonders at every turn; and gradually 
 beginning to realize the vastness and complexity of it all. 
 I spent the afternoons and evenings in the company of 
 Roy; always riding in his automobile far out of the city, 
 dining on a cool veranda, and then returning slowly to 
 my hotel. 
 
 I was starting out alone in the early afternoon of the 
 fourth day, and had just turned from the hotel desk, 
 when I saw Betty come prancing in from the street. 
 Betty was as breezy as a March day, and at times she 
 was as bright as a day in June. She was both breezy 
 and bright that day, although I thought her brightness 
 was a little forced. She took me by the hand and shook 
 vigorously. 
 
 "Hello, Frizzie; delighted to see you," she rattled off. 
 "I was just romping past, and thought I'd drop in to 
 see you. Say, you're all dressed up, aren't you? New 
 tailor-made, eh? Well, it does suit you, I must say. I 
 congratulate you. You're as spick and span as a yacht. 
 Oh, but you are the sly one. Bet you never told Roy 
 yet that Prince brought those flowers. I don't blame 
 you, wouldn't do it myself ; only you are beginning early 
 to play them off against each other like that! Say, it's 
 a wonder you wouldn't tell a girl about these things. If 
 I hadn't seen Prince coming out of here I'd never have 
 guessed it or dreamed it myself in the living world. But 
 
 123
 
 i2 4 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 I buttonholed him, I did, and he had to come out with 
 it. But don't you worry, dear ; it's safe with me. I may 
 babble away to you, but Roy will never hear a word 
 from me. And don't you tell Roy I know what Roy 
 doesn't know won't hurt him; and I'll tell you I admire 
 you, for the girl who doesn't watch out for her p's and 
 q's here in New York is going to get left. Take that 
 from me, and keep at it just as you're going and you'll 
 wear diamonds." She stepped back and appeared to 
 survey me with pleasure. "My, how stunning you do 
 look!" she exclaimed. "If I had your shape, Frizzie, I 
 wouldn't take back talk from the best of them. But say, 
 now that I get a good look at it, that isn't a tailor-made. 
 That's a ready-made, isn't it? Ton my word I never 
 should have known it, had I not stood off and looked it 
 over carefully." 
 
 "How do you know it is a ready-made, Betty?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Oh, my dear, how does any woman know? Why, 
 honest, all half of the women in New York does is siz- 
 ing up every woman that comes along and figuring what 
 department store she buys her ready-mades in." She 
 came closer again. "Now, tell me this : Are we going 
 to be friends, or not ? I'll admit I was a bit too hasty the 
 other evening, but I'm all over it; and Roy can go his 
 way and I'll go mine. I'll never be a rival of yours, my 
 dear. I'm not so foolish as to think I've got half a 
 chance, because the new faces always are the winners." 
 
 "We cannot be rivals," I said. 
 
 "We could be rivals if I was willing to sit in the game," 
 she replied. 
 
 "You may be interested in Roy, but I have no interest 
 in him, Betty," I said; and I was surprised at the ease 
 with which the words came from me.
 
 IN THE CURRENT 125 
 
 "Well, I do hope you don't ask me to believe that?" 
 she responded, with the air of a skeptic. "What are you 
 here for, if it isn't for Roy?" 
 
 The words stung me, and without attempting to con- 
 ceal my anger I replied hotly: "You must understand, 
 Betty, I am here of my own free will. If you cannot 
 understand, I won't explain further; and I will not hear 
 another word from you." 
 
 She laughed scornfully, but evidently with a desire to 
 placate me. "Well, I must confess you are fiery, although 
 you do look so gentle and harmless," she said. "It's all 
 right, Frizzie. You're well able to look out for number 
 one. I only wish I could bristle up and show my teeth like 
 that. But I didn't come here looking for a fight. I just 
 ran in for a friendly call ; and now that I see you in that 
 thing I've been thinking you might want a real tailor- 
 made." 
 
 "Thank you for your interest," I said coldly. 
 
 "You needn't get grumpy now, Frizzie," she asserted. 
 "Instead of looking as if you were going to snap my 
 head off, you ought to feel thankful to a girl for offering 
 to set you right. If we girls didn't hold out a helping 
 hand to girls like you that have just blown into town, 
 how would you ever find out things? If you had a 
 mother or a brother or a sister it wouldn't be my place 
 to open my mouth, but when you haven't a soul, why you 
 might at least give a girl credit for good intentions." 
 
 "I give you credit for the best of intentions, Betty," 
 I replied ; and in a humor to hear more from her I drew 
 her to a seat and requested her to enlighten me further. 
 
 "Well, I'm sure it's none of my business," she said, 
 "only I do hate to see a girl like you taking the chance 
 of being left to live and die a hermit. New York hasn't 
 any use for a girl unless she's got half-way decent clothes ;
 
 126 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 and it's only when a girl's satisfied with the clothes she's 
 got that she's got any peace of mind % Another week or 
 two and you'll be getting restless. Clothes grow in a 
 girl's eye. To me, clothes are a sight bigger problem 
 than man, taking him as you like sweetheart or hus- 
 band, or somebody else's husband. That's me, Frizzie. 
 You'd think to hear me talk I'm practical, but when it 
 comes down to doing what I ought to do I'm a bigger 
 fool than you could be if you tried. I try not to be ro- 
 mantic and all that, and I suppose I'm not; but I'll 
 swear I've got no head for business. All I know is that 
 we can't wear shoddy here in New York we've got to 
 have it all wool and a yard wide or we're left to nurse 
 our toes out in the cold. If you want to have me help 
 you into a decent dress or two then all right, if you 
 don't want me to, then that'll be all right just the same. 
 Here, I'll make you a proposition: Come around with 
 me to Zimpel's and I'll get him to give you time on a 
 tailor-made." 
 
 "No, thank you, Betty," I said. 
 
 "I won't take that for an answer," she replied. "Here, 
 I'll tell you what we'll do, and what's put it in my mind : 
 I'm going around to Zimpel's to fit on a gown myself, 
 and we'll walk around there. It's only a couple of blocks. 
 You're just going out, aren't you?" 
 
 I looked her straight in the eyes, and I never flinched. 
 "You're mistaken, Betty," I said, "I'm just returning. 
 I've walked blocks and blocks ; oh, miles and miles !" 
 
 "You don't want to do it, I can see that," she retorted. 
 "Just as you say, only never complain I didn't offer to 
 do the right thing by you. I'll drop in again in a day 
 or two." 
 
 She tripped out as breezily as she had entered. I saw
 
 IN THE CURRENT 127 
 
 her swing to the right toward Broadway. I waited five 
 minutes. Then I stepped cautiously into the street. 
 Betty had disappeared, and I turned to the left toward 
 Fifth Avenue.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 I HAD promised Roy I should walk north in Fifth 
 Avenue, and he picked me up near Forty-second Street. 
 We continued northward to Fifty-ninth street, where we 
 took to Central Park and pursued a diagonal course to 
 Seventh Avenue, up which we sped to the Bronx, and on 
 through to the open country in Westchester County. It 
 was a couple of hours later when we drew up at a little 
 inn, where we found seats at a table on a veranda, af- 
 fording a view of Long Island Sound, lying smooth and 
 bright as glass. 
 
 Roy was in a communicative mood, and before we left 
 that table he had told me much family history and a 
 great deal about himself. He had great ambitions. "I'm 
 going to be as big a success as dad, only in a different 
 way," he asserted gaily; and proceeded to relate what a 
 conquering man his father was. 
 
 "Dad began on a shoestring," said Roy, proudly, "and 
 now look what he is ! He's one of the half-dozen biggest 
 men in the Street. You can't know what that means, 
 Frizzie, and I'm not boasting in trying to give you an 
 idea of dad's power. He's president of six companies 
 and director in seventy-three. He's got a genius for 
 making money; he's a kind of money-making machine. 
 He's gone along without trouble all his life, excepting 
 the time when Nance married that Italian count. You 
 didn't know there was a real, live count in the family? 
 Well, I'll tell you about it: 
 
 128
 
 IN THE CURRENT 129 
 
 "You see, dad never cared much for those foreigners 
 he said they were too easy in a business deal. He 
 wanted Nance to marry an American. When the count 
 first called he told him to begone for a whipper-snapper, 
 fortune-chasing imitation of a man, but the count didn't 
 object. Every morning for a month he walked up Fifth 
 Avenue with a bouquet, witH ribbons streaming from it, 
 in his hand, and always on the stroke of eleven o'clock 
 he gave a ten-cent tip to the man at the door and re- 
 quested him to present the flowers to Nance with his 
 compliments. Dad let the count make a public exhibition 
 of himself, because he thought it would cure Nance. But 
 the count knew what women like better than dad did, and 
 when it came to the final tussle dad found he had to 
 fight not only Nance but mother as well. The wine of 
 Italy had gone to Nance's head, and mother was just 
 as tipsy. Dad promised me half a million if I could work 
 one of my college chums into Nance's good graces. I 
 tried seven or eight of them, but Nance shied on them all. 
 Then dad said his own daughter wouldn't sell him out, 
 and that if she didn't throw over the count he would dis- 
 inherit her. But that didn't frighten Nance for a minute, 
 and mother told dad she was ashamed to hear him talk 
 like that of any child of his. 'Doesn't it mean anything 
 to you to be an American?' asked dad, and Nance re- 
 plied : Til be a better American in Italy than I am here, 
 father.' 'Do you hear that, Mary?' said dad to mother, 
 'She'll be a better American when she's a Dago!' All 
 mother did was to rebuke dad for calling the count a 
 Dago, and to remind dad that he had to let Nance follow 
 the dictates of her own heart. 
 
 "Well, they were married, and father came out in the 
 papers and said the count was a splendid fellow and that 
 he favored him from the start. Nance and her count
 
 130 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 went to Palm Beach on a honeymoon. They reached 
 Naples just six weeks after the wedding, and the follow- 
 ing day the papers printed long accounts of creditors be- 
 sieging the doors of the count's Roman palace. Reporters 
 came to dad, and he told them he wouldn't give a fig for 
 a man who couldn't run into debt. No one ever could 
 read dad. When he was talking to the reporters he had 
 four cables from the count on his desk requesting a re- 
 mittance of a few tens of thousands. The last of the 
 four was signed by the count and Nance ; and dad raved 
 around the office, taking his grudge out on the staff. 
 Mother asserted herself and the money was sent; and 
 dad's still sending. Nobody can stand against dad, ex- 
 cept in his own home." 
 
 "That's all very interesting, Roy," I said. 
 
 "Oh, but that's not the best I've got about father," he 
 replied. "Wait till I tell you how we 'broke into society.' 
 Mother had her heart set on cutting a swath in society, 
 but for years dad stood out against it. Mother used to 
 say, 'What have we got all our money for ?' and dad used 
 to reply, 'To make more money with.' It looked as if 
 mother never would gain her ambition you see with 
 Nance married to the count she would not be content 
 with anybody but a swell of the 400 for May, my younger 
 sister until one evening dad came home and said it 
 would be all right; that he wished the whole family to 
 mix in the cream of the social swim, and that he was 
 going to see to it that we did. Mother was in transports, 
 and it all came out as dad promised. Mother goes to 
 all the so-called exclusive affairs now, but she doesn't 
 know why the invitations come piling in on her. Dad 
 could tell her something, as he's told me. This is what 
 dad told me, one night when we were alone after dinner : 
 
 " 'Roy, my boy, I hope you'll never get this society
 
 IN THE CURRENT 131 
 
 bee buzzing in your bonnet. You see what it's done for 
 us. It's brought an English butler into the house, and 
 a French chef and a French maid, until I'm afraid to 
 talk to my own servants. You couldn't guess how it all 
 came about. Your mother thinks I Hid it as a favor to 
 her, but she doesn't know the truth of it. You see, what- 
 ever you may say about these near-men of the 400, they've 
 got money. That's the best part of them, and it's what 
 makes them the snobs they are. I used to go down to the 
 Waldorf at night, and those fellows made it plain I 
 wasn't good enough for them. When they got talking 
 about pedigrees and family trees I wasn't in it, although 
 I've been told some of their boasted ancestors started 
 skinning skunks. Well, you know, I have a fair show 
 of money myself, and I thought that ought to have made 
 us equals. But no, sir; there was more to it than that, 
 so I said to myself, "Wesson, you'll have to teach these 
 fine boys a lesson." And I did, by gad, I did. I sat back 
 quietly until I got a few of them where I wanted them. 
 They may know all about ball-room dancing, but they 
 don't know all the fancy steps in the Wall Street dance; 
 and I nipped a few of them ; I got them with their backs 
 to the wall, and you ought to have heard them squeal. 
 You'd think I'd stuck a knife in them, and, by gad, so I 
 had, and turned it round in them. They were all quit- 
 ters, and they came to me crying, "Mercy, mercy, Wes- 
 son, for heaven's sake, mercy!" "I'll have mercy," I 
 said, and I started to play football. I banged the desk 
 with my fist under their noses, and made every one of 
 the lady-fingers jump three feet into the air. "See here, 
 you lot of muffins," I said, "I'm not in this deal specially 
 for the money that's in it. I've got money enough to 
 take a wagonful of it down to the Battery and shovel it 
 into the bay, but I could get along with some more of ji
 
 i 3 2 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 if you don't do what I want you to do." "Tell us, tell 
 us, what you want us to do and we'll do it, Mr. Wesson," 
 they all squeaked in chorus, and I knew I had them. "I 
 guess I've got you fellows pretty well pinched," I said, 
 "the shoe's hurting some, isn't it?" "Oh, Lord, if you 
 don't let up we'll lose millions," whined one of them, and 
 I laid the law down right that minute. "Now here, you 
 small fry," I said, "you've been holding your noses too 
 almighty high to suit me. When I wander down to the 
 Waldorf and ramble around in general after this, I don't 
 want the temperature to fall below zero every time you 
 happen to be sitting sipping your champagne-punches. 
 I'm not so particular about myself either that I can't 
 stand for it, but I've got a kind of pride in my family; 
 and if things are not set right in that direction I'll show 
 you no more mercy than I would a rattlesnake." Man, 
 Roy, you ought to seen them running in out of the wet. 
 They were falling over each other, but I only let them 
 come in gradually and one at a time. Whatever further 
 talking was done was all on my side, and I sent them 
 away whipped and with their tails between their legs. I 
 didn't give them a chance to turn round and bite me, 
 either. I held the screws tight for a few days till your 
 mother had walked in through Society's pearly gates and 
 all the papers knew about it. I knew that once inside 
 it'd take more than an earthquake to put her out again, 
 so I let the kid-gloved Captains of Finance come to me 
 for settlement. They were smiling, but they looked as 
 if they were tired of sitting on the pins and needles. I 
 gathered in a sheaf of certified checks, giving me more 
 than five cents for my time and trouble, and when all 
 was ready for the Grand Hand-shaking, I fired the bomb 
 under them. "You're a nice lot of shrimps," I said, flick- 
 ing the ash off my cigar in that indifferent way that means
 
 IN THE CURRENT 133 
 
 so much. "It wasn't that I cared a red cent for my family 
 getting inside the breastworks of your pink and purple 
 playground, but just that I wanted to save my own skin 
 from the fangs you wear; and I've saved it and my 
 family's inside the breastworks without having to buy 
 its way in. You ought to know by this time you can't 
 play ping-pong and be like your fathers were when they 
 made the money for me to take away from you. You 
 fellows ought to hire a gang of assassins to keep you from 
 crossing south of Forty-second Street; where business is 
 carried on there you don't belong. Not one of you has 
 ever guessed that I bit off more than I could chew when 
 I stacked up against your game. That's what I did, but 
 I out-gamed you. I was left with only a straw in my 
 hand, but I roared and threatened and told you it was a 
 sledge-hammer and you saw it that way. I dragged 
 in that Society piffle to get time to catch my second wind, 
 and I got my second wind ; and now I've got your certi- 
 fied checks, and you can all skedaddle out of here. That's 
 all, and if ever I hear of any backbiting from you I'll put 
 on the brakes again; and I've got two dollars where I 
 had one before. Good-by." ' 
 
 Roy stopped for a minute to dwell in satisfaction on 
 his father's achievement, and I remained silent trying 
 to reason it all out. "That's only one of father's many 
 victories," said Roy at length, "and the funny part of it 
 was there was no attempt at reprisal. Instead of that 
 several came to father with money for investment; and 
 father told me he had expected that and always had it in 
 view. He's often told me the only way to make Wall 
 Street love you is with a whip." 
 
 "Your father is a great man, Roy," I said. 
 
 "Yes," replied Roy, "and I hope to be still greater, but 
 not in the way he thinks. I've never had much heart
 
 134 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 for buying and selling stocks ; it seems so sordid to me. If 
 I saw only a stock-ticker ahead of me we wouldn't be sit- 
 ting here, Frizzie, for I never should have known what you 
 meant that day on the knoll, overlooking the Atlantic." 
 
 "That's true, Roy," I exclaimed, glowing in enthusiasm. 
 
 "Father never thinks of anything but business, and he 
 wants me to do the same," said Roy. "Only this morn- 
 ing he asked me when was I going to get through having 
 my fling and buckle down to work." 
 
 "What do you mean by having your 'fling,' Roy?" I 
 asked in my guileless way. 
 
 "You don't know !" laughed Roy. "Well, it would be 
 hard for me to explain to you just what it means, but 
 perhaps I might say it is having fun while you are young, 
 before the responsibilities of life pile on your shoulders." 
 
 "Then we're having a 'fling' now dining here?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Oh, I wouldn't say that," replied Roy. "The term 
 doesn't apply so much to you as to me to young men, 
 you know. It's just going around in a harmless way 
 having a lively time, taking a drink or two, and " 
 
 "Roy," I interrupted impulsively, "you've had cock- 
 tails the last three times we've had dinner together." 
 
 He laughed good-naturedly and without sign of the 
 seriousness I felt. "How many persons have you seen 
 without a glass before them, Frizzie?" he asked. 
 
 "Not one, except myself," I replied truthfully. 
 
 "Everybody drinks in New York," said Roy. "Some 
 women drink as much as men, some women drink more. 
 We're getting quite Continental here in New York." 
 
 "I don't like it, Roy," I said. 
 
 "Neither do I, but I don't worry over it," he replied. 
 "Every generation has its own brand of morals, and it 
 happens our generation in New York approves of drink-
 
 IN THE CURRENT 135 
 
 ing so long as we do not drink ourselves under the table. 
 Life isn't worth living for a Prohibitionist in New York." 
 
 "It's a dreadful state of affairs," I said. 
 
 "I suppose it is," replied Roy. "Our restaurant keepers 
 are very clever. They provide palms and cut flowers and 
 embossed menu cards and gilded ceilings and red lights 
 and string orchestras and then they carry the bar-room 
 to the restaurant tables in crystal glasses. Little wonder 
 women are drinking and smoking." 
 
 'They're not smoking surely, Roy?" I said in horror. 
 
 "Well, they don't go around and smoke promiscuously," 
 he said, "but you can imagine the situation when mother, 
 who's so proud of her Puritan descent, has come to serv- 
 ing cigarettes to her women guests. She doesn't smoke, 
 of course, but she simply has to provide cigarettes or 
 become the subject of unfriendly gossip. And that's not 
 the only principle she'd had to sacrifice for her position 
 in society." 
 
 "I will never smoke nor drink, Roy," I said earnestly. 
 
 "I know you won't," laughed Roy. "That's one reason 
 why I admire you. We men don't care especially for 
 women who drink and smoke; we never will be Conti- 
 nentals in that respect. Still I'm not a pessimist we're 
 not headed straight for perdition. We'll get over our 
 weakness for wine and tobacco. Some day who knows ? 
 we may elect a Prohibitionist president." 
 
 "I hope you mean that, Roy." 
 
 "I mean it," he said. "I can be serious occasionally. 
 Father often says that if I were poor I would make a 
 temperance lecturer or a revivalist." He threw back his 
 head and laughed heartily, then suddenly picked up by 
 its slender stem the glass that stood before him. "But 
 come, Frizzie," he said, in an altered tone. "Let us laugh 
 and be merry I will empty my glass !"
 
 136 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "Don't, Roy," I said, and I put my hand firmly on his 
 wrist. 
 
 "If it was anybody else but you, Frizzie, I would drink 
 it," he said in a softened voice, and put the glass back on 
 the table. "Why not drink it if I want it !" he exclaimed 
 suddenly. "I'm not afraid of it." 
 
 I tried to restrain him, but he caught the glass and 
 drained it to the last drop. Then he raised his hand and 
 with an impassioned sweep shattered the glass into frag- 
 ments on the floor at his side. There were cries of 
 astonishment from persons at adjoining tables, but Roy 
 had no ears for them. He shoved back his chair and got 
 to his feet. 
 
 "I swear to you, Frizzie," he said, "that's the last time 
 I'll ever taste liquor." 
 
 "You are in earnest, Roy?" I asked, thrilled in ex- 
 citement. 
 
 "I swear it," he replied. "If I'm weak it's father's 
 fault. He gave me the taste from the bottom of his 
 glass but I'll overcome this weakness. Come, Frizzie, 
 we'll go; we've been long enough in this place. From 
 this time on I'll be as strong as you are." 
 
 There was not a sound as we walked through the rows 
 of tables, but I felt all eyes were upon us. 
 
 "I swear, Frizzie, I swear," said Roy. "Mother often 
 wanted me to swear, but it's taken you to make me do it." 
 
 We went out through a door, leaving the lights and 
 the music behind; and joy was in my heart. From the 
 diners came an outburst of ironical laughter, but my faith 
 was proof against that.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 IT was two days later when Camilla called again, and 
 I took her up to my room. She seated herself carefully 
 on the edge of the miniature chair, held herself erect, and 
 looked around. 
 
 "What a quaint little room this is, Frizzie," she said, 
 with a placid smile. "I never could get to like the life 
 in hotels, though they're so matter-of-fact, cold and icy. 
 If I were you, I should be on the lookout for a snug, 
 little flat of my own." 
 
 "I'm afraid, Camilla," I responded, "I shall have to be 
 satisfied with this room until I find some employment." 
 
 "You're not thinking of working, are you ?" she asked, 
 as if shocked. "Only scrubwomen and cash girls and 
 telephone girls and stenographers, and such as those, 
 work! Who ever put that in your head, Frizzie? I'd 
 never think of working !" 
 
 "I'm sure I must think of it," I replied, "because I 
 never will return to Covey." 
 
 "There's lots of work for you, only I shouldn't call it 
 by that name," said Camilla. "Why don't you try your 
 luck in the chorus of some show or other? I've done 
 pretty well at it, and it's come in handy for Betty. I bet 
 the first manager that sees you will fall over himself to 
 engage you. Eighteen dollars a week are not to be sniffed 
 at, especially with girls like us thrown out into the world." 
 
 "And are you in the chorus, Camilla?" I asked. 
 
 "Not much," she replied tartly, with a deprecating 
 
 137
 
 138 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 shrug of her shoulders. "I've been a show girl for six 
 months. That's the next thing to a speaking part, and 
 we get twenty dollars a week, which proves how little 
 the managers know their business. If it wasn't for the 
 show girls, musical comedy wouldn't stand as much 
 chance in Broadway as a Teddy Kremer melodrama/' 
 
 "And if I entered the chorus, what should I be required 
 to do, Camilla?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing, only dance a little and sing a little and 
 look pretty a whole lot." 
 
 "But I have never danced, Camilla, and my voice is 
 quite ordinary." 
 
 "That doesn't make any difference so long as you're 
 good-looking," she responded, and sprang from the chair 
 at the sound of the telephone. "I'll bet that's Roy; let 
 me answer it," and promptly she took the receiver from 
 the hook. She listened a moment. "Why, of course, it's 
 Roy. . . . Hello, Roy, hello, hello ! You don't want 
 to speak to me? Oh, very well!" she pouted, and handed 
 the receiver to me. "It's you he wants, Frizzie, and for 
 my part you're welcome to him." 
 
 "Hello, Roy," I said, "I'm so glad you called up." 
 
 "I knew that was Camilla's voice at the start," he re- 
 plied. "How are you, Frizzie? I've just been thinking 
 you might like a ride in the park. Now that Camilla's 
 there, you might take her with you. She'll be company 
 for you. I'll have a taxi at the door for you in ten 
 minutes; I'll telephone straight up for it." 
 
 "That'll be bully," said Camilla, as I turned from the 
 telephone. "Roy's always thoughtful and always doing 
 the right thing just at the right moment." 
 
 "He didn't seem surprised to find you here, Camilla," 
 I said. 
 
 "He was surprised all right, I'll bet, only he's too much
 
 IN THE CURRENT 139 
 
 of a gentleman to show it. Between you and me, Frizzie, 
 I always did like Roy, and I never could see why he took 
 to Betty. You're the kind of girl I would pick out for 
 him. I always liked Roy far better than Prince. You 
 see, Prince is getting along. He'll never see thirty-five 
 again, and he's lucky if he's not past forty. I don't mind 
 that, though, and I do like to see the white come around 
 his temples it gives him such a distinguished look. 
 Isn't it funny he goes with one as young as Roy? But 
 that's the way they always do. I guess Prince has taught 
 Roy most of what he knows, but Roy never will be the 
 sly one Prince is. I've never trusted Prince a minute, 
 and at that I've had my own trouble holding him down. 
 You may think it's all fun here in New York for girls 
 like us, Frizzie, but you'll find there's many the heart- 
 break ; and if you only manage to keep your mouth from 
 turning down at the corners you'll do more than the most 
 of us." 
 
 "It is difficult for me to follow you, Camilla," I said. 
 
 "Oh, it'll all be plain enough to you some day ; you'll get 
 your wits sharpened," she said. "Come on, that taxi will 
 be waiting, and it's a beautiful day." 
 
 It was as Camilla had said. The air was light and the 
 sky was bright ; and everywhere it seemed there was a 
 consciousness of joy in living. I enjoyed the drive im- 
 mensely, and felt regret when we headed homeward from 
 Central Park. 
 
 "Let's go to my apartment for a cup of tea," proposed 
 Camilla, and I gladly consented. 
 
 Camilla and Betty shared five rooms on the top 
 floor of a large apartment house. Their windows 
 gave a distant view of the Hudson River, across a 
 field of ugly housetops. Camilla settled me in a Morris 
 chair in the room she called a parlor. On the mantel-
 
 140 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 piece was a marble clock. To both sides of the clock 
 were photographs of Camilla and Betty in stage cos- 
 tumes; and also photographs of Roy and Prince. Other 
 pictures of all four were on the walls. On top of the up- 
 right piano was a bronze female figure, flung in scanty 
 drapery and poised on one foot, and with the arms ex- 
 tended. Small Oriental rugs were thrown over the green 
 carpet. Over the door the colors of Princeton, Columbia, 
 Yale, Harvard and Cornell, in pennants, were arranged. 
 There were mahogany chairs and chairs in gold. A divan 
 in bright green took up the corner opposite the piano, 
 and was piled high with sofa-pillows. One pillow was 
 worked out of yellow ribbons used to bind panatella 
 cigars by the bundle of fifty. Another pillow bore in 
 many-colored silk a pipe, a cigar, a match-holder, and in 
 the center this ungenerous, unchivalrous, sententious 
 phrase was wrought: 
 
 "A woman is only a woman, 
 But a good cigar is a smoke." 
 
 A colored maid glided in and glided out noiselessly. 
 Camilla poured tea from a silver teapot, and passed 
 wafers on a hand-painted china plate. She took her own 
 cup in one hand and a wafer in the other, then leaned 
 back comfortably. 
 
 "We're pretty cozy here," she said, "but I don't mind 
 telling you I'm tired of Betty. Things have not been 
 moving smoothly between us of late, and I told her this 
 morning she would have to get out. I've got a proposi- 
 tion to make to you, Frizzie : How would you like to leave 
 that dull, old hotel and come here with me ?" 
 
 I gazed at her in blank amazement. 
 
 "I mean that," she continued, not giving me a chance
 
 IN THE CURRENT 141 
 
 to speak. "Betty and I are through. I don't care for 
 some of the friends she's been running around with lately, 
 and I don't want to live here alone. You'd be perfectly 
 at home here, Frizzie, and we'll get this apartment into 
 some sort of decent shape. You can see what Betty's 
 made of it. All this gaudy truck is hers ; she's got no 
 taste, and I simply couldn't stand it a day longer. If she 
 could only sit on her temper she wouldn't be so bad. But 
 she lets it run away with her. She's too quick on the 
 jump. She doesn't deliberate like I do; and if you say 
 you'll come I'll have her move out to-morrow. She's 
 getting ready to move, anyway, so there's nothing that 
 stands in your way. Now what do you say ?" 
 
 "Why, Camilla, I never thought I don't know what 
 to say," I stammered. "It's very good and kind of you, 
 and the apartment is so much better than the hotel but 
 I can't afford it." 
 
 "I know how you feel," she said. "I can't afford it 
 that's the most detestable expression in the language; 
 and I don't mean that because you said it. / can't afford 
 it. I've often said that myself, and that's one of the 
 reasons I make the offer to you. I've grown past saying 
 that long ago, however, and some day you'll grow past it. 
 There's only one thing for girls like you and me to do, 
 and that's to follow the line of least resistance. It's what 
 the world expects us to do, and when we don't it won't 
 believe us. So what's the difference?" 
 
 "Why, Camilla," I exclaimed, "there's pain and sor- 
 row in your voice." 
 
 "I wouldn't be surprised if there were," she replied. 
 "Do you know, there are mornings when I wake up sur- 
 prised to find I have any feelings left. With you and me 
 this minute, Frizzie, it is a plain question of bread and 
 butter, and it's been that with me for four years now.
 
 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 You hardly can realize that yet. You never thought, no 
 more than I did, when you were at home where your 
 bread and butter came from; and you never thought 
 where your clothes and the roof over your head came 
 from. Well, you've got to think of those things when 
 you're alone in New York. Life in New York isn't 
 poetry to get the poetry you've got to be fed and dressed 
 for it ; and when that's done the chances are your soul will 
 be so hard you will want only diamonds." 
 
 "I know we could be friends and help each other, 
 Camilla," I cried, deeply moved by her earnestness ; and 
 only guessing at the significance of her words. 
 
 "Then it's settled between you and me," she responded. 
 "Betty will go, and you may come to-morrow." 
 
 "I'll tell you what I shall do, Camilla," I said. "I shall 
 ask Roy's advice." 
 
 "Yes, if I were you I should ask Roy," said Camilla 
 slowly. "Roy will advise you, I'm sure he will." She 
 lifted the teapot and reached for my cup. "You'll have 
 a Uttle more tea, Frizzie?" she asked, and added reflect- 
 ively: "Yes, you might ask Roy's advice, and you and I 
 will be here together to-morrow." 
 
 "Do you say that, Camilla, because you think Roy will 
 advise me to come to you ?" I asked. 
 
 "Of course, that is why I say it," she replied, rousing 
 herself. "What else could Roy advise, if he's got any 
 sense?" 
 
 I was prattling about the alterations I should make in 
 the room, when Betty came swinging in with Prince 
 Andrews at her heels. Betty dropped quickly into a chair 
 near the window. 
 
 "I didn't expect to find you here, Frizzie," she said, 
 "and I didn't as much as think certain people knew where 
 you were living."
 
 IN THE CURRENT 143 
 
 "There is more than one way for certain people to find 
 that out," said Camilla coldly. 
 
 "Oh, if any one's going to find out you may bet it won't 
 slip past Camilla," retorted Betty. 
 
 "Now, now, let us have only peace here," said An- 
 drews, stepping forward from near the door and bowing 
 before me. "Ah, my dear, Miss Frizzie, it delights my 
 heart to see you once again, all the more as this meeting 
 is so unexpected. I trust that when I call again you shall 
 be in your hotel, because it gave me acute disappointment 
 not to find you there yesterday and to-day." 
 
 "Quit with that line of hot air, Prince," ordered Betty. 
 "I didn't come here to listen to that ; I came here to talk 
 business." 
 
 "I must pay my compliments to this young lady," ob- 
 jected Andrews. 
 
 "You'll have to do that some other time," insisted Betty 
 angrily. "Go over there and sit on that couchj and not 
 a word from you till I get through talking." Andrews 
 hesitated. "I feel like ripping things up a bit," said Betty ; 
 and he went and sat on the divan. 
 
 "It's all off between you and me then, Camilla?" asked 
 Betty aggressively. 
 
 "Yes, it's all off, as you say," replied Camilla. 
 
 "Well, you couldn't get me to stay here another day 
 if you were to pay me for it," asserted Betty. "We can't 
 part too soon to suit me. I don't like people that think 
 they're too good for anybody else. Prince and I will get 
 along all right a sight better than you and he ever got 
 along. You can take Roy and welcome to him if you 
 think you have a ghost of a show to keep him from some- 
 body else, whose name I'm not mentioning now." 
 
 "I think I know who you mean, Betty," said Camilla
 
 144 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 quietly, "and I want you to understand you cannot speak 
 about her here or anywhere else in my presence." 
 
 "Oh, I can't, can't I, Miss Nifty?" retorted Betty. 
 Well, I'm not going to bother you; I'd rather talk to 
 Frizzie herself." She moved quickly in her chair and 
 faced me. "I had no better luck than Prince," she said. 
 "When I called in the hotel they said you were out, and 
 that they didn't know when you would return. That's the 
 worst of hotels you give them an order and it's in at 
 one ear and out at the other. When are you going to 
 leave that Old Hens' Roost?" 
 
 "Why I haven't thought of it yet, Betty," I replied at 
 once, and without thought to deceive her. 
 
 "Well, when you get ready to pack out of there, Friz- 
 zie, let me know. I rented a fine apartment just an hour 
 ago, and it's too big for one. Maybe you'd like to run 
 over and look at it." 
 
 "I say, Betty," interposed Andrews, "isn't that putting 
 it a little raw ?" 
 
 "Mind your business, Prince," said Betty sharply. "I 
 know what I'm talking about. It makes this place look 
 shiney, and you won't find a stick of old furniture in it. 
 All the truck I've got in here is going straight to the 
 second-hand store; and I'll have an apartment the way 
 I want it for the first time in my life. We could ride over 
 with Prince in a taxi, Frizzie; you'll come, won't you, 
 Prince?" 
 
 "Gladly, if you wish it, Betty," answered Andrews. 
 
 "Are you sure you've arranged to have your things 
 taken away this afternoon, Betty?" asked Camilla, with 
 cool deliberation. 
 
 "Thank heavens, I have," retorted Betty, "but that 
 isn't what I'm talking about. Will you take a run 
 around there, just to see what it looks like, Frizzie?"
 
 IN THE CURRENT 145 
 
 "Thank you, Betty," I said, "I don't care to go at 
 least, not to-day." 
 
 "Oh, very well, to-morrow or the next day will do as 
 well," she replied. "There's no hurry about it, and I'll 
 run down to the hotel and drive you up. You'll like it, I 
 know it's a little gem of a place." She arose hastily 
 and moved to the door. "Come on, Prince, the air around 
 here's too frigid to suit me." 
 
 "I'm glad you find it so," said Camilla, lying back 
 easily in her chair. 
 
 "I've had enough of you, all right," said Betty, trying 
 to be on her dignity. "You were mighty glad to have 
 me once, and you think there's nobody half as smart as 
 you are, but we'll see who's going to come out ahead in 
 this little game. Ta, ta !" she ended derisively, and made 
 her exit with a flourish. 
 
 "I'll say farewell for the present, Frizzie," said An- 
 drews with a bowj "and you also, Camilla." 
 
 "Oh, you needn't include me, Prince," said Camilla. 
 
 "Come on, Prince," sounded Betty's voice from the 
 hall. 
 
 "Hush," said Andrews with a finger on his lips, 
 "Betty's trying to ride me with spurs and a whip. But 
 you know, Camilla, you know." 
 
 "Yes, I know, Prince," said Camilla suggestively, "and 
 you had better be going." 
 
 "You're right there, Camilla," replied Andrews. "I've 
 got to humor her a bit." He went into the hall. "Go 
 ahead now, Betty," rang his voice. "Go ahead." 
 
 "No; go ahead yourself," came back from Betty 
 promptly. And in another moment the door was shut 
 with a bang.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 I RODE back alone to the hotel, and found Roy nervously 
 walking back and forth on the sidewalk. I led him 
 around the block, and told him of Camilla's plan and 
 invitation. At first he expressed doubt, but quickly he 
 approved of it. He even progressed to the point of 
 crediting Camilla with a "brilliant idea." He even went 
 so far as to persuade me, and the following afternoon he 
 came in his automobile and took me over to the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 On the way I broached the subject of work. He 
 glanced at me curiously; and bluntly said he knew a 
 theatrical manager who might be interested in me. 
 
 "Roy," I said with all the severity I could command, 
 "you have spoken of 'theatrical managers' several times, 
 and I tell you once for all I will not go on the stage." 
 
 We were at the door of the house where Camilla lived, 
 and he laughed as he assisted me to alight. "We shall 
 discuss that later," he said. "The first thing is to get you 
 settled. After that it will be time enough, and meanwhile 
 give my compliments to Camilla." I stood on the side- 
 walk while he rode off, and near the corner he looked 
 back and waved his hand to me. 
 
 Camilla received me with a kiss, and a pretense at an 
 embrace. She insisted upon taking off my hat with her 
 own hands, then led me into the parlor and showed me a 
 vase filled with flowers. 
 
 "Look at those beauties!" she said. "That's what 
 Roy thinks of you." 
 
 146
 
 IN THE CURRENT 147 
 
 "Roy sent those and to me?" I exclaimed in delight. 
 
 "Yes, Roy sent them," she replied, as if in regret. 
 
 "You didn't get any, Camilla?" I asked. 
 
 "Oh, that doesn't matter; I've had so many at one 
 time and another they have almost lost their charm for 
 me," she answered. "But let's sit down and have a 
 minute's chat. A lot has happened since I saw you 
 yesterday. Betty has cleared out, and I guess it's all 
 ended between us. She had her head in the air last 
 night, but I didn't mind. Only if she goes too far I'll 
 get her fired I stand in with the stage manager, and 
 she's been warned more than once. But we'll forget 
 Betty, and talk about yourself, Frizzie. If you've changed 
 your mind, you can get a chance down in the show now. 
 One of the girls is leaving she's going to be married. 
 You can't imagine how many girls leave the companies 
 to marry well. They have a better chance than other 
 girls to meet men able to support them, and you might 
 take a try at it. If you don't like the job, of course, 
 you can go somewhere else. That's one advantage of 
 having a free foot." 
 
 "Why, do you know, Camilla, I have never been in a 
 theatre ?" 
 
 "That's all the better," she replied with alacrity. "Ex- 
 perience doesn't count with a girl on the stage. What 
 they want is prettiness. I never knew a stage manager 
 to be interested in a chorus girl's brains. All they care 
 about a girl is for her face and her figure, and whether 
 she can wear good clothes. You needn't worry about 
 that, Frizzie, you'll get your chance at it, all right; and 
 then it's up to you to get on the best way you can. The 
 stage isn't a bed of roses, as some people think it is, 
 but it's fascinating just the same. I guess it's the only 
 place for you and me. Neither of us was born for real
 
 i 4 8 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 work ; by right we ought to be the wives of millionaires. 
 I guess we've got millionaire tastes, and that explains 
 it all. But you've got to take the New York millionaires 
 as you find them, and most of them are married." 
 
 "Roy isn't married," I asserted proudly. 
 
 "No, he's one that's without a wife-attachment." 
 
 "And Prince Andrews isn't married," I pursued. 
 
 "No, his marriage is a thing of the past," she re- 
 sponded. "Andrews married young, repented young, 
 and now he's growing old disgracefully." Camilla was 
 pleased with her attempt at humor. "That's nearly bad 
 enough to pass as a joke in musical comedy," she 
 laughed, and grew serious. "Why hasn't Roy taken you 
 to the theatre?" she asked. 
 
 "I don't know, Camilla." 
 
 "I guess it's because you haven't got those clothes 
 from Sylvie yet. Oh, you needn't look as if you feel 
 humiliated you've got to get used to that sort of thing. 
 A woman doesn't stand much chance in New York until 
 she's well dressed she doesn't stand any chance at all. 
 And what's a girl going to do? No man cares where 
 you get the clothes so long as you've got them. That's 
 all they care about, and if you haven't got them you may 
 rest yourself at home, for no man ever will come near 
 you." 
 
 "You mean to say, Camilla, it isn't so much myself 
 as the clothes I wear?" 
 
 Before Camilla could answer Betty appeared in the 
 door. She flung a key on the floor, and looked at me 
 in fury. 
 
 "I thought so!" she cried. "I thought this was what 
 was up, and I didn't give it away yesterday, did I? 
 There's your key for you for the both of you ! I took 
 it with me to come back just like this. I took the pre-
 
 IN THE CURRENT 149 
 
 caution of going down to the hotel first. No Frizzie 
 there ; and now I'm here on the stroke of the clock ! We 
 were up to the same trickery, Miss Camilla, but you 
 couldn't play in the open like I did you wanted to play 
 in the dark !" 
 
 "Stop!" commanded Camilla, rising and facing her. 
 "This is my apartment, and if you don't leave quietly I 
 will telephone downstairs and have you put out." 
 
 The threat added to Betty's wrath. She slammed the 
 door, and placed her back against it. "You won't do 
 anything of the kind, Camilla Delmont!" she shouted 
 defiantly. "Til leave this flat when I'm good and ready. 
 I'm going to speak what's on my mind first, and don't 
 either of you lay a finger on me or you'll get the worst 
 of it." 
 
 "You won't say anything here, Betty," said Camilla 
 sternly. 
 
 "I will say it," retorted the angry girl. "I'll say all I 
 want to say, and I'd like to see the one's going to stop 
 me." 
 
 Camilla's fingers closed on a book on the table. 
 
 "Go on, throw it," dared Betty. "Throw it, and I'll 
 make as big a wreck of you as I will of this room, and 
 of her sitting there." 
 
 She indicated me with a look of contempt, and I went 
 toward her. "Oh, Betty," I implored, "I thought we all 
 were friends." 
 
 "Friends? That's a good one," she retorted, and in 
 bitter reproach added: "Yes, we were friends, Camilla 
 and I, until you came along." 
 
 "You mustn't bring Frizzie into it," said Camilla. 
 
 "I will bring her into it !" cried Betty, and confronted 
 me in wild wrath. "It was you caused all the trouble. 
 We were all right until you came around. You, you;
 
 150 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 it's you that's done it, and do you know what I'm going 
 to do to you? You don't? Well, I'll open your eyes 
 I'll show you the little fool you are!" 
 
 "Don't be a simpleton, Betty," said Camilla. 
 
 "Not a simpleton, eh? Oh, you always were clever at 
 that, Camilla, but the time's past when you can wind 
 me round your finger. I've had my eyes opened just 
 as I'm going to open them for this little country inter- 
 loper." She stamped her foot at me. "What brought 
 you here, anyway? Why didn't you stay at home in the 
 cabbage patch where you belong? Why, I say?" 
 
 "I don't know, Betty," I replied, in complete bewil- 
 derment. 
 
 "Of course, you don't know. That's been you ever 
 since you started edging between Roy and me. You 
 don't know that Roy and I were as you and he are now, 
 do you ? You don't know that Camilla and Prince never 
 had a cross word until you blinded his eyes? No, you 
 don't; and you don't know Camilla and I have parted 
 and become enemies because each one of us has been 
 trying to keep on her feet and all because of you !" 
 
 "Please, Betty, don't go any further?" requested Ca- 
 milla impatiently. 
 
 "Yes, I will go further. It's not you I blame so much, 
 Camilla, as this kid that's such an angel which she 
 isn't." I put my hands to my face in shame, but she 
 went on as passionately as before. "You have great 
 ideas about all that's going to happen in New York! I 
 suppose you're thinking of becoming Roy's wife! A 
 nice, respectable one you'd be to come into millions that 
 way! But you'll get fooled, just as I got fooled. I 
 thought the same, and if Roy saw me in the gutter this 
 minute the most he'd do for me would be to hit me a 
 kick."
 
 IN THE CURRENT 151 
 
 "You mustn't say that," I almost screamed. "You 
 mustn't. Do you hear? You mustn't!" 
 
 "I'll say anything I like," she flared back. "Roy would 
 kick me, and the time will come when he'll be ready to 
 kick you. They all do it, and it'll be your turn when the 
 next pretty face like the one you've got now comes 
 along. Camilla knew what your face meant when she 
 saw it, and I knew, too. We didn't tell each other what 
 we were thinking, but we acted just the same. We knew 
 Roy and Prince thought they were smitten on you; we 
 knew neither of us stood a show. We've been too long 
 at this game not to know a man doesn't care a cent what 
 becomes of you when he's tired, and Camilla laid wires 
 and I laid wires. Roy couldn't start to pull you down 
 where he wanted you by getting you in a flat with me 
 for I was Roy's girl. Prince couldn't start to drag you 
 down with the help of Camilla because Camilla was 
 Prince's girl. And Roy and Prince were friends and 
 they couldn't come out in the open and cut each other's 
 throats over you. Camilla knew how the ground lay, 
 and I knew. She knew on which side her bread was 
 buttered, and I knew, too; and when she schemed with 
 Roy to get you I turned around and schemed with An- 
 drews. There's what it all is, you little innocent fool, 
 you! Did you think for a minute this apartment comes 
 from eighteen dollars a week in the chorus? What did 
 Camilla or I care for you? We cared just as much as 
 one girl cares for another. We cared just because we 
 were thinking of rent day, which comes one day every 
 month. We cared because we were thinking of a roof 
 over our heads, and a coat on our backs." 
 
 "Betty, Betty, I'll go away," I cried in anguish of 
 spirit. 
 
 "Go away!" she returned ironically. "Yes, you'll go
 
 152 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 away ! You'll go like the rest of us when you're carried 
 out feet first. What kind of a dream did you have when 
 Roy was spending his time and money on you? What 
 kind of a dream did you have when Prince Andrews 
 brought you flowers, and kept hanging around the hotel ? 
 If you hadn't been such a fool and stuck down in that 
 hotel you wouldn't be dreaming now, no, you wouldn't! 
 You'd have your eyes open so that you'd see Camilla and 
 I were bribed to get you." 
 
 "Camilla, you were bribed!" I exclaimed. 
 
 "I was not," answered Camilla quickly. "I meant all 
 for the best. Betty knows that." 
 
 "Yes, you meant it for the best!" railed Betty. "You 
 meant it for the best when you got me out of here and 
 got Frizzie in for the price Roy's paying you! But 
 I'm not going to let you pluck the plums while I go 
 hungry. If Prince's going to throw me down, I'll put 
 Roy in the way of throwing you down." 
 
 "I don't believe a word of all you have said," I as- 
 serted vehemently. "I don't believe that Roy or Prince 
 ever tried to deceive me, or that Roy ever was interested 
 in you." 
 
 "You don't! You don't!" cried Betty, almost in a 
 frenzy. "Here, I'll show you something! Look at the 
 backs of my hands my hands here that I hold out! 
 You see the rings on my fingers. Roy gave me those 
 every one of them that diamond, and opal, and pearl, 
 and ruby every one of them Roy gave me! Will you 
 believe that? You see this diamond brooch I'm wear- 
 ing? Roy gave me that. You see this comb set with 
 diamonds in my hair? Roy gave me that!" 
 
 "You never can make me believe it," I affirmed, my 
 voice quivering in emotion. 
 
 "Ask Camilla then. Ask Camilla where she got the
 
 IN THE CURRENT 153 
 
 rings she's wearing, and her brooches and her combs. 
 Ask her if Prince Andrews didn't foot the bills. Ask her 
 where all this furniture, this flat where you're going to 
 live comes from. But you don't have to know!" she 
 screamed. "You know already. Where did you get the 
 money for clothes from Sylvie?" 
 
 Camilla came forward. "I gave Frizzie the money for 
 that," she said. "If you wish you can make that part 
 of the plot." 
 
 "I'll let it go at that," replied Betty. "One lie's as 
 good as another." 
 
 I could endure it no longer. I sank into a chair, and 
 cried in bitterness keener than any I had felt in all my 
 life. 
 
 "The floodgates are up at last!" I heard Betty say. 
 "It's time for me to be going." 
 
 "I think it is time, Betty," said Camilla. 
 
 "Oh, very well, if you say so," sneered Betty, "only 
 tears won't mend what's happened to me." 
 
 She went out, and I felt Camilla's hand on my shoulder. 
 
 "Don't take on so, Frizzie," she said. "Not a word of 
 all she said is true." 
 
 "Don't touch me, please, Camilla," I said, rising. "I'm 
 going." 
 
 "Going! Where?' 
 
 "I'm going back to the hotel." 
 
 "Don't be a fool, Frizzie." 
 
 "I'm going." 
 
 "I suppose you think I'm contemptible?" she said, and 
 for the first time I detected emotion in her tone. 
 
 "I never thought of that, Camilla." 
 
 "Oh, yes, you did ; you're thinking it now," she replied. 
 ''You consider me your worst enemy, and maybe you're 
 right. I know when it's useless to argue. As Betty
 
 i 5 4 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 would say, 'the game's up,' and your're going to run 
 from me as if I were a leper. I don't blame you, Frizzie, 
 but before you go I wish to say a word." I looked at 
 her, and her lips quivered. "Not in my own defense, 
 either," she added, "although, God knows, there's some- 
 thing that might be said on that score. Sit down one 
 minute. Probably it's the last word ever will pass be- 
 tween us, and you've got time enough for that." 
 
 I did as she requested, and we faced each other across 
 the narrow table. She strained forward, and looked at 
 me intently. 
 
 "Blunt talk like Betty's is what is wanted now," she 
 said, "because you know, arid I know you know. You're 
 going, Frizzie, and you'll never come back; and when- 
 ever you think of me after this you'll shudder. You think 
 this very minute I'm one of the worst on earth ; you think 
 Betty's an angel compared to me. Maybe you're right, 
 but I'm not going to talk about Betty, and I'm not going 
 to defend myself, I say. 
 
 "Only this : Was I altogether wrong in what I did by 
 you when your running away from home and taking up 
 with Roy indicated that you wanted to go straight to 
 hell? That's not polite talk, is it? It doesn't strike me 
 as that, but it's just as polite as the truth will let it. 
 You're thinking I'm an awful sinner, but let me tell you 
 something : 
 
 "When I came to New York I wasn't out of a good 
 home like you are, and I wasn't filled with learning like 
 you. I didn't talk two or three languages, and I didn't 
 know the name of one poet from another. But that didn't 
 say I wasn't born to wish for the comforts or the luxuries 
 of life, or whatever you care to call them. I ran away 
 from a drunken father, and I worked down in a de- 
 partment store in Fourteenth Street until I couldn't stand
 
 IN THE CURRENT 155 
 
 it a day longer. I was getting my six dollars a week, 
 and paying my four dollars and fifty cents a week for 
 board. I walked three miles night and morning to save 
 ^rfare, and I went without lunch. At the end of six 
 months, when I wanted a pair of shoes, I still owed seven 
 dollars on a dress that I had bought on an installment 
 plan paying fifty cents a week and for all that I stood 
 ten hours a day on my feet six days in the week, and 
 took the ill-humor of women who wouldn't be satisfied, 
 and took the insolence of floorwalkers and other men, aye, 
 and took worse than that. And at the end of the six 
 months where were the things I longed for in my heart? 
 I did have a natural desire for men who were something 
 better, or acted better, than day laborers. I never could 
 go around cheap restaurants, and drink out of cups with- 
 out handles. I couldn't listen to the coarse, vulgar talk, 
 and I couldn't endure to have a man, with his hair parted 
 in the middle and his nails black and broken, snatch my 
 handkerchief and press it to his lips and press it to my 
 lips as he passed it back. It was worse than my home and 
 my drunken father, I tell you, and I went on the stage, 
 grabbing at it like a drowning person at a straw. And 
 for a time I was happy, and I was able to pay my board, 
 and to buy some clothes, and to ride in the street-cars. 
 You may think that's funny about riding in the street- 
 cars, but they were a luxury those days. Then one night 
 one of the girls asked me if I wouldn't go to supper with 
 her; that a friend of hers who had been sitting 'out 
 front' the night before, had seen me and liked me and 
 had asked her to bring me to meet him. The girl said 
 there was no harm in it, and I went and met Prince 
 Andrews. And he was so polite and courteous ; so dif- 
 ferent to all other men I had met, that I was carried away 
 with him. He never said a wrong word to me, but he sent
 
 156 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 cabs around for me to go out riding and take my girl 
 friends out; and he sent me flowers, and had me photo- 
 graphed, and took me here and there, and sent me a 
 diamond ring in a box of candy; and flattered me in a 
 hundred ways until I thought I was living in earnest and 
 my head was turned, and well, here I am now, Frizzie ! 
 
 "I could spit on Andrews; I despise him that much. 
 He turns to Betty, as if my feelings were torn to tatters, 
 as if I had no feelings left. He's right; I haven't any 
 feelings left, and it's lucky for me I haven't. Who cares 
 for me? I'm a nobody a worse than a nobody and 
 Andrews is respectable. If he were to die to-morrow 
 some preacher would grow eloquent over his grave. If 
 I were to die who would speak over my grave? Oh, 
 Frizzie, it's a strange world! If you're a man and you're 
 found out, it's all right; if you're a woman and you're 
 found out, it's all wrong. I wasn't grasping and avari- 
 cious, either, and, so help me God, Frizzie, if there was 
 one who would give me a chance there isn't another in 
 the world would be squarer than I'd be. You think I'm 
 cold and calculating, but I'm not. It's that I'm on the 
 defensive. I'm trying to hold up my head. I'm trying 
 to keep my feet from slipping any further. I'm trying 
 to hold on till a miracle may happen and I'll be safe. I'm 
 trying to stand up straight, and if the day ever comes 
 when I can do it I'll snap my ringers in the face of Roy 
 Wesson and Prince Andrews and tell them I'm stronger 
 than they ever can hope to be. But I'm fighting single- 
 handed. I've got to fight single-handed, because men 
 won't help me, and because women will treat me worse 
 than men as you'll treat me after this, Frizzie." 
 
 "Camilla, Camilla, I won't, I won't!" I cried, going to 
 the table and giving her an affectionate embrace. "But 
 I am going," I added.
 
 IN THE CURRENT 157 
 
 "Of course, you're going," was all she said. 
 
 Five minutes later I left her. She had not moved 
 from the chair, but her head had gone down until it 
 rested on the table between her outstretched arms. I 
 went up behind her. "Camilla?" I said. She raised a 
 tear-stained face. I kissed her, and with a great sob she 
 dropped her head between her arms again. I stole away, 
 and closed the door softly. 
 
 The elevator seemed to sink down through oppressive 
 gloom. But when I reached the street the sun was shin- 
 ing, and my spirits rose. My tears were dry. I stepped 
 out with more confidence than I had known before, and 
 almost smiling at the illusions which had lured me on.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 I FOUND my room in the hotel vacant, and it was like 
 a home-coming. I sat down to think of plans, and still 
 was puzzling when Winnie Caine called. We greeted 
 each other like long-lost sisters. She was sorry for hav- 
 ing parted from me in ill-humor ; I was sorry for having 
 merited her displeasure. We talked long and we talked 
 earnestly; and in the course of our conversation I con- 
 ceived a scheme, but I did not unfold it to her. 
 
 Winnie wished me to come to her home ; she wondered 
 why she had not thought of it before. I was delighted 
 with her offer, but I insisted upon delaying a final de- 
 cision two days. I had my plan, and I was not going 
 to abandon it ! 
 
 Winnie asked me to tell all that had happened, but I 
 refused. That brought us to a better and more friendly 
 footing. She was gratified I had learned at last, "to 
 keep my mouth shut." She told me every girl should 
 learn to do that, but that few learned, no matter what 
 their experiences. She was insistent, though, in asking 
 my reason for not taking my little satchel and accom- 
 panying her home forthwith. 
 
 "I shall tell you this much, Winnie," I said. "I am 
 going to be downright wicked. I have an account to 
 settle, and I am going to settle it . Instead of being shot 
 at, I am going to do some shooting myself. I know I 
 should not do it, yet I will do it as a concession to my 
 pride. I want to prove I am not totally devoid of brains ; 
 
 158
 
 IN THE CURRENT 159 
 
 I am going to scratch scratch just like a cat. Do you 
 think I could do that, Winnie?" 
 
 "I wouldn't want you to try being a cat on me," 
 she replied. "I'll bet you've got claws hidden under the 
 velvet." 
 
 "Well, that's what I intend," I said, "and two days, I 
 think, will be sufficient for my revenge." 
 
 She had gone only a few minutes when Roy called. 
 I received the news over the telephone from the hotel 
 office, and went down to meet him without the slightest 
 perturbation. I hurried to him with my hand held out, 
 and he did not seem to know what to make of it. 
 
 "I should like a short, brisk walk, Roy," I said. "Come, 
 let's go out." 
 
 When we had reached the street Roy could contain 
 himself no longer : "Hang it all, Frizzie," he said, "I've 
 done wrong, and I'm heartily ashamed of myself. Tell 
 me to go and jump in the river, and I'll do it." 
 
 "Camilla has told you I know all about your treach- 
 ery?" I suggested. 
 
 "Don't rub it in, Frizzie," he begged. "It's bad enough 
 as it is. I've been a cad. I've been such a cad I can't 
 even ask your forgiveness." 
 
 "Does your remorse come from the fact I discovered 
 your baseness before it was too late, Roy ?" I asked. 
 
 "Don't, don't, Frizzie!" he pleaded. "I'm so guilty I 
 haven't a word to say in my own defense." 
 
 "Roy, can you keep a secret?' I asked, and looked him 
 squarely in the eyes. My heart thumped violently, but 
 I'm sure I did not show it in my face. 
 
 "I could keep anything a secret for you, Frizzie," he 
 replied. 
 
 "Then I'll tell you, Roy," I said. "I didn't come away 
 from Camilla because I thought myself or wished myself
 
 160 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 any better than she is. I came away because I decided 
 I wouldn't let her into the secret. Do you understand?" 
 
 All the trouble passed from his looks. "Do I under- 
 stand?" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "Do I under- 
 stand ! Well, I guess, yes ! Say, Frizzie, you're a brick, 
 a real brick. I always knew there wasn't another except 
 yourself !" 
 
 Oh, the pity of it! I felt a desire to fly at him, but 
 I did not betray my feelings. "Camilla nor Betty must 
 never know, and you must keep it all from Andrews. 
 Swear to me that you never will speak." 
 
 "I swear to you on my honor, Frizzie," he replied. 
 
 "On your honor, Roy!" I responded. "I am satisfied 
 with that. And you never must whisper a word to Ca- 
 milla how I deceived her she thinks I'm an angel." 
 
 "I will never whisper it, Frizzie, depend on that." 
 
 "You're not surprised at what I have told you, Roy?" 
 
 "Why should I be surprised?" Lordy, no; I'm only 
 surprised at my luck by Jove, Frizzie, you'll never regret 
 this day." 
 
 "But, Roy," I pursued, without a quiver in my voice, 
 "I'm not what you imagine me to be. I'm very selfish, 
 and I'm jealous I'm jealous of all Camilla's got and of 
 all Betty's got. Why should they have such luxury while 
 I have to live in a dark, cramped room?" 
 
 "You don't think I'd let you stick in that hole of a 
 place?" assured Roy. "I'm not that kind; you'll find 
 nothing stingy about me." 
 
 "I'm going to test you first, Roy," I said. "You must 
 prove your sincerity. I have a weakness for nice things 
 I have a hunger, a passion for jewels, and I am envious 
 of Betty's. 
 
 "What, of those?" he replied. "They're only cheap 
 baubles, and you shall have twice as many and twice as
 
 IN THE CURRENT 161 
 
 valuable. But first of all, there's Sylvie's bill. There's 
 no use trying further to keep under cover it's to be open 
 dealing and truth between us now, Frizzie. I confess I 
 inspired Camilla to take you to Sylvie." 
 
 "Yes, Roy, and I suppose Andrews inspired Betty to 
 the same purpose." 
 
 "The dog!" said Roy. "He took up with her, did he! 
 He took up with her took up with her to play foul by 
 me and to play foul by you, Frizzie. I'll teach him. 
 The dog!" 
 
 "You mustn't be so severe, Roy," I said. 
 
 "Why shouldn't I," he replied, "when the friend you 
 trust turns around and tries to stick a knife in your 
 back? But you didn't go with her, did you?" he asked 
 anxiously. 
 
 "No, Roy." 
 
 "That's what I might expect of a girl like you I tell 
 you, Frizzie, you're a winner with me, a clean winner." 
 
 "Betty found out I had gone to Sylvie. She chided 
 me with it in that awful scene this afternoon." 
 
 "Oh, you can't keep anything secret when you mix 
 up with girls like Camilla and Betty," said Roy. "I 
 suppose some friend of Camilla's or of Betty's saw you 
 together. Sylvie never would utter a word but what's 
 the difference? We're on another course now, and it's 
 all clear sailing ahead." 
 
 "It is clear sailing ahead, Roy," I said in a voice lifted 
 in elation. "There's only one thing I wish to do now." 
 
 "What's that?" he asked eagerly. 
 
 "Return to the hotel and write to Winnie Caine telling 
 her never to interfere with me again." 
 
 "I second you in that, Frizzie," assented Roy. "Get 
 rid of all of them ; wipe the slate clean." 
 
 "Yes, yes, Roy," I said, and left him hurriedly. I
 
 1 62 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 ran along the corridor to my room, and hid my face in 
 the pillow. I was afraid to look in the mirror I dreaded 
 the sense of humiliation I should see imprinted there. 
 I never had thought I could be so bold. I was amazed, 
 horrified at myself. Yet, having started, I was determined 
 to go on. So I arose and turned the leaves of the tele- 
 phone directory until I came to the name of Prince An- 
 drews. I called him up, and arranged to meet him within 
 twenty minutes. 
 
 I met him in a Broadway candy shop, where they serve 
 ice cream sodas and hot chocolate at a marble counter 
 or at tables in the rear. We went to a quiet table; a 
 girl with a step-ladder pompadour brought us strawberry 
 sodas, and then I dealt with Andrews as I had dealt with 
 Roy. I prided myself on the ease with which I did it. 
 I should have been ashamed, still neither Andrews nor 
 Roy deserved consideration. I could see the malicious 
 gleam grow in Andrews' eyes. I could see the gloating 
 and the pride in the victory he thought to be his. I did 
 not stop for truth, or anything; and really I was elated 
 over the imposing structure of falsehood I raised. Why 
 quibble over a slight question of veracity with such a 
 man as Andrews? I tried to fix myself like Betty or 
 Camilla, or others I had seen ; with my elbows on the 
 table and my chin caught against the backs of my partly- 
 closed hands. I gave a tilt to my hat, and assuming a 
 perfectly reckless expression, delivered my story with 
 gullible tongue. Part of my crime herewith is set forth : 
 
 "Oh, Prince, Prince, I've seen the last of Roy and I am 
 yours because I recognized from the first it was to be. I 
 dismissed Roy ; I sent him away with the order never to 
 come near me again. And he won't. I hurt his vanity. 
 I told him he was too much of a kid, and that's just what 
 he is. Prince."
 
 IN THE CURRENT 163 
 
 "You want a stable person like me, Frizzle," said 
 Andrews, and the malicious self-satisfaction showed in 
 every line and wrinkle in his face. As if under any cir- 
 cumstances I ever could care for such a man ! Dishonesty 
 was stamped all over Andrews, but over that was a 
 veneer of what was called "good breeding." It took only 
 a little scratching to find the scoundrel in Andrews, and 
 I uncovered him with a will that day. I talked to him 
 far more freely than I had talked to Roy, because he was 
 so unimaginative he always was hinting at his sense of 
 humor. So I went on : 
 
 "I never cared for Roy, and I never will. I've been 
 engaged in a magnificent plot. I've been trying my wits 
 against Roy and Betty and Camilla and yourself, Prince. 
 I played the innocent kid when you brought me the 
 roses; when you sent Betty to run me into debt for 
 clothes so that you might extricate me ; I played the same 
 game when Betty wished me to share that apartment with 
 her. Oh, you are the lot of simpletons, Prince ! Instead 
 of finding myself wound around your fingers, I have you 
 all wound on my little finger." 
 
 "You've made us look foolish, all right, Frizzie," ad- 
 mitted Andrews. 
 
 "That's what I have, Prince, and now it's up to you 
 to make good. You've played the game and lost, and 
 I'm going to make you a present of the stakes. What 
 say you? Together we shall sing and dance." I could 
 not restrain the impulse to become extravagant he was! 
 so easy a victim ! "I shall be a princess and you shall 
 be my prince, Prince. You shall live out your name 
 a Prince indeed you'll be !" 
 
 "I wouldn't object much to that," said Andrews, "but 
 titles are barred in this country." 
 
 I folded my wings and dropped my feet on solid earth.
 
 1 64 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "Now, Prince, I'll tell you these are the conditions : A 
 home there must be a home even as good or better than 
 Camilla's or Betty's. Oh, Prince, before you get through 
 with me, you'll think I'm frightfully expensive and 
 jewels must come first! Are you frightened? No? 
 You're right in thinking that far better to have it over 
 and done with than trailing along indefinitely. Then, 
 jewels it is! One ring, one brooch, two rings, two 
 brooches no, I won't be hard, I'll leave that to you, 
 Prince. Only, the jewels first as an evidence of good 
 faith." 
 
 The fellow dared to slip his hand over mine. I shud- 
 dered, but I bore it. 
 
 "You shall have anything your charming little heart 
 desires," he said. 
 
 "Thank you; thank you, Prince," I said rising, for I 
 could not endure his hand on mine a moment longer. 
 "I'll give you two days to prove it." 
 
 I left him hurriedly as I had left Roy. The two inter- 
 views and the two partings had been substantially alike, 
 the only difference being temperamental between Roy 
 and Andrews. I ran along the corridor again to my 
 room ; again I hid my face in the pillow. But only for a 
 moment. The ridiculous side of the situation struck me, 
 and I sat up on the side of the bed and laughed until the 
 tears came. Honestly I did, and thus I saw that comedy 
 and tragedy are twin sisters.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE following afternoon two packages were delivered 
 by special messengers, one from Roy and one from An- 
 drews. I lifted the lids and two cards fell out I let them 
 lie on the floor, and placed the boxes with their glistening 
 contents side by side on the table. 
 
 It would be false of me to say I was not a little im- 
 pressed. Oh, girls, girls, have we not a hard fight against 
 our vanities ! I could feel my heart quickening up, just 
 because there was enough of the barbaric in me to covet 
 the lot. I was not angelic, far from it. I took all the 
 rings, slipped them on my fingers, and held up my hands 
 and examined the effect from every possible angle. It 
 was beautiful ! And no doubt of it : My hands were made 
 for rings! My slender, tapering fingers did not flaunt 
 them forth like the stubby fingers of Betty; they were 
 more refined to the use than the bloodless fingers of 
 Camilla. I could see that plainly, as I gazed upon my 
 gem-laden fingers in the light of the window; and as I 
 gazed it was not so easy for me to resist. Oh, Betty and 
 Camilla! As I stood there in my uncertainty I came to 
 know you better. Whatever the cause, a wave of sym- 
 pathy swept us three together, and deep down in my 
 heart a voice called that you were my sisters. If only 
 heaven drew near and dazzled like that ! 
 
 I had shaken off temptation before Winnie was an- 
 nounced over the telephone. I requested that she come 
 upstairs to me, and left the plush-covered boxes open on 
 
 165
 
 1 66 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 the dressing-table. She saw the jewels the moment I 
 opened the door, and her smile faded. She stepped over, 
 glanced at the cards, which I had picked up, and turned 
 on me. 
 
 "So this is the price ?" she said. 
 
 "Yes, that is the price, Winnie," I replied. 
 
 "And you're not coming home with me?" 
 
 "Of course I am, Winnie." 
 
 "With these?" 
 
 "Oh, no." 
 
 "What are you coming with, then?" 
 
 "I can't tell you now, Winnie, but I will tell you when 
 I come." 
 
 "I don't know that I ever want you to put a foot inside 
 our door," she said, her voice filled with bitter scorn. 
 "But Six Pond Street is the number, and drop in some- 
 time when you want to tell me about it only don't come 
 around with any of these things on." 
 
 "I will tell you now, Winnie," I said. "Let me ex- 
 plain." 
 
 She went to the door. "Explain ! I don't care to hear 
 any explanation. You're out for yourself. Make the 
 best of it. And if that's the price, you're selling your- 
 self cheap. Make them go deeper. Stick them both for 
 a diamond dog-collar and a six-cylinder automobile. Do 
 it quick, too, for now's your only chance. It won't come 
 so easy when the bloom is off your cheek." 
 
 She pulled the door firmly behind her. I made a note 
 of her address, and went uptown to Mme. Sylvie's. I 
 paid her in full out of my little store, and had the frock 
 and cloak sent after me to the hotel. I looked over the 
 theatrical advertisements in a newspaper, telephoned to 
 Roy, and told him I wished to go to the first performance 
 that night of "A Warrior Bold." He hesitated until
 
 IN THE CURRENT 167 
 
 I told him bluntly I had received garments for evening 
 wear, then he became willing and enthusiastic. I tele- 
 phoned to Andrews and told him also I wished to see "A 
 Warrior Bold." When Andrews telephoned an hour and 
 a half later that he had obtained tickets I insisted I could 
 not stir from my room because of a headache. 
 
 Roy called for me with a carriage. I had been ar- 
 rayed an hour, and I went down to meet him possessed 
 of a feeling of intense gratification. I felt my power. 
 I beamed upon Roy. I played with him as a cat with a 
 mouse. He was in ecstasy over my appearance. He 
 avowed I was more than pretty. I held my head high ; 
 I accepted his adoration as a matter of course. 
 
 "The rings and the bracelet and the brooch and the 
 watch are beautiful, Roy," I said, "but you understand 
 why I do not wish to wear a single one of them to- 
 night?" 
 
 "I understand, and you are perfect in everything," he 
 responded. "There are so few women of taste it is a 
 delight to be with you, Frizzie. You look infinitely 
 sweeter without those disfiguring things." 
 
 "You will let me keep them, though, Roy, to gratify 
 the barbarian in me?" 
 
 "That's not fair, Frizzie.. I've put that little gift out 
 of my mind, and never want to speak or think of it 
 again. Let us talk about something more interesting." 
 
 "Let us talk," I said taking him up, "about the restaur- 
 ants we have frequented in the evenings, and which you 
 deceived me were the very best." 
 
 "Please, let up on a fellow, Frizzie," he pleaded, evi- 
 dently hurt. 
 
 "We must uncover every truth before we go further, 
 Roy," I said. "It wasn't my 'wit and beauty' altogether, 
 now was it? Wit and beauty count for little until they
 
 1 68 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 are in the proper setting is that what I am to suppose? 
 The frame is of more importance than the picture; the 
 woman in New York is not to be judged by her face, but 
 by her clothes is that it, Roy?" 
 
 "Oh, I know I'm a cad, Frizzie, but it isn't all as bad 
 as you think. It looks blacker against me because you've 
 found me out. Oh, I tell you there are other things you'll 
 find out. You've been thinking, perhaps, I'm stronger 
 than other men. Well, now that you've torn so much 
 of the mask off me, I'll tell you I'm weaker than other 
 men. I'm weaker than Norman. I'm as weak as the 
 world around me ; I'm puny, and mean, and cramped just 
 like the life I lead. But I'll say this, Frizzie : If Norman 
 and I were to change places, he would be weak and I 
 would be strong. Don't be too hard on me; you can't 
 imagine what it means to fight temptation every day and 
 every hour." 
 
 "I don't agree with what you say about Norman," I 
 said. 
 
 "You think I'm the stronger, Frizzie? Then you do 
 still hold a little faith in me? Oh, that's fine; that's 
 bully ! I was afraid you might be thinking of returning 
 to Covey because of all I've said and done." 
 
 The carriage drew up outside the theatre. "Here we 
 are, Roy," I said excitedly. "Don't spoil this evening for 
 me. Come, come, I promise you I never will go near 
 Covey again. Let's live to-night, Roy!" I pressed his 
 hand wilfully as I stepped out, and I was surprised as I 
 looked at him to see red rise in his cheeks. We moved 
 in with a stream of laughing, animated men and women, 
 and the spirit of light and life thrilled me. We went up 
 a narrow stairs to a balcony box. The asbestos fire- 
 curtain had not been raised. A few musicians were
 
 IN THE CURRENT 169 
 
 yawning in the orchestra pit, and Roy directed my atten- 
 tion to the audience sweeping down the aisles. 
 
 "Look there, Frizzie," said Roy. "You see that tall, 
 divine-looking creature gliding down the center aisle. 
 Can't you see! the one with that man-mountain in the 
 background. That's the one. Now watch. They'll take 
 the two aisle seats to the right in the front row. They're 
 regular first-nighters ; the same seats always are reserved 
 for them." 
 
 "She's magnificent," I said in a subdued tone. 
 
 "Of course, she's magnificent," replied Roy. "See, there 
 they go into the seats as I said they would. That mag- 
 nificent creature gets all her frocks from Paris. That 
 pearl necklace she's wearing cost seventy-five thousand 
 dollars if it cost a cent. She probably has about fifteen 
 thousand dollars on her fingers and another fifteen thou- 
 sand dollars in her hair." 
 
 "I feel very small, Roy," I said. 
 
 "Oh, humbug, the woman's got no imagination!" he 
 responded. "Look at the size of the hand that man-moun- 
 tain has dropped over the arm of his chair. It would 
 make a decent-sized ham. Look at the diamonds he's 
 wearing. When diamonds are thrown around carelessly 
 like that you may depend there's grossness goes with 
 them." 
 
 "How could she ever marry him, Roy?" I asked. 
 
 "Marry him !" repeated Roy, and laughed. 
 
 "Do tell me what it is, Roy," I said, "or I shall be 
 thinking dreadful things." 
 
 "You can't think things too dreadful to fit that kind 
 of living in New York," he replied. 
 
 "She's not his wife, then?" I persisted. 
 
 "I won't say she's not," responded Roy, "and I will say 
 I have some sympathy for her. She married an English
 
 170 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 army officer one of those officers one remove from a 
 title. She married for love; the officer married for 
 money, and when he found she had only her beauty he 
 deserted her." 
 
 "He didn't love her !" I exclaimed, genuinely shocked. 
 
 "Love her !" echoed Roy. "All the love she's ever 
 known has come from that roly-poly at her side. He was 
 in Paris when it happened, and he heard she was almost 
 penniless, and sent her back to her parents. There's a 
 big heart in him when you want a big heart you're safe 
 in picking the man who wears diamonds for buttons on 
 his waistcoat. But that's aside from the case naturally 
 the man-mountain looked her up when he returned from 
 abroad, naturally she was grateful, and, without going 
 any further, there they are before you." 
 
 "But that doesn't happen often to be deserted in 
 Europe on the honeymoon?" I asked, fearing for the 
 safety of my castle in the air. 
 
 "No, not often," replied Roy slowly, "because un- 
 fortunately the majority of our girls who marry 
 foreigners have money." 
 
 "Are there any others, Roy, who have had such a 
 dreadful experience ?" 
 
 "She doesn't think it dreadful," answered Roy. "At 
 least, not now. You haven't got a focus on New York 
 yet. You see that sour-faced woman trotting down the 
 aisle with the round-shouldered youth at her heels ? Look 
 there! The woman and the man following her obedi- 
 ently like a trained poodle!" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I see, the old woman and the young man 
 like mother and son!" 
 
 "Like husband and wife," said Roy. 
 
 "How could that be?" I asked in astonishment.
 
 IN THE CURRENT 171 
 
 "Easy enough. Divorce," answered Roy. "He's her 
 fourth husband." 
 
 "Fourth!" I repeated incredulously. 
 
 "No. i was divorced, No. 2 was divorced, No. 3 was 
 divorced," said Roy, "and for all I know there may be 
 a divorce in pickle for No. 4. But No. 4 that's the 
 poodle doesn't care. Before Mrs. Somebody- Somebody- 
 Somebody promised to honor and obey him she settled 
 ten thousand dollars a year for life on him. If she took 
 a fancy for a No. 5 that would provide for the discarded 
 No. 4 until he'd bargained his youth to another of New 
 York's rich old women." 
 
 "What has become of the husbands that have gone?" 
 I asked. 
 
 "Married again," replied Roy. "Mismated couples 
 here in New York are so impatient they can hardly 
 wait for divorce to rush into wedlock again." 
 
 "What do the children do?" I asked, unable to re- 
 strain my curiosity. 
 
 "Children? Ho, ho!" said Roy derisively. "If I were 
 to meet one of those women of millions wheeling a baby 
 carriage in Fifth Avenue I'd call a policeman. I'd be 
 certain she'd gone into the East Side, or some other 
 normally populous part of the city, and turned kidnap- 
 per." 
 
 "It shocks me to hear you talk so lightly, Roy," I said 
 in real sincerity. 
 
 "It shocks me," he replied, "but you couldn't imagine 
 how that woman came to marry No. I ? Her father 
 was a faro dealer out West. He straightened up and 
 went prospecting. He struck silver, died a United States 
 senator, and left his daughter fifteen or twenty millions. 
 She had more suitors than she could count. She sent for 
 the whole pack of would-be capitalists. She wrote their
 
 172 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 names on slips of paper, and dropped the slips into an 
 Egyptian jar. 'Boys/ she said, 'the law prevents me 
 marrying all of you the one whose name I draw is the 
 one.' She reached into the jar, took out a slip, read the 
 name, and that same afternoon eloped with the winner 
 of the lottery. You see, she was something of a gambler 
 like her father." 
 
 "They really eloped?" I gasped. 
 "Certainly," responded Roy. "And she laughs to-day 
 and tells No. 4 it was the romantic prank of an unso- 
 phisticated girl." 
 
 "This is what is called life in New York, Roy?" 
 "It's one side of New York life," replied Roy. "Only 
 one the side you usually find at a New York first-night. 
 Look there, Frizzie! In the center aisle again enter 
 the gay broker brigade ! And there's the banker brigade 
 escorting the adventuring-actress brigade oh, they're 
 coming so fast now I can't distinguish between them for 
 you. But I'll run over a few there's the wigmaker 
 brigade, the dressmaker brigade, the millinery brigade, 
 the shirtmaker, tailor, gambling-house keeper, restaurant- 
 keeper, wine agent, song-writer, divorce-lawyer and 
 grafting-politician brigades. Oh, I tell you, the New 
 York first-night audience is a social paradise." 
 
 "It is all so different from what I had imagined, Roy." 
 "I know it," he replied. "The honest shopkeepers and 
 their wives come here from Chicago and St. Louis and 
 Kansas City once a year, and they go to a first-night and 
 pick out this one as a Vanderbilt and that one as an 
 Astor, and think they're having a giddy time. If there's 
 any culture at a New York first-night it's never noticed 
 in a back seat. . . . But there goes the curtain. Now 
 watch : There'll be a blizzard and icicles for two acts 
 and then in the last act June roses."
 
 IN THE CURRENT 173 
 
 Roy was right. For two acts trouble grew. For two 
 acts the Fates visited distraction upon the hero and the 
 heroine. For two acts these two were chilled by cruel 
 winter the north wind howled, the snow whirled in 
 fury, the frost bit to the marrow, all Nature was unkind ! 
 Then, presto ! the birth of spring, the buds breaking into 
 leaf on the trees and in the hedgerows, the sparrows twit- 
 tering in the eaves, the robin redbreast hopping on vel- 
 vety lawn, the snowdrop peeping, the daffodil lifting its 
 golden head ! Again, presto ! and summer is here sum- 
 mer, with the droning bees flitting from petal to petal 
 sipping the nectar up; summer, with the cool streams 
 rippling in their rocky beds, with the hills rearing their 
 wooded crests to the azure sky, with the lowing kine 
 browsing in the verdant valleys, with the sun going down 
 like a ball of fire in the west, with the moon rising like 
 silver in the east, with the fireflies lighting their myriad 
 lamps under the shadowy elms ; summer, with the shades 
 of night falling, and, at last, the hero and the heroine 
 meeting at the rustic stile to pledge eternal love while 
 the world stands still to listen! 
 
 So it ran, and I sat there new to it all and was deeply 
 impressed. I joined in the laughter and the applause, 
 and, upon my word, I caught several tears on my cheeks 
 on the end of a timid finger. The author came out, and 
 there were cries of "Speech, Speech." I pitied the poor 
 man. He said: "I thank you for your splendid recep- 
 tion in behalf of the company and myself. I thank you, 
 I thank you, I thank you ; from the bottom of my heart, 
 I thank you." Between the acts the orchestra was almost 
 drowned by the babble of voices. Men went up and down 
 the aisles. Small boys in tight uniforms served water 
 to the women. Roy leaned forward in his chair and 
 bowed and smiled to this one and that one. He leaned
 
 174 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 back and told me that Prince Andrews and Betty Collins 
 were in seats almost directly below us. Half a dozen 
 men came up the narrow stairs, and were introduced by 
 Roy, and talked about the play and the "hit" it was. 
 Women fixed me through opera glasses, and I bore their 
 scrutiny without wavering. With a final burst of ap- 
 plause the performance came to an end. I went down 
 the stairs ahead of Roy, and in the crush at the bottom 
 I almost collided with Betty. Andrews saw me and 
 looked as if thunderstruck. Betty turned to him. 
 
 "What did I tell you, Prince?" she said significantly. 
 "Maybe you'll believe what I tell you now." 
 
 "Hello, Andrews," said Roy, without a sign of the 
 enmity he felt. "Are you not going to speak to a fel- 
 low?" 
 
 "Come on, Prince," said Betty imperatively. "You 
 know who are your friends, all right." 
 
 She deliberately pressed Andrews before her, and he 
 seemed not unwilling to go. 
 
 "What's the matter with you, Betty?" asked Roy. 
 "How is it you're not on to-night with 'The Golden Bells' ? 
 Playing hookey again, I suppose?" 
 
 She looked back for a moment. "I'm not playing 
 hookey, thank you," she replied tartly. "I've got your 
 angel child that's with you to thank for seeing the show. 
 Miss Angel Face set Camilla on me, and that's why I'm 
 here. Camilla had the pull, and I'm out of 'The Golden 
 Bells' if the news will do you any good. . . . Come 
 on, Prince; this is no place for you and me." 
 
 Roy and I dismissed Betty and Andrews from our 
 thoughts. We drove to a restaurant in Broadway near 
 Forty-second street, and I looked around upon a mid- 
 night picture of gay New York. What was the picture ? 
 In its heavy lines, good clothes, good food, good wine
 
 IN THE CURRENT 175 
 
 and plenty of it ! There was much laughter and it was 
 insincere. There was a constant babble of voices and 
 the sound meant nothing. Men and women alike lolled 
 with elbows on tables. Against the gold ceiling pressed 
 a haze of cigarette smoke. Screened by a fence of palms 
 an orchestra sent out the alluring strains of "Has Any- 
 body Here Seen Kelly?" 
 
 At the table next to ours a youth poured wine until a 
 glass overflowed and a stream started across the table- 
 cloth and trickled to the floor. At another table a man 
 well on to middle-life tried to hang rings of smoke on the 
 tip of the tilted nose of a girl of seventeen or eighteen. 
 At another table a bulgy-eyed, red-faced, thick-necked, 
 bald-headed man slipped a ring from a young woman 
 with her hair so blonde that it almost shrieked, and hold- 
 ing it up on the end of a fat, chubby little finger, insipidly 
 declared, "Now we're married !" At still another table a 
 languid beauty calmly opened her gold vanity box and 
 powdered her nose. 
 
 "There's a newcomer in the corner," said Roy. "She 
 won't be so shrinking and demure in a month." 
 
 "Perhaps I look shrinking and demure, Roy," I sug- 
 gested. 
 
 "I wish you would not persist in misunderstanding 
 me, Frizzie," he replied with some impatience. "You 
 know when I spoke I never thought of you, and could 
 not think of you in that connection." 
 
 "I did not mean to offend you, Roy," I said. "It was 
 only that I was a little curious." 
 
 "Just sounding me, that's all, isn't it?" retorted Roy 
 with returning good-nature. 
 
 "Yes, I confess that's it." 
 
 "I like you because you are so contrary, Frizzie," said 
 Roy, leaning far across the table. "Have you guessed
 
 176 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 there are a score of men I know here that are only wait- 
 ing for a nod from me to come over and meet you ? But 
 I won't nod to them ; I'm going to be selfish and keep 
 you all to myself. I won't let any of them come over 
 here to contaminate you or me this is our night, Frizzie. 
 That's what it is ! and are you going to keep me to that 
 pledge against one little drop ? I'll keep it if you say so 
 but to-night's our night, Frizzie." 
 
 "Have you kept your pledge, Roy ?" I asked. 
 "No, I haven't," he answered boldly, "and I was just 
 about to tell you so. I had one drink to-day, one yesterday 
 and one the day before yesterday. That's all, Frizzie ; and 
 now you and I will have one little drop and then we'll 
 start off even on the prohibition game. We'll only split a 
 pint of Red Seal ; and we'll turn down our glasses when 
 they're empty and swear never to touch liquor again." 
 "How many times have you promised, Roy?" I asked. 
 "Oh, a couple of score of times, I guess," he replied, 
 "but I'm in dead earnest this time, and you'll find out 
 that I am." 
 
 "Drink, Roy, drink, if you desire it," I said, "only don't 
 ask me to drink with you." 
 
 "You mean that, Frizzie it is our night, then ! Here, 
 waiter !" 
 
 The smoke grew thicker; the babble of voices grew 
 
 louder ; the laughter grew more insincere and hollow ; the 
 
 orchestra played, "I Wonder Who's Kissing Her Now." 
 
 "Roy," I said, "you have emptied your glass several 
 
 times, and you have not turned it down." 
 
 "Neither I have, but why should I, Frizzie? Now, 
 why should I ? We're only young once, and when we're 
 young let us enjoy ourselves." He filled up the glass 
 again, and raised it to me. "Here's to you, Frizzie, and 
 there's not another girl in the world I'd have sitting there
 
 IN THE CURRENT 177 
 
 but you. This is the last time, and you see I know how 
 to take care of myself. I've taken care of you, haven't 
 I ? I've kept those wasters away, haven't I ? Of course, 
 I have they daren't come over here till I give the sign, 
 and I won't give the sign! They may go to the devil 
 for all I care they're wasters the whole lot of them. 
 You see that red-headed fellow over there trying to keep 
 his head off his breast. Well, he's only twenty-five, and 
 you see what he is. His old man has got forty or fifty 
 millions, and the boy's got fifty thousand a year pin 
 money and that isn't enough ; he borrows from his 
 mother and never pays her back. That same fellow 
 wanted to marry my sister May, but you bet, father sent 
 him out of the house on the double-quick; and May had 
 a hand in it, too. May agreed with father there wouldn't 
 be a drunken waster in our family and they're all 
 wasters that want to come over to this table and break 
 wine with you, Frizzie! But I won't let them; I'll keep 
 the ghouls at a safe distance ! No one will harm a hair 
 in your head, Frizzie, and they can all go their own way 
 and we'll go ours. That's right we'll go our way, Friz- 
 zie. It's just you and me, Frizzie; just you and me, my 
 little charmer." 
 
 Roy reached out a hand toward me, and I drew back. 
 
 "Pardon me, Frizzie, I forgot," he said. "It's the 
 wine. Isn't wine the funny thing for making men forget 
 themselves !" 
 
 Roy nodded his head in seriousness for a few moments, 
 then his flushed face broadened in a smile of satisfaction. 
 
 "I knew all along I wasn't mistaken in you, Frizzie. 
 You're the brick I always thought you to be. You won 
 me that afternoon on the knoll. You remember that 
 afternoon? Wasn't it glorious there, dreaming, the two 
 of us. You were wise never to marry that stick Clark.
 
 178 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 You've too much imagination for him, Frizzie. He'd 
 weight you down so that you never could rise to reaching 
 distance of a cloud. We'll get along all right, and you'll 
 never regret what you've done. I'll stick by you, and 
 you'll stick by me I tell you we're a pair of trumps, we 
 are, Frizzie! What do we care for the rotters here? 
 They're old players ; they're hardened you couldn't crack 
 the shells on them with a hammer. No, you couldn't, 
 but with you and me it's different, Frizzie we're just 
 learning to fly! It's great to find a girl like you that 
 has never tasted liquor. I was praying you wouldn't 
 poison your breath with it to-night, and you didn't 
 oh, the good sort you are! I admire you more than I 
 can tell, Frizzie. By heaven! if it wasn't for what the 
 mater would say, do you know what I'd do, Frizzie? 
 I'd marry you, that's what I'd do." 
 
 "We will go, Roy," I said firmly, and without feeling 
 the slightest emotion. 
 
 "Go where ?" he said. "Back to that hotel? Not much. 
 You heard what I said, Frizzie? I meant that; by God, 
 I meant it, and we'll be married yet." He struck the 
 table with his open hand. "I meant what I said, Frizzie," 
 he repeated, and suddenly he threw back his head and 
 laughed loudly. "We'll get married, Frizzie," he said. 
 "In the sweet by and by, we'll get married." 
 
 "You must take me back to the hotel," I said. 
 
 "Oh, if you want it that way, Frizzie, I'm agreeable. 
 I don't forget my promise two days it was, and the 
 two days are up to-morrow. Hasten to-morrow." 
 
 We drove rapidly through streets now deserted save 
 for an occasional belated vehicle like our own. Roy 
 alighted before me, and when I gave him my hand he 
 held it fast. On the sidewalk he attempted to draw me 
 to him.
 
 IN THE CURRENT 179 
 
 "Don't you think I deserve a kiss by this time?" he 
 said in a low, determined tone as I resisted. "Yes, I do. 
 Kiss me." 
 
 But I pulled myself free, and fled from him.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 HARDLY had I entered my room than the telephone 
 rang, and, as I anticipated, it was Andrews. I was pre- 
 pared for him, for just such a conversation was part of 
 my plot. 
 
 "Oh, Frizzie, Frizzie, I'm almost heartbroken," he 
 lamented. "I thought you would be in Rector's, and three 
 times I have left Betty fuming at the table to telephone 
 to you. I suppose it's all off now, and you've given me 
 so much the worst of it, you know." 
 
 "Not at all, Prince," I said gaily. "Can't you reason 
 it out? I'm piling disappointment upon Roy for to- 
 morrow. He will wake up to find the little bird flown." 
 
 "You mean that, Frizzie?" asked Andrews, as if tak- 
 ing hope. 
 
 "Certainly, I mean it," I said. "You saw I didn't wear 
 one of the rings, or the bracelet or the brooch or the 
 watch and I must thank you now for all of them, 
 Prince. They are beautiful, beautiful ; and I only trust 
 you think I am deserving of them." 
 
 "Cheap baubles! You just wait, Frizzie! I'll pay you 
 a tribute that will mean something when we know each 
 other better." 
 
 "You could not guess what I am doing now, Prince? 
 I have the rings on my fingers, the bracelet on my wrist, 
 the brooch at my throat, and the watch on, too; and I 
 am admiring them all in the mirror. I'm just raving 
 over them, Prince just raving." 
 
 1 80
 
 IN THE CURRENT 181 
 
 "That's bully of you, Frizzle," said Andrews, and I 
 could mark the satisfaction in his voice. "That's my re- 
 ward, and it's the only reward I ask." 
 
 "To-morrow I will tell you how delighted I am, 
 Prince. Come at three o'clock. Roy is to come at four, 
 but we shall be safely away long before then." 
 
 "Betty's glowering at me through the glass panel in 
 the door, Frizzie. I must hurry or she may put her 
 gloved fist through it. Good-by ; I will be there on the 
 minute before three o'clock, long before it." 
 
 I took out the plush-covered boxes, and moved them 
 slowly around and around in front of me to see the light 
 play on them. I sat down on the side of the bed, and 
 placed the boxes on my knee. I gave myself to a solil- 
 oquy although I often had heard that persons who solilo- 
 quize are likely to become insane. But I don't believe 
 that; I believe soliloquy is the highest form of sanity. 
 Still, no matter I sat down and lectured myself in 
 plain, honest terms. 
 
 "What if you were not pretty, Miss Peabody?" I 
 asked. "What if you were thirty-nine instead of nine- 
 teen? Would these jewels have been offered to you? 
 Would Winnie have been interested in you? Would Ca- 
 milla and Betty have quarreled about you? Would Roy 
 and Prince Andrews have made fools of themselves for 
 you? Would you have been put in the way of making 
 a little fool of yourself if you were thirty-nine? What 
 questions ! You cannot answer one of them, and yet the 
 answers seem easy? Oh, you say that every such prob- 
 lem of life seems easy and apparent until we try to think 
 into it. Well, I won't press you further, Miss Peabody ; 
 only please don't let those questions slip your mind. 
 They may be of use to you some day, even though you 
 don't understand them now."
 
 1 82 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 I rather enjoyed this taking to task of myself, and I 
 found myself employing gestures, modulating my voice, 
 and on the whole acting as if I really was addressing 
 somebody in the flesh before me. 
 
 "You don't think Covey is such a terrible place now, 
 do you, Miss Peabody? No, no, you don't, but you 
 never shall go back there no, never, never, never ! Well, 
 we won't discuss that point, except to say I like to see you 
 so emphatic. It's a splendid thing to be emphatic, es- 
 pecially when you know what you are talking about. 
 But I will say this to you, Miss Peabody: You don't 
 feel so very, very hard toward your father at present? 
 No aye, I thought that. You are beginning to see now 
 with the eyes of experience with the eyes of the ex- 
 perienced young person who sits here now catechizing 
 you. And you are thankful for the self-reliance your 
 father's example instilled in you. You are thankful he 
 did not humor the romance in you. You are thankful 
 for his sternness and for his coldness, because they threw 
 you back upon yourself and gave you strength for every 
 crisis. You could love your father now; yes, you could 
 love him you could love him because his resolution gave 
 you resolution, because his strength to dare gave you 
 also the strength to dare ! After all, Frizzie, are you not 
 a child of environment? Of course, of course, you are, 
 and you have not run away from your father. Now, 
 have you? You don't think so, and I agree with you. 
 Your father has been at your elbow wherever you have 
 gone, and everything he ever has done has acted as a 
 guide to you. So at last you see that when you ran 
 away from Covey to gain independence, or whatever 
 other thing you may have had in mind, you had to take 
 Covey with you, and you have not been able to be your- 
 self alone.
 
 IN THE CURRENT 183 
 
 "One other phase of this interesting case of yours, Miss 
 Peabody: You remember when you were riding on the 
 train to New York you vowed to yourself you would 
 stand alone, and that no one in all the big city would be 
 permitted to influence your life ? Yes, you remember ; 
 and now in this moment of searching of the heart you 
 confess you have not kept your vow. You need not 
 hang your head at the confession ; it is the confession we 
 all must make. You could not stand alone any more than 
 I. You have repeated the vow in secret every night and 
 every morning, and not one day has the vow been kept. 
 Ah, you dear, silly little girl, when will you know you 
 cannot achieve the impossible? Winnie has influenced 
 you; Roy and Andrews, Betty and Camilla have had 
 their influence upon you again you are a child of en- 
 vironment. But hold up your head! You have done 
 all or more than might have been expected of you. If 
 you have been influenced you have not been controlled, 
 and your destiny remains your own." 
 
 With that I ceased my serio-comic business. I took 
 the boxes again and placed them on the dressing-table 
 so that I could survey their contents in the mass with 
 my head on the pillow. I turned out the light and laid 
 myself down and watched the gleam of the jewels in the 
 moonlight filtering into the room. How long I watched 
 I know not, but suddenly the scene was changed and 
 I was queen on a throne. 
 
 I was a real queen, and beside me on the throne was 
 Roy. I wore a crown and a crown was on the head 
 of Roy and in his hand was a golden sceptre. Robes of 
 ermine fell from his shoulders and from mine. Plumed 
 knights in glistening armor and ladies in cloth of gold 
 prostrated themselves before us. Six men in bright 
 scarlet blew six blasts upon trumpets, and the whole court,
 
 1 84 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 as in one voice, shouted : Long live the King and 
 Queen! 
 
 I awoke to more interesting and less picturesque 
 reality. I looked out and the sun was striking hot upon 
 the flat roofs. I was impatient to be away, but it was 
 with care I removed the tags bearing my name and 
 wrapped and tied up the jewels almost exactly as I had 
 received them. I called a messenger boy by telephone, 
 and awaited him in the hotel office. There I entrusted 
 to him for delivery the two tiny, innocent-looking boxes 
 the one Andrews had sent with his card addressed to 
 Camilla, the one Roy had sent with his card addressed 
 to Betty. 
 
 It was in a spirit of glee I watched the boy go. I 
 paid my bill, turned my back on the hotel, and headed 
 for Winnie's, my step as light as a feather.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 No. 6 POND STREET was a five-story brick struc- 
 ture, with its front disfigured by two fire-escapes, 
 their landings at each floor made hideous by col- 
 lections of bottles and tins, and bedclothes spread 
 out to air. A double door, with dusty frosted-glass 
 panels, opened on a narrow hall, the sides faced with imi- 
 tation marble and showing two rows of electric-bell but- 
 tons. I made out the name "Caine" on a scrap of paper, 
 yellow with age and stuck behind a cracked, circular 
 piece of wood holding the electric button in position. I 
 pressed the button and began to ascend the stairs. I 
 had gone up three flights and was half-way to the top of 
 a fourth when I saw Winnie leaning on the railing and 
 quietly watching me. 
 
 "Well, here I am, Winnie," I said briskly. 
 
 "I can see that," she replied, as I mounted the last 
 few steps. "Come right in and make yourself at home." 
 
 I took no notice of the sarcastic turn which meant any- 
 thing but an invitation, but followed her into a cramped 
 parlor. She waited for me to pass and closed and locked 
 the door. 
 
 "I want this door locked," she said, "because I want to 
 have this business ended without anybody interfering." 
 I glanced at a door which led back into the flat. "Never 
 mind that," she went on. "Mother and Stella won't butt 
 in unless I call them. They heard the bell and they know 
 
 185
 
 1 86 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 it's you or somebody else to see me. Now what have 
 you got to say, coming here like this ?" 
 
 "You are thinking of the jewels, Winnie?" 
 
 "No, I don't care for them I'm thinking of what they 
 stand for, what they mean between you and me." 
 
 "I sent the jewels back," I said, with a pride I could 
 not conceal. 
 
 "You sent them back?" she repeated, with skeptical 
 emphasis. "Tell that to anybody you like, but not to 
 me." 
 
 "I did, Winnie, I did. I sent them back, but not to 
 Roy nor to Andrews." 
 
 "Andrews was mixed up in it too, was he?" 
 
 "You know, Andrews, Winnie?" 
 
 "Know him?" she echoed strangely. "Yes, I happen 
 to know him. But go on, tell me what you did, where 
 you sent them. Tell me that you're not human like the 
 rest of us girls, and I'll drink it all in." 
 
 "You mustn't doubt me, Winnie, because it's all true 
 true, every word of it." 
 
 "Yes, I know it's true, but are you going to let me hear 
 the wonderful thing that happened ?" 
 
 "There is nothing wonderful," I asserted. "I simply 
 determined to teach Roy and Andrews a lesson, and I 
 sent the jewels to two girls who knew them and who 
 once trusted them. It may have been silly, but it was 
 fun." 
 
 She started forward, caught me by the arm, and 
 dragged me close to the window. "How am I to know 
 that or believe it?" she asked, gazing intently into my 
 eyes. "Will you swear this minute that's the truth?" 
 
 "I will swear it if you wish me to, Winnie," I said, and 
 she suddenly released my arm. 
 
 "Take off your hat and count yourself one of the
 
 IN THE CURRENT 187 
 
 family," she said. "Stop here as long as you have a mind 
 to. I want to take lessons from you. We're all pikers 
 compared to you." 
 
 In the change that had come over her she took off my 
 hat herself, dropped it on a chair, and left the two hat- 
 pins sticking straight up from the crown. She pressed 
 me down on an old, faded couch and seated herself be- 
 side me. The whole room was old and faded. A di- 
 lapidated curtain covered the window. On the walls in 
 black and fly-specked gilt frames were impossible prints, 
 all of alleged romantic nature. A gas fixture with two 
 jets seemed about to part company from the ceiling, 
 from the perpendicular stem of the fixture itself was 
 suspended a red paper ball. There was a mantelpiece 
 without a suggestion of a grate, and the mantelpiece 
 was nicked and scraped; and on it stood a clock bare 
 of hands and a delph Cupid with his bow arm broken. 
 On a small round-table beside the window was a battered 
 sewing-basket, and a family album held in a celluloid 
 back. 
 
 "I'm glad you handed that dose to the two of them," 
 said Winnie. "You don't blame me, though, for feeling 
 a bit sore. It looked raw, you'll admit that, after what 
 had happened." 
 
 "I understand how you must have felt, Winnie." 
 "But who is this Andrews fellow, anyway?" she asked. 
 "Why, I thought you said you knew him, Winnie?" 
 "I thought myself at first I did, but one meets so many 
 people they're likely to get them mixed up. But what's 
 the difference? You gave them a dose of their own 
 medicine, and they'll never get over it. They'll be all 
 the stronger for you now. Look out for that. It's the 
 only way to treat a man just hit the brute with a club 
 and he'll lick your hand,"
 
 1 88 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "You haven't asked me about the girls to whom I sent 
 the jewels, Winnie?" 
 
 "And I won't," was her quick retort. "What good 
 would that do me? They're two out of how many? 
 When you learn as much as I have learned by simply 
 looking on you'll not bother about names, for that's all it 
 amounts to. One name to-day, another name to-morrow 
 that's how the girls come in and go out in New York. 
 Thank heaven, Frizzie, you're something more than a 
 name now. You haven't given those devils a chance to 
 say six months or twelve months from now, 'You re- 
 member that Frizzie girl wasn't she a hummer?' I tell 
 you, Frizzie, I admire you. If I had one-half your grit 
 I'd take a whip and make a few men I know dance a 
 hornpipe. . . . But wait here a second." 
 
 She ran out of the room, and returned quickly with a 
 dear, little baby girl in her arms and her mother and 
 Stella behind her. No formality was wasted. Mrs. 
 Caine and Stella both came over and kissed me a thing 
 Winnie never had done. Stella was a frail, little crea- 
 ture, with great, round blue eyes and a small, narrow 
 mouth drooping at the corners. Mrs. Caine was fat and 
 flushed of face, and her hands were red and rough. She 
 refused to let me rise from the couch, but stood over me 
 patting my hair. 
 
 "Winnie's been telling Stella and me all about you, 
 dear. Lordy, Lordy, how you girls do come here, and 
 not knowing a thing what it's like! It's a sin to see a 
 good-looking girl like you, dear, turned loose in New 
 York with no one to look after you. I wish we poor 
 old mothers could be left to do for our daughters, but 
 who cares for us?" 
 
 "Now, mother!" reproved Winnie. 
 
 "That's Winnie herself for you, dear," continued Mrs.
 
 IN THE CURRENT 189 
 
 Caine. "She's never known what it is to be without a 
 mother, and if she hadn't me to run to maybe she'd talk 
 different. What would Stella be doing this minute if 
 I hadn't kept the home together and had it for her to 
 turn to when her man went back on her? I wish I had 
 a home big enough for all the girls in New York; I'd 
 take them all in and I wouldn't ask anything better than 
 being a mother to them." 
 
 "You don't object to my stopping with you for a few 
 days, Mrs. Caine?" I asked. 
 
 "Mind, child? Indeed, I don't I* mind if you 
 wanted to go away and leave us. One mouth to feed 
 more or less doesn't make any difference, and when Win- 
 nie's spoken for you it's all right. I've always worked 
 in with my daughters, and I'm proud of them both 
 they're good girls." 
 
 "No boasting, mother," said Winnie, smiling. "That's 
 one of mother's weaknesses, Frizzie to boast her two 
 girls are the best in the world." 
 
 "Of course, you're the best daughters in the world, 
 you little tearaways," said Mrs. Caine, bustling toward 
 the door. "Dear knows, though, you've been enough 
 trouble to me, but what's a mother's life without trouble? 
 . . . Stay here and talk the three of you and spoil 
 Stella's baby. I must be off to my kitchen ; I can smell 
 that pie burning." 
 
 I heard the good woman humming to herself as she 
 went back along the dark, narrow hall. 
 
 "Why don't you say something, Stella?" asked Win- 
 nie. "You wouldn't think, Frizzie, she's three years 
 younger than I am? She is, and she looks ten years 
 older." 
 
 The girl had taken a position near the window, and
 
 190 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 she turned her face away until it almost brushed the 
 curtain. 
 
 "She's been that quiet ever since she came back home," 
 added Winnie. "I'd get over it if I were you, Stella. 
 Isn't the baby enough for you. He's not worrying his 
 head about you, and I wouldn't worry my head about 
 him. You don't imagine he ever thinks of you?" 
 
 Stella looked sorrowfully at her sister. "How do I 
 know that?" she asked. "If he was thinking and I 
 wasn't, think how terrible it would be, Winnie?" 
 
 She stepped over and caught the baby nervously to 
 her breast, and gazed down at it with mother's love in 
 her eyes. 
 
 "If you don't know he never thinks of you and doesn't 
 care a cent for you, Stella, I know," said Winnie. "What 
 kind of a man is he that deserts the girl he's married 
 and their baby? I wouldn't give a snap of my fingers 
 for him. I'd let him go and I'd say good riddance for 
 it. You cried over him too long, Stella. He forced you 
 into the divorce, and what are you crying over him yet 
 for?" 
 
 "Oh, Winnie, Winnie, don't you see it's not so much 
 him as the baby!" cried Stella. "Think when it grows 
 up!" 
 
 "That's the trouble with you always, Stella," said Win- 
 nie. "You're always living the life that's past or the life 
 that's to come, when maybe you and the baby will be in 
 your grave. Every time I talk to you off you go like 
 a Third Avenue melodrama. You tell me I've no sym- 
 pathy for you, and I've got all the sympathy in the 
 world. I try to tell you that if I were in your shoes I'd 
 have sympathy for myself, but you won't listen. The 
 only sympathy you've got is for that lout of a fellow." 
 
 Stella brought the baby to me and laid it tenderly in
 
 IN THE CURRENT 191 
 
 my lap. "I'll depend on you to like it, Frizzie," she 
 said. "Couldn't you love it?" 
 
 I saw her wistful longing, and I lifted the baby and 
 kissed it on both cheeks. 
 
 "I will love it, Stella," I said fervently, and the girl 
 beamed upon me. She drew back and brushed her hair 
 and her forehead languidly with her hand. 
 
 "Now, Winnie, I've got some one to help me against 
 you," she said. Winnie sprang up and pressed the 
 baby's face in her hands. 
 
 "Bless your little heart," she said, "I hope you won't 
 grow up to be as foolish as your mother." 
 
 Mrs. Caine called at that moment, and we filed back 
 to the dining-room, more cramped even than the parlor, 
 and feasted on an egg apiece, dry toast and coffee with- 
 out milk. 
 
 "There's not much grandeur in living here," said Win- 
 nie, indicating with a smiling glance the dull red burlap 
 on the walls, the half-curtain on the window, the lino- 
 leum on the floor, the four oak chairs and the square 
 oak table, at which we sat. "We're crammed tight as 
 sardines in these flat-houses," added Winnie. "If you 
 were hungry you could reach an arm into the dining- 
 room of the flat across the air-shaft and help yourself off 
 the table." 
 
 "You ought to be thankful we're not on the first floor, 
 Winnie, where they have to burn the gas for light all 
 day," reproved Mrs. Caine. 
 
 "I'm not complaining, mother," said Winnie. "You 
 know these flats are swell compared to the flats down in 
 the real East Side. There they have rooms without a 
 window, and, anyhow, we get a smell of fresh air here." 
 
 "I think it's very nice," I said. 
 
 "There are only about three million people in New
 
 1 92 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 York living like this," said Winnie. "A foreigner com- 
 ing here might think we've as little room in this country 
 as the Dutch." She pushed back her chair and got to 
 her feet "With that I'll leave you all," she said. "I'm 
 the best part of an hour past my time as it is." 
 
 "Where are you going, Winnie?" I asked. 
 
 "To work," she replied. "To work thank heaven, 
 when everything else fails me I can work. I'm the 
 cashier in a grab-your-food-and-run restaurant, Frizzie 
 where they come in to luncheon on one breath, eat, 
 drink, tip, pay the pretty cashier and exit on the next." 
 
 "Be off with you, Winnie," commanded her mother 
 good-naturedly. "You've got too much to say for a girl 
 of your age." 
 
 "All right, mother," said Winnie. "I'll shut up, and 
 then there won't be a word spoken in this house. Good- 
 by, old grumpies !" She tossed her head in mock indig- 
 nation, and on her way out turned at the door. "Stella, 
 I've got just one word of advice for you: Don't take 
 Frizzie off in a corner and give her a headache with your 
 tale of woe. You ought to say skiddoo to that rainy-day 
 disposition of yours." 
 
 "I'll try, Winnie," said Stella. 
 
 "I would if I were you," replied Winnie. "So long." 
 
 "Bless that girl, Winnie," said Mrs. Caine, as we heard 
 the door close, "she's the plague of my life with her talk- 
 ing, but I wouldn't change her for the world. I only 
 hope some man doesn't marry her and crush the spirit 
 out of her." 
 
 "No one ever will do that, mother," said Stella. 
 
 "I don't know," said Mrs. Caine. "Every girl thinks 
 that before she's married there's yourself, Stella. But 
 we won't talk about that. Come, Frizzie, and I'll show 
 you your room."
 
 IN THE CURRENT 193 
 
 She led the way through a swinging door into the 
 kitchen and on into a tiny room with the window showing 
 on the rear of another flat-house, with fire-escapes and 
 clotheslines breaking the narrow alley. 
 
 "This was Stella's room before she married," said 
 Mrs. Caine, "and it was waiting for her when she came 
 back." 
 
 "I will not drive Stella out, Mrs. Caine," I said. 
 
 "Lord bless you, child, if you don't take it as Stella 
 and I want you to, Winnie will make you. Both the 
 girls spent the best part of a day fixing it up for you, and 
 then when we heard you weren't coming Stella moved 
 back in again. They enameled the bed, and they put 
 that pink paper on the wall, and that dotted muslin on 
 the window." 
 
 "They did all this for me, Mrs. Caine ?" I asked deeply 
 moved. 
 
 "Why, that's nothing at all, dear; if they hadn't done 
 it, sure I would have done it myself. And you mustn't let 
 on I told you, for they made me swear I'd never whisper 
 it but what harm is there in telling you about the good- 
 ness of my girls?" 
 
 We went into the kitchen, and Mrs. Caine drew me to 
 her and bent close to my ear. 
 
 "If Stella wants to talk, promise me you'll listen, Friz- 
 zie? Winnie's hard on her, but she doesn't mean all she 
 says." 
 
 "I will listen, Mrs. Cain," I affirmed, "with all my 
 heart!" 
 
 "Thank you, dear ; now run off to the parlor till I get 
 something done." 
 
 I went slowly along the hall. It was good to think I 
 had found that New York had a heart!
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 STELLA was in the parlor, evidently waiting for me. I 
 had only to look at her to know the reason for Winnie's 
 fear she might burden me with her troubles. Her eyes 
 were filled with yearning, and her lips twitched as if she 
 was about to cry. 
 
 "Sit beside me on the couch, Stella," I said, "and just 
 tell me everything." 
 
 "Oh, will you listen, Frizzie?" she exclaimed with a 
 glad little cry, and ran eagerly to me. "Dot hasn't been 
 very well lately, but she's sleeping now and you will 
 listen, won't you?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, Stella, I will listen," I said. 
 
 "Then I'll ask you just one question you won't think 
 it's foolish of me ? Say you won't !" 
 
 "No, I won't, Stella," I replied earnestly. 
 
 "Were you ever in love; not ordinary love, but ter- 
 rible, terrible love that changed everything, that made 
 you so patient and forgiving and brave brave so you 
 wouldn't fear fire for his sake?" 
 
 I was pondering the question in silence and wondering 
 what answer I should make, when there came a low, dis- 
 tinct knock on the door opening into the hall. Stella 
 caught her hands at her breast, and her breath seemed 
 to leave her. 
 
 "It's Andy," she whispered in a hushed voice, and put 
 a hand softly on my arm. "I didn't expect him for an- 
 
 194
 
 IN THE CURRENT 195 
 
 other hour. If I let him in, promise you'll never tell 
 Winnie." 
 
 "I promise, Stella," I said, and she rose and opened 
 the door. 
 
 "Anything up yet?" asked a man's voice. 
 
 "Hush, hush, Andy," said Stella, "there's somebody. 
 Come in." 
 
 She led the way to the center of the room, and in 
 much embarrassment introduced me to Andy Thorne. He 
 was an undersized, narrow-shouldered, narrow-chested 
 man about twenty-five years old, with his hair bare on 
 top and parted in the middle; his face thin and pointed, 
 and, I thought, mean. His mouth was straight across 
 and hard and cruel, and his hands were long and lean 
 and white and looked as if they belonged to a crafty, 
 suspicious person. His well-worn tweed coat was but- 
 toned tightly over his little body ; his trousers were close- 
 fitting, and frayed at the bottom over tan-colored shoes. 
 His collar was ill-fitting and too high, and, like his red 
 tie, showed the effects of wear. At Stella's bidding he 
 took a chair, sinking into it as if afraid of himself; and 
 finally settling with his feet close together and his knees 
 touching. When I tried to look him squarely in the eyes 
 he glanced furtively about the room. He seemed afraid 
 to trust himself to speak, and I could not help asking 
 myself : How could Stella ever love or think of marrying 
 such a man? 
 
 "You needn't be afraid to talk, Andy," said Stella. 
 "Miss Peabody has promised me she will not say a word 
 to Winnie." 
 
 "I don't know about that, though," said Thorne, with 
 an attempt at a smile. "Girls find it hard to keep quiet 
 sometimes." 
 
 "I will not intrude, Stella," I said, rising.
 
 196 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "Don't go, Frizzle, please don't," pleaded Stella; and 
 Thorne added: "Don't let me drive you away; I didn't 
 mean nothing." 
 
 I seated myself again. Stella shifted uneasily at rny 
 side, but finally gathered courage: 
 
 "Well, Andy, I hope things are brightening?' 
 
 "They're not," he retorted bluntly. "I'm broke flat 
 broke." 
 
 "And there's nothing for me or the baby not a cent ?" 
 asked Stella. 
 
 "How could there be a cent when I haven't a cent for 
 myself?" replied the man peevishly. "Things couldn't 
 come worse for me, and you and the kid are all right 
 here, aren't you? I've been trying, but I haven't been 
 able to get my feet under me since Wesson fired me. 
 Damn him, he had no right to do it." 
 
 "Do you mean Roy Wesson?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes, I mean Roy Wesson ; the fellow that gave Win- 
 nie a job and fired her, and gave me a job and fired me. 
 He's a fine one, he is. But maybe he's a friend of 
 yours ?" 
 
 "We were friends," I said. 
 
 "But you're not any more? It's something new for 
 him to give a good-looking girl like you the shake. 
 Stella's been telling me something about you." 
 
 "You mustn't say I told you, Andy," protested Stella, 
 as I looked at her in surprise and reproach. 
 
 "Oh, that's all right, I guess," he said. "I know Wes- 
 son and his friend Andrews, and the kind of curs they 
 are. Many's the bet I carried to the poolroom for them 
 when I was down there clerking for ten dollars a week, 
 but that didn't keep him from firing me, or framing up 
 a lie to do it."
 
 IN THE CURRENT 197 
 
 "Something may turn up, Andy," said Stella hope- 
 fully. 
 
 "I wish something would turn up that I could bleed 
 them," said Thorne, and with a malicious look of satis- 
 faction at me he added, "Maybe something will turn up." 
 He started to finger the rim of his hat on his knees. "I 
 went the round of the department stores to-day, but they 
 don't want any one that's without experience. As if it 
 took experience to sell a yellow or green ribbon! I've 
 been thrown down on that city job the district leader 
 was only stringing me. I've got no pull, and all he 
 wanted was to string me along to election, when I might 
 repeat for him." 
 
 "Don't lose heart, Andy," encouraged the valiant Stella. 
 
 "Oh, I won't do that, because I've got no heart to 
 lose ; it's all been beaten out of me. I'd like to help you 
 and the kid, Stella, but you see how it is." 
 
 "Yes, Andy, I see how it is," said the girl. 
 
 "I guess I'll be going," he said, slowly rising. "You 
 don't happen to have carfare about you, Stella, 3o you? 
 It's pretty tough to have to walk like I do." 
 
 Stella rushed to him and put her arms around his 
 neck. 
 
 "Andy, if I had it I'd give it, I'd give it to you you 
 know I would." 
 
 "I know you would, but what good does that do me?" 
 replied Thorne. He made a feeble effort at a laugh. 
 "But you mustn't pull a fellow by the neck like that 
 we're not married any longer. Let me go." 
 
 Stella drew back, and her face clouded at the hideous 
 jest. She cast her gaze on the floor, and stood trem- 
 bling. 
 
 "I didn't mean anything; you know I didn't," said 
 Thorne.
 
 198 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "I know that, Andy," responded the wan little crea- 
 ture, and looked up with a smile. "You want to see 
 Dot, Andy ? She's sleeping for the first time in two whole 
 days." 
 
 "Don't wake her up for me," said the father. 
 
 "We'll just look in, Andy," said Stella, and led him, 
 despite his reluctance, to one of the two small bedrooms 
 between the parlor and the dining-room, where Dot lay 
 sleeping. They returned in less than a minute, and 
 Thorne went away without giving Stella the kiss her 
 heart craved. She stood in the window and watched him 
 go up the street. Then she turned to me with a look 
 of deep disappointment. 
 
 "He never looked back," she said, "but, Frizzie, you 
 couldn't be hard on him like Winnie and mother?" 
 
 "Indeed, indeed, I could not be hard on him, Stella," 
 I responded, with an emphasis that came without the 
 least effort. 
 
 "Thank you so much for that, Frizzie. It was Winnie 
 brought him here, and now it is Winnie is hardest on 
 him. Maybe it was a mistake our marrying, but other 
 people make mistakes, too." 
 
 "Yes, they do, Stella," I said, at the moment thinking 
 seriously of myself. 
 
 "I don't know where Winnie met Andy, but one night 
 when it was blowing and raining he came home here with 
 her, and that was the beginning. He wanted Winnie, 
 but she laughed at him; she snapped her fingers in his 
 face when he asked her to marry him, and then he asked 
 me. Of course, he didn't ask right off or I might have 
 refused him; but he started taking me here and there 
 and he was the first one ever cared about me and I got 
 to love him. We used to go in the gallery down in the 
 Academy of Music and over in the Fourteenth Street
 
 IN THE CURRENT 199 
 
 Theatre, and the times we had! He never broke an en- 
 gagement, not one; and he was always so nice in bring- 
 ing me little presents, that I thought more of than big 
 things. Mother and Winnie said if I would marry him 
 I would marry sorrow, but that didn't stop me. We just 
 went out and came back man and wife, and Winnie never 
 said a word but got Wesson to give Andy that job. We 
 had four rooms in the next street to this, and we lived 
 there and stopped going to the theatres. Then the baby 
 came and he left me alone with it, and mother and Winnie 
 made me get the divorce. They did that, and Winnie 
 says Andy drove me to it. Maybe if I'd held off, as I 
 wanted to, we would have made up; but there was the 
 rent not paid, and the furniture we'd bought on the in- 
 stallment plan was taken from us, and I had to come back 
 here. Andy stuck down there with Wesson, paying me 
 four dollars a week as the court ordered him, until Win- 
 nie was fired and then he was fired. If Andy got half a 
 chance there wouldn't be a man squarer than him. I 
 couldn't care for him more than I do this minute, and 
 that's why I asked were you ever in love in terrible, 
 terrible love that changes everything." 
 
 "I understand, Stella," I said. 
 
 "I thought you would, Frizzie, and I won't ask you 
 that question ever again. I shouldn't have done it; I 
 know now it was wrong. Only only it was because I 
 was looking somewhere, groping around somewhere, to 
 find one that might feel like I feel and I've found you, 
 Frizzie, haven't I?" 
 
 "You have, Stella," I replied, and without further talk 
 I gathered her in my arms. She nestled to me like a 
 forlorn child, and both of us found relief well, I won't 
 tell you how ! When she raised her face it was filled with 
 a look of supreme content, and I could only wonder at it.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 WE were in the parlor. Stella was crooning over the 
 baby. Mrs. Caine was reading "Advice to Lovers," by 
 Beatitude Heartfix, in an evening newspaper. Winnie 
 and I were seated on the couch. 
 
 "Do you think I will have difficulty in finding a posi- 
 tion, Winnie?" I asked. 
 
 "You can take your pick," she replied. "You've only 
 got to walk in and show yourself; if there's not a job 
 open one will be made for you." 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't display so much bitterness, Win- 
 nie ; it's enough to make me despondent." 
 
 "You'll be lucky if you get no worse than that," she 
 responded. "Wait until you go looking for a job. Start 
 out in the morning, and I bet inside two hours you'll have 
 a dozen jobs offered to you and be asked out to lunch 
 just as often. There isn't a bald-headed man in New 
 York that won't ask you out to lunch." 
 
 "What am I to do, Winnie?" I asked, almost despair- 
 ing. 
 
 "I'll tell you what to do: Leave the men in the offices 
 alone, because if they didn't insult you they would work 
 you to death. Leave the department stores alone, be- 
 cause you'd be asked to feed yourself, room yourself, 
 clothe yourself and wear a smile nine hours long on six 
 dollars a week; without time when you're behind the 
 counter to figure you've got to slave an hour for car- 
 fare to take you to the store and back nome again. Leave 
 
 200
 
 IN THE CURRENT 201 
 
 the doctors alone, because all you would get for ushering 
 in consumptives and lunatics would be seven dollars for 
 twelve hours seven days in a row. Leave the restaurant- 
 cashier business alone, because with the smell of steak 
 and French-fried potatoes in your nose you'd be half- 
 starved on nine dollars a week, without tips. There's 
 just one thing you ought to do, and that's go as com- 
 panion to some old lady that's got so much money her 
 relatives are waiting for her to die ; and who is wishing 
 for one friend she can depend won't give her poison. 
 That's the only kind of job for a self-respecting girl. 
 There are a hundred things you might be you might 
 be a nurse or a stenographer or a manicure, but they all 
 come to the same. Before she knows it the girl that 
 works for a living has ugly hands and she's careless 
 about her appearance, and the worst of it is she never 
 seems to care. Some women are doctors and some are 
 lawyers, but if all women were doctors or lawyers it 
 wouldn't disturb Nature, not one bit. The only real job 
 for a woman is a married job, and you'll get chances as 
 a companion, Frizzie, you'd never get as a sewing- 
 machine girl or a cloak-model." 
 
 "I know nothing about being a companion," I said, 
 timidly. 
 
 "You don't need to know," responded Winnie. "If you 
 can make a bluff at a couple of languages that's all you 
 want. I knew a companion once, and she told me how 
 easy it was. All you've got to do is to read to the old 
 soul, listen to her stories of romances when she takes 
 them out of camphor, cry every time she cries, and order 
 the servants about haughty-like as if you were born to 
 it. When you get lonely of the companion business you 
 can come here and freshen up on mother and Stella and 
 me. It won't take you long, though, to grab off some
 
 202 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 nephew or other, and then come in to some of the old 
 lady's money." 
 
 "I never will think of marrying, and that's final, Win- 
 nie," I asserted. 
 
 "You've got to be practical if you want to get on," 
 she replied. "You won't marry! What are you alive 
 for?" 
 
 "I won't,"! insisted. 
 
 "Who is he?" asked Winnie; and then I became con- 
 fused under her inquiring look. "Oh, I guess you don't 
 need to tell me; but you'll get over Roy Wesson before 
 long." 
 
 "Well, dear me," said Mrs. Caine, putting her news- 
 paper on her lap, "it's wonderful the wisdom this Beati- 
 tude Heartfix has. She gives such good advice. Here's 
 one girl writes to her and says a man that once was her 
 sweetheart still kisses her when he's married to another 
 girl, and what will she do? 'If he was a real man he 
 would not attempt to kiss you, and when he tries again 
 repulse him/ says Miss Heartfix, and that's what I 
 say." 
 
 "Everybody knows that, mother," said Winnie. 
 
 "But that girl doesn't know," responded Mrs. Caine 
 confidently, "and that's why I think these papers do a 
 world of good." 
 
 The door-bell rang sharply. 
 
 "I hope that's not Thorne, Stella," said Winnie. 
 
 "I don't know, Winnie," replied the girl. 
 
 Winnie went into the hall and returned in a moment, 
 and looked at me. "Did you invite Wesson here?" she 
 demanded. 
 
 "No, no, Winnie," I said, excitedly rising. 
 
 "Well, he's coming up the stairs." She glanced out 
 through the door. "Here he is now. Come in." She
 
 IN THE CURRENT 203 
 
 stepped back, and Roy entered. "I suppose you two 
 want to talk, so we'll get out of here," she said coldly. 
 "Come on, mother and Stella, we'll get out." 
 
 "Don't go, Winnie," I implored. "You stay." 
 
 "Mother and Stella, won't you come," said Winnie im- 
 patiently, and before I could protest further she walked 
 quickly from the room. Mrs. Caine and Stella followed 
 her, and Stella closed the door. Roy shut the other door 
 behind him, then stepped toward me. 
 
 "You're going to come with me out of here," he as- 
 serted. 
 
 "I'm not, Roy," I replied. 
 
 "Yes, you are you're going to come with me." 
 
 "What do you mean, Roy?" I asked sharply. 
 
 "I mean that I'm going to have you even if you don't 
 want me to ; it won't do you any good to fight. Do you 
 hear what I'm saying to you?" He moved closer. "I'm 
 going to start right here; I'm going to kiss you for all 
 
 you've done to me. I'll kiss you, you little ." He 
 
 drew near, within a few inches of me, but I held myself 
 rigid, although the smell of liquor was strong on my 
 face. "What! You're not afraid of me; you dare me!" 
 He raised his arms. "I'll do it; by God, I'll do it. I'll 
 take that kiss this minute." I remained motionless, and 
 he half-turned and dropped to the couch. "Oh, who 
 wants to kiss a girl like you standing there as if you 
 were built of ice?" He looked up with a vacant stare. 
 "Look at you! Ready to snap the nose off a man. What 
 kind of a frapped creature are you, anyway?" 
 
 "I thought you said you would stop drinking, Roy?" 
 I said, not without pity. 
 
 "Why should I stop? Everybody drinks you'll drink 
 with me yet, Frizzie." 
 
 "'You make a mistake in thinking that, Roy."
 
 204 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "Well, I can keep on thinking it if I want to, can't 
 I?" He rose slowly and gripped the back of a chair. 
 "What do you see in this place? It's not good enough 
 for first-class swine. You're too good for a cheap joint 
 like this; you're too smart to sit down in poverty when 
 you might be wearing diamonds. Oh, the diamonds! 
 That was a clever trick you played me! It took me 
 quite a while to catch on when Betty telephoned. She 
 took those diamonds for a peace-offering; wasn't that 
 rich? She thought I sent them, and I let her keep on 
 thinking it. It pleased her, but there'll be no making 
 up. I've cast her off and all of her stripe forever. I've 
 cast her off for you, Frizzie. I would give up a shipload 
 of Camillas and Bettys for a thoroughbred like you. I 
 mean that; I've never had a chase half as exciting as 
 this. Camilla and Betty have no imagination; they 
 wouldn't do with the jewels what you did. If they got 
 rid of them it would be in a pawnshop. They're common, 
 they're vulgar, but you why you're a gem, you're a 
 duckydarling, Frizzie !" 
 
 "I won't listen; you must go, Roy," I said. 
 
 "You've got to listen to me," he said. "You've got it 
 in your pretty head I've come here to lead you astray; 
 to play the cat like I did when I engaged in that con- 
 spiracy with Camilla. I could buy Camilla any day for 
 a dirty game like that, but I'm not buying people any 
 more. I'm not trying to buy you or put a price on you, 
 Frizzie. I'm coming to you now like a man. I know 
 the cad I've been ; but every man's got some cad in him, 
 and I'm done with being a cad. I want you to marry 
 me, Frizzie; I want you to marry me this very night. 
 One meets a girl like you only once in a lifetime, and I'm 
 not going to lose you. I don't care what mother says, 
 and father will fall in love with you the minute he sees
 
 IN THE CURRENT 205 
 
 you. You don't know father; he's got none of those 
 aristocratic notions. It's up to you, Frizzie; will you 
 marry me?" 
 
 "I will never marry you, Roy," I said. 
 
 "I- won't take that for an answer. You're the first girl 
 Fve ever asked; I couldn't run the chance before be- 
 cause I would have been taken up. I waited for the 
 girl, Frizzie, and you are the girl; will you believe me, 
 you are the girl !" 
 
 "You must wait until you know better what you are 
 saying, Roy." 
 
 "You're back to that drink question again. Don't do 
 that What man wouldn't take a drop when it looks as 
 if he's lost the only girl that's worth bothering his head 
 about? I wasn't square with you, Frizzie, but I'll be 
 square after this. I thought you were out for a frolic, 
 like all who take the dive into the White Light District, 
 but I didn't know, I didn't know, Frizzie; and I'll give 
 you that kiss to show you how honest I am." 
 
 "You won't kiss me, Roy," I said. 
 
 "Can't you tell when a man means it and when he 
 doesn't? God, Frizzie, I'd give my right arm for you. 
 Meet me half-way. Kiss me yourself, and say you love 
 me as I love you." 
 
 "I won't, Roy." 
 
 "What right have I to ask you to do a thing like that? 
 Oh, there's a lot of the cad in me, but there's some good 
 in me, Frizzie; and it's the good that's asking you now 
 to be my wife. Will you answer me one fair question? 
 You will answer me. Say that you care for me, or that 
 you don't?" 
 
 I faltered, and Roy drew near. "You can't look me 
 in the eyes and say you don't care for me, Frizzie?" 
 
 I attempted to turn away, but he held me by the arm.
 
 206 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "I knew it, Frizzie." His voice was triumphant. "You 
 do care; you do! What's the use of beating about the 
 bush? You love me!" 
 
 "Let me go, Roy," I said, and he released his hold. 
 
 "You do love me," he asserted. "You love me, Frizzie, 
 and I love you. I'll say it. I haven't been all I ought to 
 have been, but that's past, and let us call it quits and start 
 even. You'll be the making of me; I'll make you proud 
 of me. We'll be married now ; we'll send a telegram to 
 the old folks and to-morrow they'll give us their blessing 
 the both of them." 
 
 I trembled in emotion. I tried to raise my eyes, but 
 I could not summon the strength. "You do love me!" 
 exclaimed Roy, and taking advantage of my helplessness 
 he attempted to draw me to him. We struggled across 
 the room, and when near the window I saw the door 
 swing a few inches and the face of Prince Andrews ap- 
 pear in the opening. 
 
 "Mr. Andrews!" I called, and Roy dropped me and 
 swung around. Andrews entered the room and closed 
 the door. 
 
 "I thought I heard the voice of a woman in distress, 
 so I just opened the door and looked in," he said. "I 
 imagine you had better be getting out, Wesson." 
 
 "What do you mean, coming here ?" demanded Roy. 
 
 "If I were you I should know when the game's up," 
 said Andrews. "It always was your way to exercise 
 your strong right arm, but you have found one young 
 lady who will not submit to that sort of thing." 
 
 "Betty's told me all about the kind of friend you are," 
 railed Roy. "You're not here because you've been in- 
 vited; you're here because Thorne held you up for the 
 address. I've found you always were a sneak with me, 
 Andrews, and you're playing the sneak now."
 
 IN THE CURRENT 207 
 
 "I guess if I was held up you were held up first; 
 and we are tarred with the same brush, it seems to 
 me," said Andrews. "But that isn't here nor there; 
 the point is I am here just in time to keep you from 
 trying to win, by violence, admiration for your manly 
 charms." 
 
 "You're insulting Miss Peabody," said Roy, "and Miss 
 Peabody is to be my wife!" 
 
 Andrews tried to maintain his composure, but failed. 
 His face grew red in fury. "So that's what it 
 is?" he sneered. "It's you that is the fool, after all, 
 Wesson?" 
 
 "Take care, Andrews," said Roy, "remember of whom 
 you are speaking." 
 
 "I'll take care," said Andrews, "and don't be afraid 
 I'll forget anything. Maybe when she's your wife she'll 
 wear a few of the diamonds I gave her." 
 
 "That's not true!" I cried, starting toward Andrews, 
 but Roy restrained me with his outstretched arm. 
 
 "Let me settle with him," said Roy. "Now, Andrews, 
 you'll have to apologize take that back, apologize, or 
 I'll kick you like a dog." 
 
 "I guess you've got too much sense left to try that," 
 defied Andrews. "You want to know whom you're mar- 
 rying, don't you? I guess if I were marrying I'd be 
 thankful for some one to come and tell me the truth if 
 there was an ugly truth to come out even if it did 
 hurt me." 
 
 "You'll take that back, and you'll beg Miss Peabody's 
 pardon, Andrews," declared Roy. "Betty told me of you 
 sneaking around in the dark with a knife to drive into 
 my back. I know you, and you'll apologize, or I'll do as 
 I say."
 
 208 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "Ask the girl herself," said Andrews. "Ask her where 
 she got those diamonds now." 
 
 "Roy, Roy, I sent them all to Camilla," I exclaimed, 
 "and Andrews knows that." 
 
 "You do know it?" said Roy. 
 
 "Of course, I know it," he sneered, "and you know that 
 the diamonds you sent her went to Betty. What's the 
 matter with you, Wesson? What are you sticking up 
 your nose at me for? What better are you than I? 
 Where do you come in with a demand for me to apolo- 
 gize for what you've done yourself? You're a fine hypo- 
 crite, you are. The same shoe fits both of us, doesn't it? 
 And I guess if you want the girl for your wife that's 
 had diamonds from both of us you're welcome to her. 
 Good-by and good luck to you for a charming pair." 
 
 Roy overtook him at the door, and sent him reeling to 
 the middle of the room with a blow in the face. I ran 
 to the other door and called, "Winnie! Winnie!" She 
 came almost instantly. Andrews was whimpering like 
 a coward near the mantelpiece; Roy was standing off 
 watching him in rage and contempt. Winnie rushed 
 straight between them. 
 
 "Now both of you get out," she commanded. 
 
 "You won't interfere between us," said Roy. "He's 
 a coward!" 
 
 "I will interfere," said Winnie peremptorily. "If you 
 don't go I'll throw both of you out. Go in the street and 
 fight and never show your faces here again, either of 
 you." 
 
 Andrews slunk around Winnie toward the door. "You 
 know what Winnie can do," he said. "Winnie will take 
 care of you, Wesson." 
 
 "Stop that, Andrews," said Winnie. "Stop it." 
 
 Andrews opened the door. "I'd do anything to please
 
 IN THE CURRENT 209 
 
 you, Winnie; you know I always would. And you see 
 what it brought you, sticking to Wesson? But I guess 
 it was just as well we never came to terms Roy always 
 said you were the devil to manage, and I guess that's 
 the truth." 
 
 Winnie's whole frame was shaking with emotion. Roy 
 sprang at Andrews with an oath, but the man evaded him 
 by closing the door and holding it on the opposite side. 
 When the door finally flew open in Roy's hands the 
 ironical laughter of Andrews, as he ran down the stairs, 
 came back distinctly. Roy returned quietly. 
 
 "Why did you come back?" asked Winnie, her voice 
 very low, but firm and strangely calm. "You and An- 
 drews have done enough, I think, and it's about time for 
 you to go." 
 
 "It's all right, Winnie," said Roy. "Frizzie and I are 
 to marry." 
 
 "You'll never marry while I'm alive to stop it," said 
 the girl. "You don't think for a minute, Wesson, I'd 
 stand by and let Frizzie throw herself away on you?" 
 
 "That's for Frizzie to say," said Roy. 
 
 "I can answer for her," asserted Winnie. "Tell him 
 for yourself, Frizzie." 
 
 "I won't, Roy, I won't," I said. 
 
 "There's your answer for you, Wesson," said Winnie. 
 "Now clear out." 
 
 "Frizzie and I would be leaving here together if it 
 wasn't for you," asserted Roy in growing anger. 
 "You've always been a meddler." 
 
 "Don't you dare say a word more about that, Wesson ; 
 I know what you're thinking." 
 
 "You're right that's just what I'm thinking," de- 
 clared Roy. "It's got to come out some time. Andrews 
 spouted most of it, and I think what he thinks."
 
 210 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "You'll not go on with that, Wesson," said Winnie. 
 
 "Please don't, Roy?" I pleaded, filled with anxiety for 
 Winnie. 
 
 "When you ask me, Frizzie, I can't," said Roy. "But 
 let's get this thing settled. You'll go out with me, Friz- 
 zie, and we'll be married." 
 
 "You know Frizzie's mind, Wesson," asserted Winnie. 
 "I've stuck by her this far and I'll stick by her to the 
 end, and I'll not let you spoil everything for her." 
 
 "You want to force me," shouted Roy. "You want to 
 save her, and you're a sight worse than the worst of 
 them yourself!" 
 
 Winnie stared at him blankly, her face pallid. Roy 
 smiled cruelly, and was the first to break the terrible 
 silence. 
 
 "I'd hardly say that if it wasn't the truth, or if I 
 didn't know what I was talking about," he said. "An- 
 drews wasn't a liar, but I would have sworn he was with 
 my last breath had I been left alone to marry Frizzie as 
 I want to and will." 
 
 Winnie approached him with her hands held up in 
 piteous entreaty. 
 
 "After all that has passed between us, Roy, how could 
 you do that?" she said in a breaking voice. "But I was 
 mistaken, and you know I only wanted to save Frizzie 
 when I wasn't able to save myself." 
 
 "Yes, you were mistaken," replied Roy. "You were 
 mistaken, just as I've been mistaken in you. It's you 
 that has raked over the coals. You played a Judas trick 
 on me and I'm a Judas to you. We're quits." 
 
 "Yes, we're quits," said Winnie, sinking to the couch 
 and hiding her face in her hands. 
 
 "I am ashamed of you, Roy," I said with much feel- 
 ing.
 
 IN THE CURRENT 211 
 
 "I couldn't lose you to spare her," he replied. "She 
 didn't spare me, and you see how things stand now." 
 
 "I don't see how things stand," I replied, "except that 
 I am terribly, terribly disappointed in you." 
 
 "You will thank me when you have had time to think 
 it all over," said Roy. "We should have been married 
 long ago only for her pulling against me." 
 
 "Married!" cried Winnie bitterly, as she rose from 
 the couch. "Married!" she repeated, almost at the top 
 of her voice. "I like that. Yes, you would have been 
 married in the way that you would have been tired of 
 Frizzie this minute, and would be boasting to your men 
 friends as you boasted" she paused, then shook her head 
 determinedly "yes, I'll say it, as you boasted about me." 
 
 "Winnie, Winnie !" I exclaimed in sympathy for her. 
 
 "I never boasted," defended Roy. 
 
 "No, no, you didn't," continued Winnie. "You didn't 
 boast you never did anything but placarded it just as 
 you're placarding it to Frizzie now; and coming into 
 my own home to let my own mother know about it; my 
 mother who thinks I'd go to God unspotted if I died." 
 She ran at him, her hands clenched and her eyes ablaze. 
 "You won't do it. Do you hear that you won't. If 
 Frizzie wants to go with you, very well, let her go, but 
 you won't come into my home and blacken my name 
 before the only one in the world I had to turn to when 
 you got through with me and I began to fight to get 
 back." 
 
 "Winnie, Winnie," I besought her, "I won't listen; I 
 won't." 
 
 "You've got to listen," she replied. "Do you want to 
 go with him?" 
 
 "Never, Winnie," I said, with all the earnestness that 
 was in me.
 
 212 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "There's your answer for you, Wesson." 
 
 "No, it's not," Roy said. "I won't let Frizzie stop in 
 this place another minute. She threw over Camilla, and 
 she'll throw over you." 
 
 "That's your game, is it?" demanded Winnie. 
 
 "It is, if you want to call it that," said Roy. "Frizzie 
 wasn't to be caught by Camilla, nor by Betty and she 
 won't be led astray by you. You won't put Frizzie in 
 their class if I have anything to say about it. What bet- 
 ter are you? You went the same pace, and you soured, 
 that's all that's wrong with you." 
 
 "You wouldn't talk like that if you hadn't drink in 
 you, Wesson," said Winnie. "No, you wouldn't. And 
 if it came to a showdown I'd trust Frizzie to Andrews 
 before I'd trust her to you." 
 
 "I will stay with Winnie, Roy," I said. 
 
 "You won't, Frizzie," said Roy. "She worked me, 
 and she's only trying to get even now." 
 
 "Aye, I worked you, Wesson," said Winnie. "I worked 
 you when you came and took me out of the chorus. I 
 was doing you a lot of harm, when I didn't know you 
 were alive till you came blinding me with your money. 
 I worked you when you got me to turn my back on my 
 mother and Stella, and got me to lie to them that I was 
 out on the road with a show. I worked you when I sent 
 them your money and wrote them I wished I could save 
 more from my eighteen dollars a week. Oh, Wesson, 
 you're a fine man standing there and saying a thing like 
 that. I worked you when I found you'd gone cold on 
 me, and I sat down with my heart breaking and swore 
 to God I'd live after that so I could look my own mother 
 in the face. I worked you when I wouldn't take money 
 from selling the clothes you paid for, but gave them to 
 girls who wanted to go that way, and gave you back
 
 IN THE CURRENT 213 
 
 your rings. I worked you when I asked you for a job 
 and promised there never would be one to know be- 
 cause I came home the same time Stella and her baby 
 came home, and Stella and the baby had to live like I 
 had to live and my mother had to live. I worked you 
 when I let you fire me without going to your father and 
 holding him up for what his son had done for me. Yes, 
 Wesson, I worked you; I worked you." 
 
 "Frizzie won't let the chance slip to marry me," said 
 Roy. 
 
 "What have you got to offer that she should marry 
 you?" said Winnie. "Your money your money that's 
 your curse. That's all you've got to offer, Wesson, and 
 it isn't enough." 
 
 "I won't, Roy," I asserted. 
 
 "You'd better be going, Wesson," said Winnie. "Friz- 
 rie's not a fool like I was, or like Camilla or Betty." 
 
 "I won't go," said Roy obstinately. 
 
 "Yes, you will. And never let whisky lead you here 
 again," said Winnie. "You've got to fight whisky be- 
 fore you think of marrying any girl. And I know how 
 hard you'll fight, and what will become of you." 
 
 Roy looked at me entreatingly. "Do you hear what 
 she says, Frizzie? Will you stand for that? She says 
 I'm drunk. She says it's a drunken man asks you. 
 Don't believe it; I'm not drunk. I was never soberer in 
 my life. I want you to be my wife I want you to 
 marry me because I love you." His voice held tender- 
 ness, and I was affected by it. "You will come. I have 
 not been a saint, I know. I have been hard on Winnie, 
 but you've seen the worst side of me, and we'll start out 
 now and I'll brace up and you'll never regret it, I'll swear 
 you won't."
 
 2i 4 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 Winnie opened the door and waited silently. Roy 
 reached out his arms to me. 
 
 "Frizzie," he said, "will you take me for all the mis- 
 takes I've made, for all the wrong that's in me?" 
 
 I felt he could not have made a stronger plea. I was 
 racked with anxiety and I looked beseechingly at Win- 
 nie. She gazed at me coldly and that decided me. I 
 looked straight at Roy. 
 
 "I won't, Roy," I said. 
 
 "Never?" he asked. 
 
 "Never," I replied. 
 
 He went to the door and stopped. 
 
 "I suppose that's the most I can hope for," he said 
 slowly and seriously. He waited a few moments, then 
 turned to Winnie. "I won't ask you to forgive me, Win- 
 nie, because I am past forgiveness. But I'll do all that's 
 in my power, and that is to say I'd rather leave Frizzie 
 with you than anybody I know." 
 
 He passed out and Winnie closed the door softly. She 
 crossed the floor to me, and caught one arm around my 
 waist, and with her hand on my forehead upturned my 
 face. 
 
 "You love him, Frizzie?" 
 
 I looked at her through blinding tears. "Don't you 
 know, Winnie?" I asked. 
 
 "I know, Frizzie," she said, "I know." 
 
 "You love him, Winnie?" 
 
 "I don't, and I never did," she asserted. "I hate him ; 
 I hate him! And, oh, Frizzie, it's because of all that's 
 happened to me that I want to save you." 
 
 Again there was a knock on the door and Winnie 
 went over and turned the handle. Thorne came sidling 
 in, his hat caught by the rim between both hands. A
 
 IN THE CURRENT 215 
 
 gratified look was on his evil face. He shuffled from foot 
 to foot. 
 
 "I wanted to see Stella, but you'll do, Winnie," he said, 
 putting his right hand in a pocket and taking out a roll 
 of money. He stripped off several bills and held them 
 out. "I picked a fifty-to-one shot, Winnie, and here's 
 a slice of it for Stella and the kid." 
 
 Winnie took the money, crumpled it in her hand, and 
 threw it in his face. 
 
 "I know where that money comes from," she said. 
 "Pick it up ; pick it up and get out." 
 
 "If you don't want it I can use it," said Thorne. "I 
 like money." 
 
 "Hurry up," commanded Winnie, and the man half- 
 ran from the room as if afraid of her. "There's another 
 kind," commented the girl. "Wesson with his millions; 
 Thorne scheming for a dollar, and both the same with 
 women. Oh, I tell you, Frizzie, men are fair and square 
 with women !" 
 
 "How did you know about the money, Winnie?" 
 
 "Mother told me he had been here, and it wasn't hard 
 to guess he sent both Andrews and Wesson." 
 
 She laughed with a lightness that amazed me. 
 
 "But here, what are we moaning and groaning for? 
 Come, Frizzie, let's wake up, and go back to mother and 
 Stella and the baby. Anybody would think we had the 
 care of the world on our shoulders." 
 
 "We are very foolish," I agreed. 
 
 "Of course we are," she responded ; and we raced along 
 the hall to the kitchen. 
 
 "Bless you, children," was the greeting of Mrs. Caine, 
 "but young people do have the happy time !"
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 IT was a week later when Winnie came home with 
 news that filled me with mingled relief and delight. 
 
 "Do you believe in signs, Frizzie?" she asked, and I 
 laughingly answered in the negative. "Well, I do," she 
 continued. "I saw a white horse, and at the same time a 
 black cat crossed the street, and that always means some- 
 thing. I think it means you're going to land in a com- 
 fortable spot, and I kind of think it may be with my 
 friend, Mrs. Wroxley Hall." 
 
 "In the name of goodness, who's Mrs. Wroxley Hall ?" 
 
 "She's a newcomer on my calling list, mother," re- 
 sponded Winnie with mock seriousness, "one of the most 
 select of New York's old aristocracy, I'm happy to say, 
 and a widow into the bargain." 
 
 "Some woman you met through a man in the restau- 
 rant, I suppose," commented Mrs. Caine. 
 
 "You've guessed it just right, mother," said Winnie. 
 
 "Well, she's not up to much, then," observed Mrs. 
 Caine. "Any man that runs in and gulps things down and 
 runs out again, as I've seen them in those quick-lunch 
 places, isn't particular about the company he keeps." 
 
 "Well, whether they gulp or not," said Winnie, "one 
 of them had time to stop and tell me that Mrs. Hall wants 
 a companion, and wants one good and quick." 
 
 "I never heard of such a thing," said Mrs. Caine. 
 "How could you and any man get talking about com- 
 
 216
 
 IN THE CURRENT 217 
 
 panions for old women ? You want to take care of your- 
 self, Winnie." 
 
 "I can't begin to tell just how it came about or just 
 how it didn't," said Winnie. "It's too long a story, but 
 what truth is in it Frizzie herself can find out by going 
 and calling on Mrs. Hall in the morning. The only 
 question is : Does Frizzie want to go ?" 
 
 "Indeed, I do, Winnie," I replied; and the following 
 morning I went up the brownstone steps to Mrs. Hall's 
 residence, in the Thirties, four doors from Fifth Avenue, 
 and timidly rang the bell. A maid opened the door, and 
 led me into a long narrow parlor to the right of the 
 hall. In a few moments I heard a light step, and I arose 
 from a chair as Mrs. Hall entered with a gracious smile. 
 
 "Please be seated," she said, and took a chair near me. 
 "You wish to become my companion, is that it?" 
 
 "I should like very much to be your companion, Mrs. 
 Hall," I said, "but I am afraid I never can please you. 
 I have not a single letter; I have not a person to speak 
 for me, and that is necessary, isn't it ?" 
 
 "As a rule it is most necessary," she replied, "but what 
 gave you hope to come to me, and from whom did you 
 learn I was seeking a companion?" 
 
 I paused a moment, and then resolved to act upon 
 Winnie's advice. 
 
 "Mrs. Hall, if you read the newspapers you may know 
 who I am," I said. "I was engaged to be married, but 
 ran away, and the newspapers had long accounts." 
 
 "I think I remember," she said. "You are a rector's 
 daughter, from Long Island, are you not?" 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Hall; my father is the Rev. Dr. Peabody, 
 rector of Covey. He tried to make me marry against 
 my will, and I could not do it and so came away." 
 
 "But you have not told how you heard of me?"
 
 2i8 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "Winnie Caine told me the girl with whom I am 
 stopping, Mrs. Hall." 
 
 "And who is Winnie Caine?" 
 
 "She is a girl I met when I came here, and who has 
 advised me and taken me into her home, and been like 
 a sister to me, Mrs. Hall." 
 
 "She has been a very good friend to you, and you are 
 hoping I may turn out to be the same, is that it?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, Mrs. Hall," I said eagerly. "If you only 
 give me a chance I am sure I shall please you." 
 
 "And if I should decide to give you a trial, of course 
 you would inform your father and relieve any anxiety 
 he may hold?" 
 
 "Oh, no, Mrs. Hall, I never could do that; I do not 
 want father to know." 
 
 "Still, you could not wish me to be a partner in your 
 efforts to keep away from him?" 
 
 "I never thought of that, Mrs. Hall. But in every- 
 thing I am sure I have had right and justice on my 
 side." 
 
 "And you never intend to soften even a little?" 
 
 "I don't know, Mrs. Hall; father has not sought me, 
 and I suppose he does not care." 
 
 "Ah, I should not think that if I were you, Miss Pea- 
 body," she said with a strange softness. "You cannot 
 imagine how parents feel toward their children. It may 
 be your father has remained silent and not attempted to 
 find you because he may think it is the best plan to bring 
 you back to him. I am sure a father never would wholly 
 forsake his daughter like that." 
 
 "You don't know my father, Mrs. Hall, or how hard 
 he can be," I asserted, and she smiled at me. 
 
 "Well, I shall do nothing to-day, but I shall think it 
 all over," she said. "Give me your address, and I will
 
 IN THE CURRENT 219 
 
 send a letter to-morrow with my decision one way or 
 the other." 
 
 She accompanied me into the hall, and herself opened 
 the door. The light poured in, and suddenly she laid 
 her hands on my shoulders and turned me half around. 
 
 "Just let me see what you look like," she said, to my 
 astonishment. She laughed and after a quick searching 
 look released me. "I have a great faith in my estimate 
 of faces," she assured me, "and please do not think it 
 strange or rude of me." 
 
 "I judge faces, too, Mrs. Hall," I said, "and I like your 
 face." 
 
 "You have the perceptive brow," she laughed. "Good- 
 by. To-morrow, perhaps, you shall know what I think 
 of you." 
 
 I hurried to Mrs. Caine and Stella, and we three were 
 greatly excited until Winnie came home. Winnie was 
 too matter-of-fact I must say that against her. She 
 was always throwing cold water upon me. And she did 
 not share our excitement in the slightest. It was into 
 her hands the postman delivered the all-important letter, 
 but still she remained exasperatingly cool. 
 
 "Open it; open it!" cried Mrs. Caine, Stella and I all 
 together, but she dropped it on the table and placed her 
 hand firmly upon it. 
 
 "Eeny meeny miney mo," she began, despite our pro- 
 tests. "Get the cards, Stella, and we'll cut them. I bet 
 it's a tall, dark man, and you're going across water, 
 Frizzie." 
 
 "Please, please, open it, Winnie," I pleaded, and she 
 ran her finger across the top of the envelope. 
 
 "Thank heaven, it's not the nine of spades," she said. 
 "Listen to this : 'Dear Miss Peabody, You may call 
 again to-morrow afternoon at three o'clock, and I think
 
 220 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 perhaps we may reach an understanding.' " Winnie threw 
 the letter carelessly back on the table. "I wish to good- 
 ness I had learned French and a few other languages," 
 she said. "If I had, that letter might be coming to me." 
 
 "She may not take me, Winnie," I said. 
 
 "Take you?" she echoed. "She says plain she's going 
 to have you, and you needn't bother your head one bit 
 more about it. You wouldn't expect her to put herself 
 down plumb and square on paper, would you?" 
 
 The reason for Winnie's complacency was made known 
 by Mrs. Hall when I called as she had directed. She 
 received me with much warmth. 
 
 "Before you come into my home," she said, "you must 
 know I was fully informed beforehand of your experi- 
 ences. Winnie was here two days ago, and told me all 
 about you." 
 
 "Winnie was here?" I exclaimed in bewilderment. 
 
 "Yes, and she is a wonderfully persuasive talker," said 
 Mrs. Hall with a smile. "She asked me not to tell you 
 this, but I insisted I should tell you now. That much is 
 owing to Winnie no less than to you, and I am sure you 
 never will find a more loyal friend than she has been." 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Hall," I cried, "I feel so helpless. Every- 
 body does for me what I want to do for myself." 
 
 "It is so with us all, Frizzie," said Mrs. Hall tenderly. 
 "That is one reason we should be so careful in the choice 
 of our friends. Our friends are the expression of our- 
 selves, and had you been other than you are perhaps you 
 would not have given Winnie the chance to help you." 
 
 For all that, I was determined to take Winnie to task. 
 I saw her that evening. I tried to be severe with her, 
 but she pooh-poohed me out of it. I had to give it up; 
 I could make nothing of her, and I leave it to you to 
 circumvent her if you can.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 Now we all are going to take a great, long jump! 
 One mighty spring and we go flying over twelve whole 
 months. Autumn has gone, winter has gone, spring has 
 gone, summer is going fast and here you land once 
 more with Mrs. Hall and I in the parlor of the brownstone 
 residence, in the Thirties, four doors from 'Fifth Avenue. 
 
 I have learned a lot; Mrs. Hall has been my teacher. 
 I wish you could meet Mrs. Hall face to face. I am sure 
 you would like her. She doesn't believe the sun loses 
 color every day when it leaves Fifth Avenue in the shade. 
 She belongs to an unobtrusive little circle, that values 
 refinement above wealth. She dislikes publicity ; she dis- 
 likes display but I'm not going to pick a bone with the 
 society that parades itself. Instead, I'll take Mrs. Hall's 
 word for it that such society is not worth picking a bone 
 with, and pass on. 
 
 It was one of my duties to sort and read Mrs. Hall's 
 mail to her, and I never shall forget my agitation on that 
 particular morning when I opened a business-looking let- 
 ter and saw it bore the signature of Daniel Wesson. Mrs. 
 Hall evidently observed my emotion, for she glanced at 
 the letter and then looked at me curiously. 
 
 "Do you wish me to read this letter, Mrs. Hall?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Certainly, Frizzie ; read them all," she replied. 
 
 "Mrs. Hall," I said with much gravity, "we have not 
 
 221
 
 222 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 spoken of Roy since the first day I came to you a year 
 ago, and this letter is from Roy's father." 
 
 "Perhaps, I should have told you," she said evasively, 
 "that Mr. Wesson arranges certain investments for me." 
 
 "But this is not a business letter, Mrs. Hall?" 
 
 "Read it, Frizzie, whatever it is." 
 
 I smoothed out the paper, and in shaking voice read : 
 
 "DEAR MRS. HALL: 
 
 "Unless I hear from you to the contrary I shall do as 
 you suggest and come up to-morrow afternoon. I be- 
 lieve you are right, and that it may be best to talk frankly 
 and honestly to Miss Peabody. From all you have told 
 me and from my own knowledge I have become convinced 
 there is nothing for Roy but this union, and I heartily 
 approve of it. I think there will be little trouble with 
 Roy's mother, and I trust there will be no objection on 
 the part of Miss Peabody herself. If she knew the feel- 
 ing of the boy towards her I am sure all would be well. 
 Roy is keeping his promise like a man. 
 "Sincerely yours, 
 
 "DANIEL WESSON." 
 
 I laid the letter on the table. "You have been leading 
 me to this all the time, Mrs. Hall?" I asked, feeling I 
 had a real grievance. 
 
 "No, Frizzie, I have not," she replied, "but you will 
 see Mr. Wesson when he comes this afternoon?" 
 
 "I won't," I said sharply. 
 
 I arose and went over to the window, and stood there 
 close to the heavy curtains, looking out into the street 
 and nursing anger. Mrs. Hall came up behind me quietly, 
 and caught my hand. 
 
 "Come with me, Frizzie," she said, and led me to the
 
 IN THE CURRENT 223 
 
 portrait of a girl, looking out at us from a gilded frame, 
 her face lighted with smiles. 
 
 "What is it you wish, Mrs. Hall?" I asked in a sub- 
 dued voice. 
 
 "You see that portrait, Frizzie. That was a girl I 
 knew. Long, long ago she and I were very dear friends. 
 She was even dearer to me than a sister or a mother. 
 Will you believe that?" 
 
 "I believe, Mrs. Hall, but where is the girl now?" 
 
 "She is dead," was her answer. 
 
 "Dead !" I repeated. 
 
 "Yes, dead," she went on. "Before you were born to 
 all your great troubles, Frizzie, that portrait was painted. 
 And the girl was happy then; just as happy or happier 
 than you see her there before you. The world was all 
 golden then. You know what I mean look into her 
 eyes, Frizzie, and you will see! When she was sitting 
 for that portrait she confided to me she was deeply in 
 love. It seemed then that to her had come the most 
 wonderful of all loves every love is the most wonderful, 
 as it should be but she made a terrible, terrible mistake, 
 and she died with me the only one knowing the secret." 
 
 "I could cry for her, Mrs. Hall," I said in my droll 
 way. 
 
 "I know you could, Frizzie, and I cry for her some- 
 times. But not as often as I did. I have become a little 
 resigned ; but all that is left is a memory, and that is not 
 much, is it?" 
 
 She slipped her arm around me, and I permitted her 
 to take me close to her. 
 
 "That memory is a great deal," I asserted confidently. 
 
 "I suppose it is," she added reflectively, "but, Frizzie, 
 you would never guess that girl has her arm around 
 you now."
 
 224 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Hall, I understand, I understand; and you 
 don't want me to make the same mistake ?" 
 
 "That's it, Frizzie ; I don't want you to die in the same 
 way; I don't want you to live to let yourself become a 
 memory like that, however treasured a memory it may 
 be." 
 
 "I don't want a memory, Mrs. Hall, but what shall I 
 do? You know about Roy, and how could I ever 
 ever?" 
 
 "Don't think of Roy, think of yourself, Frizzie," said 
 Mrs. Hall. "Why have you been growing in restlessness? 
 Why have you been growing in discontent these last few 
 months? Ah, Frizzie, if I know anything about the 
 feminine heart and you will search your heart I think 
 you will find the truth there and the truth will be Roy." 
 
 "I can't ; I can't, Mrs. Hall," I protested. 
 
 "We can't expect men to be as good as we women are, 
 Frizzie ; that would be asking too much," she said, "and 
 Roy, despite all his faults, has proved himself a man, just 
 as his father writes. Not for six months, Frizzie, has 
 Roy tasted strong drink, and it is the thought of you that 
 has been his strength." 
 
 "Thought of me, Mrs. Hall?" I cried. 
 
 "Yes, you, Frizzie," she replied. "It was on the promise 
 of seeing you at the end of six months that he stopped, 
 and the six months are up now and he says he has found 
 them so good he will go on living like a man. Frizzie, 
 you have been living for a memory, and so has Roy, and 
 both of you should thank God you must not live your 
 fife out for it. You won't make a terrible mistake as I 
 did; you won't deny Roy, now tell me you won't?" 
 
 The heart in me seemed shriveled up into nothing, or 
 turned into tears or something, and I just broke down. 
 For the first time I lost my self-control before Mrs. Hall,
 
 IN THE CURRENT 225 
 
 and I blubbered away in robust fashion. I must say, 
 however, my outburst was not altogether righteous, for 
 mingled with the pious impulses were bitter, disappointed 
 pangs that all this time these things had been going on 
 without me knowing them. Finally I just clamped down 
 my feelings with my will, and looked resolutely at Mrs. 
 Hall. 
 
 "How did Mr. Wesson know all ?" I asked. 
 
 "Roy himself told him everything," replied Mrs. Hall. 
 "That night before Roy asked you to marry him, Friz- 
 zie he went to his father and confessed, and Mr. Wesson 
 followed him and was waiting outside Winnie's." 
 
 "He saw Roy and he saw Andrews ?" 
 
 "Yes, and he was here one day and happened to talk, 
 and I remembered what I had read in the newspapers, 
 and had him send for Winnie and well, Frizzie, you 
 can guess the rest." 
 
 "You did that, Mrs. Hall?" I exclaimed almost in 
 anger. "You and Mr. Wesson and Winnie all were in 
 a conspiracy against me? But why should you have 
 been interested in me, Mrs. Hall ?" 
 
 "Ay, that is easily answered," she replied. "What 
 about Roy? Wasn't it necessary to think of him?" 
 
 "If you said plainly you didn't do it for me, Mrs. 
 Hall, I should feel relieved. But I am vexed because 
 of all this work by other people in my behalf. I am los- 
 ing all my faith in myself. There is nothing I can do to 
 help myself, or be independent as I wish to be. Winnie 
 helps me, Mr. Wesson helps me, you help me ; ever since 
 I came to New York it has been the same somebody 
 or other doing the things I should be doing, working for 
 me or working against me, and all without my consent." 
 
 "Some day I shall sit down with you, Frizzie, and tell 
 you every little detail, and its part and significance in
 
 226 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 the story," said Mrs. Hall. "But not to-day. I have not 
 had time to get it in perspective yet, and I am sure you 
 are in the same fix. At first Mr. Wesson was thinking 
 of informing your father where you were, and you must 
 admit now, Frizzie, that I served you when I convinced 
 him of the futility of that?" 
 
 "Yes, you did, Mrs. Hall," I replied, "but there's the 
 other side : I have been managed by you all. You started 
 with the intention of keeping Roy and me apart, and 
 when Roy grew worse and worse you turned to me in the 
 hope of saving him. Is that fair to me, Mrs. Hall ? And 
 you have been guiding and training me, treating me as 
 if I were your own daughter almost, so that if Roy and 
 I are married I may grace his millions?" 
 
 "That is ungenerous of you," retorted Mrs. Hall with 
 some severity. "Had I seen or felt Roy had passed out 
 of your life that would have been the end, but you can- 
 not say that Roy has passed out of your life! Why, 
 Frizzie, I have seen it in you for months and months; 
 do you think I could not see when I have been through 
 it all myself? It is not what any of us have done for 
 you, but what you have done for yourself. Can't you 
 reason that out? The whole world may have its influ- 
 ence upon you, but it remains for you to express your- 
 self. If your heart doesn't find expression in Roy and 
 Roy's heart in yours then all I can say, Frizzie, is that 
 Mr. Wesson and I are pathetically and criminally stupid." 
 
 A smile played about her eyes, and I was forced to 
 smile myself. After all, what was there to be grave over? 
 I felt like shouting. Anything but gravity! 
 
 "You will see Mr. Wesson, Frizzie?" asked the per- 
 sistent Mrs. Hall. 
 
 "Gladly," I replied, and she gave me a mother's 
 kiss.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 ROY'S father was a round, pudgy man. His cheeks 
 were florid and bulging; his mustache was bristling and 
 reddish, against the tawny color of his hair. His eyes 
 were gray, as the eyes of all great men are supposed to 
 be; and looked straight at you and through you. He 
 favored clothes of startling patterns ; he wore thick-soled, 
 square-toed shoes ; every time he put his foot down he 
 seemed in the act of crushing something. The floor shook 
 under his step. His hands were huge, fat and hairy. His 
 waistcoat from top to bottom stuck out aggressively at 
 the world. His trousers were very wide, and they bagged 
 at the knees, so that when he walked he waddled. When 
 he laughed he almost bellowed ; when he tried to restrain 
 his natural boisterousness he showed he was ill-at-ease. 
 He had to be himself or nobody. When he laughed with 
 you or roared at you there was no mistaking his sin- 
 cerity; when he banged the table with his fist he meant 
 it; when he said he was your friend or your enemy he 
 meant it with an earnestness of which you could not en- 
 tertain a doubt. But the trouble with Daniel Wesson, I 
 found out, was that most of the time his earnestness was 
 without a conscience. 
 
 Quiet and an atmosphere of repose went out of the 
 room when he came in. It seemed to me as if Mr. Wes- 
 son was one of those men who carry their business around 
 with them. 
 
 "I had to hustle things a bit in the office, Mrs. Hall," 
 
 227
 
 228 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 he volunteered as he entered, "but I'm here on the 
 minute. Never missed an engagement by a half a second 
 in my life. Now I hope you have arranged our little 
 business with the young lady." 
 
 "Here is Miss Frizzie," said Mrs. Hall, crossing the 
 room to me near the window. 
 
 "No need to tell me that," said Mr. Wesson, bustling 
 over and holding out his hand. I extended my hand 
 timidly, and winced as he took my fingers in a hard grip. 
 "I knew you, Miss Frizzie, as soon as I cast eyes on you, 
 and I'll say I don't blame Roy " I gave an involun- 
 tary start and he dropped my hand. "Well, maybe now 
 I oughtn't to have put it that blunt," he continued after 
 an awkward pause, "but anyway you know what I was 
 driving at, and it's the truth." 
 
 "Yes, but Frizzie naturally is a little reserved," said 
 Mrs. Hall. 
 
 "I know; I know," responded the man, "but I never 
 was much for ceremony. You know that of me, Mrs. 
 Hall ; I've never been anything on this bowing and scra- 
 ping business; with me it's set off the fireworks without 
 any speech-making; and what do you say, Mrs. Hall, if 
 we just let the whole shooting-match go shebang this 
 minute and have done with it?" 
 
 "I think that would be an excellent plan," said Mrs. 
 Hall. 
 
 "What do you say yourself, Miss Frizzie? Are you 
 for prolonging the agony?" 
 
 "No, Mr. Wesson," I replied. "I wish it all over as 
 soon as possible." 
 
 "That's doing business," said Mr. Wesson, rubbing his 
 hands briskly. "Now the decks are cleared for action; 
 and I'll just say, Miss Frizzie, it's become one of my pet 
 objects to see you my son's wife."
 
 IN THE CURRENT 229 
 
 I quailed under his brutal frankness, and looked ap- 
 pealingly at Mrs. Hall. 
 
 "Now don't go misunderstanding me, Miss Frizzie; 
 when I've got a thing to say I say it, and then nobody's 
 wondering what's on my mind or what isn't. There's 
 nothing to be gained by beating around the bush, and 
 keeping people on hot coals of suspense." 
 
 I could not help laughing at Mr. Wesson's flowery 
 brand of speech; Mrs. Hall smiled in real amusement, 
 and the man's fat sides shook in mirth. 
 
 "There's nothing like a good laugh for breaking the 
 ice," went on the irresistible Mr. Wesson. "But that's 
 past, and as I was about to say, Miss Frizzie, I think 
 you and Roy would make a right smart, handsome 
 couple." 
 
 "Mr. Wesson," I interposed, "does your son know of 
 your coming to me?" 
 
 "If he did and he let me come I wouldn't ask you to be 
 his wife," he replied. "No, he doesn't; and you're never 
 going to tell him the big fool I've made of myself, either. 
 It's just this way, Miss Frizzie, I don't want to let Roy 
 meet you until I feel a sort of surety down in this old 
 heart of mine. I have a heart, though you mightn't 
 think it. You see, it's better to keep a check on Roy 
 than to give him a free rein. Things have moved along 
 pretty smoothly for the last half year or so. Mrs. Hall 
 has told you how we all knew most everything about 
 you, and it's worked out not altogether bad keeping you 
 and Roy apart." He stopped short, and his breast rose 
 and fell in a ponderous sigh. 
 
 "This is a hanged long speech for me, Miss Frizzie, 
 I'll guarantee that, but I'll worry through with it. Now 
 there's no use my trying to pull wool over your eyes and 
 say Roy hasn't had a fondness for a drop too much. I
 
 2 3 o IN THE CURRENT 
 
 wouldn't put you wrong on that if I could, but the boy's 
 got over all that. I made him swear he'd stop it six 
 months ago ; for six months after we took you away from 
 him, Miss Frizzie, he went a pace that you couldn't call 
 ordinary, but he took a vow and he's kept it, and keep- 
 ing it feels so good he's going to keep on with it. How's 
 that? Roy's as clean a cut fellow this minute as any 
 young woman would want to meet, and you'll be proud 
 of him, Miss Frizzie, and I'll be proud of you both. 
 How's that for an old chap like me?" 
 
 "I am delighted to hear about Roy, Mr. Wesson," I 
 said. 
 
 "Of course you are ; we're all delighted, and you'll see 
 him if he comes?" 
 
 "No, Mr. Wesson." 
 
 "Ah, Miss Frizzie, you said that with a blush. I 
 wouldn't give a red cent of my money for a girl that 
 can't blush. Blushes are what we old folks admire most, 
 isn't that so, Mrs. Hall?" 
 
 "I believe so," said Mrs. Hall, with a sigh of resigna- 
 tion that was not lost upon Mr. Wesson. 
 
 "Well, there I've gone and put my foot in it again 
 talking of you and me, Mrs. Hall, as old folks. Excuse 
 me, Mrs. Hall, I leave you out of it. But to get back 
 to this affair; you may have guessed, Miss Frizzie, I'm 
 not much of a hand when it comes to settling up a deli- 
 cate job of this sort. If it was anything in the way of 
 a stock deal, or a turn at cards, or laying a wager on the 
 fine points of a horse, I'd be right at home, and all would 
 be fair sailing. But on this transaction why, do you 
 know, Miss Frizzie, I'm so afraid of you I'm afraid to 
 stop talking? What will you say to me? Will you tell 
 me I'm an old fool and order me out of here? I wouldn't 
 blame you if you did. But I'll tell you this, Miss Frizzie :
 
 IN THE CURRENT 231 
 
 If I ever get out of this mess alive I'll never tackle an- 
 other such job. It was easy enough to propose for my- 
 self, but proposing for another man, even for your own 
 son excuse me ! But there's just one other word I want 
 to run in here, Miss Frizzie : You'll see Roy ?" 
 
 "No, Mr. Wesson," I said, "I think it is better for 
 Roy and better for me that we go on just as we are now." 
 
 "Make sure that you mean that, Frizzie," advised Mrs. 
 Hall. 
 
 "Here now, here now; this will never do at all," con- 
 tinued Mr. Wesson. "I'll tell you what we'll do, Miss 
 Frizzie. Roy's out in the street in the automobile. If 
 he knew you were here he'd break down the door to get 
 in, and I'll just run down and send him up. What do 
 you say to that?" 
 
 "Mr. Wesson, Mr. Wesson, you won't!" I cried, as 
 he started toward the door. 
 
 "Oh, yes I will, Miss Frizzie," he sent back from the 
 hall. "I ought to have sent Roy in the first place." 
 
 "Frizzie," said Mrs. Hall coming to me, "I will wait 
 upstairs, and you do what your heart tells you you will, 
 won't you?" 
 
 "I don't know, Mrs. Hall," I exclaimed, "but you 
 mustn't leave me. I can't face him alone." 
 
 "I wouldn't be so mean as to stay," said Mrs. Hall with 
 a smile, and she gave me a quick kiss and almost ran 
 from me. 
 
 I heard a footstep in the hall, and Roy came into the 
 doorway. 
 
 "Frizzie!" he exclaimed, and stood silent and motion- 
 less. 
 
 "Roy ! Roy !" I cried, impulsively starting forward only 
 to check myself and stand tense and motionless as he. 
 
 I confess now I often had pictured such a meeting, and
 
 232 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 always my fancy had told me it would be attended by 
 wonderful eloquence. But here was the meeting at last, 
 and the extent of our vocabularies were two words that 
 must mean the veriest commonplaces to all save ourselves. 
 Yet volumes could not mean more than they meant to 
 Roy and to me. I ask soberly, are there not times when 
 speech fails as a vehicle for our thoughts? If you have 
 been blessed with my experience, you will understand. 
 If not, pray that some day you may know. Roy ? Friend, 
 reader, can you substitute a name and in it sum up all 
 your life, or all eternity? 
 
 But I am wandering now, or is it that I am dreaming? 
 Perhaps the influence of that meeting still rests upon me, 
 or drives this pen at a foolish tangent. I'll quit this 
 business of moralizing, and strive to be practical. I'll 
 go on with my story, and let you know that for a full 
 minute we stood there in suspense, and then then the 
 strain was broken in the only way possible. We ran to 
 each other's arms. Yes, we did just like every other 
 couple since Romance began. For the life of me, I can- 
 not remember what we said after that. I have a hazy 
 recollection that Roy spoke about our having been treated 
 as if we were children, but apart from that the minutes 
 we spent sifted like a dream. Could it be that those min- 
 utes were too delicious, or sacred, or whatever you call 
 it, to be tangible? 
 
 I came to myself when I heard Roy, in the hall, call 
 his father. I felt a tremor of nervousness, but my happi- 
 ness soon overcame it. I ran to the stairs, and saw Mrs. 
 Hall peeking down from the second floor. 
 
 "I heard Roy call his father, Frizzie," she said by way 
 of excuse, and I laughed at her womanly curiosity. 
 
 "Come down, come down, Mrs. Hall," I exclaimed. 
 "There's news good news."
 
 IN THE CURRENT 233 
 
 If Mrs. Hall ever was in danger of becoming excited 
 it was right at that moment. She hurried down, beam- 
 ing, gave me a hug and a kiss, then cast me off quickly. 
 Mr. Wesson was just entering the house, and she caught 
 him by both hands. 
 
 "All the credit belongs to me," she said in unconcealed 
 elation. 
 
 "I know that, Mrs. Hall; if you hadn't laid the wires 
 just right in the last six months my bungling in the last 
 twenty minutes would have spoiled the whole shooting- 
 match," laughed Mr. Wesson. "But here, let me see my 
 new daughter." 
 
 "Father, you're " Roy had said when the big, good- 
 natured man cut him off. 
 
 "I know, I know, Roy, my lad. I'm anticipating a 
 bit, but what of that ? What of that, begad? Come over 
 here, my girl, where I can get a full look at you." 
 
 I followed him close to the window. He caught both 
 sides of my head in his great, strong hands and up- 
 turned my face. 
 
 "You're a bonny lass," he said. "You'll be the making 
 of that young scamp of a boy of mine. If it wasn't that 
 I'm such an ugly old codger I'd plant a kiss on your 
 pretty lips right this minute." 
 
 "I'll kiss you, Mr. Wesson," I burst out impulsively, 
 and springing up I gave him a genuine smack. No sooner 
 had I done it than I was ashamed and afraid of my rash- 
 ness and audacity. 
 
 "I'm sorry I did that, Mr. Wesson," I said meekly. 
 
 "Haw, haw ! Sorry ? Be as glad about it as I am, and 
 only do it again! That's just what I want of every 
 daughter of mine. Nance used to do it until that French 
 count came along and she got aristocratic notions. May 
 might do it now if she wasn't so much for that Women's
 
 234 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 Rights business. Never you mind, Frizzie; you just keep 
 on as you've begun and I'll show you how your new, 
 old father can love you." 
 
 He drove his hands deep into his pockets, and shook 
 his wide shoulders. 
 
 "But here, that's not what I want to know when's this 
 wedding going to be pulled off? I'm all worked up over 
 it already. There's some enthusiasm left in the old man 
 yet, Mrs. Hall. All the heart in me hasn't been ground 
 out on that Wall Street treadmill." 
 
 He stepped up to Roy and slapped him vigorously on 
 the back. 
 
 "Don't stand there like a stick, Roy. Wake up; say 
 something. Ask Mrs. Hall to tell you about the muddle 
 I made of it when I stole your proxy, and tried to elect 
 president, secretary, treasurer and the whole board of 
 directors right off the reel one, two, three. Wake up, 
 I say ! You've been going around in a poke for the last 
 year or so, and now that you've got Frizzie why don't 
 you start in and dance. Dance, man, dance !" 
 
 "That would not be dignified, father," said Roy, with 
 a sly glance in my direction. 
 
 "Do you hear that, all of you?" demanded Mr. Wesson. 
 "Dignified? Dignified? Who's got any use for dignity? 
 Dignity's too high a horse for me ever to ride. Stop it, 
 Roy. Be natural. Be a boy ; be a boy. I wouldn't cross 
 my fingers for a man who's not a boy when he's won the 
 girl he's got his heart set on." 
 
 So Mr. Wesson ran on in his gay spirits, until Mrs. 
 Hall quietly asserted herself. He was for telephoning 
 word of the engagement forthwith to the newspapers. 
 Further he was for sending a telegram on the spot to 
 father. 
 
 "The newspapers are going to rehash that old story
 
 IN THE CURRENT 235 
 
 about Frizzie's quick start from Covey," he said, "and 
 the sooner we have it over with the better. Dr. Peabody 
 ought to know about this ; he ought to be asked up here, 
 so that he and I can have a confidential chat." 
 
 "No, Mr. Wesson," said Mrs. Hall. "In the first place, 
 I do not wish it and a few days will not make a great 
 difference." 
 
 "That's a new tack for you to take, Mrs. Hall," said 
 Mr. Wesson, "but I never ask a woman a reason for any- 
 thing, and, anyway, it's you that holds the reins, Mrs. 
 Hall. I'm not going to try again to do the driving. If 
 Roy and Frizzie are willing, then I'm willing. But how 
 would it do to have the wedding sudden-like and all to 
 ourselves? That would clear me of the job of getting 
 Mrs. Wesson into line, and you ought to be ready to help 
 me duck that, Mrs. Hall." 
 
 "If you please, Mr. Wesson, it shall be as I propose," 
 said Mrs. Hall with a positiveness that, in the end, carried 
 the day.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 I KNOW that, by all the rules of "best-selling" romance, 
 happiness should have rested upon the engagement of 
 Roy and me. Wedding bells should have pealed in tune ; 
 orange blossoms should not have dropped a single petal. 
 But I won't shirk my responsibility. I'm not a taffy 
 heroine. This is an unvarnished record, and so let the 
 truth be told ! 
 
 Mrs. Wesson was not pleased; she insisted upon stir- 
 ring up a fuss, and she was quieted neither by her hus- 
 band nor Roy. It was her daughter May who poured 
 oil on troubled waters ; it was May who mollified the vain 
 woman's disappointment. I found May to be a very 
 sensible young person, practical and independent, just 
 as Roy had told me. She took her mother in hand, and 
 in contrast with the sorry failure of both Mr. Wesson 
 and Roy, met little difficulty in persuading her that a 
 marriage for love was to be desired infinitely more than 
 a marriage for social position. 
 
 Mrs. Wesson was a business woman by instinct; it 
 was second nature for her to be perpetually striking bal- 
 ances. She never credited anything to profit and loss. 
 She knew what it was to struggle ; although trying hard 
 to forget the uphill fight of the first few years of her mar- 
 ried life, she was unable to put the effect of them entirely 
 behind her. Her heart was big and soft, but she had 
 fallen into the habit of caring more for the opinion of 
 others than for her own. She was a good but deluded 
 
 236
 
 IN THE CURRENT 237 
 
 woman. She placed superlative values upon false, worth- 
 less things ; she shut her eyes against the things which 
 were real. It had been said of Mrs. Wesson that she 
 once wore diamonds to breakfast, but I never could lead 
 myself to believe that cruel report of her. True, she 
 looked out of her element at all times, and never more 
 |o than when ponderously serious in lace-bedraggled eve- 
 ning gown, and arrayed with jewels like a Tiffany win- 
 dow. The sight of her on such gala occasions cured me 
 of one form of incipient selfishness. If I ever grow old 
 I avow I shall donate my jewels to charity rather than 
 retain them to sully the jeweled dignity of a full measure 
 of years ! Old women, particularly fat old women, should 
 not wear jewels. For proof, witness the capacious, cum- 
 bersome Mrs. Wesson offering herself as a bas-relief in 
 precious stones. 
 
 It was a week before Mrs. Wesson expressed a wish to 
 meet me. Mrs. Hall invited the family to dinner, and the 
 recollection still is very vivid with me how Mrs. Wesson 
 arrived that night. She was nervous and flushed; to be 
 quite frank it seemed to me she was on the verge of 
 perspiration. Mrs. Hall had an instinctive feeling for 
 stage effects, and she had me stand in front of a blazing 
 grate, where shaded candles on the mantelpiece shone 
 over my shoulders and around my head in a soft, mellow 
 light. She was very emphatic with her instructions. 
 
 "You must not move, nor betray the slightest anxiety 
 to rush to her. Understand, Frizzie. Mrs. Wesson is 
 emotional, and is not impressed by emotional people." 
 
 Mrs. Wesson entered briskly; when she saw me she 
 raised her stubby, chubby arms with a quick little gasp. 
 May was close behind, towering a full head above her. 
 It was a moment filled with suspense, and as usual Mrs. 
 Hall took the initiative. She did not speak. She simply
 
 2 3 8 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 caught Mrs. Wesson gently by the hand and led her to 
 me. The good woman did not seem conscious of Mrs. 
 Hall's presence. She looked up at me with tear-filled 
 eyes. Two great, round drops edged out of the corners 
 and ran a close race down her cheeks, until she picked 
 them off with the end of a white-gloved finger. She 
 emitted a plaintive little wail, and reached up and patted 
 me on the shoulder. 
 
 "I could forgive you anything," she said between sobs. 
 "You are just like the ideal I have always dreamed of 
 for Roy." 
 
 "I am very glad of that," I replied awkwardly. 
 
 "Oh, dear; to think you and Roy could become en- 
 gaged without taking his mother into your confidence! 
 But my mother's heart is big enough to forgive you both." 
 
 "Ho ! Ho ! That sounds well coming from you, Mary," 
 rolled out Mr. Wesson, bustling into the room. "Remem- 
 ber how you and I got married? Just ran off without 
 telling a soul, and look at us thirty years gone by and 
 the happiest old pair I know!" 
 
 "I'm thinking of that, Daniel," replied his wife, smil- 
 ing. "Maybe, after all, we don't know what's best for 
 the young folk. We're getting old-fashioned, I suppose." 
 
 "That's just it," agreed Mr. Wesson. "We've got to 
 take a back seat and watch the young people frolic in the 
 limelight. But say, where's Roy?" 
 
 "Here I am, father," said Roy bashfully, from a posi- 
 tion near the door. 
 
 "I can see you're there all right, my son, but why don't 
 you spruce up and assert yourself? You're the dullest 
 engaged mortal I've seen in my time. Come to the front 
 here, man, and share the honors with Frizzie." 
 
 Roy stepped forward timidly. 
 
 "That's more like it, boy," continued Mr. Wesson
 
 IN THE CURRENT 239 
 
 cheerily. "Mrs. Hall, when are we to make this bit of 
 information known to everybody? Now that Mrs. Wes- 
 son's one of us I can't keep it a minute longer. I want 
 to get out and talk and shout about it. That's the way 
 I feel. You know, I've only got my one boy, and no won- 
 der I'm a trifle giddy-headed." 
 
 "Just a few days more, Mr. Wesson ?" said Mrs. Hall. 
 
 "You'll excuse me, Mrs. Hall, but I'll be hanged if this 
 isn't too much," exploded Mr. Wesson. "How now 
 why what for should this be held secret another minute ? 
 It looks funny to me. Supposing somebody finds out? 
 Supposing one of the servants here puts two and two to- 
 gether and gives it out? That would be like handing it 
 on a gold plate to the newspapers, wouldn't it?" 
 
 I saw Mrs. Hall's face set in determination. "It must 
 not be, Mr. Wesson/' she said, "not for a few days at 
 least." 
 
 "Why not; why not, Mrs. Hall?" asked Mr. Wesson. 
 
 "Because it is Frizzie's wish," replied Mrs. Hall. 
 
 All eyes were turned upon me. I could not conceal 
 surprise, for Mrs. Hall had not spoken beforehand. 
 
 "It is your wish, Frizzie?" she questioned. 
 
 "If you say so, Mrs. Hall, it is my wish," I replied, not 
 helping her in the slightest. 
 
 "That doesn't go with me at all," boomed Mr. Wesson. 
 "Let's out with it. It's got to be told some time or other, 
 and no time like the present. That old story's all to 
 Frizzie's credit, anyway, and I'm not afraid of it. I never 
 did care a fig for the newspapers. I'm ready, and you're 
 ready, Mary?" 
 
 "I'm prepared for it, Daniel," said Mrs. Wesson, in a 
 tone weighted with resignation. 
 
 "And you Roy, my boy?" 
 
 "I have wished it from the start, father."
 
 2 4 o IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "And you May?" 
 
 "I'm sure anything will suit me," was May's prompt 
 reply. 
 
 "And you object, Frizzie, only because Mrs. Hall ob- 
 jects?" 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Wesson." 
 
 "You're overruled, Mrs. Hall." 
 
 "It must not be," said Mrs. Hall imperatively and with 
 some show of irritation. Then for the first time since 
 I had known her she betrayed embarrassment. Her con- 
 fusion grew until her face was almost a deep red. Even 
 Mr. Wesson had the instinctive delicacy to remain silent. 
 
 "If Frizzie does not object," she said at length, "I do, 
 if I may. Please don't ask me why. I have a reason." 
 
 Her confidence was returning, and Mr. Wesson was 
 kind enough to say, in his emphatic fashion : 
 
 "There won't be another word about it, Mrs. Hall. 
 Your advice has been good enough for me, and we'll all 
 follow you to the end. Isn't that the way to do it, Roy, 
 my lad?" 
 
 He banged Roy heartily on the back, and smoothed 
 everything with a deep-rolling laugh and the suggestion : 
 "Let's all eat, drink and be merry !" 
 
 We went into dinner, and I was elated and proud and 
 supremely happy. Even Mr. Wesson's repeated injunc- 
 tion : " 'Ware of the wine, Roy," did not cast the slightest 
 shadow over my real, positive bliss.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 Now I am going to shatter your illusions ; I am going 
 to knock down the idol we have raised together. I shrink 
 from revealing the awful truth, still, why should I? 
 Surely, it was harder on me than it ever can be on you. 
 
 I soon came to realize the reason for Mr. Wesson's de- 
 sire for a hasty wedding. More than that, I soon grew 
 to suspect Mr. Wesson's motives. I found that Roy had 
 kept his promise only in part. He was slipping back, and 
 I was forced to the belief his father had turned to me as 
 the only means of saving him. 
 
 Mr. Wesson deceived Mrs. Hall, and he deceived me. 
 There was method in his strange actions ; there was a plan 
 behind his unusual talkativeness. But if he was to blame, 
 what of Roy? On that it is only possible for me to ask 
 the question: Can we women ever reason where our 
 hearts are concerned ? 
 
 Roy called one afternoon and I saw the telltale evi- 
 dence in his face. Mrs. Hall saw it too, and the shock 
 to her was so great she hurriedly left the room. I was 
 silent in a feeling of shame. Roy tried in vain for several 
 minutes to draw me into conversation. Finally he real- 
 ized what my silence meant, and he walked over and stood 
 before my chair. 
 
 "You know I have been drinking, Frizzie?" 
 
 "Yes, Roy." 
 
 "It's the last time, Frizzie. I swear to you I swear to 
 you on my honor again! Don't look at me that way, 
 
 241
 
 2 4 2 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 Frizzle. It was Andrews. We ran into each other by 
 accident. He asked my forgiveness for everything he'd 
 tried to do to me, and I forgave him I felt so confound- 
 edly happy, Frizzie, I forgave him. He didn't know the 
 reason for my happiness, and it was a joke to keep it 
 from him. Now, do you blame a fellow? Andrews 
 wasn't half a bad sort; we had a lot of good times to- 
 gether. But that wasn't it especially. We hadn't spoken 
 since that night that night when he dared to come to 
 Winnie's and acted so and, hang it all, I just did it be- 
 cause I thought when a man's going to get married he 
 doesn't want any enemies. Answer me that, Frizzie: 
 Now, does he?" 
 
 "I am sure not, Roy." 
 
 "Then you don't hold it against me. I said on my 
 honor it's the last time on my honor as a gentleman." 
 
 Impossible as it may seem, I was won to a little re- 
 newed faith. But Roy was weaker than he knew, and day 
 by day I saw that Mrs. Hall was reading the truth of my 
 grave face. Still she did not speak, but with firmness 
 she opposed all of Mr. Wesson's impatience for a wed- 
 ding. I began to wonder what manner of man I was 
 dealing with. He came in one evening. 
 
 "This wedding's got to be pulled off pretty soon," he 
 said, clapping his hands together. "I've got to go West, 
 and I want to see you and Roy off to Europe before I 
 start. The labor unions are up to their usual tricks ; 
 they've closed down a mine on me, and you can imagine 
 how I want to get out there in the thick of the fighting." 
 
 I decided there and then it was time to speak frankly. 
 I called Mrs. Hall downstairs, and she entered the room 
 apparently prepared for what was to follow. I thought 
 also Mr. Wesson knew the storm was about to break. He 
 set himself with his broad back against the mantelpiece.
 
 IN THE CURRENT 243 
 
 "What is it, Frizzie?" asked Mrs. Hall, putting the 
 issue squarely before us. 
 
 "I wish you to hear with Mr. Wesson that my engage- 
 ment to Roy is broken," I said bravely, and an ominous 
 silence fell. 
 
 Against my seriousness just then was a wayward im- 
 pulse to laugh. In the situation there was to me an ele- 
 ment of the ridiculous. It was like a repetition of an 
 old story. And so it was. It was a revival of a comedy 
 or a tragedy, as you care to take it, with a new cast. I 
 was the leading woman as in the first production, but 
 even I was a new player ! 
 
 It took Mr. Wesson some time to catch his breath. 
 "What!" he shouted at last. "You won't marry Roy? 
 What do you think of that for a good joke, Mrs. Hall ?" 
 
 "I have expected it," said Mrs. Hall very quietly. 
 
 "You expected it?" thundered the man. "What am I 
 up against? Tell me, one or the other of you? You 
 know I'm apoplectic, Mrs. Hall?" 
 
 "I don't think you are surprised," said Mrs. Hall with 
 spirit. 
 
 "I tell you I never got such a surprise in my life. 
 What's the meaning of this? Who put you up to this, 
 Frizzie?" 
 
 "I have decided for myself, Mr. Wesson." 
 
 "You have, eh ? What do you say to this : The news- 
 papers know of the engagement; I telephoned to them 
 all. There'll be reporters up here." 
 
 I was unmoved. I did not care for that. I was almost 
 glad. I often had thought of the excitement it would 
 mean when the news reached the public. I had come to 
 know that the New York newspapers love a millionaire's 
 romance as dearly as a millionaire's divorce, and I was
 
 244 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 keen for it. But Mrs. Hall was not anxious for any news- 
 paper sensation. 
 
 "If you have done that, Mr. Wesson, you have broken 
 faith with all of us," she said sharply. 
 
 "Oh, come now; come now, Mrs. Hall, that isn't the 
 way to talk," retorted Mr. Wesson. "You can't go back 
 on me now. It's you that's got to shoulder the responsi- 
 bility for this if there's any responsibility to shoulder. 
 If it hadn't been for you I would have held Roy off, 
 and he would have got over it like every man does. It 
 only takes twelve months at the most to clear a man's 
 head of any girl, and Roy had traveled six of them. If 
 it hadn't been for you, Mrs. Hall, the boy would have 
 reeled off the twelve by this time, and he would have been 
 all right and ready for any old game." 
 
 "You know differently," said Mrs. Hall with much 
 emphasis. 
 
 "All I know is that I'm going to stick by Roy," re- 
 torted Mr. Wesson. 
 
 "I, too, tried to stick to him, Mr. Wesson," said Mrs. 
 Hall, "but Roy has not proved worthy of my trust." 
 
 "Ho, so you've come out of ambush, Mrs. Hall !" 
 
 "Yes, if that is what you call it, Mr. Wesson. I 
 thought I was helping both Frizzie and Roy to happi- 
 ness, but I was wrong and I will not stoop to deceit." 
 
 "That's a neat way to put it, Mrs. Hall, I must say," 
 replied Mr. Wesson. "If you think that, I don't, and it's 
 not fair to intimate that I'm up to a deceitful game. I've 
 never done that, and you know it, Mrs. Hall; I've been 
 free and aboveboard always, and every dollar I've got 
 is a clean dollar just as clean as the way I'm standing 
 by Roy and Frizzie in this business." 
 
 "That is the mistake you make," said Mrs. Hall, "and 
 I will not have 'business' applied to Frizzie."
 
 IN THE CURRENT 245 
 
 "Ho! you want me to trade in romance and sentiment 
 and all that sort of gush, is that it? None of that rub- 
 bish for me. You're old enough to know better, Mrs. 
 Hall. It's not romance I'm looking for for Roy; it's a 
 wife." 
 
 "You are not," said Mrs. Hall emphatically. 
 
 "Maybe you know better than I do myself, Mrs. Hall?" 
 
 "I think I do," she replied. "I think there is no more 
 doubt that you are looking for some one to save Roy from 
 drink." 
 
 Mr. Wesson grew white with anger. 
 
 "I'm not used to having my motives questioned like 
 that," he thundered. "If it was anybody but you, Mrs. 
 Hall, I wouldn't stand for it not for a minute. You're 
 ringing changes too fast on this case to suit me. You're 
 accusing my son of being a drunkard." 
 
 "I am sorry if you interpret it so," said Mrs. Hall. 
 "I am sorry it has come to an ending like this, and I 
 trust you realize that further talk of continuing the en- 
 gagement is not only distasteful but impossible." 
 
 "I won't stand to be dictated to by you, Mrs. Hall," 
 raged Mr. Wesson. "What does the girl say herself? 
 What do you say, Frizzie?" 
 
 "I cannot; I cannot," I said. "Roy was here to-day 
 and he had been drinking." 
 
 "Think it over, my girl,' said Mr. Wesson, his voice 
 falling. "Think it over. What's a glass of liquor? I'll 
 confess Roy is not a teetotaler, but I'm not, and drink's 
 never made a slave of me. Not one man in a hundred 
 is a teetotaler, either. Roy will never be worse than he 
 is now; it's a thousand to one he'll be better. I've seen 
 hundreds a sight worse than he is straighten up and 
 stiffen their knees after marrying. You don't want a 
 man, Frizzie, that's never broken away from his mother's
 
 246 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 apron-strings. Roy's had his fling; every man's going 
 to have his fling, and it comes better before marriage than 
 after it." , 
 
 "I cannot; I cannot, Mr. Wesson," I repeated in great 
 distress. 
 
 "Frizzie will not be a sacrifice, Mr. Wesson," said 
 Mrs. Hall. "Roy himself should not ask it." 
 
 "It's not Roy asks it ; it is I," said Mr. Wesson. "And 
 who's making the sacrifice? Roy could marry ten mil- 
 lions before this time to-morrow ?" 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Wesson, don't say that," I pleaded. 
 
 "I will say it, my girl; it's only to your credit. It's 
 to Roy's credit. It's to Mrs. Hall's credit. It's to my 
 credit. It's to the credit of all of us. Mrs. Hall herself 
 can't say I've been mercenary!" 
 
 "No, I cannot say that," said Mrs. Hall, "but it is not 
 that question we are dealing with. It's not a question of 
 money, but a question of Roy's strength, or Roy's weak- 
 ness." 
 
 "You can't stop it now, that's all," said Mr. Wesson. 
 "The papers will be full of it; they'll be on the street in 
 an hour or two. It would be fine for all of us if they 
 came out in another hour with the news it's all off. That 
 would be a sweet mouthful for those Park Row scaven- 
 gers, wouldn't it?" 
 
 "Frizzie will face it," said Mrs. Hall, "and I will help 
 her." 
 
 "They'll have reporters down to Covey, and they'll take 
 interviews with your father and young Clark. Do you 
 want that ? It'll be bad enough when they let their imag- 
 ination run riot with Frizzie's leaving home and with what 
 she's been doing since, without making it ten times worse 
 by piling another broken engagement on top of it. You've 
 got to think of my family, too, Mrs. Hall."
 
 IN THE CURRENT 247 
 
 "Frizzie, have you the slightest desire this moment to 
 marry Roy?" asked Mrs. Hall. 
 
 "There's the question put straight and square," inter- 
 posed Mr. Wesson. "Now, we'll have an end of all 
 foolishness, and I know what it will be ; yes, I know." 
 
 "I will not, Mrs. Hall ; I will not, Mr. Wesson," I said, 
 and for the life of me could not utter another word. 
 
 In vain Mr. Wesson tried to shake me. He argued, 
 pleaded, begged; he pounded the table with his clenched 
 fist ; he stamped to and fro ; at last, ended with a bitter 
 threat against Mrs. Hall. 
 
 "I've run your money into a decent-enough pile," he 
 shouted, "and I've got my hands on it yet, Mrs. Hall. I'll 
 give it back to you, and then I'll break you as easy as I 
 made you if you don't stop with this. I've switched 
 around before for less than this, and I'll switch now, by 
 God, if you don't get sense into your head." 
 
 "I am not afraid," said Mrs. Hall. 
 
 "What kind of a woman are you?" asked Mr. Wes- 
 son. "You're not afraid, eh? You don't think I'm in 
 earnest, eh? Well, I am; and you look out. When 
 Daniel Wesson puts his shoulder to the wheel it'll go 
 round or it'll break. Now I'm going away from here, 
 but I'm coming back. Yes, I'm coming back; in an 
 hour I'll be here and Roy will be with me and we'll see 
 how this thing's coming out." 
 
 He went away without another word, grabbing his 
 hat, and pounding in furious determination down the 
 steps to the street. 
 
 "Do you think Mr. Wesson would dare to harm you, 
 <Mrs. Hall?" I asked fearfully. 
 
 "No, no," she replied. "Mr. Wesson never would talk 
 like that if he did not know in his heart that all the odds 
 are against him."
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 TRUE to his word Mr. Wesson returned within the 
 hour ; and with him came Mrs. Wesson and May and Roy. 
 Mrs. Wesson entered first, and flopped down heavily into 
 an armchair. May followed her mother closely, her face 
 unusually grave, and placed herself beside the mantel- 
 piece. Mr. Wesson half pushed Roy to the middle of the 
 room. 
 
 "Here's the culprit," he said, attempting jollity. 
 
 "Don't do that, father," rebuked Roy peevishly. 
 
 "Now what's wrong with the boy?" asked Mr. Wes- 
 son. 
 
 "Nothing's wrong, father," retorted Roy, "only I want 
 to be left alone, and not handled roughly like that." 
 
 May Wesson saw as I saw, and her heart went out in 
 sympathy. She went to Roy and placed her hand affec- 
 tionately upon his shoulder. "Never mind, Roy, what- 
 ever happens you and I will stick together." 
 
 "What's the meaning, sister ?" asked Roy. "Of course, 
 we'll stick together; we've always stuck together." 
 
 Mrs. Wesson, with difficulty, half-straightened up in 
 the arm-chair. "I can't see why there should be any dif- 
 ference of opinion," she said placidly. "I thought it was 
 all arranged." 
 
 "So did I," said Mr. Wesson. 
 
 "And so did I," said Roy, "but Frizzie's got more sense 
 than all of us put together. You may blame her, father, 
 but I don't ; upon my word, I don't !" 
 
 248
 
 IN THE CURRENT 249 
 
 "Is that the gratitude I am to expect from you, sir?" 
 said Mr. Wesson. "Go into the other room and wait 
 there till I send for you." 
 
 Roy seemed inclined to bid defiance. But after a mo- 
 ment's hesitation he laughed aloud. 
 
 "I guess I won't rear on my hind legs, dad. You've 
 got your riding clothes on, haven't you? Not a word 
 now; not a word. I'll go; I'll obey you I'll clear out, 
 dad, and leave you to get such a whipping as you never 
 got down in the Street." 
 
 Roy walked unsteadily to the door leading back to the 
 dining-room, and turned with his hand on the handle. 
 
 "There's no one wiser to Wall Street than you, dad, 
 but there's lots of things Wall Street doesn't know. Just 
 keep that in mind, dad, and just call me when you're 
 whipped good and proper I want to see how you look 
 when the lash has been laid on you a few times. So long, 
 dad," and Roy swung the door with a bang behind him. 
 
 "Where did Roy ever hear such a vulgarism as 'good 
 and proper'?" asked Mrs. Wesson, but no heed was paid 
 to her. 
 
 "Well, Frizzie," began Mr. Wesson, "it's come to a 
 showdown, and I'll play fair. My hand's not very 
 strong, and I'll only play it for just what it's worth. First 
 of all, I'll clear up a point. There's nothing like the 
 truth, and I did try to deceive you and Mrs. Hall. No- 
 body knows about the engagement, and that was a bluff. 
 I was thinking I could have telephoned to the newspapers 
 when I left here and neither of you would have been a 
 bit the wiser, but I'm going to be on the level. If it 
 wasn't for that I wouldn't have come back as I said I 
 would. If I was for going on dealing from the bottom 
 of the pack I would have waited until Roy sobered up. 
 You see him now, and you see how square I am with you.
 
 2 5 o IN THE CURRENT 
 
 He's not drunk; he's never been what you could call 
 downright drunk, but he's been drinking. He's got the 
 smell of it on him " 
 
 "Why, Daniel, what are you saying?" asked Mrs. Wes- 
 son half-rising in astonishment. 
 
 "Mary, you must be silent," commanded Mr. Wesson, 
 and his wife dropped back again. "I did wrong. I ought 
 to have taken you into my confidence, Frizzie. I ought 
 to have confided in Mrs. Hall. But Mrs. Hall and I did 
 talk; we thought Roy would hold himself up, and then 
 we made plans together. He held himself up for a while ; 
 when he began to slip again I tried to keep it quiet. I 
 did what I thought was best. Roy's my only boy. When 
 it comes down to it, what else is there in the world for 
 me but what lies before him ?" 
 
 "You have two daughters, Daniel," said Mrs. Wesson. 
 
 "Will you please let me speak, Mary?" asked her hus- 
 band sternly. May crossed the room, and put her arm 
 around her mother's neck. "It's all right, mother," she 
 said soothingly. "We shall both listen quietly." 
 
 "I bungled everything," continued Mr. Wesson, "but 
 I did it for Roy's sake. The boy's different to me. If 
 he'd put himself down to work in the office there would 
 have been no trouble, and all his mother's ambitions for 
 him would have been realized." 
 
 "My ambitions, Daniel!" 
 
 "Hush, hush, mother," said May, drawing her mother's 
 head close to her shoulder. 
 
 "There's not a better boy in the world," said Mr. Wes- 
 son, not minding the interruption, "and, Frizzie, I'll say 
 you're the only girl I've ever known I'd trust him to." 
 
 There was a silence, and I asked myself, was there a 
 heart in Mr. Wesson, after all? 
 
 "It's plain to see how I stood," he went on. "Roy was
 
 IN THE CURRENT 251 
 
 getting away from me. I couldn't hold him. His mother 
 brought scores of girls to the house, but he was only 
 polite to them." 
 
 "You mustn't say that, Daniel," exclaimed Mrs. Wes- 
 son. 
 
 "I will say it," replied her husband. "There's got to 
 be an understanding before we go any further. It's got 
 to be known why I've been so set on this. It's not usual 
 to insist as I've been insisting, when a young lady puts 
 her foot down as Frizzie has hers. I want it to be known, 
 and no mistake about it, that Frizzie's the only one who 
 ever has interested Roy; and if he's ever going to pull 
 up and make a man of himself you've got to marry him, 
 Frizzie." 
 
 "Daniel, I won't listen to such talk," interposed Mrs. 
 Wesson. "One would think my son " 
 
 "Mary!" said Mr. Wesson imperatively, and she sub- 
 sided. He leaned across a low, round table toward me. 
 "You've got to marry him, Frizzie, if he's ever going to 
 amount to anything. I don't ask you to sacrifice your- 
 self, as Mrs. Hall was saying. The boy only wants some- 
 body to steer him. He's a boy any girl might be proud 
 of; he's got more and finer brains than I've got. 1 
 can't manage him and his mother can't. He's got to have 
 some one like himself, some one that's got his imagination 
 and that's stronger than he is, or he'll go down. If he 
 hadn't any imagination, and wasn't always living with his 
 head in the clouds, he wouldn't be thinking of you, Friz- 
 zie ; he'd be content to marry money ; he'd be blinded by 
 the glamour of the thing they call society, but as it is he 
 sees that society's all shoddy and a yard wide. Do you 
 know what I mean, Frizzie?" 
 
 "I think I do, Mr. Wesson," I replied. 
 
 '"You know I'm selfish only to see my boy happy and
 
 252 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 a credit to my name?" he continued. "Of course, I'm 
 selfish Roy is my son. But I'm not asking you to throw 
 your life away, Frizzie. I've seen all along that you can 
 wind him around your finger; he's one of the men that 
 only one woman can influence, and it's up to you, Friz- 
 zie. I'd lay a million dollars he'll be a man when he's 
 got something to live for. You don't believe that, Friz- 
 zie? Well, I'll tell you something: I was the same my- 
 self when I was Roy's age, and you see me now." 
 
 "What's that, Daniel ?" asked Mrs. Wesson. 
 
 "You never knew, Mary," he answered. "When you 
 met me I'd put the brakes on, and I've never had any 
 trouble about it since. It will be the same with Roy. 
 When he feels solid ground under his feet he'll brace up. 
 Now tell me what you're thinking, Frizzie?" 
 
 He was motionless, looking intently at me. I looked at 
 Mrs. Hall, but her face did not relax its seriousness. 
 
 "I'm waiting for your answer, Frizzie," said Mr. Wes- 
 son, but it was destined that an answer never should be 
 required of me. 
 
 Roy burst into the room, kicking the door wide open 
 before him. 
 
 "Here I am," he shouted ironically, and in a voice that 
 chilled me. "Here I am, ready for the wedding." He 
 reeled to the small round table, and gripped it so stren- 
 uously that a vase went in pieces to the floor. "So, father, 
 you see what it's come to," he called, as we looked at him 
 in horror. "I got a decanter in there, and I emptied it. 
 I got a paste-pot in there, and I had a sheaf of bills in 
 my pocket, and look at me !" 
 
 Not a word was spoken. The only sound was a 
 strained cry of affright from Mrs. Wesson. 
 
 "Look at me, dad!" cried Roy. "Look at me! I'm 
 your work. I'm decorated in the colors you like best
 
 IN THE CURRENT 253 
 
 green and yellow, they're your colors, dad! Say you 
 like me; say I'm pretty. I've got your money all over 
 me look at me ! Money's the sign of the cross for me ! 
 I've got yellowbacks and greenbacks plastered all over 
 me five-dollar, ten-dollar, twenty-dollar, and fifty-dollar 
 bills and all of them from you, dad." 
 
 He reeled close to his father. 
 
 "Look, dad ; don't you admire me ? Don't you admire 
 the work of art you've made of me? How do I look in 
 the Joseph's coat you've given me? Don't you think I'm 
 a great artist? I didn't need to look in the mirror in the 
 back of the sideboard in there I could have stuck them 
 on in the dark. I could, dad I can tell money with my 
 eyes shut! Look at this, dad my dad! I've got four 
 fifties on my hair for a cap. Oh, they're not a cap ; they're 
 a crown a crown of money, dad ! Ha, ha ! You never 
 thought what my imagination was equal to. You have no 
 imagination, dad. Look at the twenties on my cheeks. 
 Look at the twenty laid square across my forehead 
 that's Cain's mark, dad ! Just think of it a twenty-dol- 
 lar bill for Cain's mark on my forehead ! Well, it serves, 
 doesn't it? Look on my shoulders and on my chest and 
 on my sleeves and on my hands all money ! Oh, it was 
 fun sticking them on. I was for having a bonfire on the 
 dining-room table first ; I was for bringing you in, dad, 
 and showing you the ashes and saying they were the 
 ashes of the life you gave me but that wouldn't have 
 been half the fun this is; there's no fun in being melo- 
 dramatic. And, dad, do you know how I got these five- 
 dollar bills on the backs of my hands ? Oh, that was fine 
 I plastered them flat with the brush and I rolled my 
 hands on them on the table, dad, on the table! You 
 like me looking this way, don't you? Money on my 
 hands and my arms and my shoulders and my chest and
 
 254 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 my head and my forehead and my cheeks on my cheeks ! 
 Smite me on the right cheek, dad, and I'll turn the left 
 cheek for you to smite again. Isn't tl^at what the Bible 
 says? Yes, that's what the Bible says, but it isn't what 
 you've been telling me since I was knee high, dad. No, 
 it isn't ; you've been telling me to smite you on the pocket- 
 book, and I've done it and now you've got to pay, dad; 
 you've got to pay." 
 
 Roy's eyes were staring, his whole appearance was ter- 
 rifying. Across his breast the bills were laid on two 
 deep. Mr. Wesson was the first to recover from the 
 shock. He faced his son aggressively. 
 
 "You've got to come home with me, Roy, and at once," 
 he said. 
 
 "That's the first time you've ever said that to me, dad," 
 railed Roy. "Where's home?" 
 
 "You must not say another word, sir," ordered Mr. 
 Wesson. 
 
 "What!" cried Roy. "Not talk? Who said that? 
 Was it my own father ? I thought he wanted to hear me 
 talk; I thought I couldn't talk enough to please him; I 
 thought I had to show him how smart I am. Oh, no, dad, 
 you won't stop me talking now. Do you hear that you 
 won't! It's harvest-time now, dad; the liquor you in- 
 vested in is coming back to you with interest. Say, dad, 
 will you ever take me on your knee again and let me 
 sip the last drops out of your cocktail glass? You re- 
 member you used to do that, and laugh and tell mother 
 there never was a Wesson disgraced himself by too much 
 drinking. But that's past; you've disgraced the line in 
 me, dad. That's what you've done. You're getting it 
 now for the free hand you gave me. The chickens have 
 come home to roost ; that's what it amounts to, dad."
 
 IN THE CURRENT 255 
 
 "You must come with me, Roy," said his father in a 
 placating tone. 
 
 "I'll never go with you, dad; I'll go with mother." 
 
 Mrs. Wesson emitted a sharp cry of pain, and Roy 
 looked at her. 
 
 "I'll go with you mother mother, that's always been 
 so gentle and generous with me, and that's never believed 
 her boy could do wrong. We will go together, mother, 
 won't we ? You've been an easy mother ; never let father 
 cross me or box my ears or anything like that ; never got 
 up in your indignation when he held a cocktail glass to 
 my lips ; never made me do anything I didn't want to do ! 
 You've been a loving mother to me always." 
 
 "I'm glad to hear you say that, Roy," said Mrs. Wes- 
 son, and with anguish in her voice, added: "But Roy, 
 Roy, I never trained you to this !" 
 
 "Trained, mother! Trained! That's rich but, of 
 course! You and father trained me, mother; yes, yes, 
 you did, you trained me up in the way I should go !" 
 
 He went to her chair and put his hands on her gray 
 hair. 
 
 "But it's not you that's to blame, mother; no, no, it's 
 not you. It's father; it's father that's got to pay the 
 piper." 
 
 Mr. Wesson crossed over and took his son firmly by 
 the arm. 
 
 "You'll come with me, Roy ; you'll come straight to the 
 automobile and home." 
 
 Roy wrenched himself free. 
 
 "There's one thing first," he cried. 
 
 He came before me and took me by both hands. 
 
 "Frizzie, look at me," he said, but I had not courage 
 to raise my head. "Look up, Frizzie," he commanded, 
 and I slowly raised my eyes to his. "Thank God^, Friz-
 
 256 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 zie, it's stopped short at this. You're worth a hundred 
 of me. Go back to Norman Clark. He's worth a thou- 
 sand of me. I've been a cad to you always." 
 
 "No, Roy," I said. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I have," he continued. "I've been a cad to 
 you, but it's all over now, Frizzie, and I only want you 
 to remember one thing: The cad in me was my money. 
 It was money pulled me down. Money always got the 
 better of me. I thought I could fight against it, but I 
 couldn't. You remember that day on the knoll, Frizzie? 
 You remember? When we saw Neptune in the sea, and 
 the waves and the sun danced for us, and the breeze whis- 
 pered mysteries into our ears, and we launched a shell for 
 a ship, and we hoisted an ostrich feather for a sail, and 
 sped away together in quest of a magical realm? Of 
 course, of course, you remember ! Well, that was the real 
 Roy. That was the Roy who might stand before you 
 now, if I was not my father's son. Good-by, Frizzie." 
 
 He bent down and kissed my right hand. 
 
 "Good-by, Frizzie," he repeated, and drew away leaving 
 me standing helpless and forlorn. 
 
 "You will go now, Roy?" asked his father. 
 
 "Sure I'll go; but I'll go with mother and with May. 
 Where's May?" 
 
 "I'm here, Roy," said the girl stepping forward. 
 
 Mrs. Wesson, sobbing bitterly, walked toward the door 
 and May joined her. Mr. Wesson again took his son 
 by the arm, and Roy looked at him curiously. 
 
 "So you're determined about it, dad, as you're deter- 
 mined about everything you try," said Roy. "But there 
 are some things you can't do, aren't there? But go 
 ahead ; have your way with me ; lead me out of here." 
 
 Father and son followed Mrs. Wesson and May out 
 into the hall. There Roy looked back. With his free
 
 IN THE CURRENT 257 
 
 hand he tore at the money on his coat, and sent a few 
 crumpled pieces to my feet. 
 
 "Take them as mementos, Frizzie," he shouted, as his 
 father dragged him away. "Take them take them," his 
 voice came back, "How could I build castles in the air 
 out of stuff like that?" 
 
 Mrs. Hall came up quietly and led me to the portrait 
 of herself as a girl, smiling at us out of the gold frame. 
 
 "You! You!" said Mrs. Hall, addressing the picture 
 in a voice that held as much tenderness as reproof. "It 
 was you influenced us to all this!" 
 
 She looked at me. 
 
 "Frizzie, Frizzie?" she asked. "Dare we ever again 
 smile like the girl up there in the picture?" 
 
 "Of course, of course," I cried. "We will smile now, 
 Mrs. Hall!" 
 
 "Of course!" she exclaimed gladly, and there the two 
 of us stood and not only smiled but laughed. For there's 
 laughter with tears in it.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 WITH some misgiving I went the following evening 
 to call on Winnie, and she received me coldly at the head 
 of the stairs. Not so Mrs. Caine, whom I found in the 
 parlor crying as if her heart were broken. 
 
 "Why, Mrs. Caine, what is wrong?" I asked. 
 
 "Haven't you heard, Frizzie?" she lamented. "Poor 
 little Dot; poor little " 
 
 "Come now, mother, don't be so sudden," interposed 
 Winnie. "You know you promised you would get over 
 it." 
 
 "Yes, I know I- promised, Winnie ; but how can any- 
 body forget?" 
 
 "Life's going to be awful dismal if you keep this up, 
 mother; and how are Frizzie and I going to talk here 
 with you in misery that way?" 
 
 "I won't bother you, Winnie; I'll go back and watch 
 the stew on the fire. You tell her, Winnie, and then both 
 of you come back and talk to a poor old woman." 
 
 "We will, Mrs. Caine," I said sympathetically, and I 
 could hear her sob as she went along the hall. 
 
 "Tell me, tell me, Winnie?" I demanded. 
 
 "Dot's dead," she replied bluntly. 
 
 "And Stella what of her?" 
 
 "Stella's gone back to Andy Thorne." 
 
 "She hasn't done that!" I protested. 
 
 "Yes, she has. They were married again when they 
 came back from the funeral."
 
 IN THE CURRENT 259 
 
 "I do hope they will be happy now, Winnie." 
 
 "Happy! I hope so, too." 
 
 The girl sat down, and made a gesture as if in resig- 
 nation. 
 
 "You haven't been here for three months? Where 
 were you? A lot you care about us, but I thought it 
 would be that way. Well, no matter; what's the differ- 
 ence? One friend or enemy more or less doesn't count. 
 But, oh, you don't know all that's happened since you 
 were here last." 
 
 "Do tell me, Winnie," I said. "You're so cold you 
 frighten me. Tell me about Stella and the baby." 
 
 "And about myself?" 
 
 "Yes, about yourself, Winnie." 
 
 "It's three months since you've been here, and the last 
 word I had from you was the letter telling me you were 
 engaged to Wesson. You wrote that the day you be- 
 came engaged to him?" 
 
 "Yes, Winnie, that very day." 
 
 "Are you married yet ?" 
 
 "No, Winnie; Roy and I will never marry." 
 
 "So you've got something to tell, too. It's broken off ?"* 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I'm not sorry ; it looks as if things are getting squared 
 up all around." 
 
 "Please begin, Winnie?" 
 
 "All right, I'll begin. First the baby there's not 
 much to that. Diphtheria. She was well this day play- 
 ing with me here in this room dead the next. We sat 
 up all night. The doctor used some newfangled remedy, 
 antitoxin, or something or other, but she was dead at 
 eleven o'clock. Maybe if we'd let them take her to the 
 hospital she would have lived ; maybe she wouldn't. Any- 
 way she's dead." ,
 
 26o IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "Oh, Winnie, I can't bear to hear you talk like that." 
 
 "Well, that's how I feel what had she to be taken 
 from us for? What harm was she doing? We were 
 happy. One might think God doesn't want poor people 
 to be happy. But she's gone. The funeral was the day 
 after she died they wouldn't let us keep her a day longer. 
 Stella and Andy Thorne rode to the cemetery together; 
 they rode back together ; they went away together. Stella 
 came here alone two hours later and showed the marriage 
 certificate. She couldn't speak, and mother cried over 
 her." 
 
 "And you, Winnie?" 
 
 "I didn't cry. I told her if I'd been in her place I 
 might do the same, and I kissed her." 
 
 "You kissed her, Winnie?" I cried in gladness. 
 
 "She's my sister," she replied. "They're living over 
 in Jersey City. Thorne wanted to take her as far as he 
 could from me. Not that I ever did anything to him. 
 He's got some money. He's doing something in a pool- 
 room; when the horse-racing shuts down for the winter 
 I suppose Stella will be back here again. She was here 
 yesterday, and her cheek was black. But she was smil- 
 ing, and she said she was happy. Maybe she was." 
 
 "I am sure she is happy," I said. 
 
 "Do you know what happened to Betty Collins?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "She shot herself." 
 
 "Winnie!" I exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes, shot herself. You might have read it in the 
 papers. Where were you ? Didn't you see the pictures ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Maybe Mrs. Hall kept the papers from you. I told 
 Mrs. Hall all about Betty and the rest of them. I'll bet
 
 IN THE CURRENT 261 
 
 she saw. I'll bet old Wesson saw, too, and that he put 
 her up to keeping the papers away. I know what he is ; 
 he's smart and tricky, but he'd do better if he was 
 honest." 
 
 "But Betty?" I asked impatiently. 
 
 "Oh, she just dressed herself in her best evening gown 
 and put on all her jewels and lay down on a couch with 
 a photograph of Roy Wesson in one hand and a re- 
 volver in the other. In the morning her maid found her 
 as if she was asleep, only for a hole in her temple. She's 
 lucky." 
 
 "Winnie, Winnie!" 
 
 "I mean it. She's in heaven, if there's a heaven any- 
 where. She never hurt anybody but herself, and she 
 couldn't help that nobody ever helped her. Betty loved 
 Roy Wesson to the last, too; she loved him as well as 
 she could." 
 
 "You must not say that, Winnie," I cried. 
 
 "No? Andrews soon threw her over, once you were 
 out of his net. When she had time to think she must 
 have thought of Wesson. If the minds of us women 
 didn't run back we'd be happier. But no matter; she's 
 gone. Maybe you've heard of Camilla Delmont?" 
 
 "No ; what happened to her, Winnie ?" 
 
 "They kept that from you, too? Camilla's not dead 
 no fear of her shooting herself. She's too wise. She 
 held up Andrews. She brought a breach-of-promise suit 
 against him. He paid forty thousand dollars to keep it 
 out of court. She had his letters, and she let him off 
 easy. She's gone to what she calls her home in a village 
 in Jersey. She won't be there long." 
 
 "I never thought you could be so terribly hard, Win- 
 nie?" 
 
 "I'm terrible, am I ? You haven't heard about myself?"
 
 262 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "How could I, Winnie?" 
 
 "I might have known that; you couldn't. I was en- 
 gaged. Yes, engaged. And to as fine a fellow as ever 
 walked this earth on two feet. Only a boss plumber, but 
 good enough for me. I don't know how it came about. I 
 couldn't help it. If I hadn't had time to think it all over 
 after I'd given my promise, maybe I'd be married now. 
 He wanted the wedding in a hurry. But one night I 
 woke up, and I lay there in the dark and that settled it. 
 When he came the next night, I said: 'Frank, I can't 
 marry you.' He asked, 'Why not?' and again I said: 
 'Frank, I can't marry you.' He didn't ask another word 
 Frank was a man. He knew what I meant, but that 
 didn't stop him. He wound his big, strong arms around 
 me. 'Do you think I'm a saint?' he said. 'Come on, 
 marry me.' 'I can't Frank; I won't/ I said. 'You will,' 
 he said. 'I'm the black one. You've been square and 
 aboveboard; now let's start with the decks swept clean.' 
 I held out, and he got mad. He said I was contrary. I 
 held out against him, and he went away mad." 
 
 "He may come back, Winnie." 
 
 "Maybe," said the girl. "Maybe." 
 
 "He will come back ; he must come back," I said. 
 
 "Supposing he does come back,, what of that?" she 
 said. "What about Wesson?" 
 
 "It was drink, Winnie." 
 
 "That's enough. I know all. Drink! When you say 
 that you say everything." 
 
 She caught her hands in her lap and fixed her eyes on 
 me. I thought I saw softness creep over her face. 
 
 "Why did you send Frank away?" I asked. 
 
 "Can't you guess?" she replied, all the harshness gone 
 from her voice. "Can't you guess?" she repeated, and 
 added: "Oh, no, you can't"
 
 IN THE CURRENT 263 
 
 "I can, Winnie! It's because you love somebody else 
 you love Roy!" 
 
 "I didn't say that," she defended. She was silent for 
 a moment. Then tears welled in her eyes, which before 
 had been so dry. 
 
 "Yes, I love him ; I love him," she said, "and you love 
 him and now where are we?" 
 
 There was another silence, and I could feel my heart 
 beat. The hardness settled in Winnie's face again. 
 
 "What right have you to come to me ?" she demanded. 
 "What did I ever do to you that you should steal Wes- 
 son away from me?" 
 
 "Winnie, Winnie ; I didn't do that," I said. 
 
 "No; you never thought, but that's what you did. 
 Women are such simpletons till they're jealous once. You 
 came to me and you confided in me and it never crossed 
 your mind I might be finding it hard to keep from tear- 
 ing you to pieces. What kind of a fool are you? Do you 
 think it was out of charity I wanted to keep you from 
 Wesson when you came like Smiling Innocence into his 
 office that day? What chance could I have to prove to 
 him there was good in me with you with your doll's face 
 before him? And you wrote to me and told me you were 
 engaged to him engaged after all that had happened; 
 after he'd tried to drag you down as he dragged me down 
 and left me to fight my way up again! You've got a 
 lot to be thankful for. You may thank your God you're 
 not a suicide like Betty or a blackmailer like Camilla." 
 
 I cried in anguish. She waited until my emotion be- 
 gan to wear itself off. 
 
 "Crying won't mend it," she said. "I was as big a 
 fool as you were. I thought I could appeal to the manly 
 side of him by showing him my strength. My strength !
 
 264 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 Think of that! The fools we women are! What we 
 flatter ourselves we know about men!" 
 
 "Winnie, Winnie, are you going to turn against me?" 
 
 "I don't know," she replied. "I've been asking myself 
 that question ever since I met you and I haven't been able 
 to answer it yet." 
 
 "You mustn't blame me, Winnie ; you mustn't. I didn't 
 know." 
 
 She ran over and caught me by the shoulders and shook 
 me. 
 
 "I don't blame you," she said, "but I've often longed 
 to get my hands on you." 
 
 "I don't believe it," I avowed. "You directed me in 
 everything." 
 
 "I directed you!' she exclaimed. "Oh, you don't see 
 yet. You don't see yet what it was saved you. Where 
 would you be now if Betty Collins hadn't come back that 
 day and talked the truth?" 
 
 "Winnie, I see, I see!" 
 
 "And you say I directed you ! Don't thank me ; thank 
 Betty that's dead. It was Betty pulled you through, and 
 not because she wanted to, but because she wouldn't let 
 somebody else pull you down when she couldn't have a 
 hand in it herself. You've never thought of it all this 
 time; you'd never have thought of it if I hadn't showed 
 you. The only difference between you and Betty and 
 Camilla and myself myself! is that you weren't left 
 to find out all the blackness of hell there's in it. Think 
 of that, and don't think hard of any other woman !" 
 
 "I won't, Winnie, never, never. But you don't hate 
 me, Winnie?" 
 
 "Oh, I tried to hate you, but I couldn't. I hated you 
 and yet I liked you. Yes, I did ; if I had only hated you 
 right along I wouldn't have been contradicting myself
 
 IN THE CURRENT 265 
 
 every day. But how could I hate you always you like 
 a lamb thrown out! I didn't know what I was doing. 
 I got old Wesson to working for you; I got Mrs. Hall 
 to working for you, and all the time when I was trying 
 to hold you up I was wishing down in my heart you'd 
 fall. All I've been through hasn't made me know myself, 
 and maybe that's the only lucky thing about me." 
 
 "We're still friends then, Winnie?" 
 
 "Yes, we're friends, and that's all both of us have 
 left. That's all." She reached out and clenched my hand 
 in hers. "Roy's gone. He wasn't for me. He wasn't 
 for you. We're here now at last, at last desolate, the 
 both of us. That's the end it's come to." 
 
 I started from my seat, and took my stand before her. 
 
 "I won't hear you say that, Winnie," I called. "We're 
 not desolate. We're all the better for what has hap- 
 pened." I could see a look of amusement and surprise in 
 her face. "Our hearts are not empty. They're filled with 
 something more than mere selfish love. Do you believe 
 that, Winnie? Mine is, and so is yours. Had we been 
 weak we should have gone down with him. But we 
 were strong, Winnie, we were strong. You fought a 
 greater fight than I, but we've both won. We're victors, 
 Winnie, victors, victors! Winnie, Winnie, can you be- 
 lieve, I feel like singing aloud in joy? For the first time 
 I know myself, I know my strength; and you know 
 yourself, and you know your strength ; and that's all there 
 is to know. Up, Winnie; up, Winnie, and we'll live! 
 Live, live, live! We've just begun to live! We've just 
 begun to know what it is to live!" 
 
 She smiled wistfully at me. 
 
 "I've been expecting something like that from you this 
 long, long time these months and months and months,"
 
 266 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 she said. "It's true every word of it true for you. But 
 for me, Frizzie well, you haven't paid the price I paid." 
 
 "I won't listen, Winnie," I insisted, "I won't." 
 
 She arose slowly and took me affectionately by the arm. 
 
 "What's the use in talking more about it?" she said. 
 "Come, Frizzie, let us go back to mother, who thinks she's 
 burdened with the cares of the world." 
 
 "I will go with you, Winnie," I said. And we went 
 to the kitchen hand in hand, and, strange as it may seem, 
 soon all three of us were laughing together. 
 
 Blessed laughter, say I, blessed laughter!
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 FROM Winnie's I went straight to a telegraph office 
 and sent a message to father. I asked him to come to me, 
 and then I went home to Mrs. Hall's and to bed in a spirit 
 of complete, wonderful content. At breakfast I told Mrs. 
 Hall. She almost started from her chair in sudden excite- 
 ment, but quickly controlled herself and settled down 
 quietly again. She was strangely silent. I confessed I 
 was rilled with a desire to return to Covey. 
 
 "That was inevitable from the start, Frizzie," said Mrs. 
 Hall, and lapsed again in silence. 
 
 I made another effort to arouse her. 
 
 "Do you know my most vivid impression of New York, 
 Mrs. Hall?" I asked. 
 
 "No," was her only response. 
 
 "It's a city of fat women and fat dogs, that's what New 
 York is," I said, but Mrs. Hall hardly seemed to hear. 
 
 Father arrived at three o'clock. I waited in the parlor, 
 and an odd impulse led me to stand in the exact spot where 
 Mrs. Hall had placed me for the coming of Mrs. Wesson. 
 There was little change apparent in him. There was a lit- 
 tle more white at his temples, a little more sharpness to his 
 stern, unyielding features, and that was all. He was mas- 
 ter of himself as always ; cool, imperturbable, conceding no 
 emotion even in the presence once more of his only child. 
 He was the first to speak. I had thought of many things to 
 say, but his approach almost froze me. It seemed as if the 
 old hostility, the old pulling at cross-purposes, still re- 
 mained. 
 
 367
 
 268 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 "You have returned from the dead, Frizzie," he said; 
 and the unexpectedness and shock of these opening words 
 shook me out of the dangerous, destructive state of feel- 
 ing and mind. 
 
 I went straight to him, and, although he tried to hold 
 himself aloof, put my hands on his shoulders and forced 
 him down until I kissed him. I led him to a chair and 
 forced him into it. I drew a chair close to him, and in 
 joyous exhilaration I spoke out of the fulness of my heart. 
 
 "I have not returned from the dead, father ; instead of 
 that, I have found the land of the living ; and I live there, 
 and I have sent for you to come and live with me ! Father, 
 I have learned the secret of our unrest. I have learned 
 what it was drove us apart and now draws us together. 
 Do you believe in Beauty, father ? Oh, you must believe, 
 for I believe ! You will join in the quest of Beauty with 
 me? I am going back to Covey. There's where Beauty 
 lies for me now. Do you realize what I am saying, father ? 
 I am not coming back carried on my shield, but bearing 
 it aloft triumphantly, as you knew I would." 
 
 "Is your Beauty selfishness ?" asked my father. 
 
 "No, no ; it is not that," I protested. "My Beauty is the 
 expression of all my hopes and fears, of all my aims and 
 all my struggles the expression of my very self, father! 
 My Beauty is the glory of content and of discontent ; it is 
 everything I have, everything I can hope to have. My 
 Beauty, father, is my religion, because I believe it is God 
 Himself. I see my Beauty, father, as something grand and 
 noble and sublime ; something that lifts me and the earth 
 with me to the gates of paradise. Oh, father, you must 
 think as I think and feel as I feel, and join with me in the 
 quest for Beauty the quest in which the whole world is 
 engaged without being conscious of it. You know that. 
 It's what you have been searching for in Covey all these
 
 IN THE CURRENT 269 
 
 years. It's what I was searching for when I left you and 
 left Norman. Can't you see, father? Can't you realize 
 there was another power impelled me than myself ? Can't 
 you see I was driven by a law higher than our law ?" 
 
 "You had Beauty offered to you and you rejected it," 
 said my father coldly. 
 
 "Oh, father, can you still say that ?" I cried in poignant 
 grief. 
 
 "I still say it," he replied. "I still find you a prey to 
 illusions as when you assumed to dictate to those who 
 loved you and thought only of your happiness." 
 
 "Don't you see I am different, father?" I asked in dis- 
 tress. "Won't you ask me to come back ; won't you accept 
 my offer ; won't you let me at least be a real daughter to 
 you; won't you stand with me on an equal footing and 
 strive for the Beauty of life ; won't I learn from you and 
 won't you learn from me?" 
 
 "I am afraid your head is filled with theories, Frizzie," 
 he said impassively. 
 
 "Don't you comprehend, father, that if I ever go back 
 it never, never can be the same as it was long ago?" 
 
 "I comprehend that fully," he said. "I comprehend it 
 only too well." 
 
 "Then I can never go," I cried. "I won't ask you to 
 help me carry my shield. I will go on the quest alone. 
 I will go alone, father, and leave you behind again with 
 all your conventions." 
 
 "I have not asked you what you have been doing," he 
 said. "You have not asked about me or about Norman?" 
 
 "It is too late for that now," I replied. "I have crossed 
 the bridge and the bridge is down, and we stand on oppo- 
 site sides of the chasm." 
 
 "Be it so," said my father sternly ; and the remembrance 
 came to me of his intonation as he used to read the First
 
 270 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 Lesson and the Second Lesson. He arose and walked with 
 determined step toward the door. I caught a glimpse of 
 Mrs. Hall coming down the stairs. Father saw her, and 
 drew back into the room, totally oblivious of my presence. 
 
 Mrs. Hall came in very softly, and with a look of in- 
 effable tenderness on her face. Her head was slightly 
 turned from me, and I saw a rose red and soft against 
 the gray and brown of her hair. She must have taken 
 in the situation at a glance, for she said : 
 
 "Charles, you are not going to deny Frizzie, are you ?" 
 
 "You have taken my daughter and saved her for me," 
 exclaimed father. "You! You!" 
 
 "Yes, Charles, I have done that if you think that 
 Frizzie required saving." 
 
 "It's you you, Alice, after all these years!" 
 
 I felt I was an intruder there. I tiptoed without a sound 
 out of the room. I went half-way up the stairs and sank 
 on a step, and thought of the face of the girl framed in 
 gold. It seemed to me I was living in other days. I 
 thought that while the world might grow old Romance 
 would remain ever young and in bloom. I knew then that 
 with me memory would become a sacred thing, and that 
 wherever my footsteps led surely I had something richer 
 and sweeter than material happiness. 
 
 I slipped back to the room at the low call of Mrs. Hall. 
 Father was standing with his back to me, gazing up at the 
 girl's portrait. Mrs. Hall guided me to his side, and I saw 
 that all the harshness and austerity had gone from him. 
 
 "Alice Grey! Alice Grey!" said my father to himself, 
 as if speaking across the years. "Alice! Alice!" he 
 added, and turned to me. "Ah, Frizzie, I fear it is not for 
 me to learn from you or for you to learn from me, but 
 for both of us to learn from Mrs. Hall." 
 
 "Father, Mrs. Hall has taught me everything."
 
 IN THE CURRENT 271 
 
 "So she has, Frizzie, even to filling your head with all 
 those Beauty fancies, and beautiful fancies they are!" 
 
 "You think so, father? Oh, I am so happy!" I cried; 
 and felt Mrs. Hall's arm go around me. 
 
 "We shall go back to Covey together, Frizzie." 
 
 "Only together, father ?" 
 
 I glanced at Mrs. Hall and saw red suffuse her cheeks. 
 
 "Together, Frizzie," said father, but I guessed his em- 
 phasis was more assumed than real. "We shall go to 
 Covey and we shall see if we cannot find that wonderful, 
 wonderful thing you call Beauty. But we won't go far 
 for I have found it, Frizzie!" 
 
 "You have, father?" I cried, rejoicing. 
 
 "I have found it with the help of Mrs. Hall and you, my 
 daughter. I had crushed Beauty out of my life. When 
 the girl in the picture died ; when another girl died your 
 mother, Frizzie I forgot youth and youth's hope and 
 youth's forgiveness and wrapt myself up in a cold religion. 
 We shall go back together, Frizzie, and in our remem- 
 brances our hearts shall be as big as the world as big as 
 the universe. I will preach a new religion the religion 
 that where there is Beauty there also is heaven, and that 
 heaven is in all of us if we will only see! That is your 
 Beauty, Frizzie?" 
 
 "It is, father," I cried, "but but the girl in the picture 
 is not dead." 
 
 "She will never die," said my father gravely. A gleam 
 of humor showed in his eyes. "But you must understand, 
 Frizzie, she is dead to all save a very, very few. Isn't 
 that so, Mrs. Hall ?" he asked, raising his voice. 
 
 "Only three know she is alive," answered Mrs. Hall 
 bravely, but with a tell-tale little sigh.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 So HERE we are, you and I, ready for the parting. I 
 face it sadly* Not that I shrink from the rough breaking 
 of ties, but because I fear you will go disappointed at 
 the manner of girl I am. Well, I can only say, I can- 
 not help it; I cannot help myself. 
 
 If it was weakness brought me back to Covey, I can't 
 help that. If it was absurd, downright silliness, I can't 
 help that. If all my thoughts of a world transformed into 
 Beauty were vain and profitless and sheer nonsense, I 
 can't help that. There are so few things we can help! 
 What is it we are permitted to do of our own free will? 
 I'm sure I don't know. Speaking only for myself, I must 
 confess I'll never speak of independence again. 
 
 Oh, the independent girl I have been! You know 
 you know the way I've ebbed and flowed in humanity's 
 tide. I can't imagine how you find the world, but for 
 myself well, I shall only proclaim that hard as I tried 
 I couldn't sail my ship single-handed. I couldn't put out 
 from port without a crew, and whether I would or not 
 the crew recruited itself, and trimmed my sails and took 
 the rudder out of my hands and sailed my ship for me! 
 What I've learned on my voyaging I hardly know. I 
 thought I knew, but reflection only increases the won- 
 der and perplexity of it all. What's life ? My friend, my 
 friend, what is it? 
 
 But I'm content. Yes, I'm content. I sing it out; I 
 go to my knoll and send my shout, "I'm content!" 
 
 272
 
 IN THE CURRENT 273 
 
 traveling to the ends of the earth, and the echo comes 
 back to me swelled a thousandfold. It has gathered 
 all this volume on the way, and I wonder why it has not 
 fallen and spent itself out there and left me lonely as of 
 old. Oh, when I go out there to my knoll now, I hear 
 bells ringing joyously, and voices come and whisper 
 sweetly in my ears! 
 
 It seems as if I only had slipped away for a day, and 
 a day taught me, and I have returned to dream other 
 dreams. Other dreams? Always, always, dreams! Six 
 months have flown since father came to Mrs. Hall's, and 
 at thought of father and Mrs. Hall I feel very, very in- 
 significant. I feel chastened when I think of them; I 
 feel sorry for the selfish vanity of my youth. What's 
 been my experience ? I haven't nursed a wounded heart 
 for twenty years, but, here, here! rejoice with me. Re- 
 joice with father and with Mrs. Hall, for one day soon 
 oh, I won't be a tattler! 
 
 I've not met Mrs. Clark; I've not met Norman yet. 
 But I've met Mr. Clark the dear old man, he almost 
 cried over me. Mother Ann is as fussy as if the joy of 
 the reunion will last forever. She comes and sits beside 
 me and sews and hums while I pore over these pages in 
 my room. My room? Not a thing changed; all the 
 same as when I went away ; and should you happen along 
 some day, look up and you will see me in the window 
 gazing far across the treetops upon the Atlantic. 
 
 I have not heard from Roy. Mr. Wesson still is silent. 
 Mrs. Hall has not once spoken Roy's name. All that 
 reaches me is an occasional letter from Winnie, and she 
 irritates me. Why does she not mention Frank? She 
 owes me that much. But there is no longer gloom in her 
 letters, and that may mean something. 
 
 Here then I sit at my little mahogany desk and write
 
 274 IN THE CURRENT 
 
 and write and write! Why do I do it? Let me see. 
 Shall I make one more confession? That I will, because 
 the mischief will rise in me. Long, long ago when the 
 moon was out of sight and the night was dark and only 
 one star shone out, I addressed myself to that lone star. 
 That was when I was young enough to think I was a 
 poet, and I wrote these lines and sent them to "Our 
 Readers' Corner" in a magazine: 
 
 O, Star! who knowest what thou art? 
 Who can on earth thy story read? 
 What matchless worth, what utter dross, 
 Thy light conceals? 
 
 My reward was a gentle intimation I was mad, and all 
 this I've written is my revenge. I'm mad still! But 
 what matter? Here I sit at my little mahogany desk, 
 and write and write and write ! You remember my little 
 mahogany desk? Didn't I make a slip about it some- 
 where ? Oh, yes I did ; but I'll not bother you any longer 
 with trifles. 
 
 It's very quiet here and very peaceful. Should I get 
 up and go into the hall I'd see father at his desk writing 
 his sermon for next Sunday; should he look up and see 
 me he'd greet me with a smile filled with tender love. 
 But I won't disturb him. I prefer to sit and dream. I 
 see the little globe which my fancy has placed on its 
 wire pedestal on my table, and I dream on. My gaze 
 wanders away, and the globe fades from my mind. I 
 look out of the window, and what do I see? Dream- 
 ing, dreaming! Something rises between me and my 
 view out over the tree-tops and upon the sea. Can it be 
 the face of Norman? 
 
 Away with this pen ! I'd rather dream than write.
 
 A 000119860 5