HE TORCH 
 
 HERBERT M- HOPKINS 
 

 
 4 

 
 THE TORCH 
 
 BY 
 HERBERT M. HOPKINS 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS 
 
 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 COPYRIGHT 1903 
 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
 
 OCTOBER 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 BRAUNWORTH & CO. 
 
 BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS 
 
 BROOKLYN. N. Y.
 
 TO 
 GEORGE WILLIAMSON SMITH, D. D., LL. D. 
 
 PRESIDENT OF 
 
 TRINITY COLLEGE 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED 
 
 AS A SLIGHT TOKEN 
 
 OF AFFECTION 
 
 AND ESTEEM
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 I ENTER, THE HERO L 
 
 II WITH THE PROCESSION *6 
 
 III THE PUBLIC PULSE 3 1 
 
 IV THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 5 1 
 V A HINT OF HIDDEN MILLIONS 67 
 
 VI TUPPER'S WIDOW 75 
 
 VII THE FIGURE OF A DREAM 89 
 
 VIII A Bow OF MAGENTA RIBBON 97 
 
 IX A FREE TONGUE IO 3 
 
 X THE FAIRY GODMOTHER n 
 
 XI ENIGMAS I2 5 
 
 XII A JOLLY GOOD FELLOW 137 
 
 
 
 XIII A MATCHING OF WITS H5 
 
 XIV OIL ON THE WATERS 155 
 XV THE CHARM THAT FAILED 165 
 
 XVI AT THE PLAY l8u 
 
 XVII THE MAN IN THE ROAD 19 
 
 XVIII THE DECIDING VOTE 205 
 
 XIX THE WRITING ON THE WALL 217
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 XX MORE GAMES THAN ONE 229 
 
 XXI THE BATTLE is JOINED 240 
 
 XXII VOLUNTEERS 253 
 
 XXIII THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY 267 
 
 XXIV A NEW CHAMPION 279 
 XXV BROUGHT TO BAY 295 
 
 XXVI A BROKEN VASE 306 
 
 XXVII AN ANCHOR TO WINDWARD 317 
 
 XXVIII FORTUNE'S DARLING 330 
 
 XXIX A FRANK UNDERSTANDING 343 
 
 XXX THE PROSPERITY OF A JEST 352 
 
 XXXI THE LOST LEADER 368 
 
 XXXII AT EIGHT TO-NIGHT 379 
 
 XXXIII THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN 389
 
 THE TORCH
 
 THE TORCH 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 ENTER, THE HERO 
 
 Mrs. Van Sant put down her novel and looked 
 out of the window, resolving for the twentieth time 
 to abandon all pretense of following the multitudi- 
 nous trails of modern fiction. She found life itself 
 much more absorbing than any attempt to portray 
 it. As she watched her gardener pushing the mower 
 back and forth across the lawn her active mind 
 seized upon even that simple operation as a thing of 
 passing interest. There was something in the work 
 that appealed to her practical nature; it was fresh, 
 vigorous and clean, and showed immediate results. 
 
 She threw open the window to warn the man 
 that he was cutting too near her flower beds and 
 paused to see that the warning was heeded. The 
 rising breeze of the late September afternoon blew 
 her fine, reddish hair about her face and brought the 
 quick color to her fair skin. For some time she 
 stood, breathing deep with a sense of infinite refresh- 
 ment, her restless eyes searching the shadowed 
 
 i
 
 2 THE TORCH 
 
 spaces of the quiet street and the front yards of 
 her neighbors opposite. The only sounds she heard 
 were the monotonous whir of the lawn-mower and 
 the shrill treble of the locusts in the trees. All 
 Argos seemed asleep. 
 
 Presently she saw Professor Plow coming down 
 the street with his long, swinging stride, and drew 
 back behind the curtains. She dreaded a call that 
 might result in another proposal for her hand. Even 
 her present dullness was preferable to another argu- 
 ment with him on that subject, and she breathed 
 a sigh of relief when she saw that his quick glance 
 failed to detect her presence behind the swaying 
 curtains. 
 
 She wondered, as often before, how a man with 
 such a fine head and such an athletic frame could re- 
 main indifferent to the little touches that would 
 make him an attractive, even a remarkable, figure. 
 He was the most interesting personality she had met 
 in the university town. She felt that a man of his 
 force and personal magnetism ought to have risen 
 higher than a college professorship, and ascribed 
 his lack of worldly success to a lack of worldly 
 sense. 
 
 As she watched him striding down the street she 
 saw her stepson coming in the opposite direction 
 with the short, quick step and erect bearing that al- 
 ways reminded her of his father. The boy gave his 
 professor a prim, military salute as they passed. 
 
 Mrs. Van Sant smiled, but without tenderness, 
 at the memory of the tall and courteous soldier, so 
 much her senior, who had won everything from her
 
 ENTER, THE HERO 3 
 
 except her love. She hoped, when she married him, 
 that she could give her love in time, but she dis- 
 covered later that it was too great a gift to bestow 
 on one who had no room to receive it. Her na- 
 ture was generous, but egotistic. She was one who 
 must be sure of great devotion to herself before she 
 could give. Perhaps the colonel had loved his first 
 wife, but, as far as she was concerned, his mind 
 seemed too full of ideas of duty, of honor, of dress, 
 to admit a serious rival. His punctilious gallantry 
 began to pall upon her ; she felt that it had no more 
 value than his salute to his general. Now he was 
 gone, having left her a fortune and the care of his 
 son. 
 
 The boy had inherited his mother's tendency to 
 consumption, and Mrs. Van Sant decided to take 
 him to the lofty prairies where she had spent her 
 girlhood. In that bracing air she felt he would be 
 safe. During the ten or twelve years of her absence 
 the State University had grown apace, and she was 
 glad to have Robert enter as a student. At first she 
 hoped he might catch some of the largeness and en- 
 thusiasm of the West, but already she was beginning 
 to see that it was impossible. He was ridiculously 
 like his father. The small cup could not hold the 
 contents of a pail. The only thing in the university 
 that appealed to him was the military drill. She 
 found it difficult to take an interest in his meager na- 
 ture, but a sense of duty kept her to her post. Late- 
 ly she had become interested in the social life of the 
 place. The State University was much more im- 
 portant than in the days of her girlhood when she
 
 used to drive over from the capital to attend the 
 students' dances. Now it was not the students, but 
 the faculty, whom she found interesting, and al- 
 ready her hands were on the reins of social leader- 
 ship. 
 
 Robert came into the room and put his books care- 
 fully on the table. Mrs. Van Sant thought that a 
 real, live freshman would have thrown them into a 
 corner, but she could scarcely advise him to be bois- 
 terous and disorderly. She was glad to note that he 
 looked fresh and well, though she had too much ex- 
 perience to assume that high color is necessarily an 
 index of good health. They surveyed each other 
 coolly, but without animosity or restraint. 
 
 "The new president is coming to-night," he an- 
 nounced. 
 
 "I'm glad to hear it," she answered. "His arrival 
 has been heralded so often that I really began to sus- 
 pect he was a myth. What kind of man is he? 
 Have you heard anything interesting about him?" 
 
 He repeated some gossip picked up on the campus, 
 but told her nothing she had not already read in the 
 papers. A categorical account of his degrees and 
 books left him still a very nebulous person. She 
 knew that he was a bachelor and thirty-seven years 
 of age, but there were many bachelors of that age, 
 and these facts in themselves were no guaranty that 
 she would find him interesting. 
 
 "I must take my ride," Robert said presently, 
 anxious to be off. He hesitated at the door and 
 then turned. "Shall I have your horse brought
 
 ENTER, THE HERO 5 
 
 around?" he asked. "Would you like to go with 
 me?" 
 
 "Thank you, Robert," she answered. "I don't 
 feel ambitious enough to change my dress, and I 
 won't keep you waiting." She smiled brightly at 
 his look of relief as he left the room. 
 
 "I bore him as much as he bores me," she admit- 
 ted. "Poor Robert ! He's always so polite, and as 
 dry as ashes." 
 
 Fifteen minutes later she saw him canter slowly 
 away on his horse. Even the well-groomed animal 
 seemed to share the rider's personality and to step 
 with a certain mincing propriety. A sudden eager- 
 ness for motion and fresh air came over her. She 
 flung on her wraps and hurried from the house, 
 drawing on her gloves as she walked toward the 
 gate. 
 
 When once in the street she felt in better humor. 
 She walked rapidly and soon reached the great, slop- 
 ing campus of the university. As she glanced up 
 at the long row of dingy buildings that crowned the 
 hill she smiled with vague apology. At the moment 
 the institution looked like some forlorn asylum. 
 There was no individuality in the brown, weather- 
 beaten buildings. One object, however, incongru- 
 ously beautiful, broke the level sky-line of the roofs. 
 The tower of the library sprang up against the blue, 
 and even as she looked the chimes shook down a 
 shower of sixteen sweet notes, followed by five 
 brazen beats of the great bell. The chimes had been 
 given by the parents of a student who had died in his
 
 6 THE TORCH 
 
 second year, that they might ring out his memory 
 in the place he had loved. 
 
 "If anything happens to Robert," she reflected 
 wickedly, "I'll endow a chair of Pedantry and Pro- 
 priety in his memory." 
 
 The autumn sun, dropping lower, suddenly smote 
 fire from the windows of the tower until, to her 
 swiftly changing mood, it symbolized the torch of 
 learning uplifted in those western prairies. She 
 paused to watch the lower windows catch the glow, 
 and soon all the buildings seemed aflame. Thin 
 streams of students began to pour from the doors of 
 the recitation halls, as if escaping from a conflagra- 
 tion within. The women, for the most part, went 
 homeward, book-laden and serious, but the men 
 rushed off to the football field to watch the practice 
 of the team. She heard their jokes and laughter, 
 and saw the dim, grimy figures of the players that 
 swayed and pushed in the lengthening shadows be- 
 low the hill. Through the still evening the hoarse 
 commands of the coach came to her ears, and even 
 the grinding thud of the canvas-clad young giants. 
 The 'varsity was rushing the scrub team down the 
 field. In another moment there would be a touch- 
 down, and the belated students broke into a run, 
 eager to join in the cheering of the watchful throng 
 that filled the benches. 
 
 In the moving picture of life before her Mrs. Van 
 Sant caught sight of her friend, Nicholas Lee, the 
 professor of English literature, coming down the 
 path with a companion.
 
 ENTER, THE HERO 7 
 
 Susanne Van Sant and Nicholas Lee had known 
 each other almost from infancy. They were brought 
 up in neighboring houses in the capital, and contin- 
 ued their acquaintance through the high school. 
 The young girl, with her wonderful braid of auburn 
 hair, practised her coquetry on the slim, angular 
 youth, and was the torment of his life up to the time 
 she went east and left him a freshman in the State 
 University. The change she discovered in him at 
 their meeting again had not yet lost its novelty. 
 That nose, which seemed so preposterously salient 
 in the days of his hobbledehoy, now suggested an- 
 cestors, and the tongue she once thought so rude 
 had become the ready servant of a discerning mind. 
 His enemies said that he had been pitchforked into a 
 full professorship at the age of thirty-two because 
 of his social connections and the favor of a promi- 
 nent regent. Between him and Mrs. Van Sant 
 there existed a freemasonry, based on a humorous 
 memory of their early love. 
 
 As the two men drew nearer she recognized Doc- 
 tor Trumbull, an assistant professor of Greek, a tall, 
 foreign-looking young man, dark-skinned, with 
 black mustachios and an imperial that had won him 
 the sobriquet of "the count." Her acquaintance 
 with Trumbull was so slight that she would have 
 passed them with a mere nod of recognition, but 
 Lee was in high spirits and would not be denied. 
 
 "I know you're going down to see the new presi- 
 dent come in," he cried. "You might take us under 
 your protection."
 
 8 THE TORCH 
 
 "I have no such intention," she retorted. "I'm 
 merely out for a walk, but I see no objection if you 
 wish to accompany me." 
 
 "I'm suffering from an infectious fever," Lee 
 said whimsically, as the three went on together, "a 
 fever of expectancy. Do you catch the excited at- 
 mosphere of this campus?" He pointed with his 
 cane to the amphitheater of wooden benches at the 
 bottom of the hill. "The authorities have taken 
 long chances with the weather in planning an open- 
 air inaugural, but no building of our future great 
 university can hold the crowd." 
 
 They continued their way through the campus 
 and along the brow of the hill on which the univer- 
 sity buildings stood. Mrs. Van Sant walked be- 
 tween them, a spray of goldenrod in her hand, her 
 naturally fine color heightened by the cool air of the 
 September evening. Lee's glance paid her a per- 
 sonal tribute of admiration, for he appreciated every 
 detail of her attractive figure, slender, clean-stepping 
 and neat. She seemed to drop ten of her thirty 
 years during her climb up the hill. 
 
 The path led upward until they stood on a level 
 with the library tower. Here they paused by com- 
 mon consent to look down on the scene. They 
 saw the sloping grounds of the university crossed by 
 straight long paths of yellow gravel. The pine 
 boards of the amphitheater appeared a dim patch 
 against the darkening earth. The football field had 
 shrunk to the size of a small corral. The practice 
 of the team was over, and the crowd of spectators 
 began to pour from the gates and trek homeward
 
 ENTER, THE HERO 9 
 
 like ants across the campus. The great sweep of 
 lowlands beyond was bare, wind-swept, rilled with 
 strange lights and shadows, a scene to awaken in 
 the memory odds and ends of sad verses. The little 
 town of Argos was like a dark green checkerboard, 
 pricked out against the prairie by the first white 
 twinkling of electric lights. Far off they saw the 
 yellow gleam of the great river. A steamboat 
 turned the bend, crossed a strip of bright water, and 
 was gone. On its banks crouched the capital of the 
 state, the purple smoke of its chimneys mingling 
 with the clouds that closed in upon the setting sun. 
 The gilded dome of the State House, rising ghost- 
 like, seemed to float above the thousands of roofs, 
 suspended in the murky air. 
 
 "How melancholy and lonely our little Argos 
 seems now !" Mrs. Van Sant said. "Perhaps I am 
 lacking in soul, but a sunset in the country always 
 depresses me." 
 
 "It's half-past five now," Trumbull put in, with a 
 brusqueness of manner that she already recognized 
 as characteristic. "If we're going to meet the train 
 we must be moving." 
 
 "I see you have no sympathy with my sunset 
 musings," she murmured, smiling. As she noted 
 his indifference she wondered that Lee should find 
 him congenial. 
 
 "Argos may seem small and lonely from this dis- 
 tance," Lee remarked as they began to descend the 
 hill, "but it will soon be a very interesting place to 
 live in. Everybody will fall over everybody else in 
 his desire to pay his respects to the new potentate.
 
 io THE TORCH 
 
 No more running to the regents. Babington is to 
 have all the power; he's to be It. We're to be run 
 on 'business principles,' I hear." He flung back his 
 head and laughed scornfully. "It will be worth the 
 price of admission to see Fyffe and Plow in the race 
 for favor. It was owing to Plow's skill as a wire- 
 puller that Babington was called. Plow told me yes- 
 terday how he and 'Bab' were classmates in college, 
 how they formed the battery of the nine, and how he 
 broke his finger taking a hot ball off the bat. He'll 
 play Pylades to the president's Orestes." 
 
 "Don't you believe it," Trumbull protested. "If 
 Plow worked for Babington it was because he 
 thought him a good man." 
 
 "Please, Mr. Trumbull," Mrs. Van Sant inter- 
 posed, "let Mr. Lee have his little gossip; he enjoys 
 it. Anyhow, one may have mixed motives. Per- 
 haps the truth lies betwixt and between." 
 
 Lee turned upon her with his charming and cyn- 
 ical smile. 
 
 "I could even tell you more did I not know your 
 rooted aversion to personalities," he suggested. 
 
 "I'll relent in this case," she returned, "since the 
 personalities are not about myself; and I know 
 you're not unwilling to tell. I will even confess that 
 I asked Mr. Plow a question or two. He told me the 
 new president was an authority on the Eastern ques- 
 tion, and offered to lend me one of his books. But 
 I suppose a man like Mr. Plow never knows how 
 another man looks." 
 
 "Naturally," said Lee, "since he never takes 
 thought for his own appearance. But to go back to
 
 II 
 
 my story. Plow told me that Babington was the son 
 of a missionary in China. That's how he comes to 
 know so much about the Eastern question. Plow's 
 father was a blacksmith, you know." 
 
 "I didn't know," she answered. "That's interest- 
 ing. But don't let me interrupt you." 
 
 "Well, they supported themselves in college by 
 running a milk and butter business, and so the fel- 
 lows called them the buttery of the nine, instead of 
 the battery. Plow is perfectly devoted to him. He 
 has even forgotten the iniquities of the trusts for the 
 time being. He has been taking everybody into his 
 confidence. He says Babington is one of the great- 
 est men that ever lived, that he has managed to dis- 
 tinguish himself in the fifteen years since he left 
 college, 'even in these days of great combinations 
 that destroy competition and crush out individual- 
 ity.' And our professor of political economy has 
 shown himself a true Irishman. He pulled wires 
 in a way to make a Tammany Hall politician green 
 with envy. There isn't a regent he hasn't seen. In 
 fact Babington owes him a debt of gratitude. Plow 
 ought to have gone into politics. He could have 
 been governor of the state by this time if he hadn't 
 mistaken his calling." 
 
 Trumbull cut a weed low with an irritated swing 
 of his cane. 
 
 "Babington may owe him a debt of gratitude," he 
 declared, "but Plow isn't the kind of man to demand 
 payment." 
 
 Lee glanced quickly at Mrs. Van Sant for her ap- 
 preciation.
 
 12 THE TORCH 
 
 "I rack poor Trumbtill's soul with my scandalous 
 imaginings. Well, let us put Plow on the pedestal 
 where be belongs. I waive the point. I will even 
 go so far as to say that he or Everett might have 
 made a very respectable president had there been 
 that absence of jealousy in the faculty that ought 
 to characterize a Christian community. But Fyffe 
 is a horse of a different color. He will certainly 
 enter the race for favor early. He will show 
 the president his latest unpronounceable insect 
 through the microscope. He thinks bugs are the 
 most important things in the educational world, and 
 he will know where to go to get an appropriation for 
 his biological laboratory. Have you seen his polli- 
 wogs and goldfish swimming in a glass tank against 
 the sunlight? It's a beautiful sight. But, to step 
 from polliwogs to politics, our republic of letters 
 will become a despotism, perhaps a benevolent des- 
 potism; it all depends on the character of the des- 
 pot. He ought to be benevolent, for he will get 
 a house and ten thousand a year, a good deal more 
 than the governor of the state. He came high, 
 but I suppose we had to have him, to put an end 
 to the squabbles in the faculty and to make a showy 
 head to the university. The regents will know 
 where to place the responsibility now if anything 
 goes wrong." 
 
 "I think the job is worth ten thousand a year," 
 Trumbull declared. 
 
 "My dear fellow," Lee retorted delightedly, "you 
 have never felt the pinch of poverty and you have no 
 sense of money values. Ten cents or ten thousand
 
 ENTER, THE HERO 13 
 
 dollars, it's all one to your plutocratic eye. What 
 about the poor devils of instructors toiling along on 
 nine hundred or a thousand a year, less than the sal- 
 ary of any green graduate who teaches in a high 
 school? That ten thousand looks big to them. As 
 sure as I'm a prophet, there'll be trouble in the camp 
 if the hand of the despot waxes heavy." 
 
 "I wish I could take part in it!" cried Mrs. Van 
 Sant gaily. 
 
 "You can," Lee returned, looking at her with his 
 significant smile. She ignored the suggestion she 
 understood so well, and Trumbull had no idea of the 
 little byplay his friend's implication that she might 
 marry him and thus become an integral part of the 
 university life. 
 
 As they entered the street that led to the station 
 they were absorbed into an ever increasing crowd 
 converging toward the same destination. 
 
 "Here's where my inches come in," said Lee, put- 
 ting on his glasses and looking over the heads of the 
 people. The shops were alight, and the merchants 
 stood in their doors to watch the crowd pass by. It 
 was a homelike and comfortable vista. Mrs. Van 
 Sant's spirits, oppressed by the solemnity of the open 
 country, revived. She enjoyed all the life of the 
 street : the whiff of fresh bread from the bakery, the 
 sight of autumn vegetables piled high in front of 
 the grocer's shop, the rows of books in the station- 
 er's window. 
 
 "I feel as if I had been lost on a desert island," 
 she remarked, gaily, "and had just come home to 
 comfort and to civilization."
 
 14 THE TORCH 
 
 "Thank you," Lee returned. "I did flatter myself 
 that you had been listening to some entertaining 
 conversation. However, you deprived me of the 
 prop of vanity years ago." 
 
 They stood in the midst of the expectant crowd as 
 the train drew up at the station. The old president 
 of the university and Professor Plow were in wait- 
 ing with a carriage. In the light of the station lamps 
 they saw the new president's tall figure, surmounted 
 by a silk hat, step from the train. In a moment his 
 old classmate was at his side with a shout of wel- 
 come. The two men shook hands. 
 
 "Hello there, Plow !" the newcomer cried. 
 
 The crowd caught sight of his pleasant face and 
 heard his hearty laugh. They felt a glow of sym- 
 pathy and pride. As the professor helped his friend 
 into the carriage the students gave them a rousing 
 cheer. They looked like sons of Anak, and the 
 vehicle rocked with their weight. The crowd 
 cheered again, giving the college yell, followed by 
 the name of Babington. The new president doffed 
 his hat and half arose, as if to make a speech. Ap- 
 parently he thought better of it, for he resumed his 
 seat beside his hosts, and the carriage was driven 
 rapidly away. 
 
 During the next hour professors were called from 
 the table to answer the telephone bell and learned 
 that the new president had arrived. They in turn 
 rang up their friends and commented on the news. 
 The students were all agog with curiosity, excite- 
 ment and emulous approval. From the fraternity 
 tables to the great dining hall the word was sent
 
 ENTER, THE HERO 15 
 
 that athletics would now have a boom unprecedented 
 in the history of the university. 
 
 Trumbull and Lee, equally interested, extricated 
 Mrs. Van Sant from the meshes of the crowd, and 
 accompanied her to her door.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 WITH THE PROCESSION 
 
 The day of the inauguration dawned with a chilly 
 wind that boded ill for the ceremonies. Soft, fluffy 
 vapor began to trail across the sky, growing darker 
 and more ominous as the hour drew near. About 
 half-past nine the faculty assembled in front of the 
 library and prepared to march to the theater at the 
 foot of the hill. Their academic regalia made a 
 brave show, for the various colors of the long silk 
 hoods represented the chief universities of Germany 
 and America and the gold tassel of the doctorate 
 nodded on many a mortar-board. The lecturers 
 from the departments of medicine and law in the 
 capital were also present, as well as many of the 
 regents. 
 
 A feeling of esprit de corps, a realization of their 
 academic solidarity, pervaded the teachers of all de- 
 partments. They chatted in groups; they made 
 jocular comments on each other's finery; they were 
 conscious of the amused pride of their wives, who 
 waved them salutations as they passed by. In all 
 that distinguished gathering there was scarcely one 
 who was indifferent to the holiday spirit of the 
 occasion. 
 
 Mrs. Van Sant and her friend Mrs. Everett lin- 
 16
 
 WITH THE PROCESSION 17 
 
 gered a moment on their way down the hill and 
 beckoned Professor Everett from the line. 
 
 "It took me an hour to get him ready," his wife 
 declared. "Don't talk to me about the vanity of 
 women." 
 
 "When I saw you at my table the other night," 
 Mrs. Van Sant remarked, "I didn't know that I was 
 entertaining an angel unawares; or shall I say a 
 peacock ?" 
 
 The professor beamed upon her genially, for he 
 always enjoyed her banter. 
 
 "You must dine with us to-night," he rejoined, 
 "and give us an opportunity to entertain an angel, 
 not unawares." 
 
 "I'm not sure I shall let her," said Mrs. Everett. 
 "Mr. Plow, have you come to capture the deserter? 
 I'm afraid the fault is ours." 
 
 Plow took Everett by the arm. 
 
 "This is no time for talking," he said, "however 
 great the temptation. The sirens will have to give 
 place to-day to a Ulysses. Come on; the boys are 
 waiting. I'm your superior officer, you know." 
 He shook his baton threateningly and began to 
 draw his friend away. , 
 
 "Wait a moment !" Mrs. Van Sant cried. "I want 
 to ask you who those gorgeous fellows are over 
 there, those with the lilac velvet trimming." 
 
 "Those?" he echoed, with an expression inde- 
 scribably humorous. "Why, they are the dental 
 faculty. They make the rest of us look like thirty 
 cents, and carry off all the honors with the women. 
 I have no use for them."
 
 1 8 THE TORCH 
 
 "Nor I either," she replied, with a smile that 
 proved her words true. "But where are your fine 
 feathers?" 
 
 "I'm grand marshal of this whole outfit. You are 
 to imagine me clothed in the invisible robes of au- 
 thority," he explained. 
 
 The two women waved them a laughing adieu 
 and went down the hill together. 
 
 "This is the great day of Mr. Plow's life," said 
 Mrs. Van Sant. "It's lovely to see two men so de- 
 voted to each other as he and the president are." 
 
 Mrs. Everett felt that Plow might have supported 
 her own husband's candidacy for the presidency, 
 and was not so sure of his disinterestedness. 
 
 "To think of his refusing to wear a cap and gown 
 on an occasion like this," she remarked, "especially 
 when he is marshal of the procession ! I understand, 
 too, that Mr. Babington expressed a desire for uni- 
 formity in the matter; but one can take liberties 
 with the wishes of an old friend." 
 
 Her companion did not fail to detect the bitter- 
 ness of the innuendo. 
 
 "It's only an illustration of his democratic pro- 
 clivities, I fancy," she rejoined. "He feels that a 
 silk gown would not look well on the shoulders of a 
 champion of the workingmen." 
 
 Mrs. Everett concealed her hurt with a smiling 
 acquiescence. Her friend had sympathized with her 
 hopes for her husband, but now, like the rest of the 
 world, she was enlisted on the side of the successful 
 man. 
 
 The band was already beginning to utter notes of
 
 WITH THE PROCESSION 19 
 
 preparation, and Plow rushed up and down the line, 
 shoving men into place. 
 
 "Close in there with Brown !" he shouted to Lee. 
 "You don't object to the classics?" 
 
 The selection was scarcely a happy one, but Lee 
 smiled amiably at the Latinist. 
 
 "I'm delighted," he remarked, "to march arm in 
 arm with a lexicon." 
 
 He had known Marcus Brown in the graduate 
 school of an eastern university, whither he had gone 
 after taking his first degree at Argos. Although the 
 two men were not friends, they had never quite 
 abandoned the mutual banter of their student days. 
 Fortune had flung them together again at Argos, 
 and Lee had risen to a full professorship, while 
 Brown remained still an instructor. The philologue 
 regarded the English professor with a malevolent 
 smile, though his shifty, light blue eyes could not 
 meet steadily his rival's imperious gaze. It was 
 characteristic of him to smile continuously and never 
 to look any one in the face. His square head, his 
 blond beard, his squat figure, reminded Lee of a 
 kobold of the mountains. He wagged his head from 
 side to side, groping in vain for a witty retort. Then 
 he prepared a more deliberate thrust. 
 
 "The president made a speech to the students last 
 night,? he said, "and took them by storm." 
 
 "We'll take him by storm to-day," Lee rejoined, 
 looking up at the hurrying clouds. "One good turn 
 deserves another." 
 
 "I knew Babington years ago," Brown went on, 
 "long before I knew you. He was one of my pro~
 
 20 THE TORCH 
 
 fessors when I was an undergraduate. He believes 
 in sound scholarship. He'll trim off some of the old 
 growth of the faculty, and some of the young shoots, 
 too." 
 
 Lee saw the drift of his remarks, and his eyes 
 twinkled with enjoyment. He knew that Brown re- 
 garded English literature as mere flubdub compared 
 with classical philology, and sneered at the poems 
 that sometimes appeared in the magazines over 
 the name of Nicholas Lee. Evidently the instructor 
 believed that the day of reckoning had come, and 
 that he would be advanced to honor while the official 
 scissors snipped his rival in the bud. 
 
 "Brown," he said solemnly, "this is the opportu- 
 nity of your life. I advise you to sit up nights work- 
 ing overtime on that grammatical treatise of yours, 
 and then dedicate it to the Gamaliel at whose feet 
 you sat in your undergraduate days." 
 
 The band at the head of the column struck up a 
 march and prevented reply. The long line began to 
 move slowly down the hill. As they turned the cor- 
 ner of College Hall they saw the theater below them 
 densely packed with people. The canopy over the 
 platform, gay with looped flags, billowed in the 
 wind. Tall standards, placed at intervals about the 
 inclosure, streamed with bunting of green and gold, 
 the university colors. Even the dingy buildings 
 that looked down on the scene caught a reflected 
 glory. Here some two thousand young men and 
 women of the state sought the advantages of a 
 higher education. Here many a youth dreamed of 
 future usefulness to his country, or of renown in
 
 WITH THE - PROCESSION 21 
 
 the fields of learning, and the scene of such dreams 
 was not without dignity to the eyes of the spiritually 
 minded. 
 
 At last the procession had wound down the long 
 graveled path, through the gate, and ascended the 
 platform that inclosed the speaker's rostrum. The 
 music rose into a final brazen and triumphant crash, 
 and then a sudden silence fell on the thousands of 
 upturned faces. A confused murmur of comment 
 gradually became audible, like the droning of a hive 
 of sleepy bees. The buzzing sound changed into a 
 patter of hand-clapping as the chief regent came 
 forward to the edge of the platform. 
 
 Judge Gates was one of the pioneers. His face, 
 which looked like russet leather, bore a curious rec- 
 ord of humor and avarice. He waited for silence, 
 the suggestion of a satirical smile on his lips. It 
 was rumored that he had not approved the choice of 
 Babington, and many wondered whether he would 
 show in his speech the impish spirit for which he was 
 famed. 
 
 The judge's speech was short, as befitted his pres- 
 ent role. He congratulated the university upon its 
 new president, but before he closed he reminded 
 Doctor Babington that a professor's position was 
 like an easy armchair, whereas the president was 
 seated in a rocker, exposed to every wind of criti- 
 cism, and in danger of being precipitated to the 
 floor. He hoped, he believed, that no such disaster 
 would befall the present occupant. It was scarcely 
 a felicitous jest, and the judge sat down, leaving the 
 audience to make the best of it.
 
 22 THE TORCH 
 
 The governor of the state spoke next ; a large, hir- 
 sute man who had hammered hfs way to the front 
 without the aid of an education and despised univer- 
 sities. The present audience was only a small part 
 of the public he wished to conciliate. He really rep- 
 resented the rustic population of the state, who re- 
 garded the university with suspicion and grudged 
 the taxes that must go to its support. The coldness 
 of his reception showed him that he was in the camp 
 of his enemies. He spoke in a vague, amorphous 
 manner of the necessity of education, and having 
 done his duty as a politician he hastened to introduce 
 the new president. 
 
 As Babington came forward the enthusiasm of 
 the audience was boundless. The students cheered ; 
 the women clapped their hands and waved their 
 handkerchiefs. The president's predecessor stood 
 beside him to administer the oath of office. They 
 formed a strong contrast, the one so bent and fee- 
 ble, the other so young and strong, fit emblems of 
 the old and new order of things. The president 
 wore his academic gown as if it were an imperial 
 robe, and held his tasseled cap in his hand while he 
 bowed his acknowledgments to the applause. When 
 the short ceremony of inauguration was over he re- 
 placed his cap on his head and faced the audience 
 he meant to win. 
 
 This was the man whose fame had been heralded 
 from afar, gathering volume as it rolled, and the 
 people were prepared for a rare treat of oratory. 
 His appearance justified their expectation; he was 
 tall, square-shouldered, handsome. But when he
 
 WITH THE PROCESSION 23 
 
 began to speak it became apparent that his voice was 
 even more attractive than his personality. Before 
 he had spoken many minutes it was evident to the 
 more discerning that he had the happy faculty of 
 clothing platitudes in a sumptuous raiment of rhet- 
 oric. A little lawyer in the audience whose voice 
 was like a cracked flageolet whispered to his wife 
 that such a larynx and such a pair of shoulders 
 would be worth ten thousand a year to any man, 
 and made the addition of brains superfluous. But 
 the majority of those present had less reason to be 
 perspicacious. Had the president confined his re- 
 marks to the state of the weather, they would have 
 felt that some deep significance must underlie his 
 statements. 
 
 Those who expected some discussion of university 
 problems were disappointed. Whether the president 
 had no convictions on modern educational ques- 
 tions, or whether he had determined to give offense 
 to no one, was a matter of conjecture. The cause 
 remained obscure, but the fact gradually dawned 
 upon the thoughtful that not even the governor had 
 been more politic and non-committal. But the 
 thoughtful were in a minority. The great majority 
 were held captive, as by music, and strained their 
 ears to catch every syllable spoken by this prophet 
 who had come to win honor in a country not his 
 own. 
 
 The president spoke of the beauty of the univer- 
 sity site and of the opportunity of growth within its 
 grasp. He described the surrounding country as a 
 land of corn and plenty. He seemed already to
 
 24 THE TORCH 
 
 make it his own, and the hospitable hearts of his 
 hearers grew warm in response. As he limned the 
 university of the future before their eyes they were 
 stirred by his earnestness and sincerity. The pic- 
 ture appealed to their western love of bigness. 
 They tingled with patriotism and felt that the uni- 
 versity at Argos was in the forefront of the educa- 
 tional movement. 
 
 Plow fixed his eyes upon his old friend, like one 
 entranced, forgetful of everything except the tri- 
 umph he made his own. It was a great day for him 
 also, and a vindication of his faith. 
 
 The last and longest part of the president's ora- 
 tion was devoted to ethical questions. There was a 
 touch of the evangelical exhorter in the passion with 
 which he insisted on high ideals, no less for the 
 students and the faculty than for himself. The ten- 
 sion became almost painful, and the scene was one 
 long to be remembered : the silent multitude, the flut- 
 tering, many-colored flags, the central figure that 
 seemed to draw power and inspiration from the mul- 
 titude and to give it back tenfold, the library tower 
 on the hill, wreathed in rolling mists and sending 
 down the wind its sweet reminders of the flight of 
 time. 
 
 But all great occasions must have an end, and this 
 one came to a close untimely. The speaker had 
 scarcely sunk into his seat and the spell of his voice 
 was still on them when the rain came, driving in 
 a chilly blur across the autumn sky. Then there was 
 a rush for the exits. People crouched under um- 
 brellas and bent to the wind as they hurried home-
 
 WITH THE PROCESSION 25 
 
 ward. Dignified professors took off their gowns, 
 folded the hoods within, and fairly ran. In half an 
 hour the great inclosure was deserted. The scene 
 of so much enthusiasm was silent, save for the mo- 
 notonous drip of the rain and the dreary flapping 
 of the bunting that stained the tall standards with 
 streaks of yellow and green. 
 
 That afternoon President Babington stood on the 
 wide floor of the gymnasium and met the univer- 
 sity individually. The crowd drifted by, now singly, 
 now in groups. Staid professors and their wives, 
 young instructors to whom he was a czar, enthusi- 
 astic students, all bade him welcome. The continu- 
 ance of the storm took all brilliancy from the recep- 
 tion, but could not dampen the ardor, both real and 
 feigned, of the university constituents. 
 
 A long line of carriages stood before the door, 
 but these vehicles were the property of rich towns- 
 people who had come to meet the president. The 
 professors, with few exceptions, came afoot, and 
 left their streaming umbrellas and muddy rubbers 
 in the vestibule. The rain beat against the windows 
 with a dismal persistence. During the pauses of the 
 music in the gallery the monotonous patter became 
 audible, and chilling drafts stirred the long stream- 
 ers of bunting looped from the iron girders of the 
 roof. 
 
 "It's enough to make a horse laugh," Lee re- 
 marked to Trumbull, as they stood aside. 
 
 "What's enough?" his friend demanded, with a 
 suggestion of challenge in his tone. 
 
 "Fyffe, for example. He stands there as if fasci-
 
 26 THE TORCH 
 
 nated. He told me this morning that he had found 
 a great man at last, one whom he could imitate. 
 And look at Brown, ducking his head as if his neck 
 were a hinge. He's telling his old teacher about 
 that grammatical treatise." 
 
 "It's a good one, anyhow," Trumbull declared. 
 "That man's a scholar." 
 
 "Of course he is," Lee assented. "He's one of 
 the brightest jewels in our academic crown." 
 
 The president was chatting with the Everetts 
 and Mrs. Van Sant. 
 
 "Are you one of the students, Miss Van Sant?" 
 he asked in his kindly manner. She broke into a 
 little ripple of laughter. 
 
 "Only by proxy. I sometimes pick up crumbs of 
 wisdom from my son, who is a member of the 
 freshman class." 
 
 "Your son!" He focused his round gray eyes 
 upon her with astonishment that bordered on stu- 
 pefaction. "I didn't quite hear," he managed to say 
 at last. "This is certainly a wonderful climate. I 
 shall expect to be taken for a freshman myself be- 
 fore the year is past." 
 
 There would be opportunity in the future, she 
 reflected, for him to discover his mistake. At pres- 
 ent she enjoyed his surprise too much to undeceive 
 him. 
 
 "It is a wonderful climate," she assented, "in spite 
 of present appearances." The Everetts had gone on, 
 and they were alone for a moment. "Of course you 
 will remember every one you meet to-day," she said, 
 not unconscious of the inanity of the remark with
 
 WITH THE PROCESSION 27 
 
 which she attempted to punctuate the silence that 
 had suddenly fallen between them. "I understand 
 that public men have remarkable memories." 
 
 "There's one I sha'n't forget," he declared with 
 a touch of gallantry. 
 
 She greeted the sally with the impersonal smile 
 of a woman experienced in compliments, and passed 
 on to join the Everetts. 
 
 That evening, as she sat with her friends by their 
 fireside, she bantered the professor as was her wont. 
 
 "You know very well," she cried, "that you 
 faculty men daren't say a word, but I'm an outsider 
 and can say what I please. I think Mr. Babington 
 is as pompous as a peacock and as platitudinous as 
 a parson." 
 
 "What a shabby return for that pretty compli- 
 ment of his, Susanne!" Mrs. Everett interposed. 
 "I saw he was quite taken with you; that's why 
 I drew Tom away." 
 
 "Well, after all," the professor said genially, "a 
 touch of pomposity isn't fatal ; in fact, it appeals to 
 the masses. And in regard to platitudes, when you 
 reach my age you will discover that there is nothing 
 new under the sun. Every public occasion like this 
 calls for certain obvious remarks, and all we have 
 a right to demand is that the speaker shall make 
 them in an adequate and convincing manner. What 
 we want is a man of popular qualities who will win 
 the confidence of the people and bring them to the 
 university. I thought Babington seemed a good, 
 human sort of fellow, and I've no doubt that after 
 he has made a few natural mistakes he will shake
 
 28 THE TORCH 
 
 down into his position and become a first-rate presi- 
 dent." 
 
 Mrs. Everett regarded her husband with affec- 
 tionate exasperation. She was thinking that this 
 very charity had cost him the presidency. Mrs. Van 
 Sant's laughing criticism did not conceal from her 
 the fact that she had found Babington interesting 
 and attractive. Here was one subject, at least, upon 
 which there could be no real frankness between 
 them'. 
 
 At other firesides also that night the president 
 was almost the sole topic of conversation, but fac- 
 ulty criticism was generally guarded and more than 
 offset by saving clauses of commendation, for the 
 power of the man loomed vaguely threatening. 
 
 Doctor Brown sat in his room alone and worked 
 feverishly on the subjunctive mood. He intended 
 to do the very thing that Lee had so sarcastically ad- 
 vised. When he laid aside his pen at midnight he was 
 fiercely exalted. He took down his well-worn Bible 
 and turned to a sanguinary passage from which 
 his soul derived deep comfort. He was thrilled by 
 the denunciations of the prophet against the enemies 
 of Israel, as if they were a serried phalanx of his 
 rivals. 
 
 High up in a building in the capital sat the local 
 representative of the Associated Press. To-night 
 he was proud of the story it was his privilege to 
 communicate. He sent a long and circumstantial 
 account of the inauguration over the wires, but the 
 crop of casualties and crimes was unusually large,
 
 WITH THE PROCESSION 29 
 
 and only the following lines on the event appeared 
 the next day in the eastern papers. 
 
 "Argos, September 23. To-day Professor Henry 
 Babington was formally inaugurated president of 
 the State University. The exercises were held in the 
 open air, and the attendance was the largest in the 
 history of the institution. The governor introduced 
 the new president, who spoke eloquently upon uni- 
 versity ideals. Rain interrupted the proceedings." 
 
 But in Argos the event was large in its various 
 aspects. The students were hilarious; the social set 
 that circled about the university was planning a 
 series of entertainments; but to the majority of the 
 faculty the day closed in weariness and feverish con- 
 jecture. There were few who were not conscious 
 of the steady encroachments of those idle half-hours 
 that professors love. Many were living on the rep- 
 utations they would one day acquire when the books 
 on which they were working so fitfully should see 
 the light of day. There was a guilty consciousness 
 of lectures reread year after year without revision, 
 of the uncut leaves of technical journals on the 
 library shelves. Excuses might seem adequate or 
 not, according to the point of view : the exhausting 
 strain of teaching large classes, the pressure of com- 
 mittee work and of social duties, the very weariness 
 of bookish men at the thought of adding to the 
 world's uncounted books. But it was rumored that 
 the new president would exact a high standard of
 
 30 THE TORCH 
 
 achievement, and many a man turned restlessly on 
 his pillow as he heard the steady autumn rain keep- 
 ing pace with his thoughts.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE PUBLIC PULSE 
 
 Shortly before nine o'clock the next morning the 
 president entered the campus and walked toward 
 his office. The wind had veered and was clearing 
 the sky of clouds. Miniature ravines in the gravel 
 walk showed the effect of the recent downpour, and 
 the matting of dead leaves under the trees was no- 
 ticeably thicker. The tart and bracing quality of 
 the air sent the blood tingling to his finger-tips and 
 stirred his mind with high resolves for the coming 
 winter. 
 
 As Babington neared the center of the grounds 
 the library chimes began to ring, the paths became 
 thronged with students, the sun burst forth at last, 
 and a belt of yellow light swept rapidly across the 
 campus, touching the moving picture with sudden 
 life and color. 
 
 Every one noticed the erect form of the new presi- 
 dent. His expression was genial and serene, and his 
 white felt hat seemed more cheerful and informal 
 than the tall silk in which he had made his first 
 appearance in Argos. 
 
 The greetings he received were as various as the 
 natures that offered them. A woman student bowed
 
 32 THE TORCH 
 
 with shy admiration. Some of the men saluted in 
 the military fashion they had learned ; a few looked 
 straight ahead without a sign of recognition, being 
 either too indifferent or too proud to speak to one 
 who did not know them personally. One group of 
 girls passed by tittering. The president looked be- 
 nignly on all, as if he welcomed an opportunity 
 of speaking. The variety of greetings interested 
 and amused him. 
 
 When he reached the door of his office he found 
 a long line of students waiting for an interview. In 
 his inaugural address he had invited them to come 
 to him with their troubles and perplexities, and they 
 had taken him at his word. The heartiness of the 
 response was somewhat of a surprise, but he in- 
 cluded them all in a smile of welcome as he passed 
 in. 
 
 He closed the door and stood at one of the win- 
 dows for a few moments, looking at the lines of hur- 
 rying students and professors. He heard in the 
 building the ringing of electric bells that marked 
 the beginning of recitations. The hallway outside 
 echoed with the shuffling of feet and the murmur of 
 voices. A typewriter in the next room clicked 
 madly and intensified the impression of strenuous 
 activity. His pulses quickened with excitement. 
 The beginning of his new career, with all its dan- 
 gers and opportunities, was at hand. A sudden de- 
 pression and panic took possession of him, the panic 
 of the pause before the fight. 
 
 The first student in the line was a woman. The
 
 THE PUBLIC PULSE 33 
 
 president was a close observer. He noticed the ill- 
 hanging skirt, the unbecoming spectacles, and even 
 the rough hand that rested nervously on the edge 
 of the desk. This was not the kind of woman he 
 liked, but he smiled on her genially. 
 
 "Good morning. And what can I do for you this 
 morning?" 
 
 "I've been waiting," she began breathlessly; 
 "good morning, Professor; that is, Mr. President. 
 The girls wanted me to come and tell you that the 
 Y. W. C. A. want to hold their meetings during the 
 hour when Latin prose is given. Friday afternoons 
 is the most convenient time for us." 
 
 Babington wrote a request to Doctor Brown and 
 handed it to her. 
 
 "I hope that will make it all right," he said pleas- 
 antly. 
 
 She seized the paper and began her incoherent 
 thanks. 
 
 "Nobody cares for the co-eds," she stammered. 
 Babington turned to the next comer with an im- 
 personal smile. The young woman, thus dis- 
 missed, stumbled backward, as if retiring from the 
 presence of royalty, until she found herself, still 
 dazed, in the hall. 
 
 The young man that came next had heard that the 
 president worked his way through college, and he 
 felt sure of his ground. 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. Babington," he said sono- 
 rously. 
 
 The president became companionable.
 
 34 THE TORCH 
 
 "You must tell me your name," he said, "and if 
 I forget it tell me over again, the next time we 
 meet." 
 
 "Jones," the other answered. "You won't forget 
 that name, though you may hitch it to the wrong 
 fellow. There's a lot of Joneses here, but I'm the 
 Jones that wants the library job. The fellow who's 
 got the job now gets twenty dollars a month. He's 
 going to give it up next week ; his father wants him 
 at home. I can do the work all right, I guess. This 
 is my junior year. I've done a lot of things to sup- 
 port myself off and on: Last year Billy Barnes and 
 I ran an express wagon, but as soon as the fellows 
 found that we had pinched a good thing they all 
 started in and ruined the business for us. There's 
 no money in it now. I'd like the library job first- 
 rate. If I don't get something to do mighty quick 
 I'll have to go home. I could get a scholarship at 
 Washington University all right, but I don't want 
 to go to that bum place after we've put it all over 
 them in football.'" He grinned broadly. 
 
 It was impossible to resist the breezy quality of 
 the man. The president threw back his head and 
 laughed. 
 
 "All right, Mr. Jones," he said, "I'll make a note 
 of it on this paper here, and if the position is open 
 you can rely on my help. We can't afford to lose 
 you to Washington." 
 
 "Thanks," the student replied. "I'll drop in on 
 you again next week and see how the thing turns 
 out." 
 
 The president's spirits were rising. He began to
 
 THE PUBLIC PULSE 35 
 
 hope that all the students were not forlorn, but the 
 next man dashed his hope. He was a tall, thin fel- 
 low that leaned far over the desk and began to whis- 
 per a long tale about his efforts to obtain a loan of 
 one hundred dollars from the committee in charge 
 of the fund for deserving students. It appeared 
 that all the money was exhausted. The student 
 would be graduated at Christmas, and the lack of 
 money was all that stood between him and his di- 
 ploma. 
 
 Babington was a man of impulse. He did not 
 stop to analyze the feeling that moved him to take 
 out his check-book and write an order for the money 
 then and there. Perhaps it was done in a frantic 
 desire to remove from his ear that ghostly whisper 
 and melancholy visage; perhaps he was moved by 
 compassion ; perhaps he was making a bid for popu- 
 larity. 
 
 "Take your own time about the payment," he said 
 kindly. "Now don't worry about it. Pay it back 
 some time when you get ready. No, I don't want 
 your note." 
 
 The young man's eyes grew moist, and Babing- 
 ton's distress was poignant until he finally took him- 
 self off to trumpet the deed through the campus. 
 
 The morning wore away, and still it seemed that 
 the line would never end. Babington began to see 
 that he had made a mistake, and resolved to protect 
 himself in future by restricting the hours of inter- 
 view. Some of the petitions were absurdly trivial 
 and tried his nerves. Some were in regard to the 
 athletic policy, demanding quick, sane judgment.
 
 36 THE TORCH 
 
 All sorts of personalities faced him and drained his 
 vitality. At last a slim, rosy-cheeked youth stood 
 before him, holding his cane and hat in his hand. 
 
 "My name is Van Sant," he said, "Robert Van 
 Sant. I am president of the freshman class." 
 
 Robert had been elected to his office only the day 
 before the inauguration. He did not know that 
 presidents of freshman classes were often the jests 
 of fortune, chosen almost by accident and destined 
 to drop into obscurity as soon as abler men began 
 to emerge from the mass. 
 
 The president's weary glance brightened. He 
 looked at the boy curiously to see if he could detect 
 any resemblance to the woman whose peculiar charm 
 had arrested his attention the day before, but he 
 could see none. 
 
 "I'm glad to meet a colleague," he remarked. 
 "Presidents ought to have a fellow feeling for each 
 other. I believe I had the pleasure of meeting your 
 mother yesterday." 
 
 "My stepmother, sir," the youth corrected. 
 
 "Ah, I see," the president murmured. "And what 
 can I do for you ?" 
 
 "The sophs have been trying to get this cane 
 away," said Van Sant, holding it up proudly, "but 
 we were too many for them. What I want to know 
 is this: Have we, or have we not, the ordinary 
 privilege of American citizens to walk about quietly, 
 minding our own business, without being subject 
 to the attacks of a lot of roughs? Have we no 
 means of redress, sir? We propose to resist to the
 
 THE PUBLIC PULSE 37 
 
 best of our ability, and we hope you will take cog- 
 nizance of the fact that we are not the aggressors." 
 
 The boy's manner was that of a prig, but his 
 words were manly. Like his father, he could fight, 
 though it must be by rule and method. 
 
 "You're all right," Babington rejoined. "If any 
 fellow tries to take away your cane, hit him over 
 the head with it." 
 
 "Very well, sir," Robert replied, stiffening. "We 
 thank you." 
 
 The president divined that his pleasantry had 
 been mistaken for a command. 
 
 "Wait a minute," he cried. "I didn't mean you 
 to take me literally. You'd better have an organized 
 rush. Choose your champions on both sides and 
 settle the question once for all. That's the way we 
 used to do when I was in college. I can't allow 
 fighting in the halls, or any interruption of the regu- 
 lar work. No violence, remember; just a good-na- 
 tured trial of strength." 
 
 "Very well, sir," Van Sant repeated, saluting. 
 "I understand." 
 
 It was nearing twelve o'clock when the president 
 looked up to see Professor Everett standing before 
 him, benignant, as was his wont, but weary with 
 waiting. A light of nervous irritation was now in 
 possession of Babington's eyes. He was hungry 
 and tired, and he had scarcely time to eat his lunch 
 before he must take the car for the capital, where 
 he had an engagement to speak that afternoon. 
 
 "Well, sir," he said, laying his watch on the desk
 
 38 THE TORCH 
 
 before him, "I've got just about half an hour in 
 which to eat my lunch before I must catch a train. 
 Please state your business quickly." 
 
 The older man regarded him with surprise. He 
 had been accustomed to a comfortable chat with the 
 former president, while the students waited outside. 
 Now he was not even asked to take a chair. 
 
 "I'm afraid this business can't be stated quickly," 
 he said. "We've been working on it some ten 
 years. It concerns the teaching of Greek and Latin 
 in the schools of the state." 
 
 Babington rose to his feet, snapped his watch shut, 
 and reached for his hat. 
 
 "You might submit your suggestions in writing," 
 he remarked, "and I will look them over. I'm sorry 
 I can't give you more of my time just now, but I'm 
 sure you understand the pressing nature of my en- 
 gagement. Good morning." 
 
 When Everett reached the sidewalk he met his 
 colleague, George Robison Stuart, professor of Eu- 
 ropean History. They fell into step and walked 
 homeward together. 
 
 Stuart was a Scotchman, proud of his connection 
 with the British Empire, proud of the fact that he 
 had never become an American citizen, proud of his 
 name, his red beard, his very ugliness. Babington's 
 inaugural address had irritated him profoundly. He 
 resented the president's extravagant praise of Amer- 
 ican methods in education, for he felt that no real 
 university existed as yet on this side of the Atlantic. 
 
 "Did you see his lordship ?" he asked. "What did 
 he say about that matter?"
 
 THE PUBLIC PULSE 39 
 
 Everett's face was clouded ; he resembled an owl 
 stirred up in daylight. 
 
 "Perhaps I chose a bad time," he answered, "but 
 even so it struck me that my dismissal was a little 
 abrupt. He drew out his watch and ran to catch 
 the train. It was a mistake to invite the students 
 to come to see him. All that work is done by the 
 proper committees. He is keeping the important 
 business of the university waiting." 
 
 "While he feels the popular pulse," Stuart supple- 
 mented, smiling darkly. "My dear fellow, you've 
 had a taste of what you may expect in future. It's 
 his deliberate policy to stand in with the regents 
 and students and let the faculty go hang. Kings 
 have found it a dangerous business to appeal to the 
 people over the heads of the senate, and history 
 repeats itself. But I'll not join the bands of the 
 prophets yet." 
 
 Notwithstanding Stuart's unfavorable opinion of 
 the new president, he and his wife did not hesitate 
 to invite him to dinner as soon as possible and to 
 treat him with the courtesy due his office. Babing- 
 ton was in great demand, and it seemed to some that 
 his duties were chiefly oratorical and convivial. Din- 
 ners and receptions followed one another in rapid 
 succession ; the rich townspeople vied with the well- 
 to-do professors in showing him honor. He was 
 claimed also by the state at large. One night he 
 addressed a representative body of business men, 
 another night he spoke to the Sons of the Prairies, 
 or to the Association of the Alumni, or to a gather- 
 ing of school teachers, and wherever the magic
 
 40 THE TORCH 
 
 quality of his voice was heard he left ardent ad- 
 mirers. 
 
 One afternoon, about half-past five o'clock, Doctor 
 Brown spied a light behind the drawn curtains of 
 the president's office. A month had passed since 
 the inauguration and the instructor had not yet pre- 
 sumed to approach his old teacher. During office 
 hours the crowd about the door discouraged him, 
 and he knew that the president was usually away 
 from home in the evening. He heard of the dinners 
 and receptions, he read Babington's speeches in the 
 papers, and realized how wide the gap had grown 
 between him and his old professor. 
 
 His few minutes' conversation with the president 
 at the first reception had not been satisfactory. Bab- 
 ington was quite impersonal, but the instructor com- 
 forted himself afterward by the reflection that the 
 conditions were not favorable. For a month he had 
 hoped for an opportunity of seeing the president 
 alone, that he might tell him of his researches and 
 pave the way to fuller recognition and promotion. 
 Perhaps he might now have half an hour of friendly 
 chat, undisturbed by other clamorers for attention. 
 He determined to run the risk, and mounted the 
 steps with palpitating heart. 
 
 For some moments he stood before the door, a 
 prey to nervous indecision. Much study had weak- 
 ened his vitality and courage. The sound of voices 
 within almost deterred him, but he remembered 
 that fortune favors the brave and finally summoned 
 up sufficient resolution to knock. The murmur of 
 voices ceased. Then the door was half opened and
 
 41 
 
 the head of Watkins, the president's new private 
 secretary, appeared, surrounded by a fragrant halo 
 of tobacco smoke. 
 
 Brown had heard of the president's new door- 
 keeper, but had never met him face to face. He was 
 a tall, slender fellow, spectacled, with amiable brown 
 eyes and a never failing smile. His salary was 
 twelve hundred dollars a year, two hundred more 
 than Brown received, and the cynical said that he 
 earned it. The townswomen were beginning to in- 
 vite Watkins to dinner, that he might meet their 
 daughters and bring some crumbs of gossip from 
 the table of the great man. But Watkins bore his 
 honors modestly and was smilingly non-committal. 
 
 "Who is it, please?" he queried, peering out into 
 the dark hall. 
 
 "Doctor Brown," was the answer. "Is the presi- 
 dent in?" 
 
 "Will you state your business, please? The presi- 
 dent is very much engaged." 
 
 This was the secretary's usual question, and many 
 of the professors had felt insulted by it. Stuart had 
 refused to reply, and had pushed Watkins aside as 
 if he were an impertinent office boy. But Brown 
 was daunted and began to wish he had not come. 
 
 "Nothing very important," he stammered. Wat- 
 kins hesitated. "Wait a moment," he said at last. 
 "I'll see." And he closed the door. 
 
 There was nothing really offensive in the secre- 
 tary's manner. He was neither brusque nor pre- 
 sumptuous, but smiled and nodded and spoke softly, 
 as one who would gladly admit the visitor if he
 
 42 THE TORCH 
 
 could. He seemed like the guardian of a sick- 
 chamber who appreciates the well-meant attentions 
 of friends but must protect the patient at all hazards. 
 In a short time he reappeared. 
 
 "The president is very much engaged and begs to 
 be excused," he announced, in a manner both mys- 
 terious and sympathetic. "You might call during 
 his office hours to-morrow." 
 
 "I beg his pardon," Brown said foolishly. "It 
 was really of no importance. I'm sorry to have dis- 
 turbed him." 
 
 He shambled off with a sickening depression of 
 spirits against which hope could make no headway. 
 As he looked back he saw the secretary emerge from 
 the building and walk homeward with a step that 
 seemed to his jaundiced eyes peculiarly jaunty, and 
 he singled him out for enmity. The position of 
 Babington so far hypnotized him that his resentment 
 was deflected to the poor mouthpiece who did the 
 great man's bidding. 
 
 Meanwhile, Babington was leaning back in his 
 heavy oak chair, puffing slowly at his cigar with a 
 certain zest and manner. Professor Fyffe sat on 
 the other side of the table smoking a cigarette and 
 stroking the silk-clad ankle that rested on his knee. 
 In the corner, by the fireplace, sat Daniel Plow with 
 his pipe, listening to the conversation of the other 
 two. 
 
 The cigar, the cigarette, and the pipe, were char- 
 acteristic of the smokers. Neither Babington nor 
 Fyffe would have spoiled the shape of his coat by 
 carrying a pipe and a bag of tobacco in his pocket.
 
 THE PUBLIC PULSE 43 
 
 There was nothing spruce in Plow's appearance, but 
 his carelessness in dress could not conceal the splen- 
 did strength and proportion of his figure. His head 
 was large and finely shaped, and he conveyed ah 
 impression of thoughtfulness and force which made 
 his companions seem lighter men, by contrast, than 
 they really were. His personality was rich and mel- 
 low, and there was something in the light of his 
 hazel eyes so magnetic, so full of vitality, that few 
 could be indifferent to their strange appeal. 
 
 During the month since the president's advent in 
 Argos, Fyffe had been striding into his favor with 
 seven-league boots. He was a gentleman, popular 
 with the students as an interesting lecturer and the 
 author of their college song, and he had produced a 
 brilliant book. He was perhaps the wittiest after- 
 dinner speaker in the state, an accomplishment that 
 made him indispensable at the University Club in 
 the capital and at student celebrations in Argos. 
 There was only one thing that weakened his influ- 
 ence with the university world. Just as the pro- 
 fessor of philosophy was often called an atheist by 
 anxious mothers of students, so Fyffe was regarded 
 by many as a drunkard. There was a sufficient basis 
 of truth in the charge to weaken what might other- 
 wise have been a remarkable character and to develop 
 his cleverness and adaptability into anxious diplo- 
 macy. 
 
 Babington and Fyffe were gossiping about uni- 
 versity affairs, and the former was quietly extract- 
 ing information without seeming to do so. He had 
 asked for the resignation of an old professor whose
 
 44 THE TORCH 
 
 days of usefulness were passed, but a storm of pro- 
 test had caused him to withdraw his request. The 
 old man met him on the campus and shook a trem- 
 bling finger in his face while he poured forth his in- 
 dignation. Word came from Judge Gates also that 
 the president's action was "impracticable," and he 
 hastened to make peace. Babington was discussing 
 the incident when Brown knocked at the door. 
 
 "I had no personal feeling, of course," he re- 
 marked, "and it was my intention to give him the 
 salary of an emeritus. There ought to be some limit 
 of age at which a man should retire; then all fric- 
 tion and feeling would be avoided and the work of 
 the university would not suffer." 
 
 "Of course," Fyffe assented, "but we're young 
 yet. That will come in time. Old Dingley is very 
 strong in the state. He knows the governor and 
 grew up with some of the regents. I suppose no one 
 has a larger personal following." 
 
 The president saw that he was not yet strong 
 enough to root up the old growths of the place. He 
 shook his shoulders impatiently and selected a letter 
 from the pile on his desk. 
 
 "Here's something for you," he said, flicking it 
 across the room to Plow. "Can you catch it?" 
 
 Plow stooped and picked it from the floor. 
 
 "You're no good any more," Babington remarked, 
 laughing. "You never used to let anything get by 
 you. It's a request for an address from a labor 
 union in the capital. I haven't time for those fel- 
 lows yet. Besides, it's more in your line. I'll write
 
 THE PUBLIC PULSE 45 
 
 a letter for you to the arch-mechanic by way of 
 introduction." 
 
 "I'll go, of course, Babington," said Plow; "but 
 the introduction is superfluous. Those fellows know 
 the twang of my vocal cords as well as any congre- 
 gation knows the voice of its own minister. They 
 would be glad to see you." 
 
 The president winced at the "Babington" without 
 the title. He felt that Plow was really inconsiderate 
 and tactless. His position was hard enough without 
 the additional embarrassment of the professor's fa- 
 miliarity. Lately he had tried to convey his feeling 
 of the necessity of a change by addressing his old 
 friend as 'professor,' or by omitting his name en- 
 tirely. Plow did not take the hint as yet. Though 
 vaguely conscious of something wrong, he still re- 
 garded Babington with the eyes of faith. Some- 
 times the president's embarrassment made him 
 rude and cold. It was significant that he would 
 not have thrown the letter to Fyffe in that off-hand 
 manner. 
 
 "I'll write the letter nevertheless," he announced, 
 somewhat sharply. 
 
 "All right," Plow assented. "It can't do any 
 harm, and I guess they can stand me once more." 
 
 "Look at this," the president resumed, picking up 
 a newspaper. "Professor Fyffe, who is this Father 
 O'Toole?" 
 
 The large vein in the professor's red forehead 
 grew prominent as it always did when he indulged in 
 one of his silent laughs.
 
 46 THE TORCH 
 
 "He's a windbag who lives in the capital; a 
 mighty clever fellow, too. He's very much given to 
 lecturing, and edits a paper. Has he got after 
 you already? He goes gunning for us in his edi- 
 torials periodically." 
 
 "I should say so !" Babington exclaimed. "Listen 
 to this : 'The Catholics have again had good cause 
 to view with suspicion the Protestant politics of the 
 State University. We have previously called atten- 
 tion to the fact that several ministers of Protestant 
 denominations are members of the faculty of this 
 institution, but the crowning injustice was commit- 
 ted in the choice of the Reverend Henry Babington 
 for president. Last Sunday he preached in the local 
 church of his own denomination. Imagine for a 
 moment what a protest would be made if we de- 
 manded that a Catholic priest be given a place in 
 the faculty at Argos! Yet the university is largely 
 supported by Catholic taxes, and many of our young 
 people are in attendance. It is time for us to carry 
 the war into Africa and to found a Catholic society 
 in the university on the same lines as the Protestant 
 students' clubs now there.' ' 
 
 He would have read farther, but Plow could con- 
 tain himself no longer and burst into a hearty 
 laugh. 
 
 "The Reverend Henry Babington !" he cried. 
 "That's the best yet ! Just because you spoke a few 
 words to the Sunday-school ! I knew you were a 
 good fellow, but I didn't know you were as good as 
 all that." 
 
 The president turned squarely to Professor Fyffe.
 
 THE PUBLIC PULSE 47 
 
 "What truth is there in the charge that we have 
 some ministers on the faculty?" he demanded. 
 
 "Your predecessor had charge of a church before 
 he became connected with the university," Fyffe an- 
 swered, "and there are one or two other ex-minis- 
 ters, though no one would ever suspect it if he were 
 not told. But O'Toole chooses to call it 'Protestant 
 proselyting.' He knows you're not a reverend as 
 well as I do. I wouldn't give him a second thought. 
 He's just playing to his own gallery." - 
 
 The president went home, somewhat reassured 
 by Fyffe's indifference to Catholic sentiment, but 
 still irritated by the attack and more than ever out 
 of patience with Plow. He picked up the evening 
 edition of The Times, the leading paper in the 
 capital, and snapped it open with a gesture that 
 warned his sister to refrain from unnecessary con- 
 versation. The first thing that met his eyes was 
 this heading: "How is He Going to Do It?" 
 Then he read the following paragraph: 
 
 "President Babington, of the State University, is 
 quoted upon good authority as having said that he 
 proposes to put a stop to the text-book scandal 
 which he alleges is now going on in the capital. He 
 claims that the printing of school-books by the state 
 is a cause of much corruption in politics, and that 
 the children and taxpayers are the victims. This is 
 an old charge and the burden of proof rests on 
 the person making it. President Babington is to be 
 commended for his enthusiasm, but he may find 
 that every Don Quixote has his windmill. Let him 
 produce his proofs and then proceed to the tilt. We
 
 48 THE TORCH 
 
 await developments of this sensational charge with 
 unfeigned interest." 
 
 The president put down the paper and thought 
 intently. He began to realize that behind all the ap- 
 plause of the multitude there lurked a spirit of free 
 criticism which he felt to be impish and malicious. 
 Judge Gates' comparison of his position with a 
 rocking chair flashed into his mind. It was the 
 judge that had interposed to prevent the retirement 
 of Dingley, and suddenly he remembered that it was 
 to the judge he had confided his intention in regard 
 to the school-book scandal. Could it be possible 
 that the man was a traitor to him ? But other men 
 were present at the time. He decided to give Gates 
 the benefit of the doubt, but to use every effort to 
 win his support. 
 
 At the table he showed his ill humor by pushing 
 his letters to one side and eating in silence. He 
 greeted his sister's overtures with scant courtesy, 
 and finally began to open his letters as if each were a 
 personal affront. He picked up a dainty note, and 
 his brow cleared as he read it. Then he put it down 
 and gazed at his sister with a speculative eye. 
 
 "You look tired, Carrie," he remarked kindly. 
 
 "I am tired, Henry," she answered in plaintive 
 gratitude. "I was never so much on the go in my 
 life as since we came here. I wish people wouldn't 
 always invite me to their dinners and receptions just 
 because I'm your sister. I suppose that's another 
 invitation." She sighed wearily. 
 
 "From Mrs. Van Sant," he said, "to dinner. You 
 remember we've met her several times; the widow
 
 THE PUBLIC PULSE 49 
 
 of an army officer. But you needn't go to this. 
 She's not connected with the faculty, so there's noth- 
 ing of official importance in the invitation. I'll tell 
 her you were indisposed, if you like." 
 
 "If you think I'm tired enough to warrant it," 
 she demurred anxiously. 
 
 "My dear Carrie," he returned, with an exasper- 
 ated smile, "the word 'indisposed' doesn't specify 
 whether the indisposition is physical or mental. 
 Please give your conscience no trouble on that 
 score." 
 
 She was grateful for his sophistry, and they dis- 
 missed the subject with mutual relief. She was 
 glad to escape another social function, and he was 
 not unwilling, to be relieved of his sister's presence 
 at the table of the one woman in Argos that had 
 taken his fancy. Though he would not have ad- 
 mitted it, his sister's unworldliness cast a suspicion 
 of newness on his own social accomplishments. 
 She could never be elegant, in spite of the servants 
 he provided and the gowns he made her wear. She 
 worshiped her brother and asked only the privilege 
 of superintending his domestic machinery. 
 
 Babington went up to his study, surprised at the 
 buoyancy of his mood. He took out a manuscript 
 on the Eastern question, which he was trying to fin- 
 ish for the magazine that had requested him to write 
 it. This was his first evening alone since coming 
 to Argos, and the silence of the house fell on him 
 like a blessing. He felt that he would like to devote 
 all his time to scholarly pursuits and to the perfect- 
 ing of his literary style. He had long loved words
 
 50 THE TORCH 
 
 for their own sake, and he lingered over his sen- 
 tences with the same careful attention that he de- 
 voted to the cut of his coat. 
 
 Mrs. Van Sant's note lay open on the desk, and 
 he put the sheets of his manuscript on it with a 
 humorous appreciation of its distracting influence 
 upon his mind. It was nearly midnight when he 
 dropped his pen, conscious of having accomplished 
 something worth while. At that moment the anxie- 
 ties of his position seemed unimportant. 
 
 Suddenly the shrill buzz of the telephone bell 
 sounded through the house. He went into the hall 
 and seized the ear-drum with a feeling that some- 
 thing unusual, perhaps some calamity, had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 "Who is it ?" he asked. "What is it ?" 
 
 "Is this President Babington?" 
 
 "Yes. What is it?" 
 
 "This is the office of The Times. We want to 
 know what will be the amount of your subscription 
 to the fund for the sufferers in India. We are mak- 
 ing up a special page for Sunday." 
 
 In a twinkling the president saw his opportunity 
 to win at least a perfunctory approval from this 
 champion of suffering humanity, and his reply was 
 given in a voice both cordial and sympathetic. 
 
 "Put me down for fifty dollars."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 
 
 "I'm so sorry, Mr. Babington," said Mrs. Van 
 Sant, "that your sister couldn't come. I feel that 
 my little dinner is quite incomplete without her." 
 
 The president smiled at his hostess. 
 
 "Yes," he answered. "I'm sorry she was indis- 
 posed this evening. She's not very strong, and I 
 think she needs a little rest. If she doesn't behave 
 better I shall have to send her to Florida to recuper- 
 ate." 
 
 For one moment the ambiguity of that playful 
 word "behave" flashed upon him, but he saw no 
 consciousness of it in any face and recovered his 
 equipoise before he had lost it. He was in his hap- 
 piest mood. The previous Sunday Times had 
 placed his subscription to the sufferers in India at 
 the head of the list, together with his portrait, and 
 there was no further mention in the paper of the 
 school-book scandal. He felt that fifty dollars was 
 not too much to pay for the silence of that influen- 
 tial sheet. 
 
 "And there's Mr. Plow, too," she continued. "I 
 had intended to place him next to Miss Babington, 
 to see whether he could convert her to some of his 
 pet hobbies."
 
 52 THE TORCH 
 
 "Miss Babington is to be congratulated and com- 
 miserated in the same breath," Lee interposed; 
 "congratulated upon escaping a lecture on the in- 
 iquities of the trusts, and commiserated for missing 
 the pleasure of one of your charming dinners." 
 
 The president looked across the table at the 
 young professor with a gleam of amusement and 
 appreciation in his eyes. He thanked his lucky 
 star that this was the very night of the speech he 
 had sent Plow to make in the capital, and hoped 
 people would realize in time that he did not care to 
 meet his old classmate at every turn. 
 
 "Professor Plow was good enough to take a 
 speech off my hands," he explained. 
 
 "So he told me," Mrs. Van Sant returned, "but 
 perhaps he may drop in later and give us an account 
 of it. Mr. Everett, what do you think of his the- 
 ories? I'm a dull scholar in such subjects, but I 
 suppose you know all about them." 
 
 "Indeed, no," the professor answered, with his 
 genial smile. "My range of interests is narrow. 
 I try to heed the proverb that bids a shoemaker 
 stick to his last." 
 
 "Why don't you ask me my opinion?" Lee de- 
 manded. 
 
 "Because you are prejudiced. That wasn't a 
 very nice speech you made about Mr. Plow a mo- 
 ment ago, but as it was coupled with a compliment 
 to me, I had to overlook it." 
 
 "I yield my part in the discussion to Mr. Lee," 
 Professor Everett said. Mrs. Van Sant, looking at
 
 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 53 
 
 him as he sat at the foot of the table, was reminded 
 of some kind of beneficent fowl. His scant, rebelli- 
 ous gray hair, combined with the staring effect of 
 his near-sighted eyes, suggested a wise old owl who 
 has learned to judge kindly of his fellows and has 
 discovered that there is nothing new under the sun. 
 She divined his loyalty to his absent colleague and 
 his wariness of fruitless discussions in which the ele- 
 ment of personality might enter. 
 
 Lee accepted the permission gaily, and contrived 
 to draw Everett into the argument, in spite of his 
 evident reluctance. 
 
 As Mrs. Everett listened to the conversation, she 
 thought Babington could never forget that he was 
 president of the university. She felt that he tried to 
 emphasize his position while talking with one who 
 might have been in his place, and almost resented 
 Mrs. Van Sant's kind intention' in bringing the two 
 together. She could not accept her husband's char- 
 itable excuses for the snub the president had given 
 him on the first day of his incumbency. Babington, 
 for his part, had forgotten the incident, and did not 
 detect the coldness of the professor's courtesy. The 
 conversation became general, and turned upon the 
 president of the nation. 
 
 "To be perfectly frank," said Babington, "I'd be 
 willing to trade with him any time. I don't believe 
 he finds it as difficult to manage the senate as I do 
 my board of regents." 
 
 "That's the way with me," Robert put in. "The 
 fellows in the class give me any amount of trouble."
 
 54 THE TORCH 
 
 The president laughed heartily with the others. 
 
 "If any one offers you a college presidency," he 
 said, "shoot him on the spot." 
 
 Mrs. Van Sant raised her glass and sipped a 
 toast to her stepson's success as a class president. 
 As she did so, Babington noted the gleam of her 
 white arm and the lace that fell gracefully about 
 her elbow. He felt that this was the kind of woman 
 he might love, for she embodied all he most admired 
 in women. He appreciated to the full also the lux- 
 ury with which she was surrounded, the quietly 
 stepping maids, the softly-shaded candles, the deli- 
 cate bouquet of the wines, the floral centerpiece, the 
 antique plate. He encountered all these things with 
 a dignified zest of enjoyment to which his hostess' 
 presence added a subtile element of dawning ro- 
 mance. 
 
 Mrs. Van Sant, too, was enjoying her little ex- 
 periment. She watched the president with grow- 
 ing interest, not unmixed with amusement. She 
 thought him both handsome and wholesome in ap- 
 pearance, and analyzed the contrast presented by 
 the weakness of his short nose and the strength of 
 his fine chin. There was a fresh and youthful 
 quality in his nature that appealed to her, and 
 though she and Mrs. Everett telegraphed their mu- 
 tual appreciation when he compared himself with 
 the president of the United States, she felt that it 
 was just this attitude of mind that would enable 
 him to take the world by the throat and shake the 
 huge monster into respectful attention. 
 
 When coffee was served in the drawing-room
 
 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 55 
 
 Robert had quietly disappeared, to the regret of no 
 one. Lee felt that Babington had received more 
 than his share of Mrs. Van Sant's attention at the 
 table and planted himself on a divan at her side. 
 
 "It is one of the disadvantages of being an old 
 friend," he said, "that I must play the second 
 fiddle." 
 
 She gave him a preoccupied smile as she handed 
 a cup to the maid. 
 
 "Here, my dear, this is for Mr. Babington. 
 Don't forget the cigarettes and cigars." 
 
 Lee, struck by the affectionate tone of her ad- 
 dress, put on his glasses and regarded the maid 
 curiously. 
 
 "A beautiful face and head," he murmured. 
 "She would do for a picture of Psyche. You 
 would never dare to have such a girl as that in the 
 house if you had a husband." 
 
 "Not if you were playing the role," she retorted. 
 "I can see that. But I'll tell you about her pres- 
 ently. It's an interesting case. She's one of the 
 
 
 The return of the subject of their conversation 
 cut her short, but Lee mentally completed the ex- 
 planation for himself. "One of the three graces," 
 he thought, as she handed him a cup. She seemed 
 not unconscious of the admiration in his eyes, and 
 he thought he detected a certain confusion and re- 
 sentment in her own. Mrs. Van Sant's hint and 
 his own intuition told him that the girl was not a 
 servant by profession, and though he had never 
 seen her before, he suspected that she was a student
 
 56 THE TORCH 
 
 of the university. It was not an uncommon thing 
 for girls to work their way through college. Some- 
 times, when he made a call, one of his own students 
 opened the door, but he reflected that they did not 
 seem to be of the class to which this girl belonged. 
 Perhaps she was a candidate for one of the sorori- 
 ties, and this evening's service was a task of her 
 novitiate. It was like the women students, he 
 mused, to imitate the pranks of the men. 
 
 Mrs. Everett found herself next to the president, 
 and they exchanged their first personal remarks 
 to each other that evening. He was still in the 
 best of spirits and puffed placidly at his cigar while 
 he talked of a recent visit to England. 
 
 "I don't care much for Englishmen," he re- 
 marked. "They're insular and prejudiced. Ger- 
 man scholarship and methods were first appreciated 
 in America, but Oxford and Cambridge are five 
 hundred years behind the times. They still swear 
 by their Greek play bishops, they still write pretty 
 Latin verses in the schools, and they think a man 
 is a nobody who doesn't belong to the established 
 Church." 
 
 Mrs. Everett was stirred instinctively to protest, 
 not so much against the substance of his strictures 
 as against his manner of uttering them. She had 
 heard her husband make similar observations, but 
 in a different spirit, in a spirit tempered by an ap- 
 preciation of America's debt to English religious 
 and scholastic culture. She noted that there was 
 something personal in Babington's criticism, and
 
 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 57 
 
 that he gave it as if it were a discovery of his own. 
 He seemed to belong to that large class of Amer- 
 icans who have learned hostility to England in the 
 public schools. 
 
 "Aren't you rather hard on them ?" she suggested. 
 
 He stared at her with a gleam of dislike in his 
 round, gray eyes. With Mrs. Van Sant he was 
 charming and compliant, but he felt Mrs. Ever- 
 ett's hostility and returned it. Their conversation 
 was becoming an argument, when he turned ab- 
 ruptly to her husband. 
 
 "How about that instructor you were trying to 
 get for the Latin department?" he asked. "What's 
 his name?" 
 
 "Doctor Eyres," Everett answered. "He took 
 his degree last year with high credit and seems a 
 strong man. He writes, however, that he can't 
 support himself and his wife on nine hundred a 
 year. I need him, for Brown is really overworked." 
 
 "I suppose Eyres' wife has no money either," 
 Babington remarked irritably. "Why don't those 
 young men marry girls with money? It would be 
 a fair exchange for position. Look at Barnes. He 
 hadn't a cent, but he married a rich woman, and 
 she made him what he is to-day." 
 
 "After all," Mrs. Van Sant interposed, "I like 
 the independence of our American men. The kind 
 of marriage you suggest, Mr. Babington, might 
 not always be conducive to happiness." 
 
 "Why not?" he demanded. "Why shouldn't 
 a young man use common sense in choosing a wife ?
 
 58 THE TORCH 
 
 It's a fair bargain on both sides. He gives her 
 position, and she gives him the means to maintain 
 it." 
 
 "I'm afraid your experience in affairs of the 
 heart has been limited," she retorted, with a charm- 
 ing smile. "Even a woman that has money likes 
 to think she is chosen for herself." 
 
 Lee looked from one to the other. 
 
 "There's no subject so interesting as that of 
 matrimony," he remarked, "especially to the un- 
 married." 
 
 "And they are in the majority here," Mrs. Van 
 Sant said. 
 
 The president apparently shared her appreciation 
 of the situation, and joined in her laughter, but he 
 glanced at Lee with sudden suspicion. He was 
 not sure that he liked the young professor as well 
 as he thought he did at the beginning of the dinner, 
 and showed his change of feeling by ignoring him 
 as he had previously ignored Mrs. Everett. 
 
 As soon as decency permitted, Lee uncoiled his 
 long legs and rose to go. Mrs. Everett gave the 
 signal to her husband, and the three took their 
 leave together. When Lee left them at the corner 
 of the street Mrs. Everett burst out in a manner 
 that caused her husband some astonishment. 
 
 "I'm ashamed of Sue Van Sant, and as for that 
 man, I positively hate him!" 
 
 Everett did not need to be told that the man in 
 question was not the one that had just left them. 
 
 "It's a comfort to know that we're not called upon 
 either to like or dislike him," he replied.
 
 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 59 
 
 "But we can't help it," she persisted. "He has 
 been just as nasty to both of us as he could possibly 
 be." 
 
 "I thought he seemed much taken with Mrs. Van 
 Sant," he suggested, anxious to change the drift of 
 the conversation. 
 
 Mrs. Everett laughed. 
 
 "She is entertaining herself with him as she does 
 with Lee and Plow. Did you ever hear anything 
 more delicious than Lee's comment on that matri- 
 monial discussion?" 
 
 "His gift for sarcastic comment will get him 
 into trouble some day," he remarked. 
 
 "It has already, a hundred times; but he doesn't 
 care. The more trouble he stirs up, the sweeter 
 and more innocent his smile becomes. I could see 
 that he was furious with Mrs. Van Sant to-night. 
 But she'll never marry that man. She sees through 
 him as well as I do. You can imagine how amused 
 she was to hear him expatiate upon the 'position' 
 of university instructors after her army experience. 
 Wait a moment." 
 
 She stopped to gather her silk skirt over her arm, 
 for the sidewalk was wet. As they went on she 
 reflected bitterly that it was a long time since they 
 had gone to an entertainment in a carriage, cer- 
 tainly not since the babies had come. She noted 
 with a keen pang that her husband's evening coat 
 could be seen below his overcoat. With an impulse 
 of tenderness she suddenly drew him into the 
 shadow of a tree and kissed him.
 
 60 THE TORCH 
 
 The president needed little urging to be induced 
 to take a second cigar. He was alone with his 
 hostess at last, and he reflected that it was the first 
 time he had enjoyed the privilege. They were 
 discussing a recent book of Irish ballads. He 
 turned over the pages at random and read passages 
 in his fine voice. It was an unexpected revelation 
 of the man, and she listened with attentive interest. 
 Presently a phrase struck a chord of memory in 
 her mind, and she interrupted him with a little 
 exclamation of discovery. 
 
 "Mr. Babington," she demanded, "did you ever 
 write poetry?" 
 
 He flushed with pleasure. 
 
 "The sins of my youth," he rejoined. "You 
 don't mean to tell me that one of them has come 
 home to roost?" 
 
 "Indeed it has," she assented gaily. "If you'll 
 wait a moment I'll bring it to you." 
 
 She left the room and ran upstairs. In a few 
 minutes she returned, her eyes bright with amuse- 
 ment and excitement, her fine red hair somewhat 
 disordered by her flight. Babington regarded her 
 with an expression in which embarrassment and 
 admiration were curiously blended. 
 
 "I hope it isn't one of my very earliest," he said. 
 
 She sank into a chair and began to turn the 
 leaves of a little, red-bound book. It was a scrap- 
 book of poetry, filled to the last page and stuffed 
 with many loose clippings besides. 
 
 "This collection represents all stages of my ap- 
 preciation," she remarked. "I suppose you would
 
 have had the book carefully indexed, but I don't 
 know where to find anything I want. Where is 
 it? You mustn't despise my unscholarly ways. 
 Here it is!" 
 
 She held up a clipping triumphantly and began 
 to read. It was a poem on nature, and Babington 
 felt that the verses were sentimental, in spite of the 
 reader's charming rendering. When she had fin- 
 ished he took the clipping and examined it curi- 
 ously. 
 
 "I see it is from a newspaper," he remarked. 
 "It must have been copied from the magazine in 
 which it originally appeared. I didn't know my 
 muse had been so honored. I was very young 
 when I wrote that. I haven't written a line of 
 poetry for fifteen years." 
 
 "I've had it about that time," she rejoined, re- 
 placing it in the book. "Of course it's youthful, 
 but I like the spirit of it. Why don't you write 
 some poetry now?" 
 
 "Perhaps life has sobered me," he suggested. 
 
 "Then I would reverse the old saying and ap- 
 peal from Philip sober to Philip drunk. Perhaps 
 one ought to be ashamed of being ashamed of the 
 intoxication of youthful fancy." 
 
 He unraveled the epigram slowly. She was 
 making him talk about himself, not the newer self 
 he had upbuilt with such care, but about the self 
 whose native impulses he had come to regard as 
 a weakness. To think that his forgotten and de- 
 spised verses should be a passport to the regard of 
 this woman!
 
 62 THE TORCH 
 
 "I used to think I should be a great poet some 
 day," he said with amused frankness, "and even 
 after I left college I cherished the delusion for 
 a while. But I soon found out that this isn't an 
 age of poetry. It wasn't the thing I was fitted 
 for, after all, and I gave it up." He laughed 
 genially. "Why/ do you know, when you asked 
 me whether I had written any poetry I was panic- 
 stricken. I wondered which of my effusions you 
 were going to face me with." 
 
 He paused and thoughtfully flicked the ashes of 
 his cigar into the tray. In the silence the fire 
 crackled comfortably in the grate and intensified 
 his impression of seclusion and intimacy. He 
 looked at her attentive and lovely face and obeyed 
 the impulse that drove him on. 
 
 "When I was in college I used to sit alone in my 
 room on winter nights, inspired by the sound of 
 the wind in the trees, by a glimpse of the stars be- 
 yond my window, by a hundred little things I never 
 notice now. This moment seems to bring it back 
 to me. Philip is drunk again." 
 
 She had not known he could be so charming. 
 
 "We each live half a dozen different lives," she 
 remarked. "Perhaps the best life is an harmonious 
 combination of them all." 
 
 He shook his head, smiling at her earnestness, 
 as a man will. 
 
 "This is an age of specialization. A jack of all 
 trades finds himself left out in the cold." 
 
 The expression of his face arrested her reply. 
 He had grown worldly again. "Out in the cold!"
 
 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 63 
 
 The fear of the cold : that was the key to the mys- 
 tery. It was for the warm place that he had come 
 to despise his early dreams. The ringing of the 
 bell forestalled her reply. A rush of cold air pene- 
 trated the drawing-room, and in another moment 
 Professor Plow stood before them. He had not 
 even stopped to take off his overcoat. 
 
 The personality of the man was aggressive. He 
 brought an air of vigor and rough endeavor into 
 the exquisite room. Mrs. Van Sant herself re- 
 lieved him of his hat and coat and put them in the 
 hall. 
 
 "It's trying to rain and snow at the same time," 
 Plow exclaimed, turning his back to the fire, "with 
 the chances in favor of the snow winning out at 
 the finish. I've just come from a rousing good 
 meeting." He stood erect, his eyes bright with 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 "Tell us about it," Mrs. Van Sant begged. "I'm 
 glad you didn't forget your promise to drop in on 
 your way home. What did you say to them ?" 
 
 She was dimly conscious of a certain unexpected 
 restraint in the president's greeting of his friend, 
 but she assigned a cause not unflattering to herself. 
 She thought Plow seemed very much like a labor 
 leader, as he stood there in his rough tweed suit. 
 The steam that rose from his damp, rumpled gar- 
 ments was like the smoke of battle through which 
 he had passed. 
 
 "Oh, much the same old story," he said. "I 
 took for my subject The Coming Conflict. When 
 I see those poor fellows I always think that I should
 
 64 THE TORCH 
 
 have been just like them if I hadn't had better op- 
 portunities. I tell you, some of those mechanics 
 keep a man on the jump trying to answer their 
 questions. They read, those fellows do. One old 
 man wanted to know why it was that four thousand 
 millionaires owned over twenty per cent, of the 
 wealth of the country; why one family "in each 
 hundred could buy out the other ninety-nine and 
 have something over." 
 
 "Did you tell him that it was due to brains?" 
 Babington asked, with a curious smile. But Plow 
 was in no humor for jests. 
 
 "No, sir," he cried, with a wide sweep of his 
 arm, as if he were still before an audience, "I 
 couldn't conscientiously give them any such answer. 
 I told them that it was the paradox of the century 
 to see the congestion of wealth in the hands of the 
 privileged few, in spite of the wide diffusion of 
 education among the masses. I told them no man's 
 services were worth a salary of a million dollars a 
 year. I told them we were paying tribute now to 
 emperors of steel and kings of oil, instead of to the 
 old-fashioned kind of kings. These are our robber 
 barons." 
 
 The president's face had grown immovable and 
 hard. Was this the man he had sent as his ac- 
 credited representative ? 
 
 "What solution did you recommend?" he asked 
 coldly. 
 
 "Cooperation," said Plow, "union, the public 
 ownership of public utilities. The wealth of the
 
 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 65 
 
 
 
 country belongs to the people, and they have a right 
 to claim their own, for they have created it." 
 
 He sank back into a chair, suddenly weary, and 
 drank the glass of wine his hostess offered him. 
 
 "The university has a place in all this," he con- 
 tinued. "That's what I tell the young men in my 
 classes. I want them to realize their opportunities 
 and responsibilities. I want them to be on the 
 right side when the line is drawn. That's why 
 I love my profession. I feel that I can be a 
 connecting link between the educated men and the 
 masses. I'm glad I'm teaching in a state institu- 
 tion, an institution for the people, not created with 
 conscience money to tickle the vanity of an individ- 
 ual. We can say what we please and extend a help- 
 ing hand to the men who need it most. You re- 
 member we used to discuss these subjects in college, 
 Babington. Things have grown worse since then." 
 
 "I should say rather better," the president an- 
 swered distinctly. "I think the trusts are a benefit 
 to the country." 
 
 Plow's eyes opened wide, and he stared at his old 
 classmate with incredulity. Then he returned to 
 the attack with renewed vigor, anxious only to win 
 a convert, and unsuspicious of the complicated emo- 
 tions that were raging in the other's heart. 
 
 Mrs. Van Sant had never greater need of her 
 social experience. She put in a word here, a tact- 
 ful suggestion there, and finally succeeded in turn- 
 ing the conversation to another channel. But the 
 effort was exhausting, and she was greatly relieved 
 when her guests went away together.
 
 66 THE TORCH 
 
 "If those two ever come to my house again at 
 the same time," she reflected, as the door closed 
 behind them, "I shall put them in different rooms. 
 And I thought they were Jonathan and David!" 
 Suddenly she was struck by something she had 
 scarcely noticed when they were present Babing- 
 ton's evident dislike of Plow, in spite of the latter's 
 devotion to him. The president alone had made 
 the argument bitter and personal. 
 
 The two men walked to the corner together. 
 The hour was late, and no one saw them as they 
 stood talking beneath the naked branches of the 
 trees, their hats and shoulders whitened by the 
 gently-falling flakes of the first snow. 
 
 "And one thing more," the president said. "I 
 noticed you called me 'Babington' to-night. I 
 wouldn't mind so far as I am concerned, you know, 
 but we must be. more careful, more formal. We 
 don't want any talk about favoritism; you under- 
 stand? That, and a little more caution in your 
 public utterances. The conditions are unfortunate, 
 but we must conform to them. Good night." 
 
 Plow did not seem to see the outstretched hand. 
 His heart was hot within him. He was wrestling 
 fiercely with one of the great emotional crises of 
 his life. For a moment he seemed almost dazed 
 by the blow from the man he had loved. Then, in 
 a flash, vague doubts rushed back upon him as 
 convictions, hard and fatal. He took a deep 
 breath that was almost a sob, turned squarely about, 
 and strode away without a word.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 A HINT OF HIDDEN MILLIONS 
 
 As Babington entered Mrs. Van Sant's drawing- 
 room Professor Plow rose to go. Each man gave 
 the other a formal salutation, scrupulously courte- 
 ous. Plow held his hostess in conversation a few 
 moments longer and then went away, without an- 
 other look at the president. 
 
 Mrs. Van Sant knew of the continuance of the 
 estrangement whose beginning she had witnessed 
 in that room about a month before. The whole 
 university was talking about it, speculating as to 
 the cause, the extent, and the probable result. 
 From the principals in the affair she had not heard 
 a word. The professor's reticence invested him 
 with a new dignity and interest. She had scarcely 
 expected him to show such self-control and breed- 
 ing, but she discovered that he could be silent about 
 his own wrongs, however eloquent he might be- 
 come over the wrongs of a class. The situation 
 had become intensely interesting to her, and a con- 
 sciousness of her own unintentional part in the 
 estrangement added an element of excitement to 
 the drama. 
 
 This was the president's second call since the 
 67
 
 68 THE TORCH 
 
 dinner, and he had begun to take Mrs. Van Sant 
 into his confidence. She was not indifferent to the 
 compliment, and her growing knowledge of the 
 university machinery gave her an exhilarating sense 
 of participation. He knew instinctively that he 
 would make but poor progress in her regard by 
 showing an animus toward Plow. He appreciated 
 the advantage of his position. He was the presi- 
 dent, and the professor was a subordinate. He was 
 not called upon to explain or defend his attitude. 
 In the nature of things, this silence made an ap- 
 peal to her imagination. She was prepared to de- 
 fend the professor with the loyalty of a woman 
 toward the man that is devoted to her, not unwill- 
 ing to pique the man that had taken her fancy. 
 But the opportunity was denied her, and both men 
 had risen in her estimation in consequence. 
 
 This afternoon she thought the president un- 
 usually interesting. The university seemed a big- 
 ger thing than she had considered it thus far. As 
 Babington indicated some of his plans for the fu- 
 ture she lost the unacknowledged scorn of mere 
 state enterprises which her residence at the capital 
 of the nation had given her. 
 
 "I wish I could be president of something," she 
 sighed; "something more vitally interesting than 
 a woman's club. I'm sure I have great executive 
 ability, for whenever I have nothing else to do I 
 roll the furniture in this room about. I should 
 like to be at the head of some big concern and put 
 the men where I want them, just as I put these 
 chairs." She made a pretty gesture with her hands,
 
 A" HINT OF HIDDEN MILLIONS 69 
 
 as if she were arranging the pieces, and Babing- 
 ton's eyes brightened with amusement and admira- 
 tion. 
 
 "The difficulty is that the men don't always stay 
 put," he replied. It was on the tip of his tongue 
 to mention Plow as an instance, but he stopped in 
 time. She was curiously disappointed when he 
 made the application general. "The greatest need 
 is men who will remain 'put,' so to speak, great 
 teachers and specialists who will attend to their 
 work and let the executive execute. But great 
 teachers cost a great deal of money. Even after 
 the money is provided the teachers can not always 
 be found. You'd be surprised to know how few 
 scholars we have of the first rank. I wouldn't ad- 
 mit it to an Englishman, but it's true." 
 
 "Isn't it rather hard for a young man to improve 
 his scholarship under present conditions?" she sug- 
 gested. "I've heard so much talk about small sal- 
 aries and large classes. Mrs. Everett and I sur- 
 prised a young instructor with a broom in his hand 
 the other day, when we went to call on his wife. 
 There's another man I always meet wheeling a baby 
 carriage. I don't suppose he gets much time for 
 study. He always looks half asleep, like the dor- 
 mouse in 'Alice in Wonderland.' ' 
 
 Instead of laughing at the comparison, he drew 
 himself up as if subtly offended by the stubborn 
 facts she presented. His eyes seemed to grow 
 round, with just the suggestion of a defiant stare, 
 and his manner was touched with pomposity. 
 
 "They're lazy," he declared, "or unwise. 'Where
 
 70 THE TORCH 
 
 there's a will there's a way.' They give up their 
 high ideals too easily, and are only too glad to ex- 
 cuse themselves by laying the blame on external 
 conditions. My experience has taught me that the 
 exceptional man can always solve the problem." 
 
 The clock on the mantel sent forth five slow, sil- 
 very notes, and she rose from her chair. 
 
 "This is my time for a cup of tea," she an- 
 nounced. "I wish I were half as regular in my 
 prayers as in my potations. Won't you join me?" 
 
 While she busied herself in preparations he sat 
 steeped in comfort and expectation. The Decem- 
 ber twilight was coming on, and through the half- 
 drawn curtains he could see the street lamps dotting 
 the deepening shadows. The cold winter sunset 
 faded away in austere grandeur beyond the roofs 
 and trees. Then he turned his gaze within and 
 saw the blue flame of the alcohol lamp curling and 
 lapping about the little brazen kettle, behind which 
 she sat banked with cushions, smiling, radiant. 
 Above her, on the wall, was a plaster representation 
 of a Victory taking off her sandals. The pictures 
 of the room were now indistinguishable, but their 
 frames shone in dim streaks of gold. From a 
 corner the pale head of the Hermes of Praxiteles 
 looked down on the scene, like a beautiful ghost. 
 
 "I know where you can get some money for the 
 university," she remarked presently, smiling at him 
 over the edge of her lifted teacup. "Kate Tupper, 
 of course." 
 
 "And who is this generous Kate Tupper?" he 
 asked, suspecting a jest.
 
 A HINT OF HIDDEN MILLIONS 71 
 
 "Kate's worth millions, positively millions," she 
 went on with relish, "and she hasn't a chick nor a 
 child to give it to, nor even a near relative." Her 
 enjoyment moved him to sympathetic laughter. 
 
 "You must describe her to me," he suggested. 
 "You must explain the methods by which she is to 
 be won to take my or shall I say our view of 
 the case." 
 
 "But she can't be described. She must be seen 
 to be believed. There now, I'm not going to gos- 
 sip about Mrs. Tupper. Some day I'll arrange to 
 have you meet her." 
 
 He was disappointed by the arrival of Lee and 
 Trumbull. It seemed his fate to be interrupted 
 whenever his conversation with Mrs. Van Sant be- 
 came peculiarly interesting. 
 
 "Mr. Trumbull," she said, "may I make use of 
 your inches to light the chandelier?" 
 
 "I brought him in," Lee explained, "to show you 
 some of his Greek coins. I knew you'd be inter- 
 ested. He has been carrying them about in his 
 pockets like a miser for months." 
 
 Trumbull turned from lighting the gas and scat- 
 tered a handful of his treasures on the table. 
 
 "Here's one," he said, "stamped with the face of 
 Hiero of Syracuse. It looks like a quarter at first 
 sight, doesn't it? I gave it to a conductor the 
 other day by mistake and had a great time getting 
 it back." He went on to describe the incident, and 
 the president was much amused. 
 
 "Doctor Trumbull," he said, "there's only one 
 way I know of to keep those coins safe from the
 
 72 THE TORCH 
 
 fingers of designing street-car conductors. You 
 must put them behind a glass case in the university 
 museum." 
 
 "I will," the young man answered, "but I can't 
 bring myself to do it yet. The sense of possession 
 is too sweet." 
 
 "He has thousands of them," Lee volunteered. 
 "He can spare us a few hundred just as well as not. 
 You ought to see his rooms. I never go in there 
 without a superstitious shiver, for the place reminds 
 me of a cemetery. He has rows of Greek grave- 
 stones lined up against the walls. I've no doubt 
 he sank to the lowest depths of bribery to get them 
 away from their native land." 
 
 "I did," Trumbull admitted, with a flash of his 
 white teeth. "Those degenerate mongrels are full 
 of sentiment about the 'bones of their ancestors,' 
 as they are pleased to call them." He took the cup 
 of tea which his hostess handed him and set it down 
 on the table untasted, while he continued to talk 
 with the president. The subject was one that al- 
 ways aroused him to unwonted loquacity. 
 
 Babington had paid scant heed to Lee's remarks, 
 and now confined his attention entirely to the 
 archaeologist. Mrs. Van Sant listened while they 
 compared impressions of Greece, and reflected that 
 Trumbull really did seem a foreign count, with his 
 ruddy complexion, the black imperial on his nether 
 lip, and the trilling pronunciation of his r's. Once 
 she ventured a remark, but he glanced at her with 
 a cold look of unconscious rudeness, and then con- 
 tinued the conversation with the person he found
 
 A HINT OF HIDDEN MILLIONS 73 
 
 most interesting. She was quick to divine the 
 president's attitude toward Lee and Trumbull's in- 
 difference to herself. 
 
 "Mr. Lee," she said, "come over here and play 
 that gavotte of Dreyschock for me. It won't dis- 
 turb this learned conversation, I'm sure." 
 
 Lee seated himself at the grand piano at the far- 
 ther end of the room. His long fingers played over 
 the keys like a breath of wind on a harp. She 
 stood beside him, listening intently. He never 
 seemed as fine to her as when seated at the piano 
 playing in his easy, nonchalant, inspired way, his 
 head thrown back, the latent ideality of his nature 
 breaking through his more usual mood of light 
 cynicism. 
 
 The president fidgeted, became distrait, and al- 
 lowed the conversation to lag. From time to time 
 he glanced uneasily toward the piano, but Mrs. 
 Van Sant seemed to have forgotten him and Trum- 
 bull. She urged Lee to play again and again, but at 
 last he rose to go. 
 
 "Mr. Lee always fills me with envy," she re- 
 marked, as she came forward, "and yet I torment 
 myself by making him show me how much better 
 he can play my favorite pieces than I can play them 
 myself. My hands are so small that I can't strike 
 an octave accurately." She held them up and re- 
 garded them with a rueful expression. "I hate a 
 small hand; it always looks so incompetent." She 
 was well aware that at least two of the men pres- 
 ent were fascinated by those small hands and by 
 her arraignment of them.
 
 74 THE TORCH 
 
 "You ought to have my long antennae," the mu- 
 sician remarked. 
 
 "I suspect a Beethoven was lost to the world in 
 you, Mr. Lee," Babington said, with an effort at 
 courtesy. 
 
 "To make an indifferent professor," Lee supple- 
 mented lightly. "Mrs. Van Sant, if we stay any 
 longer you will be compelled to invite us to dinner." 
 
 "I wish you would stay," she answered. 
 
 "Discretion is the better part of hospitality," he 
 said. As she caught his expression she felt that he 
 referred rather to the danger of an inharmonious 
 dinner than to the inconvenience their acceptance 
 of her invitation might cause her. He bowed to 
 her and to the president with great suavity, and the 
 two friends took their departure together. 
 
 Babington was not slow to follow their example. 
 On the way home he discovered that he regarded 
 Lee with permanent irritation, and he strove to 
 turn his thoughts to a pleasanter subject. His 
 hostess' reference to Mrs. Tupper came back to his 
 mind and teased him with speculation. What a 
 witch she was! He suspected that the indescrib- 
 able possessor of those millions was a myth of her 
 own fabrication.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 TUPPER'S WIDOW 
 
 About a week later Babington went over to the 
 capital to see the governor by appointment. He 
 invited his Excellency to lunch with him at the Uni- 
 versity Club, of which he had been made a member 
 upon his arrival in Argos. A plan was forming in 
 the president's mind to give the governor an honor- 
 ary degree at the university and to admit him to 
 membership in the club. There was ample prece- 
 dent for the action, and only the governor's hostility 
 to the university stood in the way. Babington be- 
 lieved that this hostility was partly feigned to win 
 popular approval, and partly the result of an un- 
 acknowledged jealousy. The governor had de- 
 cided that the grapes which hung beyond his reach 
 in his youth were sour, but Babington was inclined 
 to think that his Excellency would discover a dif- 
 ferent flavor when they 'were placed in his hand. 
 
 During the lunch he said very little about the 
 needs of the university, but confined himself to 
 topics of general interest and to the telling of good 
 stories. In the genial atmosphere of the grill-room 
 artificial differences and supposed hostilities melted 
 away, and when Babington parted from the gover- 
 
 75
 
 76 THE TORCH 
 
 nor he felt that his efforts to establish an entente 
 cordiale had not been altogether in vain. 
 
 Babington's predecessor would have found the 
 task impossible; in fact, it would never have oc- 
 curred to him to undertake it, for he was a scholar 
 of the old school, a mugwump by nature and edu- 
 cation, and would as soon have dined with the devil 
 as with a political boss. But Babington saw the 
 necessity of agreeing with his adversary while in 
 the way with him, and he left the adversary subtly 
 flattered, pleased, almost disarmed. 
 
 When they parted at the door of the club the 
 president turned from the main street and wandered 
 away without definite design. He wished to be 
 alone and think. The afternoon was perfectly 
 bright and cloudless. A recent fall of snow still 
 lay unsullied in the less frequented thoroughfares. 
 From the bare branches of the trees and the eaves 
 of the houses long, glittering icicles depended and 
 sent bright drops of water into the melting snow. 
 
 The president found a cigar in his pocket and 
 lighted it with a sense of freedom from observation. 
 Harmless as the habit was, he divined that many of 
 the students imposed a kind of ministerial standard 
 upon him, and he had no desire to offend the preju- 
 dices of that class. But now he was in a strange 
 place, and the feeling of being lost was grateful to 
 him. He walked on and on, with a comfortable 
 consciousness of having scored a point in a diffi- 
 cult game, and moved by a spirit of mild adventure. 
 
 He looked at the houses he passed and specu- 
 lated idly as to the position of the inhabitants of the
 
 TUPPER'S WIDOW 77 
 
 more interesting. Now and again his thoughts re- 
 verted to Plow, who loomed like a troublous phan- 
 tom in the background of his consciousness. The 
 professor's manner somehow conveyed the impres- 
 sion of having dropped the president, rather than 
 the impression of having been dropped by him. 
 Babington began to realize that the university 
 might not be big enough for them both, and hoped 
 that Plow would be called to another position. 
 
 The thought of the professor naturally suggested 
 Mrs. Van Sant. What was his standing in her 
 house? He saw that Plow and Lee were her chief 
 admirers, and for some inexplicable reason he re- 
 sented Plow's admiration more than he did Lee's. 
 Perhaps it was because he felt that Lee was too old 
 a friend of Mrs. Van Sant's to be her lover. Then 
 he smiled to think that he should consider either of 
 them in that connection, and admitted to himself 
 that he had become vitally interested in her likes- 
 and 'dislikes. 
 
 When he reached this conclusion he looked up to 
 find himself standing before an old house set well 
 back from the street. The size of the grounds, and 
 especially the appearance of neglect which the whole 
 place presented, arrested his attention. Here was 
 evidently an example of the transitory nature of 
 riches. He stood by the gate and glanced up and 
 down the long line of the fence. In some places it 
 was broken and lying flat on the ground. Each 
 picket of the part that still stood was capped by a 
 little hood of snow that invested the ruin with a 
 transient beauty.
 
 78 THE TORCH 
 
 Far off, under a tree, he noticed an old-fashioned 
 carriage, its wheels warped this way and that, its 
 dash-board rent, the cushions, once so elegant, rot- 
 ting in the weather. There were no tracks of 
 wheels leading to the dilapidated stable. 
 
 The gate at which he stood was directly oppo- 
 site the front door of the house. He noted the two 
 long lines of intervening maples, and was reminded 
 of the street of a New England village. In various 
 places on the grounds he saw stone and iron stat- 
 ues of animals and mythological creatures ; here 
 a deer, there an iron mastiff, yonder a ruined grotto 
 guarded by a figure of Pan. 
 
 The house itself confirmed these evidences of a 
 bygone taste. The architect had evidently in- 
 dulged a riotous fancy. There was one large cen- 
 tral tower, and a wealth of bow windows. About 
 the lower story ran a veranda, the roof held up by 
 slender iron supports of an intricate open pattern 
 that had long since lost almost every vestige of the 
 green paint with which they were once adorned. 
 The plaster on the walls had dropped off in unsightly 
 patches, disclosing the bricks beneath. The builder 
 had spared no expense, and Babington smiled to 
 imagine with what pride he had viewed his inhar- 
 monious mansion. A narrow footpath between the 
 maples showed that the house was still inhabited. 
 He looked more closely and saw a faint curl of 
 smoke issuing from one of the chimneys. 
 
 Babington's curiosity was actively aroused and 
 he looked down the street in search of some one of 
 whom he might inquire the history of the place.
 
 TUPPER'S WIDOW 79 
 
 An old woman turned the corner and came toward 
 him. A shawl enveloped her head, and she car- 
 ried a market basket on her arm. As she drew 
 near he saw that she intended to enter the gate, and 
 supposed that he had met the caretaker of the place. 
 
 A second glance caused him to doubt his first 
 impression, for with habitual accuracy in observ- 
 ing details he noted the camel's-hair shawl and the 
 silk of the woman's skirt. Her eyes met his with 
 a flash of recognition, and he raised his hat. 
 
 "Can you tell me who lives here?" he asked. 
 "Perhaps I ought to say who used to live here, for 
 the place looks as if it had a history." 
 
 "I know you," she returned, much as one might 
 say, "I saw you kill cock robin." Then she proved 
 her assertion by adding, "You're Professor Bab- 
 ington, who has come to run the college over in 
 Argos." 
 
 '.'Then you have the advantage of me," he an- 
 swered pleasantly. 
 
 "Everybody was at the inauguration," she ex- 
 plained. "Curiosity." 
 
 He could think of no rejoinder, and repeated his 
 question in regard to the house. 
 
 "Mine," she said, tapping her breast; "all mine. 
 Everything on the place is mine to do with as I 
 please." 
 
 There was an unmistakable note of defiance in 
 the declaration that moved him to wonder. 
 
 "Of course," he assented. 
 
 "I see you've got good sense," she said approv- 
 ingly. "There's some that haven't got sense
 
 80 THE TORCH 
 
 enough to mind their own business; but old Kate 
 Tupper can take care of herself all right, even if she 
 is alone in the world." 
 
 So this was Kate Tupper! He saw now that 
 she was no myth, and wondered whether she were 
 as rich as Mrs. Van Sant had said. 
 
 "The builder of this house must have been a 
 prominent man in these parts," he ventured. 
 
 "He built the first railroad through this state," 
 she declared proudly, "and the first street-car track 
 in this town, and the first bank, and the first every- 
 thing. But he got kind o' foolish in his old age 
 wanted to give all his money to that college of 
 yours. I put a stop to that." 
 
 He saw at last the extent of Mrs. Van Sant's 
 jest. She must have known of this intention and 
 its frustration. 
 
 "How was that?" he asked. "Was he a gradu- 
 ate of the university ?" 
 
 She sniffed scornfully. 
 
 "Graduate of nothing ! Why, that college wasn't 
 even thought of when he came here. That's what 
 I said to him. 'Lemuel,' I said, 'don't be a fool. 
 What do you want to give your hard-earned money 
 to that measly college for? What good would that 
 do? You never needed to go to college. What's 
 the use of giving money so that a lot of lazy scamps 
 can have an easy time of it when they ought to be 
 earning their bread and butter, so that they can go 
 yelling around the streets when honest folks are in 
 bed?' That's what I said to him, and he saw that
 
 TUPPER'S WIDOW 81 
 
 I was right. So he left it all to me." She tapped 
 her breast again, with the same air of defiance. 
 
 As Babington listened to her he suspected that 
 her mind was somewhat affected. The mention 
 of the bequest the old man had intended to leave 
 the university gave him an inspiration. In spite 
 of the hostility she expressed to the cause of learn- 
 ing, he entertained a sudden hope that he might in- 
 duce her to fulfil her husband's wishes. It was 
 curious, he thought, that she should volunteer to 
 tell him about it, as if she were on the defensive. 
 Was that the meaning of her defiance? Did she 
 imagine that she must justify herself to him? It 
 was a long shot, but he determined to risk it. 
 
 "What you say about the foolishness of young 
 men in college is only too true in many cases," he 
 admitted, "but I think outsiders are deceived by 
 the noise of a few. They don't hear the great ma- 
 jority studying night after night in their rooms. 
 The men that make the noise in the streets are the 
 rich men's sons who don't need any money. We 
 want money for the poor fellows who don't make 
 any noise. They'll make a noise of a better kind 
 in the world some day." 
 
 She broke into a sudden wintry grin. 
 
 "You're smooth," she declared. "I like you. 
 Old Tupper's boy was one of the noisy kind. 
 That's why I turned him out to shift for himself, 
 as his father did before him. His sister was a 
 hussy, too. It was the best thing that ever hap- 
 pened to them. They tried the law on me, and I 
 had to give them something to cry quits. She's
 
 82 THE TORCH 
 
 dead, and he's gone off for good. It'll be for his 
 own good, too, not to come back here fooling 
 around me. But come in and sit down. I'm an 
 old woman. I can't stand out in the snow all the 
 afternoon." 
 
 He took her basket, and the sense of adventure 
 with which he had begun his walk deepened as he 
 followed her up the narrow path. When they 
 reached the veranda she pushed open one of the 
 windows that extended to the floor, instead of en- 
 tering at the door. 
 
 "The lock won't work," she grumbled. "I won't 
 send for a man to fix it. . He'd try to rob me, but 
 they can't get ahead of old Kate. And there's that 
 hussy of a servant. She could no more go to mar- 
 ket than a cat could fly, so I have to go myself, at 
 my age, or else get robbed by the butcher. Cash, 
 that's what I pay. I won't have any bills coming 
 into my house. Thieves!" 
 
 Babington started at the energy with which she 
 uttered the last word. He half expected to be con- 
 fronted in the dim room in which he now stood by 
 a man with a revolver, who should demand his 
 money or his life. But it appeared that the ex- 
 clamation was directed against the absent trades- 
 people, and he took heart to look at his surround- 
 ings. 
 
 He stood in a dismal room of great size and 
 height. In the dim light that streamed through the 
 rents in the shutters he could see the gleam of tall 
 mirrors and tarnished picture frames. There was 
 something cold and forbidding in the massive mar-
 
 TUPPER'S WIDOW 83 
 
 ble mantel and the rigid statues in the corners. 
 Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and dust lay thick 
 on the surface of the grand piano. Nothing he had 
 ever seen impressed him as quite so dismal as that 
 great room, with its vulgar display, its suggestion 
 of futile aspiration after elegance. He shivered, 
 for there was no fire in the place, and he felt as if 
 he were standing in a tomb. 
 
 "I haven't used this room since Tupper died," 
 she remarked. She led the way through a long, 
 dark hall and opened a door into a room of such 
 different character that he could scarcely believe 
 his eyes. It was a cheerful sitting-room, with a 
 western exposure. The sunlight streamed in at the 
 windows and a generous fire of coals burned in the 
 Franklin stove. The stove reminded him of a 
 country railroad-station, and he noticed that the 
 fireplace had been bricked up. Two beautiful Irish 
 setters sniffed at him with hostile inquiry and then 
 retreated under the table at their mistress' sharp 
 command. They were evidently so unaccustomed 
 to strangers as to be lacking in the friendliness of 
 their breed. 
 
 "There's nothing you don't see," his hostess re- 
 marked, "even if you don't pretend to." She mo- 
 tioned him to a chair and put her wraps on a sew- 
 ing machine in the corner. "You fools," she cried 
 to the dogs, "shut up ! Didn't you ever see any one 
 before? I like dogs," she continued. "They've 
 generally got such good sense. But I'm tired of 
 people palavering around." 
 
 "I see you're fond of the theater, too," he re-
 
 84 THE TORCH 
 
 joined, indicating with a gesture a number of litho- 
 graphs of actors and actresses tacked to the walls. 
 "There's nothing I like so much myself as a diver- 
 sion. It always gives me a new lease on life to go 
 to a good play." 
 
 "You wasn't brought up that way," she guessed 
 shrewdly. 
 
 "How could you tell?" he asked in surprise. 
 
 "How could I tell? I just naturally knew it. 
 No more was I, but a body must do something. 
 What I like about the theater is the elbow room. 
 You pay your money and don't have to stop and 
 palaver at the door and shake hands with people. 
 You don't have to have any one pawing you and 
 asking you to come again, and it kind of livens you 
 up." 
 
 "Evidently you are contrasting the theater with 
 the church," he said, with a laugh. 
 
 She sniffed again in a way he already recognized 
 as characteristic. 
 
 "Church! Money, money, money; that's what 
 they want. Money for little niggers in Africa, and 
 for dirty, good-for-nothing Indians. And what do 
 you get for your pains ? Gossip ; that's what you 
 get. Slander; everybody poking his nose into 
 other people's business." 
 
 Babington was not concerned in defending the 
 church. 
 
 "I see you don't want to say anything against the 
 church," she said, with her wintry smile. "I read 
 in the papers of your preaching in your own church 
 in Argos."
 
 TUPPER'S WIDOW 85 
 
 He seized the opportunity to turn the conversa- 
 tion back to the university. He told her of the 
 article in the Catholic paper, and commented on 
 the injustice it had done him. She was more in- 
 terested than he had yet seen her. He guessed that 
 she would sympathize with his point of view, but 
 he had not divined the intensity of her protestant- 
 ism. 
 
 "Father OToole!" she flamed out. "Tupper's 
 first wife was a Catholic, and I used to see him 
 sliding in and out of this house. Tupper didn't 
 seem to care, the old fool." 
 
 She saw that the implication of her words made 
 him uncomfortable and laughed harshly. 
 
 "I'm a dreadful old woman, and I call a spade a 
 spade. You've got some ministers over there 
 teaching the boys, haven't you? I'm glad of it." 
 She chuckled, as if in some way she had got the 
 better of O'Toole. 
 
 Fortune seemed to be smiling on the president. 
 He became confidential. He told her of the diffi- 
 culties of his position, of the fractious nature of 
 some of his professors, of the need of money in all 
 departments. Then he drew a picture of poor stu- 
 dents who lived on a few dollars a week, admitting 
 much to humor her prejudices, but calling her at- 
 tention to the need of instruction in such subjects 
 as he thought she might respect. 
 
 Most women were moved by his persuasive man- 
 ner and fine voice, and even old Kate forgot to be 
 sarcastic. He had never preached more eloquently 
 the gospel of the university. He complimented
 
 86 THE TORCH 
 
 self-made men, but declared that poor students were 
 also self-made. There was no argument against 
 the university with which he was not familiar, and 
 he was a special pleader well armed. His very con- 
 fidence in her was a compliment. She had been 
 heartless in the case of her stepson, moved by 
 jealousy and suspicion, but this was something im- 
 personal, and her sympathy, long atrophied, was 
 touched. Suddenly, however, her eyes took on a 
 suspicious look, and she interrupted him. 
 
 "You're like the rest of them. You want money, 
 too, but you won't get any of it from me." She 
 tapped the floor with her foot, and rocked rapidly 
 back and forth. "Everybody wants to get money 
 out of me. That good-for-nothing boy of Tupper's 
 will come back after I'm dead and gone and spend 
 what his poor father slaved to make. But I'm not 
 gone yet. I'm mistress here yet." 
 
 "I suppose the young man is a Catholic ?". he 
 suggested. 
 
 "That's what O'Toole says!" she cried. "But 
 he don't get a cent of the money for his church if 
 I can help it ; not a cent." 
 
 "I must be getting back to Argos," he said, ris- 
 ing. "There's just one thing I should like to call 
 your attention to before I go. I've known of a num- 
 ber of public-spirited people leaving their money, or 
 a part of it, to colleges in trust. The donors get the 
 whole interest of the money as long as they live, and 
 are relieved of all care. In the case of a state univer- 
 sity the interest is greater, because a state institu- 
 tion is freed from taxation. If you adopted some
 
 TUPPER'S WIDOW 87 
 
 such policy you could be sure that the money would 
 not be put to unworthy uses." 
 
 As he uttered these words he felt a* slight twinge 
 of compunction in regard to the absent heir whose 
 claims he thus opposed. But had not Mr. Tupper 
 himself planned to make a bequest to the univer- 
 sity? What right had this ignorant old woman to 
 defeat such a beneficent purpose? The thought 
 moved him to clinch the argument. 
 
 "Your late husband's wishes would be served as 
 well as your own. He was a self-made man, and 
 yet he must have seen that a university can do more 
 for worthy young men, without spoiling them, than 
 they can do single-handed for themselves." 
 
 He saw that she was impressed, though she would 
 not admit it. 
 
 "Have something warm to drink before you go," 
 she said. "It's getting colder." 
 
 She went to the side of the room and pulled a bell 
 rope. He heard a faint jingle in the kitchen and 
 pictured the spiral wires with little bells attached, 
 such as he had known in his boyhood. It seemed a 
 strange anachronism in the days of electricity. A 
 woman appeared and Mrs. Tupper ordered hot 
 water and whiskey. 
 
 "Those bell ropes remind me of the kind I used 
 to see in my grandmother's house," he remarked. 
 
 "I wouldn't have an electric buzzer in the place," 
 she rejoined. "It would make me feel as if I was 
 being electrocuted every time the thing went off." 
 
 When he had drunk his toddy she accompanied 
 him to the window at which he had entered. The
 
 88 THE TORCH 
 
 subject of the university was not again mentioned 
 between them. 
 
 "Come and see me some time," she said. "I'm a 
 lonely old woman and I don't go out much now. 
 Most people are such fools that I don't want them 
 around, but you've got some common sense." 
 
 He thanked her, laughing at the compliment, and 
 passed down the pathway. When he reached the 
 gate he looked back, but she had disappeared. The 
 sun was sinking behind the house and the shadows 
 lengthened over the desolate scene. How like the 
 abode of a witch or a miser it seemed ! Old Kate 
 Tupper was part and parcel of her habitat, he mused. 
 No wonder Mrs. Van Sant had said that she must 
 be seen to be believed.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE FIGURE OF A DREAM 
 
 Lee and Trumbull stood in front of the building 
 of the Young Women's Christian Association one 
 evening in February and argued the pros and cons 
 of entering. Already the reception was in full 
 swing and they could hear the college glee-club 
 "rendering a selection." 
 
 "Hang it, man," Trumbull protested irritably, 
 "why the devil do you want me to go in there ?" 
 
 "I wish to win you from the enticements of the 
 gentleman you have just mentioned," Lee returned. 
 "I want you to get a glimpse of the nobler side of 
 university life." 
 
 The archaeologist was moved to the ghost of an 
 exasperated laugh. 
 
 "Well, it's too late to do anything else now. I 
 did have some work to do, but I might as well 
 waste my whole evening, now that I've begun. I'd 
 just as soon be hung for an old sheep as a lamb." 
 
 "I don't quite see the point of the proverb," his 
 friend remarked. "I'm not going to take you in 
 that you may be hung for an old sheep. You are an 
 old sheep now. I'm going to take you in that you 
 may be changed into a white lamb. I wish to add 
 one to the metamorphoses of Ovid." 
 
 89
 
 90 THE TORCH 
 
 He took Trumbull by the arm and drew him be- 
 yond the earshot of passing students. 
 
 "Have you never found on your desk a little 
 billet doux, a note from the co-eds, in which you 
 were cordially invited to attend a reception ? When 
 they are cordial ought you to be unkind ?" 
 
 "You want to go in to prop up your waning pop- 
 ularity," Trumbull declared. 
 
 "That's it, exactly," Lee assented. "In spite of 
 your mixture of metaphors, you see the point. You 
 might have expressed it better, but it is something to 
 have seen it. Now if anybody inquires after your 
 spiritual welfare I want you to be polite about it." 
 
 He was still chuckling at Trumbull's discomfiture 
 when they reached the door and shook hands with 
 the reception committee. Mrs. Everett was assist- 
 ing. 
 
 "On duty, I see," he remarked, as they stood a 
 little apart from the others. 
 
 "Oh, I rather enjoy it," she answered with a 
 smile. "The girls are very nice." 
 
 "Of course they are; that's what I told Trum- 
 bull. He doesn't get many of them in his courses, 
 and has been pleased to adopt a scornful attitude 
 toward them. You see they've got hold of him 
 now. I guessed by their greeting that they regarded 
 us both as possible converts." 
 
 He dragged his friend on from room to room and 
 introduced him to many students. It seemed to the 
 unwilling archaeologist that Lee knew every one. 
 Their conversation with the undergraduates turned 
 upon the weather, the decorations of the room, the
 
 THE FIGURE OF A DREAM 91 
 
 prospect of a good baseball team in the spring. 
 Trumbull was not a man to conceal his boredom, 
 and Lee enjoyed the basilisk stare of his cold eyes, 
 the unconscious brusqueness of his replies to inno- 
 cent inanities. 
 
 In all that large crowd there was only a handful 
 of teachers ; some who made such receptions a step- 
 ping-stone to popularity ; others who were drawn by 
 religious affiliations. They were not the men Lee 
 cared to see, and he made no effort to reach them. 
 He began to wonder whether his elaborate joke on 
 Trumbull were worth while. There was nothing 
 new for him to study in the psychology of under- 
 graduate life. He knew it all : the lack of piquancy 
 and romance in the relation of the sexes, the unim- 
 aginative level on which they met. He would not 
 have had it otherwise, but it palled upon him. 
 
 "I don't wonder," he said to Trumbull as they 
 stood sipping lemonade in a corner, "that Hymen 
 plays such a small part in college life. I remember 
 that when I was an undergraduate we used to invite 
 girls from the capital to our dances, and I under- 
 stand the men are just as ungallant now as we 
 were." 
 
 "What would you have?" Trumbull asked scorn- 
 fully. "A matrimonial agency?" 
 
 "I knew lemonade would make you irritable," Lee 
 rejoined. 
 
 One of his students came up and gave him the 
 greeting of a comrade. As he poured her a glass 
 of lemonade Trumbull took the opportunity to slip 
 away.
 
 92 THE TORCH 
 
 "I suppose I'm going to get a horribly low mark 
 in English," she began. 
 
 "I hope not," he answered. He would have said 
 more, but he saw that she had forgotten him. Her 
 eyes were roving restlessly over the room. 
 
 "There's Doctor Brown!" she cried. "I wish 
 you would introduce me to him. I want to take his 
 course in elegiac poetry next half. They say it's a 
 cinch." 
 
 When Brown joined them Lee's memory was for 
 once at fault. He could not recall the girl's name. 
 
 "Merry," she prompted. "My name is Merry." 
 
 He remembered now that this was the student 
 that had signed her enrolment card E. Ross Merry. 
 At first sight of her bold signature he had supposed 
 it the name of a man and had called upon Mr. Merry 
 to recite, much to the amusement of the class. How 
 could he know that E. stood for Ethel, rather than 
 for Edward? 
 
 Brown looked at him with his malevolent smile. 
 He did not forget the names of his students, and 
 Lee's discomfiture pleased him. 
 
 "To what happy accident do we owe the pleasure 
 of your company here to-night ?" he demanded. 
 
 "No accident, I assure you," Lee answered with 
 suavity. "My coming was premeditated. I'm a 
 new candidate for a pair of wings." 
 
 The philologue flushed angrily, and E. Ross 
 Merry laughed. Brown had been caricatured in the 
 last Junior Annual as an angel. He felt it was a 
 shabby return for his devotion to the religious wel- 
 fare of the students, but it made him only the more
 
 THE FIGURE OF A DREAM 93 
 
 determined to do his duty. His anger against Lee 
 was partly due to the fact that he regarded his jest 
 as a covert sneer at religion. 
 
 Lee strolled away without waiting for a counter 
 shot. He had not gone far when a young man 
 stopped him and demanded the year of his gradua- 
 tion from college. He was engaged in pinning the 
 year of each man's class to his coat. The professor 
 mentioned a date ten years before, and accepted the 
 label. 
 
 "You're getting to be a back number," the student 
 remarked cheerfully. 
 
 "I'm afraid I am," Lee replied, "but I think it 
 unkind of you to expose the fact. If any one adds 
 ten years to the average age of graduation he can 
 arrive at an approximate estimate of the length of 
 my earthly pilgrimage. If there are any women 
 graduates here of some years' standing I advise you 
 to steer clear of them with your obnoxious labels." 
 
 "That's no pipe dream, either," the student re- 
 plied, grinning. "Much obliged for the advice, Pro- 
 fessor." 
 
 Lee's good spirits had somehow ebbed, and he be- 
 came depressed. He was suddenly weary of the stu- 
 dents that came and went year by year in great 
 batches. Their numbers made individual attention 
 impossible, and he knew that he reached only a few. 
 There were times when the performances of the en- 
 lightened gave him a satisfaction that compensated 
 for the failures of the dullards, but to-night the un- 
 dergraduate body seemed to him a great, crude, fluc- 
 tuating mass, without culture or congruity.
 
 94 THE TORCH 
 
 He was attracted by the sound of Fyffe's voice 
 from the main room and joined the crowd that 
 drifted toward the center of attraction. The little 
 professor was in the full tide of one of his popular 
 harangues. His theme was football, and he han- 
 dled it in a jocund maner that brought shouts of 
 laughter and applause from his listeners. He ap- 
 pealed to their patriotism by cracking many a sly 
 joke upon Washington University. His head was 
 thrown back, the large vein in his forehead came and 
 went, his voice, so out of all proportion to his stat- 
 ure, filled the room to the end and echoed through 
 the hall beyond. He seemed almost a pet of the 
 strapping young men and women about him, and no 
 one enjoyed his witticisms more than he did him- 
 self. 
 
 Lee laughed with the rest, for Fyffe was irresist- 
 ible. A few moments before he had been filled with 
 vague self-dissatisfaction, for he felt that his want 
 of sympathy with all sides of undergraduate life 
 might be due to a lack in himself. He was too 
 sound at the core to be ignorant of the weakness of 
 cynicism, and was not proud of the discerning imp 
 within him. As he saw Fyffe thus disporting him- 
 self for a brief applause he was thankful that he 
 himself had never played the role of public enter- 
 tainer. There was just a suggestion of the variety 
 show in the performance, just a hint of patronage in 
 the applauders. He saw President Babington stand- 
 ing in the crowd, smiling his approval, like a 
 minister, Lee thought, watching his Sunday-school 
 superintendent amuse the children.
 
 THE FIGURE OF A DREAM 95 
 
 The crowd pressed about him. Gradually he be- 
 came conscious of a delicate warmth that pervaded 
 him with a sense of restfulness and comfort, and, 
 looking down, he saw the girl he had noticed at 
 Mrs. Van Sant's standing close at his side. Mrs. 
 Van Sant had told him who she was, a poor student 
 working her way through college, whom she had em- 
 ployed that evening in an emergency. Lee had pre- 
 tended to doubt her contention that Miss Hathaway 
 was a lady, but he felt now that she was. He was 
 ashamed of the wanton impulse that made him seek 
 her eyes for just one moment. She appeared un- 
 conscious of his consciousness ot her presence, 
 though he knew instinctively that she was not. 
 
 Something in her exquisite beauty, in her delicacy, 
 put his first impulse to the blush. He was glad to 
 stand very near her, to note the curve of her cheek, 
 the undulating mass of dark hair gathered in a coil 
 at the nape of her neck, the quiver of her long lashes. 
 The poet within him was always stirred by beauty. 
 The very fineness of his sensibilities made him re- 
 sent any lack of loveliness in women. Now his 
 mood was tinged with romance. Her pressure 
 against him was sweet to his senses. Vagrant fan- 
 cies, illusive impulses, stirred within him. He had 
 a flitting glimpse of an earlier self, a self in which 
 there was more of the witchery of dawn and twi- 
 light, more knowledge of the wonder of springtime 
 and of love. 
 
 It was a curious rejuvenescence which this girl 
 wrought within him, he reflected; and yet why 
 should he ever lose the sense of adventure and won-
 
 96 THE TORCH 
 
 der that once made life a series of vivid impressions, 
 of alluring possibilities? As he looked down that 
 vanishing vista a feeling of sadness stole over him. 
 He no longer heard the speaker or the loud laughter 
 of the bystanders. For him there was just one per- 
 son in that room, nestled now against his side, soon 
 to be separated from him, perhaps forever. Just so 
 he had seen a lovely face in the car, in the crowded 
 theater, fit subject for a moment's dream. Just so 
 he had often stood beside one he might have loved, 
 and had never seen her again. 
 
 When the speech was over and the crowd drifted 
 apart he made no effort to find Trumbull. He 
 wished to be alone and think. The girl had left him 
 quickly, almost as if she feared he might speak to 
 her or find an opportunity of making her acquaint- 
 ance. He accepted her impulse with a resignation 
 born of his present mood. Her instinct was right. 
 The dormant cynicism of his nature awoke, colored 
 by wistfulness. He felt that there was nothing per- 
 sonal in his emotions, that her very beauty made 
 them impersonal. Beauty of the highest type was 
 inaccessible, a minister to the divine discontent that 
 keeps the soul alive. Always through life it would 
 be the same. Some passing face, some evanescent 
 smile, would stir within him the longing for posses- 
 sion. It was not love ; it was the love of love. 
 
 As he walked homeward he wondered at the va- 
 grancy of men's fancies. He knew that his love for 
 Mrs. Van Sant was personal and abiding. Was 
 this experience disloyalty to her? He pondered 
 long, but the question found no answer.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A BOW OF MAGENTA RIBBON 
 
 One morning in May the people of Argos were 
 amazed to read in The Times that Mrs. Tupper had 
 given two hundred thousand dollars to the univer- 
 sity in trust, the whole sum to go to the institution 
 at her death. Though the president's visits were not 
 unknown, very few had believed that he could work 
 this miracle. It was generally supposed to be easier 
 to wring water from a stone than money from Mrs. 
 Tupper ; but there it was in cold print, and even The 
 Times would scarcely dare publish such a piece of 
 news without authority. 
 
 There was a widespread feeling of elation among 
 the university supporters, which was but little damp- 
 ened by the reminder of the more cynical that there 
 was a string tied to the gift, and that old Kate was 
 good for ten or twenty years more of life. 
 
 To the younger generation the name of Tupper 
 was almost legendary, if they knew it at all, so rap- 
 idly does the whirligig of time bring new names to 
 the front and bury in oblivion the deeds of the 
 pioneers. Now people began to inquire old Kate's 
 age and to speculate on her chances of becoming 
 a centenarian. Some were wicked enough to re- 
 
 97
 
 98 THE TORCH 
 
 mark that it would be a good thing if she should die 
 forthwith, but others hoped she would postpone the 
 event until she had made over the rest of her great 
 fortune to the university. After all, two hundred 
 thousand dollars was but a drop in the bucket com- 
 pared with the millions she was known to possess. 
 What could she do with so much money ? She had 
 given little enough. 
 
 Out of all this buzz of comment only a paean of 
 praises reached the lonely old woman as she sat 
 reading the papers in her sunny sitting-room, and 
 though she had long considered herself impervious 
 to blarney, she sniffed gratefully the sweet-smelling 
 savor of adulation. 
 
 To President Babington the triumph of his efforts 
 was almost as unexpected as to the world at large, 
 for her letter had come after an unusually trying in- 
 terview from which he had departed in despair. 
 There was a touch of the eternal feminine in the sud- 
 denness of her repentance. It was an appeal to her 
 pride and to her hope of immortal memory among 
 men that had won the day, though when he sug- 
 gested that she provide a "Kate Tupper Founda- 
 tion," the thought of death which the terms of the 
 gift implied caused her to berate him soundly. 
 
 When he called to thank her for the gift her 
 greeting was almost shy. He noted with astonish- 
 ment that she had inserted a bow of magenta col- 
 ored ribbon in her hair and felt with a curious mis- 
 giving that the adornment was meant for him. She 
 seated herself by the open window and rocked rap- 
 idly back and forth while she listened to his expres-
 
 A BOW OF MAGENTA RIBBON 99 
 
 sions of gratification. The whole outside world was 
 teeming with the rejuvenescence of springtime, and 
 Mrs. Tupper also had taken a new lease on life. If 
 those who had wished her early demise could have 
 seen the vitality of her shrewd eyes and the unusual 
 color in her face they would have been compelled to 
 abandon their charitable hope. 
 
 "The young women of the university are planning 
 to give you a reception in the gymnasium," the 
 president said. "The friends of the university are 
 all eager to shake hands with their fairy god- 
 mother." 
 
 "I guess some of your young scamps have burned 
 my carriage," she rejoined, ignoring for the time 
 his suggestion. "They set fire to it last night. I 
 don't mind, though. I put it out there in the first 
 place so that Tupper's brat couldn't ride in it after 
 I'm gone." 
 
 He stepped to the window and looked at the patch 
 of ashes on the grass, which was all that remained 
 of the much-enduring vehicle. 
 
 "Perhaps it was a case of spontaneous combus- 
 tion," he said with a laugh. "I don't think any of 
 my boys could be so ungrateful." 
 
 He wisely refrained from returning to the subject 
 of the reception until she had become accustomed to 
 the idea. 
 
 "I see you've been housecleaning," he remarked, 
 as he resumed his chair. For the first time since his 
 acquaintance with her began he had walked through 
 the front door. Workmen were repairing the shut- 
 ters of the windows and the rents in the floor of the
 
 ioo THE TORCH 
 
 veranda. The old fence had been cleared away, pre- 
 paratory to a new one. From the parlor came the 
 sound of a thumping on the keys of the grand piano, 
 where the tuner was at work. None of these things 
 was lost upon the president. 
 
 "It's about time something was done," she an- 
 swered with a touch of confusion. "You ain't never 
 seen the house, I guess. I'd like to show it to you." 
 
 He followed her into the parlor whose walls he 
 now saw clearly, for the shutters were thrown wide. 
 
 "That's Tupper," she said, pointing to a portrait. 
 
 Babington looked at the portrait, and guessed 
 that either the millionaire had let the contract to 
 the lowest bidder, or that he had not been able to 
 find an artist of ability in the state. Even a cursory 
 glance showed him the faults of drawing and color, 
 but, despite these defects, the force and vulgarity of 
 the subject were graphically depicted. The type 
 was unmistakable. The eyes were cold and hard, 
 the smooth-shaven upper lip relentless. The fringe 
 of beard suggested a prosperous farmer or rural 
 deacon. He noted every detail, down to the massive 
 gold watch-chain and pendent charm. The million- 
 aire was represented sitting in a plush chair, with 
 one hand resting on the tasseled arm, while the fin- 
 gers of the other held a newspaper. By his side 
 stood the figure of a little boy, but the face was a 
 blank. 
 
 "I see the artist didn't finish his work," Babing- 
 ton remarked. 
 
 "Yes, he did, though," she answered, "but I had 
 that brat's face painted out."
 
 A BOW OF MAGENTA RIBBON 101 
 
 "Mr. Tupper must have been a strong character," 
 he commented. 
 
 "He was a smart one," she assented. " 'Kate/ he 
 used to say to me, 'no one could track me by the pen- 
 nies I've dropped.' And no more they could." 
 
 She led him from room to room and related many 
 anecdotes of the place. She showed him the win- 
 dow through which some enemy had sent a bullet 
 that narrowly missed the millionaire as he sat at 
 dinner. If there was any detail concerning the first 
 Mrs. Tupper and the "brats" which she had not con- 
 fided to him he heard it before his departure. Yet 
 she seemed less vindictive than usual. There was 
 something of the softened mood of reminiscence in 
 her talk, as if the harsh outlines of her wrongs were 
 blurred by distance. 
 
 As they stood on the veranda she returned unex- 
 pectedly to her suspicions of the president's motives. 
 
 "There's no fool like an old fool," she snapped, 
 in a kind of panic. "Now that I've begun to throw 
 my money away I suppose I won't stop till I'm a 
 beggar." 
 
 "But you only gave it in trust," he said sooth- 
 ingly, "and the interest is yours as long as you 
 need it." 
 
 The next moment he wondered at his stupidity 
 in repeating this mistake. It was one thing for her 
 to speak of herself as old and to refer to the time 
 when she should be "gone" ; but it was quite an- 
 other thing in him. She broke into a nervous fury. 
 
 "As long as I need it ! I suppose you hope I'll 
 die soon, so that you can have it all." He raised his
 
 102 THE TORCH 
 
 hand and tried to protest, but she continued : "I 
 don't know what's got into me. This old house was 
 good enough before, but I've gone and put a lot of 
 money into useless repairs, and they're robbing me 
 every minute. What did you come here for and 
 put such high-falutin' notions in my head? I sup- 
 pose I've got to get a lot of other things now if I'm 
 going to begin going to parties. I'll have to get a 
 new carriage and horses and a man " 
 
 "I hope you will allow me to call for you in my 
 own carriage for this particular reception," he in- 
 terposed. 
 
 She melted immediately, with one of her rapid 
 changes of emotion which he had come to expect. 
 
 "Thank you," she said, "thank you. You're very 
 kind." She flushed with pleasure and stood nod- 
 ding and smiling from the steps as he mounted his 
 horse ; a pathetic and laughable figure, with the bow 
 of magenta ribbon awry upon her wintry head.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A FREE TONGUE 
 
 Perhaps in no place was criticism more free and 
 less fatal than at Argos. Of the two hundred men 
 that constituted the teaching force of the university 
 there was scarcely one against whom serious charges 
 were not made at one time or another, charges 
 which, if true, ought to have caused his dismissal. 
 
 The report of Fyffe's drinking, for example, was 
 widespread. He had been seen coming from "the 
 captain's," a candy and tobacco shop near the uni- 
 versity, where liquor was sold secretly in defiance 
 of the law. Many doubted the truth of the story, 
 but there was none that had not heard it. Even 
 the papers made reference to the alcoholic excesses 
 of "a certain eminent scientist connected with the 
 State University," but references of this kind did 
 not seem to injure his position in the least. His 
 courses were always crowded; he spoke in public 
 with applause ; in short, his qualities were such that 
 he carried easily a load of opprobrium that would 
 have crushed a man less able. 
 
 It may have been that the prevalence of criticism, 
 and the resulting confusion between the true and 
 false, helped the guilty to escape while it injured the 
 
 103
 
 104 THE TORCH 
 
 innocent. Professor Everett was called stupid and 
 slow ; Plow consorted with anarchists ; Brown was a 
 canting hypocrite; Lee made love to the co-eds; 
 Trumbull lived in the capital, that he might put a 
 quart of claret under his vest every night at a 
 French dinner; Stuart was cruel to his wife, hated 
 the United States, and was much given to self-ad-, 
 vertisement. Every one knew what professor ty- 
 rannized over his subordinates, what subordinates 
 feared their professor, what men were rivals for 
 promotion, and what they said of each other. 
 
 Naturally enough, the president received the at- 
 tention his position demanded, though people were 
 usually careful to whom they confided their opin- 
 ion, and no one dared to speak disparagingly of him 
 to Fyffe. His enemies said that he was a snob, a 
 tailor-made man, and a hypocrite. His pictures 
 were seen in all the principal photographers' win- 
 dows in the capital, and the irreverent made com- 
 ments upon his vanity as they saw him staring 
 roundly at them from the card, clad in all the im- 
 posing insignia of his office. Many put a sinister 
 interpretation on his success in obtaining Mrs. 
 Tupper's gift. They said that he was earning his 
 salary, and doing just exactly what a showy and 
 plausible man could do better than a scholar and a 
 gentleman. Every one knew that he and Plow and 
 Lee were in love with Mrs. Van Sant, and that the 
 president was watching for an opportunity to dis- 
 miss his more formidable rival on the ground of his 
 anarchistic sympathies. Many remarked that he
 
 A FREE TONGUE 105 
 
 underrated Lee's chances, and prophesied that the 
 professor of English would yet win the prize. 
 
 To a new arrival in Argos all this seething cal- 
 dron of gossip was appalling, but as time went on he 
 began to estimate it at its true worth. He even be- 
 gan to take part, and knew that he was not injuring 
 any one seriously. Finally he saw that it was all 
 an expression of the western freedom of speech and 
 sense of humor. No one really believed the stories, 
 but they made spicy subjects for conversation. Al- 
 most all the men thus attacked were respected, and 
 some were loved. Beneath that keen sense of the 
 ridiculous there was a solid foundation of earnest- 
 ness and probity, and a real appreciation of the newv 
 president's merits. 
 
 The evening before the reception that was to 
 be given to Mrs. Tupper the president met Pro- 
 fessor Fyffe as he left his office. The confidences 
 between the two men in regard to Plow had passed 
 the stage of suggestion and innuendo. As they 
 made their way across the campus Fyffe introduced 
 the subject himself. 
 
 "Plow was holding forth at the table in the res- 
 taurant again yesterday," he began. 
 
 "Unionism?" Babington queried, with something 
 like a sneer. 
 
 "Of a new kind," Fyffe continued. "He recom- 
 mends a union of poor teachers to enforce living 
 wages." 
 
 The president uttered an exclamation. 
 
 "By heavens, this is going a step too far ! In all 
 decency he ought to see that there is a limit."
 
 io6 THE TORCH 
 
 "Apparently he doesn't," the professor rejoined. 
 "Of course he spoke in general terms, and didn't 
 mention names. Most of the men at the table were 
 instructors, and they were talking as usual about 
 their wrongs." 
 
 "Yes," said Babington. "Here's a bench. Tell 
 me about it." 
 
 They seated themselves and Fyffe went on, dig- 
 ging up the young grass with his cane. 
 
 "I don't want to say anything about the young 
 fellows. It's natural for them to growl ; but Plow 
 gets three thousand a year, and he ought to be sat- 
 isfied. He's a bachelor, too." 
 
 "It isn't for himself he burns," said Babington, 
 with bitter sarcasm. "His great heart beats for the 
 poor working man. But what were the points of 
 the indictment?" 
 
 "There were a good many. First he echoed Stu- 
 art's well-known sentiments and criticized Ameri- 
 can universities for being social clubs instead of 
 seminaries of research too many receptions and 
 too much show. Then he spoke of the fact that the 
 president of an American university is an absolute 
 despot, that he has more power than the head of any 
 European university. He said it was a curious 
 anomaly in a republic, and all of a piece with the in- 
 dustrial tyranny of the times. And he wound up 
 by speaking of salaries. He said they were in most 
 cases utterly inadequate and that we couldn't ex- 
 pect any productive scholarship from young men 
 who were so poor that they had to help their wives 
 do housework."
 
 A FREE TONGUE 107 
 
 "And what did you say?" the president asked. 
 
 "I? Oh, not much. I thought it a pity to in- 
 terrupt his oration. He went on to say that he 
 didn't place the responsibility for these conditions 
 on any one man " 
 
 "Very considerate of my feelings," Babington in- 
 terposed. 
 
 "but that the results were beginning to be ap- 
 parent." 
 
 "And what were they?" 
 
 "The great power of the president of an Ameri- 
 can university made the teachers feel insecure. 
 They kept their eyes open for better places, for they 
 were usually on bad terms with the president and 
 held him responsible for their condition. Then he 
 harked back to the subject of salaries. He declared 
 that a spirit of social emulation had crept into the 
 university within his memory, and that this was due 
 to great donations by private persons, and to the in- 
 fluence of rich outsiders that had come to live in 
 Argos. The instructors were obliged to do all sorts 
 of things to get their wives proper dresses for swell 
 receptions. Some did private tutoring, and thus 
 laid themselves open to the charge of bribery by 
 students that had failed to pass. Others wrote 
 twaddle for the newspapers; others lectured; some 
 wrote elementary text-books, or novels. Every 
 spare moment was put into the effort to get more 
 money instead of into a specialty. He ended with 
 the deepest minor chord of all, the sentiment being 
 that money now has more influence than merit." 
 
 There followed a moment of silence.
 
 io8 THE TORCH 
 
 "And I forgot," Fyffe added, laughing. "He 
 said the instructors were too poor to be able to af- 
 ford the luxury of having children." 
 
 "Then why in heaven's name haven't they sense 
 enough to remain single?" Babington fumed. "It 
 isn't my fault if the legislature won't appropriate 
 sufficient money to pay them what they want. I'm 
 having a hard time as it is getting them to give me 
 a house fit to live in. The instructors ougtyt to 
 reckon the honor of the position as something. I 
 did. I began on nine hundred a year, but I stood to 
 my guns and had the good sense not to burden my- 
 self with a wife. I don't claim that conditions are 
 perfect, but it seems to me that Plow's insinuations 
 are treacherous, to put it mildly." 
 
 "His reference to donations by private persons 
 looked that way," the other admitted, "especially 
 just after Mrs. Tupper's gift. But I must say I 
 don't think he meant it personally. We mustn't ex- 
 pect good balance in a reformer. His mind has 
 been running on labor problems so long that he has 
 become a crank." 
 
 "He's been at it again, too," said Babington, ris- 
 ing with a sigh. "I had hoped he would subside, 
 but his last speech was the worst yet. I've got to 
 get rid of him sooner or later, but how ? He has a 
 strong following." 
 
 "Just give him a little more time," Fyffe sug- 
 gested. "Give him a little more rope, and he'll 
 hang himself before long." 
 
 The professor was more unhappy than the presi- 
 dent himself when he finally went slowly homeward
 
 A FREE TONGUE 109 
 
 alone. By imperceptible degrees he had become a 
 judge of the man whose popularity with the stu- 
 dents rivalled his own, whose greater self-respect 
 challenged his own confident bearing before the 
 world. His hatred of that jovial plebeian who met 
 his scorn with such indifference defied his better 
 nature, and a bitter perversity hardened his heart 
 toward the man he had wronged.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE FAIRY GODMOTHER 
 
 As Lee entered the campus on the afternoon of 
 the reception to Mrs. Tupper, he saw Brown coming 
 down the path, and knew that they must meet. 
 The whole world was bathed in the misty, balmy 
 atmosphere of springtime; the sparrows were 
 wrangling joyfully ; the freshly cut grass loaded the 
 breeze with a sweet, moist fragrance; a long pro- 
 cession of white clouds sailed slowly and majestic- 
 ally past the tower of the library. At sight of 
 Brown, Lee's mood of enjoyment vanished. The 
 man seemed to shadow the bright landscape as he 
 moved nearer, and his approach was like a breath 
 of chilling air. 
 
 "You're bound in the wrong direction," he re- 
 marked pleasantly. "Aren't you going to the re- 
 ception ?" 
 
 Brown came to a halt before him and barred the 
 way. 
 
 "The reception," he sneered. "What have I 
 to do with the reception? That's the way my road 
 lies, out, out!" He motioned wildly toward the 
 great world that lay beyond the university. Lee al- 
 most quailed before that fierce gesture. He noted 
 
 no
 
 THE FAIRY GODMOTHER in 
 
 the lines of mental suffering on the instructor's face 
 and he felt that it would be useless to pretend ig- 
 norance of the cause. On the previous night the 
 board of regents had added three hundred dollars 
 to his own salary for the coming year, but Brown's 
 had been left as before. 
 
 "Don't take it so hard, Brown," he said. "You'll 
 get your deserts yet." 
 
 "In heaven, I suppose," the other answered, with 
 increasing bitterness, "but not here. And Everett 
 couldn't do a thing for me, because he's neither rich 
 nor a regent. How mighty is the power of the pull ! 
 You and Fyffe, and no one else. What have you 
 done to deserve it?" 
 
 "Nothing," said Lee, calmly. 
 
 "But I have! I've really done something to de- 
 serve it, and yet, just because I haven't got a regent 
 behind me, as you have, my work goes for nothing." 
 
 "Exactly," Lee returned. "That's the way of the 
 world. I didn't deserve an increase of salary as 
 much as you did, and yet I got it because my father 
 and Judge Gates were old friends when my father 
 was alive. You probably won't believe me when I 
 say that I didn't ask the judge to use his influence 
 for me, and that I think you have been treated 
 badly, but such is the fact. Babington has no love 
 for me, and no dislike of you. He doesn't care a 
 twopence for either of us, but he wants the support 
 of Judge Gates, and he thinks he can afford to ig- 
 nore Everett's request for you." 
 
 He stated the case calmly and impersonally, but 
 in reality he was deeply moved. He wished now
 
 ii2 THE TORCH 
 
 that he had never sharpened his wit on this em- 
 bittered man. The case was so much more compli- 
 cated than Brown supposed that he was stirred to 
 pity for his blindness. The philologue had staked 
 all his hope on scholarship and lost. He did not 
 know the three cardinal requirements of a univer- 
 sity teacher : scholarship, the ability to teach, and 
 breeding. Few possessed all these requisites, but 
 success was possible with any two of them. Brown 
 possessed only the first, and he was incapable of 
 understanding his lack. He was not at all mollified 
 by Lee's frank admissions. At best he was not an 
 attractive figure, but now his expression of hatred 
 and sardonic humor made him repulsive. 
 
 "Oh, of course, you didn't speak to Gates!" he 
 cried with contempt, and almost thrust his rival 
 from the path as he moved on. 
 
 Lee turned and looked after him, his face crimson 
 with resentment. Brown had practically given him 
 the lie, but he made no effort to call him back, for he 
 felt that he was scarcely accountable. There was a 
 man, he reflected, that would do him a hurt if he 
 could. More than once he had violated the unwrit- 
 ten law of professional courtesy by criticizing his 
 rival's character and scholarship before the students. 
 Brown was a teetotaler and detested tobacco. Lee 
 had heard him refer to smoking as a crime, and he 
 was wont to declare that this habit was the first 
 step in a downward career. When they took their 
 higher degrees together at the eastern university 
 where they had first met, Lee gave a punch party to 
 celebrate the event, but Brown declined to attend
 
 THE FAIRY GODMOTHER 113 
 
 what he called an orgy. He even refused to eat 
 frozen pudding at the dining association's table 
 when he discovered that the flavor he liked so much 
 was due to a dash of rum. This was a real depri- 
 vation to him, but he endured it that he might not 
 encourage the liquor traffic. 
 
 Inexplicable as this attitude of mind was to Lee, 
 it indicated the one trait in Brown's character that 
 he admired. The man had within him the stuff of 
 which martyrs are made. Had he lived in the time 
 of the Christian persecutions he would have gone to 
 the cross for his faith, and Lee felt guiltily that he 
 himself, under like circumstances, would have 
 thought the new religion plebeian and would have 
 preferred Plato and Marcus Aurelius to the Vulgate. 
 He remembered the time, years ago in the east, 
 when Brown had dragged him into a sailors' mis- 
 sion to play the little organ. He recalled Brown's 
 prayer, the beads of perspiration on his brow, his 
 wrath when the organist distributed tobacco among 
 the puzzled old wrecks that had sought the shelter 
 of the warm room. 
 
 He continued his way toward the gymnasium, 
 sick at heart. In one comprehensive vision he saw 
 all the scheming and jealousy of the university. 
 Personally, he had never known the torment of the 
 most malignant of human passions, and its exhibi- 
 tion in others had stirred him to amusement. Now 
 the pitifulness of Brown's case touched his heart. 
 He would willingly have given the money if he 
 could, and he resolved to speak to Judge Gates about 
 him before the time for promotions came again.
 
 ii 4 THE TORCH 
 
 Preferment had always come easily to Lee. He 
 was a sound scholar, and those that had the power 
 of appointment knew it, but his social gifts diverted 
 the attention of the many from his more solid ac- 
 quirements. The world's reluctance to admit more 
 than one excellence in the same man was exemplified 
 in his case. Men like Brown, jealous of the sparkle 
 and grace of his lectures, said that his large classes 
 were due to a certain superficial cleverness. He 
 stood up before the undergraduates and discussed 
 his subject in the same easy, daring manner that 
 stamped him in the drawing-room, but the more ap- 
 preciative students derived an intellectual satisfac- 
 tion from his presentation that was quite independ- 
 ent of the ripple on the surface. He was quite 
 scornful of the fact that most of his hearers were 
 women. The men were prone to elect the scientific 
 courses, and he missed the inspiration of their in- 
 dependent attitude toward a teacher. 
 
 Mrs. Van Sant was just stepping from her car- 
 riage as he came up to the door, and they entered 
 the hall together. 
 
 "Let me congratulate you," she said. "I read the 
 report of the regents' meeting in the paper." 
 
 In a few words he told her of his conversation 
 with Brown, and she divined his depression. 
 
 "Don't make yourself unhappy because some one 
 else hasn't got his deserts and you have," she re- 
 marked lightly. "It isn't your fault." 
 
 He was struck with her unusual lack of sympa- 
 thy, and wondered whether it were due to his im-
 
 THE FAIRY GODMOTHER 115 
 
 plied reflection on the president. A pang of some- 
 thing like jealousy went through him. He thought 
 he had never seen her look more attractive. There 
 was a subdued brilliancy about her that riveted his 
 attention, and an air of mischief and expectancy. 
 
 "I'm longing to see old Kate," she murmured. 
 
 "Affectionate interest?" he suggested. 
 
 "Wicked curiosity. I came to laugh." 
 
 "And will remain to offer incense. That will be 
 the main occupation of the multitude to-day, I un- 
 derstand." 
 
 She gave him a smile indicative of anything but 
 a reverent frame of mind, and they made their way 
 toward the spot where the president stood with 
 Mrs. Tupper. 
 
 The reception was now well under way. The 
 bright dresses of the girls flashed here and there 
 under the banners that trailed from the walls and 
 ceiling. Everywhere was motion and a murmuring 
 sound, punctuated at intervals by laughter or by a 
 louder burst of music from the orchestra in the bal- 
 cony. 
 
 As they stood, waiting their turn, they had an 
 opportunity to examine Mrs. Tupper at their lei- 
 sure. The material of her gown was costly, black 
 velvet trimmed with lace ; but in the cut of the skirt 
 another of her prejudices had asserted itself with 
 ludicrous result, for it was as high as her ankles. 
 Underneath the rim of the gown a pair of extraor- 
 dinary feet obtruded themselves on the attention 
 of the observant and tempted their risibility. A
 
 ii6 THE TORCH 
 
 bright spot of color burned in either sallow cheek, 
 and she had left her spectacles upon her nose, as if 
 the better to discern her enemies. 
 
 The president was faultlessly dressed, as usual. 
 His bright Phi Beta Kappa key flashed conspicu- 
 ously against the white expanse of his waistcoat. 
 An odd speculation came into Lee's mind. Was the 
 president's poise due in some measure to his fault- 
 less dress, or was his dress merely an outward ex- 
 pression of his mental poise? 
 
 No one would have guessed from Babington's 
 manner that he was not entirely at his ease. 
 
 "I want you to meet Mrs. Tupper, our generous 
 benefactress. Mrs. Tupper, this is Mrs. Everett, 
 the wife of our professor of Latin." 
 
 Mrs. Tupper extended her hand stiffly. 
 
 "I'm delighted to meet you," said Mrs. Everett. 
 "Mr. Everett is obliged to be absent to-day exam- 
 ining schools, but he wished to be remembered to 
 you. I believe he had the pleasure of meeting you 
 some time ago." 
 
 "Never heard of him/' Mrs. Tupper rejoined, 
 timid but defiant. She glanced appealingly at the 
 president, as if he were her only friend in all that 
 strange company. "I can't keep track of all the 
 people I meet." 
 
 "It must be difficult for one in your position," the 
 other answered, somewhat disconcerted. "I know 
 my husband often says he has trouble remembering 
 his students' names." 
 
 "I shouldn't think he would. He sees them every 
 day, don't he? Well, if there ain't Sue Van Sant!
 
 THE FAIRY GODMOTHER 117 
 
 I thought you was in Washington, where you be- 
 long!" 
 
 "A bad penny turns up again, you know," Mrs. 
 Van Sant answered, with a little deprecatory ges- 
 ture, which Babington thought charming. "I've 
 come back to Argos to go to school." 
 
 "I've no doubt you need it," the old lady re- 
 torted. 
 
 The president turned to Lee with a greeting both 
 genial and ceremonious. He glanced at Mrs. Tup- 
 per, but the opportunity to present the professor 
 had not yet arrived. He was quick to seize the 
 chance offered by their momentary isolation. Only 
 the previous evening he had discovered that Lee 
 was a man to be reckoned with. 
 
 "I'm glad your salary has taken a sprout," he re- 
 marked. "We can't always do what we wish for 
 our young men, but we do the best we can. The 
 university is like a big boy who is outgrowing his 
 clothes. While we are buying him a new hat we 
 discover that he needs another pair of boots, but 
 we mean to catch up with all his wants in time." 
 
 Lee had never found the president so affable be- 
 fore, and reflected scornfully upon the reason of the 
 change. He did not relish a tone of condescension 
 from one scarcely five years his senior, and threw 
 back his head with an enigmatical smile. 
 
 "I can imagine you must be embarrassed by a 
 wealth of wants," he remarked indifferently. 
 
 "And that's the only kind of wealth we are em- 
 barrassed by," Babington rejoined, but the pro- 
 fessor had already turned away.
 
 n8 THE TORCH 
 
 "You remember me, of course, Mrs. Tupper," 
 he said. "Nicholas Lee. Your stepson and I used 
 to break the branches of your cherry-trees regularly 
 every summer." 
 
 "I remember," she answered, with a grim relish. 
 "And I broke the branches again over your backs." 
 
 "Not always," he retorted, smiling at the thought 
 of her furious and bootless sallies from the kitchen 
 door. "I've no doubt we caused you endless 
 trouble. If it isn't too late, I offer you my humble 
 apologies here and now." 
 
 "I remember them both as very bad little boys," 
 Mrs. Van Sant interposed. 
 
 "You put 'em up to it, and then sat on the fence 
 and et the cherries," Mrs. Tupper declared. "Tom- 
 boy!" 
 
 She jerked out the last word with such energy 
 that Mrs. Van Sant moved on in pretended panic, 
 followed by her accomplice in theft. 
 
 They saw Plow laughing and talking in the midst 
 of a group of athletes. The students never forgot 
 that he had once been a famous baseball player, and 
 even Fyffe's witty speeches could not win him a 
 popularity greater than that of his stalwart rival. 
 The professor left his admirers and came up to 
 shake hands. 
 
 "I declare," said Mrs. Van Sant, tugging medi- 
 tatively at her glove, "I scarcely feel respectable." 
 
 "Is it the company you keep ? Plow asked, with 
 a glance at Lee. 
 
 She barely heeded his jest. "I feel as if we were
 
 THE FAIRY GODMOTHER 119 
 
 a lot of horrid little children throwing sticks at 
 some poor old woman and calling her names." 
 
 "I'm bound to say," Lee remarked, "that it was 
 she who called us names." 
 
 "I saw she thought I intended to pick her 
 pockets," Plow said, "so I took myself off. I'm 
 not in this game." He looked over the great room, 
 now crowded to the very doors. "The girls are 
 giving this reception," he continued. "I don't see 
 many of my esteemed colleagues here. This is the 
 children's hour, as the poet said. I must be going." 
 
 He walked leisurely away with his firm, long 
 step, his fine head and shoulders appearing above the 
 crowd, a conspicuous and attractive figure. 
 
 Lee and Mrs. Van Sant were not slow to follow 
 his example, for the reception had taken on the 
 character of a young people's party. 
 
 Babington noted the gradual desertion of his 
 faculty, but allowed no sign of his irritation to ap- 
 pear. Professor Fyffe's daughter, as a representa- 
 tive of one of the swell sororities, stood by his side 
 as his assistant. She was a tall, willowy girl, 
 dressed in white, and carried a long-stemmed 
 American Beauty rose. Like her father, she had a 
 great deal of manner and a keen sense of the ridicu- 
 lous, and she contrived to let her friends understand 
 her appreciation of the situation. She insisted upon 
 shaking hands with the visitors sidewise and high 
 in the air. Her manner was a constant irritant to 
 old Kate, for she made no effort to conceal her 
 knowledge of the social difference between herself 
 and the guest of honor.
 
 120 THE TORCH 
 
 The reception was not the great triumph that 
 Mrs. Tupper had anticipated. Her feet ached with 
 weariness ; she was conscious of the curiosity of the 
 young people who surged about her. She divined 
 that there was something amiss in her appearance 
 and felt that the fact had been communicated to her 
 in some occult way by the tall girl at her side. 
 
 "Isn't the music lovely to-day?" Miss Fyffe de- 
 manded. "I'm so fond of Mendelssohn's Friih- 
 lingslied, aren't you?" 
 
 "I don't understand your Greek and Latin," Mrs. 
 Tupper rejoined, now thoroughly out of patience. 
 "Plain English was good enough for girls when I 
 was young." 
 
 "I mean the Spring Song," Miss Fyffe exclaimed 
 with a touch of condescension. "Don't you think 
 it's lovely?" 
 
 "Oh, the band ! Why didn't you say so ? I can't 
 hear it with all the noise that's going on." 
 
 As the reception progressed, she grew more be- 
 wildered and irritated by the people she met whose 
 ways were not her ways, and a realization of the 
 impotence of her wealth to command respect filled 
 her with deep resentment. The expression of her 
 face became fierce, her remarks more inept. The 
 gratitude of the students was chilled, and they felt 
 sorry for their president as they divined his suffer- 
 ings by the side of that grotesque figure. They had 
 expected to see a kindly old lady who wished them 
 well, and resented her evident and unexpected 
 hostility. But the girls still insisted upon doing the 
 honors of the occasion, and Babington was greatly
 
 THE FAIRY GODMOTHER 121 
 
 relieved when a bevy of them took her away to get 
 some refreshments and to see the athletic trophies 
 on the walls. 
 
 They fared but ill at her hands. Mrs. Tupper 
 neither understood nor appreciated athletics, and 
 took occasion to remark that the boys might be bet- 
 ter employed than in knocking a baseball about a 
 field, or in slugging each other in a football match. 
 It seemed to the astonished students that she re- 
 membered every serious accident she had read in 
 the papers during the past ten years. While she was 
 in this mood an unlucky member of the football 
 team was introduced to her. 
 
 "I know you !" she cried, glowering at him under 
 her heavy brows. "You're the young man who set 
 fire to my carriage. Don't say you didn't, for I saw 
 you." 
 
 The athlete was so much amazed at this unjust 
 accusation that he fled, without attempting a denial. 
 
 "I knew it!" she exclaimed. "That's what your 
 football does." 
 
 She was highly pleased with this vindication of 
 her prejudice. 
 
 "Go and tell Professor Babington that I want 
 him to take me home at once," she commanded. 
 
 She had reached the limit of her endurance of 
 "pawing" and "palavering." The president had 
 never seen her in a worse humor. His own nerves 
 were not in the best condition, but he braced him- 
 self for the ordeal of the drive to the capital. They 
 had scarcely left the grounds before she broke forth.
 
 122 THE TORCH 
 
 "Who's this man Plow?" she demanded, hotly. 
 
 "Did you meet him this afternoon?" he asked, 
 fencing for time. 
 
 "Yes, I did," she replied grimly; "and it's lucky 
 for him that somebody came between us. I'd have 
 given him a piece of my mind." 
 
 "I hope he hasn't done anything to offend you," 
 he suggested. 
 
 "Now look here, Professor," she cried, "I'm not 
 going to give any more money to a school that has 
 anarchists on the faculty! I've been reading for 
 some time what that man has been saying to work- 
 ing men." 
 
 "Surely, you don't mean anarchists," he pro- 
 tested soothingly. "Professor Plow is what we call 
 a socialist. It's really quite a different thing." 
 
 "No, it ain't," she snapped. "It amounts to the 
 same thing. If people like that had their way we'd 
 all find ourselves murdered in our beds. I know 
 them. That Plow of yours wants the workingmen 
 to own all the street railways and gas companies 
 and everything. What right have they got to them ? 
 Didn't Tupper build the first ones? Am I to hand 
 over all my stock to a lot of anarchists who never 
 did a thing to earn it? Do you think I'm going to 
 stand by and hear the memory of my husband cov- 
 ered with mud? That's what it amounts to. He 
 said private ownership of such things was robbery. 
 That's what he said. Then I'm a robber, too, I 
 suppose." 
 
 "These problems are being discussed a great deal
 
 THE FAIRY GODMOTHER 123 
 
 nowadays," he explained. "Of course, I don't 
 agree with him " 
 
 "Then why don't you turn him out ? You're the 
 boss." 
 
 He explained to her carefully the practical diffi- 
 culty of doing what she demanded. It might raise a 
 storm of indignation in the state. A similar case 
 had occurred in another institution, and the papers 
 had rung with abuse of the management. It was a 
 question whether the university could afford to run 
 the risk of antagonizing a large number of the tax- 
 payers. The doctrines Plow taught were popular 
 with the masses, and the professor himself had a 
 large personal following. He added that such theo- 
 ries were not likely to be put into practice under 
 present conditions, and that persecution only gave 
 them greater vogue. 
 
 The light of battle blazed in her eyes. 
 
 "That man's got to go, or you don't get another 
 cent from me," she declared. "I'm not going to 
 give money to men who insult my husband's mem- 
 ory; not if I know it! I had intended to give you 
 ten thousand for the books you're always talking 
 about, but I won't do it now." 
 
 The president reflected a few moments. He 
 weighed the immense gifts he might get from Mrs. 
 Tupper and others who would follow her example, 
 against the consequences of opposing the masses. 
 Then his brow cleared and he turned to her with a 
 smile. 
 
 "Mrs. Tupper, I think it can be managed. I 
 don't approve of Plow's peculiar theories myself. I
 
 124 THE TORCH 
 
 think they are dangerous. They are chimerical and 
 foster discontent. But I can't afford to give that 
 as a reason for his dismissal. Some other reason 
 must be assigned, and I have no doubt that he will 
 furnish it himself before long. Socialism is one 
 thing, and politics quite another. Plow is begin- 
 ning to mix the two already, and I have no doubt 
 that he will take an active part in the coming na- 
 tional campaign. We're not obliged to tolerate po- 
 litical partizanship in a professor of the State Uni- 
 versity. We shall have to wait a few months, but 
 we can accomplish our purpose just as surely. You 
 understand ?" 
 
 She understood well enough, but the plan dis- 
 pleased her. It was not Tupper's way, and diplo- 
 macy made no appeal to her imagination. Her tan- 
 trum continued during the remainder of the drive, 
 in spite of all his efforts. As he drew her shawl 
 more closely about her against the evening coolness 
 he wished that she were Mrs. Van Sant. She 
 would appreciate the beauty of the scene, the thin 
 blades of green beginning to appear above the dark 
 furrows of the plowed fields, the glint of the river 
 that wound its way across the lowlands, the ridge 
 of low hills in the distance, and the sunset clouds. 
 
 He recalled her as he had seen her for one brief, 
 confused moment, but the picture of her face in his 
 mind was not confused. He remembered that she 
 had come with Lee, and wondered whether she were 
 with him yet. Then he looked at the sullen, wrin- 
 kled face beside him, and commented wearily upon 
 the beauty of the evening.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 ENIGMAS 
 
 During the month that followed Babington fully 
 persuaded himself of the justice of his plan to rid 
 the university of Professor Plow. It cost him more 
 than one mental struggle to maintain his determina- 
 tion. He owed his present position in a large meas- 
 ure to Plow, but his old classmate had failed to 
 support him since his arrival. He argued with him- 
 self that the question must be decided without re- 
 gard to anything but the best interests of the uni- 
 versity. All other considerations must be secondary 
 to the welfare of the institution. He felt that men 
 like the professor of political economy had no place 
 in university life. He had no style, he was a 
 fanatic, and his discussion of economic questions 
 was colored by passion and prejudice. Such an at- 
 titude of mind was injurious to the young men in 
 his classes. Thus the die was cast against his 
 former friend, and only the occasion for action was 
 left uncertain. 
 
 This was the plane on which he kept his rea- 
 soning, even to himself, but back of all these plausi- 
 ble arguments lay a personal motive, an emotion of 
 growing intensity. Mrs. Van Sant's kindness to 
 the professor was beginning to fill him with a fierce, 
 
 125
 
 126 THE TORCH 
 
 vindictive dislike of the man such as no mere dif- 
 ference of opinion could cause. He carried a picture 
 in his mind that stung him, the picture of Plow 
 towering beside her, holding her hand and looking 
 at her with those magnetic eyes of his, while she 
 smiled back, raising her face like an upturned 
 flower. Compared with this picture, Lee's pres- 
 ence in that house seemed unimportant and could 
 not stir his deeper emotions. He returned to his 
 original opinion that there could be no romance be- 
 tween such good friends. 
 
 Mrs. Tupper finally consented to give the money 
 for the books, in view of his promise that Plow 
 should go in the summer or early fall. Her de- 
 mands on his time became more and more exact- 
 ing, and he began to feel that he earned by the sweat 
 of his brow every cent he might get from her. She 
 was captious if he failed to call as often as she 
 wished, and he longed for the rest and relief of the 
 coming vacation. 
 
 The day of commencement was the proudest of 
 his life. Again the faculty appeared in all their re- 
 galia. The band played inspiring airs. The gov- 
 ernor rode at the head of the procession of gradu- 
 ates and professors, accompanied by his escort of 
 cavalry. He had been admitted to the University 
 Club through Babington's efforts, and was to re- 
 ceive the degree of Doctor of Laws that day. His 
 presence added eclat to the occasion. It was Bab- 
 ington who had brought him into Academe, together 
 with that imposing band of horsemen, brilliant with 
 gold braid, waving plumes, and clanking sabers.
 
 ENIGMAS 127 
 
 The governor had used his influence with the legis- 
 lature to appropriate forty thousand dollars for a 
 house to be the permanent home of the president. 
 He had paid well for his membership and degree. 
 
 The gymnasium had been enlarged to hold the 
 throng and was packed with the wealth, the beauty, 
 and the ability of the capital. To crown all, the 
 graduating class was the largest in the history of 
 the institution. The fact that the president was in 
 love with Mrs. Van Sant invested him with a pe- 
 culiar romance in the eyes of a certain set in the 
 university crowd. They sympathized with his tri- 
 umph, and hoped that she would make it complete. 
 
 There were several honorary degrees conferred 
 that day, but the governor's called forth the greatest 
 applause, an applause in which there was a note of 
 jocularity and welcome that announced the final 
 burying of the hatchet. 
 
 After the diplomas had been distributed the pres- 
 ident came forward and made the best speech he had 
 yet delivered. He traced the history of the univer- 
 sity from its inception. He spoke of the loyalty 
 and faith of those pioneers to whom it owed its ori- 
 gin. None among them entertained a more kindly 
 interest than the late Mr. Lemuel Tupper, to whom 
 the state owed so much. The president raised his 
 hand in a graceful gesture as he outlined in glowing 
 language the history of the late millionaire and 
 made the stirring story the text for his advice to the 
 young men before him. There were very few of the 
 university constituents who were not proud of their 
 president as he stood there clad in his silk robes, his
 
 128 THE TORCH 
 
 shoulders squared, his face alight with an infectious 
 enthusiasm for high ideals. 
 
 It was by honesty, by frugality, by tireless en- 
 ergy, that the noble pioneer of whom he spoke had 
 risen in the world and left behind him an inspiring 
 example of American citizenship. What he had 
 done they could do. He reminded them that virtue 
 could never be exhausted, but, like a lamp, it ever 
 kindled others. The example of a great man was 
 like the beautiful torch-race among the ancient 
 Greeks. It flashed through the darkness round 
 about, passing from hand to hand. As he dwelt 
 upon the picture, Mrs. Tupper, sitting near him on 
 the platform, furbelowed, flushed with unwonted 
 excitement, fanned herself violently, and smiled 
 continually in a fever of nervous exultation. 
 
 Below him in the audience he saw the face of the 
 woman he loved, and thrilled to think that he was 
 winning her with every word. She was there to see 
 his triumph, and he felt that to-morrow he would 
 dare to claim his reward. It was her presence that 
 fired his mind with its finest flashes of imagination. 
 
 Lastly, he paid a graceful tribute to Mrs. Tup- 
 per, the noble woman who had honored them by 
 her presence that day. She had carried out the 
 beneficent plan her husband's failing health had in- 
 terrupted, and he was privileged to announce that 
 she had crowned her first generous gift by handing 
 him that very morning a check for ten thousand 
 dollars, with which to buy books for the library. 
 
 A storm of applause arrested his speech. As he 
 turned and bowed to Mrs. Tupper his eyes rested a
 
 ENIGMAS 129 
 
 moment on Professor Plow, sitting at the ex- 
 treme right of the platform, without an academic 
 cap or gown, as if in defiance of the requirements of 
 the occasion. The professor was leaning carelessly 
 with one arm over the back of his chair, his large 
 head bent forward, his unfathomable gaze fixed 
 on Babington. It was a sad and reminiscent look, 
 as if he were thinking with what other emotions he 
 had listened to the president's first speech in Argos. 
 
 Babington turned again to face the audience. His 
 hand trembled as he steadied it on the table at 
 his side. He felt flouted and scorned by that steady 
 gaze, which seemed to look through him and be- 
 yond. With an effort he regained his equipoise, and 
 his voice rang out once more. 
 
 "Young men, give Mrs. Tupper one of your col- 
 lege cheers. Give it with a will. Let her see that 
 you appreciate what she has done for your alma 
 mater!" 
 
 A senior sitting in the front row arose and faced 
 his classmates. He was the appointed leader of the 
 cheering at athletic contests, and now he beat time 
 with his newly acquired diploma. The roar that re- 
 sponded to the signal shook the building. There 
 was a triple cheer, with a "tiger" at the end. The 
 wave of handclapping that swept over the audience 
 afterward sounded like gentle rain among the leaves 
 by comparison. 
 
 , The blessing was pronounced by a prominent 
 Protestant bishop of the state, and the great throng 
 melted away. 
 
 Thus the curtain dropped on the first act in the
 
 130 THE TORCH 
 
 drama of Babington's presidency, and left him bow- 
 ing before the footlights. 
 
 On the following morning he took his way hap- 
 pily across the campus to Mrs. Van Sant's. His 
 standing in that house entitled him to the privilege 
 of making a morning call, especially as it was to 1?e 
 a call of farewell for the summer. He was con- 
 scious of a pleasurable excitement as he walked up 
 the smooth flagstones that led from the street to her 
 door. Whenever he put foot in her yard he felt 
 that he was treading on enchanted ground. Every- 
 thing seemed to catch a peculiar charm from her; 
 the flower-beds, the trees, the restful stretches of 
 lawn, the vine-wreathed Colonial doorway, with its 
 suggestion of beauty and exclusiveness. 
 
 The president was in a conquering mood. The 
 triumph of the day before still filled him with ex- 
 altation. At the regents' meeting in the evening 
 everything had gone as he wished. He had obtained 
 the permission and the means to add to the faculty, 
 and was about to go east for that purpose. His 
 scheme for the closer amalgamation of the profes- 
 sional schools in the city was approved. Judge 
 Gates had gone off to Europe since the previous 
 meeting a month before. Babington reflected with 
 satisfaction that the judge would be absent a year, 
 and that he had pacified him by a ready acquiescence 
 in his wish concerning Lee. Mrs. Van Sant had 
 witnessed his triumph, and he felt that something 
 delicious, something thrilling, might happen when 
 he should stand with her behind those shadowed 
 windows. Yesterday, in the full flush of his excite-
 
 ENIGMAS 131 
 
 ment, he had resolved to ask her to be his wife, but 
 now he considered the possibility with the caution 
 of a man that has put a high value on himself in 
 the matrimonial market for a number of years. 
 
 He found the furniture in the drawing-room 
 covered with brown Holland, and the mirrors 
 draped. She was a long time coming. The fifteen 
 minutes seemed to his impatient mind an hour, 
 while he listened to the steady ticking of the clock 
 on the mantel, and to the clatter of wagons passing 
 in the street. He looked through the open folding 
 doors into the room beyond. There, too, the furni- 
 ture was draped. He seemed to be in a storage 
 warehouse, rather than in the home with which he 
 associated so much charm and beauty. But when 
 she came toward him, wending her way through the 
 shadows, the illusion was dispelled, and her pres- 
 ence made the place once more her own. 
 
 She was dressed in white, with a collar and 
 belt of pink, and her arms were bare to her elbows. 
 She seemed a personification of summer coolness 
 and ease, a holiday spirit. 
 
 "You see me staff in hand," she cried gaily, 
 "ready to depart. Robert went this morning on a 
 surveying trip in the mountains, and I'm off for 
 California to-morrow to visit some of my beloved 
 relatives. When do you go ?" 
 
 "To-morrow, too," he replied, "but in the other 
 direction. I must be in Philadelphia for a meeting 
 of the Ethnological Society. I wish Philadelphia 
 were in California." 
 
 "How ridiculous that would be," she said, laugh-
 
 132 THE TORCH 
 
 ing. "Suppose you had an Aladdin's lamp and were 
 to rub it and wish Philadelphia in California. How 
 surprised the Quakers would be when they awoke in 
 the morning and discovered where they were! 
 What part of California would you put them in?" 
 
 "Where the 'beloved relatives' are," he suggested. 
 
 She considered the proposition seriously a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 "But that would be impossible," she objected, 
 "because the relatives are on Alcatraz Island in 
 San Francisco Bay, in a military post. There 
 wouldn't be room for a handful of them. Besides, 
 how inappropriate to plant a colony of Quakers in a 
 citadel of war. They wouldn't be allowed entrance." 
 
 "Are letters allowed entrance?" he inquired, 
 "even if they are not warlike?" 
 
 "Sometimes, if they're not too numerous. But 
 the atmosphere of the place is distinctly belligerent. 
 One has to be cautious." 
 
 "That's too bad," he said, his face glowing with 
 enjoyment of their absurd enigmas. "I had thought 
 the war was over." 
 
 "Not at all. It's only just begun." She felt that 
 the retort was rather dangerous, and hurried on. 
 
 "Come and see how lovely it is on my side 
 veranda. I declare, I almost hate to leave it for less 
 attractive places. I should like to sit there with a 
 novel all summer long." 
 
 As they passed out on the veranda she contin- 
 ued : "I want to ask your advice about a very im- 
 portant matter." Babington leaned against the rail- 
 ing and looked at her expectantly, while she stood
 
 ENIGMAS 133 
 
 before him with a perplexed and judicial expression. 
 "I have just sent a letter to a friend," she explained, 
 "in which I said that the furniture was already cov- 
 ered and beginning to 'hibernate.' At the time I 
 thought it a rather fine-sounding word, but after- 
 ward it flashed into my mind that I had made an 
 awful mistake. What could I have been thinking 
 of?" 
 
 "Bears, I'm sure," he answered, much amused. 
 "Probably you were thinking of Robert's trip to the 
 mountains, and that naturally suggested bears." 
 
 "That's it, undoubtedly, but if I explain that to 
 my friend she'll never believe me. She used to be a 
 school teacher, and is very superior." 
 
 "You might telegraph to her before she gets the 
 letter," he suggested. "Something like this: 'For 
 hibernate in my letter, read aestivate.' ' 
 
 "Splendid!" she cried. "I'll do it. How re- 
 sourceful you are ! I never should have thought of 
 it." 
 
 Babington had often felt himself in peculiar har- 
 mony with Mrs. Van Sant, but their conversation 
 had never before verged so near to delicate and elu- 
 sive intimacy. In that green seclusion they played 
 the game with a dexterity they both found fascinat- 
 ing. Sometimes she seemed to allow him a glimpse 
 of her inmost mind, and there was one fleeting mo- 
 ment when he felt that he could almost have kissed 
 her. He lost the opportunity, if opportunity it were, 
 and when it was gone she was quite another person. 
 She made him talk seriously about the Ethnological 
 Society, as if there were nothing that interested her
 
 134 THE TORCH 
 
 more. Presently the pendulum swung back again, 
 and she rallied him about Mrs. Tupper. 
 
 "Remember what old Mr. Weller said: 'Beware 
 of vidows, Samivel.' I believe old Kate is setting 
 her cap for you." 
 
 He reddened and laughed in real embarrassment. 
 Suddenly she broke into a ripple of merriment. He 
 was whirled away by her fascination, and the genu- 
 ineness of his emotion make him awkward. 
 
 "You don't seem one," he broke out. "You seem 
 the goddess of this grotto." 
 
 She saw what she had brought on herself and 
 retreated down the steps, out into the sunny lawn. 
 He followed, breathing quickly, determined. They 
 were in full view of the street, and she felt safe. 
 Still, the situation called for desperate measures. 
 
 "Aren't you ashamed to pay me such hackneyed 
 compliments?" she demanded, clasping her hands 
 behind her back, and looking up at him steadily. 
 "Professor Plow never pays me compliments. He 
 knows I'm not a goddess, but just a very perverse 
 and cross-grained mortal. That's why I warned 
 you to beware of me." 
 
 At the reference to Plow he winced as if struck, 
 and she felt that she had been actually cruel. She 
 saw that he was racked by jealousy and discomfi- 
 ture, and she could not tell him how causeless his 
 jealousy was. But the reference to the professor 
 had served her purpose. No doubt the president had 
 shared the general impression that she was merely 
 waiting for the word to fall into his arms. He
 
 ENIGMAS 135 
 
 knew now that the war was only begun, and she 
 thought it would do him good. In that moment of 
 silence between them Mrs. Everett's voice was 
 heard calling from the veranda. 
 
 "Susanne, where are you ? Oh !" 
 
 Mrs. Van Sant ran up the steps and embraced her 
 friend with unusual warmth. The president fol- 
 lowed slowly. He was not in an amiable mood, and 
 his natural aversion to Mrs. Everett was not dimin- 
 ished by her inopportune appearance. He never 
 understood how Mrs. Van Sant could endure her. 
 There was no escape, and he greeted her with what 
 courtesy he could command. Her conversation was 
 an irritant to his shaken nerves, and he found it in- 
 creasingly difficult to be civil. 
 
 Mrs. Everett divined in some mysterious way 
 that Susanne wished her to remain. As the pres- 
 ident saw that she did not intend to go, he struggled 
 to recover his suavity, and watched for the psycho- 
 logical moment to depart. 
 
 "Wait a moment," his hostess entreated, as he 
 rose to go. "Would you do a little favor for me ?" 
 
 "Certainly," he replied, with restraint. 
 
 She went into the house and left him in doubt as to 
 the nature of the favor she meant to ask. 
 
 "Lovely out here, isn't it?" Mrs. Everett re- 
 marked, by way of punctuating the silence that had 
 fallen between them. 
 
 "Very," he replied. "Mrs. Van Sant was just 
 saying that she hated to leave it. She was tempted 
 to stay here all summer and read novels."
 
 136 THE TORCH 
 
 They were discussing summer resorts and getting 
 along smoothly when Mrs. Van Sant returned with 
 a paper in her hand. 
 
 "That telegram we were talking about," she ex- 
 plained. "If you happen to be passing the office, I 
 should be ever so much obliged." 
 
 The old footing was reestablished as by magic. 
 She had only been teasing him, he thought, and this 
 was a sign of her repentance. If he had not ad- 
 vanced in her regard he certainly had not lost 
 ground. Another time he would speak, but she had 
 shown him that the time was not yet. 
 
 "And here's the money," she added. 
 
 He hesitated a moment, and then took the coin 
 from her hand. They parted gaily, with many good 
 wishes for a pleasant summer. He walked across 
 the lawn and passed through the side gate. 
 
 "Don't forget the telegram !" she called out after 
 him. 
 
 "I won't !" he shouted, waving his hat in farewell. 
 
 When he was gone the two friends made the cir- 
 cuit of the yard, talking of various things. Mrs. 
 Van Sant drew a pink rose through her belt, and 
 wished she had thought to do so before. 
 
 "And I never told him how well he spoke his 
 piece yesterday," she remarked. "He must think 
 me very unappreciative." 
 
 They had not been speaking of Babington, but 
 Mrs. Everett was not surprised. She had been 
 thinking with humiliation that she could not escape 
 the consciousness of the president's official superior- 
 ity to her husband.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 A JOLLY GOOD FELLOW 
 
 There was a rush in the hallway of the building 
 in which the Ethnological Society was holding its 
 meeting when Babington's fine figure loomed in the 
 door. He was quite thrust into a corner by the en- 
 thusiasm of his friends. His face appeared tossing 
 above the little group, laughing and jovial. His 
 silk hat was thrust back almost boyishly from his 
 forehead. 
 
 "Hello, fellows!" he cried. "Jones, Parton, 
 Griggs, how are you ?" 
 
 "They seem to be treating you well out there," 
 remarked the president of an eastern university. 
 "Come here and let us get a good look at you. You 
 haven't grown thinner. However, I wouldn't trade. 
 You still have to come east for some things." 
 
 The remark concerning Babington's appearance 
 was justified, for the expanse of his white waist- 
 coat had noticeably increased during the year, and 
 now thrust his shining Phi Beta Kappa key into 
 nearer view. His full throat gave promise of a 
 double chin in the years to come, but his eyes were 
 bright and his step elastic. He was still a young 
 man, and he enjoyed the game of life with a fresh- 
 
 137
 
 138 THE TORCH 
 
 ness of feeling that constituted his chief charm in 
 the eyes of those who had no cause to wish him ill. 
 
 "I have to come east for some things, do I?" he 
 retorted. "I guess we can show you a thing or two 
 ourselves. We'll have you all out to visit us some 
 summer. 'Westward the star of empire holds its 
 way.' This part of the country isn't America. 
 We're thinking of making a present of you to Eng- 
 land." 
 
 A burst of laughter greeted this sally. 
 
 "Why didn't you bring Plow with you?" some 
 one asked. 
 
 Plow was not a member of the Ethnological So- 
 ciety, and ' the president suspected that a secret 
 shaft lay concealed in the question. It was not un- 
 likely that rumors of his trouble with his professor 
 of political economy had reached the east, but he 
 had come prepared for that. 
 
 "Plow is a very busy man," he replied. "He 
 takes no time for recreation. He's one of the most 
 valuable men we have in the university." 
 
 "I see by the papers that he's preaching against 
 the trusts," said another. 
 
 "Just a harmless hobby," Babington remarked 
 confidentially. 
 
 "You haven't become a convert?" the eastern 
 president suggested, with a twinkle in his eyes. 
 Babington seemed to swell almost imperceptibly, as 
 was his wont when about to utter a sententious re- 
 mark. 
 
 "I'm not a politician. I don't talk my political 
 opinions; I vote them. That's all I'm called upon
 
 A JOLLY GOOD FELLOW 139 
 
 to do. But if Plow feels called upon to do other- 
 wise, that's his concern. Whether I may agree 
 with him or not doesn't matter. He's a valuable 
 man, the kind of man who can go on a lecturing 
 tour and bring back a whole girdle of scalps to the 
 university." 
 
 The group broke up, and a reporter that had 
 lurked unobserved within earshot hurried off to his 
 paper. The national campaign was now well un- 
 der way, and it was the fashion to quote the opin- 
 ions of college presidents. 
 
 Babington paced about the halls that morning 
 with more than his usual complacency. He at- 
 tended the reading of some papers to which he gave 
 indifferent attention. In fact, they interested him 
 very little. He could use the society now for other 
 purposes than the acquisition of technical knowl- 
 edge. As the readers droned on he sat thinking of 
 his own concerns. He hoped his praise of Plow 
 might result in the extraction of that thorn from 
 his flesh; in other words, that the professor of po- 
 litical economy might be called to an eastern chair. 
 If he could accomplish Mrs. Tupper's command in 
 this way it would be better for all concerned. 
 
 It gave him no little satisfaction to reflect that in 
 his praise of Plow he had not indorsed the pro- 
 fessor's opinions. He had no definite opinion in re- 
 gard to the Democratic platform, except that it was 
 championed by a disreputable army of cranks, and 
 by the discontented and vulgar generally. The 
 state in which Argos was situated seemed about 
 evenly divided on the questions at issue in the
 
 THE TORCH 
 
 contest. He could not forecast the result of the 
 election as yet. An ounce of present silence was 
 worth a pound of future explanation. 
 
 His sympathies were really with the administra- 
 tion, and the "imperialism" of which its enemies 
 made such a scarecrow was rather to his liking. 
 There was a glamour and a glory and a good deal 
 of dress parade connected with it. He felt that the 
 tendencies of the times made it necessary to drive 
 the hewers of wood and drawers of water in har- 
 ness. He would like to be one of the men to crack 
 the whip. 
 
 It was thus that he missed the ideal of a State 
 University. He preached one thing, he felt another. 
 He wanted his university to grow and extend its 
 influence and become a great educational trust, be- 
 cause he was at the head of it. He favored the as- 
 pirations of the vulgar for his own aggrandizement, 
 but he loved to belong to the privileged few and 
 took a secret satisfaction in the thought that he was 
 not a graduate of a state or co-educational institu- 
 tion. 
 
 As he sat in the convention of scholars he knew 
 that he was a figure of unusual importance. On 
 the map of the country he mentally pegged out cer- 
 tain big men who were dominant in their own sec- 
 tions. In the White House was the president of 
 the United States; on the bench of the supreme 
 court sat the chief justice; in New York was a fa- 
 mous Episcopal bishop; in New England a great 
 university president; in various sections various
 
 A JOLLY GOOD FELLOW 141 
 
 "kings" or "barons" of this or that gigantic indus- 
 try ; and in Argos dwelt President Babington. 
 
 To a certain extent he was right. Constant read- 
 ers of newspapers were beginning to locate him, for 
 his name had been widely advertised during the 
 year. His private secretary had circulated his 
 quotable opinions with great skill. Babington was 
 a long name, and reverberated afar. Those at the 
 center of the detonation, disillusioned by propin- 
 quity, might call it a sham battle, but to the listen- 
 ers at a distance the echo was as formidable as if 
 the guns were loaded with solid shot. 
 
 That evening he took the president of the east- 
 ern college to dinner and talked to such good pur- 
 pose that he got him to promise Plow a professor- 
 ship. Before going to bed he sent the professor a 
 telegram apprising him of the fact, and then went 
 to sleep with a feeling that the difficulty was solved. 
 Doubtless Plow would understand that he had no 
 choice but to accept. He certainly ought to realize 
 that he had been treated better than he deserved. 
 The president felt that he had made a magnanimous 
 return for his subordinate's disloyal criticisms. So 
 much he would do for the sake of their former 
 friendship. 
 
 The next morning he was annoyed to find him- 
 self quoted in a prominent paper as having, by his 
 praise of Plow, declared in favor of his party. He 
 restrained his first impulse to publish a denial, 
 moved by the reflection that if the report reached 
 Argos it would be acceptable to at least half the
 
 142 THE TORCH 
 
 state, and perhaps to the majority. His freedom 
 from political partizanship was well known. More- 
 over, a denial might be construed as implying that 
 he had come out for trusts and imperialism. On 
 the whole, it seemed better to let the matter pass, 
 and to pose as a good-natured victim of unscrupu- 
 lous newspaper enterprise. 
 
 The last day of the session was reserved for a pa- 
 per on the Chinese by the president of the State 
 University at Argos. The popular interest aroused 
 in the far East by the Spanish war removed the sub- 
 ject from the strictly academic sphere, and the spe- 
 cialists were almost crowded from the hall by the 
 influx of the general public. It began to seem but 
 a step from Manila to Peking, though none could 
 foresee how soon that step would be taken because 
 of the boxers' attack on the foreign legations. 
 
 Babington saw his opportunity and his peril. 
 What diplomatic position might not come to him, if 
 his remarks attracted the attention and won the ap- 
 proval of the president of the United States? On 
 the other hand, he must avoid offending a possible 
 majority of the constituents of his university by an 
 open advocacy of the policy of national expansion. 
 Jason did not sail more cleverly between the dan- 
 gerous Symplegades than Babington between the 
 opposing rocks of political prejudice. He touched 
 lightly, humorously, upon the national dilemma. 
 He did not venture an opinion in regard to the jus- 
 tice of the seizure of the Philippine Islands, but he 
 accepted the fact with buoyant resignation.
 
 A JOLLY GOOD FELLOW 143 
 
 Then he turned an eye on "the pages of his- 
 tory," and drew wise lessons from the failures and 
 successes of the Greeks and Romans in their 
 schemes of colonization. It was in this part of his 
 speech that he threw his bread on the waters in 
 the hope that it might return to him again. 
 
 When he had lingered in Philippine waters suffi- 
 ciently long for his purpose he set sail for China, his 
 ostensible destination. But here he made no effort 
 to be profound. He was a specialist whose written 
 work was known. He therefore adopted a familiar 
 and anecdotal vein. He played about the subject, 
 he looked in upon it quizzically, or digressed into 
 passages of eloquent description. 
 
 The effort was a treat to the hearers and a joy to 
 the reporters. But a few careful and unmagnetic 
 scholars wondered resentfully that such light talk 
 could make such a stir, while their own laborious re- 
 searches created no ripple and went quietly to their 
 tomb in the learned records of the society. 
 
 That night the professors were college boys once 
 more. Safe from public scrutiny in the cool, sub- 
 terranean Rathskeller, they drank German beers 
 from capacious mugs and laid aside the dignity of 
 Academe. Tables were thrust companionably to- 
 gether. Tobacco smoke floated in eddying clouds 
 through the room, driven by the breeze whipped 
 from the whirring electric fans. Snatches of songs 
 in German and Latin punctuated impromptu 
 speeches. Ich weiss nicht was soil es bedeuten and 
 Gandeamus igitur arose in emulous rivalry.
 
 144, THE TORCH 
 
 Babington was elected president of the society for 
 the ensuing year. The steins clattered on the oaken 
 tables and cries of "Speech ! speech !" broke forth on 
 on all sides. 
 
 Babington was on his feet in response to the de- 
 mand, beaming down on his friends, and waiting 
 for silence. But the room was in confusion. Wait- 
 ers hurried to and fro; men talked in groups and 
 were slow to stop even for the pleasure of listening 
 to the new president. He was equal to the situa- 
 tion. 
 
 "Gentlemen !" he cried, "we're not here to listen 
 to speeches. This is what we came for. Prosit!" 
 He raised his mug to his lips and drained it to the 
 bottom. 
 
 There was undeniable relief in the applause that 
 greeted him as he resumed his seat. Again the 
 mugs thumped noisily, and the thanks of his com- 
 rades came gratefully to his ears in the familiar re- 
 frain : 
 
 For he's a jolly good fellow, 
 Which nobody can deny!
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A MATCHING OF WITS 
 
 Mrs. Tupper was ill when Babington returned to 
 Argos early in September. He sent her flowers, 
 and a note of sympathetic inquiry in which he 
 begged the privilege of paying his respects in per- 
 son as soon as her health should permit. Her ill- 
 ness was a godsend to him at that time, for his first 
 fortnight at home was crowded with cares and 
 anxieties. He longed for the relief of a chat with 
 Mrs. Van Sant, but she had not yet returned. 
 
 After the Philadelphia meeting he ventured to 
 send her a letter, and a reply came in due time. The 
 letter was so like herself that he answered it at some 
 length and with obvious warmth. Then followed 
 a silence between them which he could not break. 
 He assigned coquetry, rather than displeasure, as 
 the cause, and awaited her arrival with impatience. 
 
 The alterations of the large mansion, which had 
 been purchased for him in the spring, were nearly 
 completed. Argos, like so many other towns, had 
 its "folly," and "Philbrook's folly," a deserted 
 home for broken-down actors, had long stood await- 
 ing a purchaser until the board of regents secured it 
 for the president. 
 
 The term had not yet begun, and the duties that 
 145
 
 146 THE TORCH 
 
 claimed his attention were apparently innumerable. 
 Many things that he had ordered to be done were 
 not finished. It seemed to his impatient nature that 
 everything devolved upon him alone, that he must 
 push here and drive there unceasingly to keep the 
 huge machinery of the university in running order. 
 The contrast between his present position and the 
 easy glories of his vacation was a constant trial, 
 and he found the harness of office even more galling 
 than before. He had enjoyed visiting eastern uni- 
 versities and interviewing new men in regard to 
 faculty positions in Argos. The eagerness of young 
 doctors of philosophy to come was gratifying, and 
 he had secured several at his own terms. 
 
 Babington's nature was fundamentally pleasure- 
 loving. It was because success was the pleasantest 
 thing in the world to him that he had endured toil 
 to win it; but now that toil was becoming distaste- 
 ful. He hated detail, and matters of detail were 
 forced on his attention at every turn. 
 
 The great campaign was drawing to a close. 
 Plow had refused the eastern professorship, and 
 was stumping the state in the interests of his polit- 
 ical hero. His curt refusal had put Babington in 
 an awkward position with the eastern president, 
 whom he had persuaded with difficulty to take the 
 professor. This was another score to be wiped out 
 in the final reckoning, and Babington bided his 
 time. He had told Mrs. Tupper that political par- 
 tizanship in a professor of a state university was 
 sufficient cause for removal; but if the Democrats
 
 A MATCHING OF WITS 147 
 
 should triumph in November, what then? He 
 must await the event. 
 
 The personality of the professor loomed more 
 and more threatening as the din of the political bat- 
 tle swelled toward its climax. It would not do to 
 make a popular hero of him by a summary dismis- 
 sal, yet he knew that Mrs. Tupper expected him to 
 keep his promise. Should he obey her command 
 and defy public opinion, or side with the many? He 
 saw the necessity of straddling the fence until he 
 should find out what the opinion of the many might 
 be. Meanwhile, he thanked his lucky star for the 
 illness of Mrs. Tupper, which postponed the day of 
 explanation. 
 
 One sultry afternoon a reporter gained admit- 
 tance to the president's office. He was sitting at 
 his desk when he heard what seemed to be a scuffle 
 at the door, and the next moment a large and hand- 
 some woman, dressed in white, walked triumph- 
 antly past the defeated Watkins. 
 
 "It's all right," he heard her say. "You needn't 
 go to see whether he's in. I'll find out for myself, 
 and save you the trouble." 
 
 She took a chair, uninvited, directly fronting the 
 desk, and announced herself in a fresh, strong 
 voice : "Miss Wiley, of The Times. I just dropped 
 in to get a short article on your eastern trip." 
 
 The president knew Miss Wiley very well by rep- 
 utation, but had never seen her before. Fyffe had 
 told him that the thinly veiled hostility of The Times 
 was due to this woman. In her senior year at the
 
 148 THE TORCH 
 
 university she had barely failed to receive the gold 
 medal for high scholarship. The prize had gone to 
 a man, and she was firmly convinced that the award 
 was based on sex rather than merit. For this 
 reason she hated her alma mater, or rather, the fac- 
 ulty, and never lost an opportunity to ridicule the 
 men who had robbed her of her just deserts. 
 
 As far as Babington was concerned, it was suffi- 
 cient to arouse her dislike that he was a man ; but if 
 he had been peculiarly favorable toward the women 
 students she might have relented. In spite of his 
 efforts to appear impartial, however, the impression 
 was early disseminated that he regarded the pres- 
 ence of women in the university almost as an intru- 
 sion. In a hundred little ways, to be felt rather 
 than described, he had shown his indifference to 
 them ; and Miss Wiley was one of the first to learn 
 of his attitude. 
 
 How she had gained such influence with The 
 Times as to be allowed to air her opinions on the 
 editorial page was a question that gave birth to a 
 hint of scandal. Professor Fyffe knew who wrote 
 those breezy paragraphs about the "bibulous pro- 
 pensities of a certain eminent scientist connected 
 with the State University," and perhaps he honestly 
 thought that a woman who could stoop to such un- 
 derhand methods could do anything. Babington 
 was not inclined to attach much weight to Fyffe's 
 innuendoes, and guessed correctly that Miss Wiley's 
 influence on The Times was not due to the favor 
 of the editor, but to the policy of sensation that 
 the paper fostered. As he looked at her now, un-
 
 A MATCHING OF WITS 149 
 
 deniably handsome, business-like, shrewd, mopping 
 her wholesome countenance with a violet-scented, 
 freshly laundered handkerchief, his spirits sank be- 
 fore her confident bearing. 
 
 "I'm a graduate of the university myself," she 
 continued, "class of ninety-three, and, of course, am 
 particularly interested in university news. Are 
 there to be any new professors this term ?" 
 
 The president gave her a budget of considerable 
 interest and volume, and when he had finished he 
 fumbled with the papers on his desk to convey a 
 hint that he regarded the interview at an end. But 
 she was not to be thus dismissed. 
 
 "What do you think of the present political cam- 
 paign?" she asked squarely. "Your views on the 
 subject at this time would be of great interest to the 
 public." 
 
 Babington answered slowly, weighing his words. 
 
 "My opinion on that subject can be of no partic- 
 ular interest to the public. It is my business to run 
 the university to the best of my ability, and my 
 opinion on political matters is of no more value 
 than another's. When the time comes to vote I 
 shall cast my ballot as I see fit. As president of the 
 State University, I feel that it is not incumbent 
 upon me to preach political doctrines. I have all I 
 can do to attend to my legitimate duties." 
 
 He replaced his glasses on his nose, and began 
 to turn over his papers once more. 
 
 "Professor Plow is evidently of a different opin- 
 ion," she remarked, cheerful and indomitable as 
 ever. "He doesn't seem to feel that his connection
 
 150 THE TORCH 
 
 with the university is a bar to the free expression 
 of his opinion on these matters." 
 
 "Professor Plow's methods are his own," Bab- 
 ington retorted, stung to anger by a sudden real- 
 ization of the trouble Plow's obstinacy had brought 
 upon him. The color mounted to his face, and his 
 eyes flashed. Miss Wiley was calm and interested. 
 Only her tightened grasp on her pencil indicated 
 the excitement of the hunter that has struck the 
 trail. 
 
 "Then his methods lack your approval?" she 
 queried. "There has been an impression abroad 
 that he voices your opinions. The public would be 
 glad to be set right." 
 
 The president's irritation and excitement in- 
 creased at a bound. 
 
 "My opinions! I never told him my opinions! 
 We never discussed these questions. How in 
 heaven's name could such an impression get 
 abroad?" 
 
 As his irritation increased her smile became more 
 friendly and bland. 
 
 "About a year ago, I believe, you sent Professor 
 Plow to speak in your place before a labor union, 
 and in your letter to the union you said that he rep- 
 resented your opinions. His attitude at that meet- 
 ing, and since then, has been hostile to trusts." 
 
 The president gasped with astonishment. Then 
 he spoke with a certain dignity of indignation. 
 
 "That letter was merely a general expression of 
 confidence. I was very busy at the time, and per- 
 haps did not weigh each phrase. As a matter of
 
 A MATCHING OF WITS 151 
 
 fact, I did not know then just what Mr. Plow's 
 opinions were." 
 
 She opened her eyes in apparent wonder, and 
 continued relentlessly : "The public had heard that 
 you and Professor Plow were old friends, had been 
 classmates in college, and so they naturally inferred 
 that you were acquainted v/ith his views. Since 
 then, you were quoted as approving his lecture 
 tours, at the convention in Philadelphia." 
 
 "Not quoted, but misquoted," he returned, squar- 
 ing his jaw at her belligerently. "Whatever I may 
 have said at that time, I did not say a word that 
 could be construed as an expression of approval of 
 his peculiar doctrines. I merely remarked that, as 
 a general thing, an able lecturer in the faculty re- 
 flects great credit upon the university." 
 
 He felt that he had extricated himself neatly from 
 the dilemma, and his stare conveyed an opinion of 
 his questioner that was far from complimentary. 
 But she was more keen than he had supposed. 
 
 "It was apropos of these political lecture tours of 
 Professor Plow's that the remark was made, was it 
 not? You said, if I remember rightly, that he 
 brought back a whole 'girdle of scalps' to the uni- 
 versity. However, from what you say to-day, I in- 
 fer that you have changed your mind, and do not 
 approve of a professor in a state university preach- 
 ing party politics." 
 
 Babington saw that he was caught. Her Socratic 
 method had driven him into a corner, and he did not 
 know which way to turn. There was something pe- 
 culiarly mortifying, also, in the reappearance of the
 
 152 THE TORCH 
 
 phrase, "a girdle of scalps." He had thought it 
 rather fine at first, and had used it several times. 
 Now it seemed ridiculous. He had an absurd vi- 
 sion of Plow prancing back to Argos like a wild In- 
 dian, his tomahawk raised aloft, a girdle of scalps 
 flopping about his waist. He arose to his feet in a 
 wrathful panic. 
 
 "Miss Wiley," he cried, "I am not aware that I 
 am on the witness-stand before you. You will have 
 to excuse me. I am very busy with university mat- 
 ters and can not stop now to discuss politics. In re- 
 gard to Professor Plow, I have nothing to say, 
 nothing whatever. I wish you good day." 
 
 She faced him imperturbably, though aching in- 
 wardly with suppressed laughter. 
 
 "Very well, Mr. President, I shall remember. 
 Thank you very much for your courtesy. Good 
 afternoon." 
 
 When the door closed behind her, Babington 
 turned on Watkins. 
 
 "Mr. Watkins," he said, white with passion, "if 
 this ever occurs again, I'll " 
 
 "I couldn't help it, sir," the poor fellow stam- 
 mered. "She was a lady " 
 
 "A lady!" Babington echoed scornfully. He 
 vented his emotions in a short, ugly little laugh, and 
 walked up and down the room, fuming. He was 
 made ridiculous. He had been bullied and worsted 
 by a servant of yellow journalism. His dignity was 
 punctured, and he had come to earth. It was im- 
 possible for him to settle down again to his corre- 
 spondence. He seized his hat and strode from the
 
 A MATCHING OF WITS 153 
 
 room, giving Watkins a black look as he passed. 
 Even in that moment of profound irritation with his 
 secretary, he was too well aware of the young man's 
 usefulness to think of discharging him. 
 
 During the next two hours he made the delin- 
 quent janitors and carpenters uncomfortable. Only 
 fear of a possible strike and of further complica- 
 tions with labor unions prevented him from dis- 
 charging some of them on the spot; and he felt 
 more than ever exasperated when he thought of 
 their impudent assurance. It was with such fel- 
 lows, he reflected, that Plow hobnobbed, and nat- 
 urally, since he belonged to their class. 
 
 As Babington thought over the interview more 
 calmly, he became convinced that Plow was work- 
 ing against him in the dark. How did The Times 
 get hold of that letter in which he indorsed the pro- 
 fessor's opinions? Had Plow something to do 
 with it? Even at that early date had he begun a 
 still hunt against his president, expecting an inev- 
 itable breach between them, and getting ready his 
 weapons of war ? Was he trying to court discipline 
 that he might play the martyr, and perhaps become 
 president of the university himself ? No wonder he 
 had refused the call east ! 
 
 The president felt that he suddenly had a new 
 insight into the character of his former friend. He 
 saw now behind the mask of that inscrutable gaze. 
 He remembered the incident at commencement. 
 That look meant hatred and jealousy, if it meant 
 anything. Then a picture of Mrs. Van Sant rose 
 before him, as she stood in the brilliant June sun-
 
 154 THE TORCH 
 
 light in her garden, her chin upraised, her bright 
 eyes looking straight into his,, her fine hair an aure- 
 ole. 
 
 "Professor Plow never pays me compliments. He 
 knows I'm not a goddess, but just a very perverse 
 and cross-grained mortal." 
 
 How often he had recalled that delicious self- 
 characterization ! But why should Plow know any- 
 thing about her, or think about her at all? He 
 shook with a cruel fury to imagine that the profes- 
 sor's great hands might ever be laid on her in 
 love. The thought that she had not answered his 
 second letter filled his cup of emotion to overflow- 
 ing. It was fortunate that Plow was away. Had 
 he met the president on the campus that afternoon 
 he might have received his conge then and there.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 OIL ON THE WATERS 
 
 When Mrs. Tupper read The Times the follow- 
 ing morning she recovered abruptly from her ill- 
 ness. Sometimes great joy bids an invalid take up 
 his bed and walk; sometimes a sense of duty, or a 
 realization of danger, will accomplish the cure. In 
 Mrs. Tupper's case the propelling power was pro- 
 found irritation. She felt that she could not die 
 while such things were happening, or, as she idio- 
 matically expressed it, "while there was such goings 
 on." 
 
 Miss Wiley's interview with the president was ac- 
 corded a prominent place in the paper, and made 
 further conspicuous by heavy headlines. The 
 Times that morning was a kind of electric battery 
 dealing at least two readers a series of shocks, but 
 in Babington's heart the hot waves of anger were 
 succeeded by cold drenches of dismay. He turned 
 from the account of the interview to the editorial 
 page, and there his worst fears were realized. 
 Under the heading, Janus Babington and Daniel 
 Plow, his inconsistency, as contrasted with Plow's 
 honesty, was mercilessly exposed. The article was 
 clever and satiric from beginning to end. The 
 
 155
 
 156 THE TORCH 
 
 president's letter to the labor union was printed 
 verbatim, and his efforts to explain it away were 
 riddled with vindictive delight. Babington's spirits 
 sank as he reflected that this was probably only the 
 first broadside of an attack that would be continu- 
 ous. 
 
 He must make his peace with the Fairy God- 
 mother for failing to send the professor about his 
 business. In his extremity he wrote her a little 
 note, in which the sole message was solicitude for 
 her health, and sent it by a messenger boy, together 
 with a box of roses from the greenhouse. The boy 
 passed another about midway bearing winged words 
 from Mrs. Tupper to the president. 
 
 Babington was in his office, about eleven o'clock, 
 when the letter came. He tore it open nervously 
 and gazed on what appeared at first sight to be 
 the record of a seismograph, so stormy were the 
 emotions that had driven the writer's pen. At last 
 he made out the following summons : 
 
 Professor what in the Name of Common sence is 
 the matter with You to let a fool Reporter mix you 
 all up so you dont know what your saying and why 
 dont you fire that man Plow as you say you would, 
 if you come over this afternoon I can give you 
 some good advice. Mrs. Tupper. 
 
 As soon as he had recovered sufficiently from the 
 shock of this note he penned a brief reply, congrat- 
 ulating Mrs. Tupper upon her recovery, and prom- 
 ising to call at four o'clock.
 
 OIL ON THE WATERS 157 
 
 There were certain things that the president un- 
 consciously used to supply the lack of moral cour- 
 age and spiritual equipoise. Many times he found 
 the proprieties of life a rampart, from which he 
 could look down on the world with comparative 
 serenity. As he mounted his horse that afternoon 
 he appreciated the advantage of the man that rides 
 over the man on foot. There was something exhil- 
 arating in throwing his leg over a fine animal, in 
 straightening up in the stirrups, in the wider view 
 of the landscape thus obtained, and, above all, in 
 the quiver of a spirited creature beneath him whose 
 spirit, however strong, was yet mastered every mo- 
 ment by his own. 
 
 There was an additional satisfaction in the knowl- 
 edge that his clothes were what a horseman's should 
 be. In spite of his size and weight, he sat well, 
 and no one could think him awkward or ungainly. 
 As he cantered through Argos, returning saluta- 
 tions with the butt of his whip and keeping his 
 horse well in hand, the spectators who had chuckled 
 over the morning papers were made to feel that the 
 attack was futile, even ridiculous. It seemed now 
 to be mere newspaper talk, the spleen of yellow 
 journalism. Even those whose knowledge of the 
 man had made them swear that the report of the in- 
 terview was deliciously accurate now felt, for a mo- 
 ment, that it might have been retouched. But 
 when he had passed by they returned to their orig- 
 inal opinion, wondering resentfully at the unfair 
 influence of his presence. 
 
 Babington turned over in his mind the arguments
 
 158 THE TORCH 
 
 by which he intended to pacify old Kate. He was 
 not without resentment that she should presume so 
 far; and yet the woman that had penned that illit- 
 erate letter on cheap, ruled paper could write 
 checks of fabulous worth. In her he saw his op- 
 portunity. Her gifts to the university had enabled 
 him to finish his first year at Argos in a blaze of 
 glory, and succeeding benefactions would hush the 
 murmurs against his large salary and the com- 
 plaints in regard to the mansion he was rebuilding 
 for himself with the money of the state. 
 
 Immersed in these thoughts he cantered up the 
 avenue of maples, now beginning to take on the 
 first rich tints of autumn coloring, and tied his 
 horse to the little iron negro at the front steps. 
 
 A new maid came to the door and directed him to 
 the parlor, into which he had first entered through 
 the window. The rehabilitation of the house was 
 now complete, and no trace remained of that grad- 
 ual decay that had given the place its only claim to 
 interest and romance. Everything was glaringly 
 new, and as he walked restlessly up and down, 
 awaiting Mrs. Tupper's arrival, he fancied the odor 
 of varnish in the air. He anticipated a stormy in- 
 terview, and whipped his leg nervously as he 
 stopped in his walk to look at the face of the re- 
 doubtable Tupper. The painted eyes looked back 
 at him coldly, scornfully, and he turned away un- 
 easily, as from a living presence. 
 
 Mrs. Tupper was standing in the doorway, bob- 
 bing, smiling, one of the roses he had sent her that 
 morning fluttering at her breast. He almost cried
 
 OIL ON THE WATERS 159 
 
 out in astonishment at the sight. An impression of 
 feebleness and age was intensified, rather than re- 
 lieved, by the bright flower and by the patches of 
 powder on her face. She put her hand on the side 
 of the door, as if for support. As he hurried for- 
 ward to greet her he saw, not the termagant he had 
 feared, but a feeble old woman, grotesquely gay, 
 lifting a glance of feminine appeal for approval! 
 There was both pity and repulsion in his heart as he 
 took her hand. 
 
 "How do you do?" he said kindly. "But I 
 needn't ask. I never saw you looking better." She 
 fluttered into a chair. 
 
 "You never saw me looking worse," she retorted, 
 crimson. "That's what you thought the minute you 
 set eyes on me. Don't tell me ; I know. Old Kate 
 Tupper ain't altogether a fool yet." 
 
 "I hope you don't mean to imply that you expect 
 to become one soon," he returned. 
 
 She loved a quick reply, and her wintry smile re- 
 warded him. 
 
 "If I took lessons from some folks I wouldn't 
 have to expect very long," she remarked pointedly. 
 
 "You mean me, of course," he returned. His old 
 sense of power over her had come back, now that he 
 saw her again. He launched into a smooth explana- 
 tion of the manner in which he had been misrepre- 
 sented by Miss Wiley. She looked at him steadily, 
 but did not appear to follow his remarks with at- 
 tention. Suddenly she startled him by interrupting 
 in a kind of fury. 
 
 "The hussy ! Haven't I heard of her ? But you
 
 160 THE TORCH 
 
 ain't a bit smart." She looked at him in pity, tak- 
 ing his part against the other woman. "I could 
 have managed her," she declared grimly. 
 
 Nothing she had ever said to him had been more 
 disconcerting. She did not credit his explanation. 
 She knew that Miss Wiley had outwitted him, and 
 she raged against her for her superior cleverness. 
 He was keenly humiliated to realize that this old 
 beldam would fain spread out her skirts to screen 
 him from a discerning world. 
 
 "Thank you," he said, drawing himself up with 
 offended dignity. 
 
 "I guess I don't express myself very well," she 
 explained. He found her sudden feminine humility 
 more trying than any burst of temper. "You're 
 smart enough in some ways, lots smarter than old 
 Tupper up there used to be. He didn't have book 
 learning, but he could manage reporters. He just 
 told them to go to the devil, and slammed the door 
 in their faces. When a man gave him any trouble 
 he kicked him out. I used to hear him say, 'If you 
 don't kick a man out when he begins to get uppish 
 he'll kick you out; so you'd better get in your kick 
 first.' Now there's that anarchist, Plow. If you 
 knew what he was up to, you'd do what you prom- 
 ised to last spring. You'd give him his walking 
 papers quick." 
 
 "You mean he wants to be president of the uni- 
 versity himself? I've thought of that." 
 
 "That's it," she cried. "I knew you wasn't so 
 dumb. You've read what he said in one of his
 
 OIL ON THE WATERS 161 
 
 speeches what a university ought to be. What 
 does he mean by that?" 
 
 "That he could run it better than I," he an- 
 swered. 
 
 "Just so. Then why don't you turn him out? 
 That's what I say." She struck the arm of her 
 chair in a spasm of irritation. 
 
 "I got him a call to an eastern college, and he re- 
 fused it. Of course, he'll have to go sooner or later, 
 but I think we'd better wait until after the election. 
 He's more popular in the state than you realize, and 
 I don't want to give him any satisfaction by making 
 a martyr of him." 
 
 "You're too good to him," she said, her eyes full 
 of chiding admiration. "He didn't accept it, didn't 
 he? Perhaps he had sense enough to know that 
 they wouldn't keep him long. They don't want a 
 firebrand in those colleges. I'll tell you what it is, 
 Professor ; you're afraid of talk. It don't do near as 
 much harm as you think it does. People don't con- 
 cern themselves about a man that's out of a job. 
 They've got their own affairs to think of. If you 
 kicked him out you'd find that people would respect 
 you for it. I ain't going to wear myself out talk- 
 ing about it to you any more. You know I mean 
 what I say. You don't get another cent for your 
 college until that man goes." 
 
 The spicy quality of her last declaration was a re- 
 lief. Anything was preferable to the hint of ro- 
 mance that had given him such distress. 
 
 "You'll take a drink before you go back," she
 
 1 62 THE TORCH 
 
 said, as he rose. "I need one myself." He pulled 
 the bell-rope for her. 
 
 "I'll have anything in my house," she continued, 
 "but one of those electric buzzers. You might just 
 as well sit in the death-chair and be done with it." 
 
 Babington laughed at the reappearance of the 
 familiar prejudice, and the atmosphere was cleared 
 for the remainder of his call. Over the toddies she 
 grew reminiscent. 
 
 "It's the same Tupper used to keep," she re- 
 marked, "though he never drunk much of it him- 
 self. It was more in his line to give it to other men 
 till he had them where he wanted them. He was 
 that smart, they never found him out; but I did. 
 I've seen him sell many a gold brick to English in- 
 vestors over this stuff. He hadn't no opinion of the 
 English. He always told them he'd let them in on 
 the ground floor, instead of which he dropped them 
 into the cellar." 
 
 Babington joined easily in her chuckle over the 
 villainies of the departed Tupper, whom he had so 
 eloquently eulogized at the previous commencement. 
 
 "Those old fellows weren't troubled much with 
 a conscience," he remarked. The comment was 
 rather admiring than condemnatory. 
 
 "Not much," she assented. "What's the use? 
 You can't go far if you get tangled up in your con- 
 science every step. Conscience is mostly hunting 
 for fine words to excuse yourself with, anyway. I 
 learned that at church, when I used to go. There 
 wasn't much some of those deacons wasn't into, I 
 can tell you. But Tupper called a spade a spade.
 
 OIL. ON THE WATERS 163 
 
 He went into the legislature and bought it up, like 
 a man would peanuts on the street. And when he 
 got the railroad through he made the farmers pay 
 for it. That's why they hated him. But how would 
 they ever have got their grain and cattle to market 
 if he hadn't built them a railroad, I'd like to know ? 
 They ought to have paid for it. Now, men like 
 Plow want me to give up my stock to a lot of loaf- 
 ers who never done a thing but talk. Fools !" 
 
 Babington sipped his toddy and moralized. 
 
 "It's always easy to throw stones at the great 
 men who do things. The great things would never 
 get done if every one's so-called rights were care- 
 fully weighed. Along comes some ruthless man 
 with his work in the world to do, and a lot of little 
 fellows get smashed while he's at it. He has to 
 step on them right and left; but when it's all over 
 cities spring into existence, the wilderness blossoms 
 like a rose, and the whole country is benefited." 
 
 She looked at him with undisguised admiration. 
 
 "You ought to have been a lawyer," she said, "or 
 a preacher. There's nothing you can't make sound 
 all right. That's how you buncoed me out of all 
 that money last spring. Why don't you get mar- 
 ried?" 
 
 The question was launched at him so suddenly 
 that he was taken by surprise. He thought of the 
 soft, imaginative, religious girl to whom he had 
 once been engaged and from whom he had fled away 
 in a mood of worldly cowardice. Afterward she be- 
 came the wife of a floor-walker in a dry-goods store. 
 Where would he have been now, if he had tied that
 
 164 THE TORCH 
 
 millstone about his neck ? At the very bottom of the 
 social sea, instead of on the top. How hopelessly 
 he would have looked at women like Mrs. Van Sant 
 after making such a marriage ! But now everything 
 was possible. 
 
 "Well, why don't you ?" she insisted, leaning for- 
 ward eagerly. 
 
 "I can't afford it," he said, with that flattered 
 self-importance which such a question usually 
 arouses in the breast of a bachelor. She laughed 
 unmelodiously. 
 
 "Then you'd better marry some one who can," 
 she suggested. 
 
 "That's a very good idea," he returned. "I'll 
 think it over. You've certainly redeemed your 
 promise to-day in the matter of good advice. But 
 it's getting late. I must really be going." 
 
 As she rose in the dusk to bid him good by she 
 seemed to stumble against him. He put out his 
 hand to support her and was met Dy an answering 
 clutch. He still heard her curious little hysterical 
 laugh in his ears as he galloped rapidly along the 
 darkened road toward Argos.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE CHARM THAT FAILED 
 
 It was the night of the president's housewarm- 
 ing, and his mansion on the hill was all alight. The 
 lamps of carriages and automobiles shone along the 
 curb for a block down the street. The house was 
 on a level with the clock of the library tower, which 
 glowed in the distance like a full and milk-white 
 moon. The other university buildings were merged 
 in the blackness of the earth. The streets of Argos 
 seemed a luminous spider's web, its ends pegged out 
 in the prairies. Beyond a broad belt of darkness 
 the capital glimmered against the horizon, and in 
 that dim glow the dome of the state house, ribbed 
 with electric lights, hovered like a cone of fire. 
 
 A strangely heterogeneous crowd streamed up 
 the stone steps, passed between the imposing pillars, 
 through the great door, billowed about the tall form 
 of the host, then eddied away through corridors and 
 rooms on tours of inspection. From behind a bar- 
 rier of palms in the hall strains of music floated out, 
 but the loudest crescendo could not entirely drown 
 the continuous hum of voices and the shuffling of 
 many feet. 
 
 Mrs. Van Sant had prolonged her summer outing 
 165
 
 1 66 THE TORCH 
 
 from sheer coquetry, and now appeared suddenly 
 before the president like that "vision of delight" of 
 which the poet sang. As she saw his start, his look 
 of embarrassed admiration, she was triumphantly 
 conscious of the extent of her power. He seemed 
 reluctant to relinquish the slender fingers that 
 slipped coolly from his own; he could not remove 
 his eyes from her radiant face and the white shoul- 
 ders that gleamed beneath the network of her black 
 lace gown. He remembered her as she had ap- 
 peared in the pleasant gloom of her drawing-room, 
 a girlish figure clad in white, with a belt and collar 
 of pink, her lovely arms bare to the elbow, a per- 
 sonification of holiday and mirth. 
 
 Now she had become suddenly inaccessible. Her 
 eyes challenged and defied him in the same glance, 
 and he almost stammered his greetings. 
 
 "And your relatives on Alcatraz Island," he ven- 
 tured. "Did you leave them quite well?" 
 
 The crowd was close about them and their every 
 word could be heard by others. She shared his en- 
 joyment of the hidden meaning of his inquiry, 
 known to them alone. 
 
 "Quite well, thank you," she answered, smiling 
 and arranging with a deft touch the tortoise-shell 
 comb that nestled in her hair. 
 
 He loved the coquetry that impelled her to show 
 her little hand and fair arm in that quick and grace- 
 ful motion, and his manner relaxed. 
 
 "You must have found California unusually 
 pleasant," he suggested. 
 
 "I never enjoyed myself more," she declared.
 
 THE CHARM THAT FAILED 167 
 
 "What with cruising about the bay, and a stage 
 drive in the Yosemite, and theater parties in San 
 Francisco, I didn't have time for anything else, 
 even for my correspondence." 
 
 "Your friends will forgive you, I'm sure," he 
 said, breaking into a pleased smile at her veiled 
 apology. But the brilliancy of her life filled him 
 with vague discontent, and removed her from him 
 again. A life devoted to pleasure was infinitely al- 
 luring to him, and he inhaled the atmosphere she 
 suggested with wistful appreciation. She seemed 
 very much the aristocrat. He thought of Mrs. Tup- 
 per. His intimacies with her, his flatteries, his tod- 
 dies, were so many invisible cords binding him to 
 her vulgar existence and making Mrs. Van Sant a 
 superior being of another world. 
 
 "Poor Robert has been quite forlorn," she said, 
 "without any one to keep house for him. I'm going 
 to devote myself to him the rest of the winter to 
 make amends. You must come to see us when you 
 get time." She made way for others, and con- 
 versed a few moments with his sister, leaving 
 him to come back to his present duties as best he 
 could. 
 
 Professor Lee paused in his aimless wandering 
 as he caught sight of the back of a girlish figure 
 standing alone in a bow window that commanded a 
 view of the capital. Miss Hathaway had elected 
 his course on the Nineteenth Century Poets, but as 
 yet he had scarcely exchanged a word with her, for 
 it was a course in which he did most of the talking. 
 He always listened for her response at roll call,
 
 1 68 THE TORCH 
 
 thinking her voice as sweet and peculiar as her per- 
 sonality, and there was no turn of her head with 
 which he was not already familiar. The same 
 glamour that her near presence had cast on him 
 at the reception of the women students returned 
 whenever he looked upon her. He stepped up to 
 her quietly, adjusting his glasses as he did so, that 
 he might not miss a single curve or a single expres- 
 sion of her face. She possessed for him the elusive 
 fascination of a beautiful picture. 
 
 "Miss Hathaway," he said, "you evidently prefer 
 nature to your fellow men, and I can't blame you on 
 a night like this." 
 
 As she turned, the brightness of her eyes was 
 like a sudden flash of light into his own. He saw 
 the violet tinge about the vivid brown of the iris, 
 the long sweep of her blue-black lashes, the delicate, 
 clear curve of her brows. 
 
 "It's like a poem, isn't it?" she said, with a quick, 
 startled smile. "I had forgotten where I was." 
 
 "You must write a poem about it," he suggested. 
 "Don't tell me you never write poetry, for I know 
 you do. Every young person of sensibility writes 
 verses." 
 
 He stood regarding her with a quizzical smile, 
 in which admiration of her beauty contended with a 
 subtile scornfulness. He had decided within him- 
 self that beauty was all she possessed, and perhaps 
 he resented its power to disturb his peace. She 
 would be just the wife for Trumbull, he reflected, 
 good, stupid, lovely, and not intellectually assertive. 
 If the archaeologist did not admire a brilliant
 
 THE CHARM THAT FAILED 169 
 
 woman like Mrs. Van Sant, this girl must be his 
 ideal. 
 
 "Silence gives consent," he continued. "I knew 
 you wrote verses. I used to write poetry myself at 
 your age, epics, lyrics, sonnets. I was full of sus- 
 pirations and aspirations. I loved the stars, I loved 
 to be alone, I loved my. own divine discontent. 
 Don't tell me you weren't thinking of a simile for 
 that state house dome, for I shall distrust my pow- 
 ers of divination if you do." 
 
 She looked at him across the gulf of authority 
 and position. He was her professor, and she did 
 not think of him as a young man. He had discov- 
 ered her -secret and thought her a fool. She stood 
 confused, as one caught in wrong-doing, and did not 
 resent his cruelty. 
 
 "All the girls write poetry," she stammered. 
 
 "Of course they do," he returned, highly de- 
 lighted with her naive defense, "and a very good 
 thing it is for them, too. It teaches them discrim- 
 ination in the choice of words, and it teaches them 
 to appreciate the works of the masters." 
 
 He did not suppose her conversation could be in- 
 teresting and made no effort to draw her out. He 
 preferred to do the talking himself and to watch 
 the play of color in her face. 
 
 "That very dome was the rock on which my own 
 poetical hopes foundered, so I must warn you 
 against it. There isn't a bit of poetry in the sub- 
 ject. It looks exactly like a gold thimble or a 
 diminutive beehive from this distance, and no 
 amount of imagination can make it look otherwise.
 
 170 THE TORCH 
 
 Then, too, think of those law-making bees that go 
 buzzing about beneath it and stinging each other 
 with their sharp tongues. There's no poetry in them 
 either. I am giving you the advice of a friend when 
 I urge you to give it up as a bad job." 
 
 He suddenly wished he had not carried his ban- 
 ter so far, for she took -him too seriously, and he 
 guessed that his words hurt. He saw that she lis- 
 tened to him as to her professor and felt a momen- 
 tary pang. Did she think him an old pedant ? Did 
 his professorship and his thirty-three years remove 
 him from her understanding and liking? He 
 wished she would regard him as a young man and 
 fling him a retort. It was his own fault, he told 
 himself. He had driven the natural girl back into 
 the recesses of her innocent heart by a flippant cyn- 
 icism that was not sincere. 
 
 "Don't let me destroy your illusions," he said 
 kindly, "and please do write a poem on the state 
 house dome." 
 
 "How can I get up there to write it?" she asked 
 with a quick smile. 
 
 Something in the manner in which she flashed 
 this unexpected question at him opened his eyes to 
 the fact that she was not as much impressed and 
 overpowered as he had thought. So there was a 
 sparkle within that placid pool, after all. 
 
 "Fly up on the back of Pegasus," he advised her, 
 laughing. He caught sight of Mrs. Van Sant in 
 the crowd. "Good by," he said, rather abruptly. 
 "Don't forget the poem."
 
 THE CHARM THAT FAILED 171 
 
 The confusion had now reached its height. Peo- 
 ple were wedged together in masses, and the buzz of 
 conversation swelled into a strident volume of 
 sound. Familiar faces were seen and lost in a mo- 
 ment. Even as he stepped forward, Mrs. Van 
 Sant's bright head was replaced by Everett's genial 
 countenance, and she was. gone. He saw Professor 
 Fyffe straining upward, his face purple, shouting 
 into the ear of a gigantic football player. Profes- 
 sor George Robison Stuart passed by, straight and 
 elegant, proud of his red beard, of his very ugliness, 
 of his general superiority to the rest of mankind. 
 It was all like the changing combinations of a 
 kaleidoscope. A lane suddenly opening in the mass 
 disclosed Mrs. Tupper bearing down on the pres- 
 ident. 
 
 For one brief moment a comparative hush fell 
 upon the room, pierced only by the voice of Pro- 
 fessor Fyffe. 
 
 "We'll beat them to a standstill !" 
 
 Fyffe turned in confusion at the laughter that 
 greeted his declaration, but in another moment he 
 was once more inconspicuous. The lane was closed, 
 the conversation swelled again into a deafening 
 din, and the tide set slowly toward the president 
 and his latest guest. In his search for Susanne, 
 Lee ran up against Trumbull. 
 
 "George," he said, "I've found just the girl you 
 need for a wife. She will never make you doubt 
 your omniscience as Mrs. Van Sant does. There 
 she is, over by the window."
 
 172 THE TORCH 
 
 "Oh, I know Miss Hathaway," Trumbull replied. 
 "She is one of my star students in Greek archaeol- 
 
 ogy." 
 
 Lee watched him saunter over to the window and 
 talk to the girl with unusual animation. He was 
 surprised that she took his course, and was some- 
 how not entirely pleased. She seemed very much at 
 ease with him, he thought, and he saw her smile as 
 she took a coin from his hand and held it up to the 
 light. A group of people shut them .from his view, 
 and he turned to resume his search. 
 
 He was passing through the hall on his way to 
 the dining-room when he found Mrs. Van Sant 
 talking with Mrs. Everett. 
 
 "You're not going already?" he asked in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "Some one must make a beginning," she replied, 
 gathering her wrap more closely about her throat. 
 "It isn't so early, andj'm tired to-night." 
 
 "I find myself in the same, condition," he said. 
 "Be a good Samaritan and give me a lift." 
 
 She smiled her assent, and he went to get his hat 
 and coat. When he returned the two women were 
 still in earnest conversation. 
 
 "Horrid old woman," he heard Mrs. Van Sant 
 remark. 
 
 "Ridiculous," Mrs. Everett added. 
 
 "What horrid and ridiculous woman were you 
 discussing?" he asked Susanne, when they were 
 alone in the carriage. 
 
 "You shouldn't have been eavesdropping," she 
 gently reproved.
 
 THE CHARM THAT FAILED 173 
 
 "That description fits only the fairy godmother of 
 the university," he chuckled, "but I'm sorry to hear 
 you speak evil of dignities. I thought her long 
 feather most becoming. I didn't go up to pay my 
 respects for fear she would call me names." 
 
 "You never saw anything like it !" she broke out. 
 "That vulgar old woman actually backed into Mr. 
 Babington's sister and pushed her from his side. 
 You would have thought she owned the house. She 
 stood there receiving his guests and tapping him on 
 the arm with her fan, and telling him he ought to 
 have a wife. I believe she's in love with him." 
 
 "One can't blame her for that," he returned. 
 "Fyffe says he's the handsomest man in Argos." 
 
 He was not displeased to think that Mrs. Tupper 
 had put the president in an absurd position before 
 Susanne. 
 
 "I never knew you to take old Kate quite so seri- 
 ously before," he added. 
 
 "I didn't think people could make such fools of 
 themselves over Lemuel Tupper's housekeeper," she 
 answered. "It makes one wonder whether there are 
 any gentlefolk left in the world." 
 
 The remark was not altogether ingenuous. It 
 was not so much the vulgarity of the worshipers 
 at the shrine of Mammon that aroused her scorn as 
 old Kate's evident infatuation with the president. 
 Until this night she had taken a secret satisfaction 
 in Mrs. Tupper's donations. She was not sorry to 
 see the old miser part with some of her money to the 
 advancement of Babington's prestige and power,
 
 174 THE TORCH 
 
 but now she resented her impudent airs and the 
 amused gossip of the university. 
 
 "Only you and I are left, Susanne," he said, "who 
 have not yet bowed the knee to Baal." 
 
 She scarcely noticed that he addressed her by her 
 first name. It was a habit to which they still re- 
 turned at times when alone. Only when they had 
 entered her drawing-room did her instinct warn her 
 of impending possibilities. 
 
 She threw herself into a chair by the fire, while 
 he stood with his elbow on the mantel, looking down 
 on her. His appreciative eyes lingered on each 
 detail, the silver buckles on her dainty, high-heeled 
 shoes, the glimmer of her arms beneath the network 
 of her black lace sleeves, the circlet of milk-white 
 pearls about her fair throat, and the combs that 
 scarce restrained the exuberant glory of her hair. 
 Above all, the suppressed excitement and brilliancy 
 of her face stirred his pulses with desire. 
 
 "I never saw you looking as lovely as you do to- 
 night, Susanne," he declared earnestly. She 
 thought that she had never seen him look more dis- 
 tinguished. He was like a portrait of a young aris- 
 tocrat of a former generation, graceful in spite of 
 his lank figure, careless and scornful of the opinion 
 of the mob. 
 
 "If I were minded to bandy compliments with 
 you, Nicholas," she returned with a smile, "I might 
 say something nice about you, but I think you are 
 spoiled enough as it is. I wish you would play 
 something for me. I was never more in need of 
 music in my life."
 
 THE CHARM THAT FAILED 175 
 
 He sauntered over to the piano obediently, and 
 began to strike a few rich chords. 
 
 "A new idea of my own," he explained over his 
 shoulder, "to express the hours of the day and night. 
 This is five o'clock in the afternoon. Can't you see 
 the shadows falling?" 
 
 He went on, weaving his spell about her, the 
 chords deepening into a minor to tell the dead of 
 night, and gradually lightening as the dawn drew 
 near. "This is five o'clock in the morning," he "went 
 on. "Do you hear the birds in the trees? And 
 now, at six, you fall asleep again. This is seven, 
 the breakfast bell." He banged out a jocund air 
 and then whirled round upon her, smiling tri- 
 umphantly. She was standing by his side, softened 
 and charmed, the light of dreams in her eyes. 
 
 "You're a wizard, Nicholas!" she exclaimed. "I 
 don't see how you do it. You must write them out 
 for me, you really must. Now, don't forget. You 
 are always so perverse. You don't care anything 
 about your music, and never write it down. To- 
 morrow you'll forget all about it." 
 
 "No, I shan't, not this time. But your little 
 hands could never strike those chords. Try it and 
 see." 
 
 He gave her his place and she sat down, protest- 
 ing that he had made them impossible in order to 
 tease her. 
 
 "You can't stretch an octave and two," he said, 
 bending over her and placing his right hand upon 
 her own. "There, that's the way. You ought to 
 have my long antennae."
 
 176 THE TORCH 
 
 "You've made that comparison before," she cried 
 with a little shiver, "and it always makes me think 
 of some horrid, crawling thing." She tried to with- 
 draw her hand, but he held it fast. 
 
 "Susanne," he said, in a low, tremulous voice, 
 "Susanne." 
 
 She felt his kiss on her neck, and rose to her 
 feet. They stood for a few moments facing each 
 other, both her hands in his. 
 
 "It was unfair of you," she protested, her face 
 crimson. 
 
 "Unfair?" he echoed. He longed to take her in 
 his arms, but she freed her hands with unexpected 
 strength and pushed him slowly backward, laughing 
 up at him with the old mischievous domination in 
 her eyes. 
 
 "Now sit down, do," she commanded, "and let 
 us talk." 
 
 "But I don't want to talk, Susanne. I want to 
 kiss you. I love you." 
 
 "That's just what I want to talk about," she an- 
 swered. "Please be sensible." 
 
 He sank into a chair and she seated herself near 
 him, her ringers crossed lightly over her knee. He 
 looked at her feverishly, at those little hands that 
 always filled him with peculiar tenderness and 
 amusement because she could not play Beethoven 
 with them, at the deep emotion of her lips and eyes. 
 
 "Why did you come over to the piano?" he de- 
 manded indignantly. "You knew what I would do 
 if you came." 
 
 "Yes, I knew," she murmured.
 
 THE CHARM THAT FAILED 177 
 
 "Then why did you come?" he asked fiercely. 
 
 "Because you hypnotized me with those chords, 
 and because I wanted to have it out with you." 
 
 "Because you're a coquette," he retorted bitterly. 
 
 "I refuse to quarrel with you," she said. She 
 went over to the little tea table and brought back a 
 package of cigarettes. "And I refuse to discuss the 
 question further," she added, "unless you smoke." 
 
 He lighted a cigarette ruefully, with a feeling 
 that he had lost. 
 
 "I can't be angry with you," he groaned. "Every- 
 thing you do only makes me worship you more. 
 And you've treated me abominably. You knew all 
 the time I loved you." 
 
 "I knew you thought you did," she corrected, 
 "but you were mistaken. I wanted you to find that 
 out." 
 
 "I never shall find it out," he declared rebellious- 
 ly. "I've loved you ever since you used to sit on 
 the fence, a little girl, and eat the cherries I risked 
 my neck to bring you." 
 
 "We were such good chums then," she mused, 
 "weren't we? And that's all we are now, or ever 
 ought to be. If we were married we should suc- 
 ceed in making each other very unhappy." 
 
 "I don't see it," he persisted. "Isn't it unfair 
 that I should lose you just because I've known you 
 from childhood?" 
 
 "Nicholas," she returned, "you always could 
 beat me in a downright argument. Don't you re- 
 member the time in the high school that you won a
 
 1 78 THE TORCH 
 
 debate from me before the class ? I shall never for- 
 get my mortification." 
 
 She put her hands over her face and peered out 
 at him deliciously. He smiled wistfully at the re- 
 membrance. 
 
 "It was a Pyrrhic victory for me. I could have 
 cut my tongue out for it afterward." 
 
 "And you tried to make amends by writing a 
 poem to me," she went on. "I was very proud of 
 that poem. I believe I could repeat it now. It was 
 reminiscent of Dobson, and every verse ended with 
 a refrain ma belle Susanne." 
 
 She laughed until she was forced to put her hand- 
 kerchief to her eyes, and he could not resist her 
 merriment. 
 
 "How many times have you made a fool of me?" 
 he asked, crestfallen. She removed her handker- 
 chief and looked at him frankly. 
 
 "Often," she admitted, "but I never will again. 
 I've really treated you abominably, as you said, but 
 I never will any more. And you musn't tempt me 
 by being sentimental. Is it a bargain?" 
 
 He threw his cigarette into the fire and rose im- 
 petuously to his feet. 
 
 "No, it isn't a bargain," he declared. 
 
 "Your pride won't allow you to admit your mis- 
 take," she said, rising in turn, "at least, not yet. 
 You're so spoiled that you can't bear to be disap- 
 pointed in a single whim. Don't I know you ? But 
 you won't be nearly so unhappy to-morrow morning 
 as you think you will." 
 
 He shook his head stubbornly.
 
 THE CHARM THAT FAILED 179 
 
 "It's no use," she said demurely. "You can't get 
 tragic over it." She was struck by something bonny 
 and youthful in his distress, and felt that she had 
 never been more fond of him in her life. "I shall 
 always be just your belle Susanne," she added im- 
 pulsively, holding out both her hands, "just a fit 
 subject for a verse in lighter vein, and your best 
 friend always." 
 
 He pressed her hands to his lips, first one and 
 then the other. 
 
 "Dear little witch," he murmured. "I'll never 
 give you up, never." 
 
 When he was gone she set herself the task of dis- 
 covering why she had done as she did, but her mind 
 was too weary for analysis. It was enough for her 
 that she knew that she was right, and she went 
 slowly upstairs, smiling to herself. 
 
 Perhaps, after all, it was because he could not 
 dominate her, could not sweep her off her feet. 
 Worldly and vain as she was, she loved the heroic 
 in men. There was no one whom she thought more 
 charming than Nicholas Lee, but as yet she felt in 
 him no wealth of passion and romance and lofty 
 aim.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 AT THE PLAY 
 
 "Bobby," said Mrs. Van Sant, "what do you 
 think of Mr. Babington ?" 
 
 "The president?" It was significant that he used 
 the title, for to him the position was always more 
 than the man. "The students of the university like 
 him first rate." 
 
 "But what do you think?" she persisted. "You 
 do use your mind sometimes, don't you?" 
 
 Even this thrust could not break down the bar- 
 rier of his politeness. 
 
 "Sometimes," he answered stiffly, "but not in this 
 case." 
 
 It was unnecessary for him to tell her that he 
 resented, for the sake of his father's memory, her 
 apparent appreciation of Babington's society. She 
 understood that well enough, but she wished for 
 an expression of opinion about the president per- 
 sonally, not as a possible successor to Colonel Van 
 Sant, but as a man. 
 
 "It serves me right," she told herself, after he 
 was gone. "This is the result of proximity. If 
 I lived in the same house with a tabby cat I should 
 get into the way of asking it idiotic questions." 
 
 1 80
 
 AT THE PLAY 181 
 
 She was not in an amiable frame of mind with 
 Robert, or with any one else, including herself. 
 On the previous Saturday she had attended a meet- 
 ing in the gymnasium. She had looked down with 
 Mrs. Everett from the gallery and watched the 
 long lines of students filing in, obedient to the presi- 
 dent's summons. She had listened to Babington's 
 speech, in which he said that this was to be the 
 first of a series of meetings at which the members 
 of the university were to look into each other's faces 
 and see how many they were, and how in earnest 
 they were. The purpose of the series was to foster 
 esprit de corps; these were to be "religious meet- 
 ings." Mrs. Tupper's name was used once more to 
 conjure forth applause. Finally Professor Everett 
 had made an address, in which he declared in va- 
 rious ways that a big university was one thing and 
 a great university quite another. The whole pro- 
 ceeding had seemed to Mrs. Van Sant wonderfully 
 platitudinous, and she was subtly scornful of every- 
 body concerned in it, even of its originator. He 
 did not appeal to her in the role of presiding elder. 
 
 It was in regard to the student opinion con- 
 cerning this and other things that she had intended 
 to sound Robert. Now she relieved her irritation 
 by rolling the chairs hither and thither with a 
 vengeful force. It afforded her satisfaction to 
 seize something and give it a hard push. She 
 would like to serve Robert thus, but she felt that 
 he would fall over stiffly, like a ninepin, and break 
 his neck. 
 
 "For I know he's brittle," she remarked, cheered
 
 1 82 THE TORCH 
 
 by the conceit. "They're all a good deal like nine- 
 pins, or, rather, like chessmen." "They" were the 
 members of the faculty, for her mind had gone 
 back to university affairs. "Mr. Babington tells 
 Fyffe to make a funny speech and he makes it; he 
 tells good, stupid Mr. Everett to make a moral 
 speech, and he makes it, though, goodness knows, 
 he means every word of it. It's a little tiresome 
 sitting one side and watching the game played by 
 others. It must be fun moving live chessmen. 
 Mr. Everett is like the castle ; he must move straight 
 ahead. Fyffe is the knight, zigzagging on the 
 board as suits his own interests. The students are 
 the pawns." 
 
 She was rearranging the statuettes on the mantel 
 now, and as she caught a reflection of herself in 
 the mirror she addressed it mockingly : 
 
 "And you could be the queen if you wished, and 
 go careering all over the board, backward and for- 
 ward and sidewise, protecting your liege lord, the 
 king. He isn't very bright and can move only one 
 square at a time. If you married him you would 
 have something more interesting to do than push- 
 ing furniture about." 
 
 It seemed natural that the maid should bring her 
 a letter at that very moment from the president. 
 "We don't have a chance to see Mansfield out here 
 often," it ran. "I have just telephoned over to the 
 capital and secured a box. May my sister and I 
 have the pleasue of taking you to see Doctor Jekyll 
 and Mr. Hyde to-night? We would dine at the
 
 AT THE PLAY 183 
 
 Blue Buffalo, in order to be in time. The boy will 
 wait for an answer." 
 
 She went to her writing desk and penned an ac- 
 ceptance. It was just the play she wanted to see, 
 and she had already decided that she would almost 
 be willing to pay the price of Robert's company. 
 But this was preferable. She had never been out 
 with the president before. This had the appear- 
 ance of a little party of which she was only one. 
 Besides, what if people did talk? They were talk- 
 ing already, and if they enjoyed it she had no ob- 
 jection. 
 
 Nevertheless, when she sat down at dinner that 
 evening with the president and his sister, wearing 
 the roses he had sent her, she was not altogether at 
 her ease. She was only one of a little party, to be 
 sure, but it was decidedly a family party. The 
 Blue Buffalo was a popular resort for the univer- 
 sity people who went to the theater in the capital. 
 There was Mrs. Everett opposite, whispering to the 
 professor across the table. He turned upon her 
 the searchlight of his big spectacles, and she could 
 see his face beam with kindly interest as he bowed. 
 She knew perfectly well what his wife had said, or 
 implied. And there were the Stuarts, whom she 
 did not like. She saw the professor's red beard 
 wagging and was sure that he was sharpening his 
 wit upon her. 
 
 Farther down the room she saw Lee and Trum- 
 bull laughing over their claret. Trumbull's back 
 was turned, but Lee caught her eye and smiled
 
 184 THE TORCH 
 
 blandly. He was not a man to wear his heart on 
 his sleeve, but, even so, she thought he was bearing 
 his disappointment very well. 
 
 "Have you read Professor Lee's book?" she 
 asked Miss Babington, more to make conversation 
 than because she supposed the president's sister was 
 interested in literature. 
 
 "Dear, no," Miss Babington answered quickly, 
 as if a sin of omission had suddenly come home to 
 roost. "I never read heavy books, though Henry 
 often tells me I ought to." 
 
 Mrs. Van Sant smiled at the thought of heaviness 
 in connection with Nicholas Lee. 
 
 "It's most interesting, I assure you," she said. 
 
 "What is it?" Babington asked. "Something 
 new?" 
 
 "Oh, no. It came out about two years ago, and 
 I don't know what made me think of it just now, 
 unless it be that that I saw him sitting over there. 
 It's an indescribable sort of book. It claims to be 
 in the nature of a defense of modern American 
 literature, but in reality it is the most delicious 
 satire. I sometimes think that if Mr. Lee would 
 take himself more seriously he could do something 
 exceptional, but his love of delicate satire is too 
 strong. I'm afraid, after all, his is the critical, 
 rather than the creative, genius." 
 
 "Not a bad attitude of mind in a university pro- 
 fessor," Babington commented. "There's too 
 much log-rolling, too much indiscriminate praise, 
 in our modern reviews. We owe a debt of grati- 
 tude to a fearless critic."
 
 AT THE PLAY 185 
 
 He twisted about in his chair and brought his 
 bulgent eyes to bear upon Lee. He bowed and 
 smiled with deliberate cordiality, and then turned 
 once more to his guest. 
 
 "Professor Lee is a rising young man. I saw 
 that last year, and gave him an increase in salary." 
 
 The questioning impulse in Mrs. Van Sant was 
 alert that night. The president's comment on 
 Lee was appreciative, but she divined the effort 
 and deliberate intention. She had seen his atti- 
 tude toward her friend change from indifference 
 to dislike ; and now it was one of forced considera- 
 tion. She was secretly annoyed at his air of patron- 
 age, as if the gap between him and his subordinate 
 were great. Moreover, she knew of Judge Gates' 
 connection with that increase in salary, and Babing- 
 ton's words came to her with a shock of disillusion. 
 Her second thought was more charitable. She 
 divined in the president a struggle to do justice 
 toward one whom he had reason to regard as a rival. 
 Perhaps, after all, his ready acquiescence in the 
 judge's demand was due to real magnanimity. 
 
 She put away her vague dissatisfaction and ral- 
 lied with an effort. Babington had not observed 
 her momentary fluctuation of mood. He was in 
 the best of spirits, and grew larger with gratifica- 
 tion at the situation in which he found himself. 
 His guest was not unconscious of this air, this sug- 
 gestion of importance, this realization of the game. 
 It had attracted her attention at their first meet- 
 ing. It was this that she would have to endure if 
 she married him. She had decided that it was a
 
 1 86 THE TORCH 
 
 trick of heredity, a reminiscence of his father, the 
 evangelical exhorter. After all, she reflected, Pro- 
 fessor Plow never posed, whatever else he might do 
 to cause distress. 
 
 The stringed instruments behind the palms at the 
 back pf the room struck up a popular air, unmoral 
 in its abandon and its suggestion of the twinkling 
 white feet of dancing girls. At once a magic zest 
 seemed to be infused throughout the company. 
 Every table was now full. Waiters hurried to and 
 fro, corks popped gaily, and the conversation rose 
 at intervals into ebullitions of laughter. The mu- 
 sic was a relief to Mrs. Van Sant. She ceased to 
 analyze and began to enjoy. 
 
 The president's private secretary waited at the 
 door of the theater, and loaded himself with the 
 ladies' wraps. The pit was well filled when the 
 party entered the proscenium box, and no constitu- 
 ent of the university failed to take notice of their 
 arrival. Could Babington have heard the com- 
 ments that were made behind the protection of the 
 orchestral music, his composure might have been 
 shaken. 
 
 "Tom," Mrs. Everett whispered, "do look at 
 that ridiculous little Watkins. Did you ever see 
 anything like it? Just look at him smirking and 
 bowing and placing the chairs. He reminds me of 
 a Pullman porter." 
 
 "He's really quite a serious and ambitious young 
 man," the professor replied, distressed. "He's 
 trying to find time to work for his master's degree.
 
 AT THE PLAY 187 
 
 He doesn't want to keep that position forever, poor 
 Watkins." 
 
 "It's no satisfaction to gossip with you," she 
 retorted, with the affectionate exasperation he so 
 often aroused in her. "I wish you were more com- 
 panionable, Tom. Since Sue Van Sant has taken 
 up with the president I have no one to whom I can 
 confide my best discoveries." 
 
 Irreverent students looked down from the bal- 
 cony and nudged each other. 
 
 "Gad, see Prexy and his best girl." "I'd like to 
 paint a bleeding heart on that shirt front." "He's a 
 well set up fellow, though, ain't he?" "They say 
 she's got plenty of dough. He's no fool." "Look 
 at Watkins. I'm going to put him in the next 
 Junior Annual brushing Prexy's silk hat. That's 
 about his size. I wouldn't take his job for five thou- 
 sand." 
 
 So the merry game went on, while the object of 
 it sat all unconscious of anything save himself and 
 the company of the woman of whom he was proud. 
 Miss Babington and the private secretary had ef- 
 faced themselves as much as possible and now sat in 
 the background. 
 
 Many outsiders in the audience recognized the 
 president and commented upon him respectfully. 
 From time to time he swept the house with a meas- 
 ured gaze, bowed to this one or that whose eye he 
 chanced to meet, and bent slightly over Mrs. Van 
 Sant's white shoulder to whisper something in her 
 ear. She fingered her fan a little nervously, but 
 smiled slightly in reply. Underneath her appar-
 
 1 88 THE TORCH 
 
 ent unconcern lay a regret that she was not sitting 
 with Robert or Lee, inconspicuous in the pit. 
 
 Suddenly Babington stiffened, and the chair 
 creaked with the nervous motion. He had met 
 Mrs. Tupper's eyes for one electrical moment, and 
 something in the flash of their green light sent the 
 blood in a tumult to his heart. The moment was 
 past, and neither of them had bowed. Again and 
 again he tried to make amends. He bowed to her 
 profile and to her face turned three-quarters to- 
 ward him, but in vain. He knew well the fury that 
 was raging in her heart, and his spirits sank. 
 
 The curtain went up, and the great actor began 
 to weave his spell upon the house. When the 
 lights were low and the sinister form of Mr. Hyde 
 came crouching and writhing across the stage Mrs. 
 Van Sant suddenly became conscious of the pres- 
 sure of a hand on her own. She was so deeply 
 absorbed in the play that for a moment she did 
 not realize whose it was, and then a wave of resent- 
 ment flushed her face. She drew away, and the 
 president did not repeat the experiment. He was 
 quick to see his mistake, and during the remainder 
 of the evening he strove to obliterate the impres- 
 sion he had made by a return to his most charm- 
 ing and impersonal manner. Still, she could not 
 forgive him. Did he suppose she would sit there 
 and allow him to squeeze her hand, like a shop-girl 
 attending the play with her beau ? 
 
 It was only after she had returned home that 
 she could do him partial justice in her thoughts.
 
 AT THE PLAY 189 
 
 If he really loved her, there was some excuse. Had 
 she loved him, she would not have thought a stolen 
 pressure of the hand a vulgar familiarity.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE MAN IN THE ROAD 
 
 The next day was the sixth of November, and the 
 voting booth near the university gate was early a 
 scene of activity. As Lee came up with Professor 
 Everett they met Plow at the one-hundred-foot 
 limit. He put a hand on each and pushed them 
 back over the line. 
 
 "Hold on," he entreated, excitement glowing in 
 his yellow eyes. "Hold on; I want to talk with 
 you." Lee took out his watch. 
 
 "I can't stop now: I must be in the class-room 
 in fifteen minutes, and have just time to cast my 
 ballot. Besides, I'm sure you would waste time 
 talking with me ; I'm an incorrigible conservative." 
 
 "Class-room !" Plow exclaimed, with a touch of 
 scorn. "You're not going to hold your classes on 
 election day? I posted a cut for all of mine. 
 There are more important things afoot. I tell you, 
 Lee, this is a great national crisis. But whom are 
 you going to vote for?" 
 
 "The administration, of course, and so is Mr. 
 Everett, I believe." 
 
 "It's a choice of evils, and we've decided to 
 choose the less," Everett explained, smiling genially. 
 
 190
 
 THE MAN IN THE ROAD 191 
 
 "A choice of evils!" Plow shouted. "To think 
 that right here in a university, where men ought to 
 be the most enlightened, one finds the greatest ob- 
 struction to progress! I tell you, your minds are 
 atrophied by the habit of conservatism. You won't 
 even stop to discuss it?" They were already mov- 
 ing on, and he saw that protest was useless. 
 "Well," he called after them, with a sudden gust 
 of good humor, "we'll win without you, and you 
 sha'n't ride in the band wagon with us afterward, 
 either." 
 
 As they left the booth they saw the president 
 standing, ballot in hand, looking fixedly at Plow, 
 who was now holding Fyffe by the arm with one 
 hand while he gesticulated with the other. Fyffe, 
 flushed and resentful, was trying to break away. 
 Lee pounded his cane on the flagging in a burst 
 of mirth, but to Babington the picture was far from 
 amusing. He turned squarely about and marched 
 into the booth, a dull glow of anger mounting to his 
 eyes. 
 
 "Did you see that?" Lee asked as they hurried 
 on. "Mark my words : if the Democrats are de- 
 feated Plow will have to go. I'll bet Babington 
 has been waiting to see which way the wind blows. 
 It was tempting fate for Plow to cut his classes to- 
 day." 
 
 "Nonsense, my dear fellow," said Everett. "I've 
 given my. evening class in Cicero a cut so that 
 they can go over to the capital to watch the elec- 
 tion returns. I told them they ought not to miss 
 it. If I were twenty years younger I'd go myself."
 
 192 THE TORCH 
 
 "It makes a difference who does a thing," Lee 
 answered. "One man can steal a horse with im- 
 punity, while another daren't even look over the 
 fence. You're not a socialist, and you're not in love 
 with Mrs. Van Sant" 
 
 "I plead guilty to the last failing you mention," 
 Everett returned with quaint gallantry. "I like to 
 be in the fashion." He looked at the younger man 
 with a rare expression of friendly banter. 
 
 "Poor Plow," Lee continued, ignoring the innu- 
 endo. "He's ripe for the ax, for of course his 
 party will be defeated. But with all his mistaken 
 notions, how much better his influence is than 
 Fyffe's! It's merely another illustration of the 
 fact that the world will always tolerate an orthodox 
 sinner and stone a heterodox saint. In his eccen- 
 tric fashion, he stands for the best ideals of the 
 university, freedom of thought and speech, the 
 Lchrfreiheit, in short. It was that very ideal 
 which enabled the medieval universities to batter 
 down priestcraft and superstition and to bring on 
 the Reformation." 
 
 Everett turned upon him a smile that had a touch 
 of weariness in it. 
 
 "The question of academic freedom goes back 
 farther than that," he said. "Socrates insisted upon 
 teaching the truth as he saw it. His right to think 
 as he pleased was unquestionable ; his right to teach 
 what was then heresy was very doubtful. He un- 
 dermined belief in the gods, and what was the re- 
 sult? Alcibiades, one of his pupils, learned from 
 him to scorn all authority, even that of the state,
 
 THE MAN IN THE ROAD 193 
 
 and betrayed his country. The students of Socrates 
 were undoubtedly responsible for the mutilation of 
 the statues of Hermes, and they constituted an ele- 
 ment of anarchy in Athens that was her ultimate 
 ruin. Even if we admit that Plow's socialistic ideas 
 are right, we can not be sure of his right to teach 
 them here and now. After all, as a professor in a 
 state university, he is an employe of the state, and 
 the state has perhaps a right to demand that he teach 
 such doctrines as will uphold the existing order of 
 things. His teachings, misunderstood, might con- 
 ceivably be dangerous." 
 
 "Our American youth aren't as impressionable 
 as the ancient Athenians," Lee returned. "The 
 students in Plow's classes don't take his ipse dixit 
 as gospel, and he doesn't demand that they shall. 
 Some of the men who pass the highest examina- 
 tions combat him all the way through the paper. 
 All he demands is that they give a reason for their 
 opinions. I suppose there is more intellectual fric- 
 tion in his courses, more real thinking done, than 
 in any others in the university. And your parallel 
 seems to break down when you consider that he 
 never touches upon religious questions, as Socrates 
 did. I think he is stimulating, rather than danger- 
 ous. I am grateful to him for furnishing me ma- 
 terial for some of my best jokes." 
 
 He uttered the last sentence lightly, with his 
 winning smile, but Professor Everett did not relish 
 his reference to the intellectual friction in Plow's 
 courses, as compared with others. Genial as he 
 was by nature, he was momentarily antagonized by
 
 194 THE TORCH 
 
 Lee's half-jesting defense. For once these two 
 friends struck fire from each other, and parted al- 
 most coolly. If Lee seemed a little bumptious to 
 Everett, the older man appeared almost timid to the 
 younger. Lee knew well enough that Babington 
 was not greatly concerned for the welfare of the 
 state. He knew that it was snobbishness, money- 
 worship and jealousy that moved him to take the 
 stand that Everett was almost prepared to defend, 
 or, at least, to exculpate. 
 
 When Babington entered his office he closed the 
 door carefully behind him. 
 
 "Mr. Watkins," he said, "this is an important 
 matter and I want you to manage it with discre- 
 tion. I want you to go to Professor Plow's lec- 
 ture-room and get the notice posted on his door, if 
 there is one. If you can do it without being ob- 
 served, you understand." 
 
 "Perfectly, sir," the young man replied, with no 
 shadow of guile in his bright brown eyes. After a 
 short absence he returned and laid a crumpled piece 
 of paper on the desk. 
 
 Babington picked it up and read the simple state- 
 ment that Professor Plow would not hold his 
 classes that day. No reason was assigned, and 
 there was no exhortation to vote for any particular 
 candidate. He put it away thoughtfully in his 
 pocket and then turned his attention to the pile 
 of letters before him : applications for positions on 
 the faculty, for scholarships, for janitorships, ad- 
 vertisements of books, invitations to lecture.
 
 THE MAN IN THE ROAD 195 
 
 All that day he felt a stirring of the pulse at each 
 fresh realization of the significance to him of that 
 silent battle of white ballots. If the. result were 
 what he hoped, he would act. He would strike hard 
 and sure and be done with it. Mrs. Tupper's words 
 came back to him again and again. People did 
 not trouble themselves seriously about another's 
 misfortunes, and a man out of a job was discred- 
 ited. 
 
 He made an estimate of the prejudices of the 
 regents and felt sure that they would not inter- 
 fere. If Judge Gates were present he might cham- 
 pion Plow from sheer perversity, but his absence 
 left the board exosseous and plastic. Lately the 
 meetings had been held merely for the purpose of 
 ratifying the president's will. Interest had fallen 
 off. His enemies absented themselves and left a 
 bare quorum of his henchmen to do his bidding. 
 He would satisfy Mrs. Tupper at last, and Mrs. 
 Van Sant should see which man was master. At 
 this thought his heart beat high and something of 
 the primitive lust for battle burned in his soul: an 
 impulse of insolent assertion against the man who 
 would take the woman from him. 
 
 When he went home he broke his custom and 
 took a drink of whiskey before nightfall. The 
 fierce liquor restored his confidence and he waited 
 with greater composure. 
 
 As evening came on Argos emptied itself into the 
 capital, and Babington went with Fyffe to watch the 
 returns. The professor had rented a window in a 
 wholesale house opposite The Times building.
 
 196 THE TORCH 
 
 There they sat in the dark alone and watched the 
 figures that were flashed on the gigantic spread 
 of canvas across the way. No one in the throng 
 below saw the two faces at the sill, or the glow of 
 their cigars against the dark background. 
 
 By eleven o'clock they knew, beyond the shadow 
 of a doubt, that the Democrats were defeated, and 
 that the very state in which Plow had worked so 
 hard for his idol had thrown that idol down. The 
 Republican plurality was small, but four years be- 
 fore the result had been different. 
 
 "I think, Doctor," Fyffe remarked jocosely, "that 
 you may safely venture upon the operation. If 
 you remove the cancer now the whole body aca- 
 demic will be the better for it." 
 
 The president laughed easily and leaned over the 
 window-sill. Now that the uncertainty was at an 
 end, he felt sure and exultant. The deed was as 
 good as done. 
 
 "The instruments are ready," he replied. "Look 
 here ; I didn't know there were so many people in the 
 state." 
 
 At that moment portraits of the successful can- 
 didates were flashed on the canvas, and below 
 them these words: That's all. Good night. 
 Read to-morrow's Times. A mighty shout went 
 up from the crowded pavement, and a band of uni- 
 versity students began to zigzag down the center of 
 the street, singing and shouting in the enthusiasm 
 and abandon of youth. 
 
 "They're fine young fellows," Fyffe remarked.
 
 THE MAN IN THE ROAD 197 
 
 "You'll find the educated men on the side of law 
 and order every time." 
 
 "Even if some of them have been drinking," Bab- 
 ington retorted. 
 
 "Oh, well, boys will be boys. They'll outgrow 
 it in time." 
 
 The crowd began to dwindle away, pushed right 
 and left by the obstreperous students. Some one 
 lighted a pan of red fire, and the lurid glow brought 
 out more distinctly the long street littered with 
 newspapers, the faces of the people, and the flash- 
 ing rows of shop windows. The students came to 
 a standstill once more before The Times building, 
 breathlessly laughing and shouting. 
 
 "Fellows!" cried the leader. "Once more: three 
 times three, and a tiger at the end !" 
 
 They gave the university cheer raggedly, fol- 
 lowed by the names of the successful candidates, 
 and wound up with a rousing tiger, a wailing 
 scream like the war whoop of a hundred Apaches. 
 Suddenly they caught sight of Professor Plow's 
 huge figure standing on the curb, his head bent 
 forward, his eyes fixed abstractedly on the por- 
 traits that still looked down from the white can- 
 vas. There was a moment of hesitation, almost of 
 embarrassment ; then the leader of the gang turned 
 once more to his followers. 
 
 "Now, fellows, what's the matter with Professor 
 Plow? He made a game fight. Now, everybody! 
 What's the matter with Plow?" 
 
 "He's all right !" the crowd shouted.
 
 198 THE TORCH 
 
 "Even if he has wheels in his head," came a 
 voice. There was a burst of laughter, but the 
 leader continued. 
 
 "Who's all right?" 
 
 "Plow !" 
 
 The professor smiled good-naturedly at the trib- 
 ute and waved his hand. Then he turned abruptly 
 and walked away. 
 
 A trolley car, bound for Argos, came slowly 
 down the street, and the students made a rush. 
 They filled the seats, they climbed upon the roof, 
 and even the fenders were soon packed with men. 
 Some of those that were left started off to con- 
 tinue their celebration with the medical students 
 in the capital, and a few, having dared each other 
 to walk all the way back to Argos, set out after the 
 car with the swinging stride of youth. 
 
 "That cheer for Plow was just an expression of 
 good nature," Fyffe remarked, "a sort of farewell. 
 It was more significant that they didn't agree with 
 him. Even the students know that he's a blind 
 leader." 
 
 Neither of them stopped to reflect that a few 
 hundred Republicans did not compose the entire 
 undergraduate body, nor remembered the phenome- 
 non that appears on such occasions, the early with- 
 drawal of the defeated. At that moment every- 
 thing was Republican. 
 
 They found a footing in the last car, packed to 
 the very doors with a miscellaneous crowd. The 
 students among them saw the president hanging
 
 THE MAN IN THE ROAD 199 
 
 to a strap and gave a cheer in his honor. He 
 smiled and bowed in response and his heart glowed 
 with the thought that the university was behind him 
 to a man. 
 
 The following afternoon he mounted his horse 
 and went to see Mrs. Tupper. On the road he 
 planned the order of the topics of conversation he 
 meant to introduce. First, he would speak of the 
 election and tell her of his determination in regard 
 to Plow. He hoped her interest in these things 
 would make her forget the theater scene. 
 
 When he faced her in the familiar room, however, 
 her coldness chilled his enthusiasm. He found 
 himself launched on a monologue broken by only 
 an occasional perfunctory word of assent. As 
 he floundered on indignation and aversion rose 
 within him. She had never been so unattractive 
 as now, sitting huddled within her camel's-hair 
 shawl. Her thin face seemed more pinched than 
 usual. Her heavy black brows, the mole on her 
 cheek, and the complicated wrinkles about her eyes 
 and mouth stood out distinctly in the light that 
 streamed on her through the window. Those 
 wrinkles told a hateful story of jealousy and dis- 
 trust. Since Babington's return she had not re- 
 ceived him in the sunny sitting-room. It was part 
 of her plan of rehabilitation to see him in the great, 
 bleak parlor. In a spasm of economy she had not 
 yet lighted a fire, and the chill of the room inten- 
 sified his impression of her attitude toward him. 
 
 He exhausted the subject of the election, and
 
 200 THE TORCH 
 
 only when he announced his intention to discharge 
 Plow at once did the flash of her pale eyes show 
 her interest. 
 
 "Don't go into your reasons, Professor," she in- 
 terrupted impatiently. "I don't give that for rea- 
 sons," snapping her fingers with scorn. "You 
 ought to have discharged him long ago, the way I 
 told you." She seemed but little mollified by his 
 late obedience. 
 
 "Mrs. Tupper," he answered, with a certain dig- 
 nity, "there is one thing I don't believe you have 
 taken into consideration. As it is, the state has 
 gone Republican by a bare plurality, almost a mat- 
 ter of a few hundred votes. If I had discharged 
 Plow before the election it would have made him a 
 hero with the Democrats. He would have been a 
 martyr, the rallying center of the masses who 
 clamor against imperialism, and the election in 
 this state would have gone the other way." His 
 look was stern, his tone indignant, and her eyes 
 softened with admiration. It was firmness like this 
 that she desired in him. 
 
 "You're right," she admitted, with sudden rea- 
 sonableness. "You're perfectly right, and I'm a 
 cantankerous old woman." She paused, then 
 caught herself up on the phrase. "I'm not an old 
 woman !" she burst out passionately. "I suppose 
 you think I'm an old woman, compared to that lit- 
 tle minx, Susie Van Sant!" 
 
 He quailed before the fierce flame of jealousy 
 that made her for the moment diabolical. In the 
 expression of her face and the gleam of her eyes
 
 THE MAN IN THE ROAD 201 
 
 he saw her soul revealed; helpless rage against her 
 years, hatred of her rival. Then the gulf into 
 which he had gazed was closed. She sank back in 
 her chair, quivering, and her voice grew plaintive. 
 
 "I'm going to tell you something, Professor. 
 You think you're in love with Susie Van Sant, and 
 perhaps you think she's in love with you, but she 
 ain't. I know her. I've known her a long time. 
 She was brought up in this town, always hateful 
 and red-headed, only now she's smarter in conceal- 
 ing her meanness than she used to be. Well, she 
 went to Washington and caught that colonel. She 
 married him for his money. Ever since then she's 
 been stuck up and sneered at her old friends. She's 
 always looking out for number one. They say she 
 bedeviled the old colonel out of his life, and I be- 
 lieve it." 
 
 Her listener's face was such -a study that she 
 broke into a short, harsh laugh. 
 
 "You know I'm right," she resumed, guessing 
 shrewdly that her rival had not always been amiable 
 to him. "If you thought I was wrong, if you was 
 really in love with her, you wouldn't sit and listen 
 to me, not if you was a man. But you're not in love 
 with her, no more than she is with you. You two 
 are just kind of measuring and weighing each other. 
 You can do better than that, Professor, if it's money 
 you want. She's not so rich. I don't believe she's 
 got a hundred thousand to her name. It's the boy 
 that has the money. She's thinking of catching you 
 now, as she did the colonel, and if she does it she'll 
 lead you a devil's own life. You won't know no
 
 202 THE TORCH 
 
 peace of mind till you lay down in your grave. She 
 just wants to be Mrs. President; I know her." 
 
 Babington's smile was enigmatical, but she read 
 its riddle. 
 
 "You think I'm jealous, that's what you're think- 
 ing, but that's not what makes me talk this way to 
 you. It's because I'm not thinking all the time of 
 myself, like she does. I'm thinking of you." 
 
 "You're very considerate," he managed to say. 
 
 "You'll find I am, even if I don't put on airs of 
 society and smile on you the way she does. She 
 takes it out on others after you're gone. She 
 can't keep the same servant in her house two weeks 
 running." He remembered that the same maid 
 had admitted him to Mrs. Van Sant's since he first 
 called, but said nothing. 
 
 "When I was young I didn't have no advantages 
 like Susie Van Sant had," she went on. "I might 
 have learned some of her tricks. Men like tricks. 
 They'd rather be tricked than loved any day." 
 
 She continued to talk, now plaintively of herself, 
 now spitefully of her rival, but he was thinking of 
 her money rather than of what she said. Her sor- 
 did autobiography offended him, and her self-pity 
 hardened his heart. He knew that he could have 
 her for the asking; she had all but told him so be- 
 fore, and never so plainly as now. He pictured the 
 figure she would make as his wife, and sickened 
 at the thought. Yet she would not live long. She 
 had failed perceptibly since he first knew her. The 
 excitement of her new mode of life was doing its 
 work, was gradually wearing her out.
 
 THE MAN IN THE ROAD 203 
 
 He was relieved when she ordered the usual re- 
 freshments. She served him with a tremulous de- 
 sire to please; in her awkward way she almost pet- 
 ted him. As he contrasted Mrs. Van Sant's deli- 
 cate social art he could scarcely conceal a smile. 
 His present hostess appeared like a solicitous aunt 
 or grandmother fluttering about his chair. 
 
 When he was once more in the saddle he gave 
 his horse a sharp cut with the whip, an expression 
 of his irritation. The spirited animal reared on 
 his hind legs, snorted with surprise, and then sped 
 down the road at a furious pace. Something af 
 the master's state of mind was communicated to 
 the beast's sensitive nature. 
 
 The president had passed the city limits and was 
 well on the way toward Argos when he caught 
 sight of a familiar figure coming toward him on a 
 bicycle. The autumn afternoon was rapidly deep- 
 ening into night, but Plow's square shoulders 
 sprang up against the luminous sky-line for a mo- 
 ment at the crest of a hill. The professor never 
 bent over the handle-bars, but sat on his saddle like 
 a tower. His silhouette had not dropped below the 
 ridge before the president's mind was made up, and 
 as the rider sped smoothly past he turned in his 
 saddle with a shout. 
 
 The two men circled slowly and approached each 
 other. At last Plow dismounted from his wheel 
 and stood in silence, his hand resting on the bar. 
 The horse danced nervously about the immovable 
 figure, as his master jerked the reins. All the
 
 204 THE TORCH 
 
 concentrated emotions of the past year in regard 
 to this man surged in the president's heart and gave 
 a vindictive distinctness to his words. 
 
 "Professor Plow, I stopped you merely to inform 
 you of your discharge from the university. I do 
 not think you need to ask the reason, but you're 
 welcome to it for the asking." 
 
 There was no response from the man in the road. 
 Suddenly a ray of light from the setting sun flooded 
 all the cloudy sky with ridges of pale splendor, and 
 Babington saw the strange eyes of his enemy up- 
 lifted implacably to his own. His impulse of ar- 
 rogance and hatred was so great that he could al- 
 most have ridden him down. 
 
 "You understand me?" he said haughtily. "The 
 discharge is to take effect immediately." 
 
 For reply Plow leisurely remounted his wheel 
 and rode away. The president laughed insolently 
 after the retreating figure and then resumed his 
 furious pace toward Argos.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 
 
 THE DECIDING VOTE 
 
 As soon as the president reached Argos he tele- 
 graphed to a young political economist in the east, 
 with whom he had previously corresponded, and 
 asked him to come on at once to take the vacant 
 chair. Then he went home and wrote Professor 
 Plow a diplomatic letter, to make the dismissal 
 formal. In this note he specified the causes of his 
 action : offensive political partizanship in a profes- 
 sor of a state university, and neglect of duty. Not 
 a word was said about Plow's advocacy of the pub- 
 lic ownership of public utilities, nor about any of 
 his opinions. From the wording of the letter one 
 could not guess whether the offender were a Re- 
 publican or a Democrat, nor estimate the extent of 
 his neglect of university duties. 
 
 After dinner Babington attended a meeting of 
 the committee on athletics, of which he was chair- 
 man, and mailed the letter on the way. The dis- 
 cussion at the meeting was protracted and unsatis- 
 factory. The annual football game with Wash- 
 ington University was to occur on the third day, 
 and charges of professionalism had been made by 
 each side against the other. The best two players 
 
 205
 
 206 THE TORCH 
 
 at Argos were under suspicion. They were ac- 
 cused of having played baseball for money during 
 the previous summer, and, in addition, their class 
 standing was below the mark. There was no proof 
 of professionalism, but the low standing of the 
 men was beyond doubt. 
 
 At eleven o'clock the meeting adjourned without 
 having reached any more definite decision than to 
 bring the matter before the faculty on the morrow. 
 Three members of the committee prepared a ma- 
 jority report recommending that the men be al- 
 lowed to play, but Everett and Lee resolved to pre- 
 sent a minority report in dissent. 
 
 Babington went home in a dissatisfied frame of 
 mind. He did not care to analyze his own motives 
 in advocating leniency toward the suspected play- 
 ers ; he was irritated at the stubbornness of Everett 
 and Lee, and physical weariness brought on a vague 
 foreboding in regard to Plow. As he passed the 
 mail-box he almost wished he could recover the let- 
 ter and then patch up the quarrel by word of 
 mouth ; but his telegram was already in the posses- 
 sion of Plow's successor, and the die was cast. He 
 remembered that implacable look in the twilight, 
 that silence more ominous than words, and his heart 
 failed him. 
 
 He passed on, marshaling reason and experience 
 to his rescue. After all, he need not fear the at- 
 tacks of the newspapers. He had endured one 
 fierce assault without tottering, and might well 
 doubt that any biting power lay behind the journal- 
 istic bark.
 
 THE DECIDING VOTE 207 
 
 Later, he lay awake, a prey to the warring forces 
 within him. When he heard the clock in the li- 
 brary tower strike one he realized that the time 
 for sleep had passed, that only the dawn would 
 bring oblivion. He thought of getting up to read, 
 to smoke, to take a drink, to write a letter, but the 
 hours went by, leaving him still unable to arise, un- 
 able to sleep. 
 
 At three o'clock he pictured the huge presses of 
 The Times already reeling off the first edition. 
 Somewhere on that white roll of paper, indis- 
 tinguishable because of the rapid whirl, was a heavy 
 headline, telling of that meeting on the road, that 
 would smite him like a whip. Again and again 
 and again, thousands of times, it told its startling 
 story, soon to be read and discussed all over the 
 state. Of course Plow had ridden into the capital 
 and given the papers his version of the incident. 
 Babington mentally elaborated a denial of rude- 
 ness. He would write to The Times and say that 
 he had prepared the professor most courteously 
 and considerately for the letter of dismissal which 
 it would be his painful duty to write. There were 
 no witnesses of the scene, he reflected, and one 
 man's word was as good as another's. The self- 
 control and urbanity of his letter would win sym- 
 pathy and credence. The thought of the whirling 
 presses at length became monotonous and sedative, 
 and he failed to hear the clock strike four. 
 
 On Thursday morning he opened the paper with 
 trembling haste, but found nothing more startling 
 than the usual murders and accidents and the later
 
 208 THE TORCH 
 
 details of the Republican victory. He went to his 
 office, giddy from lack of sleep, but happy in the 
 hope that Plow would drop quietly out of sight 
 without a struggle. His silence was an admission 
 of guilt, and Babington chid himself for failing 
 to realize the moral strength of his own position. 
 On his desk he found the acceptance of Plow's suc- 
 cessor, a young doctor of philosophy, well off in his 
 own right, a man after the president's own heart. 
 
 "By the way, Mr. Watkins," he said, "have you 
 seen Professor Plow this morning?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. He came for his mail about eight 
 o'clock, and then went away again." 
 
 "How did he seem?" Babington asked, with ap- 
 parent carelessness; "much as usual?" 
 
 "A little more so, sir. He needed a shave and 
 looked as if he had slept all night in his clothes." 
 
 The president glanced at his smiling secretary 
 in surprise, not untouched by displeasure. He did 
 not relish that assumption of a mutual understand- 
 ing, but decided to let it pass. He turned over the 
 pages of the university catalogue, and then con- 
 tinued : 
 
 "I see that he has no courses to-day. To-morrow 
 morning I want you to post a notice on his door 
 to the effect that the course in political economy 
 will be discontinued until Doctor Pringle comes to 
 take Professor Plow's place. Until then not a word, 
 if you please, to any one." 
 
 That day the president performed more work 
 than usual. His nerves tingled with unnatural 
 energy, and he felt no sense of weariness. His
 
 THE DECIDING VOTE 209 
 
 dismissal of Plow had come to present itself to him 
 as a great victory over treason and lawlessness, and 
 his moral rehabilitation was complete. 
 
 At four o'clock the faculty assembled in the 
 Philosophy building to debate concerning the sus- 
 pected students. The president's false strength 
 had begun to ebb. He removed his glasses and 
 rubbed his aching eyes with a feeling of strain and 
 irritation. He was conscious of the tension and 
 excitement in the men before him, and outside, on 
 the football field, he could hear the students cheering 
 the practice of their favorite athletes. The room 
 was warm, and the steam radiator clicked until he 
 felt that each sound was a rap on his weary brain. 
 He was consumed with a desire to smoke, but smok- 
 ing had never been allowed at the faculty meetings 
 and he did not venture to introduce the innovation. 
 It was some time before the radiator was silenced 
 and the meeting came to order. Even then the 
 president was annoyed by the whispering of the 
 men who were asking each other the reason of 
 Plow's unaccustomed absence. 
 
 As soon as the conflicting reports of the com- 
 mittee were presented the struggle between con- 
 tending wills and principles began. Sometimes 
 two or three men were on their feet at the same 
 time, clamoring for recognition. There was not a 
 little sophistry, not a little juggling of facts, in the 
 effort to make concession to student opinion appear 
 reasonable and just. One party burned with indig- 
 nation at the stubbornness of the martinets, the 
 other at the subserviency of the weak-kneed. The
 
 210 THE TORCH 
 
 atmosphere of the room became more feverish. 
 Now and again taunts were exchanged and the 
 president rapped the table in vain in his effort to 
 restore order. 
 
 Darkness came, and the electric lights were 
 turned on. The hard glare of the fiery wires went 
 through Babington's eyes with a sharp pain. He 
 felt that he had lived a long life of torture in that 
 place, and he hated Lee and Everett for holding the 
 ranks of the opposition firm. Lee's cynical, banter- 
 ing good humor and Everett's stern, gray face were 
 maddening to him. This fight had brought them 
 together once more. Their momentary disagree- 
 ment concerning Plow was forgotten in the com- 
 radeship of their common cause. Lee knew now 
 that it was not timidity that had caused Everett to 
 hesitate to condemn Babington, but honest doubt of 
 the justice of Plow's cause. The football practice 
 was over, and it seemed that the whole undergradu- 
 ate body was streaming up from the field to besiege 
 the council. 
 
 At last a vote was taken and a deadlock an- 
 nounced. In the confusion that followed Professor 
 Everett advanced to the front of the room and de- 
 manded the attention of the chair. There was 
 something in the expression of his face that com- 
 pelled recognition, though Fyffe and two others 
 were shouting from their seats. 
 
 The professor faced his colleagues sternly and 
 waited for silence. No one, seeing him then for the 
 first time, would have ventured to predicate cour- 
 tesy of him as his distinguishing trait. His ruf-
 
 THE DECIDING VOTE 211 
 
 fled and owl-like appearance was intensified; the 
 slow fires of his being were concentrated into a 
 steady white heat behind his large spectacles. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he said, "I rise for the last time to 
 enter my protest against yielding to student opinion 
 in this matter. I know it is a little difficult to 
 think clearly while the mob is howling at the doors. 
 They have sent us a petition that these two sus- 
 pects be allowed to play. They have signed it one 
 after another, as a lot of sheep follow each other 
 over a fence. In their hearts nine-tenths of them 
 know better. They know that these two men have 
 fallen below the standard we have set and that they 
 have no right to play. I would rather we should 
 be defeated honestly than win a dishonest victory. 
 What our opponents may do does not concern us; 
 it is our business to keep our own skirts clean. We 
 must help the reason of our students against their 
 passion for victory at any price. I am reminded 
 of the English schoolboys who called their master 
 a 'beast,' but always added that he was a 'just 
 beast.' Let us be just beasts in this case. The 
 facts are before us and we can not blink them." 
 
 He looked hard at Professor Fyffe, but refrained 
 from personalities. It was a great element of 
 strength in Everett that he fought principles rather 
 than men, and no one could ever say that he wielded 
 the sword of sarcasm. 
 
 "We are not here," he continued, "merely to 
 teach learning to young men and women. I take 
 it that this is a miniature republic, and that by in- 
 culcating the lessons of justice and courage in this
 
 212 THE TORCH 
 
 university we shall best aid the state in .the days to 
 come, in the days when these young men will prac- 
 tise on a larger scale the principles they have 
 learned from us." 
 
 "Professor Everett," the president interrupted, 
 "and gentlemen, one moment, if you please. I 
 have reserved my ballot on the motion till now, and 
 with your permission I shall vote that the students 
 in question be not allowed to play in the game with 
 Washington University." 
 
 Any decision was a relief. A round of applause 
 greeted the announcement, and Everett went back 
 to receive the congratulations of his friends, his 
 face beaming. Babington himself could scarcely 
 analyze his own motives, for he spoke on the im- 
 pulse of the moment. Maddened by the pain in his 
 eyes, exhausted by the long contention, and con- 
 fronted by Everett's uncompromising stare, he had 
 cast his vote to end suspense and indecision. Had 
 the last speaker been on the other side he might 
 have voted otherwise. 
 
 It was after six o'clock when the men crowded 
 out into the fresh air and hurried to their homes. 
 The secretary of the faculty pushed his way 
 through the throng of waiting students to post the 
 decision on the bulletin board. More than one of 
 them made a furtive grab at the paper in his hand, 
 and his pace quickened to a run. They streamed 
 after him down the hill toward College Hall. 
 It was now fairly dark and the scattered electric 
 lights intensified the impression of confusion and 
 violence by a half disclosure.
 
 THE DECIDING VOTE 213 
 
 Babington disappeared in the shadows. He was 
 glad to get away. By the time the secretary had 
 reached the bulletin board not a member of the 
 faculty was in sight. Looking back from a dis- 
 tance they saw the flare of matches held up to illu- 
 minate the report. Then they heard a hoarse roar 
 of angry protest, the unthinking menace of the 
 mob. 
 
 That night the students were abroad. They felt 
 that the game with Washington was as good as 
 lost by the disqualification of their best players. 
 They argued that their rivals intended to play with 
 men whose standing was equally suspicious, and 
 resented the decision of the faculty as quixotic 
 and unreasonable. 
 
 Not long after dinner Babington heard them 
 jeering and groaning at his door. It needed but 
 this ruling to overthrow his popularity like a house 
 of cards. His first impulse was to go out and 
 make them a speech, but he realized that he was 
 too much shaken by the events of the last two days 
 to be able to stand the strain. Leaving his sister 
 trembling in the dining-room, he went up to his 
 study alone. The room was at the back of the 
 house, and he could have shut out the cries in front 
 by closing the door, but instead he sat in the dark 
 and listened. 
 
 A window in the front of the house was open, 
 and down the intervening hall the words of the 
 crowd came distinctly to his ears. For the first 
 time the president realized the disadvantage of his 
 policy of imperialism, for he saw that they held
 
 214 THE TORCH 
 
 him responsible. Some of the professors were 
 hooted, but he fared even worse than they. He 
 heard one of his pet phrases repeated and greeted 
 with a burst of derisive laughter. 
 
 "Fellows, this is a 'religious meeting' ! You're 
 making too much noise." Nothing in his life had 
 ever given him a greater shock than this ridicule 
 from the mouths of those whom he had thought to 
 instruct. He hated and feared their unnatural sense 
 of humor, and he took a hint for the future. At 
 length the students marched away to vent their 
 wrath at other doors, and, in spite of his anxieties, 
 his weariness enabled him to sleep when he went to 
 bed shortly after. 
 
 There were few professors that night who es- 
 caped the tribute of hisses, groans and jeers, but 
 they remained obstinately indoors with curtains 
 drawn. The fiercest demonstration occurred before 
 Professor Stuart's gate. The rioters called him a 
 bloody Britisher, and asked how he could have the 
 nerve to vote in a faculty meeting when he refused 
 to become an American citizen and vote at the polls. 
 
 By some means the news of the disturbance 
 reached the capital, and the reporters came over to 
 Argos as fast as the trolley cars could carry them. 
 They tried to gain an entrance to the president, but 
 Miss Babington denied them on the ground that 
 her brother was very tired and had gone to bed, 
 leaving word that he had nothing to say. Then 
 they hurried to the great bonfire which was blazing 
 furiously in the middle of the campus, fed by broken 
 planks and rails. The demonstration was fast de-
 
 THE DECIDING VOTE 215 
 
 veloping into an orgy of vandalism, and the few 
 policemen of Argos were helpless. 
 
 Suddenly a figure emerged from the surrounding 
 darkness and stood forth in the glare of the fire. 
 It was Captain Kip, the military commandant, in 
 full uniform, his sword drawn. There was not a 
 student in the university that did not respect the 
 self-contained little man who had served in Cuba 
 under Shafter, and his apparition gave them pause. 
 
 "Men!" he cried sternly, "this is a riot, and 
 every one of you ought to be put in the lockup. 
 I've got enough men behind me here to fix you in 
 about two shakes if you don't disperse. Captain 
 Van Sant, turn on the hose." 
 
 They looked back and saw a line of bayonets con- 
 verging upon them as Robert led his company on. 
 Then a stream of water leaped forth with all the 
 pressure of the lake in the hills behind it. The 
 blazing brands of the fire went spinning into the 
 air, and not a few of the revelers were thrown 
 prostrate. Some fled in panic, others withdrew 
 jeering and laughing; but the coup was successful 
 and the disorder was at an end. In a few minutes 
 nothing but a hissing, steaming spot remained to 
 indicate the scene of the fire, and Argos settled 
 down into quiet. 
 
 When Robert took the commandant home with 
 him for refreshments, as Mrs. Van Sant had or- 
 dered him to do, she listened to the story with the 
 greatest amusement, and then gave the young man 
 the first hug he had ever received from her. 
 He was embarrassed by the attention, but Captain
 
 216 THE TORCH 
 
 Kip stood twirling his mustache and smiling his 
 appreciation of the scene. 
 
 "That's hardly fair," he remarked. "I call that 
 downright partiality. There are others who de- 
 serve a reward." 
 
 "Virtue is its own reward, Captain," she re- 
 torted with her most engaging smile, "but you shall 
 have a welsh rabbit and a bottle of beer all to your- 
 self, and perhaps even a cigar." 
 
 It was midnight when the commandant stalked 
 through the deserted streets on the way to his room, 
 reflecting on the loneliness of a bachelor's life. 
 
 The reporters returned to the capital with what 
 they considered the best university story of the year 
 and were not a little pleased with their expedition. 
 But the wind was taken from their sails when they 
 discovered that a better story had beaten them in.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE WRITING ON THE WALL 
 
 On Friday morning the president awoke greatly 
 refreshed. He had slept through the disorder on 
 the campus and knew nothing of the fire until he 
 opened The Times at the breakfast table. The 
 news that greeted his eyes was all the more startling 
 because so unexpected. It seemed that the whole 
 paper was given up to the scandal. There was a 
 crude representation of the fire, surmounted by the 
 portraits of the two athletes, but these things ar- 
 rested his attention only a moment. On the right- 
 hand side of the page he saw his own picture and 
 Plow's side by side, inclosed in a fancy scroll and 
 duly labeled: HENRY BABINGTON, PRESIDENT OF 
 THE UNIVERSITY, AND DANIEL PLOW, THE DIS- 
 CHARGED PROFESSOR. 
 
 Underneath these inscriptions he read the letter 
 he had written to Plow on Wednesday night, after 
 his return from the meeting on the road, and the re- 
 port of an interview in which the professor de- 
 fended his own position. He was surprised and re- 
 lieved to find that Plow mentioned the meeting only 
 casually as a professional discourtesy, and confined 
 his remarks chiefly to an exposition of his theories 
 
 217
 
 218 THE TORCH 
 
 of liberty within the university. The sight of the 
 pictures had led the president to expect something 
 personal and passionate, but Plow's self-control 
 gave the dismissal the aspect of a difference of opin- 
 ion rather than of a personal quarrel. 
 
 The editorial page, however, was much less com- 
 forting. In an article of great cleverness the pro- 
 fessor's arguments were summarized more effect- 
 ively than he had given them in his conversation. 
 The neglect of duty which the president alleged 
 consisted in the dismissal of classes for one day; 
 other professors had done so repeatedly with im- 
 punity. The professor's offensive political partizan- 
 ship was offensive only because he was a Democrat. 
 Why was he not discharged before the election in- 
 stead of afterward? What could President Bab- 
 ington say of the fact that a majority of the faculty 
 of the State University had signed an argument in 
 favor of the Republican currency plank four years 
 ago? Was not that offensive partizanship ? Did it 
 not establish a precedent? The real reason of the 
 dismissal, as every one knew, was the socialistic 
 doctrines of the professor, and especially his con- 
 tention that the people should own and control their 
 public utilities. What was there so revolutionary in 
 that? Did they not own and control the mail sys- 
 tem? The editor did not doubt that a certain 
 wealthy and eccentric benefactress of the university 
 was at the president's back to egg him on. More 
 than once she had expressed her hostility to Pro- 
 fessor Plow, and in all probability she had brought 
 pressure to bear upon the president, causing him to
 
 THE WRITING ON THE WALL 219 
 
 be false to his old friend and unjust to one of the 
 ablest and most popular teachers in the university. 
 
 Babington went to his office early and chose the 
 time between hours when most of the students 
 would be attending lectures, for the hint in the pa- 
 per concerning Plow's popularity made him unwill- 
 ing to encounter them in the mass. Nevertheless, 
 there were many young men lounging and smoking 
 in front of College Hall as he passed, erect and un- 
 seeing. It was fortunate for him that the riot had 
 occurred the night before. Fear of punishment 
 hung like a pall over the spirits of the participants. 
 They saw the broken rails in the fence, the gaps in 
 the board walk, the charred remnants of the fire, 
 and imagined a long list of the guilty already in the 
 hands of the faculty. Yet indignation at Plow's 
 treatment ran high among them, and before the 
 president reached his office he heard a distant cheer, 
 coupled with the professor's name. 
 
 He hurried into his room as into a sanctuary of 
 refuge, and went to work on the letter he had 
 planned, the reply that was to win sympathy by its 
 moderation and urbanity. Plow's own moderation 
 was a theft of his thunder, but he was able to adopt 
 a strain of chivalrous protection of Mrs. Tupper 
 against the insinuations of the editor. He declared 
 in unequivocal language that she had nothing what- 
 ever to do with his action, that the reasons he had 
 assigned in his letter were the real reasons, and im- 
 plied firmly that the incident was closed, to the great 
 benefit of the university and the people of the 
 state.
 
 220 THE TORCH 
 
 It was noon before this letter, often interrupted, 
 was finished. Professors came in and spoke of 
 various things, their darkened faces masking hatred 
 or suspicion or fear, for no such high-handed action 
 had ever before occurred in the history of the uni- 
 versity, and no one knew where the next bolt might 
 fall. The undergraduate body was demoralized. 
 Reports of disorder in several classrooms reached 
 the office, for professors suspected of having fa- 
 vored the athletic ruling were bedeviled in a hun- 
 dred ways. The students that were to have at- 
 tended Plow's lectures employed their idle time in 
 marching about the campus and cheering their hero. 
 
 Others were more interested in the great football 
 game that was to be fought on the morrow with a 
 crippled team. Both groups of malcontents held the 
 president responsible. As the excitement gained 
 headway even the rioters of the night before forgot 
 their jeopardy and joined with the others in venting 
 their displeasure beneath the office windows. The 
 president sent Watkins to post a notice that the 
 college meeting which was to have been held in the 
 gymnasium would be omitted, protecting himself 
 but furnishing the irreverent with a new variation 
 on the old jest. A wag among the students, standing 
 on the steps of the gymnasium, dismissed his fellows 
 with a mock blessing in which some of Babington's 
 choice phrases were cunningly woven. 
 
 The president gave his letter to a reporter that 
 had come for an interview, and took advantage of 
 the comparative quiet of the noon hour to return
 
 THE WRITING ON THE WALL 221 
 
 home. He did not go back to his office that day, 
 but worked with Watkins in his study. 
 
 About four o'clock that afternoon Professor 
 Plow called on Mrs. Van Sant. She had not seen 
 him for a month, and however much she might 
 quarrel with him when present, she did not relish 
 his neglect of her in favor of politics. She was still 
 in her breakfast jacket by the fire when he followed 
 his card into the room, and though she knew her 
 apparel made no difference to him it supplied her 
 with a first remark. 
 
 "I haven't had time to dress for the afternoon," 
 she said, lowering the curtain with a pretty pre- 
 tense of concern for her appearance, "but I know 
 you will excuse me. Last night Robert was out late 
 quelling the rioters, and he invited Captain Kip here 
 for refreshments, so it was midnight before I 
 thought of going to bed. I had expected to see you 
 as thin as a rail' after the campaign, but you never 
 looked better." Her comment was justified, for he 
 was clean shaven and dressed with unaccustomed 
 neatness. 
 
 "I've talked away twenty pounds in weight," he 
 replied, "and yet I never felt more fit, as they say. 
 That's because I've had something to do that is 
 worth while. They beat us this time, but we'll come 
 up again. It's a long lane that has no turning." 
 
 She had expected to see him broken by defeat and 
 humiliated by his dismissal, but there was an in- 
 domitable determination and cheerfulness in his 
 words and manner that gave her a new conception
 
 222 THE TORCH 
 
 of his quality. She could only guess what strug- 
 gles he had endured in the last few days, but she 
 could not mistake the result. He seemed subtly 
 changed, less ponderous and prosy, a man whose 
 every faculty was in harmonious action. He was 
 powerful, effective, undismayed, and his next words 
 showed her that he had no intention of discussing 
 his dismissal from the university. 
 
 "Did you get the speeches I sent you?" he de- 
 manded. 
 
 "I did, and I may as well confess that, partly 
 from stupidity, partly perhaps from feminine per- 
 versity, I remain still unconverted." 
 
 He threw back his head and laughed. 
 
 "Madam, I'll not argue the question longer." 
 There was a touch of quaintness and gallantry in 
 the "madam" that pleased her.- His mode of ad- 
 dress seemed, moreover, an ebullition of good 
 spirits, the exhilaration of a man that knows the 
 worst at last and feels that the next turn of For- 
 tune's wheel must carry him up rather than down. 
 "I've said all I have to say on that subject. I didn't 
 call to make another convert, but to see you." 
 
 There was an unmistakable accent on the last 
 word that warned her to change the subject. 
 
 "What excitement we're having about that foot- 
 ball game," she remarked, not unconscious of her 
 irrelevancy. "They say there's the greatest time 
 over there you ever heard of. Some of the men had 
 to dismiss their classes, and the college meeting in 
 the gymnasium was omitted." 
 
 He brushed aside the subject with a wave of his
 
 THE -WRITING ON THE WALL 223 
 
 hand and held her with an intense, almost mystic, 
 gaze. She waited in a strange curiosity and excite- 
 ment. 
 
 "Last night," he said, "I rode over from the cap- 
 ital on my wheel after midnight, and spent the time 
 till nearly dawn packing up my furniture. I'm 
 going to make a new start. I was thinking about it 
 all the time. It seemed strange to know that I 
 should never look out of my window again and see 
 the university where I have worked so long and 
 had such dreams of an ideal republic. At first it 
 nearly broke my heart, but gradually I came to see 
 that it was all for the best. The place is too nar- 
 row. I must begin at the other end and work among 
 men who have seen more of life, who are more un- 
 hampered by tradition the great mass of toilers. 
 After all, that is the ideal university, and there a 
 man can get a hearing. I see why we lost the elec- 
 tion now, but I'll not go into that. It's enough to 
 say that we scattered our fire too much, and con- 
 fused our followers and ourselves with a multitude 
 of issues. It has been a useful lesson, and, for my- 
 self, I feel that I am in a position to begin all over 
 again with a prospect of success. I've learned 
 something about organization, and know how to go 
 about it now. The future is ours, and I never felt 
 more confident." 
 
 In spite of his earnestness he stopped to smile at 
 her expression, and startled her by his analysis. 
 
 "You don't believe in me," he said. "You're 
 even sorry for me. I'm afraid you think I'm a vi- 
 sionary, but I tell you that the visionary is the only
 
 224 THE TORCH 
 
 sane man. He sees the real things more clearly 
 than any one else. Every reformer was regarded as 
 a visionary until his dreams became realities. We 
 must have faith in the tendencies of the times, just 
 as Washington and Lincoln did, and mustn't mind 
 the labels they attach to us. Every fight for liberty 
 looks forlorn at the beginning, but that's where the 
 glory and the exhilaration of it come in. I want 
 you to have faith in me, as I have faith in myself. 
 I came here this afternoon to ask you to share this 
 struggle with me, to be my wife, if you really want 
 to do something in the world that's worth the 
 doing." 
 
 "I'm sure you overestimate my ideality," she re- 
 plied, touched by his strange unworldliness, and by 
 his assumption that his change of fortune could 
 make no difference with her. "There's a skeptical 
 imp way down in my heart that makes me doubt 
 everything, somehow." 
 
 "Not my love for you?" he asked, leaning for- 
 ward intently. 
 
 "Perhaps not," she admitted, "but isn't there an- 
 other side?" 
 
 "You've told me so often that you didn't love 
 me," he declared, "that I've come to the conclusion 
 you might." 
 
 "It's much more complicated than that," she 
 said, laughing a little at the simple analysis. 
 
 Much as she admired his bearing in adversity, 
 she knew that it did make a difference with her. 
 She respected him more than ever, but she was far- 
 ther than ever before from the possibility of marry-
 
 THE WRITING ON THE WALL 225 
 
 ing him. His enthusiasm and faith seemed noble, 
 yet simple and pathetic. She admitted to herself 
 that he might organize an army of visionaries and 
 be the leader among them, but she did not think that 
 they would ever be in a majority or that their the- 
 ories were sound. Somehow, he was marked with 
 failure. Just as Babington could not love a woman 
 that was not rich and elegant and beautiful, so she 
 could not love an unsuccessful man. In her heart 
 pity was not the forerunner of love. She was won- 
 dering how she could make him understand once 
 and for all the futility of his hopes when he spoke 
 again. 
 
 "Is there some one else?" he asked. "Is it is 
 it ?" He could not bring himself to pronounce the 
 name, but she made the mistake of understanding 
 him. 
 
 "How dare you assume that I want to marry 
 either of you?" she cried, her face flaming with 
 sudden anger. 
 
 He rose to his feet and stood before her, his eyes 
 bright with an anger equal to her own. 
 
 "That man isn't worthy of you," he said bitterly. 
 "I know it doesn't come with a very good grace 
 from me, considering the circumstances, but I'm 
 not really a dog in the manger. I don't want him 
 to lose you just because I can't have you myself. I 
 want him to lose you because he isn't worthy of you. 
 He isn't worthy of the position he holds at the head 
 of this great university. It may be that there's a 
 personal bitterness between us. I'll not deny it. 
 How could it be otherwise, after he had insulted me
 
 226 THE TORCH 
 
 and almost trampled me down under his horse's 
 feet? But it's not that which makes me hate him, 
 so much as his bad influence in the university, his 
 holding up of false gods for the students to wor- 
 ship. They're tricked by him now, but it won't be 
 forever. I'll save them yet. The time will come 
 when I shall dismiss him from the position he dis- 
 graces to-day." 
 
 As he said these extraordinary words she was 
 stirred by an inward emotion of incredulity and 
 mirth. He was no longer pathetic in her eyes; he 
 was jealous, unrestrained, and boastful. What 
 could he do, defeated in his political hopes, dis- 
 missed from the university, a beaten and discredited 
 man ? If the president had been rude to him on the 
 road, doubtless he had elicited such treatment by 
 some exhibition of personal animosity. After all, 
 it was the man on horseback, rather than the man 
 on foot, that appealed most to her imagination. It 
 was the president who delivered the blows, the pro- 
 fessor who talked wildly of revenge. Her appreci- 
 ation of the situation enabled her to smile, though 
 the smile was cruel. He made a gesture with his 
 hand and she arose. 
 
 "Good by," he said. "It will take some time for 
 you to see that I'm right, but I'll wait." 
 
 "Yes," she assented. "You must give me time." 
 
 "You don't believe me," he said, suddenly weary. 
 "Good by." 
 
 As he left the room she realized that she had 
 done what all his enemies could not do, for he 
 walked like one whose spirit was broken. He had
 
 THE WRITING ON THE WALL 227 
 
 actually come in the hope that she would marry 
 him. She was sorry that they had parted in anger, 
 but it was just as well that he should understand. 
 The scene left her nervously exhilarated, with no 
 softness in her mood. He had scarcely gone before 
 the president came in. She greeted him, bright with 
 mischief. 
 
 "Professor Plow has just made such an interest- 
 ing call. He disapproves of you very much, I re- 
 gret to say, and threatens unspeakable things." 
 
 "For example?" he queried, apparently much 
 amused. 
 
 "That he will discharge you from the presidency. 
 I suppose it's on the principle that 'one good turn 
 deserves another.' ' 
 
 The president forced a responsive smile, though 
 this announcement, following on the trying day 
 through which he had passed, was strangely dis- 
 quieting. 
 
 "Poor Plow! It's natural enough, but he'll get 
 over it. He has another trade, one that he learned 
 from his father, and I have no doubt that he can 
 hammer out a very respectable living if he only 
 sticks to his anvil." 
 
 She gave him a quick look. 
 
 "No doubt," she echoed coldly. She was filled 
 with scorn at his malicious reference to his rival's 
 early position in life. His smallness was much more 
 bitter to her than Plow's open jealousy and eccen- 
 tric boast. She had not believed him capable of 
 such an unmanly fleer at an antagonist who was 
 down, and wished that he would go. She had lost
 
 228 THE TORCH 
 
 her temper and quarreled with Plow, but her pres- 
 ent resentment was too deep for such an outburst. 
 She could not forgive him for hurting himself thus 
 in her eyes, nor could she forgive herself for caring 
 so much. And as her resentment of his offense was 
 deeper, so her punishment was more relentless. She 
 detained him over a cup of tea, and used familiar 
 hospitality as a means of torture. Try as he might, 
 he could not be unconscious of the scorn that lurked 
 behind her cold and exquisite courtesy. He felt that 
 she treated him like a lackey, but though he raged 
 inwardly he found no chance to protest. No pun- 
 ishment could have been more cruelly effective than 
 her silent condemnation of his breeding, and he went 
 away with a feeling toward her that was akin to 
 hatred.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 MORE GAMES THAN ONE 
 
 The morning of the football game dawned clear 
 and sparkling, and a holiday feeling pervaded the 
 university. A rumor circulated among the students 
 to the effect that the faculty would take no official 
 action in regard to the riot, and the tension was re- 
 lieved. The students, grateful for the leniency 
 shown them, began to take a certain pride in the 
 faculty's stand for honest athletics. They declared 
 that they would win, even against the team of pro- 
 fessionals their rivals had collected. The rival 
 team's supporters, meanwhile, encamped in the cap- 
 ital, were congratulating themselves on their vic- 
 tory over corruption. Their protest had been 
 heeded, a proof of guilt in their opponents. They 
 declared that the counter-charges were an insult, 
 and that they would not take off a man. 
 
 News of the self-righteous obstinacy of the 
 Washingtonians spread over the campus at Argos 
 and stung the undergraduate body to fury. They 
 surrounded the team as it sat in the omnibus, ready 
 to start for the scene of action, and exhorted their 
 representatives to win, or die in the attempt. They 
 pointed out the Punic faith of their opponents ; they 
 
 229
 
 230 THE TORCH 
 
 reminded the players that this game would break 
 the tie, each university having won five games in the 
 past ten years. Some of the more experienced, who 
 had seen the Washingtonians play, climbed up on 
 the wheels and told each man for the hundredth 
 time who would oppose him in the line-up, and just 
 how he could be overcome. It was commonly said 
 that the enemy would play a "dirty game," and that 
 the only way to win was to lay them out with cer- 
 tain deft blows. 
 
 The crowd cheered the players collectively and 
 individually. They asked what was the matter with 
 each one, and replied in fervent chorus thai, he was 
 all right, and more than right. They sang doggerel 
 verses to popular airs, and the 'bus drew away amid 
 a frenzy of cheering and flag waving, the bull- 
 necked trainer standing on the back steps, a tower 
 of strength and encouragement. 
 
 There were very few who thought of Professor 
 Plow that day; the atmosphere of athletic excite- 
 ment was too pervasive. The fever penetrated 
 even into the studies of staid professors and made 
 their pulses leap with savage emotion. They, too, 
 hated Washington University. They were jealous 
 of its courses, its buildings, its endowments, and 
 they criticized its low standard of scholarship. They 
 said that students dropped from Argos found an 
 easy entrance to Washington, and they wished to 
 see the institution humiliated, rubbed in the dust, 
 downed. Some gentle natures refused to go to the 
 contest and tried to forget all about it, but on the 
 morning of the game they were reminded of the
 
 MORE GAMES THAN ONE 231 
 
 impending struggle by the empty benches in the 
 classroom and the distant cheering of the truants. 
 A few members of the faculty openly condemned 
 the whole thing, but the majority sided passionately 
 with Argos, believed that the Washington team was 
 composed of professionals, in short, exalted the 
 event into a moral issue, and were as blindly patri- 
 otic as the noisiest freshman. 
 
 At one o'clock in the afternoon a row of trolley 
 cars left Argos for the battle-field, crowded to the 
 doors. They were decorated with the university 
 colors, green and gold, the green for the leaves of 
 rustling corn, the gold for -the ripe ear. The town 
 seemed deserted. In the silence of the long after- 
 noon the few that remained almost imagined that 
 they could hear the shouting ten miles away. They 
 thrilled with hope and fear. They imagined all 
 sorts of casualties ; broken bones, benches falling to 
 the ground, encounters between the constituents of 
 the rival institutions. As evening came on, many 
 of them gathered at the telegraph station, or kept 
 the telephone busy with anxious inquiries. 
 
 Meanwhile the trolley cars had sped merrily on 
 their way, cheered by the passer-by, and cheering in 
 turn every house that flaunted the university ban- 
 ner. Many tallyhos, driven by rich students, were 
 already rolling through the streets of the capital. 
 People on the sidewalk turned to gaze after the ex- 
 cited young men and women with a smile of sym- 
 pathy and interest, and often with a wistful mem- 
 ory of past days. They heard the blare of horns 
 and the university cheer. They saw the girls decked
 
 232 THE TORCH 
 
 in the favorite colors, even to their hats and 
 belts, enormous chrysanthemums in their hands. 
 There were other spectators, too, laboring men, who 
 looked at the sight with a slow gaze not untouched 
 by dumb resentment. But these were in the minor- 
 ity. The venal shopkeepers adorned their windows 
 with the colors of both universities. The very girls 
 behind the counters wore the ribbon they thought 
 most becoming. The excitement penetrated every 
 avenue and touched dull trade with a magic zest, 
 for even the truck-drivers were betting with each 
 other from their seats. 
 
 At the field the excitement was concentrated, and 
 the opposing parties were more evenly divided. 
 Twenty-five thousand people sat on the tiers of 
 benches, expectant, and the smoke of the students' 
 pipes floated over their heads, as from some smol- 
 dering fire. Babington passed to his seat, attended 
 by a volley of cheers. His leniency in regard to the 
 rioters made amends for everything. Besides, he 
 was the president, and the students felt in honor 
 bound to cheer their chief in the face of their ene- 
 mies. The bright, cool sun looked down on bewil- 
 dering masses of color and hills of white faces. The 
 Washingtonians on one side of the field and the 
 Argives on the other strove to excel their opponents 
 in raucous cheering and loyal hymns. In one spot 
 five hundred little flags waved to and fro, keeping 
 time to the music of the band. 
 
 Suddenly a roar of applause burst forth. The 
 whole mass of Argive supporters arose and shouted
 
 MORE GAMES THAN ONE 233 
 
 as their athletes came streaming through the gate 
 and spread over the field on a run. In a moment the 
 air was dotted with flying footballs. Hoarse 
 screams, throaty with excitement, greeted a success- 
 ful attempt to kick a goal. Players rolled over each 
 other as they pursued the bounding ovals. Then the 
 whole team lined up and charged the yet imaginary 
 enemy. 
 
 "I don't mind confessing to you," said Lee to 
 Trumbull, "that this event gives me the pleasure of 
 an annual emotional debauch. It takes but a slight 
 effort of the imagination to transform this whole 
 multitude into togaed Romans and that group of 
 athletes into gladiators. The psychology of the 
 thing is practically the same. Just see those miles 
 of red brick walls crowding about the inclosure as 
 though they would look in on the game. See those 
 black fringes of penniless humanity on the nearer 
 coping and chimneys." 
 
 "I always say I'll never go to another game," his 
 friend remarked, "but when the day draws near I 
 steal off and buy a ticket and postpone my reforma- 
 tion for another year." 
 
 "It ought to be enough for one of your antique 
 tastes," said Lee, "that you have classical precedent 
 for this insanity. Do you see that tall, tow-headed 
 young animal down there? That's our half-back, 
 Dick Delaney. It was lucky for him that those two 
 men were disqualified. He was only a substitute, 
 but now he has made the team. I happen to have 
 the honor of knowing him personally. His father is
 
 234 THE TORCH 
 
 a butcher, and the boy murders his native tongue 
 in the same nonchalant manner in which the old 
 man cuts you off a chop." 
 
 Another roar burst forth, this time from the 
 Washingtonians across the field, and the second 
 group of young giants poured into the arena from 
 the opposite gate. It seemed to the anxious Argives 
 that they were twice as big and twice as numerous 
 as their own men. Though they knew that only 
 eleven men could play on each side at the same 
 time, yet the army of substitutes gave an impression 
 of reenforcement and power. The team from Argos 
 gathered in a bunch for consultation, leaving their 
 opponents to disport themselves as they had done. 
 
 At last the practice was at an end. The captains 
 matched for positions. Washington won and chose 
 the kick-off, with a favoring breeze behind them. 
 
 The ball rose high in the air, and immediately the 
 whole Washington team raced down the field as in 
 a battle charge. Dick Delaney caught the oval to 
 his breast, the interference formed in a moment, and 
 he went plunging forward, twenty, thirty, forty 
 yards, zigzagging through his frantic and bewil- 
 dered opponents. He outran his protectors, and 
 even when seized he dragged himself five yards far- 
 ther toward the coveted goal, until he disappeared 
 under a pile of men. When the mass was untangled, 
 the half-back got up and shook himself like a great 
 dog, apparently none the worse for his rough treat- 
 ment. 
 
 The students from Argos were like wild men in 
 their delight. They embraced each other, they
 
 MORE GAMES THAN ONE 235 
 
 smashed each other's hats, they danced up and 
 down, they shouted Dick's name in chorus. Yester- 
 day he was an unknown quantity ; to-day there was 
 not one of his fellows who did not give him pas- 
 sionate devotion. There was a vicious determina- 
 tion in that dash that set the pace and decided the 
 mental attitude of the teams. The Washingtonians, 
 larger, overconfident, were put on the defensive by 
 the first play. 
 
 There were moments in the game that followed 
 that put Lee's whimsical sophistry to a severe 
 test. Men were taken off the field staggering be- 
 tween their helpers, their heads rolling from side to 
 side. Charges of foul play were hurled back and 
 forth, and he never forgot the figure of a girl stand- 
 ing and waving her flag while she screamed "Kill 
 him! Kill him!" 
 
 "Hit 'em again, hit 'em again, hit 'em again, 
 harder !" yelled the rooters below them. 
 
 "Give 'em the ax, give 'em the ax, give 'em the 
 ax, where?" "Right in the neck, right in the neck, 
 right in the neck, there !" came the fierce response. 
 
 When the first half ended neither side had scored. 
 The Washingtonians were stunned. They had ex- 
 pected a walkover, but the sturdy team from Argos 
 had shown more cooperation and a fury that would 
 not be denied. They had carried the ball to within 
 a foot of the enemy's goal, and only the expiration 
 of time saved a touch-down. Yet the disparity in 
 stature between the teams in favor of Washington 
 was marked. 
 
 President Babington was vindicated, and during
 
 236 THE TORCH 
 
 the rest between halves the students cheered him 
 again and again. Finally he arose in his seat and 
 waved his hat in acknowledgment. But there were 
 many present who thought of Everett and Lee, the 
 real champions of honesty, and smiled bitterly to 
 see the credit given to another and so easily appro- 
 priated. 
 
 As the second half of the game progressed it be- 
 came apparent that the Washingtonians were fight- 
 ing for time and hoping for a tie. Again and again 
 they were forced to kick, and every time the ball 
 was worked back nearer and nearer their goal. 
 Darkness 'was coming on. That great multitude of 
 people sat silent, their flags drooping, the intensity 
 of their interest too great for expression. Only the 
 organized rooters on each side kept up the volleys 
 of rival cheers, though not a few were voiceless 
 from exhaustion. 
 
 Less than two minutes of play remained, and by 
 common consent the multitude arose, straining their 
 eyes in the direction of that begrimed and strug- 
 gling mass. The Washingtonians were making a 
 last desperate stand before their very goal. It was 
 too dark to risk a drop kick. Again Dick Delaney 
 took the ball and plunged toward the line; but a 
 hand shot up and the ball bounded from his arms 
 into the air. In another moment it had changed 
 sides, and a groan was wrenched from the sup- 
 porters of the State University when they realized 
 that the fumble had probably cost them the game. 
 All Dick's magnificent daring was forgotten by his
 
 MORE GAMES THAN ONE 237 
 
 admirers in that moment of bitter disappointment, 
 and they felt that he had no excuse. 
 
 Deliberately the full-back of the Washington team 
 took up his position behind the posts and prepared 
 to kick the ball out of danger. Only a miracle 
 could save the game for Argos now. In the semi- 
 darkness the punter failed to locate the cross-bar be- 
 fore him. The ball struck it a glancing blow on the 
 under side and then plumped downward into the 
 arms of Dick Delaney. 
 
 Right nobly then did the Argive half-back atone 
 for his fumble. His arms closed about the sphere 
 like a vise. The spectators were electrified to see a 
 shock-headed young giant leap into the air as he 
 stepped on a comrade's bent shoulder and hurdled 
 the line. The other players were after him like a 
 shot, and then he was down in the dirt beyond the 
 goal with ten men on top of him and the ball hugged 
 to his breast. A shrill whistle announced the expi- 
 ratior of time, and the game was won for Argos. 
 
 It was never known who struck the first blow 
 above the prostrate player, when the struggling 
 mass was finally untangled. Both sides made 
 charges, and the men of Argos claimed that their 
 plucky half-back was knocked insensible in revenge 
 for his victorious leap. The line of policemen 
 rushed in and separated the combatants, but it was 
 President Babington who strode into the midst of 
 the melee and helped to carry the limp form of Dick 
 Delaney to the dressing-room. 
 
 The rooters on the benches poured down and
 
 238 THE TORCH 
 
 formed into a procession. They marched about the 
 inclosure, singing, dancing, shouting and waving 
 their flags to the music of the band in front. The 
 fight had interrupted an attempt to kick a goal from 
 the touch-down, but the Argives were satisfied with- 
 out the extra point, and the two heroes they cheered 
 most wildly were "Irish Dick" and President Bab- 
 ington. 
 
 As Lee and Trumbull made their way toward the 
 dressing-room to inquire after Dick Delaney, they 
 saw President Babington come forth smiling, his 
 hat thrust back on his head, looking happy and deb- 
 onair. Lee was reminded of the time he had first 
 seen him, when he stepped from the train to greet 
 Plow. There was the same attractive expression of 
 almost boyish good humor and enthusiasm. They 
 saw Mrs. Van Sant, leaning on the arm of Captain 
 Kip, shake hands with him in laughing congratu- 
 lation, and heard him disclaim either credit or in- 
 jury. 
 
 Lee smiled scornfully at the tableau and dragged 
 his friend into the large room that was now filled 
 with a crowd of frantic men. They caught sight of 
 the object of their quest standing on his feet, weep- 
 ing weakly for joy, while he received the congratu- 
 lations of his admirers. Suddenly a young man 
 sprang upon a box, his face blanched with excite- 
 ment. 
 
 "Fellows," he cried, "I think we ought to show 
 our gratitude for this great victory by singing the 
 doxology! Now, everybody!" 
 
 All gathered about their leader and sang with a
 
 MORE GAMES THAN ONE 239 
 
 will, as if God had fought on their side as He 
 fought for Israel at Ajalon. 
 
 The two professors exchanged a look of incre- 
 dulity and wonder, shocked by this strange passion 
 of victory. 
 
 "Come on, George," Lee said, taking his friend 
 by the arm. "We're too old for this crowd." They 
 went out into the twilight, pursued by the thunder- 
 ous volume of song. 
 
 "My parallel between this sort of thing and the 
 ancients' contests is even closer than I had sup- 
 posed," Lee continued, as they took their way across 
 the soggy field, strewn with ruined chrysanthemums, 
 so lately the scene of battle. "Didn't the Greek and 
 Roman athletes pray for success and make vows to 
 their divinities? There's a candidate for the min- 
 istry on our team who prays for victory before 
 every game. I heard some of the students boasting 
 of it. And they didn't even know that it was im- 
 pious to sing the doxology on such an occasion! 
 I'm afraid I'm outgrowing football after all. It 
 would be interesting to know just how far Babing- 
 ton is responsible for that mawkish display. I actu- 
 ally believe he would have joined in the singing."
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE BATTLE IS JOINED 
 
 Within a week after the football game the line of 
 cleavage between the president's foes and friends 
 was drawn with sufficient clearness to enable him 
 to estimate his resources and his peril. His friends 
 were : in primis, his standard-bearer, Kate Tupper 
 by name, with a bag of money and a thirst for the 
 fray; his esquire, Professor Fyffe, nimble and re- 
 sourceful; a majority of the regents; a clear ma- 
 jority of the students. 
 
 The result of the game had swung undergraduate 
 opinion in favor of the president. The hero-wor- 
 ship that flourishes eternally in the hearts of the 
 young now found an object of adoration. The pres- 
 ident had made a brave stand for clean athletics; 
 he had endured the outbreak of indignation with 
 dignity and forbearance; he had overlooked and 
 forgiven the vandalism of the rioters; and, finally, 
 it was he who rushed into the fray and rescued the 
 athlete who won the great game. The story of the 
 rescue grew in the telling. It was even reported 
 that the president dealt blows right and left with 
 one arm, while he supported Delaney with the other. 
 He was their champion of high principles, their 
 
 240
 
 THE BATTLE IS JOINED 241 
 
 athlete-orator and scholar, the greatest man in the 
 ^tate. 
 
 On the other side stood a motley host, without 
 cooperation and as yet without a leader. First, 
 there was The Times, an exponent of yellow jour- 
 nalism, advocating the rights of the common people 
 to the great benefit of its own circulation. Then 
 came the faculty of the university, many of whom, 
 by marrying, had given hostages to Fortune and 
 dared not open their mouths in protest lest they 
 should take the bread from the mouths of their 
 wives and children. On this side also stood most of 
 the students who had taken courses with Professor 
 Plow, but they were as one to five compared with 
 the adherents of the president. In the eastern 
 states the best and most conservative newspapers 
 sided with Plow, not because they approved his 
 political opinions, but because they recognized in 
 him a champion of intellectual freedom in the uni- 
 versity. But these attacks from a distance only 
 drew the defenders of the president closer together. 
 They were resented as coming from the effete and 
 degenerate and jealous East. 
 
 The shock of the first encounter was over and 
 Babington sat upon his horse, a victor, smiling 
 scornfully at his rival in the dust. Behind him 
 towered his citadel, crowned with the wealth and 
 respectability of the state. 
 
 The first college meeting in the gymnasium after 
 the game was an ovation for the president. Pro- 
 fessor Fyffe retold the story of the now popular 
 ruling of the faculty. He confessed that he had
 
 242 THE TORCH 
 
 been in favor of allowing the two suspected men 
 to play. His enthusiasm and loyalty had blinded 
 his judgment for the time; but the president 
 had dared to prefer the right to the expedient, and 
 had won the day. There was much of jocularity 
 and anecdote in the professor's speech. His confes- 
 sion of weakness only endeared him the more to the 
 majority of the students. They told each other that 
 he was "one of the boys" and "all right." When 
 he mentioned the name of the plucky half-back the 
 crowd called thunderously for "Irish" until Dick 
 arose in his seat, grinning and embarrassed, and 
 awkwardly bowed his acknowledgment. 
 
 Babington smiled genially down on the tumult. 
 He was not greatly concerned that the faculty rep- 
 resentation on the platform behind him was smaller 
 than usual. He had a majority of the regents and 
 apparently all the students on his side. It had been 
 his policy from the first to win the support of these 
 two elements and to rule the faculty with a rod of 
 iron. Never before had the wisdom of this policy 
 been so impressively vindicated. His attitude 
 toward the teaching force of the university had 
 finally become like that of a hard-fisted boss toward 
 a gang of workmen. 
 
 He closed the meeting with one of his happiest 
 efforts. It was like the conclusion of a love feast. 
 He reminded his hearers that athletics had an hon- 
 orable place in the life of a university, but that the, 
 place was subordinate. They must learn a lesson 
 from the Greeks, who tore down a part of the city 
 wall to admit the victorious athlete but built it up
 
 THE BATTLE IS JOINED 243 
 
 again in greater dignity and beauty than ever; and 
 it was because of their architects, their sculptors, 
 their poets and philosophers, that they were remem- 
 bered to-day. He exhorted them to put away all 
 feeling of bitterness toward the rival university. 
 Both institutions were doing the same work in 
 the \vorld. The competition must be manly, healthy, 
 and mutually stimulating. A winter of hard work 
 was before them, and they must now concentrate 
 their efforts upon those better things, the things that 
 counted most in the long run, the things for which 
 they had come to the university. 
 
 As Lee sat by Professor Everett's fireplace that 
 evening he and Mrs. Everett unburdened their 
 minds to their mutual satisfaction. 
 
 "It's a relief to be able to talk freely with some 
 one," he remarked. "I'll tell you the whole story, 
 Mrs. Everett, because I know that you'll never 
 get it from the professor. In the first place, it was 
 Mr. Everett who fought the battle in the faculty and 
 finally compelled the president to reverse the opin- 
 ion he had expressed in the committee meeting the 
 night before." 
 
 "I know it," she replied, with a glance of indig- 
 nant affection at her embarrassed husband. 
 
 "Not at all," Everett protested. "If I led the 
 attack, it is yet true that I could not have won 
 without Lee and Stuart." 
 
 "Oh, we just worried the enemy on the flanks 
 with light cavalry, dashes," Lee declared. "It was 
 your husband who fired the heavy guns and charged 
 the center. But what does Babington do? He
 
 244 THE TORCH 
 
 hides and is afraid to punish the rioters. Our team 
 happens to win, and the president walks in under 
 the protection of a line of policemen and helps to 
 carry Dick Delaney off the field. Then everything 
 comes his way. He is the emperor under whose 
 auspices the battle was fought. He gets all the 
 credit for the ruling in the faculty meeting; his 
 cowardice in regard to the rioters is called leniency ; 
 and his action on the field is elevated into a daring 
 rescue. Finally, to-day at the meeting, Fyffe gets 
 up and openly gives the credit of the ruling to the 
 president, without once mentioning Mr. Everett's 
 name." 
 
 "He didn't!" she cried. "The nasty little crea- 
 ture! Tom, why didn't you tell me?" 
 
 The professor shifted uneasily in his chair and 
 rumpled his hair till it stood up on his head. 
 
 "Oh, well, that's just Fyffe, my dear. He's try- 
 ing to feather his own nest by selling his soul for a 
 mess of red pottage." 
 
 Lee looked at the professor with affection. 
 
 "That's the only time I ever heard your husband 
 say anything against any one, Mrs. Everett. I'll 
 tell you why he never explained his part in this 
 matter and why he doesn't care if another gets the 
 credit. It's because he's just like Aristides, and a 
 living example of that line in ^schylus : For he 
 does not wish to seem the best, but to be the best." 
 
 "Nonsense, my dear fellow," the professor pro- 
 tested, greatly amused. "However, I'm glad you 
 haven't forgotten your classics." 
 
 "But it's true," his wife declared. "I don't have
 
 THE BATTLE IS JOINED 245 
 
 to know Greek to know that. And as for Mr. Bab- 
 ington, you know I despised him from the first. I 
 think this proves I was right." 
 
 Mr. Everett regarded the two confederates with 
 a troubled look in which there was an element of 
 sternness. 
 
 "I shall have to leave you," he said, "to settle the 
 question for yourselves, if you'll excuse me, Lee. I 
 have a lot of proof waiting for me in my study." 
 
 An hour later Lee met Captain Kip on the street 
 and they walked some distance together. 
 
 "That was a pretty play of Fyffe's this morning," 
 the professor began. 
 
 The little captain twirled his mustache and 
 snorted. "If that man were in the army he 
 wouldn't be spoken to. We don't tolerate liars in 
 the army." 
 
 "I can't see that Babington is much better," Lee 
 remarked. "He was willing to take all the credit. 
 The two played into each other's hands." 
 
 Kip turned on him fiercely. 
 
 "It's not my business to criticize the president. 
 I'm here to obey his orders." 
 
 "Oh, come," Lee said, stung to irritation, "you 
 don't mean to say your conception of duty is as 
 strict as all that." 
 
 "I can't expect a civilian to understand a sol- 
 dier's conception of duty," Kip retorted, his figure 
 stiffening. 
 
 "No, indeed," Lee returned lightly. "My way 
 lies down this street. Good night." 
 
 He felt that it would have taken very little more
 
 246 THE TORCH 
 
 to involve him in a senseless quarrel with the cap- 
 tain, and was thankful for the opportune parting of 
 their ways. Up to that time he had rather admired 
 Kip, and he wondered at his sudden burst of scorn. 
 Then he remembered the scene after the game ; Kip 
 and Babington, and Susanne between them. 
 
 "So he's her latest victim," he mused. "I don't 
 wonder he couldn't trust himself to speak of the 
 president. Perhaps he regards me as a rival, too. I 
 wish I were." 
 
 He was surprised to find Trumbull in possession 
 of an arm-chair before his fire, puffing lazily at a 
 pipe. 
 
 "You have great confidence in human nature, 
 Nicholas," his friend remarked. "I found the door 
 unlocked and walked right in. I took the liberty of 
 replenishing the fire and making myself comforta- 
 ble. You don't object to tobacco smoke, do you?" 
 
 There was a light in the speaker's eyes that be- 
 lied his indifferent attitude and attracted Lee's at- 
 tention. He put on his glasses and regarded his 
 visitor keenly. 
 
 "You're all agog with something, George," he 
 declared. "What's up? You're not like yourself." 
 
 Trumbull straightened himself suddenly. 
 
 "I'm going to resign and get out of here. That's 
 what's up." 
 
 "No !" Lee cried aghast. "What for ?" 
 
 "Because of the shabby way Babington has 
 treated Plow." * Trumbull brought his fist down on 
 the arm of the chair and glared at his friend as if 
 he were the offender. Lee reached for his pipe and
 
 THE BATTLE IS JOINED 247 
 
 filled it slowly, looking at the archaeologist the while 
 with a speculative eye. Then he threw himself into 
 a chair and stretched out his long legs to the fire. 
 
 "I thought you were an admirer of the presi- 
 dent," he said. "This is like a clap of thunder in 
 a clear sky." 
 
 "I never admired him," Trumbull declared fierce- 
 ly. Slow to condemn, he was relentless and im- 
 movable when once his mind was made up. "I'm 
 going to tell Babington once for all what I think of 
 him. If his action goes without protest it will es- 
 tablish a precedent that will ruin the tone of the 
 university. It will reduce the whole faculty to a 
 gang of timid servants, afraid of opening their 
 mouths for fear of losing their positions." 
 
 "Perhaps you're right," Lee mused, "but the 
 place won't be the same without you. I prefer to 
 stay and see the thing through. I'm not going to 
 resign, and I'm not going to be hypnotized either. 
 There's no reason for biting off your nose to spite 
 your face; but your nose is your own. Mine is too 
 important a part of my anatomy to be lost in that 
 reckless fashion." He leaned forward and fixed 
 his friend with a glance of sudden amusement. 
 "How about those coins you were going to give to 
 the Museum?" 
 
 "They're speeding eastward in charge of the 
 Wells-Fargo," Trumbull answered with a grin. "I 
 sha'n't be ready to go myself for a week or so." 
 
 Lee saw the uselessness of trying to persuade him 
 to change his purpose, now that the coins were gone.
 
 248 THE TORCH 
 
 "This will break Babington's heart," he said, 
 laughing. "He'll never get over it." 
 
 "I didn't promise them definitely," Trumbull de- 
 clared. 
 
 "Only provisionally, pending your examination 
 of the president's character? And how about that 
 beautiful Miss Hathaway whom I selected for your 
 wife? You're not going to leave her behind, are 
 you?" 
 
 "I'll leave her for you, Nicholas ; so set your mind 
 at rest on that subject. You've got a chance now. 
 Of course I could have taken her from you had I 
 chosen to do so, but I shall sacrifice her on the altar 
 of friendship ; that is, if you're sure you don't pre- 
 fer the widow." 
 
 "I regret your ingratitude to me," Lee retorted, 
 "and your lack of appreciation of the beautiful. I 
 had expected to congratulate you before this, but 
 now I wash my hands of you entirely. For all I 
 care you can drag out your miserable and lonely 
 existence uncheered by wife and children. But be- 
 fore you go you must let us give you a send-off at 
 the Blue Buffalo." 
 
 That evening the president sat long with Mrs. 
 Tupper. 
 
 "The seven days' wonder is beginning to lose 
 its interest," he declared. "Within the last two 
 days The Times has let up on me for lack of ma- 
 terial. Plow has disappeared, though I hear he's 
 living somewhere in the capital. At all events, he 
 doesn't say anything more, and that's all I ask."
 
 THE BATTLE IS JOINED 249 
 
 "He can't; he don't dare to," she replied tri- 
 umphantly. "You was right, Professor; you was 
 right all the time. You lopped off his head at the 
 right time." She looked at him proudly, and a flut- 
 tering anxiety caused her hands to tremble. "I was 
 afraid you hurt yourself at that wicked football 
 game," she cried. "I call it murder." 
 
 He was not displeased at her anxiety, and his 
 chest expanded. 
 
 "Oh, nobody was killed, Mrs. Tupper. It was 
 just a little fracas, like many I used to engage in 
 long ago; very much exaggerated, too, I'm bound 
 to say." 
 
 Her eyes flashed, and her voice shrilled with ex- 
 citement. 
 
 "I hear you knocked some of 'em down. Good 
 for 'em, the murderers served 'em right !" 
 
 The president laughed, and did not deny the re- 
 port. When he went home that night he felt that 
 the battle was as good as won. The excitement 
 was dying down, and the whole affair would soon 
 be forgotten. There were only two things that 
 marred his content : Mrs. Tupper would make no 
 definite promise of future donations, and the bar- 
 rier between Mrs. Van Sant and himself had not 
 been removed by her momentary relenting after the 
 game. He was not jealous of any of her admirers, 
 though he had a vague suspicion that she had con- 
 gratulated him to distress the captain. In spite of 
 his contempt for Plow, he alone had seemed a pos- 
 sible rival. He believed that she was merely flirt- 
 ing with Kip and Lee. He was startled by a sud-
 
 250 THE TORCH 
 
 den wonder at the courage with which he had 
 swept his rival from his path. But what was the 
 meaning of Mrs. Van Sant's continued reserve? 
 Why should she take his remark concerning Plow's 
 trade so seriously? His resentment at her treat- 
 ment of him that day still continued. 
 
 He was more nearly sure that he wanted to be able 
 to marry her than that he wanted to marry her. In 
 his present mood he did not think very much of 
 love. This last ideal began to grow thin and spec- 
 tral. He looked up at the windows of her house 
 as he passed by, and the old desire to possess her 
 surged up again in his heart. He was never more 
 conscious of her fascination than in that moment 
 of brutal impulse. He had beaten down his rival; 
 he would like to carry her off by force. 
 
 His sister was waiting for him when he entered 
 the house. 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't sit up for me, Carrie," he 
 said irritably. He felt badgered at times by her 
 loving attentions. 
 
 "I wanted to read anyhow," she explained, meek- 
 ly deceptive. "I suppose you'll be having a wife 
 to sit up for you some day, Henry. Will it be very 
 soon?" 
 
 "Don't borrow trouble," he answered, not un- 
 kindly. "But I'll tell you one thing; you shall 
 know of any such event before the reporters do. I 
 promise you that scoop." 
 
 The evening mail was piled neatly on his desk 
 and he turned it over indifferently, still absorbed 
 in thoughts of Mrs. Van Sant. There were three
 
 THE BATTLE IS JOINED 251 
 
 letters of no great importance, but the fourth was 
 like a slap in the face and caused him to sit rigid : 
 
 "Henry Babington, Ph. D., LL. D., President of 
 
 the University: 
 
 Dear Sir It is with extreme regret that I find 
 myself forced to tender my resignation from the 
 chair of European history, to take effect at the end 
 of the present academic term. This regret is 
 caused, not so much by the breaking of old ties, 
 painful as that break must be, but by the fact that 
 I have lived to see the day when a professor can 
 not teach the truth as he sees it in this university 
 without risking ignominious dismissal. It is beside 
 the question that I have not been able to see certain 
 things from Professor Plow's point of view. I 
 have read his self-vindication in the papers and 
 your own disingenuous reply. It is impossible for 
 me to remain in the university while the present 
 policy of intimidation prevails, and I feel it my 
 imperative duty to protest by taking the step indi- 
 cated in this letter. Very sincerely yours, 
 
 GEORGE ROBISON STUART. 
 
 Sixteenth Nov., 1900." 
 
 Fury and not hesitation held the president rigid 
 in his chair while he read this communication a 
 second time. Then he flung it contemptuously 
 aside. His first reply was discarded. It was far 
 too long for the effect he intended, and was blotted 
 by the spluttering of his nervously driven pen. He 
 remembered the chilling effect of a typewritten let-
 
 252 THE TORCH 
 
 ter, and, going over to the machine, he pounded out 
 the following retort: 
 
 "i6th Nov., 1900. 
 Geo. R. Stuart, Esq. : 
 
 Dear Sir Your communication of this date is 
 at hand and contents noted. Your resignation 
 from the chair of European history is hereby ac- 
 cepted, to take effect immediately. Yours truly, 
 HENRY BABINGTON, President."
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 VOLUNTEERS 
 
 When Professor George Robison Stuart went to 
 the stake for his opinions he went in style. He 
 had taken a week to consider the manner in which 
 he should head the procession of martyrs, and 
 truly nothing was lacking of pomp, threnody, eulo- 
 gium and advertisement. 
 
 Up to this time no one had supposed Stuart ca- 
 pable of heroism, and for this very reason the resig- 
 nation of no other professor would have caused an 
 equal sensation. All his acts hitherto seemed to 
 have been dictated by self-interest. He had mar- 
 ried a rich woman, he had forced one of his text- 
 books of history into every high school of the state, 
 and he managed to be quoted frequently as a critic 
 of contemporaneous European events. His very 
 unpopularity made him a marked man. The com- 
 munity resented his refusal to take out naturaliza- 
 tion papers, though he had lived in America since 
 his fifteenth year, had been educated in an Amer- 
 ican college, had married an American wife, and 
 was now an employe, by virtue of his position in a 
 state university, of the government he despised. 
 
 Students who found their way into his house took 
 253
 
 254 THE TORCH 
 
 umbrage at the pictures of the queen, of the British 
 navy, of Lord Kitchener, of Oxford University, 
 which adorned the walls of his study ; and they re- 
 ported conversations in which the culture of Eng- 
 lish scholarship and the severity of Scotch training 
 were contrasted with the slipshod crudity of Amer- 
 can universities. 
 
 President Babington disliked Stuart at first sight, 
 and was disliked in turn. For once, the Scotchman 
 departed from his usual thrifty habit of mind and 
 gave as mucj?, or more, than he received. During 
 the past year the two men had crossed swords sev- 
 eral times, and the historian's point inflicted the 
 sharper wound. There was something in his atti- 
 tude of superiority peculiarly maddening to a 
 man of Babington's temperament. The president's 
 knowledge of Stuart's general unpopularity enabled 
 him to indulge his long grudge and sudden fury 
 without fear of consequences. He even felt that 
 his action would touch the patriotism of the uni- 
 versity constituents. 
 
 Professor Plow could have thrown a light on 
 the causes of Stuart's resignation had he chosen to 
 make public a letter that he received from his old 
 colleague about this time. 
 
 "My dear fellow," it read, "I have given you a 
 good send-off and I write this letter of farewell to 
 bid you Godspeed. Of course, I was glad to give 
 Babington a fall in your behalf, and I hope it will 
 start the ball a-rolling. No one knows better than 
 you that I meant every word I said in my letter of 
 resignation; but, that you may not fear the shot
 
 VOLUNTEERS 255 
 
 will prove a boomerang to myself, I wish tO'tell you 
 that I have been thinking for some years of retir- 
 ing. I am anxious to go back to the old country 
 and devote the rest of my life to literature and his- 
 torical research. Here I am, past fifty, with my 
 magnum opus yet unwritten, and the work will 
 never see the light unless I shall have constant ac- 
 cess to the Bodleian Library and the records of the 
 British Museum. Besides, the gap between the un- 
 dergraduates and myself is becoming wide. I be- 
 gin to grow weary of the recurring waves of crude 
 young people and am not sure that I do not hate 
 them. I am glad to make the occasion of my resig- 
 nation appear the cause, and it is, after all, the im- 
 mediate cause. 
 
 You know that it has not been necessary for me 
 to teach these ten years. In my own country men 
 know when to retire and enjoy the fruits of their 
 labors. I hope that my long residence here has not 
 imbued me with the insatiable American greed for 
 gain, that I have not forgotten the quod satis est. 
 I was about to put off the harness anyhow, though 
 no one need know that but you and me. I don't 
 know what you are up to, but feel sure that you are 
 planning a long hunt. That success may crown 
 your efforts, and that you may one day pay the cad 
 back in his own coin, is the hope of 
 Your sincere friend, 
 
 GEORGE ROBISON STUART." 
 
 Though the existence of this letter was never 
 known except to the writer and the recipient, yet
 
 256 THE TORCH 
 
 the real cause of the resignation was suspected by 
 the few that were best acquainted with Stuart's 
 disposition and circumstances. They knew he had 
 nothing to lose, and yet they did him the justice to 
 believe that his championship of intellectual liberty 
 was sincere. More than once, in the class-room, he 
 had drawn a comparison between the freedom of 
 thought and discussion in the medieval universities 
 and the repression and autocracy of certain Ameri- 
 can institutions. He had even turned Plow's 
 thoughts in this direction, for the political econo- 
 mist was no great student of the history of educa- 
 tion. Babington, too, had heard of these general 
 strictures, and had suspected a personal application. 
 
 To the world at large the cause of Stuart's resig- 
 nation was that stated in his letter, and no other. 
 The Times reproduced his portrait, printed his bi- 
 ography, his degrees, and the titles of his books. 
 Miss Wiley could have told that the facts were 
 furnished by the professor himself at his own voli- 
 tion, together with a duplicate of his letter of resig- 
 nation and Babington's curt reply ; but she, too, had 
 her reasons for silence. It suited her purpose to 
 give the man she had hitherto hated a halo of mar- 
 tyrdom. Thus, after a pause to take breath, The 
 Times returned to the Babington baiting with re- 
 newed vigor. Stuart went away with colors flying, 
 after leaving a year's subscription with The Times 
 that he might enjoy reading of the conflict he had 
 precipitated. 
 
 Every move of the struggle thus begun was fit 
 news for the Associated Press. Educated men and
 
 VOLUNTEERS 257 
 
 teachers all over the country suddenly felt a per- 
 sonal interest ; everywhere papers bristled with mili- 
 tant letters and editorials. Plow and Stuart gained 
 national repute. Professors had been similarly dis- 
 charged before without creating more than a ripple 
 of comment. This was the first time that such a 
 dismissal was followed by an openly sympathetic 
 resignation. 
 
 It was felt that there was something indecent in 
 the manner in which these two men of dignity and 
 position had been booted through the door. Irre- 
 sponsible wits might remark that they now sat on 
 the fence outside and exhibited the mark of the 
 boot to passers-by, but the majority believed that 
 a summons to a battle for liberty had been sounded 
 by two men of heroic fiber. Their eyes were 
 opened for the first time to this new menace of 
 democracy, a menace growing out of the centraliza- 
 tion of power since the civil war, and of a piece 
 with industrial and legislative despotism. There 
 was scarcely a teacher who failed to see that a like 
 thing might happen to him. Professors in eastern 
 universities wrote and published letters in which 
 they advised young men not to take the position 
 made vacant at Argos. But young doctors of 
 philosophy were more numerous than three-thou- 
 sand-dollar salaries, and Babington found no diffi- 
 culty in filling Stuart's place, as he had filled Plow's, 
 with a specialist who would take a hint from the 
 fate of his predecessor. 
 
 Another fortnight went by, and then two more 
 shots were fired simultaneously, this time by Doctor
 
 258 THE TORCH 
 
 George Trumbull, assistant professor of Greek, 
 and Maltby Clark, professor of mathematics. In 
 both cases Babington flung back his curt reply, now 
 a fixed formula, but though the wording in each let- 
 ter was the same, he wrote them with very different 
 emotions. 
 
 Trumbull was the last man from whom he had 
 expected such a step. He had always treated the 
 young archaeologist with peculiar consideration, and 
 had supposed that this attitude of his would 
 cause Trumbull to give a number of his Greek 
 gravestones and coins to the university museum. 
 Now he wished that he had given him a full pro- 
 fessorship the previous June. He even contem- 
 plated making overtures at this late date, but the 
 letter of resignation was too defiant and critical to 
 admit of a reconciliation. The archaeologist's ac- 
 tion was based upon a sympathy with Plow, and the 
 president felt personally affronted and aggrieved. 
 Of all the younger teachers he had liked Trumbull 
 best, largely because of his wealth and beneficent 
 potentialities. This was the kind of man he liked 
 to see in the faculty. He had taken it for granted 
 that Trumbull's attitude toward the vagaries of a 
 plebeian like Plow would be the same as his own. 
 
 Maltby Clark was a very different kind of man, 
 and Babington was not sorry to see him go. He 
 was a New Englander, past middle life, conscien- 
 tious, dry, unimaginative, and old-fashioned. The 
 president could scarcely be said to know him per- 
 sonally, for that New England crust had never 
 thawed in his presence. The professor was not a
 
 VOLUNTEERS 259 
 
 man of modern training. He had never taken a 
 Ph. D. in Germany, and had begun his teaching 
 career before that degree was given in the Amer- 
 ican universities. At the inception of the State 
 University, some thirty years before, Clark was 
 teaching mathematics in the high school in the 
 capital. He was appointed professor of mathe- 
 matics in the new institution and now he had seven 
 assistants in the work, every one of whom was a 
 product of the new discipline. People who were 
 wont to say that he was less able as a mathemati- 
 cian than several of his subordinates were yet com- 
 pelled to admit that no one knew this better than 
 Clark himself. The professor's most conspicuous 
 trait was his power of impersonal judgment. He 
 chose the strongest men he could get, and did not 
 fear the comparison. His devotion to the cause 
 of education was too great for personal vanity. 
 Thus, while personally the least able specialist 
 among the full professors, he had built up the 
 strongest department in the university. 
 
 On the afternoon of the day when his letter of 
 resignation appeared with Trumbull's in The Times 
 Professor Plow came knocking at his door. Clark 
 opened it himself, his sleeves rolled up to his el- 
 bows, a hammer in his hand. 
 
 "Clark," said the visitor, shaking the flakes of the 
 first snowstorm from his hat, "I wonder you don't 
 hit me with that hammer instead of shaking hands 
 with me. I wonder you can look so calmly at the 
 cause of your misfortune." 
 
 "Not misfortune," said the other, leading the
 
 260 THE TORCH 
 
 way into the parlor. "Sit down, if you can find a 
 place. You see we're moving. I'm just packing 
 my books." 
 
 Plow seated himself on a dry-goods box and sur- 
 veyed the disordered room with a melancholy face. 
 A fire was burning brightly in the grate and a 
 shaded lamp stood on the mantel, but, despite the 
 light and warmth, the vision of falling snow in the 
 twilight outside combined with the confusion with- 
 in to produce an impression of desolation. 
 
 Mrs. Clark, attracted by the sound of Plow's 
 hearty voice, came into the room and greeted him 
 quietly. She seemed more like her husband's sis- 
 ter than his wife, so akin were they in expression 
 and personality. The lines of her thin lips were 
 both sweet and severe, and her eyes, like his, had 
 the clarity of innocence and intellect. In spite of 
 her family of five children, there was something 
 virginal in her appearance. 
 
 "Mrs. Clark," said Plow ruefully, "I can't help 
 thinking of the many times I have sat with you 
 and your good husband in this room, and now this 
 break-up goes to my heart. I was just saying that 
 I feel responsible." 
 
 She winced slightly at his reference to the past, 
 but smiled reassuringly. 
 
 "We couldn't do otherwise," she replied, sitting 
 on the edge of a box and smoothing her apron with 
 her thin, white hand. "You're not responsible, Mr. 
 Plow. If you hadn't brought this question to a 
 head some one else would have done so in time. 
 The logic of events has compelled us to take sides."
 
 VOLUNTEERS 261 
 
 Clark continued to remove the books from the 
 shelves, wrapping them in old copies of The Spring- 
 field Republican and The New York Evening Post, 
 the exponents of his political creed. 
 
 "The war has begun," he remarked quietly. 
 "You didn't think we wouldn't enlist, did you, 
 Plow?" 
 
 "That's just what I didn't expect. The married 
 men don't come out at the first call for volunteers. 
 It's for young bachelors like myself to bear the 
 brunt of the battle. Stuart and Trumbull didn't 
 make any sacrifice, but you if I'd known what 
 you were up to I'd have come around here before 
 this and put a veto on it." 
 
 "It would have done no good to protest," the 
 professor replied, with his literal precision of man- 
 ner. "These other circumstances you mention are 
 mere accidents, and do not affect the main ques- 
 tion. It makes no difference that Stuart and Trum- 
 bull are well off, and that Stuart may have had 
 other plans. They, too, have struck a blow for 
 principle, I do not doubt. We have counted the 
 cost and decided that it must be paid." 
 
 "There's the Puritan speaking," said Plow. 
 "Didn't you have an ancestor who fought at Bunker 
 Hill, or some such place, at the very time my fore- 
 fathers were hoeing potatoes in Ireland ?" 
 
 "Stonington," the professor corrected. "And 
 that's where we're going, back to the old farm. 
 It's not very productive, but we can manage to 
 make a living until something turns up. I may
 
 262 THE TORCH 
 
 open a school. Things aren't so bad. Two of my 
 sons are self-supporting, as you know." 
 
 "You'll come back here some day," Plow prom- 
 ised, fixing his friend with his bright, peculiar eyes, 
 "or get a better place." 
 
 Even as he spoke his heart misgave him, for he 
 knew that Clark's chance of a call to another uni- 
 versity was slim indeed. He belonged to the older 
 school of college professors, unworldly, unpreten- 
 tious, somewhat careless of his appearance ; a quiet, 
 steady influence for sound learning in the ancient, 
 established disciplines. He and his wife had never 
 been factors in the ambitious social life that had 
 developed in Argos within the last few years. 
 Their unobtrusive pride was more intense than 
 pride of money. They ignored people like Mrs. 
 Tupper and were ignored in turn. They had de- 
 spised Babington as a snob from the very first, and 
 he had regarded them with irritation. Plow had 
 learned in the last year from bitter experience that 
 the old order was giving place to the new, and 
 that the college professor of the future must make 
 friends of the Mammon of wealth and fashion. 
 Clark's reply showed that he understood the situa- 
 tion also. 
 
 "It isn't likely that I'll get another call. I'm 
 afraid I've had my day." He stated the fact as 
 simply and dispassionately as if it were a mathe- 
 matical formula. His expression was calm, though 
 his words were hopeless. 
 
 "No, you haven't!" Plow cried, springing to his
 
 VOLUNTEERS 263 
 
 feet. "You'll come back here with colors flying, 
 if I have anything to say about it." 
 
 He saw the incredulity and concern in their eyes, 
 and forgave them for their lack of faith in his fu- 
 ture. Of course they would think his dreams only 
 dreams, no matter how eloquently he might defend 
 them. It was a natural defect of their clear men- 
 tal vision that they often saw the difficulties rather 
 than the possibilities of life. Plow realized now 
 the full value of their stand for principle, deprived 
 as they were of the sweet blandishments of hope. 
 
 "It's too early to tell yet," he continued, sinking 
 back on his seat and speaking more quietly. "Poli- 
 tics is a doubtful game. But the university can't 
 stand Babington forever. I'm as sure of that as 
 that I'm sitting here. And when the time comes 
 I'll have something to say about it." 
 
 "I'm sure you have our best wishes, and, I might 
 add, our prayers for your success," Mrs. Clark said, 
 incapable of holding out an encouragement that 
 she felt unjustified. Plow's eyes gleamed with 
 sudden humor. 
 
 "You don't do that Irish streak in me full jus- 
 tice," he declared. "We're born politicians, though 
 some of us mistake our calling for a time and get 
 into the game rather late. But how is it with you, 
 Clark? How are you off for money? Sinews of 
 war, you know. This is a common cause, and if 
 you'll accept a loan from the treasury any time will 
 do to pay it back. I haven't had a family to sup- 
 port all these years."
 
 264 THE TORCH 
 
 "No, no," the professor protested, deeply touched. 
 "We've got enough money to get east on, and some- 
 thing over. We can worry through the winter all 
 right in the old place." 
 
 "You'll need it for your campaign," Mrs. Clark 
 put in, very near to tears. Their visitor looked at 
 them speculatively, and knew that persuasion was 
 useless. 
 
 "Well, I must be off. I have an engagement in 
 the capital, but I'll see you again, at the train, any- 
 how." 
 
 He grasped a hand of each warmly, and then 
 hurried from the room, his heart aching for them as 
 their hearts ached for him. 
 
 "Poor Mr. Plow," Mrs. Clark said, wiping her 
 eyes. "I'm afraid he'll never be elected to any- 
 thing. To think that he's lost Mrs. Van Sant, too, 
 though I'm bound to say I think that was less of a 
 misfortune than he imagines. And he wanted to 
 lend us money !" She could get no further. 
 
 "My dear," replied her husband, "he doesn't 
 think he's lost her. He'll not think so until he 
 sees her marriage to Babington announced in the 
 papers." 
 
 She laughed at the truth of the analysis, and 
 then wept again at its pathos until, ashamed of such 
 weakness, she dried her eyes permanently and re- 
 turned to her work. That night, at the table, they 
 talked with the children of the Christmas they 
 would spend by the big fireplace in the old house 
 on the little farm near Stonington. 
 
 At the same time Trumbull's friends were giving
 
 VOLUNTEERS 265 
 
 him a farewell Kneipe in one of the large private 
 rooms of the Blue Buffalo. More beer was drunk 
 from the stone mugs than was necessary to quench 
 thirst. Trumbull, as president of the revels, wield- 
 ed a rod of iron. He sent Lee to the piano to play 
 for the singing; he declared another man a Fucks 
 and ordered him to stand behind an improvised cage 
 of chairs while he made a speech on the flavor of 
 sour grapes. He was a sight worth seeing, as he 
 stood with his little German cap on his head and 
 rapped the beer-soaked table till he splintered the 
 stick in his hand. He seemed a direct importation 
 from Leipzig, and his polyglot tendency increased 
 with every mug he drained. When any one of his 
 subjects wished to leave his seat he demanded from 
 him a Tempus peto, and granted the request with 
 a lordly Habeas. Finally he exacted a song from 
 each one, and sang three himself in three dif- 
 ferent languages. About ten o'clock the party 
 formed in a procession and marched about the 
 room, singing "For he's a jolly good fellow." 
 
 While the uproar was at its height President 
 Babington entered the restaurant, shook the snow 
 from his hat and called for ale and oysters. He 
 had just come from a long visit with Mrs. Tupper 
 and was white with weariness and anxiety. The 
 number of resignations was beginning to shake his 
 nerves. That very day Doctor Brown had joined 
 the rebels and sent him a letter as a flail of his bit- 
 ter indignation. The blow failed to produce the 
 effect intended. Babington was relieved to know 
 that Brown's strange personality would no longer
 
 266 THE TORCH 
 
 be thrust within his vision to challenge his con- 
 science, but the resignation meant more trouble, 
 more correspondence. He heard the sounds of 
 jollification in the back room and called the waiter. 
 
 "What's going on to-night?" he asked casually. 
 
 "Some young men from the university are giv- 
 ing Professor Trumbull a send-off, sir," the man 
 replied. 
 
 Babington could hear nothing distinctly, but he 
 imagined that if any references were being made 
 to him they were probably not complimentary. 
 There was something in that revel more defiant 
 than many resignations, and he was stirred to deep 
 resentment. Presently, as the ale warmed him, a 
 mood of self-pity succeeded. He wished he could 
 change places with them, could be as free and un- 
 trammeled as they. By comparison, he ceased to 
 think of himself as young. The difference between 
 him and them in position was more significant than 
 the few years. He reflected bitterly that they were 
 his natural enemies, made so by their official rela- 
 tionship to himself, and could have no sympathy 
 with his ideals and with the difficulties of his office. 
 He hurried away before they should come out, and 
 boarded a car for Argos, almost happy in the con- 
 sciousness of his struggle for the right.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY 
 
 Late one afternoon in January the quiet streets 
 of Argos were startled by the wailing cry of news- 
 boys. Only an event of unusual importance could 
 send the extra editions to the suburbs of the capi- 
 tal. As the ominous cries came echoing down the 
 street doors were swung wide; students and pro- 
 fessors ran out into the snowy twilight and bought 
 a paper, their hearts stirred by vague foreboding. 
 
 Since the resignation of Stuart and Trumbull, 
 Argos had become a theater of feverish excite- 
 ment. Ten other members of the faculty had re- 
 signed, and their places were already filled by sub- 
 stitutes from the east. Resignations had followed 
 each other with such rapidity that the count of 
 heroes was lost. Their letters were published in 
 the papers with laudatory comments, the president's 
 curt replies were condemned, and then they went 
 their way. A hundred of Plow's students had 
 migrated to Washington University, but the great 
 majority stood steadily by the president and at- 
 tended the lectures of the new professors. 
 
 Almost every day brought its shock of news, 
 and no one could tell who would be the next man 
 
 267
 
 268 THE TORCH 
 
 to throw in his lot with the strikers. The presi- 
 dent walked in and out, suspected and suspicious. 
 The tension between the faculty and himself had 
 grown so great that they faced him as seldom as. 
 possible, spoke their business briefly and left. The 
 irritation of his manner, which had formerly alter- 
 nated with geniality, was now a permanent charac- 
 teristic. He looked at his teachers, any one of 
 whom might become the next rebel, with an inso- 
 lent stare and a jaw firmly set. 
 
 The old republic of learning was destroyed, and 
 whatever charm of relationship had existed be- 
 tween the faculty and students was gone. The 
 despot was in league with the plebs, as Stuart had 
 predicted, and the senate was being crushed be- 
 tween the upper and nether millstones. The world- 
 old hostility of the taught toward their teachers 
 had always existed to a certain extent at Argos, 
 but now the attitude was more pronounced. The 
 students consciously or unconsciously despised the 
 men who had often held them down and yet were 
 powerless in the hands of a master. 
 
 When Mrs. Van Sant heard the shout of "Ex- 
 tra !" she opened her door and went down the walk 
 to get the news. The carriers had passed on, but 
 she saw Lee standing under the electric light with 
 a paper in his hands and called him. 
 
 "It's Brown," he said, coming up. His face was 
 as white as the paper he held in his hand. 
 
 "What about him?" she cried. Her nerves had 
 been somewhat shaken by the events of the last two 
 months, and Lee's manner caused the blood to rush
 
 THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY 269 
 
 to her heart in a tumult of strange fear. She had 
 scarcely known the instructor in Latin, but a re- 
 membrance of his uncanny personality prepared her 
 for something of peculiar horror. 
 
 "He's dead. It is thought he committed sui- 
 cide." 
 
 They went into the house, and he stood beneath 
 the chandelier, adjusting his glasses with a trem- 
 bling hand. 
 
 "Read it," she urged breathlessly. "Read it." 
 
 "My glasses are covered with mist," he said. 
 "I can't see." 
 
 She took the paper from his hand and sat down, 
 spreading it open on her knees. For a few mo- 
 ments there was absolute silence between them; 
 then she looked up, her face as pale as his own. 
 
 "How dreadful !" she whispered. "How ghast- 
 ly and mysterious! Did you read it all?" 
 
 "Every bit of it, and I shouldn't be surprised if it 
 were true," he answered. 
 
 "If what were true ?" 
 
 "That he committed suicide. Of course, his 
 death may have been accidental, a result of his own 
 carelessness, and it seems that nothing has been 
 found among his papers to show that he planned to 
 take his life. I knew he signed the death-warrant 
 to his professional career when he resigned. He 
 probably thought he could get another place, and I 
 suspect that when he learned the truth it was too 
 much for him." 
 
 Again silence fell between them. She was wish- 
 ing that she had shown the instructor some atten-
 
 270 THE TORCH 
 
 tion, that she had tried to mediate between him 
 and Babington, that she had not indulged her in- 
 stinctive dislike of his unattractive personality. 
 
 "I know what you're thinking of, Susanne," he 
 said. "I was thinking the same thing. We might 
 have done something to prevent this. But you 
 mustn't reproach yourself. He wouldn't give us a 
 chance. I have seen him rude to you, and you re- 
 member last spring how he resented my sympathy. 
 It was natural enough, too. I resolved then to 
 speak to Judge Gates about him this year, but now 
 it's too late. You know how Brown behaved toward 
 the last. I didn't dare speak to him." 
 
 "You're right, Nicholas, of course," she an- 
 swered, trying to rally. "It would be weak to tor- 
 ture ourselves with useless regrets. Only, I've 
 learned a lesson." 
 
 "And I, too," he said simply. 
 
 "What was the poor creature doing in that little 
 town?" she asked. "I never knew what became of 
 him after he resigned." 
 
 "He was teaching school. You can imagine the 
 contrast between that position and an instructor- 
 ship in the university. He ran away from tyranny 
 only to find it in a worse form, for there's nothing 
 to compare with the ignorance and prejudice of a 
 rural school board. He found out that politics 
 ruled there even more than here. The discovery 
 must have been maddening to him, and he was not 
 a man to conciliate people and win support." 
 
 She picked up the paper again and then put it
 
 THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY 271 
 
 down on her knees, striking it nervously with her 
 clenched fist. 
 
 "The Times insinuates that Mr. Babington is in- 
 directly responsible!" she cried. "It says his 
 neglect to promote Doctor Brown may have been 
 the cause of his resignation and death. Did you 
 ever hear of anything more malicious?" 
 
 "Malicious?" he echoed. 
 
 "You don't mean to say you think he really is 
 responsible?" she demanded, the color suddenly 
 rushing to her face. 
 
 "Not directly, no; but I can't say that I think 
 his treatment of Brown was eminently fair and 
 just. In a way, I suppose he is responsible, but, 
 of course, if he could have foreseen this result he 
 would have tried to do something to prevent it." 
 
 "You're always criticizing him behind his back," 
 she said stormily. "If you don't approve of him, 
 why don't you tell him so and resign, instead of 
 coming to me with your complaints?" 
 
 "That's a new tack for you to take," he retorted, 
 deeply hurt. "I didn't know you had become his 
 champion. I never concealed my opinion of him 
 from the first, and you knew what I thought be- 
 fore to-day. I'm not aware that it is customary 
 to tell people what you think of them, and as for re- 
 signing, I refuse to play into his hands by doing 
 so." 
 
 She rose to her feet and flung him a look of 
 scorn. 
 
 "That's all very well, but I think any insinuations
 
 272 THE TORCH 
 
 against Mr. Babington at this time are cruel and 
 malicious." 
 
 "I'm sorry you think so," he answered coldly, 
 taking up his hat. "There seems to be an irrecon- 
 cilable difference of opinion on the subject between 
 us, and I don't propose to argue the matter." He 
 bowed to her with formal courtesy and left the 
 room. 
 
 As soon as he had gone she picked up the news- 
 paper and thrust it into the fire, standing with her 
 foot on the fender and watching the flames until 
 they had whirled the crisp, charred remnants up the 
 chimney. She was angry with Lee almost beyond 
 the power of forgiveness, and yet greater than her 
 anger was her humiliation. Why had she taken it 
 upon herself to defend the president before one 
 who could not, in the nature of things, sympathize 
 with her indignant impulse? Lee was never guilty 
 of the vulgarity of showing personal jealousy, but 
 his attitude toward the president had been critical 
 from the first. She would not admit the justice 
 of his present judgment, and yet the very fierce- 
 ness of her resentment convicted her of doubt. 
 She was too fair a woman to blink the fact that 
 she had been trying to convince herself. Of course, 
 Lee would draw his own conclusions, and she could 
 never explain an attitude of mind that was an 
 enigma even to herself. Anger, humiliation and 
 doubt racked her cruelly ; but above all a conscious- 
 ness of that grim tragedy struck her with a chill, 
 and she shivered like one in the grip of an ague. 
 
 As Lee strode down the street he admitted to
 
 THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY 273 
 
 himself for the first time that he was grateful to 
 Susanne for rejecting him. He was even sorry 
 for her, as he divined her mental turmoil. If she 
 loved the president she could not be indifferent to 
 the attacks upon him. Looking back over the last 
 few months, he wondered at his own temerity in 
 discussing him so freely with her. Pride had kept 
 her apparently unconcerned until to-night, and he 
 had not suspected that she really loved him. Now 
 he saw the truth, and with instinctive chivalry he 
 resolved to make amends. He would never dis- 
 cuss Babington with her again, and he knew her 
 generous nature well enough to be sure of her for- 
 giveness. 
 
 "But to think that she could love him," he mur- 
 mured. "Poor Susanne!" 
 
 He looked up at the stars, stilled by a sudden 
 realization of the mystery of life and death. There 
 was not time enough on earth for work and love; 
 there ought not to be time enough for hate. How 
 unnecessary the animosity between himself and the 
 man that was gone! He could scarcely grasp the 
 fact that he would never again see that familiar 
 figure in the streets of Argos, that figure associated 
 with all his professional career. A few years more, 
 and what difference would it make that one had 
 succeeded and the other failed? They would both 
 be in that land where all things are forgotten. 
 
 It seemed peculiarly sad to him that Brown's 
 death should be attended only by pity and horror, 
 that the man had won so little love on his earthly 
 pilgrimage. He had been mysterious, furtive, and
 
 274 THE TORCH 
 
 repellent in his life, and his death was strangely in 
 keeping. And why should one man be the recipient 
 of love unsought, while another bristled with sub- 
 tile antagonisms? He thought of the man's fierce 
 struggle for righteousness, of his uncharitable 
 charities, of the bitter jealousy that poisoned his 
 life. His Christian training must have made the 
 idea of suicide peculiarly repellent, and for a mo- 
 ment Lee felt that the theory was improbable. The 
 subject possessed an uncanny fascination for him, 
 and he imagined the imperceptible gradations by 
 which that embittered soul had gone down into the 
 valley of despair. 
 
 He pictured Brown as he had seen him the after- 
 noon of the reception, almost a year before, and 
 seemed to hear him say once more, "In heaven, 
 perhaps, but not here!" At the time the remark 
 had seemed a sneer at the justice of God, and now 
 it appeared to be the key with which to unlock the 
 mystery of his death. Perhaps self-destruction 
 had been his peculiar temptation, the one unspeak- 
 able wickedness that had beckoned him down the 
 dark vista of defeat. If he had only learned the 
 value of those relaxations which he condemned, he 
 might now be alive and happy among men, loving 
 and beloved. But his joy was in scorn, his reward 
 lay in the blandishments of self-righteousness. 
 
 There must have been reasons for his deed. 
 There must have been sophistries and arguments 
 that crowded in upon his mind, to be beaten back 
 day by day with the sword of faith. Often, at 
 night, they must have returned like a swarm of evil
 
 THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY 275 
 
 spirits, jeering and gibing upon him in the dark- 
 ness, until the ground of his hope slipped away be- 
 neath him and sent him spinning into the void of 
 uncertainty and despair. The thought of that void, 
 that limitless inane, recalled his half-forgotten 
 Lucretius to Lee's mind. It was strange he had 
 not thought of it before. Was it possible that 
 Brown had delved below the grammatical construc- 
 tions which seemed to form his mental food and 
 had read the very heart of the pagan world? Did 
 the Epicurean convince him at last that after death 
 he would cease to exist, or would at least cease to 
 be unhappy? How often, early in his teaching 
 career, he must have sneered at Horace's charac- 
 terization of Cato's death as "noble." Did he 
 come to think it so? Did the example of Arria 
 and Paetus and Seneca take his imagination captive 
 until he rushed madly from self-torment to em- 
 brace oblivion? 
 
 He felt that he had entered on a study of 
 growing insanity, and shrank back from the brink 
 appalled. For a moment he felt not entirely guilt- 
 less of this man's death. Had he done anything to 
 help him see the sweetness of life? Had he not 
 accentuated their rivalry by his scorn ? Everett had 
 done what he could, but his recommendation in 
 Brown's behalf had been mercilessly blue-penciled 
 by the president. It seemed as if Babington had 
 resisted with peculiar animus the importunities of 
 men who might have thought themselves entitled 
 to special consideration. Lee breathed a sigh of 
 thankfulness to reflect that he had not given the poor
 
 276 THE TORCH 
 
 wretch the final push into the gulf, and wondered 
 whether the wraith of the dead man would arise in 
 the president's soul like a spiritual miasma, shadow- 
 ing his days with remorse. 
 
 He caught sight of a girl slipping and struggling 
 through the snow before him, and recognized Miss 
 Hathaway. The sudden resilience of his mood 
 amazed him. It was like a temptation to laugh at 
 a funeral. He had been brooding on a ruined ca- 
 reer and an enigmatical death; but here was youth 
 and beauty and joy. His heart went out to her 
 as to a flower growing in a field of weeds, uncon- 
 scious alike of their ugliness and of her own rare 
 quality. 
 
 "Let me help you, Miss Hathaway," he said, 
 coming up to her side. "I wish you would take 
 my arm." 
 
 He yearned for her sweet, human companion- 
 ship. As she hesitated, he possessed himself quiet- 
 ly of her books, took her cold little hand firmly in 
 his own and thrust it deep into the pocket of his 
 greatcoat. He was warmed and comforted by her 
 touch; he was not surprised that she made no re- 
 sistance, that she scarcely seemed conscious of his 
 action. 
 
 "I asked you to let me help you," he said, "be- 
 cause I needed your help. I have seen a ghost." 
 
 She shivered as with cold. 
 
 "I had been studying with a friend," she returned, 
 "and there I heard the dreadful news. Poor Doc- 
 tor Brown ! I took a course with him last year, and 
 I can't seem to forget just how he used to look. I
 
 THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY 277 
 
 wish I had been able to like him better then. Did 
 you ever hear of anything more dreadful?" 
 
 "Never," he answered. "But we mustn't think 
 of it any more. It isn't sane to torment ourselves 
 with ghastly fancies." 
 
 "You don't believe he committed suicide, do 
 you ?" she asked, her voice trembling. 
 
 "Of course not," he declared stoutly. "He was 
 the 1 last man in the world to do such a thing. You 
 mustn't believe the papers. They always try to 
 make a bad matter worse. It must have been an 
 accident." 
 
 "I'm so glad you think so," she sighed, looking 
 up at him. "I begin to feel better about it." 
 
 He continued to talk with her and to comfort her 
 almost as if she were a child, yet all the time he 
 was conscious of that little hand growing warmer 
 and warmer within his own ; he was thrilled by the 
 momentary pressure of her strong young body 
 against him as she slipped in the snow. The hood 
 of her cape fell back from her head, and she would 
 not replace it. 
 
 "It smothers me," she declared. "I like to feel 
 the snow and wind in my face." 
 
 His imagination grew warm with remembrances 
 of just such nights in his youth when he used to 
 take Susanne home from some merrymaking, and 
 the intervening years seemed a dream. He was 
 young once more. The tragedy that had filled 
 his thoughts became remote, a mere passing re- 
 minder of the common lot of man. It had no part 
 with his present experience, with this sweet girl at
 
 278 THE TORCH 
 
 his side whose growing consciousness of their sud- 
 den intimacy pervaded him like an unspoken mes- 
 sage of love. He noted her dawning embarrass- 
 ment with a strange exultation. She made a gen- 
 tle effort to withdraw her hand. 
 
 "This- is where I live," she said, hesitatingly. 
 
 He recognized the house as that of a rich towns- 
 woman who had come to Argos to live that she 
 might break into the university society. He had 
 never been in the house, and he knew that. Mrs. 
 Van Sant regarded the woman's aspirations with 
 amusement. He suspected that Miss Hathaway 
 was employed there, perhaps as a maid, perhaps as 
 a caretaker of the children. 
 
 "Here are your books," he said. 
 
 He still kept her other hand in his pocket, and as 
 she took the books he drew her to him with a sud- 
 den impulsive yearning. For a moment he saw the 
 flash of her startled eyes, and her warm, sweet 
 breath came quick against his face. The blood 
 rioted in his veins, and he kissed her. She freed 
 herself from him and shrank back with a little cry 
 of protest that went to his heart like an appeal for 
 pity. 
 
 "Don't cry," he entreated, standing before her, 
 self-condemned. "Please don't." 
 
 If she had only flamed out at him he would have 
 been relieved, but she turned without a word of re- 
 proach and went slowly up the path to the house. 
 He stood still until the door closed behind her and 
 then went back to his rooms, on worse terms with 
 himself than he had ever been before.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 A NEW CHAMPION 
 
 When the president heard the news of Brown's 
 death he was shocked and unnerved beyond meas- 
 ure, but he took the first train for the little town 
 and there did what he could. He superintended 
 the packing of Brown's effects; he telegraphed to 
 the instructor's family, and, in accordance with 
 their request, he sent the body home for burial. 
 When he returned to Argos, after an absence of 
 several days, he talked freely with the reporters. 
 
 "Doctor Brown was an old student of mine. He 
 was a promising scholar and I expected great things 
 of him. I regretted keenly his unnecessary resig- 
 nation from the university. Doubtless his absence 
 would have been only temporary but for this sad 
 accident. You may say for me that any talk of 
 suicide is a malicious slander and does his memory 
 great injustice. His influence among the students 
 as a Christian gentleman and a sound scholar was 
 admirable. I was very sorry when he resigned, 
 but, of course, under the circumstances, I was forced 
 to take him at his word. There was no personal 
 quarrel between us; it was merely a difference of 
 opinion. I hoped at the time that he would one 
 
 279
 
 280 THE TORCH 
 
 day revise his judgment and pave the way for a 
 return to the university, but now, poor Brown " 
 
 The reporters saw that he was struggling for 
 composure, and forbore to question him further. 
 Only to Fyffe did the president mention the sub- 
 ject again. 
 
 "If he did commit suicide, which I don't believe, 
 we have a fine example of Plow's pernicious influ- 
 ence. That man would flout all authority, even 
 the authority of religion. I hope he did not under- 
 mine poor Brown's faith at the same time that he 
 destroyed his respect for law and order. If he did, 
 however, 'woe to that man by whom the offense 
 cometh.' " 
 
 It was a week before he called upon Mrs. Van 
 Sant, but when he did he found nothing in her man- 
 ner to justify his vague forebodings. Her gener- 
 osity had conquered her instinctive judgment, and, 
 now that he was under a cloud, she became to her- 
 self his champion. There was something, too, of 
 a natural reaction from the restraint that had ex- 
 isted between them since the afternoon of his un- 
 fortunate sneer at Plow. She showed plainly that 
 she did not hold him in any degree accountable, 
 though the subject of the tragedy was not men- 
 tioned between them, and he went away refreshed, 
 comforted and profoundly grateful. 
 
 The event seemed to quiet men's passions and 
 to bring about a truce, for there were no more 
 resignations. But still, for a time, Argos talked 
 and thought of little else. The president's un- 
 compromising enemies were amazed at his clever-
 
 A NEW CHAMPION 281 
 
 ness. They saw that he had won sympathy out of 
 the very jaws of reproach by his adherence to prin- 
 ciple and by his apparent kindness of heart. Others 
 were convinced that they had done him a wrong", 
 and repented their lack of charity. A third party 
 held a more intricate view. They felt that Babing- 
 ton had realized his danger and had averted it by a 
 deliberate plan and a bold defiance of the theory 
 of suicide; but they imagined also that his emotion 
 was genuine, that he was profoundly moved by the 
 pathos of the instructor's untimely death. 
 
 Meanwhile the work of the university went for- 
 ward smoothly. The thickly crowding events of 
 the great world pushed the subject from men's 
 minds and from the columns of the newspapers. 
 The impending conventions for the nomination of a 
 governor of the state began to furnish political gos- 
 sip. It was reported that Daniel Plow, by virtue 
 of his boyhood's occupation, had joined the Black- 
 smiths' Union and would make an effort to capture 
 the nomination of the Labor Union party. This 
 party had never been much more formidable than 
 the Prohibitionists, and even The Times, though 
 it catered to the common people, treated the new 
 aspirant with respect rather than with enthusiasm. 
 
 At Argos Plow's election was regarded as hope- 
 less, even by his admirers, and Babington viewed 
 his ambition with amusement and contempt. 
 
 For almost a month comparative quiet reigned 
 at Argos. The passions that had roiled the Pierian 
 spring seemed to outsiders to be subsiding and 
 leaving the waters clear. But the clearness was
 
 282 THE TORCH 
 
 deceptive. Down at the bottom, dead leaves, 
 sticks and stones waited but the prodding of some 
 mischievous hand to rise up and poison the pool 
 anew. 
 
 Babington himself had maintained silence since 
 his first letter in answer to Plow's statement. The 
 only expressions of his opinion which found their 
 way into the papers were his curt and formulaic 
 acceptances of resignations. Since Brown's death, 
 and the consequent truce, his first anxiety had dis- 
 appeared. His was not a brooding nature, and 
 he did not suffer self-reproach. He still felt that he 
 had been justified in refusing Everett's request for 
 Brown's advancement, on the ground that there was 
 no money. He could not admit to himself his 
 stronger motive, a desire to show his power to the 
 man who might have had his office. Even that 
 sad event had redounded to his credit, as if to 
 prove the justice of his course. Much of his nerv- 
 ous irritability disappeared. He was genial once 
 more, as in the early days of his incumbency, but 
 there was a lurking sardonic humor behind his 
 geniality that boded ill for his enemies. He walked 
 with a surer sense of power and security. His 
 smile easily merged into a sneer, and the stare of 
 his bulgent eyes was more suggestive than ever be- 
 fore of thinly veiled contempt. It was generally 
 noticed that he had taken on weight, and his ene- 
 mies commented on the fullness of his throat as 
 an indication of high living. 
 
 The president knew to whom he could confide 
 his opinion of Daniel Plow, the blacksmith and
 
 A NEW CHAMPION 283 
 
 haranguer of "wage slaves." Fyffe and Watkins 
 and some of the new professors greeted his sallies 
 at Plow's expense with sympathetic grins. Inde- 
 pendent instructors, who were too young to serve 
 on committees and had no vote in the faculty, found 
 it easy to show their dislike of the president by 
 avoiding him. His receptions were now attended 
 only by the students and by his small band of hench- 
 men. The heads of the departments were obliged 
 to see him daily on matters of business, and the 
 feud continued. The hatred of many of these 
 men toward Babington became almost a mono- 
 mania, all the more intense and soul-racking be- 
 cause of the need of concealment. Some of them 
 brooded upon it with such bitterness that all the 
 joy of life and incentive to labor seemed to leave 
 them. Even Professor Everett had changed. He 
 appeared grayer and more stern, as he began to 
 realize the hopelessness of his long fight to keep up 
 the standard of the university. 
 
 The president was planning another coup with 
 which to finish his second year. Mrs. Tupper had 
 promised him two hundred thousand dollars in cash 
 for a recitation hall in memory of her husband. 
 The architectural plans were now under way, but 
 no one knew the secret except the benefactress, the 
 architect, the president and Mrs. Van Sant. 
 
 The struggle for students between Washington 
 University and the institution at Argos had become 
 acute. Each was bidding for patronage by accept- 
 ing admission certificates more freely from the 
 schools of the state. Up to this time the State
 
 284 THE TORCH 
 
 University had required Greek and Latin of candi- 
 dates for the degree of Bachelor of Arts, but Wash- 
 ington accepted substitutes for the ancient lan- 
 guages, German, French, botany, anything, and its 
 numbers grew apace. Babington felt that he must 
 offer like concessions. Those one hundred stu- 
 dents he had lost must be more than offset by the 
 size of the next freshman class. The doors must 
 be thrown open to any one who would come. The 
 way to get students was to make the entrance easy. 
 He must prove his success not only by getting do- 
 nations, but also by reporting each year "the 
 largest incoming class in the history of the institu- 
 tion." 
 
 It was more than four months since Professor 
 Everett had said at the first college meeting in the 
 gymnasium that a big university was one thing 
 and a great university quite another. At the 
 time the utterance had seemed to Babington a 
 mere platitude, but now he began to realize that 
 the professor meant what he said. For several 
 years Everett and Lee had been members of the 
 committee on credentials, and had stood firmly 
 >against the tendency of the times to remove the 
 classical requirements from the catalogue. Bab- 
 ington wished to see the classics go, in accordance 
 with his policy of numbers at any cost. At pres- 
 ent Latin and Greek were required only for the de- 
 gree of Bachelor of Arts; other courses were 
 crowned by other degrees, as Bachelor of Science, 
 Bachelor of Philosophy, Bachelor of Letters. The 
 president wished to remove the required classics and
 
 A NEW CHAMPION 285 
 
 to give the first degree for all courses; in a word, 
 to make it a mantle of charity covering a multitude 
 of sins of omission. 
 
 Conservatives like Everett and Lee wished to re- 
 tain the old significance of the degree of Bachelor 
 of Arts; in this last ditch they took their stand. 
 The very sight of Everett's wise, strong, owl-like 
 face began to fill the president with profound irrita- 
 tion. He grew to hate Lee's salient nose, his as- 
 sured poise, his gently sarcastic smile, the very twirl 
 of his glasses. These were the men that would balk 
 him in his cherished plan and allow Washington 
 University to gain the lead. The question of en- 
 trance requirements came up again and again in the 
 faculty meetings, but Babington could not win a 
 majority to his side. He had won the scientific 
 men, for they hated the classics more than they 
 hated him and wished to banish them to increase the 
 prestige and influence of their own departments. 
 On the other side were the professors of Greek, 
 English, Latin and most of the teachers of history, 
 modern languages and kindred subjects, many of 
 them moved by enmity against the president rather 
 than by strong conviction. 
 
 Babington' s interest in the subject was more per- 
 sonal than educational. He was determined to be 
 president of the biggest university between the Al- 
 leghanies and the Rockies, and he knew the way to 
 accomplish his end. He had studied the sudden ex- 
 pansion of eastern universities, and had grasped the 
 secret of success. It was his cleverness in falling 
 in with the tendency of the times that had won him
 
 286 THE TORCH 
 
 his reputation as a progressive educator, and his call 
 to Argos. He had borrowed the hammer of the 
 great iconoclasts with such assurance that he made 
 it seem his own peculiar weapon. Had it been feas- 
 ible he would have discharged all the men that dared 
 to thwart his ambition with their prating of scholar- 
 ship and culture and high ideals. He was looking 
 a long way into the future. After he succeeded in 
 getting the classics out of the entrance requirements 
 he intended to shorten the college curriculum to 
 three years, that he might draw men to the college 
 who would otherwise go straight from the schools 
 to the study of medicine and law. 
 
 The deadlock between the president and Pro- 
 fessors Everett and Lee was well known to the man- 
 agers of The Times, and on this situation they 
 based their hope of a new sensation. Both men 
 were giving lectures in the university extension 
 course in the capital, and a reporter was always 
 present, watching for some casual question that 
 might call forth an opinion reflecting on the presi- 
 dent. Everett was too wise a man to be caught, but 
 Lee was less anxious to maintain a neutral front. 
 
 One Friday evening he was delivering a lecture 
 on Duns Scotus and the medieval universities. It 
 was a natural step to American institutions of 
 learning, and after the lecture he found himself in- 
 volved in a discussion regarding the educational 
 tendencies of the times. He spoke frankly of the 
 danger of large endowments and magnificent build- 
 ings as tending to foster a spirit of materialism. 
 
 "Just as men often build great houses to die in
 
 A NEW CHAMPION 287 
 
 when they have grown rich," he said, "so I some- 
 times think universities erect academic palaces 
 which become the mausoleums of their earlier and 
 sturdier ideals." 
 
 His views in regard to mere numbers, as opposed 
 to a high standard, followed. 
 
 "A little learning is sometimes a dangerous 
 thing, as the poet says," he remarked. "We must 
 have our hewers of wood and drawers of water. 
 It is better to train thoroughly a few choice spirits 
 to rule the masses intelligently than to dose the 
 mob with large spoonfuls of peptonized mental 
 pabulum." 
 
 Finally the suppression of the free discussion of 
 socialistic problems was mentioned. 
 
 "People say that this suppression is due to the 
 influence of money and monopoly," the reporter re- 
 marked, "but what do you think?" 
 
 "It would be idle to deny it, and personally I 
 think it is much to be regretted. Such problems 
 ought to be referred to the university as to a higher 
 tribunal. It is there that they should be weighed, 
 and approved or found wanting. The university 
 should be a seminary of statesmen; only thus can 
 she repay the state for her support." 
 
 "Then you think that Professor Plow was in the 
 right?" 
 
 It was a leading question, and the lecturer chose 
 to give it his own interpretation. 
 
 "I can't say that Professor Plow succeeded in 
 making me a convert," he replied. 
 
 "I didn't mean to ask whether he was right in
 
 288 THE TORCH 
 
 his political views, but in demanding the privilege 
 of free speech within the university." 
 
 Lee did not know his questioner, but he sus- 
 pected his purpose. Formality had ended with the 
 lecture, and the few that remained were gathered 
 about him like a band of friends. Only when 
 Plow's name was mentioned did he realize that un- 
 wittingly he had been talking for publication. Now 
 he picked up his papers to indicate that the conver- 
 sation was at an end, and looked at the young man 
 as if he were an impertinent yokel who could not 
 understand the nature of his offense. 
 
 "I think I have already answered that question 
 in effect," he said. "Good night." 
 
 The next morning when he picked up the paper 
 the first thing that met his eyes was the following 
 announcement : 
 
 PROFESSOR LEE JOINS THE ACADEMIC STRIKE. 
 
 CRITICIZES THE PRESIDENT AT A LECTURE IN THE 
 
 CAPITAL. 
 
 "This is interesting," he murmured. "When a 
 man is looking for trouble he usually manages to 
 find it. That is what I get for boasting that I 
 would stay and see the thing through." He ad- 
 justed his glasses and settled himself for a perusal 
 of the article. "There ought to be a commentary," 
 he reflected, turning to the editorial page. 
 
 His expectation was justified. With a fanfare 
 of editorial trumpets he heard himself announced
 
 A NEW CHAMPION 289 
 
 as a new champion of liberty entering the lists. 
 Professor Lee had openly said that the discussion 
 of socialistic problems ought to be allowed in the 
 university. He admitted that the suppression of 
 such discussions was due to the influence of money 
 and monopoly. He had declared, in effect, that 
 Professor Plow was right and that President Bab- 
 ington was wrong in regard to the main point at 
 issue between them ; for it was quite unnecessary 
 to remind the readers of The Times that the charge 
 of offensive political partizanship against Plow was 
 merely a blind to conceal the real cause of his dis- 
 missal, namely, his socialistic views, and especially 
 his advocacy of the public ownership of public utili- 
 ties. Had Plow upheld Republican doctrines, he 
 would still be at his post in the university. It had 
 been known for some time that the relations be- 
 tween the professor of English and the president 
 were much strained, and this open breach could 
 scarcely come as a surprise to those on the inside. 
 The professor was one of the most promising and 
 brilliant of the younger men in the faculty. He 
 was born and brought up in the capital, he was a 
 graduate of the university at Argos, and a man of 
 influence. The matter could not rest where it was. 
 Either the professor must retract, or the president 
 would be bound by the precedent he had established 
 to demand his resignation. Of one thing the ed- 
 itor was sure : Professor Lee was a man that 
 would stand by his guns. 
 
 When Lee went down to breakfast his fellow
 
 290 THE TORCH 
 
 boarders, unmarried members of the faculty, greet- 
 ed him with ironical congratulations as the latest 
 champion of the lost cause. 
 
 "Lost ?" he echoed, looking at them with a chal- 
 lenging smile, his head thrown back. 
 
 "What will you do about it?" they asked. 
 
 "Do? Nothing. What should I do?" 
 
 They suspected that his plan of action was 
 mapped out and plied him with questions, but he 
 turned their curiosity aside with light jests and 
 sauntered away, leaving them mystified and intent. 
 
 About two hours later he entered the president's 
 office with a letter in his hand. 
 
 Babington glanced up at his visitor, an ugly light 
 in his eyes, and kept his seat. His habitual lack of 
 courtesy toward his professors deprived his present 
 manner of any unusual significance, but his one 
 word of interrogation was like a snarl. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "The matter is private, Mr. Babington," Lee an- 
 swered, with a glance at Watkins. The secretary 
 looked at the president for a hint, as a dog might 
 look at his master, but Babington sat still, the tide of 
 anger flooding his face until the very tips of his ears 
 were red. Lee turned sternly to the private secre- 
 tary. 
 
 "Mr. Watkins," he said quietly, "you will oblige 
 me very much by leaving us alone for a few min- 
 utes." And Watkins went. 
 
 "Really, I'm not accustomed to such high-handed 
 procedures in my office " Babington began. 
 
 The other beat a tattoo on his left hand with the
 
 A NEW CHAMPION 291 
 
 letter which he held in his right, but did not raise 
 his voice, and his smile was almost sweet. 
 
 "Mr. President, may I request an explanation of 
 this letter of dismissal which I have just found on 
 my desk ?" 
 
 The president's face grew purple with choler, and 
 he rose to his feet. 
 
 "I believe the letter explains itself, sir. I have 
 nothing to add." 
 
 "Mr. President," Lee resumed, "this is a very 
 serious matter for you as well as for me, and I must 
 insist that you listen to what I have to say. It is 
 unfortunate that an expression of my opinions has 
 found its way into the public press. I regret that I 
 can not retract them, but I merely wish to say that 
 you are mistaken in your impression that I have 
 'openly criticized the management of the university' 
 and 'undermined its influence.' I supposed myself 
 in the company of friends, but it seems that a re- 
 porter was present. My error, or oversight, or what 
 you will, is not sufficient ground for your action." 
 
 The president's round eyes burned with baffled 
 hatred. He had hoped to remove this obstacle to 
 his plans from his path. If Lee were gone Everett 
 would lose his strongest ally and he could easily 
 get a majority of the faculty to favor a revision of 
 the entrance requirements; only those two men 
 loomed between him and the success that was almost 
 within his grasp. His eyes shot sudden suspicion, 
 and his smile was a sneer of incredulity. 
 
 "These explanations after the event are scarcely 
 convincing, Mr. Lee. But, at all events, such a
 
 292 THE TORCH 
 
 lack of loyalty to the president of the university 
 can not be overlooked. This can not be the first 
 time that you have expressed your opinions. I must 
 have loyal men here, not obstructionists and detract- 
 ors. I must consider the welfare of the institution 
 and of the people of the state." 
 
 "Mr. Babington," the professor said quietly, his 
 nostrils quivering, "do I understand that you doubt 
 my word, that you give me the lie?" 
 
 The president saw that he had gone too far, and 
 raised his hand as if to ward off a blow or to pro- 
 pitiate his enemy. But even in his momentary fear 
 his fury was augmented. Plow had endured his in- 
 sults in silence, and the other men had not faced him 
 personally. They had merely written their resigna- 
 tions and disappeared. He had come to think of 
 opposition to' himself as treason. Only an unreason- 
 able fear of a violent outbreak caused him to tem- 
 porize. 
 
 "Not at all, not at all, Mr. Lee," he protested 
 quickly. "Listen to me a moment, if you please. I 
 merely meant to say that the public at large would 
 not be inclined to credit your explanation. You 
 took it as an expression of personal opinion, thereby 
 doing me an additional injustice. But I waive that 
 point." He felt sure of his position once more. No 
 one would believe that Lee's explanation was true; 
 they would suppose it the result of an attack of 
 cowardice. Instinctively he took out his watch, a 
 hint of dismissal that had done more than any 
 other one thing to win him the hatred of his faculty.
 
 A NEW CHAMPION 293 
 
 "You'll have to excuse me now," he continued, with 
 a return to his pompous manner. "I'm very busy." 
 
 "Mr. Babington," Lee answered steadily, "I wish 
 to tell you that I will not accept dismissal at your 
 hands. I will continue my work as usual." 
 
 The president sat down in his chair and scruti- 
 nized his enemy keenly. For the first time he be- 
 gan to get a correct estimate of the man he had to 
 deal with. Anger, intimidation, sneers, were of no 
 avail, and his tone became judicial. 
 
 "You can't do that, Mr. Lee. You might as 
 well accept the inevitable." 
 
 "It is very far from inevitable," the professor re- 
 turned, "and for that very reason I said this matter 
 is as serious for you as for me. I have a life ap- 
 pointment and can not be removed unless incompe- 
 tency or immorality is proved against me. It is so 
 stated of full professors in the statutes of the univer- 
 sity. You have no cause for your action which will 
 stand the test of a court of law." 
 
 The president started as if he had received a 
 slight electric shock. Behind his insolent stare he 
 was thinking fast. A court of law; why not? 
 Surely, disloyalty could be proved, and disloyalty 
 rendered a man incompetent to do his work effect- 
 ively. He knew where he could get money to bribe 
 the jury. Mrs. Tupper had become as wax in his 
 hands, and she hated Lee. If he won his case, as 
 he must, the rest of his career would be one broad- 
 ening path of success. The entrance requirements 
 would be what he desired, and the attendance of the
 
 294 THE TORCH 
 
 university would double in a few years. Other mal- 
 contents would learn to keep their opinions to them- 
 selves and to favor his policies. One more victori- 
 ous fight and his power would be absolute. He had 
 formed the habit of winning, and he would win 
 again. He had remembered that Lee was a favorite 
 of Judge Gates, but that fact had not deterred him 
 from writing the letter of dismissal. The triumphs 
 of the past year had increased his confidence in him- 
 self and in the strength of his position, and tyranny 
 had become a kind of passion in his soul. The old 
 regent had been absent a long time, and his return 
 was doubtful. There was only one other considera- 
 tion that gave him pause, Mrs. Van Sant's friend- 
 ship for this man. But she had not championed 
 Plow's cause, and he felt that she would not distress 
 herself greatly about Lee. If this impertinent fel- 
 low had ever presumed to love her it would give 
 him an added pleasure to cast him out. As he took 
 a mental survey of his past triumphs and present 
 position he broke into a smile. 
 
 "A court of law?" he queried. "You might try 
 it." 
 
 Lee stood looking at him a moment in inexpress- 
 ible scorn. 
 
 "I will," he retorted, and left the room.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY 
 
 By winding paths impossible to trace, the news of 
 Lee's dismissal reached the office of The Times be- 
 fore many days had passed. The paper then pub- 
 lished the report of an interview in which the pro- 
 fessor admitted that he had been asked to resign, 
 and stated that he had not done so. The president 
 declared that, as far as he was concerned, Professor 
 Lee was no longer connected with the university. 
 Yet the professor was giving his courses as usual. 
 Evidently the policy of intimidation had begun to 
 fail, and Dr. Babington had met his match. 
 
 The president ignored Lee when they chanced to 
 meet, and the professor was equally blind. Mrs. 
 Van Sant was away on a visit, but even had she 
 been in Argos Lee would not have ventured to call. 
 Possessed as he was of the conviction that she loved 
 the president, the situation was too delicate to ad- 
 mit of such a risk. Of course she kept track of 
 events in Argos, he reflected, and he wondered 
 whether she thought that her taunt was the cause of 
 his present stand. He was hurt to think that she 
 might suppose an infusion of personal pique neces- 
 sary to the strengthening of his moral fiber. 
 
 295
 
 296 THE TORCH 
 
 The days that followed were full of trial, but to 
 all appearances he remained as self-assured and in- 
 different as ever. As soon as his quarrel with the 
 president became known the students thronged his 
 courses, expecting some vindication of his position 
 or an address of farewell. But nothing of the kind 
 occurred. When they began to realize that he in- 
 tended to continue his work as usual their wonder 
 was changed to admiration. At the close of one of 
 his lectures he was startled by a spontaneous burst 
 of applause. 
 
 He stood with his hands on the desk before him, 
 looking down at the friendly, attentive faces with 
 such an expression of astonishment that a ripple of 
 laughter ran over the room. The moment of temp- 
 tation had come. His heart was warmed by this 
 unexpected sympathy. He saw June Hathaway 
 sitting in her favorite seat by the window, her beau- 
 tiful eyes fixed upon him with that enigmatical gaze 
 which he had so often encountered from her since 
 the eventful night when he kissed her in the snow- 
 storm. Even then he was conscious of the fatal 
 possibilities of that act. If she chose to tell of it his 
 whole position would be invalidated. He had in- 
 formed the president that a professor could not be 
 discharged except for immorality or incompetence; 
 he had certainly exposed himself and her to gossip, 
 perhaps to scandal. He knew that she was hurt by 
 his act, that she resented it bitterly, and yet he knew 
 that he could trust her. His gratitude toward her 
 was mingled with pain and vain longing. He had 
 discovered her fineness only by proving himself un-
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY 297 
 
 worthy of her. As his eyes met hers for one swift 
 moment he was struck by her expression of concern 
 for him, and his course grew clear before him. 
 
 "Young ladies and gentlemen," he said, at last, 
 "it is not often that a teacher is rewarded by such 
 an emphatic demonstration of approval as you have 
 just given me. I am gratified that you have enjoyed 
 this subject and thank you sincerely for your ap- 
 preciation." 
 
 The turn was so unexpected, and his smile so in- 
 fectious, that the class broke up with renewed laugh- 
 ter and applause. He felt that he owed it to June 
 that he had not yielded to his first impulse to crit- 
 icize the management of the university before the 
 students and thus win a momentary cheap glory by 
 sensational methods. He realized also that such a 
 course would have left him no ground of resist- 
 ance to the president's demand for his resignation. 
 By a few rash words he might have expelled himself 
 from the university. His eyes sought hers once 
 more, but she had already risen to her feet and was 
 passing out with the others. He followed her deli- 
 cate profile until it was lost to view and then sat 
 down and stared at the empty benches, suddenly 
 weary. The victory she had helped him win seemed 
 barren, deprived as he was of her congratulation. 
 If she had only given him one fleeting smile he felt 
 that he would have been satisfied. 
 
 Those who watched Lee closely during that time 
 felt that he had grown suddenly older. His smile 
 was no less quick, his answer no less ready, than 
 before, but the glance of his gray eyes was shot with
 
 298 THE TORCH 
 
 a glint like that of tempered steel. He felt subtly 
 alienated from his kind. Trumbull was gone, Mrs. 
 Van Sant was inaccessible, and only the Everetts 
 remained to whom he could open his heart. 
 
 At the faculty meeting Lee's name was omitted 
 by the secretary when he called the roll. He knew 
 that Babington would ignore him if he addressed 
 the chair, and made no effort to speak. The presi- 
 dent brought forward his favorite motion in regard 
 to the entrance requirements, and Everett spoke 
 against it as usual. With him alone, it seemed, the 
 tragedy of Brown's strange death had lingered. 
 As he stood before his colleagues they were con- 
 scious of that shadow on his face, the shadow of an 
 abiding horror and doubt which even his whole- 
 some nature could not entirely dispel. He seemed 
 to have grown older and more gray. He could not 
 quite persuade himself that he had done all that lay 
 in his power for the man that was now beyond the 
 need of his help ; and this sub-consciousness gave his 
 words a gravity and sternness which stirred the 
 president to vague uneasiness and resentful protest. 
 When he had finished no one else took the floor. 
 Babington's pulses beat fast, and he hoped that the 
 victory was won. There was a note of excitement 
 and tension in the cries of "Question," which showed 
 an unusual eagerness to put the matter to the test; 
 but when the vote was taken the president's defeat 
 was emphatic. Even the scientific men went over to 
 the classical side for the time to show their sympathy 
 with Lee. It was a curious battle, more intense than 
 many a one attended with greater noise. The result
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY 299 
 
 was so unexpected to the president that its effect 
 on him was almost ludicrous. He seemed to shrink 
 visibly, to become nerveless and ineffective before 
 that expression of condemnation. 
 
 Not until the first of March did Babington play 
 his trump card. It was pay-day in the university, 
 and during the morning the members of the faculty 
 went to the treasurer's office "to see the ghost walk." 
 
 "I'm sorry, Professor," the clerk said, as Lee 
 signed the receipt for his check, "but next month 
 there will be nothing for you. Those are my or- 
 ders." 
 
 "Don't let that disturb you," was the cool an- 
 swer. "Thirty days is a long time ahead to bor- 
 row trouble." He had read in the morning paper 
 the news of Judge Gates' unexpected return, and 
 he took the car for the capital at once. 
 
 "You've got yourself in a fine scrape while 
 I've been gone, haven't you?" the old man de- 
 manded, as soon as they were alone. 
 
 "And you've returned just in time to cut the 
 Gordian knot," Lee returned calmly. 
 
 "Tell me about it," the judge demanded, a gleam 
 of amused approval in his vitreous eyes. 
 
 At the end of an hour he rose from his chair, 
 having allowed the professor to do most of the 
 talking. 
 
 "You're a chip of the old block, Nicholas," 
 he said with a dry chuckle, "a chip of the old block. 
 I wish your father were alive to enjoy this. I'll see 
 what can be done, but I sha'n't make any promises." 
 
 Two days later there was a full attendance of the
 
 300 THE TORCH 
 
 meeting of the board of regents. Judge Gates sat 
 in his old place at the foot of the table and talked 
 of his travels while they waited for the president. 
 The old regent seemed to have grown younger. 
 His shrewd eyes sparkled, but there was more mis- 
 chief than vitality in their cold gray light. 
 
 Presently Babington entered, somewhat winded 
 by his climb up the stairs, and threw his bundle of 
 reports on the table. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he began, "I must beg you to ex- 
 cuse me for keeping you waiting. Ah, Judge, I'm 
 glad to see you back again. It seems like old times 
 to have you at the council board once more." 
 
 He spoke in his most florid and cordial manner, 
 but his eyes were furtive and alert as he advanced 
 to shake hands with the regent. The judge's re- 
 sponse to his greeting was scarcely heartening. His 
 smile was somewhat sardonic, and he answered 
 Babington's questions in regard to his travels with 
 scant courtesy. 
 
 The atmosphere of the room was charged with 
 expectation when the business of the meeting began. 
 The president was visibly nervous, in spite of his 
 efforts to appear hearty and unconcerned, for all his 
 enemies, long absent, had returned. Something of 
 unusual interest must have brought them there, and 
 he suspected what it was. From time to time he 
 caught a vindictive gleam in the eyes of the old man 
 at the foot of the table. 
 
 The ordinary routine business was despatched 
 without friction, and Babington felt a great relief.
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY 301 
 
 After all, the full attendance was merely a compli- 
 ment to Judge Gates and would fall off as before. 
 
 "Well, gentlemen," he remarked, smiling and be- 
 ginning to gather up his papers, "I believe that ends 
 the business of the day. A motion to adjourn is 
 now in order." He arose from his seat and pushed 
 back his chair. 
 
 No one made the motion, and all eyes were turned 
 toward the foot of the table. 
 
 "Not yet," the judge announced. "There's an- 
 other thing I'd like to bring up, if you please, Mr. 
 President." His voice always had a grating quality 
 that rasped sensitive nerves, and never had Babing- 
 ton's responded to the stimulus so quickly as now. 
 He resumed his seat, his cheeks a trifle pale, his 
 heart beating heavily. 
 
 "Certainly, Judge," he responded. There was 
 the usual respectful emphasis on the regent's title, 
 and no hint in his full, round tone of the anxiety 
 that shook him suddenly like a fever. 
 
 "It's the matter of Professor Lee," the judge con- 
 tinued. 
 
 The president was able to smile blandly. 
 
 "Really, Judge," he answered courteously, "the 
 dismissal or engagement of professors doesn't or- 
 dinarily come before the board. Of course, you 
 may have forgotten that during your absence; but 
 it was agreed, I believe, that I was to have the sole 
 power and responsibility in such matters, to take the 
 burden from the regents and to relieve them from 
 the importunities of professors."
 
 3 02 THE TORCH 
 
 The judge waved his hand contemptuously, and 
 there was a sparkle in his eyes that meant mischief. 
 
 "I know all that, Mr. Babington. I'm not so old 
 that I'm beginning to lose my memory. I know we 
 agreed that you were to be It, and you have been It 
 with a vengeance. You've run the institution now 
 to suit yourself for a year and a half, and I don't 
 deny that you've shown some good results. I'm not 
 disposed to say anything about Plow. I'd rather see 
 him outside the university than in it, for he's as full 
 of chimeras as he can stick in his skin. Of course, 
 you had to get rid of the other men, too, or lose 
 your grip on the machine. But Lee is a horse of a 
 different color. He's a friend of mine, and I don't 
 want to see him lose his position. He has explained 
 the whole thing to me, and just how he happened to 
 get into the papers. When Lee says a thing is so it's 
 so, and you can depend upon it." He ended with 
 more excitement than he had begun, bringing his 
 fist down on the table and fairly glaring at the 
 president. 
 
 "I didn't doubt his word, Judge," Babington in- 
 terposed hurriedly. "There was a mere misunder- 
 standing." He was on the defensive now and pre- 
 sented his side of the question to the meeting in its 
 best light. The judge sat back in his chair and lis- 
 tened impatiently. Babington explained ' the dis- 
 pute concerning the entrance requirements, and 
 showed that the conservatism of Lee and Everett 
 was keeping down the attendance, to the detriment 
 of the university. It was a strong argument to use 
 before a group of men of whom the majority were
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY 303 
 
 not college graduates, men by training and experi- 
 ence hostile to the humanities. But he pleaded too 
 well, and presently the judge interrupted. 
 
 "Numbers aren't everything, Mr. Babington, and 
 the professors are overworked and underpaid as it 
 is. The more students the more teachers, and our 
 income will have to increase materially before we 
 can expand to any great extent. I'm not alarmed 
 about the attendance of the university. As for the 
 Latin and Greek, I don't see why we shouldn't con- 
 tinue to demand them for the degree of Bachelor 
 of Arts. We've invented three or four other de- 
 grees to fit the wants of the times. I'd like to see 
 that one degree mean what it used to when I was 
 in college. Even if we did lose a hundred students 
 this year I don't think the way to make up the num- 
 ber is to let down the bars in that fashion." 
 
 Babington saw that no one was inclined to take 
 his part, and that he must yield. His only concern 
 now was to back down with what grace and dignity 
 he could summon. He was still groping for a be- 
 ginning when the judge continued. 
 
 "You'll excuse me for saying, Mr. Babington, 
 that this trouble with the faculty has gone about far 
 enough, in the opinion of the board. It's getting to 
 be a scandal all over the country. I heard about it in 
 New York, and of course I stood up for you. But 
 it isn't right that all the papers in the country should 
 be down on us. And here, too, the press is hostile. 
 It never used to be so, and it must stop where it is." 
 
 As the president listened to these words he saw 
 that his very position depended upon his yielding,
 
 304 THE TORCH 
 
 and his hatred of the man that had brought him to 
 bay was almost more than he could endure. He 
 longed to throw back the defiance of that hateful, 
 triumphant gaze, even at the sacrifice of his ambi- 
 tion, but the impulse was abortive. The taste of his 
 own medicine was bitter, but he swallowed it as best 
 he could. In spite of all that could be said against 
 the judge's character, and his record was none of 
 the best, his victory over Babington was moral 
 rather than brutal. It was this fact that made the 
 president's attempt to maintain his dignity a pitiful 
 pretense. He cleared his throat and looked at the 
 faces about the long table, some amused, some em- 
 barrassed, some studiedly non-committal, some 
 openly hostile. 
 
 "Of course, Judge, the fact that Professor Lee is 
 a personal friend of yours puts another face on the 
 question entirely. No one is more anxious than I 
 to end the unhappy situation at the university, and 
 I think we may consider the incident closed. With 
 this exception, I am now in complete harmony with 
 the faculty, and I do not doubt that Mr. Lee and I 
 shall come to a better understanding and apprecia- 
 tion of each other. As a personal favor to you, 
 Judge, I will reconsider my action and accept your 
 suggestion." 
 
 "Call it that if you like," the regent retorted dry- 
 ly. "Call it a suggestion if you like." 
 
 Babington smiled as if he had heard a jest rather 
 than a taunt and once more gathered up his papers. 
 At the action there was a general scraping of chairs, 
 and the men stood up. The president bade them a
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY 305 
 
 hasty good day and went out alone. Only after 
 he had left the building did he remember that he 
 had forgotten to save appearances at the end by 
 proposing once more a motion to adjourn. The 
 meeting had broken up spontaneously when his 
 humiliation was complete, and his departure was 
 like a flight.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 A BROKEN VASE 
 
 When the president reached his room he was sur- 
 prised to find an invitation to dinner from Mrs. 
 Van Sant. It was thus he learned of her return, 
 and his self-respect was somehow restored by her 
 friendly, informal note. He thought it likely that 
 she would ask him about his trouble with Lee, but 
 he had no fear that she would call him to account. 
 
 There was no delay in his rapid preparations, for 
 everything he needed was kept ready to his hand 
 by his sister's watchful care. He took a nip of 
 whiskey and his restoration was complete. It gave 
 him an additional satisfaction to reflect that he 
 would be driven in his own carriage by his own 
 coachman for the first time. Hitherto he had kept 
 his saddle horse in a livery stable, but Mrs. Tupper 
 had added an appropriate stable to his fine house. 
 She had given it secretly, as a private gift, and 
 though he endeavored to accept it as a gift to the 
 university, she would have none of the subterfuge. 
 He was profoundly thankful that her increasing 
 feebleness made it impracticable for him to take her 
 driving in return. He found it difficult to allay 
 her suspicion and jealousy of Mrs. Van Sant, and 
 
 306
 
 A BROKEN VASE 307 
 
 the thought that he was about to drive in her car- 
 riage to dine with her rival gave him a titillation 
 of cynical amusement. 
 
 About half-past six the bright lamps of his car- 
 riage stopped before Mrs. Van Sant's door, and 
 he came forth resplendent. The blue devils had de- 
 parted from his soul and made way for comforting 
 familiar spirits. They whispered that Lee was not 
 the man to glory in his victory, and that, with care- 
 ful handling, he could manage the judge in future. 
 
 Babington had given only a partial credence to 
 Mrs. Tupper's caustic analysis of her rival, but he 
 knew by experience that Mrs. Van Sant was a wom- 
 an of moods. At the table her good spirits matched 
 his own, and Robert forgot his disapproval of them 
 both in his enjoyment of the conversation. It was 
 only when they were alone in the drawing-room, 
 however, that the president's felicity was complete. 
 No repetition could dull the edge of his appreciation 
 of her peculiar charm. If he did not think her an 
 angel, he could still admire the glory of her hair 
 in the softly shaded lamplight, he could still inhale 
 the atmosphere of elegance that radiated from her 
 presence, he could still be fascinated by the hide- 
 and-seek of her elusive moods. 
 
 As Mrs. Van Sant sipped her coffee and looked 
 at her guest across the little table, she realized that 
 he had never appealed to her more strongly; he 
 seemed, very much a man of affairs, a man of the 
 world, and she was profoundly interested in the 
 game he was playing. She took a hospitable satis- 
 faction in his cigar, and thought of the first dinner
 
 308 THE TORCH 
 
 he had attended in her house. That first conversa- 
 tion was very youthful in the retrospect ; they never 
 spoke of poetry now, and it seemed years since she 
 had urged him to write it. She had gradually 
 adapted herself to his changing character, not with- 
 out inward protests, but she was not a man-re- 
 former. She could scarcely tell at what time the 
 scales had fallen from her eyes and she had looked 
 at him with fatal comprehension. Something was 
 gone between them which could not return. She 
 would not have the element of romance restored, 
 together with the torturing suspicion of pretense, 
 and yet she felt the poorer for its loss. But could 
 she be sure that it was gone for good ? If she still 
 cared to see him so much, might it not be possible 
 that romance would return? Perhaps she was 
 clinging to a girl's ideal, one never to be realized. 
 Perhaps her doubt was merely the bitter fruit of 
 the tree of knowledge of life. She shook off her 
 meditations and came back to events. 
 
 "What was the real trouble with Professor Lee ?" 
 she asked. "One can't trust the papers, and I am 
 so much interested. You know how fond I am of 
 him." Her unaffected admission of attachment to 
 Lee showed the president that his conjecture was 
 correct. There had never been a romance between 
 them. 
 
 "It was just a little misunderstanding," he an- 
 swered in his frank manner, "magnified by the pa- 
 pers into an open breach. Naturally I was hurt 
 that he should criticize me before reporters, and de- 
 manded an explanation. It appeared that he didn't
 
 A BROKEN VASE 309 
 
 know a reporter was present, and that he wasn't 
 talking for publication. Even so, I could scarcely 
 treat him with the same cordiality after knowing 
 what he thought of me." 
 
 "Of course not," she assented. "Then he isn't 
 going to lose his position?" 
 
 The president laughed. 
 
 "Not a bit of it; that's all newspaper talk. At 
 first I did ask for his resignation, naturally enough, 
 for I supposed he could not care to teach in a uni- 
 versity presided over by such a villain. It's all 
 smoothed over now, and I hope he'll try to revise 
 his unfavorable opinion of me." 
 
 There seemed to be no bitterness in his heart, and 
 her eyes shone in admiration of his magnanimity. 
 But a mocking doubt gave her pause. She knew of 
 the long struggle between the two men; it was not 
 thus that he usually spoke of his opponents. This 
 was an extraordinary climax to a protracted duel in 
 which she had noted increasing irritation and bit- 
 terness. But she had her own moods also. Per- 
 haps something unusually pleasant had occurred to 
 soothe him ; perhaps he really respected Lee and was 
 glad of the reconciliation; perhaps, and her heart 
 was stirred by the thought, it was her own return 
 that had worked the miracle. 
 
 "I can understand," she answered meditatively, 
 "how strong a personal antagonism may become, 
 and yet it seems strange to me that two men, both 
 of whom I like so much, should dislike each other. 
 But I'm glad he isn't going to lose his place; he's 
 really so clever and so fond of the university. He
 
 310 THE TORCH 
 
 doesn't mean half what he says. I could have told 
 you that." 
 
 The president suddenly leaned across the table 
 and took her hand firmly in both his own. He had 
 dared to obey his impulse, and the deed seemed 
 strangely easy and natural, now that it was done. 
 
 "You're wise in your generation," he said, smil- 
 ing his admiration. "I wish I had asked your ad- 
 vice before. I need such a woman for my guide, 
 philosopher, and wife. Will you?" 
 
 She struggled a moment to withdraw her hand, 
 and then desisted. 
 
 "Mr. Babington," she demanded, "is this a busi- 
 ness proposition?" 
 
 His heart leaped as he realized that she was not 
 angry, but before he could frame a reply he saw 
 the look in her eyes change. She rose quickly to 
 her feet and swept by him, her silken skirts brushing 
 his knees. 
 
 "Professor Plow," she cried, "this is an unexpect- 
 ed pleasure ! You're just in time for a cup of cof- 
 fee." 
 
 "Glad to hear it," Plow answered heartily. "I 
 see you still stick to my old title. Hello !" 
 
 The last word was not a salutation, but an inter- 
 jection of surprise, chagrin, anything but pleasure, 
 for the president had risen to his feet. Mrs. Van 
 Sant threw him an appealing glance. 
 
 "How do you do, sir?" Babington said, neither 
 effusively nor coldly. Plow had recovered his com- 
 posure and answered with equal brevity. Their 
 hostess did not stop to see that there was something
 
 A BROKEN VASE 311 
 
 comical in the way they eyed each other, like two 
 great, dubious dogs. She deftly rolled a chair 
 nearer the fire. 
 
 "Do be seated," she urged. "It's so cold out." 
 
 She controlled the trembling of her hands and 
 poured a cup of coffee. 
 
 "I've forgotten how many lumps of sugar you 
 take. There ; I've put in three by mistake." 
 
 "I shall have to call this syrup," Plow remarked. 
 "No, not another cup ; I really like it sweet." 
 
 "Mrs. Van Sant is always generous to a fault," 
 the president commented easily. He had recovered 
 from the shock of the intrusion and was able to re- 
 alize the strain and excitement underneath her ap- 
 parent unconcern and cordiality. He looked at her 
 with a sense of pride and possession as she talked 
 on about the weather, the theater, anything that 
 would make conversation, and he came to her aid as 
 opportunity was presented. 
 
 The unwelcome visitor sat holding his cup and 
 regarding them both with deep speculation in his 
 inscrutable eyes. She saw the pain behind the 
 mask, and her heart was touched. She felt that she 
 could not be too cordial. The president divined her 
 emotions and was not distressed. It was easy for 
 him to be magnanimous now, and he was almost 
 sorry for the intruder. This was his second and 
 final triumph over his enemy. Plow must have 
 divined the situation he interrupted and must now 
 know that his daring hopes were fatuous. Bab- 
 ington even had a vague idea of making some 
 amends for that incident on the road.
 
 312 THE TORCH 
 
 "I understand you will capture the Labor Union 
 nomination for governor," he remarked, as if in 
 friendly interest. 
 
 "That is for the convention to decide," Plow re- 
 plied. 
 
 Mrs. Van Sant doubted the wisdom of Babing- 
 ton's lead, but struck in boldly. 
 
 "I know you will get it. If I were a man I 
 should be a politician in preference to anything else. 
 Don't you find it fascinating?" 
 
 "I like it," he answered briefly. 
 
 She felt that he had put her down, but her heart 
 forgave him. She saw that her intuition was cor- 
 rect; the president had introduced an unfortunate 
 subject, but she accounted it a blunder rather than 
 a malicious intention. The professor never seemed 
 more dignified than in his present self-contain- 
 ment. He must know that they thought the Labor 
 Union party a forlorn hope of visionaries and mal- 
 contents. She herself did not believe that the tra- 
 ditional division between Republicans and Demo- 
 crats could be broken up. No leader had yet been 
 able to fuse the workingmen, as workingmen, into 
 a victorious army, and she felt that Daniel Plow 
 was not the man to do it. He had not saved the 
 state for his party in the last campaign and she did 
 not believe that he could win it for himself by de- 
 serting the Democrats and going over to the Labor 
 Unionists. She had even shared Babington's 
 amusement when the professor made a bid for popu- 
 larity by joining the Blacksmiths' Union, but now 
 that he was present she felt only the pathos of his
 
 A BROKEN VASE 313 
 
 hopes. She gave the president a cautioning look, 
 but he seemed strangely perverse or stupid. 
 
 "The Labor Union party has gained a victory in 
 Connecticut, I see," he continued. "They've elect- 
 ed an Irish plumber mayor in one of their towns. 
 They say he's an honest man." 
 
 He hoped to introduce a discussion in which he 
 meant to conceal his own opinions and to be sym- 
 pathetic, but Plow did not relish his air of patron- 
 age nor the reference to the plumber. 
 
 "An honest man," he echoed. "Impossible, in 
 the case of a plumber." The jest was conventional, 
 but Babington was disconcerted by the comprehend- 
 ing gaze that accompanied it. He understood that 
 Plow knew his real opinions and his present inten- 
 tions too well to allow the farce to continue and that 
 he had no intention of exposing his soul before them. 
 A flash of hostility passed between the men, and the 
 air suddenly became charged with a tense excite- 
 ment in which something extraordinary might hap- 
 pen. Mrs. Van Sant came to the rescue with a story 
 of a plumber taken bodily from a comic paper, and 
 the situation was saved. 
 
 The next half-hour seemed a lifetime to the 
 hostess. Babington's geniality began to ebb from 
 the time he felt himself worsted and scorned by the 
 man he would have patronized, and he could scarce- 
 ly keep up the pretense of helping her. He resent- 
 ed Plow's presence more and more, and Mrs. Van 
 Sant's persistent cordiality became increasingly ir- 
 ritating. His impatient blood tingled to renew the 
 situation in which he had been interrupted. The
 
 3H THE TORCH 
 
 man had been treated better than he deserved, and it 
 was time for him to go. He was almost betrayed 
 into open rudeness, and his eyes took on an ugly 
 look. 
 
 She could not fail to detect his change of atti- 
 tude and to resent it. Their little conspiracy of 
 kindness was transmuted into a subtile struggle. 
 She demanded real magnanimity from him, but he 
 was small enough to be jealous and mean enough 
 to desert her. She determined to make the pro- 
 fessor stay as long as possible, but presently he 
 arose, pushing her protest firmly aside. Appar- 
 ently, he forgot to bid the president good night, 
 and Babington did not attempt to rise. 
 
 As he made his way to the door he knocked a 
 rare vase from a table and it broke in fragments 
 on the floor. His hostess followed him out into the 
 hall, turning aside his apologies with laughing and 
 mendacious protestations. Babington stood up 
 and fingered a book on the table while he listened 
 to the murmur of their voices in the hall. He 
 heard the ripple of her light laughter, the vibrations 
 of his deeper tones, and his heart was hot within 
 him. Would she never let the fellow go? 
 
 When she came back into the room she was pre- 
 pared to forgive him. After all, his jealousy was 
 not altogether displeasing to her, now that the 
 strain was past. She was thinking of Plow in a 
 softened mood. He had seemed very simple and 
 manly in his renunciation of her, and her heart con- 
 tracted with pity to think that he was going forth 
 alone to meet another defeat. Her mind was more
 
 A BROKEN VASE 315 
 
 absorbed for the moment with the man that had 
 gone than with the man that remained, and she 
 knew that the president would understand. She 
 looked up with an expectant smile and encountered 
 his expression of jealous rage. 
 
 "Is the blacksmith gone?" he demanded. 
 
 She stood still, her eyes wide with incredulous 
 wonder. Could she have heard aright? 
 
 "I was so impatient to have you to myself 
 again," he apologized. She was near him once 
 more, and his own. It seemed but a moment since 
 he had taken her hand and asked her to be his wife. 
 The intoxication of that daring venture returned. 
 He seized her in his arms and kissed her. 
 
 She disengaged herself and stood looking at him 
 coldly. Then she stooped and began to pick up 
 the fragments of the vase. He helped her with 
 trembling hands, and in silence. A short hour 
 before he had felt sure that she loved him ; now he 
 only knew that he loved her and had lost her, per- 
 haps forever. She seemed solely intent upon re- 
 covering the smallest fragment of the vase. Once 
 their hands touched as they reached for the same 
 piece, but she did not appear to notice that he was 
 helping her, much less to be conscious of the touch. 
 
 Finally they stood up, and he laid the pieces he 
 had collected on the table. She surveyed him with 
 no sign of emotion. 
 
 "Good night," she said. 
 
 "Won't you let me explain ?" he faltered. 
 
 "Explanations are more painful than necessary," 
 she answered, in an even, dispassionate tone.
 
 316 THE TORCH 
 
 He would have taken her hand, but she still held 
 the china and did not appear to notice his impul- 
 sive gesture. He saw that further entreaty was 
 useless, and left the room without another word.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 AN ANCHOR TO WINDWARD 
 
 The president did not cross Mrs. Van Sant's 
 threshold again until he called to bid her good by 
 for the summer. Pride and humiliation kept him 
 away, and he waited for time to heal the estrange- 
 ment. When he met her occasionally at other 
 places he had reason to congratulate himself upon 
 his method. The conventionalities fought for him 
 at first, and finally he divined that her graciousness 
 was not entirely conventional. By the simplest 
 move in the game of love he succeeded in transfer- 
 ring the pique from his own heart to hers. With- 
 out analyzing her own motives more deeply, she 
 was conscious that she had no desire to lose her 
 hold on one of the most important men in the state. 
 He must be brought back, if only to satisfy her van- 
 ity. And so he returned quite easily, as if nothing 
 had occurred to drive him away. 
 
 The announcement of Mrs. Tupper's gift of two 
 hundred thousand dollars for the new recitation 
 hall had given Babington's second commencement 
 an eclat scarcely inferior to the first, -though his 
 satisfaction was lessened by Everett's and Lee's 
 continued success in regard to the entrance require- 
 
 317
 
 318 THE TORCH 
 
 ments. He allowed Mrs. Van Sant no glimpse of 
 the bitterness of this check, however, nor did Plow's 
 recent nomination for governor at the hands of the 
 Labor Unionists provoke him to a word of com- 
 ment. She had no need to exert herself to keep his 
 farewell call within conventional limits, for he kept 
 it there himself. He did not even ask if he might 
 write to her. She was amused at his pretended in- 
 difference, and yet provoked that he had stolen her 
 role. But he played the part too well, and she 
 knew that distance would not lessen her hold on 
 him. They parted with mutual good wishes for 
 the summer, and as she watched him striding down 
 the walk she thought of that other parting a year 
 before, not without a touch of wistfulness and an 
 admiration for his pride and finesse. 
 
 Professor Plow captured the Labor Union con- 
 vention, and the convention felt that it had captured 
 him. His winter of quiet work had not been in 
 vain, and his organization was so complete that the 
 result of the ballot was a foregone conclusion. The 
 Labor Unionists were proud of their candidate; 
 they felt that he was one of them. He had risen 
 by his own efforts to a high position in the educa- 
 tional world, he had been thrown from that posi- 
 tion because he championed the workers' rights, and 
 now he was to be their standard-bearer against the 
 proud man's contumely wherever found. 
 
 They appreciated his university connection, a 
 connection that would have injured the chances of 
 another kind of man. Plow had early turned the 
 handicap into an advantage. The many friends
 
 AN ANCHOR TO WINDWARD 319 
 
 he had unwittingly made by his lectures in previous 
 years now rose up to hail him as their leader and de- 
 liverer. During all those years he had never talked 
 down to them; they had never been conscious 
 that he considered himself their superior, though 
 they felt a difference that he would have been the 
 first to disclaim. 
 
 The university, after all, had set its mark on 
 him and invested him with a peculiar claim to re- 
 spect. He was of all men most approachable, and 
 yet there was an invisible line, invisible even to 
 himself, which no one ventured to cross. The story 
 of his life was a romance that appealed to the rank 
 and file. The mysterious, lambent glow of the 
 blacksmith's forge seemed still to linger in his eyes ; 
 his sympathies were still with the men of the fac- 
 tory and the shop and the farm ; yet his manner of 
 expression was not theirs. He appealed to them 
 as an example of what any one of their class might 
 become when all had their rights; in a word, they 
 felt that he was a gentleman. 
 
 Moreover, when Plow came into the ranks of the 
 Labor Unionists he came bearing his sheaves with 
 him. Many enthusiastic young alumni of the uni- 
 versity, his old students, followed in his wake, and 
 he used them in various ways. Some of them he 
 sent to make speeches from trucks at the corners of 
 the streets; some he used to disseminate campaign 
 literature; from some he exacted a substantial con- 
 tribution to the campaign fund; and some he sup- 
 pressed for the good of the party. 
 
 Not all came in the spirit of their leader. A few
 
 320 THE TORCH 
 
 young lawyers, disappointed in their previous po- 
 litical ambitions, coolly estimated Plow's chances 
 and threw in their lot with him for personal gain. 
 It was no easy task to weld this infusion into the 
 original mass, but the hand at the bellows blew 
 them all into a glowing fire of enthusiasm. The 
 original men of the party, the men that had borne 
 the burden and heat of the day, were given to un- 
 derstand that those who came at the eleventh hour 
 would not receive the same political penny with 
 themselves. When this became known some of the 
 new aspirants withdrew in disgust; others re- 
 mained, some to work for love of the cause and its 
 leader, others in hope of a ha'penny if denied the 
 whole. 
 
 Before the campaign was a month old the skepti- 
 cal began to wonder and doubt. The Times, after 
 a few days of uncertainty between the Democrats 
 and the Labor Unionists, came out flat-footed for 
 the latter and nailed Plow's banner to its flagstaff. 
 The candidate had learned his lesson. He knew 
 now that too many planks spoiled the political plat- 
 form, and he confined his attention to the wrongs 
 of the working men. There was no talk of free 
 silver, and the only imperialism mentioned was the 
 imperialism of the trusts. 
 
 As the summer wore on Babington heard in- 
 credulously from a distance of the changing spirit 
 of the political battle in the west. The impression 
 was gaining ground that this was the year of the 
 under dog. The Republicans had nothing to con- 
 tribute to state issues; the Democratic party had
 
 AN ANCHOR TO WINDWARD 321 
 
 become a Cassandra still droning to deaf ears an 
 ancient prophecy of disaster; but the Labor Union- 
 ists were compact, explicit, desperate. They meant 
 to elect a governor and a legislature that would do 
 something for them there in the state. It would 
 be time enough to discuss national issues during the 
 next national campaign. 
 
 Babington had attended the annual meeting of 
 the Ethnological Society, he had interviewed new 
 candidates for his faculty, he had visited his friends, 
 and was spending the remnant of his vacation at a 
 fashionable summer resort. As he sat on the ver- 
 anda of his hotel he looked lazily over the sea and 
 read his favorite New York paper, the clever preach- 
 er of the gospel of good humor. He chuckled as 
 he read the occasional skits and fleers at Plow which 
 appeared in those columns. The professor was 
 traveling through the state under a tent pitched on 
 a flatcar, and the paper waxed merry over the 
 greatest political circus on earth, over Dan Plow, 
 the presto-change artist, the octopus-smasher, the 
 trust-buster, the megaphone of flubdub. 
 
 These comments made Plow's cause ridiculous 
 in the president's eyes. In the copies of The Times 
 which reached him he read some of the candidate's 
 speeches and thought them as flat as the car from 
 which they were spoken. He was himself an ef- 
 fective speaker and had cultivated a verbal dex- 
 terity that passed for wit. He confused Plow's 
 heavy person with his mind, and could not appre- 
 ciate the rich vein of native humor in his enemy 
 that made his jokes so dear to the people. Be-
 
 322 THE TORCH 
 
 hind the cold print he could not see the whimsical 
 gleam of those mysterious eyes; he failed to catch 
 the swing and power of the passionate appeals. 
 
 Only when he traveled westward in September 
 did the din of the political battle take on another 
 and more threatening sound. Within the borders 
 of the state he looked from the car windows and 
 saw Plow's banner hung across the streets of the 
 towns through which he passed. His fellow pas- 
 sengers, the very brakemen and porters, were 
 prophesying or fearing a Labor Union victory, as 
 their respective interests dictated. At the capital 
 the atmosphere of feverish excitement was inten- 
 sified. The flags and banners of the rival candi- 
 dates gave the city a holiday appearance. Staid 
 business men walked the streets with anxious faces, 
 as if in the shadow of impending disaster; but the 
 working men seemed to step jauntily, anticipating 
 the imminent day of their emancipation. 
 
 Babington was glad to bury himself in Argos 
 and to divert his mind with the numerous duties 
 that crowded in upon him. He scarcely read the 
 daily accounts of Plow's speeches, and refused to 
 think of the possibility of his election. He was 
 like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. When 
 Mrs. Van Sant returned he went to her as to a 
 refuge in time of trouble. Plow had openly at- 
 tacked him in several of his speeches, but he al- 
 lowed no impatient word against his enemy to es- 
 cape him in her presence. Only he and Fyffe, when 
 alone, joined in damning him beyond redemption. 
 He saw that she did not think Plow would win,
 
 AN ANCHOR TO WINDWARD 323 
 
 and his own confidence was restored. He felt that 
 his self-control was not without its effect upon her, 
 and that his long penance was drawing to an end. 
 It was as if everything were still unsaid between 
 them, as if everything were still possible. 
 
 Mrs. Tupper was less comforting. He had 
 never known her so querulous and captious. One 
 day, about a fortnight before the election, he re- 
 ceived a summons from her, and he went over to 
 the capital to find her in a state of panic. She 
 walked up and down the room, a green worsted 
 shawl drawn tightly about her shoulders, and talked 
 more savagely, more wildly, than he had ever heard 
 her talk before. As he sat and looked at her he 
 was conscious of the ghastly effect of the green 
 shawl against her yellow cheeks. Her long fight 
 against ill health had been in vain, and she looked 
 ten years older than when he first saw her. Only 
 her indomitable will to live kept her from her bed, 
 and excitement, not strength, supported her trem- 
 bling limbs. 
 
 "I tell you, Professor," she cried, her thin lips 
 twitching, "that man will be elected. I feel it in 
 my bones. I've followed many a campaign, and 
 you can't fool me. I wouldn't have believed it last 
 June, but the people are going crazy over him. 
 He's promised to pension all the old working men, 
 and to give them all a share in the 'public utilities,' 
 as he calls them. That means a share in the things 
 I own. He calls that sort of robbery Christianity 
 and justice. He says the early Christians were 
 socialists. Socialists indeed!"
 
 324 THE TORCH 
 
 As Babington listened his heart misgave him. 
 All the accumulated fear he had not admitted to 
 himself now broke over the barrier he had built 
 up against it and came flooding in upon him. He 
 faced the possibility of Plow's victory and what it 
 would mean to him. 
 
 "That will be the end of everything," she cried. 
 "If that anarchist becomes governor he'll rob me 
 of every last cent, and I shall die in the poorhouse. 
 What shall I do? What shall I do?" 
 
 Babington's round eyes held a look of irrita- 
 tion and contempt. It was sheer perversity for her 
 to talk about the poorhouse when she knew that 
 the interest of the two hundred thousand dollars 
 which she first gave to the university would be paid 
 her as long as she lived. Either she was perverse, 
 or else she was losing her mind. 
 
 "Come, come, Mrs. Tupper," he said soothingly, 
 "you excite yourself unnecessarily. Suppose he is 
 elected. It's much harder to change the laws than 
 his constituents think. He won't carry out his 
 promises, anyhow. That talk is just political thun- 
 der. If his principles ever triumph I believe they 
 have some scheme for buying the public utilities; 
 they don't propose to confiscate them. He's not 
 really an anarchist, you know, and his gang can't 
 interfere with invested rights and private property." 
 
 "I don't know about that," she retorted shrilly, 
 never pausing in her walk. "They'll try, and they 
 can do something, I know. I shall be robbed, as 
 I always have been. What shall I do ?" 
 
 He saw that she was in one of her periodic pan-
 
 AN ANCHOR TO WINDWARD 325 
 
 ics about money matters, and realized anew the 
 strength of her infatuation for himself. It must 
 have been wonderfully strong to prevail against the 
 instincts of the miser. The struggle between her 
 growing fear of poverty and the love that made her 
 give him money was killing her. He exerted him- 
 self to show that her fears were baseless, and finally 
 his efforts were successful. She sank into her chair, 
 exhausted. 
 
 "But what about yourself, Professor?" she asked. 
 "I ain't thinking about myself altogether; it's you 
 I'm thinking about at the same time. What can 
 he do to you if he gets governor?" 
 
 "That's just it," he rejoined bitterly. "He can 
 turn me out." 
 
 She almost shrieked in sudden fury and alarm. 
 "He can't! I won't let him! I've got something 
 to say about it. How can he?" 
 
 He drew his chair nearer the fire and looked 
 moodily into the flames. 
 
 "I'll tell you how the matter stands," he answered. 
 "Just at present I have a bare majority of the regents 
 on my side. There are fifteen in all, and I can or- 
 dinarily count on eight to stand by me. Even they 
 are uncertain since Gates came back. At least seven 
 would be glad to see me go. The term of three of 
 my friends expires just after the new governor, who- 
 ever he is, takes his seat. The governor has the 
 power of appointment, and if Plow is elected he will 
 put in three of his own men, making a majority of 
 ten to five against me. They won't be a week ask- 
 ing for my resignation, and I'll have to give it."
 
 326 THE TORCH 
 
 During this explanation she sat looking at him 
 with strained attention, her yellow forehead wrink- 
 ling and her heavy brows quivering above her eager 
 eyes. 
 
 "And that's what he's been up to all this time," 
 she remarked grimly. "I didn't think he was so 
 smart. But we'll beat him yet. We've got to 
 think up some scheme. He don't take his seat till 
 March, does he? That gives one time to turn 
 around." 
 
 "It's only a postponement," he replied. 
 
 "Can't you bring some of your enemies over?" 
 she suggested shrewdly. "Who's at the head of 
 'em?" 
 
 "Judge Gates; he has been my enemy from the 
 first. He has organized the opposition to a man, 
 and I can't break it up. The governor is too anx- 
 ious trying to win his reelection to give me a 
 thought, and he never did attend the meetings of 
 the board. As for Gates, I've done everything I 
 could think of to please him. I backed down in 
 that Lee affair, but it's no use. The old fox is 
 conducting a long, still hunt. I believe he hates 
 me enough to want Plow to win, much as he hates 
 Plow. He's got Everett slated for my place. 
 That's the game." 
 
 "That old fool!" she exclaimed, with a sniff of 
 contempt. Then she came back to the problem. 
 "You're sure Plow will do that?" You're per- 
 fectly sure?" 
 
 "As sure as he's elected he'll do it, and I begin
 
 AN ANCHOR TO WINDWARD 327 
 
 to think he will be. Whenever he has had a chance 
 to make capital out of his dismissal he hasn't left 
 a shred to my reputation. You know that; you've 
 read what he had to say." 
 
 "I wish he was dead before me !" she flamed out, 
 beginning to resume her restless pacing of the room. 
 "I could buy them," she muttered. "I could buy 
 and sell them, but what's the use? It's just throw- 
 ing good money after bad. I won't do it ; I won't 
 be such a fool." 
 
 Suddenly she stopped by his side and placed a 
 hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "Professor," she said, in a low, trembling voice, 
 "I want to tell you something. I'm not going to 
 give another cent to that university of yours. I 
 hate it. I only gave it for your sake, but I won't 
 give a cent more, not a cent. What do I care about 
 the university? It's you I care about. You can 
 have it all." She broke into a nervous spasm of 
 laughter and tears, and her last words were scarcely 
 articulate. "You can have it all, Professor, if you'll 
 take me." 
 
 He had anticipated this moment. He had even 
 considered seriously this final refuge. If he lost 
 his position he could have this great house and the 
 handling of her millions. Besides, she could not 
 live long. He would soon be free to follow his own 
 ambitions or pleasures. He would be a rich man, 
 and he loved riches more than anything else in the 
 world. But, as far as he could love any woman, 
 he loved Mrs. Van Sant. He thought of her now,
 
 328 THE TORCH 
 
 and could not speak. But not only that. His 
 physical repulsion from the old woman at his side 
 was almost a nausea. 
 
 She saw his hesitation and sprang away from 
 him with a cry that smote his heart with a thrill of 
 strange foreboding. Her thin, gray hair fell about 
 her shoulders and she resumed her rapid, swaying 
 walk, back and forth, back and forth, her face crim- 
 son with shame and fury, crying and laughing in a 
 breath. He had never before seen a woman in the 
 grip of hysteria, and sat looking at her in speech- 
 less horror. He thought she had gone mad. She 
 seemed like nothing so much as an ancient Erinys 
 masquerading in modern motley. 
 
 "It's because you want that little red-headed 
 minx," she chattered wildly, "and you think I'm an 
 old woman. I could kill her! I ought to have 
 killed her when she was a little brat. I always felt 
 in my bones that she would bring this upon me. I 
 know I'm a devil, but it's because there's a little 
 red devil running around in my head. I feel it 
 running round and round. Oh, oh! my head will 
 split!" 
 
 Her voice rose to a scream, and he sprang from 
 his chair in terror. He seized and held her firmly 
 by both her arms. She swayed and would have 
 fallen had it not been for his support. 
 
 "Mrs. Tapper," he cried, "stop this at once! 
 Control yourself!" 
 
 She seemed nothing but skin and bones beneath 
 her heavy dress, and he could have lifted her bodily 
 from the floor with scarcely an effort. His voice
 
 AN ANCHOR TO WINDWARD 329 
 
 and touch calmed her, though she moaned still, her 
 head rolling from side to side. 
 
 "I'm going to die! I know I'm going to die. 
 You'll kill me !" 
 
 "You're not going to die," he answered. 
 "You're going to live with me." 
 
 She opened her eyes wide and darted him a look 
 of exultation. The next moment she was in his 
 arms, in an apparent swoon. He laid her on the 
 lounge and rang the bell furiously. The servant 
 came in, and together they carried Mrs. Tupper up 
 to her room. As he laid her on the bed she caught 
 one of his hands to her lips and kissed it. 
 
 "You're so kind," she murmured. "I'll be bet- 
 ter soon." 
 
 He shivered at the touch of her lips and drew 
 away. 
 
 "Make her comfortable," he said to the girl, "and 
 bring her some brandy. I'm going for a doctor." 
 
 "No, no," the old woman protested; "I won't 
 have a doctor. I won't be robbed by a doctor." 
 
 "You shall have one," he answered sternly, mov- 
 ing toward the door. "I insist upon it." 
 
 She threw him a look of coquetry and yielding, 
 and he went out like one stealing away from the 
 scene of a crime.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 FORTUNE'S DARLING 
 
 The president looked at Professor Fyffe through 
 the smoke of his cigar. 
 
 "Yes," he said meditatively, "it was very sudden 
 to most people, but I had suspected for some time 
 that Mrs. Tupper could not last long. To think 
 that I saw her only eight days ago, and yesterday 
 she was buried ! She had a fainting spell that day: 
 I had thought for some time that her heart was 
 affected." 
 
 "It was very sudden, though, at the last, was it 
 not?" Fyffe inquired with a subdued and sym- 
 pathetic air. 
 
 "Yes, for she seemed to be getting better. But 
 that's the way with heart disease. You can never 
 tell. Four days ago she got up and dressed. The 
 servant says she walked about the house and 
 seemed stronger than she had been for some time. 
 When she went to bed she refused to have the fire 
 lighted, and kept the windows open. She passed 
 away some time during the night." 
 
 The professor shivered and extended his hands 
 to the open fire. Babington sat silent, haunted by 
 a pkture of that tragic and lonely death; the cold 
 
 330
 
 FORTUNE'S DARLING 331 
 
 starlight beyond the dim squares of the open win- 
 dows, the slow coming of the November dawn, the 
 gruesome discovery of the servant in the morning. 
 It filled him with peculiar repulsion and horror to 
 remember his last scene with her. He lacked the 
 imagination to see the deeper pathos of her waiting 
 for his step on the stair, her longing for the sound 
 of his voice once more ; or he saw it only as through 
 a glass darkly, and then turned away in fear. At 
 last he started up and shook off the spell that had 
 fallen on him. 
 
 "I've got something here," he said, "of the right 
 sort. A drop of this will make us take a more 
 cheerful view of life. After all, she was an old 
 lady, and what more natural than that the old 
 should die?" 
 
 He filled two glasses and they drank in silence. 
 The professor lighted a cigar and looked about the 
 room with a smile of recovered spirits. The fire 
 was warm, the lamps glowed brightly, the whiskey 
 and cigars were good. 
 
 "That's all right," he commented. "I must get- 
 some of that for myself. Somehow, you always 
 manage to discover the best brands of everything. 
 It's just as you say; you're a true philosopher. 
 There's a time for everything, even for dying, and 
 the ripe fruit must fall. Only, in this case, it 
 seemed more like a withered russet apple blown 
 off the branch by a cold autumn wind and rain. It 
 gave me the creeps, somehow." He puffed his 
 cigar a while and then resumed : "There ought to 
 be something in the will for the university. She
 
 332 THE TORCH 
 
 had no heirs that I know of except that scapegrace 
 of a stepson who disappeared some years ago, and 
 there wasn't a single relative at the funeral." 
 
 "Mrs. Van Sant was very good," the president 
 remarked. "She stepped in and took charge of 
 everything." 
 
 The professor nodded. 
 
 "It's like her. She had known Mrs. Tupper for 
 a long time. She has a practical genius; when 
 there's anything to be done she does it. But what 
 do you think of our chances?" 
 
 The president had thoughts of his own on that 
 subject which he did not care to communicate even 
 to his only friend. 
 
 "I don't know," he answered. "They must have 
 opened the will to-day, and to-morrow we shall find 
 out. I'm more interested just now in the outcome 
 of this election." He looked nervously at his 
 watch. "Here it is past eight o'clock, and I don't 
 get any definite news yet. It has been dribbling in 
 for two hours, now this way, now that." 
 
 The telephone bell rang sharply and he stepped 
 into the hall, leaving the door open. Fyffe lis- 
 tened intently to the president's words and endeav- 
 ored to guess the character of the news from the 
 capital. Presently Babington came back into the 
 room and poured out another drink. 
 
 "Confound him," he said irritably. "The report 
 was bad. I fancy the fellow has been trying to let 
 me down easy. Help yourself." 
 
 Fyffe accepted the invitation and looked up with 
 his grotesque but infectious smile:
 
 FORTUNE'S DARLING 333 
 
 "Thou hast called me thy friend in thy moments of 
 
 bliss, 
 And thy friend I will be through the horrors of 
 
 this." 
 
 Babington laughed at the nimble misquotation. 
 He always found Fyffe a refuge. The professor 
 knew that the time to hold out false hopes had 
 passed and suddenly grew serious. 
 
 "Never mind," he said. "Let us concede the 
 election; I don't think you need worry. I'm sure 
 Mrs. Tupper will leave us millions. The regents 
 will appreciate what you have done for the uni- 
 versity. You've got us more money in two years 
 than all the other presidents we ever had. You've 
 brought order out of chaos and weeded out the men 
 who made the trouble. You've got new men of 
 ability and breeding. There's Tupper Hall, the 
 finest building on the campus, and, in spite of 
 Everett and Lee, this year's freshman class was 
 larger than last year's." 
 
 Babington caught his spirit and smiled sig- 
 nificantly. 
 
 "We'll see what can be done with Plow's new 
 regents." 
 
 The professor nodded knowingly. He poured 
 a little ginger ale into his whiskey and sipped the 
 mixture with appreciation. 
 
 "If Mrs. Tupper has remembered us, as I know 
 she has, you can prove to them that their best in- 
 terests lie in siding with you ; I don't care who they 
 are." Fyffe's words carried conviction.
 
 334 THE TORCH 
 
 The president became pompous and confident. 
 
 "I hope the blacksmith is elected," he declared. 
 "It will be all the more interesting." His jaw was 
 squared, and there was an ugly glint in his eyes. "I 
 think we can show him something about politics he 
 doesn't know." 
 
 "He'll tie himself up in a tangle of blunders be- 
 fore he's in office a month," said Fyffe. "His sooty 
 constituents will demand impossibilities. You can 
 stave off the action of the regents until his influ- 
 ence is on the wane, and then everything will come 
 your way. He'll soon have the whole heterogene- 
 ous rabble of his followers howling for his blood, 
 and after two years out he goes." He grinned 
 sardonically and flicked the ashes from his cigar as 
 if he were consigning Plow to the flames by the 
 action. 
 
 "It takes something better than a charlatan," 
 the president observed, "to keep the support of the 
 people. They'll get tired of listening to the wind 
 of his bellows." The large vein in Fyffe's fore- 
 head pulsed with amusement and he took the lib- 
 erty of filling both the glasses. "Your health, Mr. 
 Babington. It's good stuff, and deserves encour- 
 agement." 
 
 Babington bit off the end of a new cigar and 
 lighted it. 
 
 "I used that whiskey once in a religious dis- 
 cussion. You knew of old Doctor Hyde hell fire 
 and all that sort .of thing, quite logical from A to 
 Z. About two o'clock in the morning I made hjm
 
 FORTUNE'S DARLING 335 
 
 confess that his position was purely professional. 
 He went to bed a Universalist." 
 
 "And woke up a worse Calvinist than ever, I'll 
 be bound," Fyffe retorted. 
 
 There was a moist twinkle in the president's 
 eyes. 
 
 "Probably, for his next Sunday's sermon was 
 lurid, but he saw Beulah Land for once in his 
 life. Hello, there's the bell again." 
 
 Fyffe refilled the glasses when the president left 
 the room. 
 
 "What's that?" Babington cried. "You're sure? 
 By how much?" 
 
 There was a short silence. , 
 
 "From ten to fifteen thousand ? Thank you." 
 
 Fyffe knew that he was asking Plow's plurality, 
 but he was past caring. Fifteen thousand or fifty, 
 it was all one to him. But Babington was talking 
 again. 
 
 "Yes, you might quote me as saying that the re- 
 sult is no surprise to me. Mr. Plow made a splen- 
 did fight and deserved to win. What's that? No, 
 I have nothing to say upon the political aspect of the 
 election. I take no part in politics. Of course, I 
 am gratified that a former professor of the univer- 
 sity has been so honored by the people of the state. 
 Good night." 
 
 He hung up the ear-drum, cutting the colloquy 
 short, and came back into the study with a black 
 look on his face. He seized his glass recklessly and 
 drained it to the bottom. The draft was strong,
 
 336 THE TORCH 
 
 and he shivered and spluttered as he poured out a 
 drink of water. 
 
 "There's one thing," he remarked. "During 
 this whole campaign I haven't said a word. I've 
 let Plow do all the talking. He thinks he's got me 
 now, but that remains to be seen." 
 
 About eleven o'clock they heard a confusion of 
 cries, cheers and laughter in front of the house, and 
 Babington rose unsteadily to his feet. 
 
 "It's the students," he muttered. "I'll make 
 them a speech. I'll show them I don't care." 
 
 Fyffe seized his arm in protest and endeavored 
 to drag him back to his chair. 
 
 "Don't do it," he entreated. "It's better to let 
 them alone. That's a crowd of Plow's sympa- 
 thizers. They've been over to the capital watching 
 the returns. They're not your friends." 
 
 The president wrenched himself free and backed 
 up against the wall. 
 
 "Mr. Fyffe," he said with solemnity, "you take 
 great liberties. I know what I'm about." 
 
 "Mr. Babington," the professor retorted, "you 
 must pardon me for suggesting that you're not 
 yourself. I'm not myself. We've had a little to 
 drink, and the room is warm. I wouldn't go out 
 if I were you." 
 
 "You wouldn't, Mr. Fyffe?" Babington's eyes 
 glowed redly. "But you and I are two very dif- 
 ferent persons. Thank you. I'm not myself; 
 you're very kind to remind me." 
 
 He swayed toward the door and threw it open.
 
 FORTUNE'S DARLING 337 
 
 Derisive shouts from the front yard came echoing 
 through the hall: "Speech! Speech!" 
 
 "I'll give them a speech," Babington growled. 
 But Fyffe had him by the arm once more. He 
 whirled about and swung himself loose. 
 
 "Mr. Fyffe," he said savagely, "you've insulted 
 me once too often. Your connection with the uni- 
 versity is at an end, sir." 
 
 He turned and made his way down the hall, pur- 
 sued by his faithful satellite. The professor, more 
 accustomed to alcohol than the other, realized the 
 situation perfectly. He had no fear of losing his 
 position, and was bent on saving the president's 
 honor. Babington seized the baluster at the top of 
 the stairs and went smoothly down, in spite of yield- 
 ing knees. Fyffe followed closely, frantic with 
 anxiety. 
 
 "You'll thank me to-morrow. Only stop before 
 it's too late !" he cried. 
 
 The president, fumbling with the chain of the 
 door, paid no heed. The crowd without saw his 
 shadow on the thick glass and sent up a mighty 
 shout. The professor seized the president's hand 
 in one last effort, and poured forth unavailing pro- 
 tests. Babington shouldered him aside with un- 
 conscious strength, and sent him sprawling on the 
 floor. Then the door swung wide, and he stood ex- 
 posed to view. 
 
 The shouts and laughter that greeted his ears 
 were deafening. He did not know that the little 
 professor was picking himself up from the floor
 
 338 THE TORCH 
 
 behind him, and the noise filtered through his be- 
 fogged brain as a cry of welcome. He felt an im- 
 pulse to do something jovial and friendly. He 
 would be a good fellow, as at the football game; 
 he would be humorous and show them that he took 
 everything in good part. He tried to swing his 
 hat, forgetting that his head was bare, and gave 
 an answering cheer. All this in the first moment. 
 In the next Fyffe had risen to his feet. The stu- 
 dents saw the figure of Miss Babington, clad in a 
 bathrobe, come hurrying from the back of the hall. 
 The two seized the president and forced him back. 
 The door was slammed shut, and the shadows dis- 
 appeared from the glass. 
 
 A hush fell on the rabble outside. They were 
 composed, for the most part, of the president's ene- 
 mies, and had come in a spirit of mischief to shout 
 before his door, safe in the protection of the dark- 
 ness. Now they slunk away, abashed. Some said 
 that Fyffe was drunk, others that he had fallen by 
 accident. Almost no one suspected the truth about 
 the president. The whole incident had taken but 
 a few moments. Their own noise had drowned 
 Babington's cheer, and he had steadied himself with 
 his left hand against the jamb of the door. It was 
 the ludicrous figure of the president's sister that 
 brought them to their senses. There was none who 
 did not like that simple and kindly spinster, and 
 they respected her interference in her brother's be- 
 half.. 
 
 Babington was sitting on the lowest step of the 
 stair, his head on his hands, and his sister knelt
 
 FORTUNE'S DARLING 339 
 
 beside him. Not a word was spoken until the stu- 
 dents had disappeared ; then the professor took his 
 hat and coat from the rack and slipped out with a 
 brief good night. Neither of them appeared to 
 notice his departure. 
 
 "Oh, Henry," she cried, "how could you?" 
 
 He raised his bloodshot eyes and looked at her 
 remorsefully. 
 
 "The room was close," he said. "It went to my 
 head for a few minutes. I'll know better next 
 time." 
 
 She ignored the explanation, and continued, 
 weeping : 
 
 "I've been watching you for a long time, Henry, 
 and I knew that man was having a bad influence 
 on you. He has been your tempter from the first. 
 You never used to drink." 
 
 "And never will again," he declared, rising. A 
 sudden irritation swept over him. "Let me alone, 
 Carrie!" he burst out. "I know what you would 
 say, but I won't listen. I won't have it. I've got 
 enough to worry me without your spying and lec- 
 turing and making a tragedy out of an accident." 
 He took hold of the baluster and began to ascend 
 the stairs. 
 
 "Won't you let me make you a cup of coffee?" 
 she suggested meekly. He glared down on her 
 in a fury. 
 
 "No; mind your own business and go to bed. 
 What do I want of a cup of coffee ?" 
 
 He went back to his own study, feeling like one 
 of the damned. Shame, fear, humiliation, anger,
 
 340 THE TORCH 
 
 buffeted him this way and that. He put away the 
 bottles and glasses and threw the cigar butts into 
 the fire. Then he opened the window wide and 
 leaned out into the cool night air, his head throb- 
 bing. The odor of whiskey and tobacco had become 
 intolerable to him, and he felt that he could never 
 touch them again. 
 
 Later, he sat by the fire in his easy chair and 
 tried to take a reckoning of his position. He had 
 a confused memory of having spoken to Fyffe of 
 Mrs. Van Sant and Mrs. Tupper, and could not re- 
 call just where he had drawn the line of confidence. 
 The conversation with a reporter at the telephone 
 returned to haunt him. At what stage of the eve- 
 ning was it, and what had he said ? He would know 
 only when he should see the paper in the morning. 
 During that long night he slept fitfully in his chair, 
 and awoke at last with an aching head. The fire 
 had gone out in the grate, but one of the lamps still 
 burned smokily, impregnating the room and ming- 
 ling its yellow light oddly with the grayness of the 
 dawn. 
 
 For some time he lay in a semi-conscious con- 
 dition wondering whether he had spent the night 
 in the seat of a railroad train. He had felt so in 
 his early days, before he could afford the luxury of 
 a berth in a sleeper, when the dawn found him 
 stiff and sore, looking with smarting eyes at the 
 hurrying landscape. His hopes and fears came 
 back upon him with a rush, and he sprang to his 
 feet. The motion sent a wave of pain to the top of 
 his head, and caused him to step softly. He put
 
 FORTUNE'S DARLING 341 
 
 out the lamp and looked at his watch. The paper 
 must be even now on the porch. He gazed over the 
 campus, steaming in the melancholy autumn rain, 
 and feared to go down to learn his fate. 
 
 When at last he summoned courage to go down- 
 stairs and open the door he saw The Times flapping 
 in the breeze at his feet. He picked it up and ran 
 over the headlines in a feverish haste. There was 
 Plow's picture, the picture of the next governor, 
 and there was the account of his victory. All this 
 he already knew. He sought for his own words 
 and found them. They expressed just what he 
 wished, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Best of 
 all, there was no reference to the demonstration at 
 his door the previous night. He began to feel that 
 the fates were still with him, as they had always 
 been, and turned to the inside pages with a hope 
 that was almost expectation. Suddenly it flashed 
 upon his eyes: 
 
 MRS. TUPPER'S WILL. 
 President Babington Gets the Bulk of the Widow's 
 
 Millions. 
 
 A Few Small Bequests to Distant Relatives. 
 Nothing for the State University. 
 
 As he read the last line his tense emotion gave 
 way to a sense of the ridiculous, and he laughed 
 aloud. The university had nothing. It was all 
 his to do with as he would. He could bribe enough 
 regents for his purposes, no matter whom Plow 
 might appoint. And there was no embarrassing
 
 342 THE TORCH 
 
 reference in the will to himself, as Mrs. Tupper's 
 fiance. It was dated some time before his last in- 
 terview with her, and Mrs. Van Sant would never 
 know his secret. Surely his millions were worth 
 more than Plow's precarious popularity, his two 
 short years of office. She would not refuse him 
 now. It was this thought that filled his cup of 
 joy and triumph to overflowing. He laughed 
 again, and turning to the front page of the paper 
 he drove his fist straight through his enemy's face so 
 that it came out on the other side.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 A FRANK UNDERSTANDING 
 
 The president sat in his study after breakfast 
 and smoked a cigar without a thought of his last 
 night's resolve. A hot bath, a change of raiment, 
 two cups of strong coffee, and, above all, joy had 
 put his headache to flight. He opened his morning 
 mail and found the lawyer's formal notification of 
 his good fortune. There was also a letter of con- 
 gratulation from Fyffe, brought by a special mes- 
 senger. Babington knew that he had nothing to 
 fear from the professor, no matter what he might 
 have said. Fyffe was too much of a gentleman to 
 remember confidences spoken over the cups, and 
 besides it was to his advantage to keep silent. A 
 glorious day was before him ; many things claimed 
 his attention, but first he would sit alone a while 
 and try to realize the extent of his triumph. He 
 felt that he was Fortune's darling, one born to 
 lucky chances and destined to step on the neck of 
 his enemies. He -was light-headed and giddy. 
 His whole being burned with exultation, but his 
 hands were cold and the nerves in his wrists quiv- 
 ered. The fire had been rekindled, and he drew up 
 his chair to the blaze. 
 
 343
 
 344 THE TORCH 
 
 He had not told his sister the news as yet, partly 
 because he still resented her reproaches of the pre- 
 vious night, and partly from an intuition that she 
 would be puzzled, even dismayed, by the unexpected 
 windfall. She never read the paper until ten 
 o'clock, at which time the wheels of the domestic 
 machinery were running smoothly and she could 
 allow herself a short respite. Even then she often 
 turned by preference to the woman's weekly to 
 which she subscribed. She enjoyed the stories and 
 cooking recipes of that popular periodical, and re- 
 garded The Times as an enemy lying in wait for her 
 with some wicked criticism of her brother. 
 
 Babington's day-dream was interrupted by a light 
 rap at the door, and his sister entered, breathless 
 with excitement. 
 
 "Henry," she gasped, "who do you suppose 
 wants to see you?" 
 
 "Who?" he demanded. 
 
 "Plow !" 
 
 The president gave a start, and his face paled. 
 What could the man want? It was almost beyond 
 belief. He had expected a protracted struggle, and 
 felt that he was supplied with all the munitions of 
 war, but the immediate prospect of a meeting face 
 to face gave him a shock of something like fear. 
 His first impulse was to excuse himself, but his sec- 
 ond was one of eagerness for the interview. He 
 reflected that Plow had come to him, as an inferior 
 comes to see a superior. Doubtless he realized 
 that his enemy's good fortune was greater than his
 
 A FRANK UNDERSTANDING 345 
 
 own, and had come to make peace. After all, he 
 was the governor-elect and a man of importance. 
 Babington was not unwilling to compromise. He 
 resolved to meet him half-way and to assume that 
 their relationship was one of cordial cooperation. 
 This was probably what Plow desired. It was to 
 their mutual interest to bury the hatchet. All 
 things considered, Babington felt that the advan- 
 tages of the situation were on his side. 
 
 "I'll see him in this room," he said at last. 
 
 "Won't you go down, Henry?" she suggested. 
 
 He looked at her with contempt. Evidently she 
 did not appreciate their relative positions. 
 
 "No," he said coldly. "Send him up here. And, 
 Carrie, mind you let the maid show him the way. I 
 suppose you opened the door yourself. I wish you 
 could learn not to perform the duties of your own 
 servants." 
 
 Miss Babington flushed with mortification and 
 resentment, but the habit of obedience was strong 
 and she went to do his bidding. 
 
 It was characteristic of the governor-elect that he 
 should come to see Babington the morning after his 
 election, without stopping to weigh the relative offi- 
 cial importance of the president of the state univer- 
 sity and himself. He had no little difficulty in reach- 
 ing his destination. A hundred claimants to his at- 
 tention blocked his way. On the campus of the uni- 
 versity his old colleagues stopped him to offer their 
 congratulations. The students gathered in crowds 
 and cheered. The entrance that he had made so 
 unpretentiously became an ovation, a triumphant re-
 
 346 THE TORCH 
 
 turn from exile. He refused to respond to the stu- 
 dents' demand for a speech, but continued on his 
 way with a smile of whimsical appreciation of the 
 turning of the tables. It was in this place that he 
 had dropped from sight almost unnoticed in the 
 greater interest aroused by a football game. Then 
 a hundred students had stood by him; now he was 
 apparently the hero of the university. Within a 
 few minutes the whole campus was in a buzz of ex- 
 cited speculation. Plow had entered the president's 
 house, and conjecture ran the whole gamut from a 
 probable duel in the drawing-room to an affecting 
 reconciliation. 
 
 When Babington heard his visitor's step in the 
 hall he arose and threw open the door with a smile 
 of welcome and an outstretched hand of congrat- 
 ulation. But Plow was holding his hat in one hand 
 and his umbrella in the other. He did not seem to 
 observe the president's intention, but stalked into 
 the room with a brief good morning, and took a 
 chair by the fire. Babington was somewhat discon- 
 certed by the awkwardness of the meeting, but at- 
 tributed it to his visitor's ill breeding and sat down, 
 as yet undeceived. 
 
 "Mr. Plow," he began smoothly, "allow me to 
 congratulate you upon your election. I take a spe- 
 cial pride, as president of the university, in the fact 
 that one of our former professors has won the high- 
 est honor in the gift of the people of the state." 
 
 Even as he was speaking his habitual quickness 
 of perception made, him conscious of a difference 
 in his visitor. He was no longer the unworldly
 
 A FRANK UNDERSTANDING 347 
 
 professor or the eccentric reformer. The great ex- 
 perience through which he had passed had left its 
 stamp upon him. 
 
 "Thank you," he said dryly, a satirical humor 
 lighting his eyes. "I read what you had to say 
 about the election in this morning's paper." He 
 paused a moment, collecting his thoughts, and then 
 continued as if he were addressing a situation 
 rather than a man. "I came over this morning be- 
 cause I want you to know as soon as possible just 
 what our relationship is. I don't want you to en- 
 tertain any false ideas of my intentions. Possibly 
 you may not care to continue in your present posi- 
 tion, now that you are independent, and it may be 
 that you intend to resign of your own accord. I 
 hope such is the case, for it will save unnecessary 
 friction." 
 
 The president's nerves, already sensitive from 
 the experiences of the night and morning, responded 
 like electric wires to a sudden current of emotion. 
 The cool assumption of the man he hated and de- 
 spised was maddening. He had expected a peti- 
 tioner and encountered a dictator. The habit of ar- 
 rogance had become too deeply fixed to be sloughed 
 in a moment, and impulse carried him away before 
 policy could find a place in his mind. The old irre- 
 sistible personal antagonism flamed up anew, and 
 he fairly snapped out his retort. 
 
 "I have no intention of resigning, Mr. Plow." 
 His expression asked unmistakably, "What are you 
 going to do about it?" and the question was an- 
 swered as if it had been articulate.
 
 348 THE TORCH 
 
 "I think it would be the wiser course; it would 
 save you the humiliation of being asked to go." 
 
 The eyes of the governor-elect were glowing like 
 two bright coals. The president had broken the 
 pretense of impersonal dealing as if it were a win- 
 dow of colored glass between them, and each looked 
 at the face of his enemy undisguised. 
 
 "I shall not be asked to go, and I will not go," 
 Babington sneered. 
 
 "Yes, you will," Plow retorted. "I might as well 
 be perfectly frank with you. It's not my way to 
 work in the dark. Just as soon as I take my seat 
 and appoint my regents they will ask for your resig- 
 nation. I have them pledged to it, and they will 
 stand by their word. It will be my business, as 
 president of the board of regents, to look out for the 
 best interests of the university, and those interests 
 are not promoted by hypocrisy and money-worship. 
 You've had your innings long enough, and the time 
 has come for you to make way for a better man." 
 
 "Everett, for instance ?" There was an indescrib- 
 able sting in the president's quizzical manner, and 
 Plow responded as to the cut of a lash. 
 
 "It makes no difference who the man is; it's 
 enough that there is one. I knew that you knew my 
 moves, and you knew that I knew yours. Then 
 what was the use of that pretense and congratula- 
 tion ? Did you think that I was going to congratu- 
 late you in turn upon your millions, and stand hand 
 in glove with you, now that you are rich?" 
 
 He spoke in hot scorn, his hand grasping the arm 
 of his chair until his knuckles shone white, but now
 
 A FRANK UNDERSTANDING 349 
 
 he made a great effort and continued more calmly. 
 "I am trying to keep my own personal feelings out of 
 this, but it's against human nature. Yet I hope I 
 could overlook everything else if you really had a 
 good influence on the students of the university, but 
 you haven't. They are easily fooled by position and 
 plausible speeches. You've taught them to despise 
 their teachers; you've given them practical lessons 
 in the art of humbug. It's for their sake that I'm 
 determined you shall go. There are some things 
 your money can't buy. You can't buy me, and you 
 can't buy those regents, though I know well enough 
 that's what you're planning." 
 
 "Mr. Plow," Babington cried, rising, his face 
 white with passion, "this is an insult I won't en- 
 dure. It comes with a pretty poor grace from a man 
 who has got himself elected governor of the state 
 by just exactly the tricks he ascribes to me." 
 
 Plow sprang to his feet in turn and advanced to 
 within a foot of his enemy. 
 
 "You don't mean it," he said distinctly, "you 
 know you don't. You know I mean well by the 
 people. I may make mistakes at times, but I'm no 
 trickster, and you know it. If I really insulted you, 
 why didn't you knock me down? It was because 
 you knew I spoke the truth; so you gave me a lie 
 instead of a blow." 
 
 It was a long time since Babington's course of life 
 had fostered physical courage. As a college boy, 
 and catcher of the baseball nine, he would have 
 obeyed the promptings of the primitive man, but 
 now it was impossible. It was Plow that stood in
 
 350 THE TORCH 
 
 all the glory of his healthy and mature manhood, 
 ready and unafraid. The fury of the other only un- 
 nerved him. His heart beat at his ribs as if it would 
 burst, and his hands were helpless. At that crucial 
 moment he could only sneer. 
 
 ''I'm not a barbarian, nor a blacksmith." 
 
 Plow's hands clenched, as in a spasm, but his 
 voice was still curiously low. 
 
 "Xo, you're not ; you've spoken the truth for once. 
 You're not a blacksmith; you're only a hypocrite 
 and a sycophant. That's the trade by which you 
 won your money, the money with which you thought 
 you could buy me. You got money from one 
 woman to buy the love of another, but you'll find 
 you can't do that either." 
 
 Babington burst into a taunting laugh. 
 
 "So that's what your championship of virtue 
 amounts to, is it? I begin to see what lies behind 
 all this talk of protecting the students from my bad 
 influence. Of course, your successful rival in love 
 must be a villain. I see now why you had the pre- 
 sumption to walk into a lady's house unannounced 
 and interrupt my visit with my fiancee" 
 
 "No !" Plow's cry was one of agony, and seemed 
 to rend him. For a moment he stood as one 
 stricken. Then a great light blazed in his eyes. 
 His hand shot out and gripped his tormentor by the 
 throat. The impetus of the attack bore the presi- 
 dent against the wall. He would have cried out, but 
 for the relentless fingers of his enemy. 
 
 "You lie," Plow panted. "It must be a lie. It's 
 because you say she's yotir fiancee that I know it
 
 A FRANK UNDERSTANDING 351 
 
 can't be true. Keep still, and I won't choke you, 
 but if you move or try to speak I can't answer for 
 myself. I'm going to tell you something I didn't 
 come here to tell, but we had better understand each 
 other once for all. That night on the road, when 
 you almost trampled me down under your horse's 
 feet, do you know why I never answered you a 
 word? It was because I knew that if I once began 
 to tell you what I thought of you I should end by 
 dragging you from your horse. But you thought I 
 was afraid, and you laughed as you rode away. 
 There, I'll not strike you. You've nothing to fear 
 from me but the truth, and now that you've heard it 
 I'm satisfied." 
 
 "But I'm not," Babington gasped. "You'll hear 
 from me later, in the courts." 
 
 Plow laughed. 
 
 "You'll think better of it. I guess you won't 
 take it into the courts. But I'm tired bandying 
 words." He reached for his hat and umbrella. 
 Babington stood leaning on the back of a chair, 
 like one deadly sick. The governor-elect gave him 
 a last contemptuous look. A picture flashed into 
 his mind an insolent man on horseback and he 
 laughed again. Then he strode out of the room 
 and slammed the door behind him.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 THE PROSPERITY OF A JEST 
 
 When Babington recovered from the shock of his 
 personal humiliation at Plow's hands his first sen- 
 sation was one of concern for his physical condition. 
 As he poured out a liberal draft of whiskey he re- 
 solved that it should be his last for a long time 
 to come. The instinct of self-preservation was 
 aroused within him. He knew that his muscles 
 were soft, his nerves unsteady, and his breathing 
 quick. A feeling of self-pity crept over him as he 
 recalled his former prowess on the athletic field. 
 Like Milo of Crotona in the days of his decline, he 
 could almost have wept at the discovery that his 
 arms were dead. But, unlike the Greek athlete, he 
 was not without hope. It was high living, not age, 
 that had weakened him. He would go into train- 
 ing once more. He experienced a twinge of jeal- 
 ousy to think of his enemy's splendid condition. 
 And once the odds had been the other way. 
 
 Plow's last words were true. Babington did think 
 better of bringing the affair into court. There were 
 no witnesses to the scene, and one man's word was 
 as good as another's. He would tell no one. If his 
 sister had heard the altercation she would have run 
 
 352
 
 THE PROSPERITY OF A JEST 353 
 
 to the rescue, but she was busy with her household 
 cares at that hour, and evidently no sotmd from the 
 study had penetrated through the heavy doors and 
 iron-ribbed floors of the large house. 
 
 The situation was not materially changed by the 
 visit. Their mutual hatred was merely intensified. 
 Babington felt that he had given as much as he re- 
 ceived. He had stood up and told the fellow to his 
 face that he was a villain ; and he felt that his lie in 
 regard to Mrs. Van Sant had struck home. He 
 laughed with savage triumph to remember that a 
 great part of Plow's wrath was the agony of a dis- 
 appointed man. 
 
 He went into his dressing-room and changed his 
 rumpled collar before the mirror. The faint marks 
 of Plow's ringers aroused his fury anew, and he re- 
 solved to lay him by the heels yet, even if it cost him 
 half his fortune. His fortune ! -He smiled to think 
 how soon he had become accustomed to the sense of 
 possession, and then realized that his good fortune 
 was not so unexpected, after all. He had reckoned 
 upon possession for some days ; but possession with 
 personal liberty was the unexpected thing. He had 
 waked forever from the nightmare thought of a 
 marriage with Mrs. Tupper. He went downstairs, 
 his good spirits restored, and ran into his sister's 
 outstretched arms. 
 
 "Why didn't you tell me, Henry?" she cried re- 
 proachfully. "If it hadn't been for Mrs. Bork I 
 might not have learned it this morning." 
 
 "What an advantage to have a dressmaker who 
 reads the papers before she begins her daily labors,"
 
 354 THE TORCH 
 
 he answered. "This will teach you to keep up with 
 the times. The day should always begin with the 
 newspaper." He extricated himself from her em- 
 brace and reached for his hat. 
 
 "Don't go yet," she entreated. "Stay and talk 
 with me a while. What will you do with so much 
 money?" He saw that she was weighed down by a 
 sense of responsibility. 
 
 "Already troubled by conscientious scruples?" he 
 queried good naturedly. "I'll do much as I'm doing 
 now, I fancy, only more so. But I haven't got it yet. 
 There will be the usual legal delay, though I can 
 raise what I want on my expectations." 
 
 "Mrs. Bork told me such an interesting thing," 
 she interposed, as she saw his hand on the door. He 
 turned and waited impatiently. "She said Mrs. 
 Van Sant was related to the Tuppers " 
 
 "What !" he cried. 
 
 "And was entitled to some of the money. Mrs. 
 Bork stopped at Mrs. Van Sant's this morning on 
 her way here, to make an engagement, and they 
 talked about it. She asked Mrs. Van Sant whether 
 she were going to put in a claim." 
 
 "And what did she say?" he demanded. 
 
 "She only laughed and said you could have her 
 share. Wasn't that lovely of her ?" 
 
 She asked the question with the insinuating timid- 
 ity of a woman that has learned caution by repeated 
 snubs. Her brother would never gratify her love of 
 romance by confessing a partiality for any particu- 
 lar woman, and she had often thrown out hints in 
 vain concerning Mrs. Van Sant. Nor was her inter-
 
 THE PROSPERITY OF A JEST 355 
 
 est altogether romantic. The advent of a sister-in- 
 law would probably mean the end of her own reign 
 in the house, and for years she had schooled her un- 
 selfish soul to rejoice for her brother's sake in her 
 own inevitable dethronement. Fluttering with 
 complicated emotions, she searched his face for a 
 confirmation of her hopes and fears. 
 
 A hundred little incidents came back to the pres- 
 ident's mind. The relationship explained much; 
 Mrs. Tupper's antagonism, which he had attributed 
 solely to jealousy, their knowledge of each other's 
 circumstances, Mrs. Van Sant's presence at the 
 funeral. He felt that her refusal to claim her share 
 was no mere jest and could be due to only one thing, 
 her love for him. He realized that his long proba- 
 tion was at an end, and his pulses leaped. In the 
 face of his sister's scrutiny he strove to keep the 
 exultation from his voice. 
 
 "Lovely of her?" he echoed quizzically. "I don't 
 know. Perhaps she didn't mean it. Perhaps she 
 didn't choose to take her dressmaker into her confi- 
 dence, the way some women do. She may claim her 
 own yet." 
 
 His heart gave the lie to his suspicious answer, 
 and he went out into the open air like one in a 
 dream. He felt it was like Mrs. Van Sant to act as 
 she did, and not unlike her to speak thus frankly 
 with an old servant, on the impulse of the moment. 
 
 As if to confirm the resurgence of his mood, the 
 sun began to break through the clouds in thin, pale 
 shafts of light. By the time he reached the campus 
 the sky was almost clear. It was like that autumn
 
 356 THE TORCH 
 
 morning the day after his inauguration, more than 
 two years before. There was the same stimulating 
 suggestion of the coming winter, the same sparkle 
 of rain-drops on the beaten leaves, the same sound 
 of ringing bells, the same moving picture of student 
 life. But now the classic pillars of Tupper Hall 
 looked down on the campus where no hall had 
 been before, and the clang of the workmen's ham- 
 mers came like music to his ears through the open 
 windows. 
 
 He remembered that the two hundred thousand 
 dollars which Mrs. Tupper had first given to the 
 university would now become available for other 
 buildings or new professorships, and he carried his 
 head higher at the thought. He was conscious of 
 the fact that his good fortune invested him with a 
 new interest in the eyes of all who saw him. The 
 delusion that none could know of the old woman's 
 infatuation for him was an additional comfort. The 
 difference in their ages would make the legacy seem 
 like a gift to an adopted son. Even had he known 
 that many a sharp gossip guessed the truth he would 
 not have been greatly concerned. Gossip was one 
 thing, proof another, and the power of money was 
 very real. 
 
 Before he reached his office he had been congrat- 
 ulated more than once by passing professors, but 
 Everett spoke to him a few moments upon a ques- 
 tion of administration and went on without men- 
 tioning the subject. He glared after the professor 
 with a sense of having been affronted by a school-
 
 THE PROSPERITY OF A JEST 357 
 
 master. Perhaps the man thought he would be the 
 next president of the university, he reflected. 
 
 All day long, as he sat in his office and performed 
 his accustomed duties, he was conscious of a curi- 
 ous duality. One part of him dictated letters, inter- 
 viewed professors, attended to innumerable details 
 of the university routine; the other part was de- 
 tached, expectant, exalted. He seemed to be doing 
 the work of some one else, while his own hopes and 
 interests lay beyond those walls. He pictured Mrs. 
 Van Sant the mistress of his house, and glowed with 
 pride to imagine the figure she would make as the 
 wife of the president of the university. In the 
 summer they would go east together; everywhere 
 she would win him friends and favor by her charm 
 and tact. 
 
 These were the hopes and calculations of the 
 president's nimble mind when the pauses between 
 his tasks gave time for their upbuilding, and their 
 selfishness was touched by ideality. His culti- 
 vated senses appreciated her quality to the full, and 
 he gave her all the love, he invested her with all the 
 romance, of which his nature was capable. It was 
 true that this romance would have been impossible 
 had her circumstances been less easy, her environ- 
 ment less charming. It was dependent on the 
 very furniture and pictures of her house, the serv- 
 ice of her table, the manners of her servants, the 
 gowns and hats she wore, the paper on which she 
 wrote him an occasional note. It was the lack of 
 these things in his sister that vitiated the tone of his 
 own house, in spite of all his efforts.
 
 358 THE TORCH 
 
 As evening came on he began to experience an 
 emotion akin to that of a bridegroom who awaits 
 the coming of his bride. In a little while he would 
 be surrounded by the atmosphere he loved, an at- 
 mosphere of charm and delicacy and shaded lights. 
 He would hear the rustle of her silken skirt, he 
 would see the flash of her lovely arms, and the glory 
 of her hair. She had kept him waiting long. She 
 had made him suffer for his great mistake, but she 
 had educated him in the diplomacy of love. She 
 had made him realize the value of her favor, and 
 had sweetened the cup of his final triumph till the 
 very prospect of the draft went to his head like a 
 rare and precious wine. 
 
 At last he found himself in her presence once 
 more. Anticipation had melted into reality with 
 the strange and easy magic of a dream. 
 
 "It can't be that I have just come," he said, 
 glancing about the familiar room and back to her 
 face with a whimsical smile. "I seem to have been 
 here the livelong day, with you." It was long since 
 he had ventured upon such personal grounds, but 
 now the step was easy and inevitable. 
 
 "I can assure you that you haven't," she retorted 
 brightly. "If you had been here this morning I'm 
 sure that Ellen would have swept you into her dust- 
 pan, and as for myself, I spent the whole day in the 
 capital, shopping. It must have been a dream." 
 
 He leaned forward, his eyes alight with the finest 
 emotion of his life. 
 
 "It was a dream," he said softly. She started at
 
 THE PROSPERITY OF A JEST 359 
 
 his tone and manner, but he possessed himself of her 
 hand and held it delicately, warmly, in both his own. 
 
 "Listen," he commanded. "I must tell you now 
 what I have been telling you mentally all this day. 
 You must know the evolution you have worked in 
 me; you must know my gratitude and love, even if 
 you scorn them. I never cared much for women ; I 
 never even fancied myself seriously in love till I met 
 you. Then I thought I knew what love was, but you 
 knew that I did not. Was it not so ? You knew I 
 was not worthy; that the cares and ambitions of 
 mature life had crowded out the ideals of my youth. 
 You found an old poem of mine and used it as a 
 touchstone, but there was no response. There was 
 need of an awakening, of a baptism of fire, before I 
 could present myself to you with a shadow of a 
 claim to your regard. How little I understood the 
 meaning of that incident the first evening I sat with 
 you in this room! It has taken two long years to 
 teach me the lesson, but I have learned it now. I 
 have come to see that I dare not love you until I 
 learn to love the things you love. Do you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 What was there at that moment in her eyes, ten- 
 der and bright with emotion as they were, that made 
 the distance between them still impassable? He 
 knew that he had touched her as never before, that 
 she found him winning, that they fascinated each 
 other as they had so often done, but now with an 
 intensity that was full of momentous possibilities. 
 She should have the full confession of his heart, and
 
 360 THE TORCH 
 
 he went on with a humility that was now his dearest 
 pride. 
 
 "It needed only one thing more to prove my un- 
 worthiness and to strengthen my hope of forgive- 
 ness until I dared to speak. Only this morning I 
 found out, by the merest accident, what I might 
 have guessed long before, that you were entitled to 
 a share of the fortune that has fallen so unexpect- 
 edly to my lot, and I dared to divine the reason you 
 would not claim it." 
 
 He was about to continue, to ask her to share 
 it with him, to outline all the glorious future of 
 which he had dreamed so fondly that day, but she 
 withdrew her hand and stood looking at him with 
 such amazement that he paused in confusion. 
 
 "I don't understand what you mean," she said. 
 
 He saw that she was puzzled to know how he had 
 learned of her intention. Somehow, he had almost 
 imagined that she told the dressmaker on purpose, 
 knowing it would travel to him. 
 
 "Mrs. Bork was talking with my sister " he ex- 
 plained. 
 
 "Mrs. Bork!" 
 
 She would have laughed, but her sense of the lu- 
 dicrous was overwhelmed in a wave of sudden an- 
 ger, and she looked at him with eyes grown 
 strangely cold. She would not tell him that her 
 conversation with Mrs. Bork was a joke, that her 
 distant relationship to the first Mrs. Tupper consti- 
 tuted no claim to part of the property. He had shat- 
 tered the harmony between them forever by this false 
 note, and her analysis of him. was pitiless. Even if
 
 THE PROSPERITY OF A JEST 361 
 
 her relationship did constitute a claim, it was not 
 for him to divine why she did not choose to press it. 
 She thought of Mrs. Tupper and all the sordid pos- 
 sibilities of her relationship with this man she might 
 have loved. The thought of his devious dealings 
 which she had condemned and excused alternately 
 for so long a time stung her. And he might have 
 been so different ! It was a realization of how much 
 she wished him to be different that worked like 
 madness in her brain. 
 
 "You are mistaken, Mr. Babington," she said 
 coldly, "in regard to my motives. I did not propose 
 to claim my part of your fortune because I felt that 
 you had earned it all." 
 
 The blood rushed to his face, as if she had struck 
 him a blow. For a moment their eyes contended 
 with an intense hostility that verged upon hatred. 
 They had been so near to love that the quarrel could 
 not be less than fatal. All the strange irritation 
 which each had been able to arouse in the other at 
 times was concentrated at that moment. He opened 
 his mouth to speak, but could think of no justifica- 
 tion, no explanation, that would not appear specious 
 or undignified in the face of such a taunt. He 
 searched her face to discover some possibility of a 
 mistake, some sign of yielding, but found none. 
 
 She could have recalled him while he took his hat 
 and coat in the hall, but she stood motionless until 
 the street door closed behind him, and then sank 
 into a chair. For a long time she stared into the 
 fire, her hands locked in her lap, and listened to the 
 ticking of the clock on the mantel. She was think-
 
 362 THE TORCH 
 
 ing that if they had been married, or even engaged, 
 their relationship would have stood the strain of 
 the quarrel, but now it was fatal. She was glad 
 she had not called him back, for it was better that 
 the strange fever should end. The possibility of 
 love between them was gone forever, and now she 
 realized that it had never really existed. A new, 
 exhilarating sense of freedom and awakening stole 
 over her, and she began to smile. 
 
 "To think," she mused, "that the thing which de- 
 cided my fate was just a flash of my awful temper !" 
 
 She arose and pushed the chairs about, laughing 
 lightly, nervously, with a growing appreciation of 
 the fact that her besetting sin had given her the key 
 of the fields. She felt that she could not stay within 
 doors. The scene through which she had passed 
 left her feverish, longing for action and freedom and 
 the open air. Without any definite idea as to her des- 
 tination she put on her wraps and left the house. 
 
 The November night was cool and clear and dark. 
 She looked up at the Milky Way, a long streak of 
 gold dust flung across the zenith of the sky, and 
 felt that she had never before realized the joy of 
 being alone. For once she was not awed nor de- 
 pressed by the solemnity of nature, but rather 
 calmed and refreshed. It was still early in the eve- 
 ning, and as she reached the main street she saw a 
 crowd of people entering the car that was bound for 
 the capital. She did not remember that she had 
 taken her purse with her, but she noticed now that 
 it was in her hand. Yielding to a sudden impulse 
 she stepped aboard the car and sank into a seat by
 
 THE PROSPERITY OF A JEST 363 
 
 the door, still absorbed in her reflections. Presently 
 she began to notice that in all that crowded car 
 there were very few whom she knew. It was not 
 the set that went to the capital for the theater or 
 opera. She heard them speaking of Plow, and 
 learned that this was the night of the formal cele- 
 bration of his election. Then she remembered that 
 she had seen the signs of preparation that morning 
 on her shopping expedition, and resolved that she 
 would watch the parade. 
 
 The main street of the capital was already con- 
 gested with a countless multitude of people, and 
 the police were busily engaged in clearing a lane for 
 the columns that were momently expected. She had 
 scarcely been pushed up to the curb when a distant 
 sound of music came to her ears. Then the head of 
 the procession turned a corner some blocks below, 
 with a simultaneous burst of sound and light. The 
 colored fires flashed along the fronts of the build- 
 ings, and the brazen blare of trombones and cor- 
 nets bore down on her. Louder and louder the 
 volume of sound reverberated against the long rows 
 of shimmering windows. The feet of the crowd 
 kept time to the march; the pavement thrilled with 
 the booming of the great drum ; even the stars, dim 
 and spectral above that narrow gorge of tumultu- 
 ous life, seemed to quiver and shake to the sound of 
 the bugles. 
 
 Tramping along in the wake of the band came a 
 company of working men in swaying, uneven ranks, 
 their caps ornamented with little flags. Somehow 
 the warlike music had so stirred Mrs. Van Sant's
 
 364 THE TORCH 
 
 imagination for the moment that she half expected 
 to see a regiment of soldiers, straight lines of bright 
 uniforms and gleaming bayonets, and her heart mis- 
 gave her strangely at sight of that dingy rabble. 
 They marched as they had come from the shop or 
 the field, with little attempt at keeping the line, 
 smoking their pipes, talking, laughing, or solemn 
 with a sense of their triumph. To one of her ex- 
 perience with public pageants it seemed a sorry 
 army, especially in connection with the triumphant 
 paean by which it was heralded. There were men 
 of all ages, from the graybeard to the boy, but all 
 w r ere alike in a certain pallor of countenance and a 
 suggestion of hard usage. For the first time she 
 realized the true nature of Plow's constituents. 
 These were the men that mended the streets, that 
 moved her furniture or plastered her house, that 
 passed her at evening with sooty faces. She tugged 
 nervously at her glove, conscious of being mortified 
 for his sake. 
 
 She began to grow weary, when she realized that 
 the procession had only begun. As rank after rank 
 swung by, a conception of the people's power 
 dawned upon her. The learned might theorize, the 
 bosses plot, the rich despise, but the people, when 
 they chose, could sweep all these aside like straws 
 and have their will. She began to be ashamed of 
 her shame. 
 
 Suddenly the piccolo and fife cut the air with the 
 shrill notes of Yankee Doodle, and she smiled with 
 a peculiar pride and understanding. A picture out 
 of her school history flashed into her mind; an old
 
 THE PROSPERITY OF A JEST 365 
 
 man beating a drum, his white hair flying in the 
 wind, marching into battle between his son and 
 grandson, who were playing the fife on either side. 
 She thought it must have been at the battle of Ben- 
 nington, and remembered Molly Stark, who would 
 have been a widow had the day been lost. 
 
 "I always begin to feel wildly patriotic when I 
 hear Yankee Doodle on the fife," she murmured to 
 herself. "I want to skip like rams, the way the 
 mountains do in the Psalms." 
 
 She had an appreciation of something absurd and 
 homely, yet splendid and heroic. The common peo- 
 ple never stirred her scorn; she was too genuine an 
 aristocrat for that. It was the pretenders in her 
 own station that irritated her. The people in the 
 mass were to be reckoned with, and ruled for their 
 own good. The presence of the flag everywhere in 
 the procession attracted her attention, and she be- 
 gan to see that this was the workers' revolutionary 
 war. A dray passed by, filled with young children, 
 and over their heads she read the sentence : When 
 we are men we will do as our fathers did. For the 
 first time she realized that this was the battle of her 
 generation, confused and inchoate as yet, but rolling 
 on to great and definite ends. Already its leaders 
 were coming forth. She remembered Plow's hope- 
 ful words when her heart had been incredulous and 
 hard, and felt now that he was right. He seemed to 
 belong to the Lincoln type of statesman, a man des- 
 tined to be one of the heroes of the new industrial 
 order. In her present mood Babington's pretentions 
 seemed almost pitiful compared with his rival's
 
 366 THE TORCH 
 
 deeper purpose, and she watched for Plow's appear- 
 ance with a heightened interest that was becoming 
 almost breathless. 
 
 The faces along the sidewalk, the clustered heads 
 at the windows, lighted up by intermittent bursts of 
 colored fire, were turned expectantly in one direc- 
 tion. A cheer, arose far down the street and rolled 
 between the inclosing walls. He was coming at 
 last. The various unions, each with its own ban- 
 ner and float, had been filing by interminably, until 
 the spectators had lost the weary count. By a com- 
 mon impulse the great crowd surged forward. 
 
 An immense cone of wheat and corn, wreathed 
 in ribbons and surrounded by allegorical figures, 
 came tottering along on its huge float, but no one 
 paid attention to it now. Then was heard the ring 
 of iron against iron, the men of the Blacksmiths' 
 Union beating their anvil chorus. No horses in the 
 procession seemed to move so proudly as those 
 which drew that dray, and no other company 
 stepped along with such a firm and swinging stride, 
 for they were Plow's own comrades, the men from 
 whose ranks he had sprung. They cheered contin- 
 ually, waving their hats and shouting their hero's 
 name. The enthusiasm was infectious and the cry 
 was taken up by thousands. 
 
 The red lights blazed once more and showed him 
 in his carriage, calm, exalted, bare-headed, bowing 
 from side to side with his pleased and kindly smile. 
 He appeared a giant compared with the men that 
 sat beside him, and the people felt that he was their 
 Saul, destined to break the yoke of the Philistines.
 
 Mrs. Van Sant was touched by his dignity, his ex- 
 altation, his great simplicity and goodness. Even 
 now, when she saw that he had won what many a 
 man she thought more clever could not win, it was 
 these qualities that impressed her most. She saw 
 the absurd bouquet of pink roses, tied with long pink 
 ribbons, which some of his admirers had thrust into 
 his hands, and was amused to think of roses in con- 
 nection with Professor Plow. 
 
 Suddenly, from somewhere behind her, a group 
 of students gave the university cheer, followed by 
 Plow's name. He turned and smiled in the direc- 
 tion of the sound, with that friendly wave of the 
 hand they knew so well. For one moment his eyes 
 met those of the woman he loved, but he was carried 
 past before she could be sure that he distinguished 
 her from the crowd in which she stood. Presently 
 she noticed that the procession was at an end, and 
 that the cars were running once more. She was 
 conscious of her temerity in coming so far from 
 home alone and took a car for Argos almost in a 
 panic. Never had rest been so grateful to her. Her 
 capacity for emotion was gone, and she welcomed 
 the oblivion of a dreamless sleep.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 *THE LOST LEADER 
 
 There was much of the bully, but none of the 
 bulldog, in President Babington's nature, and Mrs. 
 Van Sant's taunt struck so deep that he went to his 
 office the following morning a changed man. Hav- 
 ing lost her, he felt for the time that he had lost all. 
 The struggle against Plow no longer seemed worth 
 while. The plan of buying the regents was too un- 
 certain, too much fraught with the danger of dis- 
 covery and scandal. Besides, his enemy had al- 
 ready guessed his intention and was forearmed. 
 
 And why, he asked himself, should he spend so 
 much money to retain a position full of drudgery 
 and friction? Why should he not pull up stakes 
 and leave a place made distasteful to him by the 
 scorn of the woman he loved and by the ingratitude 
 of the institution he had served so well? As he 
 heard the sound of the workmen's hammers from 
 Tupper Hall and thought of all he had done for the 
 university, he was moved to wonder at the thank- 
 lessness of the board of regents and the hatefulness 
 of the faculty. He could not understand the an- 
 tagonism which his hardness of heart, his selfish- 
 ness, his snobbishness, had aroused in so many 
 
 368
 
 THE LOST LEADER 369 
 
 breasts, because he did not know that he possessed 
 those characteristics. His sophistries had made him 
 his own most ardent admirer, and he felt that if the 
 constituents of the university did not appreciate him 
 the loss was theirs. 
 
 He did not love the place, and experienced no sad- 
 ness at the possibility of breaking old ties. Rather, 
 he was scornful of the big, overgrown, plebeian high 
 school. He had never been loyal to the teaching 
 profession, though it was his own. He had always 
 shared the world's contempt for the pedagogue, and 
 had felt inferior in the face of commercial success 
 and social power. He told himself that he had tried 
 to give the university tone, to bring in gentlemen 
 and men of the world, but they preferred Everett 
 and his kind, and the papers had rewarded him with 
 lampoons. 
 
 Perhaps he might retain his position in spite of 
 Plow by making large donations to the university, 
 but at the thought of such a method of bribery he 
 smiled scornfully. He 1-ad longed for wealth all his 
 life, and he had no intention of throwing it away, 
 now that his dream was realized. Why should he 
 labor in that obscure western town, far from the na- 
 tion's greatest culture and wealth ? With Mrs. Van 
 Sant as his wife, the game would have been delight- 
 ful and full of interest; but now he sickened with 
 mortification to remember his fool's paradise of yes- 
 terday. He had no thought of asking her to re- 
 consider her decision, for his anger against her was 
 greater than his pain at her loss. He hated her for 
 her insult, and not once did he question the methods
 
 370 THE TORCH 
 
 by which he had won his fortune or his right to its 
 possession. The fact of possession was the only 
 thing he cared to contemplate. 
 
 His mind ran over the possibilities of the future, 
 should he decide to resign. He remembered a 
 classmate, now a senator at Washington and a 
 friend of the president. Why should he not go to 
 the capital of the nation to live? He had influence 
 and wealth. He was master of French and Ger- 
 man, he had been much abroad, and was fitted to 
 represent his country as minister at Berlin, or Paris, 
 or London. What was the presidency of a state 
 university compared with such a position? He 
 would look back upon it then as a stepping-stone by 
 which he had risen to higher things. Plow would 
 suffer political eclipse, Everett would sink under 
 the burden of his office, 'but he would be too far re- 
 moved even to care to rejoice greatly in their down- 
 fall. 
 
 With characteristic impulsiveness his decision 
 was made. A sense of adventure stirred within 
 him. He pushed the papers on his desk aside and 
 leaned back in his chair with a feeling of extraor- 
 dinary relief. He was free at last. 
 
 A few mornings later Lee walked into Judge 
 Gates' office in the capital, holding a copy of The 
 Times in his hand which contained the announce- 
 ment of Babington's resignation from the presi- 
 dency of the university, and of his own election to 
 the position. He was somewhat breathless, and his 
 face was pale.
 
 THE LOST LEADER 371 
 
 "Is this a misprint, Judge," he asked, "or a prac- 
 tical joke? Surely, Everett was meant." 
 
 The regent swung round in his chair and looked 
 at his protege as affectionately as he ever looked at 
 a human being. 
 
 "I admire your gratitude, young man," he said. 
 "I reserve my practical jokes for my enemies. Have 
 you got any complaint coming?" 
 
 "Everybody supposed that Plow had booked Ev- 
 erett for the place, when we heard the rumor of 
 Babington's resignation," Lee explained. "I haven't 
 got my bearings yet. I dropped everything and 
 came right over to see about it." 
 
 "Don't you worry about Plow and Everett," the 
 judge answered with his dry smile. "Plow's satis- 
 fied; I saw to that. You stood up for him, and he 
 didn't forget it. Of course, I'm sorry for Everett, 
 but it can't be helped. He ought to have been made 
 president ten years ago, perhaps, but not now. This 
 is the age of young men. The position would kill 
 Everett in a year or two, but you take things more 
 easily. You have a sense of humor, you don't give 
 a damn for the applause or caterwauling of the gal- 
 lery, and you understand the ropes thoroughly. In 
 a word, you'll do, so I don't want another word 
 from you." 
 
 "Not even of thanks ?"Lee asked, smiling. 
 
 The judge took his outstretched hand with a cer- 
 tain ceremonious manner which made Lee feel that 
 he had been admitted to a new footing with the old 
 politician unknown before.
 
 372 THE TORCH 
 
 "Sit down," he said, "I want to talk this thing 
 over with you a little. I know you better than you 
 know yourself. You'll rise to this position as easily 
 as you rose to your professorship, and you won't 
 suffer from growing pains, either." He leaned back 
 in his chair and chuckled. "I wish you could have 
 been present at the meeting of the board. Babing- 
 ton didn't come; he sent his resignation by a mes- 
 senger. I was elected chairman, and began opera- 
 tions by insisting upon its immediate acceptance." 
 
 "Were they reluctant?" Lee asked. 
 
 "Well, yes, at first. They had an idea he would 
 give the university some of the money he cozened 
 that old woman out of, but I knew better. I told 
 them that if they would accept the resignation and 
 put in my man I'd give the university five hundred 
 thousand dollars to-morrow; but if they wouldn't 
 I'd resign from the board and wash my hands of the 
 whole business. So the thing was done." 
 
 For a few moments Lee was too much amazed to 
 speak. He did not doubt his ability to make an ac- 
 ceptable president, but he did not like to think that 
 his election was purchased. In fact, the transac- 
 tion looked like bribery, pure and simple. He was 
 not unacquainted with the ethics of men like Judge 
 Gates and the late Lemuel Tupper. For one mo- 
 ment he wavered. Ought he to accept? With all 
 his fine scorn of the power of money, it was money 
 that had purchased him the opportunity of his life. 
 As he looked at the satisfied and triumphant face of 
 the old man opposite him he felt the impossibility 
 of refusing. Such an attitude would seem quixotic
 
 THE LOST LEADER 373 
 
 and self-righteous. There were good arguments on 
 both sides of the question, but he did not stop to 
 weigh them then. 
 
 "Are you sure you will be satisfied with your bar- 
 gain ?" he asked. 
 
 "I'm a pretty shrewd judge of values," the regent 
 returned. "Nobody cozened me out of it. I had 
 been thinking of doing something of the kind for a 
 long time. I haven't got anybody I care to leave 
 my money to, and I can't expect to last much 
 longer." 
 
 Lee knew that the disease which had driven the 
 judge to Europe was incurable. His heart con- 
 tracted with pity, but the regent was not a man 
 whom one could commiserate. He was like an old 
 eagle dying by inches, his cold undaunted eyes fixed 
 haughtily upon the passing world. 
 
 "I'm an old bottle," he continued, "and you can't 
 fill me up with new wine." His leathern face 
 wrinkled in a smile of sardonic humor. "Perhaps 
 it's because I put too much old wine into myself 
 when I was a new bottle, but I don't complain. I 
 never kicked at the price I had to pay for anything 
 I wanted." As they shook hands again at parting, 
 he looked up with a sudden thought. 
 
 "I needn't tell you that you are the president of 
 the university, not I. Of course, people will talk, 
 but they'll soon find out that you are running the 
 thing yourself. You don't owe me anything, you 
 understand." 
 
 Lee knew the judge too well to question the sin- 
 cerity of his declaration. He realized for the first
 
 374 THE TORCH 
 
 time the responsibility that was thrown on him 
 and he straightened instinctively. One could see in 
 imagination how the years would deal with him, 
 mellowing and strengthening him until he fulfilled 
 the promise of his brilliant and audacious youth. 
 Some such thought passed through the old man's 
 mind, and he smiled. 
 
 "You look the president already, Nicholas," he 
 said proudly. "Your father would have been 
 pleased with this. Good by, and good luck to you." 
 
 Lee was almost too deeply moved to speak his ap- 
 preciation. As he looked back and saw the judge 
 smiling at him from the door he was doubly glad 
 that he had not wounded him by questioning his 
 methods. 
 
 When he entered the campus an hour later he was 
 congratulated by passing colleagues, and a secret 
 amusement stirred within him at a realization of 
 the glamour of position. He was not unconscious 
 of it in himself, and he was decidedly conscious of 
 it in others. He had never been blinded by any 
 man's office to his weaknesses and faults as a man, 
 and he expected judgment only on his merits. Yet 
 there was something in the office itself that he had 
 not divined, a certain new attitude of mind, an in- 
 spiration, a larger, more impersonal point of view. 
 If office could not make an insignificant man im- 
 pressive, it could certainly give great opportunities 
 to one who deserved them. 
 
 A crowd of students cheered him as he passed up 
 the steps on his way to Babington's room. He was 
 the first alumnus of the university to become its
 
 THE LOST LEADER 375 
 
 president and his election appealed to the patriotism 
 of the undergraduates. 
 
 Babington rose from his chair and shook his hand 
 affably. 
 
 "I congratulate you and the university, Mr. Lee," 
 he said. "The board has made no mistake." 
 
 "Thank you," Lee replied. "You treated us to a 
 surprise and the board treated me to one. I expect 
 to wobble in your shoes." 
 
 In reality he hoped to fill the presidential shoes 
 snugly, and he smiled at the almost imperceptible 
 expansion of the chest with which Babington re- 
 ceived his conventional compliment. He had never 
 known the man's manner to be quite so patronizing 
 as at the present moment. He reached slowly for 
 his silk hat and fitted it nicely on his head. Then he 
 stood drawing on his gloves, his cane under his arm, 
 his round eyes fixed in a speculative stare on his 
 successor. He was wondering whether he were 
 looking at the future husband of Mrs. Van Sant. 
 
 "No one understands the machinery of the uni- 
 versity better than yourself, Mr. Lee," he said, "and 
 Mr. Watkins can tell you where to lay your hand on 
 anything you want. My business in the east is 
 urgent, so I will bid you good by and wish you suc- 
 cess now." 
 
 Lee could not fail to see his evident intimation 
 that his business in the east was much more im- 
 portant than the occupation he was just leaving. As 
 they shook hands he noticed that Babington had 
 already put on his glove. It was a small point of 
 discourtesy, but Lee believed it to be intentional.
 
 376 THE TORCH 
 
 He was not disposed to bandy more compliments 
 and did not return the good wishes. 
 
 Babington was passing from the room when he 
 caught sight of Watkins standing forlornly apart, 
 and he paused to bid him farewell. 
 
 "I'm not sure that I shall let Mr. Lee keep you," 
 he said distinctly. "I may have need of your serv- 
 ices in Washington; so we will call it au revoir in- 
 stead of good by." 
 
 "Thank you, sir," Watkins stammered. "I 
 should like nothing better." He stood looking after 
 his patron's retreating figure, his brown eyes dim 
 with tears. To him Babington was a great man, 
 and his service had been a labor of love. 
 
 "Mr. Watkins," said Lee, as soon as they were 
 alone, "I want you to feel that your present position 
 is secure as long as you wish to keep it, but if some- 
 thing better presents itself you must consult your 
 own interests. There isn't much of a future in a 
 private secretaryship of this kind, and perhaps you 
 will decide to go on with your graduate studies. 
 But we will discuss that question later." 
 
 He sat down in the chair his predecessor had just 
 left. The strain of the morning had been greater 
 than he imagined, and he was glad to rest. He felt 
 that he had lived a long life in a few short hours. 
 As he glanced from the window he saw Babington 
 descend the steps and enter his carriage, apparently 
 oblivious of the lounging students, who greeted his 
 departure with silence and an interchange of signifi- 
 cant smiles. The new president wondered whether 
 they felt that their hero had deserted them, whether
 
 THE LOST LEADER 377 
 
 the scales had fallen from their eyes, whether they 
 knew now how much weight to attach to all those 
 fine phrases illustrating the superiority of the right 
 to the expedient. 
 
 "Another lost leader," he murmured, adjusting 
 his glasses. "Another idol with clay feet." 
 
 He watched Babington settle himself pompously 
 on the cushions. The coachman cracked his whip. 
 There was a rattle of harness, a whirl of wheels, and 
 soon the ex-president's silk hat and broad shoulders 
 disappeared below the brow of the hill. 
 
 For some time Lee sat alone, conscious of the in- 
 terest and excitement on the campus outside. It 
 was now noon, and the walks were thronged with 
 students and professors coming from the class- 
 rooms. He knew that he was almost the sole sub- 
 ject of conversation, and he knew his world too well 
 to suppose that all the comment was favorable. 
 Many difficulties confronted him. He thought of 
 the new professors, Babington's henchmen, who 
 would be suspicious of his attitude. He had no in- 
 tention of discharging them, but he resolved to 
 bring back those men whom his predecessor's 
 course of action had exiled. Judge Gates' dona- 
 tion or the Tupper fund would provide for that, and 
 for an increase in the salaries of the instructors. 
 He believed that the judge would let him have his 
 will in this matter, for the regent had never favored 
 the policy of cheapening men by cheap rewards. 
 The thought of Professor Everett was more dis- 
 quieting. How would he bear this second and final 
 frustration of his just and honorable ambition?
 
 378 THE TORCH 
 
 It must have been bitter to see the prize of office 
 given to a stranger; how much more bitter now to 
 see it purchased for one of his old students? Lee 
 realized that the professor really deserved the honor ; 
 but he could not transfer it to him, even if he would. 
 Judge Gates had spoken the truth ; the injustice was 
 one of long standing, and was now irreparable. 
 Everett's day was past. That kindly gray face rose 
 up before him almost reproachfully, but he knew the 
 man too well to fear his enmity. It was Mrs. 
 Everett who would find it more difficult to forgive 
 his success. 
 
 Suddenly another thought smote him with a thrill 
 of pain and loss. Somewhere on that crowded walk 
 was the girl he would never see in the class-room 
 again. His position had raised up the final barrier 
 between himself and her. He would never again 
 sit at his desk, conscious of that sweet face by the 
 window which had become inexpressibly dear to 
 him. Of late, the lectures from which she was ab- 
 sent had seemed listless and uninspired. Why had 
 she elected a course with him this second time? 
 Was she impersonally interested in the subject, or 
 did she come because the subject was his? He won- 
 dered whether she would drift away from him for- 
 ever in the cloud of misunderstanding and doubt 
 that now lay between them.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 AT EIGHT TO-NIGHT 
 
 Mrs. Van Sant read in the papers that President 
 Lee's formal inaugural address would be delivered 
 in the gymnasium in a fortnight. He had already 
 taken the oath of office and was president in fact, 
 but the local love of speechmaking and of holiday 
 occasions could not be denied. All the university 
 constituents were on tiptoe to hear what he would 
 say, and they felt delightfully sure that he would 
 speak with no uncertain note. Already his acts 
 were speaking for him. Mrs. Tupper's death and 
 Judge Gates' donation had put the university in 
 possession of seven hundred thousand dollars. It 
 was announced that the interest of the Tupper fund 
 would be used for the increase of salaries and for 
 the support of retired professors. The exiled pro- 
 fessors that had not found other positions were 
 already on their way back to Argos. She read also 
 the final fleers and skits which The Times flung 
 after the departed president, like a handful of fire- 
 crackers to celebrate its victory. 
 
 All this university gossip was more or less inter- 
 esting, but there was one name in the paper that 
 stood out from the thousands of words with a per- 
 
 379
 
 sonal and vital appeal to her imagination, the name 
 of the governor-elect. She read what his plans 
 were, or were thought to be, where he spoke and 
 what he said, whom he had slated for this or that 
 office, what laws he would advocate when the leg- 
 islature should assemble, what corrupt practices, or 
 steals, he would suppress. 
 
 As the days passed, and he seemed to forget her, 
 she became restless and depressed. She was an- 
 noyed to discover that she stayed at home for 
 fear of missing him, and scorned herself for the 
 care with which she dressed in anticipation of the 
 call he might never make. Out of the silence and 
 waiting a deeper emotion was born, and she wished 
 he could know that she understood him at last. 
 
 Sometimes she mockingly asked herself how 
 much she was moved by his success, whether a vi- 
 sion of the state capitol, of the senate chamber at 
 Washington, even of the White House, did not 
 contribute to the romance with which she now in- 
 vested him. She answered the question by frankly 
 admitting that it was so. She had seen with her 
 own eyes his power over the hearts of the people, 
 and she knew the honors that were in their gift. 
 She saw his qualities now in the light of his 
 triumph. Had he failed, he would still seem the 
 visionary reformer, but success had sublimated him 
 and invested him with greatness. 
 
 She was far from apologizing to herself for this 
 change of view. It was the right of every woman 
 to judge among the rival aspirants for her hand 
 and to choose the strongest if she would. She felt
 
 AT EIGHT TO-NIGHT 381 
 
 that Plow had won her by his deeds, and that she 
 ought to love him if he loved her still. Babington 
 might charm her, but he could never appeal to her 
 imagination again. If there had been something 
 daring, something spectacular, in the winning of his 
 fortune, she might have chosen him. Even if he 
 had been a plunger on the stock exchange or a ruth- 
 less promoter, she might have forgotten to question 
 his methods in admiration of his adventurous spirit. 
 But, as it was, she was proud of her honest burst of 
 temper. 
 
 How inadequate his charm seemed now! What 
 was it that had held her? A trick of speech and 
 dress, wholesome good looks, a feminine strain of 
 finesse? Or was she attracted by spiritual possibil- 
 ities which he might have realized? She wondered 
 at herself in the light of her late revelation. She 
 had known all along that he was more essentially 
 vulgar than Plow, that he was a snob, while Plow 
 was simply himself. She must have known that 
 his ways were devious, and yet he had almost made 
 her love him. And when she compared his rival 
 again she confessed that she had obstinately resisted 
 his greater attraction because his love was too deep 
 for shallow flatteries, because his absorption in great 
 ideas had made him oblivious of small refinements. 
 She laughed at herself as she allowed her fancy to 
 run on. Here was a man that loved her, whom she 
 might love ; she could add grace to his greatness. 
 
 At last she wrote him a little note in which she 
 asked whether he intended to call some time and 
 give her an opportunity to congratulate him upon
 
 382 THE TORCH 
 
 his election. After the letter was gone her peace of 
 mind made her realize how she trusted him. She 
 would never have dared to make such an advance to 
 Babington under similar circumstances. 
 
 When Plow returned to his hotel the next after- 
 noon, after an absence of a few days, he stood by 
 the register for some time, holding the batch of let- 
 ters the clerk had given him, and conversing with a 
 little band of reporters and political friends. If 
 Mrs. Van Sant had seen him then she would have 
 realized that a great deal of her concern for his lack 
 of grace was gratuitous. If victory had given her 
 a new idea of him, it had also given him a new idea 
 of himself, and he was changed. It was the same 
 difference that had disconcerted the president at 
 their meeting the morning after the election. He 
 was the governor-elect, the man of the future. 
 Neither he nor the men about him were oblivious of 
 this fact, and yet there was no suggestion of pom- 
 posity in his bearing. 
 
 He gave an epigram to the reporters, and they 
 went into gales of laughter as they caught the 
 whimsical gleam of his eyes. For each of the 
 friends who had helped him to perfect his political 
 organization, his captains of hundreds and of thou- 
 sands, he had a personal word. They were proud 
 when he addressed them by their given names, but 
 he was always Mr. Plow to them when he met them 
 face to face, however much they might indulge in 
 the affectionate nicknames of "old Dan," or "the 
 professor," behind his back. There was not one of 
 them who would not go to the stake to keep him in
 
 AT EIGHT TO-NIGHT 383 
 
 the position they had worked so hard to place him 
 in. 
 
 As he talked with them he looked over his letters 
 casually, contriving with the skill of a politician to 
 do two things at once without seeming to do so. 
 The little note was lost between the larger envelopes 
 and slipped to the floor unnoticed. One of the re- 
 porters recovered it and handed it to him with the 
 quick intuition of his kind in regard to its peculiar 
 significance. He was gratified when he saw the 
 great man start and lose the thread of his remarks. 
 Perhaps there was a story in that incident for some 
 future time. 
 
 When safe in his room at last, Plow's first im- 
 pulse was to tear the envelope open at once, but, on 
 second thought, he cut the edge carefully with his 
 penknife to mar as little as possible the paper her 
 hands had touched. He sat for a long time holding 
 the delicate missive in his large hands, and a mist 
 gathered in his eyes, so that the letters grew fantas- 
 tic and blurred. He lived over again the summer 
 of struggle during which he had not seen her face 
 and had scarcely dared to hope that her love would 
 crown his triumph. But this letter must mean at 
 least one thing. Whether she loved him or not, he 
 knew that she did not love his rival. She could not 
 be so cruel as to call him back in vain. As this con- 
 viction took possession of him he sprang to his feet, 
 resolved to see her that night. Partly because he 
 had so much to say that a letter was inadequate, 
 partly because of the sudden surge of his spirits, he 
 sent her a telegram. It was like a joyous shout
 
 384 THE TORCH 
 
 across the silence that had lain so long between 
 
 them. 
 
 Mrs. Van Sant was sitting at dinner with Robert 
 when the telegram came. As she tore open the en- 
 velope her thought was of Babington. She feared 
 he might have done something desperate. But she 
 laughed until the tears came into her eyes when she 
 read the simple message : Coming at eight to-night. 
 D. P. Did she not know the two men yet? It 
 was absurd beyond belief. 
 
 Robert glanced at her in calm surprise, and she 
 handed over the slip of yellow paper, moved by an 
 impulse to confide, even in him. He gave her a 
 curious smile. 
 
 "Sorry I sha'n't be here to greet him," he re- 
 marked dryly, "but I have an engagement." 
 
 "Robert," she retorted, "you could develop a cer- 
 tain kind of wit if you tried." 
 
 In her own room she debated with herself a long 
 time in regard to the dress she should wear. She 
 smiled to remember that it made no difference, for 
 her visitor would not observe it ; and then she felt a 
 sudden impulse to weep at the thought that he 
 would love her just the same, even if she came to 
 meet him in a calico gown at the door of a cottage. 
 
 It was after eight o'clock when she looked at her 
 reflection in the mirror for the last time. Even the 
 man that was waiting downstairs must appreciate, 
 though unconsciously, the effect of her brilliant 
 color and fair skin against the black lace. It gave 
 her a little throb of regret to reflect that Babington
 
 AT EIGHT TO-NIGHT 385 
 
 had never seen her in that gown. He would have 
 found her irresistible in it. 
 
 She knew his plans and ambitions. He had often 
 spoken of the fascination of the diplomatic career, 
 and she felt that he was clever enough to succeed. 
 She might meet him again some time, in Washing- 
 ton, as the wife of Senator Plow, and she was sure 
 that the sight of her would revive the old longing 
 in his heart. He would never cease to be attracted 
 by her, no matter whom he might marry. She knew 
 this as well as she knew her own beauty, and she 
 knew also that she would enjoy his torment to the 
 full. 
 
 With an instinctive desire to postpone the scene 
 that awaited her, she threw open her window, and 
 stood looking at the moonlit night. She felt that 
 her face was flushed and her pulse feverish. That 
 very afternoon she had listened to Lee's inaugural 
 address in the gymnasium. He had more than real- 
 ized her expectations, and she had been proud of 
 him, but she did not regret her rejection of his love. 
 She felt that there was more sheer power in the man 
 whose triumph she had witnessed in the capital, and 
 a more absolute devotion in his heart than Lee 
 could ever have given her. As she looked up at the 
 white disk of the clock in the library tower she real- 
 ized the permanence of the institution compared 
 with the brief tenure of the individual. The chimes, 
 striking the quarter-hour, seemed to ring out a calm, 
 impersonal welcome and farewell. But solemnity 
 could never dwell long in her heart. She reflected
 
 386 THE TORCH 
 
 with a sense of amusement that she could have been 
 the wife of the president of the university, or of a 
 millionaire diplomat, and that she would probably 
 become the wife of the governor of the state. 
 
 When at last she stood at the threshold of the 
 drawing-room and saw Plow's great square figure 
 rise to greet her, a sudden faintnes's made her pause. 
 She stood a moment, her hands grasping the dark 
 curtains on each side, a brilliant picture against 
 the dark background. She saw the light leap into 
 his eyes, and felt that he did appreciate the gown 
 after all. Then she swept forward with her most 
 charming smile. 
 
 "You're looking very well after your campaign," 
 she said. "I should think you would be a perfect 
 wreck, but I remember you once told me you en- 
 joyed it." 
 
 She endeavored to withdraw her hand from his 
 grasp and to sink into a chair, but the effort was un- 
 availing. 
 
 "No, no," he cried in a kind of agony of protest, 
 "I can't let you go yet. I can't sit here and talk of 
 other things when I care for only one." 
 
 She saw that he would deny her all the delicate 
 approaches a woman loves, but she could not resist 
 the passion of his appeal. Her heart was touched 
 by his suffering so that she almost forgot to think 
 of herself, and she smiled with a suggestion of sur- 
 render that gave him hope. 
 
 "When I left you with him that night," he went 
 on, "I felt that your kindness was the kindness of 
 pity. You were sorry that I had been so awkward
 
 AT EIGHT TO-NIGHT 387 
 
 as to break the vase, but that wasn't all. You 
 wanted me to understand that you were sorry you 
 couldn't love me." His bright eyes searched her 
 upturned face in questioning. "I knew it," he con- 
 tinued, his voice deepening with unconscious pathos, 
 "and yet I couldn't believe it true. There was some- 
 thing in your eyes, something in the tone of your 
 voice, that gave me hope. I staked everything on 
 that campaign. You know how I love the things I 
 fought for, and yet it was for you, more than for 
 them, that I was fighting. It was the thought of 
 you that made it possible and gave a kind of glory 
 to it all. It was you who made me win." 
 
 "Are you quite sure," she asked softly, "that I 
 deserve as much credit as that?" 
 
 "Yes," he answered, "it was you; it must have 
 been you. I found I could move men as I had never 
 moved them before. The power grew up in me, like 
 something not myself, something I only held in 
 keeping, something you had given me. That is 
 what I wanted to tell you to-night. I dared to think 
 you could not have called me back in vain, that you 
 could not be so cruel. I dared to hope that you 
 loved me." Something in her eyes made him pause. 
 "You do!" he cried. "At last!" 
 
 He lifted her masterfully in his strong arms as if 
 she were a child and kissed her again and again 
 with a passion she no longer cared to resist. Then 
 she was sitting beside him, expostulating when it 
 was too late, a sense of ruffled dignity contending 
 with a strange happiness of which she had not 
 dreamed.
 
 3 88 THE TORCH 
 
 As she looked up at his face and realized all the 
 suffering she had caused him, a wave of contrition 
 smote her heart. Even if she told him how mis- 
 taken he was in his estimate of her he would not 
 believe it. It was for her to prove to herself in the 
 years to come that his estimate was right. At the 
 thought, she rose to her feet, placed her hands on 
 his shoulders, and kissed him.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN 
 
 As Lee looked down on the familiar scene be- 
 fore him on the day of his inaugural address he 
 caught sight of Mrs. Van Sant in the audience. 
 Her presence seemed to transport him to the old 
 high school in the capital, to the day when she had 
 lost the debate against him. The great multitude 
 that filled the floor of the gymnasium was no longer 
 formidable, and that humorous memory stilled the 
 turmoil of his mind, as a powerful precipitant clears 
 the contents of a glass beaker. He could never be 
 verbose and grandiloquent with those clear, dis- 
 cerning eyes upon him, and he knew that no one 
 would be more pleased than she if he did well. 
 
 His smile in response to the applause that greeted 
 his rising was touched with the same suggestion 
 of irony that had characterized it when the students 
 cheered him in the class-room for his opposition to 
 his predecessor. He did not regard himself as a 
 great man ; he was not carried away by an enthusi- 
 asm he understood so well. 
 
 Clearly, logically, dispassionately, he outlined the 
 policy he hoped to pursue. He spoke of Judge 
 Gates' gift with simple appreciation and told the 
 
 389
 
 390 THE TORCH 
 
 uses to which it would be put. As he went on, al- 
 most carelessly it seemed, in his conversational man- 
 ner, the contrast with his predecessor became more 
 and more apparent. He stood like a gentleman at 
 ease in the presence of his friends, serious but not 
 portentous, humorous without flippancy. 
 
 The first sensation of disappointment died away 
 as his personality began to make itself felt. He 
 indulged in no fervid appeals, but the quality of his 
 remarks gained slowly upon his hearers until he 
 held them by every word. They began to watch 
 for that quick smile, for the turn of the head that 
 showed his salient profile a moment against the 
 background of trailing flags. His enemies were 
 disconcerted as they saw the ground for their 
 complaint slipping from beneath their feet, and 
 his friends knew that he had found himself at last. 
 They no longer felt any need to apologize for the 
 youth fulness that appeared now merely as equipoise 
 and power. 
 
 The constituents of the university began to real- 
 ize his lack of effort, his freedom from pretense, 
 and an impression of his staying power took posses- 
 sion of them. This was not a man that would 
 wear himself out with friction and anxiety. He 
 had struck at once the note he could hold to the end. 
 Ten, twenty, thirty years in the future he would 
 speak in that same clear-cut and winning fashion, 
 only still more wisely and well ; there would still 
 be that indefinable suggestion of youthfulness, the 
 youthfulness of a mind unconscious of effort or
 
 THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN 391 
 
 fatigue. It was this impression of intellectual san- 
 ity which the great throng carried away. 
 
 But his triumph, great as it seemed to others, 
 left him unsatisfied. He had grasped the secret of 
 success with comparative ease, but the happiness 
 that alone could make it complete was more elu- 
 sive. That evening, obeying an impulse that had 
 become a habit, he went to see Mrs. Van Sant. 
 The air was full of the mild witchery of the Indian 
 summer, and as he caught sight of the moon be- 
 ginning to lift a pale rim above the eastern horizon 
 a longing stole into his heart which he felt she 
 could not satisfy. Why should he go to see her 
 to-night, when he needed something deeper than 
 mere friendship could give? It broke in upon him 
 like a revelation that he loved June Hathaway and 
 must see her. He went by Mrs. Van Sant's house 
 without even a passing glance and continued his 
 way, stirred by a sudden resolve. 
 
 He that could have married so well from a 
 worldly point of view, that had been spoiled by at- 
 tention, now doubted the success of his venture 
 and grew faint at the prospect of asking a poor girl 
 to become the wife of the president of the univer- 
 sity. Yet it was a fittingly unconventional sequel, 
 he mused, to their unconventional story. She had 
 never even invited him to call, and he realized how 
 little he knew of her, how little he cared to know. 
 He trusted his own intuition and experience too 
 much to doubt her quality. His heart contracted 
 with pity to imagine her life in that house. He 
 supposed that she intended to teach school after get-
 
 392 THE TORCH 
 
 ting her degree. Most of the girls that worked 
 their way through college did so with that end in 
 view. She was not fitted for a life of drudgery, 
 and he resolved that he would save her from it if he 
 could. He was conscious of the sensation his ap- 
 pearance in that house would cause. It might be 
 awkward for them both, and he turned over in his 
 mind some scheme by which he could induce her to 
 take a walk. 
 
 At the very gate he paused to mature this plan, 
 when the door of the house opened and he saw her 
 coming down the steps alone. The spectral moon 
 was now well above the horizon, pouring a dim 
 light down the street. She started at sight of the 
 tall figure that confronted her, and then stood mo- 
 tionless before him, like a spiritual presence con- 
 jured into existence by his own longing. Her 
 head was bare, and he saw her dark, abundant hair 
 rippling in the breeze about her lovely head. Her 
 eyes looked up into his, startled and wide. He 
 raised his hat and greeted her quietly. 
 
 "Mrs. Clay is not at home," slje said, breathing 
 quickly. "I will tell her you called." 
 
 "I didn't call to see Mrs. Clay," he explained. 
 "I called to see you." 
 
 "Me !" she echoed doubtfully. For a moment she 
 hesitated, and he did not know whether she meant 
 to flee or to go back with him into the house. Her 
 unexpected appearance, the wild, dim beauty of the 
 night, so touched his fancy that he half expected 
 her to vanish. Suddenly he reached forward and 
 swung the gate wide open.
 
 THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN 393 
 
 "You were going somewhere to study, perhaps," 
 he said with his winning smile. "You couldn't 
 postpone it, could you, perhaps let it go, for this 
 one evening? I have wished to see you very much." 
 
 "I could," she answered slowly. Then, as if 
 conscious that her emphasis on the last word must 
 appear ungracious, she added quickly, "Won't you 
 come in?" 
 
 "Not on a night like this," he protested. "Let 
 us walk a little while. This is the Indian summer ; 
 we can't expect it to last much longer." 
 
 He saw her distress, and did not wonder that she 
 misunderstood him. 
 
 "You can trust me this time, Miss Hathaway," 
 he said frankly. "I beg you to believe me, even if 
 I don't deserve it." 
 
 He was touched by her gracious acquiescence. 
 She was too gentle, too well bred, to doubt his 
 word. 
 
 "Where shall we go?" she asked. "It really is 
 a relief to be outdoors to-night." 
 
 " 'Over the hills and far away,' " he answered. 
 "Do you feel equal to such a walk as that ?" 
 
 "I feel equal to anything," she returned. 
 
 They went up the street together, following their 
 long, black shadows. Masses of crisp, dead leaves 
 scurried past them, driven by a breeze as languor- 
 ous as that of springtime. The bare branches of 
 the trees wove swaying, fantastic patterns on the 
 ground. The street was deserted, save for their 
 presence, yet the night was filled with motion and 
 sound, from the withered leaves that swept past like
 
 394 THE TORCH 
 
 whispering- things to the dim stars that seemed to 
 turn slowly with the turning world. It seemed 
 to Lee that he was moving without conscious effort 
 through a world unsubstantial and evanescent. 
 The line of hills against the sky was unfamiliar, 
 like a low mountain range in some half-forgotten 
 Japanese picture, or the fabrication of a dream. 
 He was subdued, almost sad. The practical, the 
 intellectual, in his nature was lost in the mysticism 
 which music and poetry and moonlight release from 
 their prison in the inmost soul. 
 
 Suddenly he was speaking to her, almost as if 
 his thoughts had begun to clothe themselves in 
 words without. his volition. 
 
 "You \vill wonder why I came to see you to- 
 night, Miss Hathaway, but I couldn't keep from you 
 any longer. You have been in my thoughts for 
 days and weeks and months. At first I wanted to 
 ask your forgiveness for kissing you that night in 
 the snowstorm, and then I realized that I loved 
 you." 
 
 She gave a startled cry, and they stood facing 
 each other beneath the branches of a tree that threw 
 a wierd tracery of shadow on her pale face. He 
 took her hands in his own and continued almost 
 breathlessly, his whole being warm with a glow of 
 tender longing. 
 
 "I loved you that night, but I didn't know it. 
 It was only when I realized that I should never see 
 you in the class-room again that I knew the truth. 
 That is the reason I came to see you to-night. I
 
 THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN 395 
 
 wanted to tell you that I loved you and to ask you 
 to be my wife." 
 
 He would have taken her in his arms, but she 
 slipped from his embrace. 
 
 "No, no!" she gasped. "You mustn't I'm 
 I'm engaged already!" 
 
 His amazement and disillusion were so great 
 that he stood motionless and silent, like one suffer- 
 ing from a sudden physical shock. He did not 
 know where to begin, how to extricate himself. 
 It was almost too wonderful for belief. This sim- 
 ple and beautiful girl, whose love he had thought 
 to pluck as he would pluck a rare rose, was so dif- 
 ferent from what he had supposed; and yet what 
 right had he to suppose that he could have her for 
 the mere asking? Why had he been so bewitched 
 by her beauty as to misinterpret the glance of her 
 eyes, the fact that she had elected his courses ? His 
 humiliation was even greater than his pain, but 
 very little of his inward tumult was expressed in 
 his words when at last he could find his voice. 
 
 "I have to ask your forgiveness a second time, 
 Miss Hathaway," he said, "and to offer my good 
 wishes also. I hope to have the pleasure perhaps 
 I already know " He paused, struck by a sudden 
 thought. 
 
 "It's Mr. Trumbull," she said, answering his un- 
 spoken question. 
 
 By mutual consent they began to retrace their 
 steps. 
 
 "May I ask you one thing?" he demanded.
 
 39^ THE TORCH 
 
 "Were you engaged when Mr. Trumbull left Ar- 
 gos?" 
 
 "No," she answered calmly, her emotion passed. 
 "He wrote to me." 
 
 "He wrote to me also," he remarked, "and told 
 me of his new professorship in the east, but he 
 failed to mention his greater good fortune." 
 
 "It only happened to-day," she said demurely. 
 "I thought I would tell you during our walk, but 
 you didn't give me time." 
 
 "No," he said. "I was very much to blame. I 
 hope you will forget that I was so inconsiderate." 
 He talked to her of the university to which she 
 was to go as Trumbull's wife, and said the things 
 the occasion demanded, as if nothing had occurred 
 between them. Then he left her where he had 
 found her only a short half-hour before and walked 
 rapidly away. He left Argos behind, crossed the 
 railroad track and continued his way along the 
 road into the bare and silent prairie. Suddenly he 
 found himself laughing bitterly, lightly, at the 
 thought of Trumbull's secretiveness. But why 
 should he complain? Was not this exactly what 
 he had wished and planned ? Trumbull had chosen 
 the wife he suggested, after all, and he admitted to 
 himself that there was every prospect of happiness 
 in the marriage. He himself was the only one to 
 blame. He had been betrayed into folly by his 
 love of poetry and beauty, and had learned one of 
 life's bitter but wholesome lessons. He even ad- 
 mitted to himself that he was not sure he loved 
 Miss Hathaway, and that his first judgment in re-
 
 THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN 397 
 
 gard to her fitness for Trumbull was unerring. 
 He had merely longed to possess a beautiful woman 
 for her beauty, and that was all. 
 
 It was late when he passed Mrs. Van Sant's 
 house once more and met Plow just coming out on 
 the street. The governor-elect seized him by the 
 hand with a grip that hurt and fairly rushed him 
 along the sidewalk as he held his arm. Lee 
 glanced at his face in wonder. He saw the glow of 
 his strange eyes in the moonlight, and his heart 
 failed him. 
 
 "You want to be congratulated," he said. "I've 
 got my hand in to-night. It has become a habit 
 with me. Let me wish you happiness." 
 
 Plow laughed outright, like a boy. 
 
 "It's a secret, Lee. Not a word, you under- 
 stand, but give me your hand." 
 
 "Take my left one this time," Lee answered. 
 "My right is already crippled, but I don't mind sac- 
 rificing the other." 
 
 When he left Plow at the car and turned back 
 alone he felt that in this case, too, Nature had been 
 wiser than he. He had never seen a man quite so 
 happy and exultant as Plow, and knew that if Su- 
 sanne had accepted him he could not have experi- 
 enced an equal rapture. He began to feel that he 
 was a benevolent spectator of other people's joy, 
 a joy that was as yet beyond his own experience, 
 but not beyond the possibilities of the future. And 
 he realized that he was not at all broken-hearted, 
 but strangely happy and serene. 
 
 He had his work in the world to do, and never
 
 398 THE TORCH 
 
 had it seemed more worth the doing. His thoughts 
 reverted to the scene in the gymnasium that after- 
 noon, and the old boyish love for his alma mater 
 stirred in his soul with something of the compelling 
 power of a splendid song. Whatever her short- 
 comings, the university seemed to him the mother 
 of heroes, of statesmen, of scholars and poets. 
 Here was preparing the leaven that would leaven 
 the great commonwealth in the days to come, a 
 work in which he would have a large part. And 
 to him personally the place was home. In con- 
 trast to the noise and confusion of the capital where 
 Plow must fight his battle, the little city seemed a 
 haven of rest, with its scattered houses, its dark, 
 cool spaces, the twinkling lights of the library on 
 the hill, the stately tower, and the sweet notes of 
 the chimes dropping slowly downward like a bene- 
 diction through the quiet night.
 
 A LIST of IMPORTANT FICTION 
 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
 
 A BREATHLESSLY DRAMATIC STORY 
 
 TOMORROW'S 
 TANGLE 
 
 By GERALDINE BONNER 
 
 Tomorrow's Tangle is a story of life in California 
 at the rime of the gold craze in '49 and twenty-five 
 years later. First of all, it is a good story. It is 
 original, breathlessly dramatic, and intensely interest- 
 ing. The heroine is radiant with the warmth and 
 the beauty characteristic of her native state. The 
 book has the air of truth. It is a convincing picture 
 of the wonderfully vital society of those picturesque 
 days of force, personal vigor, and hardy endeavor, 
 contrasted with the swift following days of conven- 
 tion, repression and pride. 
 
 The book has the charm of liberality, tenderness 
 and the love of all sorts and conditions of men. If, 
 as has often been said, the criteria of any work of 
 literature are simplicity, knowledge of human nature 
 and charm, then Tomorrow's Tangle is a work of 
 literature. 
 
 With illustrations by Arthur I. Kellar 
 I zmo, cloth. Price, $1.50 
 
 The Bobbs- Merrill Company, Indianapolis
 
 A DELICIOUS LITTLE COMEDY 
 
 THE 
 FORTUNES o/FIFI 
 
 By MOLLY ELLIOT SEA WELL 
 Author of Francezka and Children of Destiny 
 
 The Fortunes of Fifi is a delicious little comedy, 
 a comedy in which gay humor, a pretty sentiment 
 and some very amusing situations all have their 
 place. The story is one of French life in the time 
 of Napoleon; and it is not only French in subject 
 but French in the animation of its plot, and in 
 gaiety of spirit. Fifi is a charming little actress of 
 eighteen, employed in a third-rate Parisian theater, 
 where she is watched over vigilantly by her guard- 
 ian, the factotum of the theater, an ugly, stiff-legged 
 ex-soldier. The innocent wiles and justifiable tricks 
 of Fifi are a delight. She is full of invention and, at 
 the same time, artless as a child. 
 
 With illustrations in color by 
 
 T. de Thulstrup 
 Ornamental cloth, izmo. Price $1.50 
 
 The Bobbs- Merrill Company, Indianapolis
 
 WRITTEN TO ENTERTAIN 
 
 THE GREY CLOAK 
 
 By HAROLD MAC GRATH 
 
 Author of The Puppet Crown 
 
 There have been many excellent stories of love 
 and intrigue, but no one of them all equals in depth 
 of fascination and subtle plot and counterplot The 
 Grey Cloak. The New York American. 
 
 Harold MacGrath wrote in The Grey Cloak 
 a book which the reader could not lay down till he 
 finished. In a busy age this is an offense against in- 
 dustry. Mr. MacGrath is certainly found guilty 
 of it. The Chicago Tribune. 
 
 As a historical romance The Grey Cloak is simply 
 immense, as a work of fiction it is of the highest 
 pyschological importance, and as a story it is a vol- 
 ume of sensation as well as intensity. 
 
 The Boston Times. 
 
 If you want a smoothly written, cleverly con- 
 structed story of love and exciting adventure, follow 
 the fortunes of The Grey Cloak. The Toledo Blade. 
 
 With illustrations by Thomas Mitchell Peirce 
 1 2mo, cloth. Price, $1.50 
 
 The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Indianapolis
 
 A STORY OF TODAY 
 
 The MAIN CHANCE 
 
 By MEREDITH NICHOLSON 
 
 The Main Chance is a straightforward, honest 
 picture of the life of today in a wide-awake western 
 city. It leaves with the reader a pleasant impression 
 of a type of people and a phase of life well worth a 
 closer acquaintance. 
 
 The New Tork Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 Mr. Nicholson's work is marked by wholesome 
 
 humor, convincing realism, admirable diction, bright 
 
 sayings, a good sense of proportion and artistic finish. 
 
 The Chicago Inter Ocean. 
 
 The Main Chance is a romance of youth, of love 
 and of success honestly won. It is a vigorous, buoy- 
 ant, cheering story, full of crisp humor, forceful 
 charm and hard common sense. It is American to 
 the very core. The Reader. 
 
 We recommend it for its workmanship, for its 
 smoothness and its sensible and pleasant fancies, and 
 for its general charm. The New Tork Sun. 
 
 With six illustrations by Harrison Fisher 
 i zmo, cloth. Price, $1.50 
 
 The Bobbs- Merrill Company, Indianapolis
 
 A GOOD DETECTIVE STORY 
 
 THE 
 FILIGREE BALL 
 
 By ANNA KATHERINE GREEN 
 Author of "The Leavenworth Case" 
 
 This is something more than a mere detective story ; it is 
 a thrilling romance a romance of mystery and crime where 
 a shrewd detective helps to solve the mystery. The plot is a 
 novel and intricate one, carefully worked out. There are con- 
 stant accessions to the main mystery, so that the reader can 
 not possibly imagine the conclusion. The story is clean-cut 
 and wholesome, with a quality that might be called manly. 
 The characters are depicted so as to make a living impression. 
 Cora Tuttle is a fine creation, and the flash of love which she 
 gives the hero is wonderfully well done. Unlike many mystery 
 stories The Filigree Ball is not disappointing at the end. The 
 characters most liked but longest suspected are proved not only 
 guiltless, but above suspicion. It is a story to be read with a 
 rush and at a sitting, for no one can put it down until the 
 mystery is solved. 
 
 Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. 
 I2mo, Cloth, Price, $1.50 
 
 The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Indianapolis
 
 It is fresh and spontaneous, having nothing of 
 
 that wooden quality which is becoming 
 
 associated with the term 
 
 " historical novel." 
 
 HEARTS 
 COURAGEOUS 
 
 By HALLIE ERMINIE RIVES 
 
 " Hearts Courageous " is made of new material, a pic- 
 turesque yet delicate style, good plot and very dramatic 
 situations. The best in the book are the defence of George 
 Washington by the Marquis ; the duel between the English 
 officer and the Marquis; and Patrick Henry flinging the 
 brand of war into the assembly of the burgesses of Virgin' ~ 
 Williamsburg, Virginia, the country round about, and 
 the life led in that locality just before the Revolution, form 
 an attractive setting for the action of the story. 
 
 With six illustrations by A. B. Wenzell 
 i2mo. Price, $1.50 
 
 The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Indianapolis
 
 THE GREAT NOVEL OF THE YEAP 
 
 THE MISSISSIPPI 
 BUBBLE 
 
 How the star of good fortune rose and set and rose 
 
 again y by a woman* s grace, for one 
 
 John Law, of Lauriston 
 
 A novel by EMERSON HOUGH 
 
 Emerson Hough has written one of the best novels that has 
 come out of America in many a day. It is an exciting story, 
 with the literary touch on every page. 
 
 JEANNETTE L. GILDER, of The Critic. 
 
 In "The Mississippi Bubble" Emerson Hough has taken 
 John Law and certain known events in his career, and about 
 them he ha<j "''oven a web of romance full of brilliant coloring 
 and cunning work. It proves conclusively that Mr. Hough 
 is a novelist of no ordinary quality. The Brooklyn Eagle. 
 
 As a novel embodying a wonderful period in the growth of 
 America "The Mississippi Bubble" is of intense interest. As 
 a love story it is rarely and beautifully told. John Law, as 
 drawn in this novel, is a great character, cool, debonair, auda- 
 cious, he is an Admirable Crichton in his personality, and a 
 Napoleon in his far-reaching wisdom. The Chicago American. 
 
 The Illustrations by Henry Hutt 
 I2mo, 452 pages, $1.50 
 
 The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Indianapolis
 
 A 000 051 406 7