GIFT OF 
 
THE CLAW 
 
Copyright 1914 
 
 Out West Magazine, 
 
 LOS ANGELES, CAL. 
 
THE CLAW 
 
 With a great happiness and gratitude 
 I dedicate this book to three: to my 
 father, whose constant and grieved con 
 cern for the things of temperance has 
 pushed my hand to the work; to my 
 mother, whose sweet and valiant soul 
 was always in the Cause and whose 
 presence I often realized as I wrote ; to 
 the grand-father I never knew, who set 
 the principles of his line in his answer 
 to the oft put question, "Tammas, why 
 is it we dinna see ye drinkin?" 
 
 "H/eel, man, a ve been tbinkin this 
 while back that a ve never seen ony gudefrae 
 th drink, but muckle trouble an I juist 
 thocht it were a gude thing to let alane" 
 
THE CLAW 
 
 BY 
 
 KATHERINE ELSPETH OLIVER 
 
 LOS ANGELES, CAL. 
 
 Out West Magazine 
 
 1914 
 

THE CLAW 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Some lands are made for yielding man s common needs: 
 wheat for his bread, cotton for his clothes, lumber for his 
 houses, coal to keep him warmed. Others minister to his 
 luxuries the things of his imagination. Such lands are the 
 proper home of the idealist. He adds to his daily toil dreams 
 and visions; his hands are working with precious things not 
 the things that keep him in brute existence, but that nourish 
 the prince and god in him. At such toil men may give a life 
 time and see age and the end, with nothing in their hands. 
 Yet they have lived lived a compound life; the actual and 
 the dream, the reality and the trance, and the latter, like an 
 anesthetic, has deadened the senses to material things whi e 
 it loosed the spirit to the compensations of the visionary world. 
 
 The Valley of the San Joaquin, regal in its spread from the 
 Sacramento to the gate of the Tehachapi, from the dim high 
 rim of the Sierras to the Coast Range, a valley, soft veiled with 
 tawny haze of mornings, at noon baring its broad expanse to 
 the summer s trial by fire at night, reached by the balm of the 
 hills winds, and dreaming under starlight or the high moon 
 the Valley of the San Joaquin is a land made to bring forth 
 dream stuffs. 
 
 Gold was the gift of the valley hard by but gold is a fierce 
 joy, it breeds fever, madness. The gift of the San Joaquin 
 was a quieter one portion of man s dream of contentment, 
 of comradeship, of hospitality, of all kindly joys; the gift of 
 the San Joaquin was wine. 
 
12 - : TH E CLAW 
 
 "Father says the beef must be ready at twelve on the minute." 
 
 A stocky lad of twelve stood beside the pit where two five 
 hundred pound beeves had been roasting slowly the past ten 
 hours under the watchful care of Garcia Ortega, the major 
 domo, chef extraordinary, whose attention was equally divided 
 between this interest and the great pots of frijoles boiling over 
 the ruddy fires close by. The barbecue of La Mesa Vineyard 
 was an annual event, one that ranked first among the numerous 
 social functions of that favorite rendezvous and gave to the 
 master of the vineyard, Douglas Cameron, the name of the 
 largest handed man in the valley. 
 
 "And my father says, Ortega," imperiously ammended a 
 handsome faced youth of sixteen, wheeling a nervous broncho 
 to a standstill so impetously as to throw a flurry of dust over 
 his brother and the watching Ortega, "My father says that 
 you have not brought a quarter of enough wine from the 
 cellars. He s expecting at least two hundred guests, not 
 including the Senator s party." 
 
 "Holy Mother! You make a dust," exclaimed the Mexican 
 in ill humor. "And does your father think me the Christ, 
 to make wine out of water or expand the bread and fishes? 
 I might even do that for him," he added, "if he would let me 
 know in time. Yesterday it was one hundred and fifty he 
 expected. The day before, one hundred, surely not more than 
 one hundred but you may prepare for a few over, Ortega 
 that there be no skimping. But it is the way with your 
 father!" The man laughed indulgently. "He is not content 
 without the whole valley. He is a worthy successor of Don 
 Senor Antonio from which he had the land, if his name is 
 spelled Douglas, and his son is like him." He made a low and 
 grave obeisance, scanning with deep admiration, the gallant 
 figure of young Douglas, sitting his saddle with nonchalant 
 grace. 
 
THE CLAW 13 
 
 "Ye re as free wit ye re blarney as me Irish ancestor," 
 laughed Douglas, but he appropriated the Mexican s flattery 
 as he was wont to do such tributes, with the utmost confidence 
 that it was due. 
 
 "All right, Ortega, see that everything s O. K. I m going 
 back, Duncan" to his brother "to see to the decorations of 
 the pavillion, and look up my Highland togs for the dance 
 tonight." 
 
 "All right tell father I ll be back in time." Douglas was 
 gone, enveloping man and boy again in his dust. The old 
 man pulled off his sombrero and shook out the dirt, then he 
 reached for a great iron spoon on the bench beside him and 
 cautiously lifting the lid from one of the pots, dipped in and 
 brought out a savory portion. He blew on it, then tasted 
 cautiously, judiously, with the air of the connoisseur he was. 
 
 He shook his head approvingly and grunted. The younger 
 lad was close beside him watching with utmost interest. 
 
 "All right, Ortega?" he asked anxiously. 
 
 "Mucho buenol" exclaimed the Mexican, smacking his 
 lips. He dipped another spoonful for the boy. 
 
 "But we must have more fire. Madre de Dios, but my old 
 legs are stiff today from the hurry of the work and the much 
 walking back and forth to these infernal pots!" 
 
 "You stay, Ortega I ll get the wood." He was off, drag 
 ging from the pile of heavy oak near by great limbs that he 
 pushed under the kettle, feeding them with smaller twigs 
 till they made a flame from which Ortega was obliged to move 
 precipitously. He worked with splendid energy. Younger 
 by four years than his brother, he was stronger. His young 
 muscles were like steel from much activity at the heavy work 
 of the vineyard. Ortega resumed his seat contentedly and 
 began the rolling of a cigarette. He never failed to "work" the 
 youngest master, and did so unshamefacedly. From Douglas 
 
14 THE CLAW 
 
 he would never dream of soliciting; a favor. Favors belonged 
 to Douglas. 
 
 "He is a good boy/ mused Ortega, watching the lad through 
 the haze of his cigarette, "but his brother is smarter. His 
 brother makes people work for him." 
 
 Meantime Douglas, issuing orders like a young prince to a 
 band of young men and girls, the help of the place, quickly 
 transformed the rustic dancing pavilion on the lawn, into a 
 bower of flags and bunting in which the English and Ameri 
 can emblems were ingeniously combined. Here the tables 
 would be spread. The circumstance of a fractured elbow 
 held in a heavy cast excused active participation in the work 
 and added necessity to the role of dictator, a wholly compatible 
 one. 
 
 "If everything s finished I ll call my father to see it." He 
 sprang up the broad steps of the veranda from which the 
 pavilion was reached by a wide pergola hung with languorous 
 grape vines. In a moment the two appeared at the pavilion 
 entrance. 
 
 Framed in the doorway, the arm of the man thrown affec 
 tionately about the shoulders of the boy, the two presented 
 to those within a charming picture. 
 
 To have seen the son was to be prepared or seeing the 
 father. Indeed, the odd and unconscious assumption by which 
 he invariably used the personal pronoun before his father s 
 name, was explained when the two were together. Cameron 
 was Douglas father in every sense of the word. From Cameron 
 he drew the high, imperative spirit, the quick mind, the master 
 ful manner. The physical characteristics were even more 
 marked. Framed in the doorway, half stooping to meet the 
 stature of his son, Cameron was a noble figure; slender but 
 strong, elegant with the bearing and address of the gentleman 
 and scholar, yet with the genial accessibility of the man of 
 
THE CLA\Y 15 
 
 the world and the comaraderie of the good fellow. 
 qualities were accentutated by the ingratiation of his smile, 
 the grace of his unconscious jestures, the poise of his fine head, 
 carried high and crowned with a sweep of jet black hair. He 
 was a man marked, distinguished, fitted by nature and educa 
 tion for a leader in any social or intellectual circles in which 
 his life was cast. There was no doubt of his position in the 
 new community, made up largely of his own countrymen 
 attracted to the valley by ambitions similar to his own. 
 
 Of all those who saw the vineyard industry of the valley with 
 the eyes of the enthusiast Cameron was the most enthralled. 
 He was the chief exponent, the high-priest, the interpreter of 
 the industry in its highest form and significance. It was worth 
 while to hear Cameron enunciate his faith, voice his visions. 
 The most hopeless literalist r the most practical of individuals, 
 bent wholly on proceeds and profits could not resist his spirit 
 when, glass in hand, with eyes half closed, focussing some idyllic 
 future, he decanted on his ambitions to promote on a noble 
 scale the industry, at once the most primitive and classic of 
 mankind: to see the valley a picture of contented pastoral 
 life, a valley of homes and vineyards, of wholesome toil, of mater 
 ial prosperity, the invoker of all this human felicity, man s 
 friend, sung in chronicle and story, Wine. 
 
 To his dissertation Cameron added the persuasions of argu 
 ment, the ornament of legends and stories, words of the poets 
 and quaint unheard of phrases from the many tongues he 
 knew, together with his own ingenious wit, and the listener 
 sat enthralled if not convinced. His temper was combined 
 us is frequent in such personalities with an utter lack of the 
 practical point. 
 
 From these circumstances, Cameron, who once was rich, 
 was fast becoming poor. His large holdings, which his char 
 acteristic enthusiasm impelled him to purchase recklessly, con- 
 
16 THE CLAW 
 
 sisted of all manner of investments: town lots and country 
 acres: half a dozen building blocks in the ambitious new city 
 close at hand; an experiment in the form of a raisin candy 
 factory; a new theater built with the philanthropic purpose of 
 bringing entertainment to a community lacking in the drama 
 and other forms of art, and for the opening of which he as 
 sembled, at fabulous price, a company of New York actors; 
 and a newspaper which he edited for the exploitation of the 
 valley s industries and which experienced so precarious an 
 existence as to discourage all patrons not wholly enthralled 
 by the editor s enthus asm: last of all La Mesa Vineyard of 
 five hundred acres. 
 
 With the naivete of a child Cameron borrowed from his 
 friends when his funds went low and there was not one, such 
 was the personality of the man, who did not feel it an honor 
 to "help out" Cameron. His gratitude was effusive, and 
 sincere. It was a part of his idealistic concepts to exalt the 
 role of friend and invest it with a faith and chivalry admirable 
 but extravagant. 
 
 His wife was a pale, serviceable woman. Met during an 
 idyllic student outing in a picturesque Perthshire village, he 
 fell in love and married her for her complexion. A poem to 
 "Jeanie s Blushes by the enamored youth won him his first 
 self earned "five pound." The incident was prophetic of the 
 future service of his wife to Cameron. The eulogized complex 
 ion faded with the birth of their first child, and Jeanie slipped 
 simultaneously into her place as the conservitor of Cameron s 
 material needs. None ever served a master with more single 
 ness of heart. Whatever coquetry she might formerly have 
 possessed that contributed to Douglas youthful infatuation 
 vanished in the overwhelming marvel that he had made her 
 his wife, and induced a humility and devotion that eliminated 
 
THE CLAW 17 
 
 effectually her own personality. She had borne him many 
 children all of whom, but two sons, had died in infancy. 
 
 Between the two sons Jeanie had succeeded in rearing for 
 her husband, the cleavage of likeness was as perfect as between 
 father and mother. 
 
 Duncan was his mother s son, as Douglas was his father s. 
 He had her blue eyes and fair hair, her industry and self efface- 
 ment. In fact, there had always seemed to be from his earliest 
 consciousness, an instinctive compact between mother and 
 son, an understanding of partnership in the service of father 
 and son. 
 
 La Mesa Vineyard had been purchased by Cameron from 
 the heirs of Manuel Garcia, and comprised one of the fine old 
 Mexican land grants. It ran along the river and up to the 
 foothills, the lower land cultivated, the rising mesa, that the 
 new viticulturalists found to be the best of all soil suited to 
 vineyard purposes, was given over to Ortega s herds. Cameron 
 had bought the entire estate and set the whole vast acreage 
 out to wine grapes of the finest variety. 
 
 The place had been worked for years by the same men, 
 old help and their children, born and reared on the land. 
 Cameron retained them. They were Mexicans of a superior 
 grade, self respecting, excellent workers and faithful. The 
 vine} r ard regime was not unlike that of the large English estate 
 and Cameron s blood was such as to contribute to his other 
 qualities those of an ideal master. 
 
 The young people greeted him with the vidences of devo 
 tion remarked by all visitors to the vineyard and the naive 
 flattery the eloquence of which is possessed by the raggedest 
 cholo. 
 
 "Buenos dias, Senor. Me alegro mucho de ver a Usted. Como 
 esta Usted de salud?" 
 
18 THE CLAW. 
 
 Cameron answered them in kind. He was versed in the 
 tongue and it pleased him to retain it s use in his intercourse 
 with them. He inspected the pavilion with appreciative 
 interest, then retired to prepare to receive his guests. 
 
 They were already arriving. From all directions they came, 
 a picturesque cavalcade. A half dozen years later, purring 
 motor cars would have brought Cameron s guests to his door, 
 so rapid has been the age of travel evolution. Today it was 
 the smart stepping team of thoroughbreds and the luxurious 
 deep seated carriage, the stylish trap, or the light run-about, 
 the ranchman s serviceable rig. The vehicles were accompanied 
 by a laughing racing escort of men and maidens on horseback. 
 in a 1 ! manner of riding dress from the effected riding togs of 
 the newly arrived Englishman to the easy native equipment 
 of the man or girl "born in saddle. 
 
 It was a hybrid occasion that Cameron conceived in his 
 yearly fiesta. The barbecue, at noon, was characterized by 
 all the features of the native celebration. Diversion, follow 
 ing the feast marked by all the delicacies of Mexican cuisine, 
 would be provided during the afternoon when the music of 
 castinets and mandolins would stir the drowsy air and pic 
 turesque dancers step off the graceful fandango and Cacbucha. 
 
 In the evening the scene would be transformed. Latin 
 evidences and tokens would be exchanged for Celtic; the bag 
 pipes for the mandolins, the scones for the tortillas, the plaidio 
 and ribboned cap in place of the reboso and the sombrero 
 and where swarthy men and maids moved in the languorous 
 steps of the southern dances. Donald, of Campbell s vineyard, 
 and Noble s Maggie, Georgie Moore, and Annie Elliot, Bonnie 
 Lizzie Murray and one of Dunn s two braw sons, just arrived 
 the week end from Glasgow you can tell the newcomer by the 
 blisters under his pink skin are putting through the Scotch 
 
THE CLAW 19 
 
 reel, the dance which, as an endurance test, has not been sur 
 passed by any terpischorean rival. 
 
 But Cameron was not narrow in his hospitality. In his 
 company was to be found not his countrymen only. Cameron, 
 many sided, welcomed any whose temper or talents might 
 make them worthy sue a host. He admired any man who 
 was doing things, and there were many of that kind in the 
 new colony. His barbecue was remarkable as a rallying place 
 for the builders of the new commonwealth; the twang of the 
 Yankee, the colloquialisms of the middle easterner, wisdom 
 propounded in terms of Pike County philosophers, the flam- 
 boyancy of the westerner, and the Scotch "bur-rr" were 
 mingled sounds in the strange and pregnant assembly this 
 potpouri of men, the fabric of the industrial west. 
 
 Cameron met his friends with characteristic hospitality 
 and shortly there was the good sound of men s deep throated 
 laughter and the gentle-women s voices. It was a notable com 
 pany that Cameron had assembled, representative not only 
 of the versatility of the new citizenship, but of the choice. 
 
 As usual, Cameron was his own toast-master, and there 
 were none who could surpass him, none who could launch 
 his guests more sucessively on a smooth tide of social inter 
 course, lending to each just the proper cue to whit his wit 
 and call forth the response that otherwise he would have groped 
 for. 
 
 Cameron launched for his peroration his favorite topic, 
 "The Industry." Old as was the theme, his versatility dressed 
 it in new and engrossing form. But in the midst he paused 
 and concluded with an abrupt digression. 
 
 "But, ladies and gentlemen, I have been remiss. I have failed 
 to state the real motive of this occasion. We speak of West 
 ern time, and at the Rockies we find we are behind and we 
 set up our time pieces. Western time my friends is fast. 
 
20 THE CLAW 
 
 It sets a new speed limit. Men grow old in its exigencies and 
 the country asks for new ones. I have been envisioning for 
 you an era which belongs not to us, but to our sons. Already 
 it is time for me, who thought myself a youth yesterday, to 
 step aside for the youth of today. 
 
 "This is the birthday of my eldest son. He is sixteen today. 
 This is his feast. He doesn t know it, I think, but neverthe 
 less, it is we ll let him speak for himself. We ll see what he 
 has to say for his friends." It was a test for any lad, one that 
 few father s would have dared to make. It was characteristic 
 that Cameron should have conceived it. 
 
 All eyes were on young Douglas. He sat in becoming ob 
 scurity at the end of the table, arranged for the younger mem 
 bers of the company. Secure in his oblivion he was quite 
 ignoring the ceremonies. In fact he was better engaged. 
 With ingratiating manner and fascinating smile, he was bend 
 ing toward a little Miss at his side, a brilliant young creature 
 with the shy bold eyes of twelve who feels womanhood stirring 
 in her child s being. Already the subtle outlines of her young 
 bosom spoke of dawning maturity, the maturity the west 
 induces early. The child, was in the curve of her pouting 
 lips, the woman lent her the coquetry that regarded the youth 
 from under dropping lids, half shy half saucy. Douglas was 
 teasing the long curl that hung over h r shoulder. 
 
 There was a moment of breathless pause. The boy, of an 
 instant the center of all eyes, turned scarlet and dropped the 
 entangl ng lock, while his small charmer hid her blushes in 
 her curls. Then slowly, with inimitable grace and utmost 
 leisure, young Douglas rose. His face was pale but his eyes 
 were sure. He began slowly, enunciating with care but un 
 embarrassed. His composed gaze took in the entire assembl 
 age. 
 
 Mr. Toastmaster," he bowed with a graceful jesture toward 
 
THE CLAW 21 
 
 Cameron, "Ladies and Gentlemen: I was certainty not aware 
 of the courtesy prepared for me. It was more than I could 
 have thought of dreamed of. My appreciation for the honor 
 is not to be put into words. For, if I differ with my father, and 
 our master of ceremonies, I am not yet a man just a boy and 
 that I should have the pleasure and honor of receiving this 
 brilliant company as my guests overwhelms me. 
 
 "But I would not be a worthy son of my father " again the 
 jesture of charming grace and deference "if I had no words 
 with which to extend you hospitality. 
 
 "It is my feast my day!" He threw back his shoulders 
 with an unconscious motion of new dignity and power. "Very 
 well I could not hope to celebrate it more auspiciously than 
 in the company of you, my father s friends. My day? Then 
 I propose my own toast: may I lend it my day as dis 
 tinguished service as have you, whose day is not yet over!" 
 He raised his glass with ineffable grace and drank. With a 
 smile and a modest inclination of the head that included in 
 its deference, all, he sat down. His cheeks were scarlet. 
 
 Cameron had stood during the incident with eyes intent on 
 the lad. From watchful expectancy his expression ran a 
 gamut of successive emotions. A characteristic gesture as 
 when he had turned a lucky card showed his surprise and 
 pleasure when the boy rose to his feet and with self-composure 
 began to speak: 
 
 "Right! The lad has poise and resources modesty, too, by 
 Gad!" 
 
 His winning reference to Cameron s hospitality touched the 
 father but the toast! He could not himself have worded a 
 more delicate phrase, that included at once modesty, self-pride 
 and homage to his friends. It was a classic. 
 
 He had a boy after his own heart a lad of intellect and ap 
 preciation a man of parts. For once, in his pride and delight, 
 
22 THE CLAW 
 
 words failed the elder Douglas. Frank tears stood in his eyes. 
 In the surprised silence that followed the boy s speech, a silence 
 more appreciative e en than the burst of prolonged applause 
 that succeeded it, Cameron reached across the table and gripped 
 the boy s hand; their eyes met and held in communion deep 
 and affecting. 
 
 The dinner advanced with increasing gaiety. The unlooked- 
 for circumstance of Douglas debut proved a stimulating one. 
 There was no doubt in the minds of Cameron s friends that the 
 incident was as impromptu as it seemed on young Douglas 
 part. The boy s startled look upon his father s announcement 
 could not have been simulated. It was like Cameron to have 
 conceived such reckless confidence in his son. Douglas 
 response had made a deep impression on the guests. The lad 
 was worthy of his father. His address was a remarkable 
 evidence of resource and self-command in a mere lad. Cam 
 eron s friends took the boy to their hearts their company. 
 Not a toast followed without complimentary reference to 
 Douglas and his brilliant response, and Cameron, who was at 
 his best in a social atmosphere of his own creating, expanded 
 with increasing pride and delight at realization of his son s 
 triumph. 
 
 The banquet over, the company broke up into groups, 
 invited by their host to seek their own pleasure during a brief 
 siesta before the afternoon gaieties should begin. The women 
 repaired to the house where Jeanie extended the comfort of 
 the darkened rooms in which the shades having been drawn 
 with the first rays of the sun the temperature of early morning 
 prevailed. The men smoked and wandered about the lawn or 
 lounged on the broad piazzas. Indolence marked the greater 
 number, but a group established in the wicker chairs of the 
 pavilion porch were engaged in animated talk. Of these the 
 Senator and Duncan formed the natural center. Murray, 
 
THE CLAW 23 
 
 Campbell, Bernardetti, Whitten and Blythe, prominent vine 
 yard men of the community, were included in the group. 
 
 "I don t know why, if Cameron is willing, we can t put this 
 business through right now," said Mr. Campbell. "It will 
 mean something, Douglas, to have your place the scene of the 
 first co-operative association of growers that succeeds in 
 bucking the California Wine Association," he added with a 
 laugh. "I can see this day notable in the annals of viticultur- 
 al history. And we ve got the Senator here with us, too. 
 The side that has the Senator wins out, you know, these days." 
 The men laughed approvingly. "Sure! But maybe this Sena 
 tor s already spoken for," threw in Blythe. 
 
 "How about it?" they joked. "Believe we saw your name 
 among those present at the annual banquet of the Wine 
 Association last week at the St. Francis!" 
 
 The Senator laughed amiably, and flecked the ashes from 
 his fragrant cigar. He was a handsome man with indolent 
 bearing, but a swift eye that unsheathed on the moment. 
 
 "A Senator is only a man," he said, "and a man never re 
 fuses the prospects of a good dinner. None of you suggests, I 
 suppose, that Cameron feted me today on his best with an eye 
 to getting an appropriation for his raisin candy experiment?" 
 There was an uproar at the host s expense, in which Cameron 
 joined. He pulled a handful of coin from his pocket. 
 
 "It s ten to one that I declare dividends before this Asso 
 ciation does," he declared, and the laugh was turned. "But 
 go to it men! Delighted to lend my premises for the purpose 
 and thereby share in whatever fame is forthcoming, since it s 
 the only share I expect to hold in the enterprise." 
 
 "What s the matter, ar n t you going into this, Cameron?" 
 asked the Senator. 
 
 "Not I, and for two very good reasons. First, I haven t the 
 money. My funds are tied up in other ways in my raisin 
 
24 THE CLAW 
 
 candy folly and others. But, besides, I ve no mind for dealing 
 with the business end of the industry the marketing end. 
 You know me. I ve dipped into a lot of things here, like 
 most folks that had a little money to squander. It s the way 
 of the country. You re first on the ground. Your head is 
 turned things look so devilish promising, you know. And 
 you grab all ways at once. But, really, the only thing I want, 
 and the only thing I m fit for is to engage in a business where 
 the Almighty and a few Mexicans do the work and I reap the 
 proceeds. This, I take it, is the vineyard industry. I ve 
 been looking for just such a thing all my life and now I ve 
 found it I propose to stay with it. If these gentlemen find a 
 way of co-operating with Providence and controlling prices 
 to our benefit I m perfectly willing, and say, God Speed but 
 theirs is the pleasure, not mine." 
 
 "Cameron s confidence in Providence is commendable," 
 commented Whitten, "and his ambitions not to interfere by 
 his own efforts, worthy. But the trouble is, as you know, 
 Senator, the California Wine Association is a bigger institution 
 than Providence now-a-days, and we growers are being squeezed. 
 We don t propose to have t so and believe the way to pry em 
 loose is to organize." 
 
 "And you think you can beat their game?" 
 
 "We can try. We surely have to do something. A man 
 can t live at present prices; with grapes bringing only six 
 dollars a ton at the wineries. What do you suppose a man 
 gets out of that? He doesn t pay the interest on the invest 
 ment, let alone the running expenses of his place. In other 
 words he s in a hole." 
 
 "That s what the California Wine Association paid last 
 year six dollars?" queried a man in the group bearing the 
 unmistakable signs of the new-comer. 
 
 "That s what they paid, and by the way, Mr. Jones, as one 
 
THE CLAW 25 
 
 of the new and heaviest owners of vineyard acreage in the 
 county, you ought to be mighty interested in this proposition. 
 Senator, this is Mr. Jones, of Missouri. He s just bought 
 three hundred acres west of town, that he s going to set out 
 to wine grapes. 
 
 "Mr. Campbell, Mr. Murray Mr. Jones. You ve met 
 Mr Blythe already, I believe. 
 
 "Yes sir. To return to the proposition, we got the munifi 
 cent sum of six dollars a ton for our best wine grapes, delivered, 
 last fall. They offered us four dollars for the second crop, 
 Muscats, and most of us kept em and fed em to the stock." 
 
 "This California Wine Association it handles the wine- 
 grape crop of the State? It controls prices? In other words, 
 it s a big monopolizing agency both buying and selling and 
 made up. of wine men?" 
 
 "Whist, mon! Ther-r-r no wine men at a . It s a cor-r- 
 poration on paper, that s what it is. Capiteelists you say 
 yes, that s made their money some w y and ony 
 w y!" It was Murray breaking into the conversation with 
 vigorous and angry burr-r. He was one of the Independents 
 who, at the expense of much pains and money had built up a 
 thriving winery, and was being hard pushed by the encroaching 
 association. 
 
 "Murray is right," answered Whitten, "it s made up largely 
 of capitalists, San Francisco money mainly; the wealthy Jews 
 of the Bay; the owners of the big wholesale and retail houses up 
 and down the coast and valley." 
 
 "And they make a good thing out of it?" 
 
 "Well, rather", replied Whittier. "With brandy retailing at 
 $2.00 a gallon, and other liquors accordingly. It rather 
 looks as if they made something. 
 
 "They ve got their stock excuses for giving us the little end 
 of the handle. Too much vineyard acreage ; insufficient demand 
 
26 THE CLAW 
 
 for the product; Eastern markets reluctant to handle Cali 
 fornia goods foreign wine preferred; the Association at a big 
 expense to exploit our interests." 
 
 "It s all right there is a big expense attached", said 
 Campbell. " We re willing that they should make their 
 share, but with the present quotation on California 
 liquors I guess they re doing it, and there s a chance 
 for them to have it, and at the same time for the 
 grower to live. That s not their idea, however, and it s 
 time we broke into the game. 
 
 "We believe by organization we producers can utilize our 
 own products, manufacture our own goods and get it in the 
 markets with profit to ourselves and without skinning the 
 consumer, either." 
 
 "Maybe so," answered the new-comer, doubtfully, "but it s 
 just the same proposition we Middle-Easterners are up against 
 in the hog trust, and the beef trust, and the cotton trust, and 
 everything else of the sort where capital is pitted against the 
 individual, or aggregation of individuals. You think you ll 
 organize as independents and put down prices to a reasonable 
 amount and get the trade, but the trouble lies with the dear 
 people. They re going to buy where they can get the goods 
 the cheapest. You can cut prices till you re black in the face, 
 but the big business the trust can under-cut you every 
 time. And the producer what about him? Why, he s the 
 fellow that gets squeezed from start to finish by everybody." 
 He sighed humorously. 
 
 "Lord! I thought I d left such things behind when I reached 
 California," he continued. "I thought I d got to the land 
 of perfection, where the wicked cease from troubling, an the 
 weary are at rest. The men laughed. 
 
 "Why, I thought the California Wine Association was one 
 of the benevolent institutions of the State that had settled the 
 
THE CLAW 27 
 
 problems of the grower to the complete satisfaction of all. 
 And all we had to do was to reap our harvests and coin at 
 frequent and regular intervals. That s the way it sounded in 
 the prospectuses your Chamber of Commerce sent out where 
 it gave a page to the careful analysis of the marketing methods 
 of the industry. And I took it all in swallowed it whole! 
 That s just how big a fool a man ll be even after he s been sold 
 once or twice." Cameron interfered: 
 
 "You re getting too pessimistic, Mr. Jones. This won t do. 
 There s money in a vineyard in a wine vineyard. There 
 can t help but be. There has been in the past, and there will 
 be again. The California Wine Association did well by us 
 when it was first organized, but we re meeting just now the 
 same thing any industry does the re-adjustment time the 
 time of the bigger proposition, when the business is growing 
 away from its nurse and striking out for itself. The Wine 
 Association, like the nurse, would like to keep hold of the 
 infant a while longer. She s had her troubles, nursing it along 
 to its present husky condition, and now that it s big enough to 
 serve her she s anxious to get her rewards. But of course it 
 isn t right, and the infant s bound to break away in time. 
 These gentlemen think that time has come, right now. It ll 
 undoubtedly mean a few years of experiment and perhaps 
 some hardship, but things will get whipped into shape again 
 in time and the industry will forge ahead as it never has before." 
 
 "Your straight proposition is?" pursued the Missourian. 
 With his discoveries he was anxious to get at the heart of the 
 matter at once. 
 
 "There are five of us here who are putting one thousand 
 dollars each into a business we will call the Riverside Co 
 operative Wine Association," explained Whittier. " We re all 
 growers. We propose to manufacture our own goods from 
 
28 THE CLAW 
 
 our own grapes, and those of our neighbors, and create a 
 market for it." 
 
 " You ll excuse me, won t you, gentlemen," said Cameron, 
 interrupting, "I ll have to go and look after the comfort of 
 my other guests. Go right ahead; I m with you as far as the 
 moral support is concerned, and the product of my five hundred 
 acres. No, by Gad, to show I m game, I ll get into the deal 
 I ll make up the sixth member, and I d advise my friend here," 
 indicating the Missourian, "to do likewise." 
 
 The men remained in further counsel, and before the group 
 had broken up another of the many independent wine asso 
 ciations being organized at this period throughout the valley, 
 was formed, with the purpose in view of putting up successful 
 competition against the California Wine Association, the 
 principal wine marketing organization of the State, and a trust 
 of powerful influence. 
 
 As the group dispersed, Cameron, Whitten and the Mis 
 sourian remained in desultory conversation. The latter was 
 immensely interested in the gathering, the character of which, 
 like every other feature of the country, was new to him. His 
 instincts told him the occasion was a fine opportunity for 
 learning the personnel of the community and the men with 
 whom later, as a citizen and larger producer, he would have 
 much to do. He was not slow in asking questions, his enter 
 prise in that line and his shrewd deductions rapidly acquaint 
 ing him with the local situation. 
 
 "Who s that man over there with the bald head and the 
 large shelf in front?" he asked Whitten, indicating a portly 
 gentleman occupying a comfortable, easy chair on the veranda. 
 
 "That s the State Controller, Smith. He came with the 
 Senator s party." 
 
 "Hum! Should think he might be able to control things if 
 he took a notion to sit on em hard. And the woman that s 
 
THE CLAW 29 
 
 just coming out of the door with the funny-doodles in her hair 
 and the don t-remember-to-have-met-you expression?" 
 
 "That s the Senator s wife, I believe," answered Whitten in 
 some amusement. 
 
 "An those men Cameron s walking with and talking to so 
 affable-like just now?" 
 
 "That s Overmeyer and Layton, two of the board members 
 of the California Wine Association San Francisco men." 
 The man s jaw dropped. 
 
 "Well I ll be gol darned. Say I cain t get ust to this kid- 
 glove, gum-swappin business with the men that s done you 
 dirt. D ye s pose, if I was in Cameron s place with five 
 hundred acres of th best grape-growing land in California, 
 and still havin to live on my remittance cause those fellows 
 was pocketing my proceeds that I d invite em to my home, 
 an be hob-nobbin with em s f they was a distant relative that 
 was going to leave me their money when they died? 
 
 "I m fr m Missouri, an that aint the way we do things back 
 there. There s just one thing that marks off between our 
 friends and our enemies, and that s grandad s old shot-gun." 
 
 Whitten laughed. 
 
 "Your sincerity does you credit, my friend, but you re 
 primitive. Your kind of policy leaves too few to share the 
 dividends with. Now it s a lot better to do like Cameron and 
 the rest of us make friends with your enemy. When he beats 
 you at your game you can sit in with him and help him rake in 
 the cards." 
 
 Following the barbecue, while the others were enjoying the 
 relaxations of the siesta hour, Douglas deserted the company. 
 The enforced inactivity of several weeks, occasion d by his 
 injury had impaired, somewhat, his vigor. He was, by nature, 
 temperamental in the extreme, and the excitements of the 
 hour, and his own part in it, had left him exhausted. He 
 
30 THE CLAW 
 
 wanted to get away from it relax, and rest up for the evening, 
 the diversions of which would tax the most robust. There 
 was nothing like the river for rest and indolence. 
 
 His boat and his horse were his prime pleasures, ordinarily. 
 Like all other pastimes, he shared them rarely with his brother. 
 The minds of the two were not compatible, even barring the 
 difference in age. Duncan had less leisure for pleasure than 
 his brother. He seemed to always find something to do an 
 irritating quality to a leisure-loving person who enjoys relaxa 
 tion and the pleasures of the mind, and is disturbed by the 
 show of too much activity on the part of others. 
 
 For his pastime, Douglas had a companion, however, of 
 utmost congeniality. That was Ortega. The man was, him 
 self, a "character." His claims of age and decrepitude were 
 largely assumed. He was the senior member of the little 
 colony of vineyard laborers, and therefore claimed the privi 
 leges and advantages forthcomingthe role f patriarch. As 
 a matter of fact, he was barely fifty, a man of splendid stature 
 and proportions, the best swimmer and wrestler of the country 
 round and a horseman of fame. He was a half-breed and full 
 of the lore of his people; Mexican history and legends, with 
 their characteristic embellishments lent by much telling by 
 imaginative narrators; Indian arts and traditions. He was a 
 prime companion, an unexcelled entertainer, especially when 
 his natural eloquence and imagination were stimulated to the 
 proper point by the judicious infusion of "vino." 
 
 For the boy, the old man had the devoted affection, half of 
 servant, half of father. Douglas was his much-beloved his 
 ideal. He had a large hand in his rearing, undertaken at the 
 day of their first acquaintance, ten years before. Douglas 
 spoke his own tongue like one of his sons. He was at Douglas 
 disposal at all times. 
 
 Today Douglas had special need of him, his crippled arm 
 
THE CLAW 31 
 
 fore-stalling any work at the oars. He was pretty certain, too, 
 that Ortega had reached the ideal stage for entertainment 
 purposes; in fact, it so proved when Douglas sought him, 
 sprawled on a bench in the shadow of the carraige house, ad 
 dressing himself in vivacious terms to the atmosphere. Ortega 
 had abstained for two days now, in the interests of his master s 
 feast, a mark of devotion greater than which Cameron could 
 not have asked. As relief from his duties approached, he had 
 begun drinking deeply that no time might be lost. He was 
 now properly primed to afford just the diversion Douglas 
 craved, to bring forth on slight encouragement all his store of 
 quaint philosophy, shrewd wit and imaginative talents; while 
 the exercise afforded by rowing, Douglas argued, would keep 
 him from lapsing into premature desuetude. 
 
 "Oh, come on, Ortega! I ll give you an audience worthy of 
 you. It s me for the river. This social whirl is too much, I 
 say, Ortega," as that individual dismounted from his seat and 
 prepared to follow him with some difficulty. "You know that 
 was some speech I made. Dad, the old coger, called me for a 
 toast without saying a word to me about it beforehand. Don t 
 know what he thought I d do run, faint, or something. But 
 I called his bluff. Got up and gave em a talk right off the reel 
 that they re all buzzing about. Funny, really! I didn t know 
 it was in me. Dad s awful proud." 
 
 "What, you! a speech? You made a speech, Carambal 
 But you do not surprise me. If you did one-half as well as 
 you think, it must have been a great success," agreed Ortega, 
 with erithusiam. Douglas laughed and reddened. One of the 
 characteristics of Ortega s alcoholic perorations w r as his candor. 
 
 "Well, say what you like, but it was a success." The men 
 all said so; and the ladies I received the most dulcet smiles 
 from them! Guess I must be getting a man, as Dad said; but 
 Lord! I m tired, and this shoulder drags like a water-soaked log, 
 
32 THE CLAW 
 
 from this wretched cast. Ortega, you may have the pleasure 
 of doing all the rowing today. Pull the boat up nearer" they 
 were at the little landing " there." 
 
 He climbed in and took a seat in the end; Ortega, with some 
 difficulty, followed. He slipped the rope, pushed the little 
 craft from the landing side and took up the oars. Douglas 
 leaned back in lazy contentment. 
 
 "Lord-ee! Ain t this a great day! Great day to row. If I 
 didn t have this game arm, I d take those oars and row to the 
 forks and back, and you, Ortega, could resign yourself to the 
 arms of Morpheus toward whom I can see you are already 
 yearning." 
 
 It was a great day one of the valley s perfect days. The 
 sky was unbelievably blue the blue that follows a spring rain. 
 Leaf and blade scintillated in the high noon-day sun. The hills 
 across the river were aflame with poppies. Nearer, on the 
 little flat along which he road ran, the orange and green was 
 blotched with the vivid hue of the purple lupin, a combination 
 so daring that a timid artist would dilute his colors. In the 
 little draws the sunshine of the wild mustard lay, and a hundred 
 other flowers of lesser showiness contributed to the brilliant 
 landscape. The river was flushed with the spring freshets, fed 
 by the melting mountain snows. It lay full and deep from 
 bank to bank, languorous and dark beneath the overhanging 
 cottonwood and willow trees; in the center the current swept 
 sw ft and shimmering like a steel ribbon over unseen wheels. 
 There was no wind, and sounds carried far on the quiet air: 
 the mocking bird and meadow-lark in competition of spring 
 praise over head; the far-off bleat of Donohue s sheep; Camp 
 bell s man half a mile away, shouting to his team; the sound 
 of the mandolins; and now and then the high, far-carrying 
 voice of women s laughter. All these reached the river, but 
 
THE CLAW 33 
 
 were softened into a dreamy medley that enhanced the isola 
 tion of the two men. 
 
 Ortega, with a brave effort, swung the boat well out toward 
 the cental and on its way, then drooped listlessly over the 
 oars, his eyes drowsing on space. 
 
 "Come!" cried Douglas, "Wake up! What did I bring you 
 out here for, but for the benefit of your muscle and your lin 
 guistic powers? I see where I m left both ways, and will be 
 hauling in with one hand a dead-to-the-world Mexican in half 
 an hour. I say, Ortega, come out of it! Look to your oars 
 and talk." 
 
 Ortega blinked at the boy confusedly and endeavored to 
 rouse himself from growing lethargy. He held the oars aslant 
 and let the current carry them, while he essayed to rally his 
 mental powers. 
 
 "You know," continued Douglas, in bombastic style and 
 mock reproof, "it s really a disgrace, this. You ought to drop 
 it out the booze. There s no opprobrium attached to stimu 
 lating your natural eloquence with a little vino, but to drink 
 yourself into unsociability and oblivion is stupid. My father 
 has no use for such asininity. He says it s bad form, and h? 
 can forgive anything but that. My father hasn t any use foi 
 a man that has so little brains as to get drunk. If any man 
 makes an ass of himself today you ll see he won t get an 
 invitation next year." 
 
 Douglas had accomplished his object and prodded Ortega 
 back to life and combat iveness. The latter roused and waved 
 a preliminary hand. 
 
 "Basianie, muchacho mio enough, my boy! You are but 
 a prattling infant. Ortega will correct at the same time your 
 ignorance and your manners. You assert that the drinking of 
 much wine is foolishness, and you have the temerity to upbraid 
 
34 THE CLAW 
 
 your senior you, who know not a man s thirst, being but a 
 few years removed from your mother s nipple. 
 
 "To drink, my son, to drink much ah mucbissimo, that 
 is not foolishness. For to drink mucho muy mucho is to 
 encourage the industry, and to encourage the industry (can 
 you follow my logic, oh little one? ) is to increase the vineyard 
 acreage into a vast and glorious commonwealth, which is a 
 thing greatly to be desired. Heard I not your father say so 
 today in his great oration?" Douglas was much diverted. 
 He laughed uproariously at the spectacle of Ortega s earnestness 
 and prodded him farther. 
 
 "But you, Ortega, your sprees don t help my father s industry. 
 You guzzle quarts on the house." 
 
 Ortega regarded his young master with a grieved expression. 
 He removed his sombrero and passed his hand thoughtfully 
 over his forehead, then his face cleared and he beamed on 
 Douglas with condescendsion. 
 
 "That, my son, is a remark that does but show your ob- 
 tuseness. Ortega drinks. He drinks much, by the generosity 
 of Senor Cameron, that is true that is certainly true. Madre 
 de Dios, that is very true! But, my son, does he not go to 
 town every month-end, on the evening of pay-day, and expend 
 a large portion of his earnings? Maria Madrel a very large 
 portion!" added Ortega, in regretful reminiscence, "over Mister 
 O Hooligan s bar? So does he stimulate the retail business." 
 
 Douglas roared with mirth. He thought how he would 
 regale his guests tonight with Ortega s logic. Ortega, for the 
 time, had banished Morpheus and invoked Mars. He let the 
 oars swing in their sockets while his hands abbetted his elo 
 quence. He repeated his arguments in revised terms, em 
 phasizing his convictions with a vigorous fist. He implored 
 Douglas by all his saints to deny that his reasoning was sound. 
 He started to his feet to defy an answer. 
 
THE CLAW 35 
 
 "Sit down! Sit down! You fool!" shouted Douglas, in throes of 
 mirth. "Don t you know you ll tip this boat over and I can 
 swim about like a rock with this cast on?" 
 
 Ortega responded unexpectedly. The postponed lethargy 
 claimed him and he sank down abruptly and heavily, his body 
 sagging over the water. Douglas started forward the boat 
 dipped. It careened to one side and over. Ortega, on the 
 edge, slipped gently into the water, but the craft caught the 
 boy beneath it and swung out into the swift current. 
 
 When Ortega rose to the surface he was sober, and the sig 
 nificance of the catastrophe flashed instantly into his mind. 
 He struck out to the boy s rescue, the recollection of Douglas 
 handicap inspiring desperate strength. The lad was not in 
 sight. The overturned boat suggested the worst. It was 
 already several rods away and moving rapidly. 
 
 Ortega pursued frantically and vainly till a deep eddy 
 caught and whirled it, and on the rise the boy s body emerged 
 from beneath, struggling faintly. The current, circling, flung 
 it toward Ortega; he seized it in a frantic grasp. The eddy 
 sucked at them both, whirled them twice around and flung 
 them shoreward. Ortega, with super-human strength, wrenched 
 himself and his burden from the grip of the current and struck 
 out into shallow water. 
 
 He bore it to the shore and fell upon it with all the frantic 
 measures of resuscitation his experience knew, all the while 
 shouting for help, praying, calling the boy s name, imploring all 
 the saints he knew to bring the loved spirit back. 
 
 They met him at last when he had struggled half way up the 
 plowed vineyard, the body of young Douglas in his arms. He 
 gave it into someone s hands and fled back to the river. He 
 stopped on the spot, all wet, where the body of the boy had 
 lain. He lifted his face to the sky unbelievably blue his 
 eyes staring, his hands outstretched and clenched, the water 
 
36 THE CLAW 
 
 dripping from his wet clothe . "Oh, Diosl Oh, Dtos!" he 
 repeated in agony. 
 
 He dropped to his knees, grovelling, his head wrung in his 
 arms. He strained forward and took the imagined dead face 
 in his hands, gazing on it despairingly. 
 
 "Oh, mi muchachol" he sobbed. "Estas muertol Estas 
 muerto y yo ten go la culpal" He flung himself to his feet with 
 a great cry and ran to the water s edge. Something keen from 
 his blouse found his throat, and he fell forward into the water 
 where the current swept close to the bank. Up at the house 
 the last merry-making of La Mesa Vineyard was at an end. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 The loss of a child includes for the parent two privations: 
 the parental and the personal. The one involves the affections 
 that tenderness and devotion that offspring calls forth and 
 that the growing personality of the child enhances; the other 
 the expectancy provided by the unfolding life, the possibility 
 of the child as an embodiment of the dearest ideals of the 
 parent: the defeated purposes, the handicapped attainment, 
 the incomplete accomplishments of one life finding fulfillment 
 and completion in another a second and complete self. In 
 degree as there is family pride and ambition the latter be 
 reavement is felt a large, if indeterminable factor of the grief as 
 suffered by Cameron in the loss of his son. 
 
 Douglas had been to him at once his dearest possession and 
 his most promising. It had been his rarest diversion, the 
 development of the boy s quick mind along the lines of study 
 most gratifying to himself, and his greatest happiness, the 
 companionship of the lad whose tastes and instincts were a 
 transcript of his own. The boy s companionship was, in fact, 
 the only real one his family supplied. It constituted in part 
 that sympathy and fellowship that would have been provided 
 by a more compatible marriage. It was in the nature o" things 
 that his affection and self centered pride should have been 
 lavished on the son of his own likeness, to the neglect of the 
 son who was the counterpart of his mother. But Douglas had 
 afforded another and wholesome element; namely, the first and 
 only resistance the domineering self willed man had known in 
 his family. Between the two was understanding and affection 
 of a rare nature, but the very likeness of the boy in his personal 
 traits to his father, provided for resistance. It was an ex 
 hilarating experience to meet with spirit in his son; his respect 
 
38 THE CLAW 
 
 and affection for the boy were increased thereby. Douglas 
 imperiousness, his evidence of high temper, and self will, even 
 the occasional differences between father and son, when the 
 latter resisted not infrequently with success his father s will, 
 were occasions of secret gratification to the man. 
 
 That Douglas should have been cut off at a time an hour 
 when the powers of his dawning manhood were brilliantly 
 evident to all, was one of those circumstances that seem to 
 mark the fate with a peculiar genius of irony and choice. 
 
 The tragedy, blighting in its significence and suddenness, 
 plunged Cameron into an abyss such as is experienced only by 
 one of his temperament and intellectual type, one in which 
 ravished love, denied ambition, the frustration of the most 
 cherished purposes of a self willed man, struggled impotently 
 and despairingly in intellectual travail with the mute and un 
 answerable Power. 
 
 It was characteristic that in the exigencies of Cameron s 
 grief, and the violence of the sickness, mental and physical, 
 which attended it for many months, the paler grief of the 
 mother and son should have been overshadowed, submerged, 
 as all things personal with them, in concern for the father. 
 
 Through sleepless nights and watchful days the silent woman 
 and undemonstrative boy served in their partnership of service. 
 In their dumb sorrow was a deeper pathos than that of the 
 rebellious man : a subtle reproach the realization of how in 
 adequate was their devotion to compensate in the slightest 
 degree for the loss of this son ; how far short they fell of taking 
 the smallest place in the room of his affections left vacant and 
 deserted by the vanished boy. 
 
 It was a grief not to be imparted or shared even by each 
 other; one to be worn, like some sad scar, unguessed by others, 
 the dull pain of which is forgotten only in activity and self- 
 forge tfulness. 
 
THE CLAW 39 
 
 There was ample opportunity for this in other than im 
 mediate service to the sick man. The affairs of the place were 
 going badly. Cameron s sickness stretched out for many 
 months and was followed by a chronic invalidism marked by 
 still greater inattention to the practical, still looser modes of 
 business, less capacity for execution in any line of work than had 
 characterized him before. His erraticism increased, combined 
 with an irritability new to him. His grief, surface healed, be 
 neath, changed gradually the tissues of his temperament. His 
 sunniness was overcast, his optimism, provided by the cir 
 cumstances of a philosophical mind, healthy animal spirits and 
 environment inimicable to hopefulness, was shattered by the 
 tragedy. Life, which once turned toward him an aspect 
 beneficent and inviting, now appeared hideous and inexplicable. 
 Beneath every day intercourse and affairs his restless and 
 quickened mind wrestled to exhaustion with the Problem. 
 
 Behind all the ordinary transactions of the day which he 
 gradually resumed was the vivid want of the companionship 
 of his son. For both his intellectual travail and his grief- 
 there was only one surcease oblivion, but sleep evaded him 
 all too often. In his extremity, La Mesa Vineyard, the enter 
 prise which together with other personal interests had lost 
 meaning and significance at least yielded him the service of 
 provisional relief. 
 
 Cameron, who had dreamed, in a day which seemed now to 
 have had no existence, of her rich fruit as a multiplier of human 
 contentment, now drank increasingly of her vintage to dull the 
 pangs of a never-laid sorrow and the ceaseless turnings of his 
 weary mind on the relentless wheel of the eternal, "Why?" 
 
 Young Douglas slept under a noble stone on the high slope of 
 the vineyard. His resting place swept in its view the whole 
 valley. It was like the boy s life had been, thought Cameron, 
 large and free. Ortega s recovered body was laid close by. It 
 
40 THE CLAW 
 
 seemed appropriate to Cameron that the faithfulness of the 
 half-breed should be rewarded thus. It was a strange cir 
 cumstance that the voluntary expiation which the frenzied 
 man had made for his inadvertant crime was in the eyes of his 
 young master s family interpreted in terms wholly of devotion. 
 Ortega was not only the would-be rescuer of the boy, who, 
 seeing his plight from the banks had plunged into the river to 
 his rescue, but his heroism was of a higher sort and one com 
 patible with his hot mingled blood. It was an incident re 
 markable, unrecorded before. Its devotion lent new luster 
 to the boy s ingratiating qualities and exalted Ortega s own 
 humble role as friend and servant. The incident held an im 
 pressive place in the tragic episode, as recorded in the family s 
 history, but its real significance, such as the strange ruling of 
 fate, was never to be known, possessed only by the quiet sleep 
 ers on the hill. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 No one ever served a cause with a heavier handicap than did 
 Jeanie and her boy, the family enterprise. It was in the nature 
 both of his Scotch ancestry and his own person?, ity that 
 Cameron, however unfitted for the respon ib lity, should 
 administer his business affairs wholly himself, excluding his 
 wife and son both from his confidence and from the knowledge 
 of anything but the active details of the industry. It was also 
 in the nature of things that these transactions should have been 
 unquestioned by them. Cameron combined with a nature, 
 erratic and impractical, that frequent supplement, a dominating 
 personality, which over-rules opposition and wrests confidence 
 by the force of it s own certaint}^. 
 
 In the presence of his wife and youngest son, his victory had 
 been an eas one His domination was complete and dis 
 astrous. To Jeanie it was accustomed, the experience of a life 
 time beginning with the masculine domination of her father s 
 family. It was natural that she should have no part in her 
 husband s life other than to serve him and his children with 
 the work of her two hands. 
 
 For Duncan the policy of his father was peculiarly un 
 fortunate. He already had too much of his mother s self 
 repression and deprecation. At twelve he toiled at man s 
 work with men on the vineyard, but he worked mainly with 
 brawn and muscle. His mind was enthralled, and dependent; 
 his powers of thought repressed by the domination of his 
 father s compelling mind, when they should have been advanc 
 ing in pace with his physical development. His mental world 
 was restricted to the field of his father s opinions, and his 
 father s prejudices were impressed upon his young mind with 
 the ineffaccableness that a mature personality may effect on a 
 
42 THE CLAW 
 
 young and impressionable child who is prepar d by affection 
 and devotion to receive those impressions. For Duncan 
 worshipped his father with a passion that admitted no variance 
 or question of his will. 
 
 With Douglas it would have been different. Douglas would 
 have permitted no intellectual domination where his own 
 curiosity or impulses led, but the misfortune worked him by 
 his father s policy were already evident before his death, in his 
 natural indolence, emphasized by the lack of responsibility, and 
 his readiness to shirk taxing activities. In later life Douglas 
 would have wrested his share of power and domination and 
 reserved the privilege of ease and luxury in which he was 
 trained. It was not impossible that the father s mistaken 
 regime would have worked for Douglas tempermental self- 
 indulgent, imaginative even greater misfortune than that for 
 the younger boy. 
 
 The immediate and practical result of Cameron s mistaken 
 regime was to effect a peculiar situation: Jeanie and Duncan 
 toiled incessantly. Jeanie, indoors, bent all her energy and 
 native thrift on the things of the household, and those supple 
 mentary activities, the poultry, the garden and the dairy that 
 supplemented the family resources. Duncan, keen to every 
 practica detail of the ranch, served where a hand was most 
 needed, substituted unobtrusively but efficiently his own 
 authority when authority fell from the lax hands of his father 
 and the enterprise dragged for want of direction. He was 
 a host in his young strength, his foresight, his ability to get on 
 with the men. Both worked at the top of their strength \vith 
 the wonderful energy and self denial which is not to be found 
 outside the Scotch breed. But it was a work in the dark, and 
 one robbed of its rewards, for, to the splendid efficiency of the 
 workers was combined the imposed ignorance of the business 
 end of the family enterprises. The financial administration 
 
THE CLAW 43 
 
 still rested with Cameron, who, increasingly unfit, yet, with the 
 knowledge of his failing power and the stubborness of his old 
 domineering way, still presisted in monoplizing his former 
 authority. 
 
 It is the tragedy of some lives that even their virtues an 
 tagonize those whose love they most crave. Cameron at all 
 times somewhat deprecative of practical gifts, in the irritation 
 induced by his ingrowing sorrow and the aggravation contri 
 buted by increasing use of stimulants, found less and less plea 
 sure in his w r ife and son. Possibly, too, his knowledge that 
 their industry covered much of his lack contributed to his 
 impatience. There are certain mental conditions that cause 
 dislocation of the reasoning process. These conditions, com 
 pounded of disappointments, frustrations and physical weakness 
 frequently induce in the sanest and most charitable of minds, 
 sad changes that misjudge motives, assigning attentions of 
 hurt to those who are serving them most faithfully. 
 
 Cameron had reached that state. The two watched his 
 transformation with a distress they did not impart to each 
 other. This new burden, like all others, Jeanie took up and 
 carried uncomplainingly. The thoughts of the boy, none 
 knew. The child born with the physical defect, accepts the 
 affliction with philosophy. Duncan from the first had knowii 
 a lack in his father s love but he had accepted it without 
 question. It seemed entirely natural that Douglas, who 
 dominated his own childish mind with his ingratiating charms, 
 should receive more from his father, and from all, than himself. 
 
 When elements of strength in one are shattered, it is some 
 times the lesser and inferior things of one s nature that rally the 
 prostrated and disordered powers. Cameron s natural vanity 
 emerged from the wreck of his expectations, and prompted the 
 raising of some new objects of ambition. With less ability 
 than ever to man a large project, his mind turned over more 
 
44 THE CLAW 
 
 with a new tenacity to the establishment of a family monu 
 ment comprised by the large holdings of La Mesa Vineyard. 
 Simultaneously his long deferred interest turned toward Duncan 
 with ambitions to make of the son that remained to him a man 
 worthy of his name. 
 
 Duncan s schooling had been followed precariously. He had 
 missed an entire term and known many broken ones. Cameron 
 thought with a start of reproach of the neglect the boy had 
 suffered. It occured to him suddenly that Duncan, who 
 already stood five feet seven in his stocking feet and was the 
 strongest man on the place knew not a line of Latin and had 
 never heard of Goethe. 
 
 Duncan was put into school. He finished the grammar 
 school and the high school. He did not distinguish himself 
 particularly in either. His habits of study had been broken 
 up; he had worked too much for his age. His mind was slow 
 and thinking, the kind required by the books, came hard. 
 His mind and heart were at the vineyard. He was needed 
 there. While he was trying to determine the value of "x", 
 he was wondering if Morton, the new foreman Cameron had 
 installed in his place, had remembered to hire the extra gang for 
 the week s picking. 
 
 These digressions did not assist concentration but he did his 
 best. He prodded his reluctant mind to the task in hand. He 
 studied whea his hand itched to grip the plow handle and his 
 mind was distracted with the problem of Morton s next month s 
 salary. He fought shyness, chagrin and the sense of his own 
 backwardness. He made a creditable, if not brilliant record 
 for himself in English, for which he had little taste and the 
 languages which he despised. He suffered with the martyrs on 
 oratorical days because public speaking was a part of a gentle 
 man s training; he died figurative deaths in the parlors of the 
 country side in pursuit of the graces that belong to a gentleman. 
 
THE CLAW 45 
 
 The sweat of his social efforts soaked his comfortless linen more 
 than toil on his knees down the vineyard rows under scorching; 
 sun. It was an heroic task admixed with tragedy and a grim 
 humor: Duncan, revising nature in his substitution for Douglas, 
 Duncan, his normal gifts of service to his family rejected, 
 throwing into the hopeless cause all the grim and unrelenting 
 purpose of a successful issue. 
 
 He finished the high school in the nearby town. His father s 
 purpose for him meant the State University for three years and 
 a year at one of the eastern institutions, not that Cameron 
 could afford it. His fortunes were steadily declining. A fire 
 that destroyed half of the business section of the new town, 
 wiped out his rental property and his raisin candy plant. His 
 newspaper enterprise had failed from lack of attention and want 
 of business ability behind it. He had reserved a few shares of 
 stock in the company that bought out the establishment but 
 the paper was seeing hard sledding with a new and pushing con 
 temporary in the field. 
 
 But the first, the vineyard, had failed to pay out. Cameron 
 had bought too much acreage. He had insisted on getting it all 
 under cultivation at once. The cost had been enormous and 
 used up all his funds. Also, the Missourian s prophecy came 
 true. The new co-operative associations f rmed to break 
 into the business of the wine trust, and wrest for the producer 
 his just p ofits had only succeeded in making matters worse and 
 precipitating a throat cutting re ime before unknown in the 
 annals of the industry. 
 
 For a time, to be sure the game was evenly played. The new 
 association by putting into the business their own grapes as 
 well as those of their neighbors, were able to manufacture their 
 goods and undersell the trust at a profit in its own market. 
 But this state of affairs could not last for long. The California 
 Association quickly rallied to the emergency and under-cut 
 
46 THE CLAW 
 
 the co-operatives. The co-operatives put their goods down 
 still lower. And so the game went. There were seasons when 
 California port wine retailing normally at from $1.20 to $3.00 
 a gallon, according to proof, dropped to sixteen cents a gallon 
 and when wine grapes which at top price had sold at the wineries 
 for $25 . 00 a ton went down to $4 . 00. 
 
 The co-operatives were game. There were years in succession 
 when they threw their own grapes into the business and took 
 out nothing for them in a splendid gamble on a chance that had 
 no possibility of winning from the very nature of it. For it 
 meant a loose body of men, not all of whom were experienced in 
 the grim fighting mode of commercial warfare and who, at all 
 times, were handicapped by insufficient financial backing, pitted 
 against an organization that possessed all the resources of the 
 commercial victor, capital, prestige and the political power 
 which those possessions are able to wield. 
 
 In digust the growers by the hundred, budded over their 
 vines to raisin or table grapes or pulled them up and planted 
 their land to fruit orchards, the soil being of the best for either 
 purpose. Even oranges in large areas began to grow along the 
 river and foothills. For all such produce there was generous 
 demand and excellent profits. Others sold out and went into 
 the end of the business illustrated by the California Wine 
 Association as the really paying one that of the wholesale or 
 retail liquor dealer. There were few whose original ambitions 
 toward the industry incited them to persist in a business in 
 which the proceeds consisted mainly of next season s expect 
 ations, but Cameron was one of these. 
 
 It was from his old neighbors who had partially or wholly 
 deserted the ranks of the producer for those of the manufacturer 
 or wholesale business, that Cameron borrowed to keep his 
 enterprise afloat. They had money to loan. They were 
 generous in their terms. It was to their interest that the 
 
THE CLAW 47 
 
 great wine producing acreage should be kept. Each dis 
 appointing year they extended the time of payments or re 
 newed old mortgages with hearty assurance of their pleasure in 
 being able to serve a friend and condolences upon conditions 
 that proved inimical to his business. Their sympathy and 
 encouragement restored his confidence and renewed his per 
 sistence in the industry after each disastrous year. More 
 than anything else they stood for the invokers of the former 
 times of Cameron s old, admirable self, from which he was 
 parting in a transformation rapid and menacing. Their hours 
 of intercourse with him restored the old days with their charm, 
 their promise, their light heartedness, in the glamour of which 
 lurked the spirit of the lost and idealized boy. 
 
CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 Duncan went to college. He went as he had gone to school, 
 every desire in him pulling toward home. He was needed 
 there how much, not even Jeanie knew. The last picture of 
 his home invisioned by his memory emphasized that need with a 
 vividness that he carried through all after years with pain: 
 the veranda bearing its need of paint and repairs to the morning 
 sun; Jeanie, the flush of weariness in her cheeks at nine, hurrying 
 from the back of the house to the farewell; his father after one 
 of his sleepless nights, physical and mental rack showing in his 
 white face, his haggard eyes, and the unwonted excitement 
 provided by the departure. 
 
 The Scotch say little at their farewells. Duncan kissed his 
 mother and his father gave him his hand a hand of trans 
 parency, in which was expressed all the refinement the inward 
 delicacy of the man, the things that furnished both his 
 weakness and his charm. Its delicacy as he took it in his own 
 strong one, effected Duncan as nothing else would have done : 
 
 "Father!" he cried, "I can t go. You need me let me 
 stay!" 
 
 The answer was undeserved, it was the word of a sick man 
 in hard straights to keep himself in hand, and Duncan 
 forgave him at the gate: 
 
 "My God, boy, have y no spirit your brother would have 
 done better." 
 
 Duncan s first college year was broken by his father s death. 
 The doctor called it heart trouble. The boy received the 
 telegram, telling of Cameron s low state, in lecture and left on 
 the moment. He did not wait to gj to his room but had a 
 check cashed in the business office and dashed across the 
 
THE CLAW 49 
 
 campus, catching the train at the next street, just as it was 
 leaving. 
 
 At home they had not expected him on the first train and 
 there was no one at the station to meet him. It was night. 
 He rushed to the nearest livery stable and beat on the doors. 
 He pushed by the stupid, blinking man that answered, found 
 and saddled a riding horse and, flnging the price to the aston 
 ished man dashed out into the darkness. 
 
 The horse was dripping lather when he flung himself from the 
 saddle at the dimly lighted entrance of his home. He threw the 
 reins over the porch post and dashed up the steps. There was 
 no light in the hall below, nor sign of activity and Duncan, with 
 despairing heart divined that all the life and light of the place 
 was centered tonight, as always, with his father, in the room 
 where he lay. His trembling legs carried him up the s airs that 
 seemed endless. At the top he turned to his father s room 
 where the light made a path down the long hall for his stumbling 
 feet. He was panting as though he had run, rather than 
 ridden the last miles; he reached the door. 
 
 The room was full of people his mother, Morton and his 
 wife, the help. Beyond was the bed and before it the doctor 
 rose from bending over the form upon it. 
 
 "It is all over!" he said, and reached for his hat. At the 
 door he stumbled over Duncan. The boy had fainted across 
 the threshold. 
 
CHAPTER FIVE 
 
 Duncan strode across the station platform to the familiar 
 machine in waiting. He shook hands with the boy, grinning 
 amiable welcome at the wheel, and thrust his suitcase into the 
 back of the car. He went back to the baggage room and 
 helped the men carry his light trunk to the automobile. Then 
 he climbed into the seat behind the wheel, involuntarily vacated 
 by the boy, and started the machine. 
 
 Duncan was back from college. He came not with blare of 
 trumpets ; neither with the ordinary air and trappings which 
 proclaim the newly fledged. Duncan was not, in fact, a college 
 man. He was a man who had been to college. He was twenty- 
 six years old. He had not taken college jocularly. He had 
 taken it on the installment plan. It had taken him six years 
 to do it. Duncan was glad to get through. He had gone 
 to college for the sole purpose of doing what he was doing at 
 the present moment: getting hold of the wheel again the 
 wheel of his family industry. 
 
 He had had a longer go at the last part of his college course 
 than at the first. He had finished his junior year at the State 
 University and gone from there to Yale the following term 
 without the break that had occurred between his freshman 
 and his sophomore, and his sophomore and junior years. He 
 had cut the last summer short, too, leaving early for the east 
 in the interests of the wine men, to put in some work at Wash 
 ington with others from his home state in an effort to block the 
 Pomerene bill, the measure aimed at the very life of the Cali 
 fornia wine industry. It had been a great experience, rubbing 
 elbows with the biggest men of the country; pitting his untried 
 powers of logic and persuasion against the minds of experienced 
 politicians and legislators from all over the land. Best of all, 
 
THE CLAW 51 
 
 it had been a work that won. But it was time he could little 
 afford to spare. He was especially anxious to get home because 
 of his unbroken year. His summers and holidays, and the 
 years between, he had spent as before, a hand on his own 
 vineyard. He had not taken over the management from 
 Morton; it seemed best that way till he was back for good. 
 Several seasons he had been employed at various wineries as 
 field or inside manager. He helped with the expenses of the 
 place that way, or his services met the payments on borrowed 
 money. Now he was back for good and he was glad. 
 
 Duncan had necessarily been a "dig" at college and thereby 
 he carried off honors in the majority of his classes. In his 
 home university he had also another and more important 
 distinction. He was the best half back the varsity had ever 
 had. He played one season, and gave it up because he couldn t 
 afford to break his neck, or any part of his anatomy that would 
 lay him up and cost him a doctor s bill. As the varsity s 
 best "half" he was correspondingly popu ar. He was wor 
 shipped by the men and ogled by the girls and made much of 
 after the manner of a college hero, but as well hang garlands 
 on a buffalo as laurels on Duncan, as well rest a halo on the head 
 of a busy blacksmith. Duncan was not made for wearing 
 either garlands or halos. Neither knew he "college spirit, 
 so called. 
 
 Duncan was glad to get back. He had been needed every 
 day he was gone. Morton had been unaccountably going to 
 pieces, everything was at loose ends and he would have his 
 hands full. It was a good day to begin. Steering with one 
 hand he drew off his coat and threw it behind him in the car and 
 squared his shoulders to the spring sun. It felt good to his 
 flesh after the clammy air and stoop of the class rooms. 
 
 "What s to get?" he asked the boy^ falling into the colloqui 
 alisms he had never abandoned. There were groceries and a 
 
52 THE CLAW 
 
 hundred yards of fence wire to get and some new pruning shears 
 to be called for at Brook s. Probably Morton had ordered the 
 wrong kind. He generally did nowadays. They drove to 
 Brook s. Yes, they were the wrong kind. Duncan changed 
 the order. He was glad he had gotten back in time for the 
 pruning shears. 
 
 At Brook s he was going out of the door when the manager 
 came out of his office and hailed him: "Hey there, stranger! 
 Ain t you going to give your friends a chance to say hello? 
 Mighty glad to see you didn t know you were back." 
 
 Duncan flushed with surprise. In a business way Brooke 
 had always been a good enough friend, but his effus veness was 
 unusual. 
 
 "That was great work you did for us down at Washington," 
 continued Brooks. Congratulations, and we re glad you re 
 back!" Duncan thanked him and hurried .on. He was 
 anxious to get out to the \ineyard. As he was getting into 
 the machine, a hand was clapped on his arm and Mr. Blythe, 
 of Blythe & Co., wholesale dealers, hailed him. 
 
 "Well, hello, boy! When did you get in? .Back for good 
 aren t you? Say, right here I want to register my own personal 
 appreciation of your work for us last summer. I meant to 
 have written to you but just didn t that s all. If any apology 
 will do, though, I may say I dictated that letter the Association 
 sent you and I meant every word of it. Your work was great 
 you and your colleagues and simply saved the California 
 wine industry that s all. And we ve got something right 
 now for you to do if you can give us your time we ll see you 
 are well paid for it. That s to lead us in the fight aga nst the 
 Drys this summer. We ve got to beat that amendment and 
 we can all right if we get in and work but we ve got t > do that. 
 Some of our folks don t think the prohibitionist have got much 
 strength in the state but they re mistaken. The Anti-saloon 
 
THE CLAW 53 
 
 people Gaudier and his crowd have been doing a lot of 
 work. You hav n t any idea unless you have been watching 
 the thing how much dry territory there is in this state, right 
 now. Of course, though, there are a lot of folks who don t 
 want a saloon next door to them or in their town, that would 
 buck the proposition of a dry state and the destruction of one of 
 California s biggest ndustries There s threat enough however, 
 to behoove us to get busy and mighty busy." 
 
 What are your plans?" asked Duncan, who was at all 
 times practical. 
 
 "Why the Royal Arch people will get in their work of course 
 with all the resources they have got at their backs, but we wine 
 people have to get into the fight. The fact is, we re the 
 ones to swing it. Say just step inside the Palace here where 
 we can have something and talk it over got time?" 
 
 "Well say, really, Mr. Blythe, I ve just gotten in, and I am 
 in a hurry to get home been away a year you know, pretty 
 near. How d to-morrow do for this?" 
 
 "That s all right, that s all right. To-morrow is just as good. 
 Make it to-morrow, at my office. We ve got something else 
 up our sleeves for you, too. Tell you to-morrow. Good-by." 
 
 To his surprise and embarrassment, Duncan s course up the 
 street was beset with numerous similar encounters. Men he 
 had had but a slight acquaintance with before, men of affairs 
 and business, met him with cordiality, going out of their way 
 to stop and speak to him. Women whom he knew, with due 
 deference, as high in social and club circles, smiled and bowed 
 with unwonted graciousness. He was possessed of real amaze 
 ment, some embarrassed pleasure, and a good deal of impatience. 
 He wanted to get home. In front of the Journal office when he 
 stopped the machine to go into a supply shop next door, Norris, 
 the cub reporter, laid violent hands on him and dragged him 
 
54 THE CLAW 
 
 demurring into the news room, where he was immediately 
 surrounded by a bunch of hungry reporters. 
 
 " W ell what do you know about this? Look who s here!" 
 "Welcome welcome to our lovely city!" 
 
 " Welcome home, old man, and here s the glad hand! You 
 mutt, you you carry your laurels modestly, that s sure. Why 
 didn t you let us know you were coming? We d of had a proper 
 reception ready for you bunting and brass bands and other 
 fir works." 
 
 They grinned at him McWhirter, the city editor, "Pop" 
 Winston of the Exchanges, the sporting editor and Hayward, 
 while Norris capered about the group like a delighted terrier. 
 It was something to pick up a scoop like this, even if instinct 
 prompted to turn it over to his betters. 
 
 "Sit right down here and tell us something!" ordered Mc 
 Whirter, pushing him into a chair. "Hayward, you take it! 
 
 Duncan flushed up to his hair roots like a girl, and stammered 
 in confusion: "What? Aw- go on! I don t know anything. 
 I have n t anything to say!" 
 
 "Pshaw! You re too modest. Go ahead just a word! 
 What you think of he lobbying game the prospects of the 
 Dry campaign what s the wine crop prospects this year? 
 anything!" 
 
 But he shook them off and bolted for the door. On the steps 
 he turned back with compunction, to Norris, still at his heels 
 with reproachful eyes. 
 
 "You can say I m back just got through. I m going back 
 to the vineyard. The fight was won this spring through- 
 through the presentation of facts and the common sense of 
 
THE CLAW 55 
 
 the legislators. The same arguments will maintain the in 
 dustry against the attacks of the prohibition cranks. That s 
 all." He dashed up the street. Norris turned back with a 
 self satisfied grin. He had landed the scoop himself after all 
 and a moment later he was pounding off Duncan s brief state 
 ment with logical elaboration. 
 
CHAPTER SIX 
 
 Duncan finished his last errand with expedition. He was 
 annoyed at the incident, that he had allowed himself to* talk 
 for publication". He had made a fool of himself out of sym 
 pathy for little Norris. There were a lot of things he might 
 have said and said better, if he had to say anything. 
 
 He tortured himself as much as two minutes with a self 
 consciousness of a man who has never known self consciousness 
 before, and then shook it off with a motion of his broad shoulders. 
 He strode out to the car and headed homeward, but half a block 
 down the street he wheeled back suddenly. 
 
 "One more thing Gosh! I nearly forgot Garrison s little 
 sister." He swung into a cross street and searched along 
 slowly, scanning the business houses until he came to an 
 ostentatious new refreshment shop. Then he drew up, stopped 
 and turned off the engine. He threw a coin to the boy : 
 
 "You can put in a half hour or so as you like while I m gone." 
 He turned to the shop. He was going to inquire for Garrison s 
 little sister. 
 
 Garrison was the only close friend Duncan had made during 
 his college life. He was his room-mate at Yale. Garrison s 
 college course had been pursued much as had been Duncan s. 
 It has been the precariousness of their educational efforts that 
 had drawn them together. Garrison, like Duncan, was "per 
 petually broke" and the same impulses lent them self denial in 
 the lighter things of University life. Garrison was a soloist 
 in the college glee club. In fact, it was the circumstance of his 
 leaving unexpectedly with the club on the annual European trip, 
 that elected Duncan his little sister s guardian for the summer. 
 He had intended to come west himself and look after her. 
 
 Another day Duncan would have sought Glad with pleasure. 
 
THE CLAW 57 
 
 He had met her in several week-end visits with Garrison at 
 their h me, or rather, the home of a distant and not wholly 
 compatible relative with whom they lived. The two were 
 orphans. 
 
 Glad was the creature of her own name. Duncan had never 
 imagined so exquisite a wisp of a child-woman; such joy o 
 life as was conserved in her radiant little being. She was like a 
 rainbow a bubble a vagrant breeze a flower of the morning s 
 blossoming: anything new and fresh and vibrant She filled 
 the house with the warmth and joy of a spring day. Her first 
 awe of Duncan had been great, but it had soon disappeared 
 and the happiest of comradships had been substituted. She 
 received him into her regard on an equality with a brother. A 
 jo ly little pal of both, she lavished on each alike the adorable 
 caresses of her impulsive little heart. He could feel yet, her 
 frank child kisses. They effected him strangely. Caresses 
 had been few in his life. They were like the remembered 
 pressure of his baby i ister s lips, soft and round and innocent. 
 
 She was a little country girl Glad w th the innocence of a 
 child and the half allurements of a woman. Already her new 
 coquetries found place in her home-made dresses in which she 
 betrayed the skill of some thrifty country-woman and the taste 
 and style of some lady of fashion and feeling in her ancestry. 
 Somewhere, too, she drew the independence that shortly su- 
 gested the daring enterprise which had brought her to California, 
 namely, the earning of her own living. Neighbors were going 
 west to Riverdale. She had not been quite well the past 
 winter a slight cough that gave her brother anxiety. There 
 were all sorts of opportunities in California for health getting 
 and wealth getting. Glad would go and encompass both, at 
 least the roses in her cheeks again, and independence of the 
 relative whose authority she resisted. Glad went to California. 
 Friends of her friends found her a position in the sweetshop 
 
58 THE CLAW 
 
 which Duncan now sought. The friends themselves, dis 
 appointed with California, turned back home, but Glad stayed. 
 She was making six dollars a month over expenses a vast 
 sum. She was sometimes lonesome, for the friends-of-the- 
 friends had their own interests and their cordiality waned after 
 the latter left. But Garrison would be here in the summer and 
 in the meantime Glad was making new friends. 
 
 Duncan turned into the door under the sign of "Inglenook", 
 the town s newest refreshment place, boasting metropolitan 
 smartness and the prettiest girls in town. He blinked in the 
 artificial twilight of the p ace and was aware of a clammy 
 atmosphere, clammy orders and white gowned waitresses 
 moving in a dim vista. He asked a smart looking girl in 
 earrings and a low cut blouse behind the candy counter, for 
 Miss Garrison. The girl repeated the name vaguely and said 
 the e was no one there by that name. 
 
 "She s ashier here," Duncan helped. 
 
 "That s a mistake," retorted the earringed one with some 
 resentment, " cause I m cashier. She must be some one that s 
 gone. J want to see th proprietor?" 
 
 Duncan did. The proprietor came languidly from his cage- 
 like office. 
 
 "I wanted to see Miss Garrison," said Duncan "I m told she 
 is n t here any more." 
 
 "Right! drawled the proprietor, "She isn t." 
 
 "Can you tell me where she is?" asked Duncan. 
 
 The proprietor laughed amusedly: "Heaven knows I don t. 
 Gone the way of all th Chickens , I reckon the pretty ones. 
 The ugly ones are the only ones we can keep," he added resent 
 fully. 
 
 Duncan shrugged his shoulders in disgust: "Well, I guess 
 we re talking about different parties," he said. "I expect I ve 
 
THE CLAW 59 
 
 got the wrong address. I didn t have it with me but thought 
 this was it." He turned to go. The man called after him. 
 
 "Wait! Come back. Its all right. You want to see Glad 
 Garrison, the little eastern girl? Well, she was here, I tell you 
 was here till six weeks ago. Was my last cashier before this 
 one," indicating her of the earrings. "But I tell you she s 
 gone. Gone to the devil like most of em do when they re 
 beauties like her by the cocktail and joy-ride route. Probably 
 she s across the tracks by now. You wer n t particularly 
 interested?" 
 
 Duncan s head whirled and the place went dark and remote. 
 It was not bodily faintness but mental swoon. His hand gripped 
 the counter. 
 
 "You don t mean what you say! It s a mistake. It must be. 
 This one is n t that kind. She was the sweetest, most innocent 
 little thing ever was a little country girl. She s absolutely 
 good I tell you. Absolutely." The man laughed: 
 
 "Why, maybe so. Well, I guess you don t know women. 
 But you ought to you re no kid yourself." He inspected 
 Duncan with some contempt. "It s the absolutely all right 
 little country girls that make the best Chickens. Barn yard 
 raised y know. They re fresher an cuter th:n the town 
 kind. And she was a cute little cuss," he laughed reminiscently, 
 "different from the rest and more taking. I liked her." Dun 
 can stopped him with a look. He could have taken the man 
 by the throat. 
 
 "Who was responsible?" he choked out. The man laughed 
 derisively. 
 
 "Search me! There were several of em it might have been. 
 She had lots of company. The pretty ones always have." 
 Duncan, however, was no longer listening: It was she, then, 
 Garrison s little sister. 
 
 "For God s sake!" he cried aloud, "Why didn t you do some- 
 
60 THE CLAW 
 
 thing about it why didn t you stop it? Why, she was just a 
 child! They can t let a child have cocktails they can t sell 
 liquor to minors. Why didn t you get the officers onto him?" 
 
 "Oh pshaw. What are you talking about. They can sell 
 anything to anybody at those cafes. It s all the go down at 
 Charley s or The Parisian that new place. A table at one 
 of the dansants, a cocktail or two and a joy-ride, and it s all 
 over. Easy enough when they aint bad." 
 
 "But you" pressed Duncan. " You re a man a father, 
 maybe. Why did n t you advise her try and get her to see 
 stop her?" The manager laughed derisively. 
 
 "Oh Lord, man. We aint running a rescue home here. 
 We re running a sweet shop." 
 
CHAPTER SEVEN 
 
 Duncan had the girl s boarding address and sought her there. 
 He had little hopes of finding her but it occurred to him he 
 might be able to get some clue to her. 
 
 He found the house. It was a shabby boarding plac in a 
 grassless yard. The exterior wanted paint and the interior 
 soap and water. The landlady, in a dirty kimona and curl 
 papers, eyed him curiously as he lifted his hat at the door. 
 "Does Glad Garrison live here?" Is she in?" The woman 
 was immediately interested. 
 
 "Yes, she s here. Who are you, relative?" Duncan in 
 stinctively answered, "Yes". 
 
 "Well, she won t see you but I m glad you ve come. Come 
 in." she led the way into a parlor having a cellar-like air and 
 raised a shade to show him a seat. 
 
 "I knowed you must be a relative or friend, and a right sort," 
 she said, inspecting him leisurely. "I could tell by your looks." 
 Duncan ignored the compliment. "You know about it?" 
 She asked with mean ng and some embarrassment, avoiding 
 his eyes. 
 
 "Yes," his heart stood still as he said it. "How is she?" 
 
 "She s sick awful sick. At least she has been. She tried to 
 do away with // you know." The woman grew suddenly bold, 
 speaking with the relish of vulgar minds. She didn t make it 
 though. She s young, and it was the first time and all." 
 Duncan shrank from her odious insinuations. 
 
 "So she s in for it less something happens, and I should 
 think it would, the way she takes on. I m mighty glad you 
 come. I m at my wits end. I can t have her round much 
 longer, and she don t know no more what to do than a baby." 
 
62 THE CLAW 
 
 Duncan drew back in the shadow of the room nauseated by the 
 woman s increasing intimacy and loathsome loquaciousness. 
 
 "Course she s got money. She s paid right up and could 
 stay on Duncan interrupted hoarsely: 
 
 "You don t mean she s become a a common ?" 
 
 "Oh, bless your life no. That s the trouble. She aint that 
 kind or was n t. That s the reason she takes it so serious. 
 If she didn t she d get rid of it reg lar, at th doctors and take up 
 with some offer across the track. It s too bad but its the only 
 way for girls when they get in bad once 
 
 "Let me see her," said Duncan, coldly. 
 
 "Well, we can try, but she won t come down here. Maybe 
 she ll let you in, though, if we kind of surprise her." The 
 woman led the way up stairs to a back bed-room. She knocked. 
 There was no answer and she opened the door. 
 
 Glad was sleeping but there was no repose in her sleep. Her 
 disordered hair lay across the soiled pillow-case. She lay upon 
 her face, her head straining against the pillow as against iron 
 bars. The hand that lay on the bed-covering was clenched. 
 From the delicate profile every childish curve and dimple had 
 fled and the lines, sharp and strained, expressed even in her 
 sleep an agony of mental suffering. Every vestige of former 
 freshness was gone from her fair skin. Even her hair had lost 
 its brightness. She was a creature out of which the radiance 
 had burnt as from a light behind an ornate shade, leaving a 
 ghas liness which indicated not only physical decadency but 
 spiritual decay. All her misery spoke in her abandoned and 
 unconscious form. It was a revelation complete and over 
 whelming. 
 
 Duncan was faint with the sight. With the ghastliness of 
 the change. Once, when walking home along the vineyard 
 rows he had stopped to listen to a mocking bird, unseen in a 
 eucalyptus tree above his head. The exultant notes came 
 
THE CLAW 63 
 
 falling down from the little singer s throat like drops of crystal 
 clear water, when suddenly a shot broke off the melody and the 
 little singer plunged downward with his song and fell limp and 
 dead at Duncan s feet. Duncan stooped and picked up the 
 little body, still vibrating with the last ineffable note and 
 pressed it in an agony to his bosom and his throat hurt like 
 this. 
 
 Duncan looked at the spectacle before him and his throat 
 burned with a deadly hurt. "And ibis by the beastliness of 
 man the brute greed that refuses nothing of life for himself. 
 To have the man that did this thing, by the throat between 
 his two strong hands so! 
 
 Glad stirred and with a long sigh that was a sob she took hold 
 on consciousness. She sat up slowly pushing her disordered 
 hair from her forehead. Her senses took hold of life again and 
 of its misery. Her head dropped in her hands and a long 
 shivering shook her body. Duncan could not bear it no 
 longer. "Glad." 
 
 She started up w th a look of amazement "Duncan." Her 
 cry was one of peculiar and never to be forgotten pain. She 
 snatched the coverlets to her and burrowed back into the 
 pillows like a wild thing. Duncan reached the bed with a 
 stride and sat down on its edge. He drew the girl to him with 
 an overwhelming tenderness. 
 
 "Glad, you are not afraid of me are you? You are glad to 
 see me?" 
 
 "Oh, no, no. Go away!, go away!. Don t touch me! My 
 God, didn t they tell you?" She fell into terrible sobbing, 
 beating her forehead with her clenched fists. 
 
 "There" exclaimed the landlady, "I told you she goes on 
 just like that something fierce. Well its going to make 
 things just as bad as can be for her, and // too." Duncan signed 
 for the woman to leave them. 
 
64 THE CLAW 
 
 "Oh, my God! Oh, my God! What am I going to do? It was 
 bad enough before but now } r ou ve come and found me and 
 you ll tell him. You mustn t tell him. Promise you wont 
 tell him Oh, why did you come?" She fell into a paroxysm of 
 weeping again. 
 
 "Listen, to me, Glad." Duncan had often taken wild little 
 things into his hands and his strength and gentleness had 
 quieted them. Glad ceased to cry and sat looking at him with 
 wet and despairing eyes. "I wont tell him," Duncan said. 
 "Garrison shall not know. He shall never know not now 
 not till you like. But you must calm yourself and we must 
 think." It came to him suddenly, the stupendousness of the 
 problem that faced him, and its ironical novelty, but he spoke 
 with assurance. "I came because Hugh wanted me to look 
 you up. He never dreamed he has left for Europe he sent 
 the telegram and you answered it, you know." 
 
 "Yes, and I was glad I wanted him to go, and never know, 
 and when he came back I would be dead, or not here or 
 something she shuddered. 
 
 "You must not talk that way," he said. Involuntarily his 
 hand smoothed back her disordered hair. It s caress filled her 
 with new agony. "Ah, you must no be kind to me I m so 
 bad. And yet I m not bad! Oh, no, truly I was not. You 
 knew I wasn t when I was home with you and Hugh. I was all 
 right then tell me you know I was good." Her face was 
 again a little girl s. He kissed her with involuntary tenderness 
 as he would a hurt child. "God knows you were." he said. 
 
 "Ah," she drew a long relieving sigh. "And I was good here. 
 I never meant any harm when they d come in and talk and jolly. 
 I was lonesome and they were kind. I wanted some fun and 
 they gave it to me shows and automob le rides and those 
 things, like I never had before. I liked to dress up and have 
 
THE CLAW 65 
 
 them tell me I was pretty. Oh, it was silly, I know, but I 
 didn t mean any harm. 
 
 "And some of them were just boys. There was one/ such a 
 nice boy." Her eyes filled strangely, "and he liked me. He 
 worked in the newspaper office, and he liked me but he kissed 
 me once and it made me mad. I was like that, you know 
 I wasn t bad. 
 
 "But some of them were grown men, and it made me proud 
 that they should like me. This one was a man " she paused 
 and shuddered, "He was the oldest and handsomest, and I 
 went with him because the rest of the girls said he was a swell 
 catch and were jealous. And he seemed the safest of all he 
 never tried to kiss me, but once, and then he said he liked me 
 because I wouldn t let him. 
 
 "But one night we went to The Parisian after midnight. I 
 didn t want to go but there was a crowd of us and they dared 
 me. I didn t mean to go then, but he said to be game and that 
 he d take care of me. 
 
 "And so we went. There was dinner with dancing between 
 you know. It was jolly. And they had cocktails. I didn t 
 want to take any but they said I wasn t a sport. He said I was 
 a sport he always stood up for me so I had to have some. 
 And then we had some more and then some more, and I forgot 
 where I was and what I was doing, and everything seemed 
 changed and everything seemed right and and She 
 buried her face in her hands turning from him. "I don t 
 know the rest! 
 
 "Oh." she cr ed suddenly, flinging her hands from her eyes 
 and staring at him with rigid face. "You must believe that! 
 You must believe that that I didn t know! It was the wine that 
 dii it do you hear? The wine! And he meant that it should 
 he meant it, a 1 the time. Oh!" there was a world of hatred 
 in her quick-caught breath. 
 
60 THE CLAW 
 
 "Its an awful thing to forget what s right. Its an awful 
 thing for anybody to take away your knowing what s right." 
 She said the words and repeated them like a memorization 
 burned into her brain by continuous repetition, her eyes half 
 closed, her body held rigidly as resisting physical pain. She 
 continued, her shyness, her sense of modesty that normally 
 would have hampered her thoughts, were lost, inhibited by her 
 passion for relief and vindication. 
 
 "J never s w him again. He went away that night. After 
 ward I remembered that he was to go away that night. And I 
 don t know where he is, or where he was going. I never 
 thought to ask, somehow." 
 
 She sat on the edge of the bed, her chin in her hands; her head 
 aslant, crouchingly, like an animal which has been struck and 
 cowed, and her attitude was, to Duncan, a painful sign of the 
 tragic change in her, the dethroning of the human 
 
 "When I knew, I tried to kill //," she whispered, "but // 
 wouldn t die // won t die. I know It won t. I can see It s 
 eyes now. And they ask How it came to beJ They always 
 ask, How it came to be ." 
 
 She shrank from her self, her eyes dilating, her hands pushing 
 as though to dislodge hands clinging to her; pressing as if to hide 
 the face looking into her s; clutching, tearing as though to cast 
 out the horror within her body. It was fearful terrible- 
 more frightful than anything Duncan had ever dreamed. And 
 beside this vision of the distraught and grovelling woman, was 
 the picture of Glad, the child the free and joyous creature he 
 had known. The contrast was unspeakable. 
 
 She was rocking hysterically now and wringing her hands. 
 "Oh, God! What shall I do? What shall I do?" 
 
 "It will go on living. It will be a child and // will hate me, 
 and a woman and // will despise me! All will despise me and 
 it will be because he did it. Because he made me forget Oh, 
 
THE CLAW 67 
 
 God Oh, God! She paused suddenly. A paroxysm siezed 
 her the paroxysm of hysteria and brought her to her feet, 
 rigid, eyes fixed and terrible. Then the reaction came she 
 drooped and reeled and Duncan, calling sharply for the landlady, 
 caught her and laid her gently on the bed. 
 
 Outside the door, when the fainting fit had passed, he gave 
 brief orders. "She must have physical attention. Call Dr. 
 Elliot here Black 157 Do what he adv ses for her the 
 hospital or whatever he says. I will see him about the bills. 
 Tell her not to worry not to think I ll tell nothing, and I 
 will see her tomorrow." 
 
 At the gate he met a girl in ostentatious dress the low-cut 
 blouse and high heels, the high slit skirt and bold eyes of the 
 many familiar to him as a part of the streets, like the theater 
 signs, the newsboy or the eternal blind man at the street corner. 
 She paused in insolent pose, classifying him, appraising him, 
 from under the low brim of her hat. She was young, she was 
 beautiful with the beauty of the perfect female species newly 
 arrived at sex perfection. Every asset of phys cal charm was 
 enhanced by the cunning disclosures of her filmy dress. 
 
 "Hello, kid." The gate was wide and he stood aside to 
 let her pass, but she lingered. Her voice was like a purr. 
 "Been to see the country kid? How is she today?" Duncan 
 looked at her. 
 
 "She s not here," he lied. 
 
 "Oh, well then She pushed her face insolently up into 
 his. "You needn t be so 50," she mocked, with exaggerated 
 dignity. "You re a good boy, ain t you? I reckon you re her 
 brother? Yes?" There was interrogation in her voice. 
 
 "Yes," lied Duncan. He passed on and heard her low 
 mocking laugh, as she looked after him. 
 
68 THE CLAW 
 
 "Well, good bye kid." He shuddered. Glad might have 
 been like this, might be yet this was one of her friends. He 
 had lied involuntarily, instinctively, as when danger threatens. 
 He was glad he had done it. He must save the girl from this 
 later fate. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Duncan drove home in a revery that took no note of things 
 external. Ordinarily he would have seen everything, noted 
 everything in the familiar landscape the growth of the vine 
 yards, the new ones set out during his absence, and the im 
 provements in the old; the new buildings and equ pment that 
 spoke of the growing prosperity of his thrifty neighbors and 
 the increasing evidence of neglect in the land of the neighbor of 
 easy theories. He would have gleaned as much information 
 of the home vineyard and the history of the past year s business 
 as the boy at his side could give him and would have been able 
 to launch into the business of the place with Morton, the fore 
 man, on reaching home, almost as if he had never been away. 
 The flattering incidents of his reception by the wine men and 
 his other f lends were such that even his slow egotism would 
 have been stirred to gratification and some wonder if it had not 
 been for the vivid impressions induced by the incident involving 
 Garrison s little sister and which inhibited for the present all 
 other ideas. The facts were hideous and cut a path across 
 the normal trend of Duncan s thoughts new, startling and 
 confusing. 
 
 Duncan had never philosophized concerning men and life. 
 From a child his dealings had been with the practical. He 
 had no time for dreameries and the world had emerged into 
 his consciousness ready-made. Moral concern for himself or 
 others had never been a part of his consideration. He was 
 aware of the existence of good men and bad men, of good women 
 and bad women, but these things belonged wholly to the 
 established regime of the universe, with which he had nothing 
 whatever to do. Any attempt to change the order, the hysteri 
 cal concern of certain people, societies and sects, in the private 
 
70 THE CLAW 
 
 affairs of the individual, he treated with contempt as an evi 
 dence of bad taste. 
 
 His religious ideas were wholly abstract and unemotional 
 and were expressed in the form of the High Church of which 
 his father s family were members. He never had known the 
 spiritual sensitiveness common to many at adolescence. He 
 had not inherited soul struggle from either parent. To an 
 unusual degree he had escaped the enlarging influences of the 
 new altruism, the passion for social service and the broad out 
 look fostered in many of the departments of study and the 
 numerous societies, religious and social, of the university. His 
 course of study had embraced none of the former and his 
 prejudices kept him from participation in the latter. Tli3 very 
 meagerness of his college life the ignoring of the social and 
 fraternal side; the painful application to the object in hand 
 to the exclusion of the larger life and spirit of the school which 
 is half, perhaps two-thirds, of the value of the university, was 
 due to his devotion to his life object. That object was his 
 father s ambition for La Mesa Vineyard. 
 
 He, who had had little consciousness of personal respon 
 sibility, was now choked by the catastrophe into a fury of ac 
 cusation against the causes that permitted such an outrage. 
 He raged impotently . like one striking out in the dark: "How 
 could this thing be in a town of decent men and women, a 
 place of churches and charities and societies that pretend to 
 keep things moving along decent lines? For, that the girl 
 was guiltless of blame for her fate, he doubted not for a moment; 
 her emotions were too sincere, the agony of her reflections too 
 genuine. Some slight indiscretions, the result of her inex 
 perience and her impulsive, affectionate nature, might have 
 been hers, but she had the instinct of self-preservation which 
 belongs to the girl of right breeding. In a moment such as 
 
THE CLAW 71 
 
 that with the lad she described, her coquetry had vanished 
 and resentment of a liberty emerged involuntarily. 
 
 He wondered vaguely who the offender was, and Norris 
 handsome, roguish face, with its expression of fun and gal 
 lantry, emerged. Norris it was no doubt, Norris. Trust 
 him to know where the prettiest girls were to be found. Norris 
 who had all the innocent girl-lust of a splendidly normal lad; 
 the instinct of the male of all species, to bedazzle and subju 
 gate, whether by a superior spread of tail-feathers, or a new 
 Palm Beach suit of overwhelming smartness. And she, poor 
 little fool, afraid before his boyish and innocent fervor had 
 turned away from the boy, whose impulses were as clean as 
 his linen to the protection of this beast who looked like a man. 
 The irony of it! 
 
 It was worse than that. This brute had done more than 
 blight innocence and invoke a life he had accomplished the 
 forced birth of a soul. Duncan saw it all: Glad, a child yester 
 day, today looked upon the world with the eyes of a woman 
 and found it hideous. Ah the villainy of it! A birth that 
 should have been an ineffable dawn, all the sweet emotions, 
 the uninterpreted impulses, the vague wonderings and desires; 
 the whispering promises of a girl s life moving by normal laws 
 of being into that of a woman all this beauty and glory torn 
 away and realities interpreted in terms of brutishness; ma 
 ternity, God help her, the crowning glory of her woman s life, 
 a hideous compulsion, it s sweet and sacred meaning a shattered 
 thing. He thought of life conceived in such brutishness. 
 What must it be other than the horror Glad s terrified eyes 
 perceived? 
 
 In his fury was united tenderness for the girl, his own out 
 raged sensibilities and the responsibility he felt himself charged 
 with by Garrison. He would find this man and bring him to 
 punishment. He would investigate the Parisian. He had 
 
72 THE CLAW 
 
 learned of the cafe. Rumors had reached him the year before 
 from visiting boys of the growing notoriety of the place, of its 
 flaunted Bohemianism. To visit the Parisian was a night s 
 adventure. He had heard the stories of their larks with the 
 disgust he felt for such things; things for which he felt 
 neither sympathy or craving. 
 
 It was just such excesses and evils, he thought, that provided 
 the material for the Dry agitation. However unassignable to 
 the honest forms of the industry such things might be, it be 
 hooved the liquor people to stand responsible for the same to 
 the extent of making investigation and providing regulations 
 that would eliminate the evils. 
 
 For the first time he pondered the moral order of things. 
 There were good men and bad men good women and bad 
 women. But the bad had power over the good. Glad s 
 solemn enunciation of her new convictions repeated itself in 
 h s mind: "It s an awful thing to forget what s right! It s an 
 awful thing for anyone to take away one s knowing what 
 is right!" 
 
 Suddenly upon his own new sensibilities flashed, with stag 
 gering vividness the fraility of volition, the precariousness of 
 it: volition, controlling conduct and choices; volition, governed 
 in that conduct and choice by judgement, by conclusions, the 
 maturest fruit of experience, the instincts of ancestry, surviv 
 ing to guide the man or woman into the ways that make for 
 their welfare and happiness; this volition so perilously poised; 
 the scale of choice changed by mere accident, more, by 
 the volition of another 
 
 Here was Glad the child fortified by clean ancestry and clean 
 instinct against direct attack. But the designs of a brute 
 mind had swept the fabric of moral protection away in a 
 moment; had substituted another will and impulse, provided 
 by the transforming power of the wine. This frightful change, 
 
THE CLAW 73 
 
 with all its future train of suffering, in a pure and lovely girl! 
 There was need of preaching! There was need of teaching and 
 legislation! need? God! How many other crimes and mis 
 eries, in how many other ways, were being worked every day 
 by men and women of evil design? And he had thought all 
 his days that goodness was a stable thing, established and un 
 assailable, and agitating an unbecoming and unnecessary ac 
 tivity. Instead, it was assailed powerfully, and every day, by 
 Evil with deadly intent against its foundation. 
 
 Duncan had heard the jeering materialist say that all forms 
 of morality and virtue were but instincts of self-preservation. 
 Well, he was willing to accept the definition. And normally, 
 men and women took that way normal men and women took 
 that way. But since abnormal men and women men and 
 women ignorant, immoral and vicious in their ignorance and 
 viciousness assailed that way, it must be guarded. He saw it! 
 He saw it as though at its first unveiling. The conception of 
 all moral effort // was effort for the preservation of life. 
 
 Well then, such interests were not the petty and uncalled-for 
 thing he had regarded them and the preacher and the teacher 
 and the reformer, active at their business, were not cranks 
 and interferers in other people s business. Why, it was the 
 logical business of all men, who themselves desired to live, to 
 engage in that business; not just the few; to co operate in the 
 business of making the world a safe and wholesome place for 
 individuals and humanity. 
 
 Why did men orgsnize in the material realm the wine 
 growers, the orange-growers, the business men? for material 
 benefit, for protection and development of their interests? 
 And if co-operation attentive, intelligent co-operation was 
 useful on the material plane, how much more so in the moral 
 world, the power-house from which run all the determining 
 wires of men s conduct and intercourse. 
 
74 THE CLAW 
 
 And yet men made light of this department of life; depre 
 cated, ignored it as though it touched them not at all; men, 
 like himself, with brawn and muscle and practical common 
 sense, left the business of morality and religion to women 
 and ministers and spineless young men. If his fist had been 
 in such efforts in this town, Glad would not now be the aban 
 doned, pathetic creature she was. He would have his 
 fist in it henceforth. He had been narrow in his views and 
 mode of life; he had made his ideals the fulfillment of his 
 father s ambitions narrow; constructed them in little terms. 
 He would live more in touch with his fellows that was what 
 his father had done so he could feel their need. 
 
 Duncan had seen a light. There was no outward trans 
 formation in him; the same self-contained, reserved man sat 
 beh nd the wheel of his machine guiding the car over the not 
 too smooth roads with consumate, subconscious skill, his pipe 
 gripped between his teeth. The vision he had caught was one 
 of those phenomena of the inner mind, an illumination in 
 the far recesses of the soul that flashes up suddenly like a lighted 
 match in a dark room, like lightning on a landscape, out in an 
 instant, but in that brief moment revealing spiritual realities 
 and showing the way. 
 
 Duncan was at La Mesa Vineyard and with a turn of the 
 wheel, spun the machine into the circular driveway and stopped 
 at the door of his home. 
 
CHAPTER NINE 
 
 Duncan s mother had heard the sound of the car and was 
 waiting for him on the veranda. The Scotch are not demon 
 strative in their greetings, besides, at such times, with Jeanie 
 and herson, beloved vanished forms stood in the shadowy back 
 ground and the thoughts of both were too poignant for words. 
 
 While Duncan ate a belated supper, Jeanie detailed the news 
 of the place. There were eight months to be covered, for Jeanie 
 did not write letters readily, and only the affairs absolutely 
 necessitating Duncan s attention were recited in her brief 
 missives. 
 
 Jeanie spoke still with the broad Scotch of her father s family. 
 It was a circumstance indicative of her native inadaptability 
 and hampered development. She never had had but the most 
 formal acquaintance with her husband s friends. Her asso 
 ciations had been almost wholly confined to the members of 
 her family and the visitors the house had scarcely ever been 
 without, in Cameron s day Scotch people, who made a tem 
 poral y home with the family while looking about them to 
 locate. Not a few of these were from her own village; lads who 
 worked for a time for Douglas before starting out for them 
 selves; and fresh-faced young Scotch lassies, lured to the "land 
 of promise," who were wont to help Jeanie with her domestic 
 duties while they made their home with her. In this way the 
 old associations and the characteristics of speech which, with 
 the middle class Scotch amount almost to a tongue, were kept 
 up in the Cameron home, the older Douglas frequently saying 
 facetiously that he was the only member of his household 
 who spoke English. 
 
 During Duncan s absence, since she had been much alone, 
 Jeanie had reverted in a strange degree to the ways of her own 
 
76 THE CLAW 
 
 family; Duncan noticed it at once, in her speech, in her dress, 
 in many little mannerisms. It struck him as pathetic and re 
 proachful. He must make up to his mother for these years of 
 loneliness these years during which gray hairs and age had 
 begun to creep upon her. 
 
 The concern of most consequence that occupied the atten 
 tion of the two tonight was Morton. Duncan had thought to 
 retain his manager until the next grape crop was harvested at 
 least, but Morton s growing inefficiency threatened the neces 
 sity of his discharge. 
 
 This affair of Morton s makes me sick," said Duncan, as 
 they sought the coolness of the veranda after supper, where 
 the latter smoked while Jeanie employed herself on her 
 endless needle-work. 
 
 "I d rather do most anything than be forced to fire him, but 
 from just the little I got from the boy about recent affairs on 
 the vineyard and what you ve said, Morton has made a dozen 
 foolish moves within the past few weeks and we can t stand it. 
 How long has it been tanking up like this?" 
 
 "Oh, come a year and a half noo, y e ken he was fair daft 
 a half a dozen times wi the booze last simmer when ye were 
 hame before, after he come back frae the city." 
 
 "I know, but that s rather to be looked for the celebration 
 of his freedom from a year s responsibility. I didn t like to see 
 it, but it s the way with a lot of men, and I thought when he 
 got back on the job he d settle down and put away his non 
 sense." 
 
 "Weel, he didna. An it s been a sair year for Elsie and the 
 bairns a nither on the w y too. An though she says naething, 
 I m thinking she s been sair pit to, to keep the house goin an 
 the bairns clothed. An in her foolish woman s way she bears 
 it against us. She s got the thocht of some of the prohi- 
 beetionists and says we who raise the grapes are responsible 
 
THE CLAW 77 
 
 for her nion s habits. But it s juist the hurt o her am sorrow, 
 puir lassie, an I think naething o it." 
 
 Duncan made a jesture of impatience and distress. Elsie 
 had been a member of their household for years. She was 
 married to Morton in the family parlor. He had never been 
 able to take the misguided accusations of men and women 
 against his business, with the indifference of his father. Scorn 
 ing them as the product of distorted reasoning yet they hurt 
 him for they came not infrequently from those whose esteem 
 he prized. 
 
 "It s Elsie I m thinking of more than Morton in this matter," 
 he said. "I can t bear to turn him off on her account and the 
 children s. I ll talk the matter over with him; perhaps we 
 can help him brace up. I need him and he needs the place. 
 By the way, where does he get the stuff? I ll go and see that 
 they refuse him. That s one of the new and excellent saloon 
 regulations to refuse to sell to a man who is drunk, or is 
 getting the habit. If the saloons would keep to these regula 
 tions they d better themselves and restore the institution to 
 its former place of respect in the community. Confound it! 
 They ve got to, or they re going to be put out of business, and 
 rightly so." 
 
 "Yes, I ha nae doot, but Morton gets his drink in town 
 when he goes there Elsie says, as the head o th vineyard 
 an your substitute, he s gettin in wi the business and social 
 eelement" Duncan shrugged his shoulders "an has to 
 drink mair for sociabeelity sake than former, but since he has 
 taken to it steady he gets maist o it frae the winery here. 
 It s easy o access, and they don t refuse onyone. It s no 
 been gude frae the men, especially the help," added Jeanie 
 with uneasiness. "In fact," she hesitated, "I ha something 
 to tell ye that I d rather no , or wish was already told. 1 
 didna write ye because it was near yir last week an I knew 
 
78 THE CLAW 
 
 ye d be engaged wi ye re examinations an shouldna be dis- 
 tairbed." 
 
 "What is it?" asked Duncan, with unconscious sternness. 
 He took his pipe from his mouth and knocking out the ashes, 
 waited. Jeanie flushed, there was rebuke in his manner. 
 
 "Weel, Antonio is in sai trouble. It s been ain o the troubles 
 o the place Morton s supplanting the former help wi cheap 
 labor, th Hindoos an other riff-raff he could pick up." She 
 hurried on, admonished by Duncan s sober, and uncommunica 
 tive face 
 
 "There s been bad bluid between the Mexicans an the new 
 men. A lot mair drinkin amang em all than formerly, an 
 she paused. 
 
 "Well?" said Duncan. 
 
 ."Weel, I can scarce tell ye maybe I ocht to ha written ye." 
 
 "Never mind go on." 
 
 "Weel, there was a cuttin scrape when they was drunk. 
 Antonio stabbed ain o the Hindoos to death an is in the 
 county jail charged wi manslaughter." 
 
 Duncan started and the pipe dropped from his fingers. 
 The blood surged to his face and back, leaving it white, but 
 he said nothing for a moment. It was a hard moment for his 
 mother. 
 
 "Yes, you should have wired me at once. I would have 
 come home. I might have saved him. Antonio! Ortega s 
 son, and as fine a man as I ever knew This is awful we must 
 save him." 
 
 "I m afeered it will do nae glide," suggested his mother, 
 timidly. Duncan ignored the remark. 
 
 "Antonio a murderer, and another argument for the pro 
 hibition cranks to flay us with! Curse Morton! I told him 
 not to hire trash! Curse the winery! I never liked Bernardi- 
 
THE CLAW 79 
 
 ni, any way. I ll see him about this tomorrow. I won t stand 
 for this sort of thing." 
 
 "Bernardini w 11 gie us twelve dollars a ton for the second 
 crop this year mair than we ve got for ten year back," inter 
 posed his mother anxiously. 
 
 "I don t care if he will. I don t want his money. I m going 
 in now to see if I can get hold of Attorney Cliffe, or any of them, 
 and see what we can do for Antonio." He strode into the 
 house and Jeanie heard him worrying the telephone. He 
 could get hold of no one and came back in disgust. 
 
 "Well I suppose it doesn t make any difference tonight, but 
 I ll go in first thing in the morning. You say he has had a 
 preliminary hearing and his case is to be called soon?" 
 
 "No, I didna say that," said Jeanie, in some bewilderment at 
 being credited with such technical knowledge, "I said he d 
 been charged wi manslaughter but they re no done wi him 
 yet an he s bidin noo in the jail." Duncan smiled inwardly 
 in spite of the situation, at his mother s ingenuousness. Per 
 haps he had been hard on her but she should have let him 
 know his presence might have made a vital amount of dif 
 ference. He would hire the best lawyer he could lay hold of 
 now Cliffe or Kennedy for Antonio s defense. All the old 
 associations, his boyhood friendship with Antonio, the latter s 
 faithfulness as an employee; most of all, the devotion of An 
 tonio s father, Ortega, to young Douglas, urged his best efforts 
 in the unfortunate man s behalf. 
 
 Another motive for his efforts in the matter was a sense of 
 responsibility he felt as an employer. Such tragedies were not 
 uncommon on other places, among the mixed help employed, 
 and provided a lively business for the county officers, the 
 coroner and the courts. But the history of La Mesa Vineyard 
 had been free from such a stain. Cameron s regime had been 
 a strict one. Strange to say, the man, easy with himself and 
 
80 THE CLAW 
 
 his friends and gracious toward his help, held a stem policy 
 concerning the conduct of his vineyard. There was no drunken 
 ness among the help during Cameron s time, Ortega alone 
 excepted. But Ortega was a privileged character; his was the 
 imaginative temperament which needed a spree in order to 
 give complete freedom to his rich fancies and native eloquence. 
 Duncan had maintained a similar rule and laid the necessity 
 of the same on Morton when he gave affairs into his hands. 
 Morton had betrayed his trust. He had set a demoralizing 
 example in his own increasing dissipations and in the loose 
 rein he gave to his men. Duncan burned with indignation 
 that his reputation would be made to suffer as a result, aside 
 from the terrible consequence induced. He would throw 
 himself into the rescue of Antonio with all the resources he 
 could command. 
 
 Jeanie, on his interrogation, told the story of the tragedy 
 with the vividness lent by the shock to her own sensibilities. 
 "An his puir wife and his bairns it was terrible deestriss! 
 Antonio sits in his cell, they say, moanin ower and ower agen, 
 to think wha he ha brought on his hisel and his family. But 
 he curses Morton and the Hindoo, an says if you had been 
 here the thing would no ha happened. He s got mair sense 
 if he is a Mexican, nor Elsie and her man, who blame folks that 
 ha befriended them for things they bring on theirsel s wi 
 their ain folly." 
 
 Duncan groaned. He thought of the strangeness of his 
 home-coming, that three catastrophes, each involving those to 
 whom he was bound with warm ties of association and friend 
 ship, should await him, breaking upon his knowledge with 
 startling effect and leaving him shaken with their significance 
 of suffering, present and future. 
 
 He thought to tell his mother of Glad; he needed a woman s 
 advice and hel and Glad needed a woman s sympathy and 
 
THE CLAW 81 
 
 understanding, but he realized that this additional story of 
 woe would be inopportune. Besides, lie was not sure of his 
 mother s co-operation. The case was one hard to explain to 
 anyone, both from the delicacy and the unusualness of it, and 
 Jeanie s mind was peculiarly impervious to new ideas and ex 
 periences. He decided not to speak of the matter now, at 
 least. 
 
 "Dinna grieve too much/ said Jeanie, after a time, during 
 which they had sat silent in their own thoughts. "It s not a 
 bad news I ha to tell ye. The wine folks are that gratefu for 
 your wark last simmer that their plannin great things frae ye." 
 
 "Yes?" said Duncan, absently; his mind was still wrestling 
 with his problems. 
 
 "Aye! It s no less than the legeeslature they ve booked ye 
 frae Maester Cummings, Maester Blythe an the rest. I ll 
 be that prood to ha a son o mine in the service o the state 
 that I canna very easy contain mysel ." It was seldom 
 Jeanie spoke in the spirit of maternal ambitions. The effort 
 showed her anxiety for Duncan in the unhappy news she had 
 had to impart, and he was touched by her solicitude. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "it would be very fine. I heard something 
 about it in town, but I thought it was a josh. They really 
 mean it, do you think? But they are awfully deceived as to 
 my talents. Arguing a few senators into line for a proposition, 
 the logic of which is as plain as the nose on your face, doesn t 
 require genius. Besides, it takes money to get into the le^is- 
 ature. 
 
 "But the wine men have something they want to do. I saw 
 Blythe a moment in town this afternoon. It involves a regular 
 position for the summer and Blythe hinted at something else. 
 I ll go in and see him tomorrow and at the same time see about 
 the mortgage he holds on the 250 acres it s about time to 
 renews it, if he ll do it, and I guess by his cordiality today, he 
 
82 THE CLAW 
 
 will. If anybody was served by my work at Washington last 
 summer, Blythe was, personally, so I guess he won t turn me 
 down. Don t worry!" At the sight of Jeanie s anxious face 
 poor Jeanie, who had been dogged all her life with the spectre 
 of calamity to he. home, her pinched and care-worn little 
 face with its newly whitened hair he reached toward her 
 with one of the shy caresses that passed between them rarely. 
 
 Forget it everything till tomorrow! Things will come 
 out all right I hope, both for ourselves and others. I guess I ll 
 step over now to the Cumming s for a few minutes before going 
 to bed." The color rose into his cheeks. Jeanie affected to 
 see nothing. 
 
 "Oh, aye! she said, ".go-. Mrs. Cummings called up juist 
 this morning to know whether you were coming ha me today or 
 no . She d heard it frae some o th men. She seemed rale 
 glad." 
 
 Duncan went to his room and effected his toilet with some 
 pains. Then he left the house striking diagonally across the 
 large yard, a collie at his heels. His pulses were moving fast 
 and he did not walk like a man who had completed a three- 
 thousand-mile trip and had his soul racked by these catastro- 
 phies that day. He was going to see Corinne Cummings. 
 Her faintly-scented note in his pocket, received just before 
 leaving, was one of the new evidences of interest shown 
 in him by his home folks. Corinne s letters h&d. been 
 few the past year. Just now he craved the sight of her and the 
 feel of her presence, like thirst or hunger, as a counteractive 
 from the sordid tragedies that had filled his first hours at home. 
 
CHAPTER TEN 
 
 It was characteristic of Duncan, who had had no life of his 
 own, that even his heart affair should be in the nature of a 
 substitution. The girl he lov d wns the little miss who had 
 enamored Douglas and on whom the lad was showering his 
 youthful gallantries that fateful day of the barbecue. 
 
 The fathers, warm friends, had plotted together as friends 
 will, foi the future of their children and the latter seemed 
 bent on forwarding those designs. Corinne was mature for 
 her age and already her girlish coquetries involved Douglas 
 as their object with ardent response. This future was one 
 of the fair pictures dashed ruthlessly out by young Douglas 
 death. It was not till years afterward that the two fathers 
 pathetically rebuilt timid hopes for the two families 
 destinies, in the person of Duncan. That was when he was 
 slowly taking credit to himself against great handicap in 
 1 is last High School year. How great that handicap, Mr. 
 Cummings was far more fitted to realize than Duncan s father. 
 
 The first knowledge that Duncan had partially succeeded 
 in some degree in taking the place of Douglas to his father 
 came to the former from Mr Cummings, at the time of 
 Cameron s death. Duncan had never forgotten the kindness 
 of his father s friend to him; his delicate and beautiful ser 
 vice of sympathy. Mr. Cummings had to d Duncan that 
 which had made his heart warm toward the older man ever 
 since 
 
 "I think you should know," said Mr. Cummings, in his 
 grave way as he bade Duncan goodbye on his return to college, 
 "I think it might he p to staunch your grief, or in some part 
 to mitigate it, if you know what a blessing and comfort you 
 
84 THE CLAW 
 
 have been to your father." Duncan started and almost the 
 first tears he had shed sprang to h s eyes. 
 
 "1 know we all know how you have tried, what a noble 
 effort you have made in one of the most heroic of 
 causes that of trying to substitute in your self an object of 
 happiness and promise to your father, to staunch the grief 
 he bore in the death of your brother. It is my pleasure 
 to tel you that you have succeeded: that you have, far beyond 
 your knowledge or expectation, afforded your father the happi 
 ness and pride that would have been his in his son. If 
 he was not able to show you that such was the result, let me 
 say in justice to him, that it was because of his increasing 
 infirmities. But just the day before he died he said to me. 
 Cummings, I want to tell you that I have a happiness few men 
 know. That s my son, my Duncan. I am afraid (and it 
 will be no credit to myself) that this statement may come to 
 you as a surprise. There was a time when I did not appreciate 
 the boy as now; when I differentiated between him and his 
 brother in favor of the latter. Perhaps that is the reason 
 I lost him Douglas. 
 
 " But this son, this one who has been left to me, is a wonder, 
 Cummings! He has devoted himself in utter unselfishness 
 of heart without reproach or without resentment because 
 I so long prized his brother most he has devoted himself to 
 me, soul and body and mind to become the son I desired. And 
 he is accomplishing it. That was the day he received the 
 telegram telling of your debate victory." 
 
 " I have withheld my appreciation too long/ your father 
 went on, I am going to write tomorrow. I was sometimes 
 impatient with him, I was impatient with him just at the last, 
 as he went away. His solicitude for me it ebuked me. You 
 know how that goes, Cummings, when one knows himself to 
 be at fault. But I shall write to him tonight. 
 
THE CLAW 85 
 
 Duncan s head had dropped on his hands and for the first 
 time sobs, deep bdoy-ra eking sobs broke from him; he had 
 carried the hurt of his inefficiency long and the words of his 
 father s farewe 1 that day, though forgiven, had lived and 
 burrowed deep and painfully into his heart. 
 
 "My boy, I am sorry! I thought to give you comfort 
 happiness!" exclaimed the older man, with solicitude. The 
 boy seized the hand on his shoulder, crushed it between his 
 two strong ones: 
 
 "Do not mind tbisl" he panted, "you have made me happy. 
 Indeed, you have given me the greatest happiness I have ever 
 known." 
 
 Thereafter a new relation grew up between the older man and 
 the younger. Duncan in great gladness of heart thought of 
 him as a father and, presently, by a vague encouragement, 
 an unspoken consent, he came to hope that the relationship 
 might become real. A great expectation began to grow in 
 his life, hanging on the fatal word a if," the word on which hung 
 all the pathetic expectations of Dun an s life. // he could 
 make good. // he could become worthy as Douglas, without 
 doubt, would have been. 
 
 As for Corinne, perhaps it was not her fault; she was an only 
 and pampered daughter her vanity was more readily impressed 
 than her affections and overs were many. She looked upon 
 Duncan s shy ambition with calm and candid eyes and laid 
 upon its fulfilment the same condition : // he could make good 
 in a wordly way, if he could make good. 
 
 Corinne, in the fullness of physical charm and fresh spirits, 
 was a panacea for morbidness. Her rich, exotic presence 
 seemed to float to meet him as she moved down the long hall 
 in answer to Duncan s ring and to envelop him in refreshment and 
 intoxication. There were no half tones about her; her coloring 
 was the sort lent by health, vigor and luxurious living. Her 
 
86 THE CLAW 
 
 gowns, after the manner of the times, displayed almost dazzling- 
 ly every woman s asset, her white shoulders and splendid pro 
 portions, the turn of her round ankle. 
 
 There was little reserve, little witheld. To meet the girl 
 was like taking a bouquet of fragrant roses to one s self, or 
 filling the eye with a gorgeous view. It was perhaps this 
 generosity, this boldness of presence, that constituted the 
 girl s attraction to Duncan, himself the most shy, and self 
 deprecative of lovers. He needed to have a woman come 
 more than half way. That she could withdraw, disconcertingly 
 and completely, when whim seized her, was equally true and 
 a thing for admiration. 
 
 She greeted him with the utmost pleasure. Her voice hold 
 a note that made his blood surge. 
 
 "Then you are in I was afraid I might find you away," 
 said Duncan, modestly. A great contentment took hold of 
 Mm as she established him in her father s favorite chair and 
 chose one in flattering proximity beneath the electrolier where 
 the light fell dazzingly upon the bronze of her high coiled hair. 
 
 "We had an engagement, but I sent poor Mutter along, for 
 I was sure you would call. No," she demurred at his jesture 
 of expostulation. "You wouldn t have me miss a call from such 
 a distinguished visitor the genuis known as the coming man. 
 She laughed the full uncurbed laugh that, again, was like her 
 self. 
 
 "Oh, you are just the same as ever so modest that you 
 can t conceive of the honors that are on your horizon. Why 
 you re the most talked of man in Riverdale. Do you know 
 that?" 
 
 "If I am, then Riverdale hasn t much to talk about," said 
 Duncan, but her words giatified him. The confirmation of 
 his new popularity from her lips meant more than from any 
 other. She was included among his new admirers, her words 
 
THE CLAW 87 
 
 showed that, and she courted his attentions had expected 
 his call th s first night. He recalled her former indifference 
 and his heart beat with new hope and happiness. Mr. Cum- 
 mings, pausing at the door of the drawing-room, begged en 
 trance. 
 
 "Well, stranger, hello he greeted, "may I come in and 
 shake hands with this big boy? How s the prodigal from the 
 far country?" He gave Duncan a hand of real affection. 
 "You re looking fine just fine! Guess the east agrees with 
 you. It ought to you ve been making good and making 
 history both. Congratulation!" 
 
 The chat flowed happily, the graver talk of her father in 
 terrupted with delightful and irrelevent comments by Corinne. 
 Mrs. Cummings returned in her coupe early from her evening 
 engagement and joined them. Her greeting was fully as cordial 
 and somewhat more eflusive than that of the others. The 
 parents excused themselves shortly and left the two alone. 
 It was late when Duncan said goodnight. He made the short 
 distance between the girl s house and his own with feet that 
 did not feel the ground. Ronald, his dog, had difficulty 
 in keeping pace with him and at the same time retaining the 
 dignity that belongs to collies. 
 
 Duncan had forgotten in the glamor of the girl s renewed 
 companionship the troubles that vexed him, Glad, on her 
 fevered bed, Morton, going to perdition fast, and Antonio 
 in his cell. Once, on the way over, the idea had occurred to 
 him to take Glad s troubles to Corinne and her mother. But 
 with the first glimpse of Corinne coming down the hall to 
 greet him the idea vanished of itself. What did this charming 
 vision of well-being and happiness have to do with C lad s 
 pitiful tragedy? 
 
 Yet he felt subtly reproached. To-morrow lie would 
 settle on some conclusion of the matter. To-morrow he would 
 
88 THE CLAW 
 
 think of some efficient person he could trust with Glad s story. 
 Why, to be sure, Marlinee! Why hadn t he thought of Mar- 
 linee before. Confound it, he had forgotten her, and he was 
 right there in the Journal office, too. Where was she then? 
 out on her "beat" no doubt. And he never even asked for 
 her. To be sure, she would be just the one, the only one, in 
 fact. He would feel no delicacy in presenting Glad s case to 
 Marlinee, who, as a newspaper woman, was enured to all 
 things. Bless her heart he wanted to see her too! 
 
 Duncan dreamed of Corinne and her fragrant presence en- 
 ve oped him intoxicatingly, as in reality. Then he dreamed 
 of Marlinee. He apoligized to her profoundly for his over 
 sight in forgetting her. Marlinee listened haughtily, pushing 
 out her little chin till a dimple that belonged there was wholly 
 lost. Then the dimple suddenly sprang back to its place 
 she made up an insolent little face and was gone. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 All his life Duncan had been conscious of a separation be 
 tween himself and a large part of mankind as represented in 
 his acquaintance. That separation was occasioned by the 
 industry in which his father was engaged. From the time of 
 his earliest recollections the neighborhood had been divided 
 into two elements: his father s friends the families engaged 
 in the wine industry, or favorable to it and the "temperance 
 folks." 
 
 As a child, he felt the subtle antagonism of opposing senti 
 ment. It affected his relations at school, the friendship of 
 some of his companions. As early as seven he learned his 
 classification when the first temperance agitation began in 
 the little viticultural community. A "Band of Hope" was 
 organized in the neighborhood which the enthusiasm of the 
 organizer painted as a most alluring prospect. Duncan, 
 with his boy friends, were candidates for membership and 
 presented themselves, together with other young Hopes on 
 the day of organization. But a whispered taunt from a boy 
 on the seat behind him blighted Duncan s ambitions and sent 
 him home, his cheeks burning with indignation. 
 
 "Hum!" sniffed the boy, " You can t belong to th Band of 
 Hope. Your father grows wine!" 
 
 It was a wholly new idea, a fact clothed in the garb of an 
 accusation. Shortly thereafter the ambitious new Hopers 
 in the zeal of their campa gn simplified the idea with a vigor 
 that amounted to persecution of the sens tive child. 
 
 "Your father s a wicked man. He helps to make drunkards, 
 and drunkards go to Hell. 
 
 It was an argument Duncan was not prepared to stand for 
 and he fought it out with his two sturdy fists, routing the 
 
90 THE CLAW 
 
 entire band. Incidentally the circumstance was typical of the 
 fate of the liquor opponents for many years. 
 
 Fists could route opponents but not deas and the idea of 
 the culpability of the w ne grape grower persisted in the minds 
 of many in the community. The lad however, was fortified 
 a ainst the sentiment by his father s disposal of the matter, 
 when the subject was brought to his attent on. The attitude 
 of the latter was one of large charity toward the reformers as 
 men and women possessed of an irritating but harmless obses 
 sion. The doctrine of temperance as opposed to prohibition 
 was expounded in Cameron s best style together with the 
 absurdity of the latter. His logic seemed unanswerable. 
 
 The result of his father s counsel was to establish in the boy 
 an attitude of superio ity toward his persecuters, mingled with 
 condescension, but the consciousness of his neighbor s criti 
 cism emphasized his natural reserve. His new judgments 
 worked for himself a hardship also, when some of his most 
 admired friends happened to belong to the unfortunate and 
 inferior class. This was the case with Marlinee. 
 
 Marlinee was one of Duncan s few real freinds. She was 
 his neighbor his chum. On her pony she galloped to school 
 by his side every day of the High School year and when the 
 weather was bad it was only courtesy to take her 
 into the shelter of the curtained family phaeton. Such inti 
 macy bred a fine comradeship, yet Marlinee was amoijg the 
 Philistines. For no apparent reason than perversity, Marlinee, 
 uninfluenced by family for she had no family nor apparently 
 by convictions, for how could a girl of sixteen have acquired 
 such a grotesque thing as convictions Marlinee had taken 
 her stand among the reformers, th? crank;. In coming into 
 possession of a little vineyard property left her by a relative 
 in Cameron s neighbrohood, she had ordered the healthy, 
 
THE CLAW 91 
 
 prosperous vines pulled out and, after profound consider 
 ation, had planted the land to alfalfa. 
 
 It was a body blow to friendship and Marlinee knew it. 
 She knew it and she pushed up her little chin till the dimple in 
 it was quite lost and made her red mouth into a grim line as 
 when combatting physical pain. Marlinee had the blood of 
 the martyrs. She drew her moral hardihood from her father 
 and the dimple from her mother. 
 
 Her father she had never seen, but she knew him to have 
 been a man of convictions and convictions make for heroism. 
 He had graduated at Harvard and at once took his classical 
 learning and his convictions to the poor whites of the Tennessee 
 mountains. Later he went to western Kansas. He took with 
 him his young wife. She was one of Memphis blue-blood 
 families How she came to fall in love with a missionary 
 minister was a mystery, but perhaps it was the Harvard man 
 she loved. Marlinee remembered her wonderful star-eyed 
 mother. Her father had died for his conv ctions shot to 
 death by the lawless element in the little western town that 
 he had the temerity to oppose. Marlinee s mother had never 
 felt right toward Providence afterward. She had always 
 thought that Marlinee s father was worth all the souls in western 
 Kansas that he had tried to save. 
 
 Marlinee s family appeared a short-lived one. While in 
 Kansas her mother s people, few in the beginning, faded out. 
 They had been gently brought up and the war and the after 
 struggle for existence precipitated by it, had been too much 
 for them It was a distant relative of Marlinee s father who 
 took compassion on the girl, almost the only survivor of her 
 line He was an eccentric o d bachelor and remembered her 
 when he was dying with the small wealth he had accumulated 
 in his many California experiments. W T ith an ancient mammy 
 who had come 1 , a young maid, from Tennessee with Marlinoe s 
 
92 THE CLAW 
 
 mother, she made her home on the vineyard of the charitable 
 bachelor and blessed him for his charity. 
 
 Marlinee was one of hose women so baffling to men, wholly 
 and satisfyingly feminine from the crown of her head to the 
 sole of her natty feet, possessed of the seductiveness of the 
 sex that says to the mascul ne, "I am a woman and your 
 natural conquest." Marlinee was apt, by a sudden flash of 
 spirit, a challenge of wit, to frustrate omplacency and reveal 
 a vigorous and independent mind that demanded more than 
 the ordinary masculine blandishments for its subjugation. 
 In other words, Marlinee had that discomforting possession, 
 a mind of he own. 
 
 Duncan had never practised masculine bland shments on 
 Marlinee. Her vigorous character had a tonic effect upon him, 
 and her unaffectedness expelled his diffidence. He was at 
 home with her and at his best. He gave her his confidence. 
 At least he gave her more than he gave any other human 
 creature 
 
 It was not much. Duncan was at no time communica 
 tive. But the girl knew him, through and through, by the 
 quick perception of a woman. She stood in his life for a cer 
 tain things of which he had been deprived. He had had little 
 fellowship with other boys; he had had no boyhood of his 
 own. His life had been wholly different from that of the normal 
 lad. He felt old and constrained at the High School with the 
 exuberant youth of his own age, their young conceits and 
 enthusiasms. He was lost with shyness in the presence of 
 most girls. Marlinee s was to him both a boy s and girl s 
 companionship, a sister s almost a mother s. Her solicitudes, 
 shaken off by him with affected scorn, her wise counsels the 
 counsels of sixteen her scoldings, were all prized by him. 
 Then, too, she furnished opportunity of return in all the ways 
 she stood for him : opportunity for a brother s advice and bully- 
 
THE CLAW 93 
 
 ing there were occasions when Marlinee would take bullying 
 but invariably with a meekness of spirit that caused the pleas 
 ure of the bullier to be largely lost. 
 
 He was encouraged to practice the social arts upon her. In 
 deed, never in her most independent moments did Marlinee 
 allow Duncan to forget the proper attentions due the feminine 
 sex. She was most punctilious about these things. It was 
 a part of her ideals and her training of Duncan. Theirs 
 was one of those delightful friendships in which the interchange 
 was perfect; one which can exist at no time except the period 
 of the boy and gir. age the age of adolescence when sex con 
 sciousness is still dormant, or submerged in the confusing sen 
 sations of mental and physical awakening and even then its 
 duration must necessarily be short. Each offered to the other, 
 at that period, a complete antithesis, Duncan s slow but solid 
 mentality checkmating Marlinee s delicacy, her quick brain 
 in which the intuitions of a woman were more than normally 
 developed. 
 
 But one shadow lay between them: their differeing convic 
 tions. In Marlinee s breast it constituted a deep hurt, a judge 
 ment of Duncan, the only reservation in her complete liking 
 of him, but an insurmountable and ineradicable one. In Dun 
 can s mind th feeling was one of irritation, disappointment: 
 Marlinee, a girl of intellect and breeding, deliberately taking 
 her place among the inferior, the narrow minded the "cranks." 
 It was inexplicable, it was maddening, but there w r as no help 
 for it. They had had one encounter that b gan wit i a sincere 
 purpose on the part of each to show the others his error. It 
 ended with a flash of temper and tears on the part of Marlinee, 
 self disgust with Duncan, apologies and a permanent truce by 
 both. But the hurt and the estrangement was there. 
 
 Duncan had not approved of Marlinee s newspaper venture, 
 though she had eventually persuaded him that a girl \vho has 
 
94 THE CLAW 
 
 but an eight acre alfalfa ranch and no family has need to look 
 after her future. Duncan said, Girls get married." Marli- 
 nee answered that they married if the right men asked them. 
 It was a new idea to Duncan. He had never thought o there 
 being a dependent clause in the situation. But it was like 
 Marlinee to have created one. Looking at it that way he con 
 sented, thoug reluctantly, to Marlinee s going into the Journal 
 office in which he had a share. In fact he got his father to 
 reserve the place for her. 
 
 Marlinee "did" society on the paper. The Journal had the 
 prestige of the oldest sheet in town and the most unfortunate. 
 Cameron had created it in the first year of his arrival. It 
 dated back to the time when the town consisted of a dozen 
 houses set on a burning plain and expectations. It had had 
 half a dozen owners in as many years. Cameron was but 
 one who had invested good money in the ill starred organ and 
 lost it. But the paper continued and the people continued 
 to take the paper. If the last hopeful editor, with a small 
 wad to lose, failed, the residents of Riverdale clubbed 
 together and the evening Journal became a co-operative 
 sheet, one of the town s monuments. 
 
 Marl nee took the society editor s desk. She was small, 
 she was new, she was practically unknown. The city editor 
 was skeptical. A smart, new, morning paper had broken into 
 the business recently with up-to-date type and a Sunday edi 
 tion. The new sheet had "Society" coming it way. But 
 Marlinee made good. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 Duncan was up at five in the morning. Before he left 
 for town, at nine, he practically had been over the whole place. 
 With. Morton in the machine beside him he had inspected each 
 vineyard and by questions and observations, assisted by his 
 thorough knowledge of every detail of the industry, he had 
 caught up the threads of the enterprise again, i ot wholly re 
 leased during his absence. With the admirable efficiency of 
 the specializing mind that assimilates ideas like a well working 
 engine, Duncan listened to the answer of one question while 
 his mind formed the next one, or jumped ahead to a new one 
 suggested by his quick perception of some feature in the scene 
 before him. 
 
 Morton replied to Dunca s interrogations with the inward 
 admiration he felt for his young employer, coupled with per 
 sonal qualms. He was perfectly aware of his increasing in- 
 competency. He had been to some extent able to hide his 
 short comings from Duncan s mother, to cover some of the 
 mistakes and neglect occasioned by his irresponsible days. 
 But with "Duncan it was different. Some of his questions 
 embarrassed him and his first greeting was not cheerful. 
 
 "Well, Morton there s been some pretty bad work going 
 on here. I m sick about Antonio. It was all wrong, Morton. 
 You knew it was strictly against my principles allowing 
 the help to booze." Of Morton s own habits, Duncan said 
 nothing. He intended to follow the policy indicated to his 
 mother. It was possible that Morton, with his unspoken 
 moral support, might brace up. If necessary, he would give 
 him a vacation and help him to get away for a few months 
 to new surroundings where the start toward reform might be 
 made easier. 
 
96 THE CLAW 
 
 In town Duncan devoted himself first to Glad s cause. He 
 called up the hospital and asked about her. She was doing 
 as well as could be expected under the circumstances." The 
 reply was most enlightening and he went to Doctor Elliot s 
 office. The Doctor was his family physician. He knew 
 Duncan s family as none but the family physician does, and 
 he was extremely fond of Duncan. The latter found it difficult 
 to turn the conversation from the personal the Doctor s 
 interested inquiries about his and his mother s welfare to 
 the subject of Glad, and still greater difficulty in introducing 
 the subject without embarrassment. But his anxiety abbetted 
 him and he succeeded fairly well. 
 
 "Hum," grunted the Doctor, "So that was your quixotic 
 adventure. Well it s a good thing there s somebody to 
 befriend the girl, though the biggest end of her trouble is over 
 her physical state and the mental excitement occasioned by 
 your visit." Duncan looked start ed. 
 
 "Don t worry, it s her salvation you know. Funny civili 
 zation ours," he mused, "that a natural thing like creation 
 should cause such a furore consternation in society, brain 
 storm for the mother, a poor little embryo man deprived of 
 his privilege of becoming a citizen. Might have made a bully 
 one too, after all. And all over a natural phenomenon called 
 life. Funny, isn t it?" Duncan was offended by his face- 
 tiousness. He failed to appreciate the standpoint of the 
 professional mind. 
 
 "This wasn t nature," he said bluntly. "It was a frightful 
 forced thing. The man made her drunk. It happened in 
 your fine new Parisian here." The Doctor raised his eyebrows. 
 
 "So? Well! That s the fourth case of the kind that s 
 come to us lately from the same source. Old Drury M. D. 
 you know Drury the same that had trouble about his state 
 license last year? Drury was sent up last week for helping 
 
THE CLAW 97 
 
 a victim of the Parisian out of her troubles. It s devilish 
 this smart cafe business! And this little girl as you say- 
 she s charming, and from the best sort, apparently." 
 
 "How is she now?" asked Duncan, anxiously. 
 
 "Oh, she s all right physically, I mean. Or will be, soon. 
 The trouble with her kind is to help her get back into life again. 
 That s what 1 say society, for being the product of civiliza 
 tion that it is, is about the most uncivilized and brutal institu 
 tion going. It s an abnormal, distorted thing, and its judg 
 ments are distorted. This little creature what s she done? 
 She s fulfilled the law of her nature the greatest law of the 
 universe procreation. But because she fulfilled it without 
 having a few words indorsed by society and the law said, she 
 is damned, and the innocent human atom that was within her. 
 There were just two things for her to do commit murder 
 and be received back grudgingly, perhaps, some day, by this 
 same pious society, or let nature have its way, and bring forth 
 a child to the same damnation to which she seemed doomed, 
 and consign herself to a woman s perdition chattel to all 
 men s passions. She is partly, possibly, saved by this revul 
 sion or sacrifice of nature. Civilization isn t it? What do 
 you suppose is the cost of loss to this nation yearly in lives 
 that society, by its attitude says mustn t live? And many 
 of these children, if they had been let to live in decency and 
 approbation would make as good citizens as anybody else. 
 
 "Oh, I m not preaching immorality or promiscuousness, 
 but I m a man who is interested in life human life and it 
 makes me sick to think of such nonsensical waste!" 
 
 Duncan had listened quietly with immense interest in the 
 unusual outburst coming from the curt, professional man, 
 who ordinarily kept his own counsel. It was a line of thought, 
 like. many others that his mind had never followed. To his 
 
98 THE CLAW 
 
 own surprise and to the Doctor s he answered quickly and with 
 spirit. 
 
 "I thought it was selection you scientific men were interested 
 in, the improvement, not the increase of the species. The 
 attitude of society, as you say, is deadly toward a girl like Glad, 
 but it constitutes humanity s safe guard. Remove it, and 
 brutes like the one in this case will have their way and the world 
 will be populated with degenerates." The Doctor started, 
 eyed Duncan critically and laughed. He was immensely 
 pleased by the boy s unlocked for keeness and readiness at 
 retort. It was something new in him, since he had last known 
 him. 
 
 "Very good young man. You use your brains to some 
 advantage. Guess Yale has done something for you. Well, 
 come in again " as Duncan rose to go. "Any message you 
 want me to take to the little girl? She can t see anybody to 
 day, but after that come whenever you want to. She ll need 
 you." 
 
 From the Doctoi s office Duncan went to the courthouse, 
 to seek the District Attorney for permission to visit Antonio. 
 He wanted to talk to him before consulting his lawyer, and 
 learn from his own lips of the tragedy. 
 
 At the jail he was shown into Antonio s cell. The man, 
 sitting listlessly on his cot, staring into space, started at the 
 sound of a visitor. At sight of Duncan he gave a peculiar cry 
 like that of a hurt dog and fell on his knees before him, hugging 
 his legs, sobbing, and gazing at him with streaming face; 
 then falling again upon him with heart rending sobs. He had 
 shown no emotion before, since his arrest, not even in the 
 presence of his wife and children. In court, undergoing his 
 preliminary examination, he had presented a wholly stolid 
 attitude, a stoicism that had the semblance of indifference. 
 Duncan was nearly unmanned by the sight. The utter aban- 
 
THE CLAW 99 
 
 donment of the strong and self contained man -was appalling. 
 
 "Antonio!" He raised the Mexican to his feet. "This 
 is terrible to find you here!" Antonio felt his words a rebuke 
 and fell away from him, sinking down on the edge of his cot, 
 his face in his hands, the tears falling between his fingers. 
 
 "Ah, no no don t say that, Duncan, my friend my one 
 friend! I didn t do it. I didn t do it oh no not I, not I 
 myself." Duncan was much moved. 
 
 "No, I didn t mean that. I wasn t blaming you. I know 
 all about it. It s God s pity, Antonio! I d give^anything* I 
 possess to have been here. I might have hindered, I might 
 have prevented this awful business!" 
 
 "Ah!" the man groaned an agonized assent, but he was bent 
 yet on justification in the eyes of his friend. "They say I 
 did it. They ve proved I did it by the knife by the blood 
 upon me," he shivered, "but in the name of the Holy Mary, 
 Duncan, I never knew it. I swear I never knew it! I never 
 meant to. It was the booze! 
 
 "Why I d have been a fool to have done it. Sure I hated 
 the Hindoos. They cut our wages. Morton hired em and 
 let us most of us go, who had worked for you and your father 
 before you. He threatened to fire me. But even so I wouldn t 
 have done it murder a man! I am a good man am I not? 
 I belong to father Felix s church. I know the holy command 
 ments: Thou shalt not kill and he that kills is damned!" 
 He shuddered. ". have a family. Would I have done that? 
 No, I couldn t have done such a thing, if I d been sober to 
 kill a man!" at every utterance of the word he hestitated, 
 shivering with a dark horror in his face. "It was the booze 
 Maria Madrel It was the booze!" His head fell in his hands 
 again and he groaned as in physical pain. 
 
 "But Antonio you were a sober man, before I went away, 
 and for years after you married, you were steady and temper- 
 
100 THE CLAW 
 
 ate. You were saving money. How did you come to take 
 to the stuff again?" 
 
 Antonio groaned. "Ah, I don t know. I was a fool. I 
 was doing well. I didn t want it except when I went to town 
 and that wasn t often. Morton got the wine from Ber- 
 nardini s said there was no reason why we shouldn t have it 
 on occasions, with it right handy there. He kept it in the old 
 drying shed, across from the winery, and we dr?,nk it there." 
 
 "Sold it to you?" 
 
 "Sold it to all the help round about. Yes, I know it was 
 against the law, but he said, Damn the law! and he urged 
 our patronage mine especially; intimated that it went with 
 my holding the job. Then I was sore too, about the new men, 
 and he threatening to fire me, and I took to drinking one 
 wants the booze when he has anything here. 11 Antonio put 
 his hand to his heart with a pathetic gesture. 
 
 "So it happened there one night, or coming home the 
 Hindoos and Garcia and some of the others and me. I don t 
 know what started it the booze just the booze. 
 
 "The others were ahead and we got to quarreling, I suppose. 
 He was drunk, too, I reckon, though his friends swear he wasn t. 
 And I knifed him at least,! must have. The knife was found 
 beside him and I had his blood on me." He was talking calmly 
 again, stolidly, his face fallen into the indifferent lines that 
 had impressed the judge unfavorably. 
 
 "But any fool would know I did nt do it apurpose. I was 
 lying in the little ditch you know, a yard on, dead to the world, 
 when the sheriff came. I didn t know anything till they put 
 me in the tank here." Duncan heard the man s droning story 
 almost without listening. It was the stale story of a Mexican 
 cutting affair that invariably netted the undertaker a corpse, 
 the penitentary a "lifer" and the county one more indigent 
 family. 
 
THE CLAW 101 
 
 Hut now it was Antonio that was telling the story, Antonio 
 who, having run through, his larking days when he drank with 
 the best, took him a wife one of the prettiest of the young 
 senonlas of the vine-yard and at the samo time, denying his 
 passionate southern nature that takes to drink as to water, 
 became a steady, reliable hand, one of the best on the place, 
 his excesses confined to the end of grape picking time. With 
 this boy he had played, had measured all his young prowess 
 and found him a worthy opponent. He had left him 
 one year ago a clean, open faced, sober man. He found him 
 today in this stifling cell, already the look of a criminal upon 
 him. He sat in moody reflections, his shoulders drooping, his 
 mouth set in sullen lines, his eyes holding an abandoned ex 
 pression. He looked ten years older than his age. With a 
 wrench of the heart, Duncan recalled the girl he had sat with 
 the afternoon before in her shabby room in the cheap board 
 ing houseso like, in her frightful transfiguration to this man. 
 He started. Antonio was saying: 
 
 et -Ifs an awful thing to forget yourselfl It s an awful thing 
 to take a thing that makes you forget^ 
 
 The words seemed but an echo of the anguished cry of the 
 ravished girl the preceding day. 
 
 Antonio happily had remembered Duncan s lawyer. He 
 had retained him at a price that with one swoop wiped out 
 his little savings, and much more. Duncan sought him. 
 He would do his best, but Duncan knew how hard it was 
 to clear a Mexican. The prejudices were against him, be 
 sides, juries showed no leniency nowadays toward booze 
 victims. The man who killed when he was drunk was held 
 as guilty as tic man who killed when he was sober. Dun 
 can winced. 
 
 That s awful, he said. "Look at this case. Here s a 
 man as steady as any in the country." The lawyer interrupted 
 
102 THE CLAW 
 
 skeptically: "Never saw a cholo that wouldn t booze," he said. 
 
 "Well, Antonio isn t a cbolo. He s in another class alto 
 gether," said Duncan. "He takes his glass like the rest of 
 us, but he s no bgozer and hasn t been for years. But in my 
 absence my man, Morton, began boozing himself, at a one- 
 horse joint by my place that calls itself a winery. He conceived 
 a little boot-legging business to catch a few pennies that might 
 get to town and solicited my men s patronage with the hint that 
 it would look to the keeping of their jobs. Antonio got drunk, 
 fighting drunk, and killed this Hindoo in a cutting fray I 
 guess the testimony will show that the Hindoo had a knife, too. 
 Has Antonio to spend the rest of his life in jail for 
 this thing and his little family go on the county?" 
 
 "Its the law. You can t let men kill each other when they re 
 drunk any more than when they re sober. The result is just 
 the same there s a dead one." Duncan reached for his hat: 
 
 "Well, what s to be done about it?" 
 
 "I don t know, my boy," said the lawyer, rising at the same 
 time and walking to the door with him, "I don t know unless 
 you and your friends of the liquor industry go out of business 
 unless we let the prohibitionists take the state." Duncan 
 shot a challenging look at him. Was he joshing or was this 
 a home thrust from a friend? 
 
 "You don t mean that?" he said interrogatively. The 
 attorney struck a match, lighted a cigar and took a delicate 
 whiff. He opened the door to let Duncan out. 
 
 "Oh, no," he said, dryly, "I suppose that wouldn t be prac 
 tical. Besides it would eliminate some of our business." 
 
 With his altruistic objects of interest attended to, Duncan 
 sought those of his own. The morning had been a hard one 
 and the relish of anticipation aroused by Blythe s suggestions 
 had been lost in the incidents of the past hour. The Doctor s 
 words had made him even more concerned for Glad than before. 
 
THE CLAW 103 
 
 Antonio s tragic situation oppressed him and Cliffe s sally 
 was ill-timed, to say the least. Duncan was too sore in the 
 spot it touched him. Prohibition was the last thing; he thought 
 of for a solution of the harrowing problems. 
 
CHAPTER XII-A 
 
 Duncan found Blythe in the inner office of his large whole 
 sale house. The latter sprang to his feet and greeted the 
 young man with a great cordiality. 
 
 "Well, I m glad to see you. Sit down." He pulled up a 
 deep leather padded chair for Duncan and seated himself behind 
 the great oak desk. All of Blythe s office equipment was 
 luxurious. 
 
 "Now to business. There are several things to get over. 
 First, this Wet campaign. We ve got to organize, we wine 
 men. Fact, we have organized organized the Grape Growers 
 Protective Association. The name indicates its purpose. 
 It s to rally to the Wet campaign, the forces of the grape growers 
 as well as those of the liquor people, to interest even the 
 raisin men, who are involved with the interests of the Wets, 
 as you know, for if the wine industry is knocked out they ll 
 lose the market for their second crop of muscats- a big item 
 to them. It s to get them all lined up on the proposition, 
 together with the rest of the liquor business, so we can present 
 a solid front to the enemy. 
 
 "There s another reason for organizing the grape people. 
 There are a lot of folks that are opposed to the saloon and the 
 saloon element that arguments in favor of the latter wont hold. 
 We ve got to furnish em other arguments the arguments 
 of the wine industry, for permancy in life. 
 
 "That ll touch em. We want to send out broad-cast over 
 the state, literature giving the statistics concerning the industry 
 the sort you used in your campaign in Washington last sum 
 mer; post em on what it ll mean to the state if the Dry amend 
 ment carries; make em see it ll touch their own particular 
 business. We ve got to visit the chambers of commerce and 
 
THE CLAW I or, 
 
 other business and industrial organizations all over tlie state 
 and line em up for us see? 
 
 "Now, that s the stuff, and you re the man to do it, from 
 your working knowledge of the industry and your experience 
 at Washington last summer. We want you got to have 
 you. Will you do it?" 
 
 "Why sure, Mr. Blythe, anything I can," answered Duncan. 
 "It s to my interest as well as the rest of the wine people. The 
 industry has certainly seen enough vicissitudes without having 
 a knock out blow just now. Of course, I expected to go right 
 on to the vineyard; dismiss my foreman at the end of the grape 
 season, and take hold of things myself; economy makes it 
 necessary that I should, but if, as you indicated the other day, 
 this work would carry a salary with it so that I could afford 
 to take the job and keep my man on, I ll be only too glad to 
 take it would be glad to take it without any remuneration 
 you understand, if I could." 
 
 "That s all right, that s all right!" answered Blythe, "We 
 wouldn t expect you to. And now for the next proposition. 
 Of course, you know we expect you to be our next assembly 
 man." Duncan flushed and made a deprecative jesture. 
 
 "Sure we do. Everybody is talking about it and its a sure 
 thing as far as the wine folks are concerned. 80 that brings 
 us to our last proposition. I am just consolidating my business, 
 getting it into more wieldy form. As you know it consists 
 of hirge wholesale and retail business houses at Stockton, 
 Sacramento, Bakersfield and Los Angeles, and other interests of 
 an extensive nature. At the present time its not managed 
 with the profit it might bethere s too much leakage. What 
 I want to do is to form a partnership with some live business 
 man who can share my work and responsibility. A sort of 
 field manager and thus cut out so many small offices. 
 
 "Xow it has occured to me that you might be just that kind 
 
106 THE CLAW 
 
 of a man and that the chance I offer might at this time prove 
 op portune to you. I followed your work last summer at Wash 
 ington with a good deal of attention. It showed not only a 
 thorough experience in the industry, more than the mere grower 
 would be expected to have, but it showed also a high degree 
 of intelligence, initiative, and ability to cope with men. I 
 will say without attempt at flattery that you have surprised 
 us all here and that you show promise of a big man. You have 
 combined your father s persuasive personality with a thoroughly 
 practical mind and the combination can t help but win." 
 
 Duncan remained silent. He was paralyzed by the sig 
 nificance of the offer a partnership with Blythe, one of the 
 biggest wine men of the state, whose yearly income was com 
 monly reported as a million! If he had been slow to appropriate 
 the favor in which he appeared to be held by the community, 
 as expressed in the phrases of his other friends, this dazzling 
 proposition left him no doubt as to his new status among his 
 fellow citizens. Yet, he could scarcely credit the fact that 
 his services at Washington had proven so effectual, the talents 
 manifested in his work so promising, that a man like Blythe 
 would make him an offer like this. 
 
 Blythe continued to talk. He liked to state a business 
 proposition without interruption, and Duncan s self contained 
 manner, his control of his very visible surprise, pleased him. 
 It showed unlocked for maturity and poise. 
 
 "This is my proposition. I know, of course, that you haven t 
 the capital to put into the business and that your place is 
 heavily involved. You gave me your confidence to some 
 extent, you remember, when we renewed the mortgage the 
 last time. Now, I ll tell you what I ll do. I ll take up your 
 outstanding notes for you and renew the mortgage I took on 
 the two hundred and fifty acres. I ll take over your equity 
 in the other acreage as your share in my business. I ll give 
 
THE CLAW 107 
 
 you a salaried managership and moreover I ll back you for 
 the legislature you won t have a cent to pay toward getting 
 there. Now how about it?" 
 
 Duncan had nothing to say for a moment. If he had been 
 astonished before he was dumb now with the magnitude of 
 Blythe s generosity and the flattery it implied. The deep 
 color mounted to his temples and showed crimson under his 
 fair skin. His emotion was not lost on Blythe, who was fully 
 aware of the unusualness of his proposition and the effect it 
 could be expected to have on a modest young man whose 
 powers were as yet unrealized by himself. He had not made 
 the offer inadvisedly. It was something to get hold of the 
 talents of a young man like Duncan and make them his own. 
 It was something a good deal to have the next assembly 
 man from his district his own man, a man pledged not only to 
 look well after the interests of the wine men, but his own 
 in particular. He had little idea that the Dry amendment 
 would carry this year, but the prohibitionists would no doubt 
 push the advantages gained in this campaign and would pre 
 cipitate another at no remote date. There was need for work, 
 and the best kind of work, at the state capital in the interests 
 of the liquor traffic and those particular phases of it that Blythe 
 represented. 
 
 There was reason for hesitation on the part of Duncan other 
 than emotion. The proposition involved, in the suggested 
 partition of the vineyard, the relinquishment of his father s 
 ideal concerning it. But would not Cameron gladly have 
 forfeited this long ambition in the new and splendid prospects 
 opened to the one man of his family? In the thought of his 
 father s pleasure the moment was one of rich happiness for 
 Duncan. When he spoke it was with directness: 
 
 "Mr. Blythe, to say that I am astonished at your offer is 
 to put it mildly. It involves a compliment to my ability that 
 
108 THE CLAW 
 
 I cannot accept without hesitation. You re generous to a 
 degree that I couldn t have expected, for no matter what con 
 fidence the work you referred to has inspired in you, you are 
 laying on my future, a tremendous wager. If I went into 
 the business though, I d try to see that you didn t lose." He 
 squared his shoulders. 
 
 "If I had only myself to think of you may be sure I wouldn t 
 hesitate a moment. It s a kind of a proposition at which a 
 young fellow like me shouldn t have to halt, but there is one 
 feature that necessitates my taking the matter under consider 
 ation. That is, the parting with a portion of the place. I 
 hope this doesn t seem petty to you. It s this way: my father 
 had an ideal concerning his vineyard maybe you ve heard 
 him speak of it. It was his hope to keep it intact and bring 
 it to a high state of development; to make of it a permanent 
 estate known throughout the country, a place to bear his mime. 
 It s unusual, I know such an ambition to us practical, 
 hustling westerners. It s a part of the old country idea of 
 the family estate handed down from generation to generation. 
 It s not a bad idea either I think. It means something perm- 
 nent something worth working forthat shows a man has 
 .lived and maintains in him responsibility for his posterity." 
 Duncan was speaking rapidly, eagerly, defending his father s 
 ideals from a skeptical and somewhat deprecative smile that 
 had crept into Blythe s face. Blythe had never been accused 
 of being an idealist. 
 
 "I see, I see," he said, when Duncan had done, "and it s quite 
 natural that you should feel so. You re only a generation 
 removed from old-country ideals yourself. It s natural, and 
 commendable too, that you would like to honor your father s 
 wishes, but we can t be too idealistic when a living is at stake, 
 can we? Beside you have your future to look to. It d cer 
 tainly be a greater matter of satisfaction to your father to see 
 
THE CLAW 109 
 
 you forge ahead and make a substantial name and place for 
 yourself than to retain some rather impractical ideals. We 
 can t live here in the west or think, .here, like they do over 
 there, and our monuments in this country are men, not estates. 
 
 "I offer you what you have acknowledged as a rare oppor 
 tunity, and I admit that it is such. It s not every man at. 
 twenty-five or so who has such prospects. It s yours by vir 
 tue of your own talents and the times. I tell you, young 
 fellow, you ve come like a Daniel to judgment pardon I 
 once went to Sunday school!" he laughed with heavy humor. 
 
 "I say that the liquor interests have need of strong and young 
 blood and a lot of work where it ll do the most good, in the 
 next few years. You saw something of the opposition developed 
 against us at Washington The prohibition forces are growing 
 in this country and growing, fast and the opposition to the 
 saloon is such that without a shadow of a doubt it s only a 
 matter of time till that institution, as at present known, will 
 be put out of business entirely. You understand that I would 
 n t make a public statement to this effect, but we liquor men 
 must face the facts. There s just one thing that may 
 avert that climax and that at any rate can save the manufac 
 turing and grape growing interests; that is the exploitation 
 of wine as an every day domestic beverage in this country, 
 and that s the work cut. out for us to do right now; the fos 
 tering of the wine industry in the country. 
 
 "I was in Europe last year traveled all over the continent 
 and gave special attention to this thing. Scarboro of the Pro 
 ducers and Wholesale Company is working on the same thing 
 now; collecting proofs of the efficacy of the wine drinking 
 habit as opposed to drunkeness r.nd excess. It s the only 
 argument that s going to hold the people and maintain our 
 business. 
 
 "It s funny, what shortsighted idiots there are even among 
 
110 THE CLAW 
 
 educated folks," meditated Blythe, "To argue that because a 
 fool like, say your Morton, for instance, acquires the bqoze 
 habit, even a harmless thing like our light wines must 
 be eliminated from family and social use. Why! Look at 
 the lots of us like myself and others that were brought up on 
 whisky straight and as much as we wanted of it, who have as 
 good hearts, and a good deal better heads than the little two- 
 by-four timid men that call for lemon soda and straws, 
 and die at forty-three of inanity." Blythe pounded his first 
 on his blotter pad, with emotion. 
 
 "The fellows that do get down and out with the stuff are the 
 ones like Morton that have been raised in temperance families 
 back in prohibition Kansas, and are so all-fired dry, that when 
 they once get started they make hogs of themselves. By the 
 way, what are you going to do about Morton? Pardon the 
 suggestion, but he isn t a particularly good advertisement for 
 your business and the prohibition folks are always happy when 
 they can get an awful example like that. I wouldn t have 
 known anything about it, but Morton came into my office 
 one day to talk business with me and I sent him home till 
 he could present a respectable appearance. I don t stand for 
 such fellows around me." 
 
 "I m disgusted with Morton," said Duncan, "and humiliated 
 that things have been going on as they have this cutting 
 affair, it s awful! Antonio was one of the best men we ever 
 had, absolutely all right. It s Bernardini s wine joint out 
 there across from my place that s made the trouble. It s 
 there the men have got the stuff, and it s there Morton s been 
 feeding his perpetual thirst. A winery hasn t any business 
 to retail goods to the help, even inside the law, and Bernardini 
 and Morton have been doing a neat little boot legging business, 
 in reality." 
 
 "You re right," agreed Blythe, " booze among the help means 
 
THE CLAW 111 
 
 inefficiency and your men laid off a third of the time. As for 
 me, I won t stand for guzzling among my men, in any line of 
 my business. I know the personal habits of about every man 
 in my employ. I keep tab on every bar keeper in every saloon 
 I own. I pay for steady and sober help, and whenever a man 
 gets to be such a fool that he can t keep his appetite in bounds 
 I fire him. 
 
 "But to return to this matter of wine exploitation. It 
 must be a campaign of education, in two ways; first, 
 that wine in moderation in the homes and in the places of re 
 freshment is a harmless and beneficient thing, and second that 
 our California wines are equal in every way to foreign impor 
 tation. It s funny, but it s nature, I guess, that something 
 brought in from over-seas, although it may be an inferior quality 
 is better to most folks than home grown product. But we re 
 doing much in the way of stimulating the market for home wines 
 in the east. We ve got some live men hold of the advertising 
 end of the business and their work is showing. 
 
 "And the wine drinking habit in America is on the increase, 
 both in public and in the homes. Especially out west here 
 it s growing with the introduction of foreign drinking fashions 
 the open refreshment place, the cabarets, and the smart 
 cafes. Yes sir, we ve had an unlocked for ally in the increase 
 of these places. I ve opened or lent the money to open no 
 less than fifty different ones the past year. They re the fashion, 
 the fad, not only in the cities, but in the small places, in the 
 villages even. They re a la mode. 
 
 "Entertainment and women are spreading our gospel these 
 days. The women, bless em, are oui most efficient exponents. 
 They ve put away their Puritan prejudices and are appreciat 
 ing the real social value of wine, as it has contributed to the 
 comfort and fellowship of mankind for ages. The women- 
 well, before you leave we ll drink one to them!" Blythe 
 
112 THE CLAW 
 
 balanced a delicate ivory paper knife on his finger and gazed 
 across it enthusiastically at Duncan. The latter did not 
 respond with the enthusiasm his remarks had been designed 
 to incite. He was silent for several moments. 
 
 "I hope," he said at last, "that I m zealous for our industry 
 and appreciate the efforts looking toward an increased demand 
 for our product, but these smart drinking places that you say 
 are helping things along, some of them are he-Ill 1 He had 
 begun with deliberation but concluded with a bluntness and 
 force that made his listener start. He was thinking of Glad. 
 
 "Just what do you mean?" asked Blythe eyeing him keenly, 
 his surprise showing in his face. Duncan was disgusted with 
 himself, he had spoken impetuously, inadvisedly. He cer 
 tainly did not wish to illustrate his contention by detailing 
 Glad s story. Besides, this was a business engagement; he 
 had showed bad taste. He passed the matter off as easily 
 as possible. 
 
 "I beg your pardon for my abruptness, but I had something 
 on my mind a devlish thing I heard of yesterday that involved 
 a little girl I used to know. There are knaves in every business, 
 but the biggest one is the man who will let his places to such 
 damnable purposes." Blythe smiled with relief and waved 
 the interruption aside with a jesture of his hand. He was 
 glad to ignore it. 
 
 "To return to the business in hand you can see what need 
 we have at Sacramento for men that understand our business 
 and appreciate the value and extent of it, men who will devote 
 themselves to getting all the legislation possible that favors 
 our interests and fosters the industry. That man, we think, 
 as I said before, is you. It menus even-thing to me personally 
 whether or not we can in the next few years procure such legis 
 lation and at the same time block the designs of the prohibi 
 tion cranks. That s the reason I want you both in the legis- 
 
THE CLAW 113 
 
 lature and my business and can afford to back you for the for 
 mer. I also realize what it will mean a good deal to you as 
 a young man to have the prestige of my business association 
 and the financial status you will gain thereby. Go home and 
 think it over and let me know what you decide. Come, lets 
 step around to the Placentia and have something before you 
 go, won t you?" 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Blythe, I won t take your time any further 
 though I appreciate the courtesy. I hope you know that I 
 haven t words to express my appreciation of your offer, nor 
 the significance of it as I see it. I ll let you know as soon as 
 possible." 
 
 "Very well, very well! There is no particular hurry, take 
 your time. Come around the end of the week and I ll show 
 you over my Riverdale business wholesale and retail and 
 we ll try and see some of my houses throughout the valley, too. 
 Good bye," 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 Duncan telephoned to Marlinee and made an appointment 
 for the hour after press time. Her buoyant voice over the 
 telephone was an immense refreshment. It affected him like 
 a cool breeze or a glass of wine when he was fagged. He would 
 meet her at the office with the machine. They would go for 
 a drive, and he would tell her of Glad. 
 
 The boys in the Journal news-room were at once apprised 
 of the appointment by Norris, who had been mischievously 
 eaves-dropping. 
 
 "Marlinee s made a date, Hayward, I heard her!" flung he 
 at the courthouse man, "She s going out riding with the Sena 
 tor." Hayward, whose open and thus far unsuccessful pur 
 suit of Marlinee was an office diversion, dropped into an atti 
 tude of the utmost dejection. 
 
 "Marlinee has her eye on Washington all right," put in Gor 
 don of the sporting column. "As a married man and one who 
 knows, let me congratulate you on your judgment, Marlinee. 
 Between a Senator and a newspaper man choose the former 
 every time. There isn t any comparison when it comes to 
 the bank account." 
 
 "Yes, that s right!" threw in Winston. "With the latter 
 it s a case of everything going out and nothing coming in, 
 while in the case of the Senator, if he s thrifty, it s just the 
 other way." 
 
 "Marl ee, MarVee 
 
 Vm so sorry 
 
 That you threw me down. 
 
 "If you repeat it 
 
 I shall beat it 
 
 From this cruel town." 
 
THE CLAW 115 
 
 sang Hayward, whose reverses never destroyed his penchant 
 for fun. 
 
 "Hayward!" rebuked Marlinee, "That s a perfectly impossible 
 line l MarVee SorryT 
 
 "Remember the comic sheet/ Hayward!" This from Gor 
 don. The "comic sheet" was a prime office joke. Marlinee 
 had confided to Gordon her embarrassment concerning Hay- 
 ward s attentions: 
 
 "You know he s perfectly all right dandy fine company, 
 and he dances divinely! But oh well- think of having a 
 comic sheet right in the family, all the time!" Gordon snorted. 
 The thing was too good to keep; it leaked, hence the haughty 
 and distant attitude of the Society Editor toward the Sporting 
 Man a punishment borne with fortitude by the latter. Dun 
 can s auto horn, a familiar signal, sounded at that moment 
 outside the office door and Marlinee fled from her persecutors. 
 
 In the flesh, Duncan found the girl even more refreshing than 
 over the telephone. Marlinee offered a direct contrast to 
 Corinne, in coloring, as in all other things. Corinne suggested 
 a resplendent sunset Marlinee a "violet in a cool bed", to 
 use the words of Hayward. "Darned cool" he amended, rue 
 fully. A "Boston-Dixie-mix and an Irish-Creole blend" 
 were other "Marl ee-isms" of Hayward, suggested by her 
 blue-black hair and Irish blue eyes. Today, she did not lend 
 the appearance of a fagged society reporter at the end of a 
 hundred-and-six-in-the-shade day. She gave Duncan her 
 hand in frank and delighted greeting, her pleasure mounting 
 to her cheeks in a delicate flush. 
 
 In the car she observed him with candid and approving eyes. 
 He had changed in the year he had been gone, and for the 
 better. There was the same quiet strength, the sense of power 
 lent by his broad shoulders and quiet voice. There was his 
 old abrupt way that she liked almost brutal in its frankness. 
 
116 THE CLAW 
 
 But there was something more, a certain ease of manner and 
 a consciousness of self -power that was new to him. 
 
 "I didn t see. you yesterday when I was at the office," he 
 said after their first interchange of greeting, and they were 
 spinning smoothly out on a quiet boulevard. "You must 
 have been out." She laughed, fingering delicately the long 
 handle of her parasol. 
 
 "I know you didn t see me, but I saw you, and it was a sight 
 I wouldn t have missed. It s something to see a coming man - 
 just at incubation, right at the breaking of the shell as it were. 
 Now I ve seen the man who have arrived/ often, and the man 
 who hopes to arrive. He haunts our office daily. But the 
 man who is just there at the very point You watch" she 
 indicated, breathlessly, "and you see him made! It s as 
 thrilling as watching them blow a glass peacock at Hartley s 
 while you wait." Duncan laughed ruefully. 
 
 "And he acts like a peacock you mean. But say, really, 
 you weren t there. I would have seen you I looked for you." 
 
 "Oh, no you didn t," she contradicted. "I was right there 
 in my little chair, in my little corner, and you didn t see me. 
 But its no matter/ she added, "you didn t see anybody 
 in fact, you were rattled. Now weren t you? It was real 
 fun!" 
 
 "I say, you re joshing me well anyway I wasn t the peacock 
 you describe I m not even the coming man." He laughed 
 embarrassedly. He remembered she was assigning him the 
 same applause and in almost the same words as Corinne. He 
 felt chagrinned that he had failed to see her. And he had 
 sought Corinne on his first evening. He hoped she did not 
 know that. 
 
 "But I insist that you are," she said. She bent toward him, 
 earnestly: "You ve come to your own. You are all that I 
 knew you could be. It was in you from your mother and 
 
THE CLAW 117 
 
 your father. Its the. father-part you ve been adding last. 
 I m proud of you!" Her eyes shone with a bright emotion. 
 He blushed with pleasure. It was a great thing to have such 
 words from Marlinee, for she was as reserved in her deeper 
 emotions, ordinarily, as himself. He was surprised, 
 too, at her perception, for although he had not realized it before 
 he acknowledged to himself she was right. He had grown and 
 the latter growth was in a new likeness to his father. As 
 always, when he felt deeply, he answered with bluntness. 
 
 "That s kind, Marlinee, it means a lot from you. I suppose 
 one couldn t live in the east a year and not become changed 
 somewhat. Its a great thing for a westerner everything s 
 so different. You have a sense of something older, bigger and 
 more solid, and an appreciation of your own littleness. 
 Then the University that s a great university there are 
 great men there. I wouldn t have missed it for a whole lot. 
 I m mighty thankful I had the year back there I m mighty 
 thankful my father insisted on it, though I was needed at home. 
 I found things at the vineyard in a pretty mess when I got 
 here," he added, the shadow falling across his face. "Of 
 course, you know of Antonio? That makes me sick!" He 
 spoke with a wince. 
 
 Marlinee reached her hand to him a jesture that belonged 
 to her. It was one of mute sympathy. Her own heart had 
 been wrung at the news of Antonio. She had known him well; 
 in the slack vineyard season he had worked for her on the ranch. 
 But there was a bitterness in the tragedy for her, beyond the 
 mere facts, that involved the old hurt. 
 
 She eyed Duncan s downcast face with a keen inquiry. 
 Were his deductions no keener, with his increased experiences 
 and larger intellectual life? Could he not see now, what had 
 always been so plain to herself the relation between cause 
 and effect in this matter? She opened her mouth to speak, to 
 
118 THE CLAW 
 
 free her sore mind of the indignation, the grief she felt in the 
 matter, the responsibility men had in the death of this one 
 man and the doom of the other. Here was a time to press home 
 her contention, to rid the argument, by this illustration, of any 
 sentimental, overdrawn aspect. 
 
 But she hesitated. Surely he would see it now, in this 
 instance in which he was so closely involved. Surely with his 
 tenderness of heart and solicitude he would sense it. Surely 
 already he realized it. It was that, partly, that brought the 
 brooding to his face and the shudder to his voice as he spoke. 
 It would be brutal to turn the thrust in the wound. Or if he 
 did not see, if this could not convince him, would she do so by 
 her own arguments? No, let him wait let him learn himself. 
 It would be ? discredit to his own mentality to have his con 
 victions fixed by a woman. Marlinee s deep pride in him 
 forbade that. He must learn for himself his own reason, his 
 own perceptions must teach him or she would never do it. 
 
 "It was terrible" she said with all the horror she felt, in her 
 voice, "Is there any possibility of saving Antonio? The boys 
 said things looked badly." 
 
 "Little, I m afraid," answered Duncan. He detailed briefly 
 Attorney Cliffe s opinion. He observed her distress and sensed 
 its unspoken implication. It suggested precipitation of the 
 old debate. He changed the subject quickly and their inter 
 course sought pleasanter channels. There was much to talk of; 
 he related some of his college and Washington experiences she 
 sketched drolly some of the encounters of her day, the gossip of 
 the office and the neighborhood, for she spent her week-ends at 
 her ranch. They renewed with ease and pleasure the old, 
 delightful comradeship. At the last he had nearly forgotten 
 the main errand on which he sought her. 
 
 "By the way, Marlinee, I want to crave a favor, a very un 
 usual one, in fact. I ve neglected in the pleasure of seeing and 
 
THE CLAW 119 
 
 talking with you again, a very unhappy errand. I had." He told 
 her the story of Glad with less embarrassment than he had 
 thought, her matter of fact, pra ctical manner and her interest 
 and solicitude making it easy. 
 
 "I remember the girl. She was a darling an exquisite little 
 thing and so unspoiled. I was interested in her ahd used to 
 talk to her when I would be in the store sometimes. I meant to 
 keep track of her, to look after her a little, she was so young and 
 new, but I forgot, or got busy or something. We re all at 
 i ault in these things. I ll do anything I can now anything 
 you want me to. 
 
 "Oh," she cried impulsively. "You don t know anything 
 about the evil that is going on in the world or perhaps you 
 do your a man. But / see it. I know it; so much that I d 
 rather not know not believe. A newspaper office is a clearing 
 house for such things. We ought to help we who know 
 what s right we who are strong! There are so many weak 
 ones in the world and so many wicked ones like this man. 
 And he got this baby drunk oh I could kill him!" She 
 spoke with a vehemence that shook her; a passion that struck 
 the youthful lines from her face and made it old and rebellious. 
 
 The change was startling. Duncan saw it with wonder, with 
 dismay. He had been right, Marlinee should not have taken 
 up this line of work; its experiences were too hard for her, its 
 revelations too brutal for her delicate sensibilities. He wholly 
 overlooked the crux of her bitterness: here it was again, and a 
 woman the victim. The women are always the victims, in 
 the last solution. Only the Sunday before she had visited 
 Antonio s frantic wife and she had not slept that night. Oh, 
 blind blind blind were men! There were none who saw 
 but the women, the women that "must weep." Duncan saw 
 the thoughts reflected in Marlinee s troubled face. 
 
 "You mustn t take it so hard," he said, gently "or I shall 
 
120 THE CLAW 
 
 be sorry I told you. You mustn t let it affect you so this or 
 anything else. Such things will happen, I suppose, though I 
 confess this was something new to me a revelation. I guess 
 I ve been awfully self centered. I never thought of these 
 things much of one s responsibility to others. Every thing 
 seemed to be sort of fixed and established, I never could see 
 what folks were butting into other people s affairs for, all the 
 time, with their regulations and reforms. They made me 
 tired. But here is a case where somebody ought to have 4 
 interfered. That man ought to be shot!" He recalled 
 Marlinee s threat and laughed. "I guess between us we ll do 
 it. Anyway I mean to see if there can t be a stop put to this 
 thing that cafe s license revoked, or something." 
 
 Marlinee s face had cleared, she was smiling. This from 
 Duncan! This acknowledgement of a new self this under 
 standing of a past blindness so evident to herself. Ah, he had 
 changed, and this was a part of it. But was he ready for the 
 final and logical step? She thought with anxiety of the flattery 
 and opportunities opening to him; the new popularity he 
 enjoyed among his friends. The whole city, or at least the 
 business district was calling for him as the leader against the 
 Drys in the present campaign. Could he resist? Was there a 
 native independence in him, a clearness of vision which, roused, 
 convinced by the strange and compelling arguments which had 
 come so suddenly into his life, was strong enough to shake off 
 the grip of prejudice, training, social usage, resist ambition in 
 its brightest guise and cause him to take a stand independent 
 and unique? Her girlish ardor, her woman s ambition some 
 thing maternal and brooding within her plead for this triumph 
 for Duncan. 
 
 She saw much good in him in the championship of the un 
 happy little creature for whom ho had craved her interest. 
 She was happy to co-operate in a work that meant perhaps 
 
THE CLAW 121 
 
 salvation for an abandoned woman and a new spiritual vision 
 for Duncan. She promised to visit the hospital as soon as he 
 could arrange for her to call. He suggested, and she agreed 
 that it would be best for him to see Glad first, and pave the 
 way For admitting another into the confidence of her pitiful 
 tragedy. 
 
CHAPTER FOURTEEN 
 
 Marlinee was one of those who find the viewpoint of the pro- 
 liquor people almost impossible of appreciation. The cir 
 cumstances of her life made it so. 
 
 She was born in Kansas, and reared under a prohibition 
 regime. Marlinee, in a village of 6,000 or so had not seen a 
 drunk man until she was twelve years old. The children of 
 the neighborhood came flying into their homes in fright at 
 sight of the staggering, mumbling, individual moving laboriously 
 along their quiet street. They thought him a crazy man. 
 
 Environment, custom, and training equipped the girl with 
 latent prohibition principles, but her convictions were not 
 wholly imposed ones. Her first impressions in a country where 
 those principles were violated in the most matter of fact way 
 afforded a shock to her sensibilities, and indignation to her 
 sense of justice, emphasized her convictions and lent to 
 them all the vigor and revolt of which her sensitive mind was 
 capable. One of these impressions was received in her first 
 month in the Journal. She was pursuing a narrow street of 
 Riverdale, a short cut in the business section, when a prostrate 
 object in a half open door suddenly blocked her way and 
 caused her to start in fright. It was a man sprawled on the 
 ground. His head was thrust into the angle formed by the 
 door and the wall and bent half under him. His eyes were 
 shut, his mouth open, gaping. A thin trickle of blood was 
 running from his forehead. The girl shrank back and circled 
 involuntarily around him, then she turned, bending over him 
 in shrinking horror. Her thought was that he was dead. 
 
 Her dismayed ejaculation brought a man to the door and she 
 saw it was the door of a bar-room the rear door. The man 
 was the bar-keeper. He was smirk and clean in imm aculate 
 
THE CLAW 123 
 
 apron, plastered hair and heavy perfumery. He looked 
 indifferently at the frightened girl and stepped around to the 
 object outside. He moved it with his foot^ gingerly, as though 
 it were a carcass. Then he looked within and made a sharp 
 jesture with his thumb to someone. A man with a star on his 
 coat lounged leisurely out. The bar-keeper gave him a shrewd 
 wink as he emerged and pointed to the prostrate form of the 
 man. The officer with an oath, siezed him by the arm and 
 kicked him, snivelling and staring to his feet. 
 
 Marlinee fled up the alley. She burst out into the wide street 
 where men and women were causually taking their way. Her 
 heart was beating against her sides. She was faint; her throat 
 felt as though hands clutched it. She groped her way 
 to the office of the Journal and staggered in. She dropped 
 in the chair opposite the city editor. He looked up startled 
 at her white face. 
 
 "Why, what is it?" he asked in concern. The girl gripped her 
 throat where her indignation burned like a flame. She closed 
 her eyes in the excess of her faintness and horror. "Oh," she 
 panted. "Out there! Out there I saw something terrible!" 
 
 "What where?" the news instinct siezed the city editor. 
 He forgot the girl and dashed out of the building. In a moment 
 he was back. He sat down laughing, and eyed Marlinee with 
 some wonder. 
 
 "Aw that! Why, that was just a drunk they re taking over 
 to the police station." The girl stared at him a moment 
 speechless. 
 
 "That s all, you say all\ And you a man\ Why, he lay 
 there horrible like a dead man, his mouth in the dirt, blood 
 trickling! I thought he was dead. And while I looked and 
 was just going to cry out be came the man inside so smirk 
 and clean, and he touched him with his foot he who made him 
 that way as though he wasn t fit as though he was a dog. 
 
124 THE CLAW 
 
 And the other kicked him. Oh! if I were his mother that 
 man s I would kill them. * * * * And then they take him to 
 the police and make him pay the city money, for making him 
 that way. Oh I hate men I bate them!" She dropped her 
 head in her hands and her body shook with sudden sobs. 
 
 The editor looked at her in astonishment and discomfiture. 
 There was no one else about it was the noon hour. He was 
 glad. He couldn t think just what he ought to do. Then a 
 light fell upon him. He remembered something and he laughed 
 reassuringly : 
 
 "Aw, cheer up!" he said, "I wouldn t take it so hard. You re 
 a little Jayhawker, aren t you? one of those Kansas folks that 
 aren t used to such things? You stay in California a while and 
 you ll get used to a little thing like that." He was glad that the 
 telephone rang. When he was done talking she had gone. 
 
 Marlinee "got used" to such things, in a way, but not in the 
 way the city editor prophesied. Her life in the office and on the 
 street inured her to such sights, but never lent immunity to the 
 horror of it. It was this incident that prompted pulling 
 up her wine grape vines. It was a relief to her feelings to do one 
 radical deed, put in one telling stroke against the whisky 
 interests. She would gladly have handled the spade and grub- 
 hook herself, to help rid the world of such a monstrous insti 
 tution of injustice: the conscious destruction of human life and 
 character in the name of business! 
 
 Her s was an idealism, the direct opposite of the motive that 
 maintains the liquor business. Such materialism was her 
 natural enemy, realized and scorned by every instinct of her 
 being. It was to be a thing met in many other phases than 
 that of the liquor industry; in the worldliness to which her 
 work as a reporter introduced her; in the self-seeking policies 
 and compromises disovered in the business and political world; 
 even in the churches and tl e institutions that stood, presumably 
 
THK CLAW 125 
 
 for the very opposite motives, she too often recognized the 
 subtle influence of material appeal the compromise for the 
 end of popularity and advancement. 
 
 These were the things her young, sensitive soul discovered 
 in her daily encounters ; disillusionizing things, things that first 
 startled and amazed and then overwhelmed with a great pain 
 and disappointment. 
 
 The moral travail of a supersensitive mind is unintelligible to 
 the man or woman of blunt sensibilities, but to thousands in 
 whom the enduring ideals are the only realities, the suffering 
 that the inexperienced girl endured in her apprenticeship in a 
 world wholly unexplored the real world she had never known 
 will be understood and appreciated. 
 
 But new things came to the rescue of her disappointed mind : 
 more understanding of human nature; the taking into con 
 sideration of circumstances. It helped to lend ease to the hurt 
 of many things. This capacity for a shifting viewpoint was 
 the thing that saved her friendship with Duncan. Or perhaps 
 it was Duncan s friendship the frank affection she bore for 
 him that necessitated her acknowledgment of another view 
 point. 
 
 Their first and last encounter on the liquor question was 
 precipitated by her action in regard to her vineyard. Duncan 
 amplified the justification of the industry in a 
 peroration that would have done credit to his father. In fact 
 it was a transcript in every way of Cameron s arguments. Mar- 
 linee listened and was not impressed. In fact her indignation 
 grew together with a haughty feeling of superiority in her 
 own judgments Duncan s arguments were so wholly lacking 
 in originality. But afterwards, and many times in the future, 
 she honestly endeavored to put herself in Duncan s place in 
 the place of every man or woman to whom the use of alcoholic 
 beverages is an every day affair, for she decided that custom 
 
126 THE CLAW 
 
 and inherited prejudice were the only things that could excuse 
 the persistence of men and women in a licensed regime that 
 constituted such a menace to themselves and hurt to thousands 
 of their fellow men. 
 
 But it was a difficult a well-nigh impossible task. How can 
 one into whose d?ily life as a domestic item, wine has never 
 come, appreciate the place it and kindred beverages take in 
 homes where it is in daily use? How could Marlinee who was 
 primarily social yet to whose sociability wine drinking had 
 never been a conceivable necessity, understand the household 
 where the hand extended in greeting and the one reaching for 
 the decanter constitute the same act of hospitality. She 
 tried, but it was hard and her best efforts were continually 
 frustrated by the recurring examples of the evil of the thing, 
 the examples afforded her every day; Hay ward, the smartest 
 man on the force who was tempting incapacitation by the booze 
 route; Wakefield, the wreck that weaved his senile way into the 
 office periodically, and, button-holing the boys, begged with 
 alcoholic emotion, in the name of the old days, to stake him to 
 one more drink; Middleson, the best criminal attorney in the 
 state who gave them the year s scoop and an extra in a no 
 toriously dry week, by blowing his brains out in the Commerce 
 building after a ten days spree; the leakings of smart society 
 that betrayed things not designed for the society page, or Mrs. 
 B s maid from which porous source they came. 
 
 "Stupidity! Stupidity!" Marlinee s indignant mind cried. 
 "One half of the world licensing the other half to destroy it, 
 and pocketing the money with a gratified smile, as though it 
 were a huge bargain." 
 
CHAPTER FIFTEEN 
 
 The problem of Glad s immediate future had been simplified 
 by the culmination indicated by the doctor, but the future was 
 yet gravely precarious and even doubtful and for a time it 
 seemed that it would be solved by the Presence that in such 
 cases as Glad s appears, if it comes, in the guise of a friend 
 rather than a foe. Long after there was no doubt of the girl s 
 physical recovery, her mind remained in a condition of distress 
 and agitation, serious and pathetic. The girl had received one 
 of those mental and spiritual shocks, the more disastrous as 
 the object is sensitive and receptive. 
 
 Duncan or Marlinee visited her daily often together. They 
 brought her as much self-forgetfulness as they could provide by 
 cheerful presence, books, pictures and enlivening talk. 
 Marlinee had won her from the first. To Duncan she clung 
 with the desperation of one who is hanging above an abyss. 
 Twice he had come on call from the nurse, when her mind 
 seemed threatened and his presence had calmed her. She 
 looked with eager expectation for their appearance, but after 
 their first greeting that brought a faint smile and a glimpse of 
 old color to her cheeks, she fell into silence, allowing them the 
 responsibility of conversation. And while they engaged in 
 animated and companionable talk she sat back among her 
 pillows observing them in a sort of dreamy compassion as of one 
 many years older in years and experience, the sad tears standing 
 in her eyes. Altogether her progress was not satisfactory, and 
 the two friends plotted the annexation of a new ally. The 
 suggestion came from a conversation reported by Marlinee. 
 
 "You work at the Sun office?" Glad questioned her one day. 
 A sad confusion of ideas was one of the things that characterized 
 her condition. 
 
128 THE CLAW 
 
 "No, at the Journal/ corrected Marl nee, gently. 
 
 "The Journal!" A soft flush diffused Glad s little face and 
 she brightened. "I know a boy on the Journal 1 used to 
 know him," she added sadly. "His name was Norris." 
 
 "Norris!" exclaimed Marlinee. "Why, yes, Freddie Norris 
 and one of our best men. Freddie is all right!" 
 
 "He s awfully nice," agreed Glad softly. "He was awfully 
 good to me. I I liked him." Her eyes filled suddenly and 
 she said no more. 
 
 After they had compared notes Duncan reciting the girl s 
 first reference to Norris they decided to solicit the boy in a, 
 triple alliance to the end of Glad s recovery. 
 
 "Norris never meant any harm, if he did lose his head," 
 said Duncan, referring to Glad s first version of their acquaint 
 ance. "He s as clean and fine a chap as I know at least he was 
 when I left last fall." 
 
 "He is yet, he s a dear" answered Marlinee. Norris was 
 one of her enthusiasms. 
 
 "There s only this," hesitated Duncan. "She s been so 
 terribly hurt, once, and she seems to have a real affection for 
 Norris. Suppose she should fall in love with him. I wouldn t 
 want her to have any more troubles, poor little girl." 
 
 "Suppose she should full in love with him, and suppose he 
 should fall in love with her." There is a matchmaker in the 
 heart of every normal woman, and Marlinee had her own 
 concerns for little Norris. "She is beautiful, she is charming. 
 This thing it, it was nothing of her own inviting. It s like 
 some terrible accident for which the victim is not to blame, 
 some disfiguring accident, but if a man s love is strong enough 
 and deep enough, and the object is worthy, he wont think of 
 that. It will make his love even a stronger and more tender 
 thing." Thus spoke Marlinee in the wisdom of her years. 
 
 "Glad and Norris are well mated. They are each rare; 
 
THE CLAW 129 
 
 Norris is young too young; to be in the newspaper game," she 
 tickled anxiously. "It would be the best thing in the world for 
 him to settle down early and he couldn t find a more adorable 
 little thing to work for than Glad." Duncan laughed, long and 
 hard. Marlinee was disgusted. She pushed out her chin and 
 walked haughtily two steps ahead. He made a long step and 
 was beside her. 
 
 "Mad?" he quoted, after the manner of their youngster 
 days. "But it was funny! Heavens! Marlinee, you talked 
 like seventy and grayhaired. And I m jealous. All this 
 concern transferred to little Norris, and I used to be your only 
 object- of solicitude." 
 
 "Onlyl Well that s some conceit!" flashed Marlinee. She 
 was blushing. 
 
 "Ob, well almost only," amended Duncan, lamely. 
 
 So .Norris was elected to Glad s cause. Norris was an epitome 
 of spring. There was a glow about him like the sun on a green 
 meadow; his eyes were, like spring pools. His hair swept back 
 from his forehead as though he were pressing against the wind, 
 he had a way of shaking it like an eager horse beginning a race. 
 His nostrils seemed always to be scenting delight. His unusual 
 beauty took hold of all, from the soda fountain girls that handed 
 him his order with an air of caress, to the bat-eyed janitor of 
 his boarding place, who waited mornings with the eagerness of a 
 silly girl, to hear his not too respectful greeting. And Norris 
 well of joy consisted in the fact that he was cub reporter on the 
 Riverdale Journal at sixteen dollars a week, with the duties of a 
 roust-about man, but with prospects. 
 
 Marlinee sounded him concerning Glad the following day 
 after press time., Norris was munching at a box of chocolate 
 wafers, a substitude for his omitted luncheon, and was meditat 
 ing the lead paragraph for his story. The two, surprisingly, 
 had the office to themselves. 
 
130 THE CLAW 
 
 "Do you know Glad Garrison?" Marlinee asked, abruptly. 
 
 "Glad Garrison?" Norris disposed of three wafers at once 
 and answeied under difficulties. "Glad Garrison, that little 
 fountain peacherino up at the Inglenook? Or she used to be 
 there. She s the cutest little Chicken that ever toed it down 
 the pike!" Marlinee eyed the boy with disgust. For the first 
 time since her acquaintance with Norris she disapproved of him. 
 This young princeling preening himself in a new suit of beach 
 flannels; this fledgling with the itch of his first moustache; this 
 new man jauntily phrasing men s age-old assumption con 
 cerning women. Norris, finishing the box, was blissfully 
 unaware of Marlinee s reservations. "What happened to the 
 little girl?" he asked, airily. 
 
 "She s dying, that s all," answered Marlinee, her disgust 
 provoking brutality. 
 
 "What!" The boy dropped the pencil he was toying with. 
 His face had gone white. "How?" 
 
 "How?" Marlinee was relentless. "Why, by the perfidy of 
 man, that s all. Men, who assume that all young unprotected 
 girls are Chickens, Dolls, and their natural victims." 
 
 "Say you don t mean that!" Norris was on his feet. His 
 concern was unmistakable. "Who when I d like to meet 
 the wretch, damn him! Why she was good, darn it, she was 
 absolutely sweet and good!" A blush stole under his fair skin. 
 "Why, that little girl Say, Miss Marlinee I knew that little 
 girl and thought a lot of her! I used to take her out, a little, 
 and I would have more only oh, well! Say, she s all right 
 and the man who did her harm is a damnable dog. 
 
 "Why, do you know," he was bending toward her, confidingly, 
 with the concern and earnestness in his eyes that lent him his 
 lovableness. "I don t mind telling you. It was because I 
 kissed her that she got sore at me. That s how straight she 
 is." Marlinee s eyes interrogated coldly. 
 
THE CLAW 131 
 
 "Oh, you don t understand!" he cried. "You know me, 
 surely! I m a man, of course," he apologized for the accident, 
 "but I m not a cad or a brute. She had such pretty ways about 
 her and such a darn pretty little mouth. And she trusted me, 
 his shoulders went back adorably. "She treated me just like 
 her brother and once she kissed me," Norris grew rather in 
 coherent at this point, "a darn funny little kiss on the mouth, 
 just like a little kid, and it sort of turned my head. Funny 
 that a girl would kiss you, but it would make her mad if you 
 kissed her. But I scared her, or hurt her feelings or something. 
 She wouldn t let me explain and she wouldn t have anything 
 to do with me after that. I felt awfully sore about it, especially 
 when I heard of her going around with some girls in the shop 
 and their friends, she oughtened to have had anything to do 
 with. I went to her one day and tried to warn her, but darn 
 it if she didn t turn around and remind me of what I d done! 
 Said I needn t be afraid for her. I d taught her what men 
 were like. The man ought to be sent up if he could be found. 
 Maybe I can find him while I m on my beat. If we could find 
 him and have him arrested or something!" Marlinee smiled at 
 the boy s eagerness. 
 
 "If we could find him we would hardly want to give the 
 affair and the little girl publicity." Norris face fell. "Be 
 sides," pursued Marlinee, (the incidents of the newspaper 
 woman s life inures her to the discussion of indelicate things 
 and she wanted Norris fully enlightened) "Besides, // didn t 
 live to be born and there s hope for her, if she can be roused, if 
 she can be made to feel that there s anything to live for that 
 life will be kind toward her. Her trouble has sort of forced her 
 intelligence and she is a child-woman suffering with all the sen 
 sitiveness of both natures. She spoke of you, that s the reason 
 I mentioned her." 
 
 "Oh, say, did she though? poor, little kid!" said Norris. 
 
132 THE CLAW 
 
 "She spoke of you to Duncan, too. He knows her. She was a 
 sister of his chum back in Yale. Duncan and I are her only 
 friends here and you. We ve been trying to cheer her up and 
 help her live. We thought maybe you would help us. She 
 spoke as though she was rather fond of you." 
 
 "Say, did she?" asked Norris, eagerly. "Well I ll sure do 
 all I can. Go an see her or do anything you like." 
 
 "That s good. She s at the Good Samaritan Hospital and 
 you can go out with me to-morrow night if you will." 
 
 The enlisting of Norris in Glad s cause proved an inspiration. 
 The suggestion that he call was first made by Marlinee. Glad 
 shrank back, in dismay. 
 
 "No," she said "Oh, no!" her hand went up to her face in a 
 frightened way, as though warding off something. Her 
 sensitiveness, her involuntary assigning of herself to the position 
 of one scorned, abhorred, was a pathetic characteristic of her 
 mental condition. It showed how deep and vital bad been the 
 blow to her self-respect. 
 
 "He would know, he would despise me and I couldn t stand 
 it I liked him." Her eyes filled with the tears, that were 
 always just below the surface. She looked very babyish and 
 appealing in her distress and Marlinee embraced her with a 
 quick maternal caress. 
 
 "Darling don t feel so! Norris couldn t hate you. He 
 couldn t hate anyone, he s such a dear boy! Beside, he knows 
 about it already." She felt Glad tremble and her little hands 
 tighten in a frightened way upon her. "He feels terribly about 
 it for he likes you. He feels sort of to blame, too, for having 
 frightened you once, and for not having warned you of this 
 man." 
 
 "Oh!" Glad gave a little trembling sigh of relief and Marlinee 
 l?,id h?r back gently and eased the pillows under her head. 
 
 "He mustn t feel that w r ay," protested Glad, "he wasn t to 
 
THE CLAW I:M 
 
 blame really. He was very dear and sweet and I was silly. 
 It was my fault anyway; I teased him. He was good to me 
 and if I hadn t been foolish and gotten mad at him I wouldn t 
 have had anything to do with the other, perhaps, and everything 
 would have been all right." The tears were coming, now, 
 dropping slowly from beneath her closed lids. Marlinee kissed 
 her impetuously and held her soft little hand in hers, smoothing 
 it gently as she talked. Glad seemed to be always slipping 
 away from them and to need to be kissed back into life. 
 
 " Any way dear, he s coming in just fifteen minutes so you 
 mustn t cry any more and you must sit up and let me fix your 
 hair in the prettiest way possible and put on the scrumptious 
 little pink kimona T bought for you yesterday." 
 
 There was no resisting Norris. He left not a moment for 
 self-consciousness. From the door, he jollied her. He sat 
 down on the edge of the bed and "rubbered" ostentatiously at 
 the new kimona, holding the timid little hand Glad gave him 
 deliberately, between both his own. He pronounced the new 
 kimona a "peach" and the girl inside it of similiar quality. He 
 flung himself into a chair and inspected with attention the 
 objects on the stand near by, sniffing at the medicine bottles, 
 dashing through the magazines and prying hopefully into a 
 candy box with disappointing results. That reminded him that 
 he had brought some, himself, and he produced it and shelled 
 the caramels for Glad, pushing them into her resisting little 
 mouth when politeness prompted her refusal of more. He 
 stayed just fifteen minutes, but his visit was so salutary that 
 the patient surprised the nurse by her appetite at supper and 
 fell asleep early with a smile on her face and a faint flush on her 
 cheeks instead of tears. 
 
 And Glad continued to improve, with short relapses. She 
 anticipated Norris frequent calls with flushed and happy 
 expectancy, but sometimes in his presence, fell into the same 
 
134 THE CLAW 
 
 pathetic revery as with her other friends and always she re 
 ceived him, and his ardor, his raillery and his increasingly 
 affectionate attentions, with a distantness, a voluntary reserve, 
 designed apparently to remind him of the experiences through 
 which she had passed and the impossibility of any real renewal 
 of their former relations. 
 
 Marlinee regretted Glad s supersensitiveness, while appre 
 ciating it. In her enthusiasm she would have had no barrier 
 put in the way of Norris evident and increasing regard for the 
 girl. Tilings were going exactly as she had anticipated and 
 planned and she was delighted. Duncan, however, was glad 
 for the child s attitude. It showed more strength of character 
 than he had expected in her and guarded Norris against tempta 
 tion to his sufficiently ardent and quixotic temper. If he over 
 ruled the girl s discretion and won her, the responsibility would 
 be his. Duncan did not want that responsibility himself. 
 Norris was young and his impetuosity now, might suggest what 
 his later judgment would have rejected. He hoped earnestly 
 that there might be no unhappy results from Marlinee s having 
 br ought them together. His own affairs called for his time 
 and with Glad improving he turned the child s interests largely 
 over to Norris and Marlinee. He had the matter of Blythe s 
 proposed partnership to decide upon and another and still more 
 engrossing interest: Corinne. 
 
 His love for the latter was in no way compromised by his 
 platonic intercourse with Marlinee. Marlinee was his friend, 
 his little sister. Corinne understood the relationship, though, 
 as a matter of fact, Corrine failed to recognize it with cordiality. 
 It was the only flaw he recognized in Corinne s perfection her 
 attitude toward Marlinee. He could have wished she might 
 have shown more graciousness toward her. 
 
 There was in reality a subtler antagonism between the two 
 girls, the primal antagonism of sex. They were the antipodes 
 
THE CLAW 135 
 
 in every physical and moral qualit} r . Each was a type of super- 
 culture of the times: Corinne, that of the material, Marlinee, 
 the spiritual. Corinne s manner of life catered to the senses; 
 she represented the race of pampered women, whose lives are 
 smoothed by bodily luxuries, and serving hands. She was 
 exotic, languorous and beautiful. 
 
 Marlinee came from a family who toiled with hand and 
 brain. Her delicacy was more of temperament than of body. 
 Her slender form held an endurance wanting in more robust 
 individuals. Her spirit was the energy of her being. Yet the 
 primal instincts in the super-idealistic girl were healthy. She 
 was less passionate than Corinne, but more normal; possessed 
 of the sex need not only of conquest but of family and offspring. 
 There was little of the vanity of coquetry in her. 
 
 The subjugation of Duncan s youthful mind by Corinne had 
 been complete. Before his daring ambitions toward her had 
 developed he had considered her from his obscurity with an 
 admiration that found no source of expression. The luxurious 
 little girl in her rich frocks and beribboned curls had been his 
 youthful dream. She embodied all glamor, richness and 
 romance. From his obscurity he worshipped as a votary at a 
 distant shrine. She seemed utterly beyond and above him. 
 He saw other boys approach her with awe. Douglas handing 
 her into the pony cart, or riding beside her in free and easy 
 comradship rilled him with wonder and admiration of his 
 brother s daring. 
 
 Duncan confided his heart affairs to no one, not even Marlinee. 
 It was not that he felt the least embarrassment between the 
 friendship of the two girls. He lacked the egotism of most men 
 that would have conceived a rivalry. Marlinee and Corinne 
 supplied in his life, so long barren, two needs, the former 
 comfort- the latter luxury. 
 
CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
 
 In the following weeks Duncan visited almost all the establish 
 ments in which Blythe had an interest. To many of them he 
 went alone, with carte blanc from the latter to investigate every 
 department thoroughly. Blythe himself showed him through a 
 number and on these occasions Duncan received the benefit 
 of that large knowledge and shrewd business sense that had 
 made the man s success. 
 
 Had there been no other object in view than an educational 
 one Duncan -would have felt the time well spent. He had 
 liked Blythe less than any of his father s friends. A certain 
 crudeness about him, a blatant egotism, jarred on his sensibilities 
 but he was ready, by the time their tour of inspection was over, 
 to acknowledge that Blythe had some cause for his conceit. 
 And Blythe had, on these trips, exhibited a geniality very 
 ingratiating, a power of entertainment quite unexpected. He 
 had related to Duncan the story of his own life which was 
 practically identical with the story of the wine industry in 
 California. 
 
 He hadn t started out to be a wine man. He had originally 
 herded a bunch of sheep on a few acres of land he owned in the 
 foothills and had for a time about as hard picking as the sheep. 
 But the sheep multiplied and he bought more land. Then 
 somebody said his land would bring more in vineyard acreage 
 and told him about the wonderful prospects of a big California 
 wine industry, a market for American supply. 
 
 He knew there was money in the liquor business. He had 
 parted with a good deal, himself, at the Riverdale saloons, when 
 he went to town. He never begrudged the saloons a cent. He 
 had an iron constitution provided for by the hills and hardy 
 Yankee stock. Wine, he knew must, since it was a gentleman s 
 
THE CLAW 137 
 
 drink, bring a lot more money than beer or whisky and it 
 seemed as if the man that grew the grapes to make the wine 
 might have a good thing. He turned a few acres of his land over 
 into vineyard, still holding his sheep, however. At first there 
 was something in it, then the California Wine Association 
 gained control. He joined his neighbors in the co-operative 
 association organized at Cameron s place, that had met the 
 fate of most of the "Co-ops" and, shortly, was forced to throw 
 up the sponge. 
 
 In his skirmishes with the Wine Association, however, he 
 had learned something, namely, that he was on the wrong 
 truck, in the wrong branch of the liquor business for money 
 making purposes. There was money in it, but not as a pro 
 ducer. Therefore he took rapid steps to enter the right line. 
 He was possessed of no fool s ide?,ls, like Cameron, that kept 
 him at a business that wouldn t pay, just because he had 
 started at it. He had been beaten in his game against big 
 business and he decided to follow exactly the couise suggested 
 by Whitten to the Missourian: to sit in with the winners at 
 their own game. 
 
 He sold the few a cres of vineyard he had, together with most 
 of his land, at excellent profit, to individuals still possessed of 
 the delusion that there was money in wine grape growing. He 
 kept his serviceable bunch of sheep all this time and had an 
 enviable bank account as a result. He invested this, some of it, 
 in California Wine Association stock, and a lot of it in other 
 lines of the liquor business, the dividends of which were worth 
 while. He had wholesale houses at San Francisco, Stockton 
 and Sacramento and up and down the valley, also at Los 
 Angeles. He owned saloons in each city, together with his new 
 enterprises, the cafes, cabarets and other refreshment places. 
 He had an interest in almost all of the independent wineries, the 
 few that had survived in the fight against the wine trust. 
 
138 THE CLAW 
 
 Between these and the latter, existed a compromise, a com 
 promise that practically amounted to an alliance. In every 
 case the so-called independents held contracts with the monoply 
 by which they disposed of their goods to the latter. 
 
 The trust had won. It held, hard and fast, the lines of the 
 entire wine business of California. The independents were the 
 children playing with the ends of the lines and the grower sat 
 on the fence and watched the wagon go by. He didn t even get 
 a ride, for, more and more, as Mr. Cummings had indicated, the 
 production itself was in the hands of the trust, either by means 
 of its own increasing vineyards or the vineyard owners to whom 
 it had loaned money. 
 
 This was the story painted in Blythe s picturesque phrase 
 ology, for the sheep herder was apt to emerge and banish the 
 millionaire when Blythe was engaged in self -discourse. It was a 
 story, in reality, known to Duncan before, and one that held 
 an immense fascination, for romance lives in the commercial 
 struggle as well as in physical warfare. Blythe, Cummings 
 and their fellows had surrendered, but as peers of the conquerors. 
 They had shown on the field of commercial battle the prowess 
 equal to their enemy, the keenness, the foresight, the strategic 
 genius required by commercial war. What they had lacked 
 was the required armament to make the fight win, namely, 
 capital, combination of capital. 
 
 So Blythe was now with the Survivors, the commercially fit, 
 and Duncan was bidden to join these brave, battle-hardened 
 veterans. He was filled with pride and happiness at the honor. 
 The issue had changed. He thought, with regret, of the 
 vineyard and of his father s ideals for it, of the gentle un- 
 worldliness of the latter s visions. But his father had not lived 
 into his son s time, the time that called for a ready eye, and :i 
 strong fist, the equipment of a fighter, instead of a dreamer. 
 His father would not have deterred him, he would, himself, 
 
THE CLAW I M 
 
 have recognized the change in the times and that the way to a 
 name and a place was by a different path than that taken half 
 a century before. His father, like Mr. Cummings would 
 wish him God-speed in his new departure. 
 
 These trips with Blythe, were not only educationally stimu 
 lating, they were a holiday, recalling Duncan s boyhood days 
 and associations. The wineries had always held a fascination 
 for him, the great buildings, in the wine making season, seething 
 with activity and the confusion of rich odors, the loads of grapes 
 moving from all directions along the country roads, industrial 
 streams flowing toward one yawning intake, the days breathing 
 urgency, wholesome activity and the fellowship of many 
 workers. But the dead season of the wineries held equal 
 interest for Duncan as a child. A mystery invested the big- 
 storage sheds as they stood, silent, day after day, month after 
 month, under the brooding sun or the driving rains; a little 
 languid movement in office and warehouse. One stepped 
 inside and looked down the far, dim vistas, richly redolent of 
 the vintage within, stored in mammoth tanks, roof-high, that 
 stood in parallel rows like rotund giants, dreaming on sentinel 
 line. 
 
 "And they d put all this out of business!" exclaimed Blythe. 
 They were in the store house of one of the oldest plants of the 
 valley, whose solid oak tanks, staring at them like dish-faced 
 dwarfs, read 1882. "Throw it all out, the contents and equip 
 ment of the entire plant, and of all the plants of the state that 
 represent over a million dollars worth of property, a life time of 
 work and industry and fight, and the wages of thousands of 
 men; throw it all out like so much junk on the scrap pile! 
 These prohibitionists they have the intellect of a pea-nut and 
 the heart of a parsnip!" 
 
 In the mind of Duncan the same significance had been growing 
 as day after day he was reminded of the value and importance 
 
140 THE CLAW 
 
 of the business. These things had been a part of his knowledge 
 always, since he had been old enough to know the industry, 
 and necessarily it was the economic arguments of the wine 
 business he had wielded in his persuasion of the congressmen. 
 But to see the thing with his own eyes, as represented in the 
 many plants and business houses visited, was impressive. 
 
 Yet in view of the possible catastrophe the passing of the 
 Dry amendment, he had thought .with relief, that the equipment 
 of the wineries and breweries was not as valuable as the machin 
 ery employed in most manufactories, nor, he was forced to 
 admit, were the numbers given employment as high as might be 
 expected from a business of such scale. Also there was no 
 such technical skill and specialized knowledge required by the 
 workers in the wine and liquor business as in the textile mills, 
 the glass or furniture factories which held complicated and 
 delicate machinery, calling for the employment of skilled work 
 men, the men whose education and habits made specialization. 
 The brewery worker or winery hand could find employment for 
 his brain and muscle anywhere, in field or warehouse; the bar 
 keeper ought to make a good restuarant man, or seller of retail 
 goods of any sort. In the fruit orchards sufficient white help 
 was not obtainable. He had been put to it, to keep his rule 
 of employing only Americans or men American by birth, as 
 were his Mexican help. The argument concerning labor, was, 
 he admitted, weak, and he had put little stress upon it. 
 
 Another thing worried him a bit. A reconsideration of his 
 own financial figures used at Washington, in the zeal of his 
 campaign, including the estimate of property rendered worthless 
 should the amendment carry, proved that they were somewhat 
 exaggerated. He had used the figures forwarded him by the 
 California Wine Association and had supposed them to be 
 correct but when he came to consider them calmly he found a 
 serious error. State-wide prohibition, serious as it would be 
 
THE CLAW 141 
 
 to the liquor interests, did not mean that $150,000,000 worth 
 of property, would be made worthless, as claimed by the Wets. 
 Nor would 170,000 acres of land be left valueless. Such talk, 
 if it was from his side, if he bad used it, was nosense. It failed 
 to take into consideration the value of the wine people s property 
 for other purposes. Buildings and real estate would not be 
 destroyed by state wide prohibition as by a fire. The acreage 
 in vineyards could be used to even better advantage, 
 in the raising of table grapes, raisin grapes and deciduous fruits, 
 at the present price paid the wine grape grower for his product. 
 The increasing acreage of these products throughout the valley, 
 where once wine grapes had been grown, proved that. 
 
 He felt annoyed at his use of the exaggerations; he did not 
 care to win by falsity. There were enough reasons for the 
 continuation of the industry without the use of overdrawn 
 arguments. His own personal arguments for the industry and 
 the privilege of drinking was that of " personal liberty," the 
 injustice and foolishness of people legislating out a custom of 
 pleasure and benefit to the many, because some were too weak 
 to make use of it with, discretion. He spoke to Blythe now, of 
 the discrepancies in the financial argument : 
 
 "Hum that so? I hadn t noticed it. Well, never mind. 
 The prohibitionists inflate their figures, all right. All this 
 sentimental gush of theirs about the poor drunkard and his 
 family is overdrawn and they know it." 
 
 "I don t know about that," said Duncan, thoughtfully. "I 
 have always been willing to concede the prohibitionists their 
 viewpoint, based on certain undebatable facts, the same as 
 ours. Those particular facts have been brought to my notice 
 in a most unhappy way recently. Seems funny just fresh 
 from a v ctory for our side these things have fairly been rubbed 
 into me lately to put the case far too lightly. One thing after 
 
142 THE CLAW 
 
 another has happened in a straight stretch Morton, Antonio 
 and the case of which I spoke to you the other day. 
 
 "Don t misunderstand me. I m not ready to say, by any 
 means, that because some weaklings come to grief and terrible 
 grief through the misuse of this thing that an institution that 
 has contributed to the happiness and welfare of so many people, 
 intrinsically and by the industry, should be wiped out. But 
 it s no wonder, taking specific cases such as I ve had to consider 
 lately, that over-emotional people size the thing up that way 
 and say it s prohibition or nothing. The fact is, there s a lot to 
 be said on their side. Human life is something to think of as 
 opposed to business, and certain sacrifices are demanded by the 
 strong." 
 
 "Well, what would you say?" asked Blythe with some 
 impatience. 
 
 "Why, I d say that we, who are responsible for the industry, 
 should put a lot more safe-guards around it. We should not 
 leave it to the reformers to do. And we should see that the laws 
 we already have are enforced. Here in three cases in which 
 I m more or less involved are three direct infractions of the 
 law; goo d laws, too, I consider them, if they were put on us by 
 the other side. Here s Bernardini doing practically a retail 
 business out on his winery and debauching the whole neighbor 
 hood, encouraging boot-legging by that neat evasion such men 
 have, nothing less than two gallons at a time, and that 
 delivered direct to the family by an employee, but you know the 
 trick. Morton signs up for the delivery on the spot and totes 
 the goods off across the road where the help booze on it. 
 
 "That business was directly responsible for Antonio s drunk 
 and the Hindoo s death. When I got the whole story, I fired 
 Morton. It was the least I could do, but it was hard. He s 
 been in our family for years and married one of the finest girls 
 
THE CLAW 143 
 
 in the country she was from my mother s home in Scotland. 
 It makes me sick when I think of her and the children. 
 
 "And then this little girl I told you about. There s another 
 vicious, damnable association we ve got to get rid of in the liquor 
 business. If I thought I d ever come to where I d draw an 
 income that included in it the debauching of young girls I d 
 go and hang myself right now!" He spoke with all the con 
 centrated scorn he felt; Glad s wan little face, with it s ex 
 pression of misery haunted him. 
 
 Blythe eyed him covertly. The boy s grim mouth and set 
 jaw,the first unconsciously clenched here was a man of motive 
 and purpose, of emotional capacity "a damned amount of 
 emotion he took from his sentimental, highstrung dad," Blythe 
 meditated. He had never liked Cameron. His superiority 
 irritated him. He felt uneasy in his presence. What virtues 
 he, himself, had his shrewdness and practical ability- 
 seemed deprecated by Cameron s brilliancy and refinement. 
 He was jealous of the man s gifts while he held in contempt his 
 idealism, his lack of the worldly motive. It was not for love of 
 Cameron that he had made the offer to Duncan of his partner 
 ship. His motive was one of cold business foresight; the 
 recognition of just those qualities of strength that seemed about 
 to evade him. He read Duncan better than himself and under 
 stood the tugging of those admirable qualities of sympathy, 
 chivalry and altruism that characterized the father. He must 
 have a care. He must try on this opportunity of close asso 
 ciation to turn Duncan s mind into safer channels. Com 
 promise might do something. 
 
 "It was a damned devilish thing," he agreed. You say she 
 was j good girl, straight and all right? You know these 
 women, they re devilish deceitful some times. You can t 
 always tell." Duncan was offended. 
 
 "I m very certain of this child," he said with dignity. "I 
 
144 THE CLAW 
 
 know her family, at least her brother. He was my room-mate 
 at Yale. I used to see her in her home. She was a beautiful 
 little creature, of perfect breeding and with the unsuspecting 
 innocence that would permit of just this sort of catastrophe. I 
 want to find the man, that s all, I just want to get my hands on 
 him once!" 
 
 "There d be a funeral say?" Blythe laughed. He was 
 trying to be sympathetic. Duncan did riot answer. Again 
 he had shown more of his emotions and revealed more of Glad s 
 story than he intended. 
 
 "You say that happened at the Parisian?" asked Blythe, 
 suddenly. "Well, I happen to own an interest in the Parisian 
 and I ll confess that this is wholly new to me. I ll tell you 
 what I ll do," he continued, with largeness. I ll investigate 
 this matter. I sure will and I ll see that this sort of thing doesn t 
 happen again. We can t afford it, let alone the wrong of it. 
 It won t do. I put my money into the proposition with the 
 idea that it would be run on a high-class, strictly moral basis. 
 I m indebted to you for telling me about this, really. I m 
 confoundedly sorry about the little girl, too," he added with 
 real feeling. Duncan felt easier. There was no reason, after 
 all, why he should not have made a confidant of Blythe. The 
 latter might be rather coarse and hold the wordly view-point 
 to excess, perhaps, but he had a good heart, and his words 
 might result in effecting a reform in the cafe that would save 
 some other innocent girl. He was glad he had spoken. 
 
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 
 
 Duncan, although characteristically reserved concerning; his 
 own personal affairs, took the matter of his offer from Blythe 
 to two friends, Marlinee and Mr. Cummings. Habit incited his 
 confiding his prospects to the former, friendship and his faith 
 in the latter as a man of large business knowledge and success 
 in his own enterprise incited him to seek the counsel of the latter. 
 Mr. Cummings made no effort to conceal his surprise and plea 
 sure at Duncan s disclosures. 
 
 "My boy, I congratulate you!" he cried, gripping Duncan s 
 hand with the friendliness and fatherly affection so grateful 
 to the younger man. "This is great. Of course you will not 
 hesitate to accept. I must tell Mrs. Cummings and Corinne 
 you don t mind? They will be as proud as I am for you." 
 
 Duncan blushed. He was not wholly unwordly. In the 
 background of his thoughts had been the realization of what 
 this sudden rise in his material prospects might mean to his 
 heart ambitions. But he had not been quite prepared for the 
 eagerness with which Mr. Cummings received his news and his 
 immediate reference to Corinne. He had a degree of personal 
 pride and would have resented the idea of his prospects hanging 
 wholly on mateiial conditions. Yet he told himself that 
 Corinne had been delicately raised; money, luxury, were 
 second nature to her and the proper demand of so sumptuous 
 and regal a young creature. Mr. Cummings was right in 
 expecting of his prospective son-in-law that he make good in a 
 wordly sense. 
 
 "Well, sit down sit down. Let s talk this over. We ll 
 leave the ladies till later, as the dessert of the occasion," cried 
 Mr. Cummings, wheeling an easy chair up before the large book- 
 strewn table of his library where he had led Duncan. 
 
146 THE CLAW 
 
 "So you came to talk it over and ask my advice. Well, I ve 
 given it to you. Go at it, my boy, you are on the right track- 
 the only one, I may add. I want to say that I ve had you in 
 mind for a long time. I wanted to do something myself, 
 Duncan, to help you out of your financial difficulties and give 
 you the start that your ability and powers deserve, but it was 
 impossible. I don t know that you know what a fight I ve 
 made for what I ve got." Mr. Cummings was one of the few 
 independents who retained his original business under his own 
 name. " Within two weeks I will have given up the game 
 sold out to the California Wine Association. They ll take over 
 my business for a generous consideration, and a block of stock 
 in their organization and I ll assume the innocuous role of 
 retired wine maker and viticulture list, practically the same as 
 the one you consider, only you come out better. By Blythe s 
 generosity your name becomes associated with one of the biggest 
 liquor men in the state, biggest in point of financial standing, 
 influence and all round administrative ability. Don t hesitate 
 a moment, my boy. Your father wouldn t ask you to. You 
 relinquish his vineyard ambition to write his name big and 
 ineffacably on the role of great business accomplishments in 
 this country. 
 
 "And its the only way, as I said before, by all the tendencies 
 of the times and the experience of the wine industry in particular. 
 There is nothing in it for the grower, nothing for the independent 
 wine-maker. Consolidation, co-operation of big business is 
 the watchword today. I ts inevitable in our business and the 
 only road to success. The little man has to go. It seems hard 
 but it s the old story. It s nature s law and as such, is surely 
 good." 
 
 Duncan pondered and his face showed doubt. He was no 
 Socialist. He held their altruistic doctrines in some scorn and 
 all his prejudices and tendencies were on the side of the bigger 
 
THE CLAW 147 
 
 man. He belonged to one of the families of the financial con 
 querors, in whom wealth and brains had served to outstrip their 
 fellows and seize the advantages of each generation to pass 
 them on to the next generation. Even now he admired 
 that struggle in the person of Blythe and Cummings whose 
 surrender was only that of compromise. 
 
 But this doctrine was different the antithesis of the Social 
 ists theory. He was not prepared for this, either, for it meant 
 by the consolidation of the forces of the conquerors and their 
 resources the elimination of personal prowess of brain pitted 
 against brain in fair fight. Enunciated in the person of this 
 humane, kindly man it was incongruous, distasteful. Cum 
 mings read his thought in his eyes and continued. 
 
 "This doctrine of the equalization of opportunity and of 
 wealth, you and I know is all nonsense. The man with the 
 brain will make the get away, every time, give him half a 
 chance. It isn t the money or the power, its brains, man s 
 resourceful brains. I heard a politician the other day not a 
 Socialist, by the way^-trying to prove that it was the laws, 
 wrong laws, that provided for monoply, for much of our once 
 public lands being in private or corporation hands. He cited 
 the instance of the grants made to the Northern Pacific Railroad 
 and to the Southern Pacific, by which the Government parted 
 with oil bearing and other valuable lands. Now there/ he said, 
 4s a case of laws, wrong laws, permitting the monoply of public 
 resources. You ll have to get after the law makers, get men 
 who will make right laws, and everything will be all right. In 
 other words, presumably, vote for him and his fellow candidates 
 of the out party. And the funny part of it was that every 
 case he cited proved conclusively the triumph of the mind of the 
 individual behind the law, the mind of the man who plotted to 
 have men make the law to his advantage and keep it on the 
 statute books against the protest of the people; the vivid, un- 
 
148 THE CLAW 
 
 tiring, all conquering, all resourceful personality of the men in 
 the corporation, working inexorably to accomplish their end. 
 
 "Brains will win every time, and the men with superior 
 brains will put the strength, of those brains together to win. 
 But it works out for good to all in the long run. If the little 
 man can t make money by running a little store, he can, by 
 working for the man with the big Store and he can save money 
 by patronizing the big company that, by running a big business, 
 can afford to put the goods down to the little man s price." 
 
 "But suppose they don t put the goods down to where the 
 little man can reach them?" interposed Duncan, "That s the 
 trouble!" 
 
 "Why, there s just the chance for men like you to get in your 
 work. You in the big business and / in the big business can 
 keep that business within bounds; can say that our power shall 
 not be used at the expense of our patrons by putting our 
 prices up. Combination and control accomplishes wealth 
 for the big interest even at reasonable price of retail goods." 
 
 "Sure! And if the big liquor interests would let some of the 
 surplus get by to the producer, you could have stayed in 
 business as an independent and I as a grower!" cried Dunca,n, 
 with spirit. "Wloy notT 
 
 "Why not, my boy? Just because of what I have been saying. 
 Brains will build, brains will co-operate with brains for the good 
 of themselves for the ultimate good of all. One-half the 
 world is meant to serv r e the other half. The men who serve 
 and those who are served are equally benefited, or rather the 
 terms are interchangeable; it doesn t make any difference 
 whether you and I are the big men or the little men, we belong 
 to the splendid co-operative concern of the Almighty and He 
 looks on his work and apparently calls it good." 
 
 Duncan pondered the proposition. It. was keenly put and in 
 many ways it was sound. 
 
THE CLAW 149 
 
 "No, Duncan, my boy," Cummings was saying, "to return to 
 the concrete, there s nothing in the wine industry for the grower 
 or the small manufacturer. That day, short enough, is passed. 
 There is money, big money, honest money, in the wholesale 
 business and its accompaniment of the retail. There is money 
 in shares of the California Wine Association and the few strong 
 independent wineries, so called." 
 
 "And the vineyards; who will grow the grapes?" 
 
 "Some eighty percent of the wine grape vineyards of the state 
 are owned today by the California Wine Association. In other 
 words, the future production as well as the manufacture and 
 sale of wine will be in the hands of the combination." 
 
 "And who will work those vineyards?" asked Duncan, 
 quickly. "Mr. Stoll, in the Fruit Growers Convention last 
 spring made the statement that the problem of labor on our 
 vineyards would be solved by the influx of foreign laborers, 
 presumably low grade, cheap labor, into the state with the 
 opening of the Panama Canal. The prohibition people have 
 taken up that statement and are making capital of it in this 
 campaign and with effect. I don t wonder. You and I and 
 some of the other independent growers have stood out against 
 this cheap labor, and contrary to our own interests, have 
 insisted upon employing American labor when the prices paid 
 us for our vineyard product made the cheapest labor obtainable 
 a living necessity. On the vineyards owned by the California 
 Wine Association foreign help is employed almost exclusively. 
 That s the result of your combinations the way co-operative 
 capital is helping the plain American the little man!" Mr. 
 Cummings spread his hands with a jesture and smiled into 
 Duncan s eager face. 
 
 "Exactly so, my boy, and your opportunity. Go to it. Put 
 all your idealism, your reform ideas into this work to which you 
 are called. Into the establishment of an honest and paternal 
 
150 THE CLAW 
 
 combination such as the best minds of the country have dreamed 
 and such as is possible. Don t tear down and destroy the 
 sources of benefit and power like some in their ignorance would 
 do. Build! Use your personality, you ve got plenty of it. 
 Make other men over into your way of thinking don t let the 
 greedy man wield all the power! Change the things that are 
 wrong and establish right policies. Its a big work, and a 
 possible one, if you embrace your opportunities Blythe s 
 partnership the legislature. Go to it with all your young- 
 strength, and God bless you!" 
 
 Following the interview, the two men sought the veranda 
 where the ladies were established enjoying the moonlight and 
 the evening breeze. 
 
 "Hear you, Ladies, this boy has some bully news!" cried 
 Mr. Cummings. "Duncan, you tell them, I won t steal your 
 pleasure." He threw himself negligently into a porch rocker 
 and Corinne made room for Duncan beside her. in the broad 
 veranda swing. 
 
 "Well, its not exactly authentic news, yet. At least the 
 project is still a tentative one," he apologized. 
 
 "Never mind, no mincing now, go ahead," prompted Cum- 
 mings. "No, I ll tell them myself, you re far too modest," and 
 he related Blythe s proposition, omitting the business details in 
 which a woman might be expected to lack interest. "What do 
 you know about that?" he ended, triumphantly. The two 
 women were beaming on Duncan with flattering pleasure and 
 approval. 
 
 "Duncan!" cried Corinne. "Do you mean it? Why, I 
 can t believe its true. You of all men, for Blythe to pick out!" 
 "Why not Duncan?" threw in her father quickly. He wes 
 annoyed at his daughter s unusual lack of tact. His loyalities 
 were all for the boy. "Duncan never posed as one of your 
 rising young men with the smart assumptions that 
 
THE CLAW 151 
 
 hide essential defects. But men know men and choose them for 
 their qualities not for their taste in cocktails and dress-suits." 
 
 "Why, I didn t mean that, father!" exclaimed Corinne, 
 haughtily, irritated both by her own inadvertant words and her 
 father s rebuke. "I meant that Duncan was I meant well, 
 just that you ve been saying," she capitulated with a laugh 
 "that Duncan is so different, so much finer than the others," 
 she continued speaking as though he were not present but with a 
 half shy glance at him. 
 
 "You wouldn t expect a man like Blythe to recognize his fine 
 points. Blythe is all right," she hastened to add, "but he s 
 rather Oh well, rather!" she gave a delicate shrug of her 
 shoulders that expressed her meaning admirably. "But of 
 course," she added, "business is another thing, quite, from 
 society and I suppose a man of business, as father says, is 
 trained in looking for men even when they re not quite fitted 
 by nature and breeding to discover the finer qualities." 
 
 Her words held a candid compliment and the quick smile 
 with which she turned to Duncan, a smile in which admiration 
 was subtly compounded with an inference of something new in 
 Duncan that commanded her woman s adulation, comprised a 
 flattery that made his senses whirl. 
 
 "And you will take up with the offer, of course, Duncan? 
 You spoke as though there was some doubt," she concluded. 
 Duncan explained his cause of hesitation, which he admitted 
 had been largely eliminated by Mr. Cummings unqualified 
 encouragement of the project. 
 
 "Oh, you must not lose it," Corinne uiged. Her voice was 
 low and intense and she spoke with a little air of possession that 
 gave him a thrill of happiness. "I want you to have it, its 
 your chance. I shall be so proud of you, Duncan!" 
 
 Mr. Cummings retired within to finish his evening paper, 
 and Mrs. Cummings excused herself shortly. They were alone 
 
152 THE CLAW 
 
 in the fragrant twilight. How beautiful the night, how sweet 
 the air, how full of a deep, throbbing happiness seemed every 
 thing in the bright whiteness of the broad landscape upon which 
 they looked from their cool shelter. The moon touched all 
 things with the peculiar radiance of the California night, when 
 the grass blade, the leaves of the trees, even the wings of a night 
 owl that drifted hooting from a high tree, scintilated with 
 brilliant light. 
 
 They talked quietly, of his plans, of the things that had 
 happened while he was away, of many thing in desultory 
 fnshion, pausing often to listen to the night sounds, to enjoy 
 the quiet of the still evening, to feel the communion thi t is 
 stronger in silence than in words. He was poignantly con 
 scious of her nearness, of the odor of the delicate perfume she 
 wore, of her hair a lock blowing suddenly across his forehead 
 made him start of the instant touch of her a moment when a 
 large winged insect startled her. She seemed possessed of a 
 delicate languor, that just fitted his own mood and they swung 
 idly, the slighest effort providing dream} movement. 
 
 Her face smiled up at him with a docility and yielding that he 
 had never known in her before. There was almost appeal in it. 
 He had never acknowledged to himself but it had always before 
 been he who sued for favor: always he who was weighed, in her 
 presence, and found wanting, kept subtly conscious of it b\ ; i . 
 certain haughtiness, the slighest touch of tolerance and im 
 patience. He felt no criticism. He had deserved her past 
 indifference, her disappointment and faint regard. He had 
 been a slow, awkward fellow with no tallents or accomplish 
 ments of speech or manner such afl po.-.M-s>ed by the men who 
 paid her court. But now things were different. He remember 
 ed with ii thrill of pleasure Mi ilinee s candid words about his 
 change. It was true. He felt himself a man. He was. well 
 poised, resourceful, and at this moment he realized a certain 
 
THE CLAW 153 
 
 96 of power over the woman he loved to impel, to subjugate 
 and to win. 
 
 Yet he had no intention of pressing his advantage at this 
 moment. It would have seemed an ill-bred thing, 
 .iiiing ;-u insulting worldliness on the part of Corinne, 
 to have asked for her hand now, as though the first hint of 
 material prosperity assured her acceptance of him. He sat in a 
 try nee of self-assurance and happiness, certain by Corinne s 
 changed attitude, by his own new and surging impulses and the 
 promised fulfilment of the material conditions the worldly 
 world lays on a man, that his desire was at hand. 
 
 She stood on the veranda step to say good-night and as she 
 passed down them the boughs of a swinging rose vine caught 
 her hair. He turned back to disentangle it. The soft gold-red 
 strands were in his fingers, his face was very near hers in the 
 moonlight. She put her hands on his shoulder, laughingly, as 
 he worked, and her breath was on his face. He loosed the last 
 rich curl and with it something else. He seized her hands. 
 
 Kiss me!" he said, holding her in a grip that hurt. "Kiss 
 me!" She looked at him wonderingly. He took her in his 
 arms, crushing her to him in a kind of fierce madness. "Kiss 
 me!" he commanded. "You can t put your hands on me like 
 that and not kiss me!" His breath came short, he felt a strange 
 brutality. She laughed softly, suddenly relaxing in his arms 
 and he kissed her fiercely. Then he let her go. 
 
 " Good-night!" he said, and turned away. 
 
 Going home he was amazed, astonished at himself but not 
 regretful. A strange exultation, a sense of vindication claiming 
 him. It lasted till he fell asleep that night but in the morning, 
 in the light of day, dismay and horror took hold upon him. 
 What had he meant? What was it loosed within him that 
 moment? What unspeakable thing had he done to lay such 
 violent hands on this refined and beautiful girl, the woman he 
 
154 THE CLAW 
 
 loved? He was faint with the odiousness, the beastliness of it. 
 He could not have been himself. Something a little too 
 much drink during the day; he had met a succession of friends 
 and business men in town with whom it had seemed necessary 
 to be sociable, he and Mr. Cummings had ended their talk with 
 wine and on the veranda Mrs. Cummings had urged a glass 
 from a rare bottle of old Burgandy, from a friend, newly arrived 
 from abroad; he could not refuse. It was that, a little unavoida 
 ble excess. Surely it was that. He hoped no such beastliness 
 lived by nature in him. 
 
 To wait till evening to make his apology was insupportable 
 but business called him in town and kept him there till night. 
 He wrote a brief note and sent it to Corinne. It took him 
 fifteen minutes to find the words and then they did not satisfy 
 him. What could express his self-disgust, what words could 
 right him again in the eyes of Corinne. 
 
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 
 
 Corinne sought her boudoir that night, her face scarlet, her 
 eyes shining and exultant. Yet she felt a bit shaken. She 
 had discovered in Duncan a lover. Not that that was an 
 unusual discovery. Corinne was one of those women who 
 demand of all men that they be lovers, if only for the hour. 
 But Duncan had been different from other men. Never before 
 had Duncan by his own volition practised the demonstrations of 
 a lover. And such a lover! 
 
 She dropped into a low chair before her dainty dressing table 
 and looked at herself in the glass. Her hair was disheveled, 
 her gown crumpled with his embrace and she was taken with an 
 emotion unusual for her well-poised head and heart. Her 
 hand smarted yet with his grip. She looked at it, curiously, 
 where the red circled the delicate flesh and a great exultation 
 laid hold of her. 
 
 From under the vanity, the conventionality of the girl, the 
 instincts of the primal woman emerged and rejoiced. She had 
 met a master! For the first time in her life she felt her self 
 dominated, her will surrendered to another. Such tribute had 
 never been taken by the immaculately groomed, smart mannered 
 lovers she had known before, the men who could mingle cock 
 tails and repartee with such grace. They lacked the primitive 
 force of a man like Duncan, self-contained, contemptous alike 
 of super-culture and grossness. In the moment in which she 
 had known his embrace she had felt the pure essence of the man 
 that his self-command, his simplicity, the naturalness of his 
 physical and mental life had allowed to survive and have strong 
 and normal way. She was not fitted to appreciate his more 
 subtle qualities, the qualities of mind and soul that provided 
 his uncommon personality, the man in his entirety, but she 
 
156 THE CLAW 
 
 realized a new and exhilarating experience in her physical 
 nearness to him, a zestfulness she had never known in her 
 former conquests. 
 
 But was it a conquest, yet? Why did Duncan not push his 
 advantage? She had never yielded to any man such surrender. 
 Her face flamed, not in compunction but in the thought of her 
 complete domination, her entire capitulation, an advantage she 
 was not wont to yield. 
 
 Her mind took hold of uneasiness. Could it be? Duncan was 
 changed. She felt it on the first night and that change had given 
 him new consideration in her eyes. He was older, more ex 
 perienced, with more power and independence. His former 
 diffidence that had annoyed her with its semblance of humility 
 was gone. He had become a man worthy of her interest and 
 something more. His comparative indifference, too, had 
 piqued her vanity. His new self-possession and individuality 
 had lent zest to their evenings but he seemed more remote 
 than in the old days, less susceptible to her charms. She had 
 not recognized the command with which he made his impulses 
 bide their time till his pride and circumstances would allow 
 him to make honorable suit to the woman of his heart. 
 
 She remembered that there had been times when he had 
 disappointed her, when he had failed to appear at the informal 
 hours she was accustomed to look for him. Had he other 
 interests? Once in her coupe, she had met him driving his 
 machine with Marlinee beside him. She had always been 
 jealous of Marlinee. Corinne knew of his deep regard for her. 
 And on another occasion she had caught a glimpse of him 
 walking slowly, confidentially, with another woman, a girl 
 unknown to her. Were there others beside herself? Was 
 Duncan indeed a man of the world with his various loves and 
 would he count last night only another score to his credit? 
 Duncan, the shy, the deprecated, the patronized and coached? 
 
THE CLAW 157 
 
 Her face flamed with the thought and she started at the sound 
 of the delicate lace of her tiny handkerchief, torn by her nervous 
 fingers. 
 
 It could not be. It was absurd. Duncan was not that sort 
 of a man. Her only rival lay in Marlinee. Marlinee loved 
 him, of course she must, a girl of her ideals. Did she love him? 
 The thought flashed curiously into her mind. Well she desired 
 him. He was a man to be desired, now, and she must have 
 him. There were few things Corinne had ever been denied. 
 
 In the morning she received his note. She crumpled it in her 
 hand and laughed with scorn at him humiliation for herself. 
 And this was the end of his brain storm the meaning of it all 
 A mere moment of unrestrained passion which he had not even 
 the nerve to sustain with bravado, to push to his advantage if he 
 really desired her, as he had led her all these years to believe. 
 Faugh! Corinne was not a pleasant person to live with that 
 day. 
 
 In the evening he sought her. She was alone on the veranda 
 again. She did not come to meet him, but her voice directed 
 him. She was sitting in the veranda swing. He plunged into 
 the shadows impulsively and found her, cool, remote, langorous, 
 in her retreat. 
 
 "Corinne," he cried at once, "what an unspeakable brute I 
 was! Oh, I have hated myself all day." He flung himself on a 
 low stool at her feet, his face aflame, braving her. She drew 
 back looking at him in the dim light, strangely. He deserved 
 it, he knew but he winced, 
 
 "Coiinne, I know I was a beast! I dishonored you, I dis 
 honored myself. Can you forgive me?" She arose slowly and 
 stood looking past him. In the darkness she bit her lips. He 
 dared not look at her and the moment seemed an age. 
 
 "You are apologizing for last night?" she said. He groaned; 
 she was relentless. But she suddenly gave a laugh, an amused 
 
158 THE CLAW 
 
 laugh like a mother at the ignorance of a child and came close 
 to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "You don t seem to understand. You gave me the idea that 
 you were making love to me." He stared, unbelieving. 
 
 "Then you are not offended?" he gasped. "I thought you 
 would be insulted." 
 
 "Insulted, because I thought you loved me?" Her eyes were 
 close to his, looking down at him as he stared up in stupefaction. 
 
 "What do you mean?" His breath was that of a hard runner. 
 He seized the hand on his shoulder. "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Why!" she laughed and shrugged her shoulders, "that we 
 are lovers, aren t we? We ve been so for years, people say. 
 And its time we were acting like lovers isn t it? She bent and 
 deliberately drew her red lips across his cheek. He sprang to 
 his feet. 
 
 "You mean it, Corinne!" He seized her, pushing her face 
 back until he looked into her eyes. They mocked, but smiled 
 and he closed them with his kisses. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 The first impulse of Duncan s new happiness was to tell 
 Marlinee. Marlinee had so long been the sharer of all his 
 joys and sorrows. But Corinne had abstracted the promise to 
 keep the matter a secret for some weeks from all but the two 
 families, and he was willing. That she had capitulated before 
 the proofs of his material prosperity had materialized filled 
 him with gratification. It proved that her affection was based 
 on something more than wordly outlook. He reproached 
 himself that he had assigned wordliness any place at all in his 
 conception of her personality. She was a lovely and unselfish 
 woman, as lovely as her comely exterior, as pure in motive as 
 the exquisite texture of her flawless beauty. He could wait. 
 In honor, he was bound to wait. When the partnership with 
 Blythe was formed and his material and social position estab 
 lished, then the engagement would be formally announced. 
 He could tell Marlinee one of his new joys, however, and, 
 enthusiastic from the encouragement received from Mr. 
 Cummings, and the pleasure and congratulations of the two 
 ladies, Duncan sought Marlinee and buoyantly detailed the 
 news of his offer from Blythe. 
 
 " Blythe!" exclaimed Marlinee, the quick emotion that con 
 veyed so unerringly her thought mounted to her cheeks in color. 
 
 "Oh, you don t mean Blythe!" Duncan mistook the cause 
 of her consternation. 
 
 "Sure, Blythe! I knew you d be surprised glad for me. 
 It s great, isn t it? I never could have thought of such a thing. 
 Why, Marlinee, do you know what this means? It is the 
 making of me from every point of view. It s the fulfilment of 
 all that I could ever wish, all that I have wanted, dreamed of." 
 
160 THE CLAW 
 
 He spoke with feeling. Corinne s face, her smile, the promise of 
 her eyes were before him. 
 
 "But, Duncan," Marlinee was embarrassed. "Duncan, 
 Blythe is the owner of the Parisian. It is his latest and pet 
 enterprise. He is owner, or has controlling interest in the "Non 
 Pariel, and in the Little Hungarian, two more smart and 
 notorious cafes. I was at the Non Pariel last New Years. The 
 manager called up and asked to have me sent out. It was the 
 opening night and society had engaged a lot of the tables. The 
 management wanted a big write up. Hay ward went with me. 
 Society was there and everybody else. I never was in such a 
 place before. We left at midnight and at that hour men were 
 snatching the girls from their chairs and ragging, some of the 
 women were on the tables and some of the men under them. 
 It was awful! 
 
 "I told McWhirter about it; in fact he looked in on it himself, 
 and he was awfully mad. We didn t give it a line in society. 
 McWhirter said he wouldn t if they cut out every line of 
 advertising for the next year. Hayward gave it two sticks and 
 a single head as a news story." Duncan listened in amaze 
 ment, but his face suddenly cleared. 
 
 "That s pretty bad," he said, "but I ll bet I know the reason 
 for it. It was opening night and New Years Eve, two things 
 that provide for license. The manager wanted to make good, 
 to popularize the place, and he let the crowd have its way. 
 About the Parisian and Glad s case, I told Blythe the other 
 day, didn t name her, of course, and he seemed surprised and 
 concerned, said he didn t stand for that sort of thing and 
 would look into the matter and have it stopped. He said he 
 expected the place to cater to the best and he wouldn t have 
 such things going on. 
 
 "But about the Non Pariel ," Duncan continued, "don t 
 you exaggerate a little? Mrs. Cummings and Corinne said 
 
THE CLAW 161 
 
 they attended the opening night and it was delightful. Very 
 smart but thoroughly respectable in every way. Perhaps they 
 left before you did." 
 
 " Perhaps they did," said Marlinee, with some sarcasm. 
 Their commendation did not improve the matter in the least 
 in her eyes. She remembered them as members of a gay party 
 at one of the society tables. Mr. Cummings was riot present. 
 Mrs. Cummings and her daughter were among those apparently 
 well-bred people who follow society to whatever extent its 
 whims and foibles lead, assured that anything must be eminently 
 respectable to which members known as the "smart set" lent 
 themselves. She did not know when Mrs. Cummings and her 
 daughter left but she did recall Corinne in the filmy habiliments 
 of conventional evening dress moving with her partner in the 
 hideous contortions of the "rag", elbow to elbow with couples 
 whose manner and exterior showed them to be denizens and 
 patrons of the underworld. 
 
 "But, Marlinee," added Duncan, uncomfortable by her 
 disfavor. "I ll tell you what I ll do. I ll look into this thing, 
 of course. I m sure I don t want to tie myself up with any 
 business I d be ashamed of. But even if this criticism of his 
 refreshment places is true, even if these abuses have worked 
 themselves in, you must remember that they are not ineradicable. 
 I m to be a partner in the business and on equal footing with 
 Blythe himself. I ll have my say in this matter. This is but 
 a small part of a great and respectable business Blythe is 
 operating. Here is where I can do something in the way of 
 changing the conditions you and I deplore. If I go in with 
 Blythe there s one thing certain, this thing will be stopped. 
 I ll give my hand to cleaning up the refreshment 
 places that I have anything to do with and making them the 
 places they should be, where men and women, and boys and 
 
162 THE CLAW 
 
 girls can come together and enjoy each others company in 
 wholesome environment." 
 
 His face was flushed with his new enthusiasm and he looked 
 very big and efficient, his strong young shoulders under his thin 
 shirt bristling to the task. She put her hand out to him in 
 voluntarily with a quick smile, but turned away, as quickly, 
 and shook her head. 
 
 "Won t that be great, Marlinee?" he urged like an eager boy. 
 "Yes, dear very fine!" she said. 
 
 Duncan s days were filled with an exhilaration not before 
 experienced. His life, so long constrained, repressed by cir 
 cumstances, seemed suddenly to have emerged into a large 
 place, a big view, with many delightful and undreamed of 
 things on its horizon. 
 
 His manner of life was greatly changed by the first two 
 considerations. As Corinne s accepted, if not yet acknowledged 
 fiance, he went out much into the gay society to which she 
 belonged and his new popularity and his own determination to 
 mingle more with men, to be one with his fellows, took him 
 among the latter; to the clubs where he was extended a cordial 
 fellowship, to the social occasions of his business friends. 
 
 His long repressed social instincts began to emerge under 
 these influences. He developed undreamed of social possibilities. 
 He could talk well when he chose to talk. Men listened to 
 him, women too. His reticence piqued their interest and 
 vanity. It was something to draw out this reserved, self- 
 contained man who, when he spoke, was found to be possessed 
 of real conversational talents. He surprised them sometimes 
 with sudden retorts that checkmated their sallies. They 
 liked his blunt, mannish ways better than the more polished 
 manners of the parlor-used men. 
 
 The evenings with the older men, in occasions strictly mascu 
 line, he enjoyed best. He had always been a great favorite 
 
THE CLAW 163 
 
 with his father s friends. But even the doings of Corinne s 
 set he attended with immense diversion. Their frivolities 
 amused him. He was not backward at cards and a Scotchman 
 who had lived in a family which kept up old traditions could not 
 but dance with distinction, even though soberly and with vast 
 conscientiousness. Thus did Duncan accomplish the tango 
 and other modern terpsichorean tests under the tutelage of 
 Corinne, who was immensely proud of his social progress. He 
 entered into these diversions with the delight and amusement 
 of a boy; he was regaining his lost play period. In other 
 words he was revelling in wholly new experiences, physical and 
 psychological. It was "dessert" time after a long season of 
 extremely plain fare ; a delightful and unbelievable change from 
 his years of practised self-denial. 
 
 Oh, but he had "dug" at college these past four years! Oh, 
 but he had skimped himself! He had cut out every personal 
 pleasure, stripped his expenditures down to the bare necessities 
 of living, abandoned even his pipe. He couldn t afford any 
 thing. The place needed every cent and he had his mother 
 always in his thought and her pathetic economies. He had 
 never indulged himself in the idea that certain expenditures be 
 long to masculine right, no matter what may be the sacrifices 
 of other members of the family. And now it was over, or nearly 
 over, and things undreamed of were at hand. 
 
 Corinne, of course, was his chief joy, the goal for which he 
 had worked and prayed as much as he ever allowed himself to 
 pray for anything. It was a part of his stern, unworded creed! 
 Praying ordinarily wasted time for accomplishing with his own 
 God-given brain and arm. 
 
 He saw Corinne daily, as was the privilege of an engaged 
 man. When he did not see her, he thought of her, of her hair, 
 of her eyes, her lips, her throat, of the lace, rising and falling on 
 her soft bosom. It was a strange thing that all his thought of 
 
164 THE CLAW 
 
 her was associated with the physical. It troubled him. He 
 had never been a man who laid the supreme value on the 
 physical. He had never been guilty of the vulgar appraisment 
 of women practised by some men. His imagination was 
 peculiarly clean. 
 
 It was a matter of concern to him, this development of a 
 bent of mind of which he had been unconscious. It was not 
 Corinne s fault, he told himself. It was the evidence of some 
 weakness in himself, of which he had been unaware. In his 
 self-disgust he called himself hard names. After all, all men 
 were alike. An element of baseness lived in all. Only women 
 were pure. It was a strange arraignment of the Creator that 
 man with his primal infirmities, the survivals of the brute 
 within him, should be privileged the association of women, 
 good women, lovely women like Corinne. But he wished that 
 Corinne might understand a trifle, the weakness of men, of 
 himself. He wished she would use a bit more discretion in 
 dress. She did not dream the overwhelming splendor of her 
 physical charms, accentuated by the filmy and clinging gowns 
 the season s modes permitted. 
 
 There was, in fact, the slightest lack in his ardor; a dis 
 appointment which he himself would not acknowledge. The 
 physical glamor of Corinne was ever with him, present or 
 absent, but he missed a subtle something, a spiritual, a soul 
 quality, that had always been associated in his mind with the 
 thought of love. His reserved, reflective mind had exalted an 
 ideal of womanhood that would combine with physical charm, 
 all the highest and finest things of a woman s nature things 
 that would form fellowship with the best in himself; no, more, 
 that would inspire that best to a higher goal. Sometimes, in her 
 presence, with her whole splendid self, his to reach out his arm 
 and take, he was conscious of the man in him looking beyond, 
 unsatisfied by the emotional fulfilment of love, wistful and 
 
THE CLAW 165 
 
 expectant yet. Always it upbraided him, this other man. 
 It walked with him home in the late shadows of the night. It 
 whispered to him that he was not yielding to this woman he 
 had desired all his life, his all, his complete self, the gift she, 
 as his affianced wife, deserved. He wished he could ask some 
 one about it wiser than himself. Marlinee? She knew so many 
 things, funny little girl. Then he laughed at the absurdity of 
 the idea. 
 
 A phase of Duncan s new life, otherwise so grateful to his new 
 senses was the necessity it laid on him for more indulgence in 
 drink than he desired. His tastes were in all ways most 
 temperate and his aloofness from his fellows and from society 
 in the past spared him the convivial habits with which more 
 sociable men were drawn. Now that he was adopting the 
 conventionalities, this was included among the rest. It was 
 provided both by the hospitality he met at the homes of his 
 friends, and by his business associates. But he used the ut 
 most caution in his drinking habits. He was willing, since the 
 experience at Corinne s when the wine went to his head so un 
 expectedly and with such unaccountable effect, to admit that 
 there was danger in it. He should, he told himself, forgive the 
 wine for its work on that occasion since, indirectly, it won him 
 Corinne, but he did not care to encourage tendencies of which, 
 before, he did not know himself possessed. He could under 
 stand now how wine used in excess came to exaggerate the 
 natural passion and tend to vice, besides other results. It was 
 no thing for weaklings the drink. It behooved the strong to 
 use it with caution. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 The trial of Antonio, at first promising to be no more than the 
 usual commitment of a cholo, developed into one of the most 
 desperate legal battles that the state ever had seen, certainly 
 the most bitterly fought issue that ever had been based upon the 
 liquor traffic. 
 
 Duncan himself was a witness for the defense. His testimony 
 was used to establish the character of the defendent as one 
 industrious, temperate and faithful. It was all Duncan could 
 do for Antonio and a service insignificant enough when his 
 whole mind s energy and desire were bent on saving the man 
 in whose impending fate he felt an oppressive if undefinable 
 responsibility. The days held more acute anxiety than he had 
 ever known before. Never before had he been associated with 
 circumstances that involved the life or death of a man. His 
 residence elsewhere since his majority had relieved him of 
 civic duties and he had never had the leisure to haunt the 
 courts as a diversion. He had never attended a murder trial 
 before and like many, unaccustomed to such scenes, the matter 
 of fact air of the proceedings, the absence of impressiveness, 
 of the sense of fateful things, amazed and shocked him. The 
 lawyers smoked and chatted inconsequentially during recesses 
 and the judge leaned over the rail between witnesses and 
 passed a pleasantry with the court reporter. The testimony 
 of one of the Hindoos provoked laughter throughout the court 
 rooms in which His Honor joined. 
 
 Yet Antonio sat there, on trial for his life, and his dark eyed 
 little wife at home, in the anguish of suspense, was attended 
 faithfully and tearfully by Jeanie. 
 
 "Virgen Sanctisimal Ten mis misericordial" the little 
 thing prayed, hour upon hour, her hands stretched toward 
 
THE CLAW 167 
 
 the cheap little altar where the candles had been kept burning 
 since the day of Antonio s arrest, and Jeanie, sitting tense 
 and watchful, added "Amen!" 
 
 Duncan sat and moved in a trance and some of his cherished 
 ideals grew remote and vanished wholly in the shock of reality. 
 "Justice," that incomparable goddess, in his new conception 
 came to wear the guise of the type-writer girl who haughtily 
 guarded the Judge s office, her sword a bristling desk ruler, 
 her crown and insignia a high-pitched coiffure well spiked with 
 horse-shoe hairpins. 
 
 ClifYe threw into his defense all the power and logic of which 
 he was possessed and which knew no flagging. To Duncan, 
 listening with an intensity that made his whole body an organ 
 of hearing, it was an arraignment of causes that swept the color 
 from his face with it s fierce, personal application. 
 
 "And Gentlemen of the Jury," continued Attorney Cliffe 
 after summing up the testimony of the defense in the masterly 
 manner that marked him as one of the ablest lawyers of the 
 state, "In passing judgment on this man I want you to remem 
 ber that the prisoner, Antonio Gomez, is riot a cholo. 
 
 "Antonio Gomez is not a cholo. He is an American citizen, 
 a native son, the son and grandson of a native son. He was 
 born and raised on the land of the man in whose employ he 
 is. When Douglas Cameron bought that land from the heirs 
 of Manuel Garcia, the Gomez family were tenants and employees 
 on the land, and there was an agreement between Cameron 
 and them that they should remain as such so long as the ar 
 rangement was agreeable to both. And it has been agreeable 
 to both families for many years. From the testimony of Dun 
 can Cameron, the present owner of the estate, you have heard 
 today, that these men were in all ways faithful, industrious 
 and reliable, and this Antonio in particular. 
 
 "Consider now, that, with the record of this faithful service 
 
168 THE CLAW 
 
 to their credit and with their affections bound up with La 
 Mesa vineyard, from long time association as their birth place 
 and home, these men the Gomez men, all but Antonio 
 were discharged wantonly and without provocation, not by 
 Cameron, who was away at the time, but by his manager, 
 Morton, in spite of Morton s knowledge of his employer s 
 regard for the men. 
 
 "And why were they discharged? In order to replace them 
 with cheap labor - - imported labor, Hindoos. This 
 also, as you have heard from Duncan Cameron, strictly against 
 his policy and intentions. 
 
 "I have contended in this trial that revenge was not the 
 motive of this murder and I still so contend but I would not 
 have you lose sight, Gentlemen of the Jury, of the grievances, 
 the defendant suffered in that discrimination against himself 
 and his people and I want to say now that this case affords a 
 striking example of that increasing practice in this state of 
 discarding American for foreign labor; importing the trash 
 and truck of the eastern world to underbid our clean and 
 honest American laborers in the clean and wholesome work 
 of the fields and the vineyards. I tell you, gentlemen, that 
 this sort of thing is a thing which is going to bring about a 
 civil conflict in this country when our peaceful vineyard lands 
 will be stained, not with the deep and wholesome juice of the 
 vine but a deeper dye the blood of our outraged industrial 
 brothers. Into this man, then, this man of industries and 
 sober practice, of law abiding instincts, this wrong bit deep, 
 and the resentment of it ranklled. 
 
 "And, now, mark you, Gentlemen, something entered 
 into this man here, at the logical moment, that inhibited his 
 law-abiding sense, his ideas of right; that broke up his self 
 control and loosed all the pent up passion and resentment 
 within him. What was that thing? Boo{e\ And where 
 
THE CLAW 169 
 
 did he get it? From the man that worked him the first injus 
 tice him and his family from Morton! 
 
 " Gentlemen, I have no desire to paliate the habit of drink 
 to excuse the man who is such a fool as to let his appetite get 
 away from him. Every man ought to stand on his volition. 
 But I will say this, and I want to say it so strongly that you 
 men won t forget or overlook it, that is, that the man who does 
 tempt another man to drink, or to any other indulgence in 
 weakness, is responsible for the results of that indulgence, 
 and just so far as he over-ruled the other man s judgment, 
 wilfully and with intent, the former is in part exonerated from 
 the guilt of results. 
 
 "Morton encouraged his men in the booze habit. He made 
 drink available for them, against the practice and policy of 
 his employer. By a little straining of the regulation, by what 
 is practically known, in the eyes of the law, as boot-legging, 
 he got the booze for his men, urged them to it as looking to 
 their interests. 
 
 "You have heard the testimony of his employer, Cameron, 
 and the reluctant testimony of the manager himself to the 
 sobriety of this man before he was pressed, for policy s sake and 
 the sake of his position, into drinking. You have heard his 
 own testimony as to his reluctance to resume an old habit 
 now conquered. You have heard his story of how that habit, 
 grew on him by the opportunity provided. 
 
 "You have heard his story of the evening drinking bout. 
 Of the wine provided by Morton, and his continued urging of 
 the men to have another round. 
 
 "You have heard him tell of how, from determination to 
 drink but enough for policy s sake, he was urged to drink more 
 and more and then how the madness took hold on him; the 
 inhibition was accomplished and he drank drank like a swine, 
 with swine. 
 
170 THE CLAW 
 
 "You have heard him tell of a dim remembrance of starting 
 home with the rest, of words between him and the 
 Hindoo, of the two grappling and then confusion and darkness! 
 
 "Gentlemen, what was that moment of darkness, when the 
 sense and the senses of the men were alike struck out? I ll 
 tell you. It was the moment in which the poison he had drunk 
 was fused with his long hurt, the resentment, till then kept 
 in bounds by the man s royal will, safe-walled in the deep 
 vault of the subconscious. It was when the poison reached 
 that dangerous mine and drink and hate, in combustion, 
 wrought it s normal result iragedy\ 
 
 "Will you condemn this man, the victim of madness of 
 imposed madness? Will you hold him responsible for this 
 crime? 
 
 "I tell you, Gentlemen of the Jury, that this prisoner this 
 man who has no memory of his deed is not the one who is 
 responsible for this tragedy. There are others. Morton? 
 Yes, and you and /, the citizens of this state whose vote legalizes 
 this thing drink the logical end of which is crime. It is 
 we who stand before the bar of justice in the court of the 
 
 Almighty, charged with the murder of a fellow man!" 
 
 *** 
 
 The prisoner escaped the hangman s noose by a hand-breadth 
 but by the verdict of the jury read in the drawling tones of 
 the court clerk, Antonio, twenty-five years of age, a husband 
 and father, a laborer of the best type sans booze was doomed 
 to take his youth, the strength of his young manhood that 
 promised a wholesome seed and strong generation and the 
 working capacity of some forty or so years within the shadow 
 and eclipse of the penitentiary, not to come forth from thence 
 until his discarded clay should be borne out in one of the plain 
 boxes the state supplies for the ashes of such sacrifice. 
 
THE CLAW 171 
 
 Duncan had awaited the verdict with a face whiter than 
 that of the prisoner, and when it was announced Antonio s 
 little wife, who had insisted on being with her husband at 
 the crucial moment, crumpled like paper and fell across the 
 arm of her chair. It seemed incredible! Duncan in his in 
 experience had been more sanguine than his attorney. Anx 
 ious, distressed as he had been for the outcome, his mind could 
 not grasp for Antonio the fate of the death penalty and even 
 a life sentence was not to be entertained. Ten twenty years 
 he had tried to bring Amanda s shrinking mind to accept as 
 a possible outcome, but this this life in death this burying 
 of the quick in a living grave. It was horrible, inconceivable. 
 
 But there was chance for a re-trial. He whispered the hope 
 in Antonio s deaf ear. The latter had not spoken or made 
 a sign other than to reach and support his wife till the court 
 attendants came and bore her to the ante-room. But a new 
 trial was denied. The evidence had been so convincing that 
 the court could not do other than deny the motion, and An 
 tonio left on the following day, in the company of a deputy 
 sheriff and two other prisoners for his destination, San Quentin. 
 
 Duncan never dreamed of so tragic a parting. His own 
 practiced self control broke down before the grief of Antonio s 
 distracted wife and children the latter, charming little crea 
 tures in which their Mexican blood was scarcely discernible 
 except by an unwonted beauty. The little things, unrealizing 
 the meaning of the moment but sensing the tragedy with the 
 keen instinct of children, clung frantically to their father, 
 and the oldest little fellow turned with scarlet face and flash 
 ing eyes on the officer: 
 
 "You shan t take my papa, mi querida papal What will 
 mama do pobre mama* And my little sister bermanis- 
 sima? You are a bad man. Let him go! let him go, I say!" 
 
 Antonio took the child between his knees and buried his 
 
172 THE CLAW 
 
 face in his curls, and voiceless sobs shook his great shoulders. 
 Then he embraced his wife and their baby and pushed them 
 blindly to the door; turning, he held out his arms for the hand 
 cuffs. 
 
 At the station, Duncan talked to him of release of pardon. 
 He should have it he should go free if Duncan had to sell 
 La Mesa Vineyard for it. He should be brought back again 
 if it took Duncan s all. 
 
 Antonio listened silently, almost indifferently, though he 
 thanked Duncan in stereotyped terms for his help. He said 
 but one word as the train pulled out and he reached his hampered 
 hand to Duncan for the last time. 
 
 There s only one thing I want," he hissed with sudden 
 flame, "only one thing. To see Morton and Bernardini burn 
 in hell fire for this! To see the man that dared to give my son 
 the first glass of liquor burn in hell fire through eternity!" 
 
 At the moment Amanda was helped half-fainting to the auto 
 mobile by Duncan who had undertaken her care, Bernardini 
 in the snug office of his winery was dictating a letter to his wife, 
 summering at Lake Tahoe tavern. Bernardini had never 
 conquered the English alphabet sufficiently to write with com 
 fort or with assurance of his Letters being read, therefore, he 
 utilized the services of his highly paid stenographer for his 
 most intimate correspondence. 
 
 "Dear Margueietta:" he dictated, between puffs at a fra 
 grant cigar. "This getting on without you and the cubs isn t 
 to my mind it ain t Christian for a man to be parted from 
 his wife either by the outing season or any other cause and I 
 don t propose to stand it. It s me for the woods about Fri 
 day next. And inasmuch as business has been looking up lately, 
 I ll come overland in that new Pope-Hartford I promised you 
 last spring." 
 
THE CLAW 173 
 
 By an odd circumstance the price of Bernardini s Pope- 
 Hartford just equalled the amount of Attorney Cliffe s fee 
 in the services of Antonio. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 Duncan s dismissal of Morton had been an incident he 
 would like to forget. Morton, irritable and overwrought from 
 a recent prolonged spree, smarting under the hot words of 
 Duncan against his conduct of affairs and especially his part 
 in the recent tragedy, stung with the humiliation of the dis 
 missal, answered defiantly. 
 
 "You fire me, do you? Make a big noise about my drinkin 
 as if the thing never happened on La Mesa vineyard before. 
 Why! Your own father was a booze fighter He got 
 no farther. Duncan s fist went out like a flash and sent him 
 sprawling to the ground. He stood over him, his face livid, 
 the veins standing out on his forehead: 
 
 "You coward! You say a thing like that about my father? 
 Get up and go or I ll do you damage." 
 
 Morton gained his feet, quivering and cowed under the 
 shock of Duncan s blow. It was an evidence of his degenerated 
 moral fiber that he would take such punishment from any 
 man without return. "All right!" he sneered, as 
 he moved off, "Just remember you, who set yourself up for 
 something fine, beyond the weakness of other men! Ask the 
 neighbors, ask the Doctor if what I said wasn t true. They 1 II 
 tell you! And the thing ll get you yet!" Duncan took a 
 menacing stride toward him but Morton had put the hedge 
 between them. He moved off brushing the dust from his 
 clothes and muttering. 
 
 Duncan turned to the house, sick over the whole affair. 
 Morton s implication he had heard before, once or twice on 
 the lips of low-bred people, and his fist had clenched as now; 
 then he had laughed. It was absurd to allow the babble of 
 vulgar and ignorant folks to stir one. This was like the silly 
 
THE CLAW 175 
 
 report that Mrs. McDonald at her last garden party was found 
 incapacitated in her boudoir before her guests left, that 
 the wine men at their banquet, two thirds of them, were 
 "stewed" before the evening was half over, gossip, disgusting 
 gossip on the lips of people of pin-head caliber, folks who 
 knew but one side of the social drinking habit, the low, the 
 vicious! 
 
 But in spite of himself Morton s accusations had startled 
 him, enraged him to the point of doing what he had done. 
 Well, the man deserved it. It might knock some sense again 
 into his booze-addled head. He was not sorry except on Elsie s 
 account. Elsie was almost a sister. She had come from Scot 
 land shortly after the Cameron s had, from Jeanie s home 
 village, and had made her home in the family until she married 
 Morton. 
 
 He should have spared Morton for Elsie s sake! He 
 shouldn t have added to Elsie s other troubles, estrangement 
 between the families. He would see Elsie and explain. Elsie 
 would understand his indignation. Elsie knew, of course, as 
 did he, that his father had,in his latter and invalid years,drunk 
 more than formerly, more perhaps, than was quite good for 
 him, but his nervous weakness demanded it; his emotional 
 excess in a way counteracted the effect and it did not hurt 
 him as it might have others. He was always strong; always 
 absolute master of himself; no member of the family could 
 say with truth that he ever had been seen drunk. It was 
 unpardonable that Morton, because his own weakness had made 
 a guzzling fool of him, should be permitted to accuse his father 
 in this manner slander a dead man. 
 
 Morton returned home in a devil s mood from his encounter 
 with Duncan. He spread his arms in the open door-way, 
 revealing his crumpled and dusty clothes and the bloody welt 
 rising on his cheek from Duncan s blow. 
 
170 THE CLAW 
 
 "See a gentleman s work!" he cried, "Your fine and lovely 
 Duncan wasn t satisfied to fire me but had to knock me 
 down first." Elsie rose and came quickly to him. 
 
 "What do you mean? What did you say that made him 
 do it?" 
 
 "Say? Why the truth! Gave it to him straight. Told 
 him it was fine and consistent for him to turn off a man because 
 he drank once and awhile when his own father was a boozer." 
 
 Harry!" Her voice held more concern than on his first 
 announcement. "You didn t tell Duncan that and he wor 
 shipped his father! He never knew well, it s a wonder he 
 didn t kill you!" 
 
 Morton raged. Then that was all she cared, that Duncan s 
 fine sensibilities might not be hurt by the facts, rather 
 than that her husband had had the treatment 
 of a dog! Well, that was all right. But a man that had so 
 little devotion in his own family, it was no wonder that 
 he sought other company, other comfort! 
 
 In his soreness over the matter Duncan took his trouble 
 to Marlinee. He had been to Elsie with an apology and ex 
 planation. While she had listened to him without reproach, 
 it was plain and natural that she should feel some sympathy 
 in Morton s cause some resentment. He had expressed his 
 sincere regret at the necessity of dismissing Morton whose 
 incapacity, he added, must certainly be plain even to her. 
 He wanted them, however, to continue to use the foreman s 
 house until Morton could find other work and to call on him 
 in case of any need whatever. But here Elsie s 
 loyalty found tongue : 
 
 "Find work? Yes and where will he find it, now you ve 
 fired him? Who ll have him now and him gone with the 
 booze? 
 
 "Ah, I ain t saying that Harry s done right I ain t saying 
 
THE CLAW 177 
 
 he had any right to say what he did to you but I will say 
 this, that Harry used to be a temperate man. He was raised 
 that way, his folks believe that way, and it was at your house 
 that he took his first drink at your table! And I think, con 
 sidering that, that you re almighty hard on him now." Dun 
 can s hand had gone up to his face as though the blow he had 
 given had been returned. His face was very white, but he 
 strove for control. 
 
 "And how did he get the habit of drinking regular?" 
 she flashed. "In your service, doing your work with your 
 friends being a good fellow in your interests, setting up the 
 treats! Oh, they were very temperate, like you! They were 
 used to it. They could take a lot and never show it. But 
 Harry, because he wasn t built that way, because it took hold 
 of him, brought him down, you haven t any use for him any 
 more. You throw him out, brand him in the eyes of the 
 community as a drunkard. He can t get work now, he won t 
 get work, and now what ll we do?" She gathered into her arms 
 with one defiant sweep her sturdy little sons, who stared up 
 at her with wide astonished eyes, then she fell suddenly to 
 sobbing on their heads. 
 
 Duncan went away sick of heart. There seemed to be no 
 thing to do but tell Marlinee. Marlinee seemed the natural 
 repository for all his troubles. He would tell her in spite of 
 the mental reservations with which he knew she would hear 
 his story and that would not be complimentary to himself. 
 Marlinee would come out and see Elsie the two women knew 
 and liked each other. Marlinee would make Elsie see reason- 
 she must not, in her indignation, pack up and leave, with the 
 family s little means, go away from her friends whom she needed 
 just now so sorely. Marlinee would help. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 Marlin.ee spught the Mortons the following Sunday. Harry 
 was away. She was relieved to find Elsie in a more softened 
 mood over the matter. 
 
 "I don t spose I ought to have talked that way to Duncan, 
 especially after what Harry said. That was awful!" 
 
 "What did Harry say?" demanded Marlinee. Duncan 
 had not told her, had merely said Morton had called his father 
 a name he couldn t bear and he had knocked him down. Elsie 
 recited the incident. 
 
 "Oh!" said Marlinee, "That was terrible of Morton. "Then 
 it s true, is it, what has been said? I never knew. I never 
 wanted to ask." 
 
 "Its true all right, I was with them to the last, Harry and 
 I, and we pledged our word to Mrs. Cameron that we d never 
 tell anyone that we d never let Duncan know. Oh, it 
 was terrible of Morton to break that promise." 
 
 "And in such a brutal way," added Marlinee. She under 
 stood now, in full, Duncan s mood. "But, Elsie, he ought to 
 know, he ought to. It might make a great difference with 
 his views. It might help him to give up a habit that may 
 threaten himself in the future since his father, a man of such 
 will, succumbed. Oh! Elsie he should know!" 
 
 "Yes that s what I told his mother but she would have 
 nothing of it. She ll scarce let herself admit it. And it was 
 that that made me so mad, all of a sudden, when I thought of 
 it, how, just cause its in their family, this disgrace, it must be 
 guarded, shut up, kept from folks. But when my man falls 
 the whole world must know it." 
 
 "For it s true " she added. "When he come to work for 
 Mr. Cameron Harry he was as straight and fine as any man 
 
THE CLAW 179 
 
 ever was and the best hand they ever had on the place you 
 remember. And he was such a bonnie lad, too, so bright and 
 witty, with such taking ways. I fell in love with him at first 
 sight and he with me." Her eyes were tender, she was far 
 away in her thoughts, her fingers working unconsciously- 
 stitching on a tiny baby dress. She was walking again down 
 the path between the vineyard rows in the scented twilight, 
 a handsome, virile man at her side, his arm about her, the moon 
 light on her face as she looked trustfully up into his. "-He 
 was so bonnie," she murmured, in her revery, "and kind!" 
 She awoke with a shiver. 
 
 "It s so different now! Oh, it s so different. He ain t any 
 more the same man! It s awful what liquor can do to change 
 one. First he was just restless nervous couldn t keep 
 any interest in his work and was sort of irritable when I tried 
 to coax him to things to an appetite for his food and interest 
 in the children. I didn t know, I thought it was the work; 
 he d been working so hard the end of the wine season, and 
 Duncan gone. It was the work, too, I suppose, that made him 
 crave it. Folks say the appetite takes hold more when you re 
 tired run down. He told me what was the matter, at last. 
 He said he d been drinking too much. Seemed as if he had to; 
 everybody invited him to wherever he went and he s had to 
 go a lot. He s tried to do well by Duncan," her eyes filled, 
 "he s done his best, more than Duncan realizes. Not just 
 work, but doing, keeping his head up and taking the -place 
 men, business men, seemed to give him as Duncan s manager. 
 He s been popular too," there was pride in her voice. "He s 
 been asked out a lot and I have too, some, but I don t take to 
 social things like Harry and then, too, this that s coming. I 
 couldn t. 
 
 "So it all helped toward the drink, and he s been getting 
 worse and worse. Oh, I can t tell you it s terrible! 
 
180 THE CLAW 
 
 "You know there s different stages in the drink. There s 
 when a man has had just enough to make him feel good to 
 make him over jolly, kind and generous. I didn t understand 
 at first, and I used to think those times were when Harry was 
 all right, was getting the better of himself. He s come home 
 some nights to supper and he couldn t be kind enough to me 
 and the children, kiss me and play with the babies, like he 
 used to, and we d all be so happy together. But I came to 
 learn that was just the first stage and to dread it. It meant 
 the beginning of a drunk, that went from that to quarrelsome 
 ness when nobody could please him and I locked the children 
 up so s Marlinee s face was full of horror and Elsie caught 
 herself. "So s they wouldn t irritate him. And after that 
 he was just gone dead to the world." Elsie used the pre 
 vailing slang unconsciously and without humor. "No use to 
 himself or anybody else for days. And when he ain t drink 
 ing, or drunk nowadays he s just a wreck of his former self. 
 All ambition gone all his interest in us gone all his"- 
 Elsje began crying suddenly, her face in the baby dress. "Seems 
 as if all his love was gone, too," she sobbed, her shoulders 
 shaking in great gusts of grief, long repressed. 
 
 Marlinee was silent, she found no words for such a tragedy. 
 The tears filled her eyes and dropped down her cheeks. She 
 reached Elsie with the comfort of warm encircling arms but 
 her heart was sick. She felt words removed from this woman s 
 loss, the daily misery of such a bereavement. 
 
 "I can t tell you all," Elsie was speaking again -striving 
 for control till her story was told. "I can t tell you there 
 are some things that a young woman like you can t know, and 
 whisky changes a man most in those ways. This one is the 
 only baby that I never wanted. It s a frightful thing to be 
 a mother when your whole soul cries out against it! When 
 you feel it s a crime to bring life into the world! Suppose 
 
THE CLAW 181 
 
 it should be a drunkard! Suppose it would be crippled, or 
 blind, or something," she spoke in a whisper "Oh Marlinee 
 I ve heard awful stories of children conceived in liquor!" 
 
 "You musn t talk about it! You musn t think about it," 
 cried Marlinee with an echo of Elsie s horror in her voice. 
 "You must think and pray that it ll be all right." 
 
 "And you must stay here, Elsie," she added, hastening to 
 change the subject for Elsie s face was white. "You must 
 stay here and not break with Duncan and his mother. Now 
 is the time you need them if you ever did. You must stay, 
 for the sake of the children, and try and not blame them. 
 
 "I know just how you feel oh I know!" she added violently. 
 "It seems impossible that they can t see that be can t see 
 one so quick to see and understand so quick to feel for others 
 so kind!" her lips quivered, she was speaking to herself. Elsie 
 eyed her curiously, and a woman s quick intuition came to 
 her. 
 
 "Marlinee, dear," she said tenderly, and Marlinee started. 
 "Marlinee I pray God you may never meet a fate like mine. 
 Never, oh, never think for a moment of marrying a man that 
 drinks a man that drinks, even just a little." She spoke 
 eagerly, intensely, forgetting her own troubles for the moment 
 in the solicitude she felt for her friend. "No matter how 
 temperate he is how self-controlled; especially if it s in the 
 family Marlinee don t do it, you never can tell look at 
 me\" Marlinee smiled faintly 
 
 "Thank you, dear, she said, "don t worry about me I 
 I never shall." 
 
 Marlinee left Elsie more burdened than she had been for 
 many months. It had not been a happy way of spending her 
 week-end holiday, not a helpful preparation for the week before 
 her, its work carried not too easily by her these days. She 
 thought wonderingly of the strangeness of things. For weeks 
 
182 THE CLAW 
 
 she had borne the burden of tragedies induced by the evil 
 she hated with all her heart and intelligence. And in every 
 case the incidents involved Duncan. They were his troubles 
 that he brought to her for her help and counsel. Strange 
 strange that he should turn to her! Strange that he should 
 brave her reproach. 
 
 Did he not care for that reproach any more? Was it nothing 
 to him, wholly absorbed in Corinne and in her approval, 
 alone? Or was he still sure, established in his own mind of 
 his position, of his innocence from responsibility. Was he 
 really, intellectually unable as she had averred to Elsie in her 
 defense of him, to see and understand that, as a member of 
 the industry, one of the growers and makers of. strong drink, 
 he had no responsibility for those who used it to their hurt? 
 It was a conclusion she was reluctant to admit, such a reflec 
 tion did it assume upon his mental capacity, on the ordinary 
 power of putting two and two together and getting four. But 
 it was, of the several conclusions, the kindest. 
 
 She had seen Morton before she left and the impressions 
 received gave her more concern than ever for Elsie s future, 
 He had, as Elsie said,: changed, changed unbelievably and 
 terribly. A year ago, a splendid specimen of a man in every 
 respect , the product of clean habits and good blood and out 
 of door living. Now he was loose-limbed, shambling, with 
 distorted face, and eyes that looked askance and sullen. He 
 gave her a reluctant hand, soft to flabbiness, revolting in its 
 tale of degeneracy and self-indulgence. She could have cried 
 out with the shame of it the wickedness of it all! 
 
 She realized more and more as she sat in Morton s shabby 
 home where Elsie s care had failed to cover to the eye, the 
 growing poverty, the awful grip of the habit, how it loosens 
 the fibers of control and volition, turning the man, in the 
 affirmations of his degenerated will and the impulses of his 
 
THE CLAW 183 
 
 poisoned body over to the ravages of an appetite that leaves 
 him not till the breath is out of his body. 
 
 She looked on the thing with a fainting wonder. But, she 
 remembered Duncan s argument, the argument of all the 
 users or makers of liquor. "Our business is not designed for 
 the purpose of making drunkards. These are the weak, that 
 fall by the wayside as do some in the pursuit of all the good 
 things of life." 
 
 "Not designed to make drunkards?" she thought. Drunkards 
 are the necessary accompaniments of that business. How does a 
 man make money in the grocery business? By selling his goods, 
 by making patronage for himself. Who are his best patrons? 
 Those that buy the most goods. Very well then does the 
 man that drinks temperately buy the most liquor or the man 
 that drinks to excess?" She laughed in the scorn of her reason 
 ing. "And if," her mind told her "if by the buying of much 
 goods, the drunkard is cut off and his patronage thereby cut 
 off, such loss does not alter the argument so long as there 
 are patrons to fill his place, other patrons, other users in excess 
 to hand across the counter daily their toll, their contribution 
 to the daily proceeds of the saloon man s business, price of 
 their manhood, their efficiency, their happiness and that of 
 those dependent on them, that the liquor man s institution may 
 flourish." 
 
 Her throat was hot with the hurt of it, with the resentment 
 of it, with the bitter knowledge that many who were wise and 
 kindly and of large heart, like Duncan, refused to see, shut 
 their eyes determinedly to the light, that admitted, would 
 blight with its awful revelation, but, blighting, bring freedom 
 from bondage to a responsibility that one day they would 
 faint before. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 Marlinee, capable of fine flights of spirit, of sustained heroism 
 of mind, was, like all temperamental people, apt to suffer a 
 severe slump after such an indulgence. Her sympathies were 
 ingrowing and presently reached a level of hurt that showed an 
 outward irritation and loss of poise. 
 
 "By George! You ve got a bad temper today," exclaimed 
 Barton, next morning, as Marlinee set the telephone down with 
 unnecessary emphasis after an ineffectual attempt to locate 
 a week-end party. " Wouldn t like to have you land on me 
 like that!" Mar inee made a grimace, shoved her sleeves up 
 an inch higher and dove into the exchanges. 
 
 "Marlinee s mad and I am glad," sang Hayward, whittling 
 down a pencil over the waste basket. " Marlinee turned me 
 down yesterday for one of her little charity joints out to the 
 country. Better have gone with me, my lady! You wouldn t 
 have come home with a grouch from a trip to the river in my 
 stimulating company." 
 
 "Say, Marlinee," drawled Winston from his corner, "When 
 will you begin stumping the country for state^wide prohibi 
 tion? You and old Fessendon would make a cracker-jack 
 team tmd, I might add, in the terms of the classic, in-vin-ci- 
 
 bki" 
 
 Marlinee flashed upon him with unexpected spirit. She 
 was accustomed to the boy s raillery and ordinarily gave and 
 took with equal heart, but Winston had touched a thorn 
 today. 
 
 "I d start out this minute, if I could, if I thought it would 
 do any good. Oh, you laugh, you boys, at this thing, with 
 you its a case of the frog: its fun for you, but its death to a 
 lot of people. And I ve been where its death the booze 
 
THE CLAW 185 
 
 one family, or what is just as bad, the loss of everything that 
 makes a home, love, faithfulness, a man once one of the finest 
 ever, changed to a besotted brute." 
 
 "Say," asked Hayward, with concern, "Is it so bad out 
 there he finished with an inference. Marlinee had told 
 him the occasion of her visit to the country. 
 
 "Its just that bad, and more than that," answered the girl. 
 It s Harry Morton I m talking of" Marlinee pursued, turn 
 ing to the rest of the boys "I don t care to gossip, but I know 
 you re all interested in him." It occurred to her that here 
 she might make a point for a cause that the boys treated with 
 rolicking lightness, whether in deprecation or in mere fun of 
 rousing her defense, she could never quite be sure. 
 
 Morton in his new role of good fellow was known to the 
 boys and was formerly a not infrequent visitor to the office. 
 He had risen with rather conspicuous rapidity from the place 
 of a day laborer to that of a man of affairs the affairs of his 
 employer to be sure, but nevertheless, administered until the 
 past year with a credit and efficiency that gained him respect 
 and a degree of recognition among the larger business men 
 with whom he had to deal. Morton belonged to a class of 
 men the rapid life of the times and particularly the west pro 
 vides for, by dropping out one generation in the normal course 
 of development. 
 
 From an obscure employee on Cameron s place Morton had 
 become practically a town man, a guest of the city s represen 
 tative bodies on banquet occasions, solicited as a member of 
 the city s clubs, taking his wine at his favorite cafe instead of 
 Arbuckle s coffee in his shirt sleeves at his own table. It was 
 a transformation dangerous in its rapidity and new experiences. 
 The risk was doubled by the means of the inseparable accom 
 paniment in modern life of the social drinking custom. Since 
 his rapid decline he was dubbed "false alarm." In other words, 
 
186 THE CLAW 
 
 the world, the small world represented by Riverdale s business 
 and social circles was credited with having been "stung" 
 in regard to its latest protege: a man who promised well but 
 had not enough running in him to last two years. It was bad. 
 Compassion seemed to be on the side of society with little but 
 a contemptuous pity cast Morton s way. Marlinee resented 
 the verdict with all her outraged sense of justice. Now she 
 related with eloquence lent by her deep feeling, the circum 
 stances of the little family, Elsie s grief and the startling change 
 in Morton. The boys listened with interest and concern. 
 
 "Well, I call that a pretty bad case," s?id Winston, "but 
 my sympathies don t go far with the man," Winston was new 
 in the town. "A fellow that hasn t enough sense to stop 
 drinking when he s had enough isn t worth much sympathy 
 and a man that s so far gone that he can steal from his wife 
 and babies to feed his stomach ought to get off the earth 
 the sooner, the quicker." 
 
 "Well, 1 don t know," answered Hayward, "I m disappointed 
 in Morton. Morton was a good sort, and he seemed like a 
 mighty good fellow before the booze caught him. Its physical 
 with him with all of them, the regular boozers they oughtn t 
 to be blamed. There ought to be some regulation some 
 he was getting rather vague and Gordon laughed. 
 
 "Prohibition! Prohibition is what you mean. Say, Mar- 
 linee s made a. convert. Listen to Hayward, Marlinee!" 
 Hayward looked annoyed, not because of association with the 
 reformer, but with the cause. 
 
 "Aw rats!" he said. "I don t mean any such thing, but 
 I m not the kind of a fellow that jumps on a man when he s 
 down and there s no telling either, by George, who ll be the 
 next one down. It s physical I tell you chemical as 
 London says the craving for it. A lot of the best hearted 
 fellows, the best sort in their families, come to it, to just the 
 
THE CLAW 187 
 
 sort of thing Morton s induced for his wife and kids. That s 
 the darned trouble about it." The boys looked askanse and 
 at each other with significance. His heavy lids and deeply 
 encircled eyes suggested a growing experience in the things 
 of which he spoke and a reason for his partisanship with Morton. 
 They liked Hay ward, but he, too, was a "good fellow" a 
 "prince." 
 
 "Well, shake up and toss out, it s all a game of chance any 
 way," Norris contributed his youthful philosophy the deduc 
 tions of twenty-one. "By Heck, here s your champion, Mar- 
 linee! Here s Scott-Browne in the ring and rolling up his 
 sleeves!" The men wheeled with cordial greeting and Marlinec 
 rose from her chair. It was a strange impulse she had in Fes- 
 sendon s presence. 
 
 "Copy men, Copy," called the city editor, wheeling in 
 his swivel chair at the end of the room. "Get busy you 
 I want some dope. Scott, you demoralize my office! I ll 
 tend to you over here." He reached for a chair and waved 
 Fessendon to it. His face reflected the same pleasure as the 
 boys and Marlinee s. Fessendon turned, greeted the boys 
 and took Marlinee s hand with a swift and eager smile, then 
 he moved to McWhirter s desk and dropped into the chair 
 provided by him. He stretched his long legs lazily. 
 
 McWhirter jabbed a page of copy on the hook, shoved his 
 desk clear, reached for a match from an unspeakably dirty 
 and ancient box and lit a cigar. Then he whirled 
 around on Fessendon. 
 
 "Now fire away!" he said. "McWhirter was never too busy 
 to see Fessendon. The two had never been known to agree 
 on a single point but they were the best of friends. It was 
 a battle royal when they got together. The men within hear 
 ing of the argument found it difficult to hold their attention 
 to their work when "Me" and "Fess" were having a hot one. 
 
188 THE CLAW 
 
 Fessendon was the president of the local Dry Federation. 
 His hyphenated surname, Scott-Browne, bestowed upon him 
 by his ambitious parents, had stood, a dozen years back for 
 club man and society man and an all round good fellow. But 
 a light had fallen on Scott-Browne, a light the fierce flame of 
 which welded the diversified personality of the man into one 
 vigorous individuality bent on a single object that of passing 
 on the light to his fellows. 
 
 Fessendon was a Scotchman, a giant in size, with intellect 
 to match. Gaunt, lean, muscular, with a peculiar subtle 
 strength that never flagged and a mentality, keen and insati 
 able. His powers of mind and body slept within him like the 
 strength of a hound. In his indolent, almost lazy manner, 
 his easy gait, the seeming lassitude of his great limbs stretched 
 at ease in grotesque pose, a whimsical smile on his lean face 
 and eyes that seemed to dream, there was nothing to suggest 
 the innate power of the man; the tremendous unflagging energy 
 of which he was possessed, the stubborn resistance, the power 
 of fight. One was unprepared for the effect when 
 Fessendon drowsily and with seeming reluctance uncovered 
 his batteries and took to the defense in argument. 
 
 McWhirter provided Fessendon s antithesis. Of dynamic 
 type, rotund and irascible, with lightning-like perception and 
 talents of retort, but a somewhat impeded speech. His was 
 an uneasy mind, sensitive, keen, with quick humor well tipped 
 with irony the mental constitution of the critic and the 
 pessimist. 
 
 "What do you want, Scott? For a man who pretends to 
 work you re the laziest looking scout I know of." Fessendon 
 grinned appreciatively and stretched one long leg. "Dope," 
 he said, briefly. 
 
 "Dope?" growled McWhirter, "thought we d been giving 
 you dope a lot of it." 
 
THE CLAW 189 
 
 "More," said Fessendon he had hooked a morning exchange 
 with his long arm and was scanning with the utmost diversion 
 the "Van Loon" family. 
 
 "Come out of it!" cried McWhirter, "What ch think 
 we re running? prohibition supply house? Headquarters of 
 the Band of Hope?" 
 
 "No," drawled Scott-Browne, withdrawing his attention 
 with evident reluctance from the Van Loons, "You re running 
 a bum, one-horse sheet that doesn t know live news matter 
 when it sees it or it would have had a man to cover the debate 
 at the Park last night when our man from Frisco made your 
 man from San Jose eat dirt to the tune of 2,000 
 people cheering to beat the band. Rehashing the Sun story 
 this morning mistakes and all, I reckon?" McWhirter red 
 dened. He hadn t looked for Fessendon to land from this 
 direction and it was true, he had forgotten to give out the Park 
 assignment. He capitulated gracefully. 
 
 "By Gad, Fessendon, That was an oversight sure it was, 
 and I m sorry for it. That was something worth while, too, 
 one of the genuine real live shows you ve pulled off this cam 
 paign. Most of em have been the Father, Oh, Fethef, Come 
 Home to Me Now/ tear-duct-flooding racket that wasn t 
 worth the space we gave em. Say I m sorry sure!" 
 
 Fessendon ignored both apology arid criticism and con 
 tinued unemotionally. 
 
 "I want some dope, some more dope a lot of it. This 
 proposition is worth your space. People want it they re 
 reading it. The Searchlight (the Journal s contemporary) 
 is putting it all over you in this matter. They re giving us a 
 column daily. The Sun takes all we want to give em iVe 
 just arranged for that. Now what ll you do?" McWhirtef 
 threw his cigar away and lighted another. 
 
 "Well you have the nerve!" he enunciated between puffs, 
 
190 THE CLAW 
 
 with unusual deliberation. "You have the nerve to come here 
 and ask for space and a reporter detailed on your fool Dry 
 proposition when you know the sheet is a Wet paper, so wet 
 you can wring it out. Ask me to edit a column, daily! Maybe 
 you want two columns, played up with a feature head and some 
 of our latest fancy type." Fessendon grinned. He was 
 certain of McWhirter after his Searchlight coup. Wet or no 
 Wet he would never let the new sheet put it over him in the 
 nature of a new feature. But McWhirter would have his 
 say first. 
 
 "Say," continued McWhirter, warming up, "you don t 
 seem to realize that your whole proposition makes me tired 
 awfully tired. You prohibitionists want to put the liquor 
 industry of California out of business, want to put the winery 
 business, the state s been to such pains and expense to build, 
 out of business; want to put the wine -grape growers out of 
 business and put some seventy million dollars worth of property 
 out of vineyard use because a few people assigned by providence 
 to be asses insist on making asses of themselves!" 
 
 "I m glad, at least, that you keep to the facts better than 
 your contemporary, the Sun," interupted Fessendon. "You 
 notice in his editorial the other day he claims the destruction 
 of 170,000 acres of fertile California land, if the Dry amend 
 ment carries. Reckon prohibition is going to make things so 
 awful dry that there won t be irrigation water left eh? That s 
 the only thing I know of that will keep those acres from which 
 the wine grapes are rooted from growing peaches at four to 
 six cents a pound, table grapes at thirty dollars a ton, raisins 
 at three and one-half cents, poultry and dairy herds. Maybe 
 prohibition will dry up the cows though " added Fessendon, 
 thoughtfully. Whereat McWhirter threw up his head and 
 snorted, but he returned to his bone. 
 
 "You reformers you make me tired in bulk and indivi- 
 
THE CLAW 191 
 
 dually. You re making the world over for the unfit. By 
 till your societies for the prevention of and clubs for to pro 
 vide for - you re overdoing it, all this concern for the failures, 
 the weaklings, the culls of life. Why, man, the world won t 
 be fit for a normal individual to live in, pretty soon. ( You ll 
 have us all on crutches one big, jolly sanitarium where we ll 
 live in the half light and eat pre-digested food only! All 
 levelled to one satisfactory plane of insanity that s altruism 
 for you, the altruism that s rampant today! 
 
 "And your prohibition idea is just one of those fool move 
 ments; one of the dreams of the altruist-crazed. It designs 
 to remove just one more opportunity of choice, of self-control, 
 a chance where a fellow can show the kind of stuff he is 
 whether a guzzling stomach-guided animal or a man. 
 
 "No I m talking rightl" continued McWhirter. "We re 
 uplift-mad already. We make a fad of our reforms; the white 
 slave traffic and criminality juvenile delinquency are the 
 subjects of every pulpit and lecture platform in the land. Why 
 you d think there wasn t a normal child born nowadays and 
 that those fortunate enough to have been born normal haven t 
 a show in the world of growing up right. It s having its effect, 
 that talk. Thousands of young, well-intentioned wives are 
 scared out of the idea of having a family by the improbability 
 of bringing a sound and sane child into the world and keeping 
 him so. Sure, that s right! A little newly-wed was talking 
 to my wife the other day about it almost in tears she was; 
 said she wanted a baby, but she had the latest statistics to 
 show that it was a six to one risk and she was scared out. Now 
 what do you know about that! 
 
 "Our best women today are so engrossed in work for the 
 Unfit that they ve left off bringing forth the Fit. I can t 
 help thinking of it when I see the splendid specimens of woman 
 hood at the head of your huundred and one institutions for 
 
192 THE CLAW 
 
 the interests of single women that would make glorious wives 
 and mothers, fitted by the very things that make them useful 
 in their work devotion, self-sacrifice, the maternal instinct 
 for woman s normal life. Damn it! It makes me hot through 
 and through. You re making spinsters and nuns of the best 
 womanhood in the land. They re wasting their lives in a 
 misguided sense of duty on the wrecks of the world the junk 
 stuff thousands of them that ought to be serving the world 
 by putting clean normal blood into it in the form of their 
 own offspring. 
 
 "Duty!" McWhirter mopped his brow with his pocket 
 handkerchief and continued. "Duty! An exagerated sense 
 of duty abnormal ideals are making old maids of our girls 
 and of our boys, spindle-shanked young prigs who talk at 
 prayer meetings and give the impression that they have a 
 corner on the Lord. Don t is your watch-word. Don t 
 dare a little innocent deviltry, you ll set a bad example! Don t 
 entertain a big strong passion it may run away with you! 
 Do t drink a glass of beer/ you ll die a drunkard and send 
 others to a drunkard s grave. Don t do anything natural, or 
 spontaneous, or what you want to do self denial, repression, 
 inhibition, is the word. Bring up the boys hand raised, spoon 
 fed. And then you expect a race of men from their loins." 
 Shortage of breath was the only consideration apparently, that 
 stopped McWhirter. 
 
 Fessendon had listened to the editor s words with more than 
 ordinary interest. It was a subject that appealed to him and 
 for once the two men s ideas coincided. Fessendon acknow 
 ledged in the teachings of the churches, at least in the past, 
 ideals that tended to the repression of youthful impulses, to an 
 unnecessary withdrawal from normal activities and pleasures, 
 but this flaw, he felt, was being largely eradicated. He in no 
 way confused these mistakes of over zeal on the part of religious 
 
THE CLAW 193 
 
 instructors with the movements designed to restrain the vicious 
 preying; on those same youthful impulses, substituting for 
 self-denial, excess; for exaggerated piety, dissipation. He 
 roused himself from the negligent posture in which he had been 
 listening to the editor, shook out his long legs with a character 
 istic movement, and started to answer McWhirter when the 
 latter was interrupted. A couple of youths had entered the 
 office. They were a well known type; two showily dressed 
 young "mashers" with hats tilted to their eye-brows, trailing 
 the odor of cigarettes and beer. One was already well loaded. 
 As his companion talked, he groped for and found the wall, 
 with evident relief, leaning heavily against it, while he eyed 
 Marlinee, afar, with bleared and approving eyes, hopeful of 
 attention. 
 
 "What do you want?" asked McWhirter impatiently. 
 
 "Does Banty Brewster work here?" the first youth asked. 
 
 "Banty Brewster, who is he? What does he do?" asked 
 McWhirter, shortly. The boy burst into a coarse laugh, blow 
 ing the smoke ostentatiously from his tilted lips. 
 
 " He, that s good. He! Why Banty ain t a he , she s 
 a she , a goil, a Chicken see? Folds papers in here, or some 
 joint." 
 
 "Well, she s not here; or none of your kind," said McWhirter, 
 contemptuously and turned his back on him. The youth cast 
 a resentful look at his squared shoulders and slouched out, 
 followed with some difficulty by his companion. 
 
 "Well, I m not stuck, myself, on spindle-shanked young men 
 who talk in prayer-meetings as though they had a corner on the 
 Lord," commented Fessendon, gently, but I d about as lief 
 have them as those two chaps. They re certainly not leading 
 the ascetic life. I ll warrant those two aren t afraid to drink 
 beer because they ll set a bad example, or get into deviltry, or 
 refuse a big passion. They re letting the natural animal have 
 
194 THE CLAW 
 
 its way but they re not very pretty, or useful, are they now? 
 Nor will they breed a normal and admirable generation. 
 
 "Fact is, it s pretty hard to strike the happy medium or to 
 know what that medium is, even. A little too much one side 
 of the beam and you run to asceticism, a little too much the 
 other and you re back to the brute. 
 
 "But while you re talking of the inhibitions of altruism, the 
 self-denials of the man with ideals and the reduction of virility 
 and offspring among good people, I want to say that you re off 
 in your comparisons. Take it all in all, who are the people that 
 are marrying, staying married and keeping up the business of 
 populating the world the people of the churches or the people 
 of the world? Why, there isn t any comparison. If you don t 
 think so look at the young people of one of our churches, any 
 of them, and the young society set, member of the Entre Nous 
 Club, say! There are some young men and women unhampered 
 by the enthusiasms of the humanitarian, the impulsions of the 
 philanthropist. What do you say about it? 
 
 "Don t make the mistake McWhirter, of charging up the 
 spindle-shanked young men and the spinsters to religion or high 
 ideals. I admit we have both, and I regret it, but devotion 
 and religion doesn t make either." 
 
 "Well, it does, and a lot of the grossness in the world that 
 you deplore and preach against is the result of our ultra-cultured, 
 ultra-educated age," asserted McWhirter, testily. 
 
 "Maybe so and if so if it s just a reaction from our moral 
 exaggerations then it isn t to be too much deplored. It ll 
 serve to restore the equilibrium. But this is just where the 
 work of alcohol of the drink habit comes in. It helps to 
 accentuate the reaction ; it impels people to the opposite extreme ; 
 induces grossness, self-indulgence and animalism. 
 
 "You credit religion and exalted ideals with robbing the 
 world of home-makers," continued Scott-Browne, "you deplore 
 
THE CLAW 195 
 
 that the finest womanhood of the land is devoted to spinsterhood 
 and philanthropy instead of the rearing of their own children. 
 
 "Why aren t they doing it? Because they aren t mated. 
 Where arc their mates? The unmarried men, the so-called 
 bachelors, men of ability, of fascination and virility, that should 
 co-operate in that noble enterprise? 
 
 " Spilling their seed in the houses of assignation, giving them 
 selves to the Scarlet Woman, to death-heads, heedless that their 
 natural mates, pure women, beautiful women, women of 
 glorious possibilities arc going mateless and homeless and 
 childless all the days of their woman s bloom. 
 
 " Where is the pride of our men in their seed? Where is 
 their ambition, where even those nobler qualities of the brute 
 man, the instinct for their home, mate, and offspring? Lost, 
 lost I say, in pure brutishness; worse than brutishness, for the 
 brute is normal, he recognizes law in his passion. 
 
 "Is this a reaction from asceticism, from over culture and the 
 restraints of religion? I guess not. It is a thing provided for 
 in large part by that which I would eliminate. What destroys 
 a man s interest in the pure and lovely girl he thought to marry 
 and causes him to forego marriage to seek the strange women? 
 Drink, the polite habit of wine, if your please! 
 
 "What causes divorce, the disruption of families, children on 
 the street? Drinkl What makes boys impulsive before their 
 time and degrades them to the uses of vice? Wine drinking 
 among our young people in your inviting cafes and enter 
 tainment places. 
 
 "Yet you wouldn t put a stop to this thing, and you talk 
 airily of the survival of the fittest. Well, give the Fit a chance 
 to survive, that s what I say! It isn t the fittest that always 
 survive, not by any means. Not against the odds that modern 
 civilization, so-called, provides. The fittest survives when he s 
 got the open to fight in and his two fists and his unhampered 
 
196 THE CLAW 
 
 brain, but how about the war? A handful of monarchs who, 
 themselves survive only because illegitimate blood is infused 
 into their line occasionally call a great war and the Fit go 
 down in battle, by the thousands, by the millions; the Fit, I say. 
 And who remain? The weaklings and the old men who couldn t 
 go to war because of their infirmities. There s a case where 
 the Unfit has induced the conditions that killed the Fit. 
 
 "How about the great fevers and plagues in the Canal 
 Zone, in the Indian colonies? Did the Fit go down there? 
 Sure they did. Men of strength and endurance, men who had 
 lived through the viscissitudes of a hundred campaigns, men 
 who had tramped thousands of miles through forest-thicket 
 and over desert. A few fever germs too virulent for a strong 
 man to resist carried them off by the hundreds and thousands. 
 And now that we know they are able to do it war and disease 
 we re looking after both. We ve established a great sanitary 
 system and outlawed disease germs wherever we find em and 
 we ve called a peace conference to eliminate war; we can t afford 
 to lose the flower of manhood, the promise of our race, by either 
 way. 
 
 "This isn t all the ways we re looking after the conservation 
 of humanity; take our factory problems. There are thousands 
 of men and women in them of good clean hearty blood, the Fit. 
 But can they stand the strain their industrial life puts upon 
 them, the deadly fumes of the factories, the one-hundred and 
 thirty degree heat of some of the great furnaces before which men 
 sweat, naked the whirl of the wheel and flash of the needle 
 close to the eye for harrowing hours? They sicken, they die, 
 and we ve found it out and said this can t be! A few men to 
 build up a great wealth can t drive these men and women into 
 early graves, men and women meant to survive, and bring forth 
 the strong industrious race. We ve got the eight hour law for 
 
THE CLAW 197 
 
 women. We ve got provisions for decreasing the risk to life and 
 limb and health. In all these things we ve showed sense. 
 
 "But take the liquor traffic. Is it carrying off only the Unfit, 
 the weaklings, the degenerates that we re better off without? 
 
 "Was Wakefield an Unfit, a weakling? Middleson, the best 
 criminal attorney in this State or any other state on the coast, 
 was Middleson a weakling, drift wood, junk stuff? Was Carter 
 of the Consolidated one of the riff-raff, the world s wastes? Is 
 Hayward, over there, the best man you ve got, is he unfit to 
 survive? I guess not. I guess they re all about as good as 
 you and I and a lot of others that expect to and probably will 
 live our days out. But the booze got them, or is getting them. 
 
 "And why? Because it s bigger than them. Because it s 
 not a case of brain against a brain and arm against an arm. It s 
 an infernal system maintained by your and my senile reasoning 
 that s designed to destroy, and to destroy, who? The Fit, 
 the best in the land\ 
 
 "It s a thing a man can t get away from; it s a thing that 
 follows him, that pulls at his coat and jogs his elbow and says, 
 Take me with you, I m the price of your success. No? How 
 does Hayward get his political scoops? By being a good fellow, 
 sitting over at the St. George grill with Bartley and Havermeyer 
 and the rest, cozy and sociable over their cocktails, getting on 
 the inside . How does Barton keep his popularity with the 
 sports? By setting em up . How does little Norris get a 
 good story tipped off to him? By buying the beers. And 
 Smith, traveling salesman, makes his top notch sales record 
 this year by the same system and Hepston lands his political 
 job the same way the glad hand and the booze. 
 
 "Say! I wouldn t take Hayward s chance this summer for a 
 thousand dollars, between the courts and the candidates. It s a 
 losing game with him either way. Cut out the booze and he 
 loses with his friends, keep it up and he s on the junk pile by 
 
198 THE CLAW 
 
 the first of the year. And as for little Norris, Man!" cried 
 Fessendon, "it s a slaughter, a plain slaughter to put a lad with 
 his talents and determination to make good on police". Look 
 at him now!" He seized McWhirter s arm impulsively. 
 "What would you and I, childless men, not give to have a boy 
 like that?" McWhirter, reluctantly turned and his eye softened 
 at sight of young N orris, his fine head flung back, laughter in his 
 eyes as he made a retort to one of the boy s sallies. "In God s 
 name McWhirter, have a care for that boy! 
 
 "Now it s my business, and the business of this Dry state 
 proposition," continued Fessendon, "to eliminate the fool 
 system that permits a few men for their own benefit to induce 
 such waste. Is there anything wild about that scheme, any 
 thing impractical, anything that shows the ranter and the 
 crank? 
 
 "Heavens, man! Can t you see this thing, can t you see the 
 absurd senility of reasoning that says we ve got to keep up a 
 business that accomplishes all this loss to human life; loss 
 bigger than war works, than the disease we are studying to 
 eliminate, accomplishes, than the industrial evils we ve legislated 
 against, creates? McWhirter, I ve credited you in my mind 
 always as being a man of exceptional insight but if you can t 
 see the sense and the necessity, the dignity, too, of the work 
 I m in, then I give you up. You re not the man I thought you 
 were." He dropped back into his chair again. It was seldom 
 he spoke with such outward emotion. His was ordinarily the 
 cool reasoning of the logician that pursues relentlessly and 
 unmovedly his end, levelling his opponents strongholds one 
 after the other till he leaves a clean field behind him. 
 
 McWhirter was silent for a moment. He would not confess it 
 but Fessendon had carried him irresistibly from his old moor 
 ings; had, indeed, uprooted those moorings to which his con 
 victions and defenses were tied and swept them away altogether. 
 
THE CLAW 199 
 
 He found himself adrift, groping, half reaching out to embrace 
 Scott-Browne s convictions so unimpeachably put. 
 
 "But you," he said. "You have survived, you ve been all 
 through this. You ve been a newspaper man, a club man, a 
 politician and a man of society. How did you do it?" Fessendon 
 rose to go. 
 
 "By the grace of God," he said solemnly, "only by the grace 
 of God." 
 
 McWhirter sat silent in his chair, absently flecking cigarette 
 ashes. Then he rose and moved down the hall after Fessendon, 
 as rapidly as his weighty bulk would allow. 
 
 "Fessendon, Fessendon!" he called jerkily, "you can bring 
 on that dope." 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 Shaken by the harrowing experiences of Antonio s trial and 
 overcome by the result, Duncan was in no mood to resume his 
 investigations of Blythe s business. But he had promised 
 Marlinee to do so to the fullest extent. Blythe was waiting 
 for his answer and he set to work at once. 
 
 From Cliffe s arraignment of the liquor traffic, sweeping in 
 its accusation, his mind was as sore as from a physical punish 
 ment. It was a peculiar situation, to be flayed so unmercifully 
 by one in his own employ, for he was standing the greater part 
 of the cost of Antonio s trial. In any other cause he would not 
 have stood for it but by the very circumstances he could say 
 nothing, make no answer. Cliffe s concluding argument he had 
 to admit was the most impressive one the attorney could rally 
 for the cause of the prisoner, and was justifiable on that ground 
 only. Duncan was not ready to admit that Cliffe was right 
 in his dramatic charge against the liquor traffic and the voters 
 for the liquor traffic of guilt for the Hindoo s death. In an 
 indirect way, perhaps, yes, as the man who made his automobile 
 or sold it to him, would be responsible for his death if the 
 machine should some day turn turtle and catch him under it. 
 But No! It was one of the sentimental and misguiding argu 
 ments wielded by the prohibitionists that pressed logic to over 
 drawn conclusion. He was responsible, however every man 
 was responsible for his own personal conduct, that it set an 
 example of temperance and sanity, and for his choices, that he, 
 with scrupulous care, separate evil from good. It was this 
 motive with which he took up the investigation of Blythe s 
 cafes. 
 
 The result was a revelation, for Blythe s houses were strictly 
 up to specifications the specifications Marlinee had named. 
 
THE CLAW 201 
 
 That the scenes of the cafes, into the midnight life of which he 
 had never before been introduced, amazed and repelled him, was 
 a compliment to his sanity of mind, his instinct of self pre 
 servation. Duncan had never lent his passions to illegitimate 
 use. Instead they had been splendidly conserved and enriched 
 by sober living and constant and zestful purpose. He had a 
 natural instinct for the clean, that caused him to discourage the 
 suggestions that make for morbid imaginings; the stories told 
 by some men over their cigars after the ladies have retired ; the 
 youthful escapades indulged in for the sake of instruction and 
 entertainment. These things were wholly foreign to Duncan s 
 cast of mind. 
 
 He went to the cafes alone. Undoubtedly he might have 
 had little Norris company or that of any other of the men he 
 knew, but he did not care for comradeship on these occasions 
 or the appearance of a lark, nor did he wish to impart to any 
 the object of his errand. As a quiet observer in a dark corner 
 of the room he could watch the scene undisturbed and was 
 able to take in more of the garish spectacle, with a keener sense 
 of its meaning, than if accompanied by a friend. 
 
 The place revealed the whole method and regimen of the 
 underworld. Here after midnight hours was its stalking 
 ground, here its reciuiting place, at the tables running with 
 the wine spilled by the revellers. Here the painted face of a 
 denizen of the redlight was pushed close to that of callow youth, 
 blushing under his baby skin, whose brave swagger and as 
 sumption of experience told it to be his first experimental foray 
 into the whirl-pool of viciousness. He saw the ease with which 
 she trailed him away presently, weaving and hiccoughing, 
 eager in her wake. 
 
 He saw the scared faces of first night girls, mere children, 
 "doing" the place under the tutelage of companions of exper 
 ience, or some man of the world, some roue of a hundred such 
 
202 THE CLAW 
 
 damnable enterprises, who watched the fair, surprised blushes 
 come and go from his covert shadow with covetousness and 
 complacency. 
 
 He recognized with a start of amazement, men he knew. 
 elbowing their way through the noisy shuffling crowd, pushing 
 before them some highly colored creatures of the half world, 
 women of whom he had heard, whom the world accounted 
 unclean, their high pitched voices mingling in the revelry. 
 
 And even-where was the wine. The wine juice of the 
 sweet wholesome fruit of his own vineyard, of the many vine 
 yards lying out there under the clean white moon tonight! 
 Even-where the wine: dashed with skillful hand by the over 
 worked men behind the screens, into the slender glasses; in 
 the clinking trays swung perilously above the heads of the 
 throng on the hands of the sweating waiters who ran and slid 
 and dodged through the confused throng; in the glasses of 
 the women held in unsteady hands, the rich dye trickling 
 down the white bared arm and into the low bosoms; wine that 
 inhibited all sense of right, that struck out all sense of shame 
 and sent men and women circling in infamous embrace to the 
 unceasing sound of the ragtime played by the sweating orches 
 tra: wine into which some devilish hands slipped covertly the 
 lulling potion and shortly bore a fainting girl unresisting through 
 the crowd back into the dim passage beyond. Wine even- 
 where the wine, piostituted to the purposes of the vilest! 
 
 Duncan s precautions, the absence of even a man companion 
 with him laid him open to annoyances he had not anticipated. 
 It was obvious, since he was alone, that he was waiting a partner. 
 Among the gaudy sirens whose overtures he eluded was the 
 girl whom he had met at Glad s gate. On the circumstance 
 she presumed acquaintance and, to Duncan s increased annoy 
 ance he found her at each resort he visited. He was handi 
 capped with a desirability of not wishing to appear the novice 
 
THE CLAW 203 
 
 and mere on-looker that he was and the circumstances neces 
 sitated a seeming acquiescence to her overtures. He ordered 
 her wine. 
 
 "If he ain t the cheap skate!" the girl cried, "Won t be so 
 ciable to the extent of a measly cocktail!" 
 
 He forced himself to keep up his end of the repellant con 
 versation till she tired of so slow a companion and flung herself 
 away after livlier company. In their last interview she had 
 jollied him vulgarly about Glad, and asked him significantly 
 of her whereabouts. He would stand for no compromising of 
 the girl. He answered her curtly and turned away. Her high 
 mocking laughter followed him, a repulsive memory. 
 
 Then the thing was true! Blythe s latest enterprise by which 
 he encouraged the wholesome practice of wine consumption 
 was in houses that unquestionably entertained the underworld 
 and if his own observations had needed confirmation they 
 received it by a conversation overheard in the Journal office 
 on an afternoon when business had called him there. The 
 boys were enjoying relaxation while the big press turned off 
 the evening issue. "The Non Pareil and the Parisian 
 those are Blythe s new cafes?" asked Westsmith, a new man. 
 
 "Two of Blythe s places," emphasized Hayward. "He s 
 got a string of em up and down the state his latest 
 inspiration. Little old "Paree" in small, cabaret caricatures 
 and baby-doll di\ertisement. They re some cafes, believe 
 me! 
 
 "Funny about Blythe," continued Haywaid, he has 
 an income of, I suppose, a hundred thousand a year from 
 his wholesale houses and as much in dividends on his 
 manufacturing and Association shares, but he s a Yankee 
 you know, and he can t let a chance to turn in a dollar 
 get by. I suppose his money is in about one-third of the 
 retail business of the coast, in the saloons up and-- down this 
 
204 THE CLAW 
 
 valley and Southern California and at Frisco, and he s 
 always thinking up new investments, like his string of 
 fancy cafes. Blythe is everywhere, even over on the 
 desert where I was last year a few months with the con 
 struction camp of the S. and S. development company 
 (Hay ward s digression from the profession of journalism had 
 been occasioned by a need of getting away from the booze, 
 himself). Camped there just across the San Berdo county 
 line, (you know the San Berdo desert is dry, officially so,) 
 was one of Blythe s places run by one Mister O Hooligan 
 and a genius in his line. Payday saw Mister O Hooligan 
 expand to bu sting with affability and cash and by the 
 time the paymaster had thrown his gripsack on the 
 midnight overland, the whole gang was on the bum 
 and the enterprise of the S. and S. languished apace. 
 
 "Blythe s hand has been behind most all the schemes to 
 buck the Wylie Option law in this county and when a poor 
 little weazlefaced blind-pigger yclept Parchesi Spagetti gets 
 pinched, the wires between the city hall and one William 
 C. Blythe and Company s office begin to sizzle; the bail is 
 forthcoming and it s ten to one that the county keeps the 
 money and Spagetti is shortly holding another job in a spot 
 remote and pacific. 
 
 "Blythe got it handed to him straight, if the people only 
 knew it, in the case the other day of the killing of the 
 Hindoo by Gomez out on La Mesa Vineyard. Cliffe took 
 occasion for a digression in his argument for the defense in 
 which he tore into the Bernardini Winery that Blythe has 
 a big interest in, called the place down proper for doing 
 a boot-legging business. Gomez got the booze from Morton, 
 the foreman, and Morton from Bernardini. The district 
 attoreney may take the matter up but Blythe 11 find some 
 way to get his man off all right." 
 
THE CLAW 205 
 
 Duncan left the office. The last revelation had floored 
 him. And this was Blythe, sleek, affable, smiling, 
 decrying alike the debauchery of innocent girls and the 
 catastrophic greed. A partnership with Blythe? The man 
 had lied to him, and worse than lied. He had deceived 
 him, as, no doubt he was deceiving hundreds of other men, 
 his friends, like Mr. Cummings. 
 
 It was no hardship for Duncan to go to Blythe now and tell 
 him the whole thing was off. It was the only thing to be 
 done, under the circumstances, yet a great disappointment 
 claimed him. What luck, wha,t a fate, that so dazzling a 
 prospect should have been opened to him, encouraged all 
 his hopes and expectations, and then be dashed away. 
 
 And what of Corinne? Oh! But Corinne had not 
 awaited to know the outcome of his prospects before yielding 
 him her generous love. He was rich, rich, and there were 
 other ways. He still had other prospects, the Grape Pro 
 tective Association office, the legislature. If Blythe, shrewd 
 man, h?,d thought his ability worth such an offer as he 
 had made, surely there would be others to recognize it. 
 His happiness would be delayed. The vineyard was in 
 a bad way financially and in other respects and it would 
 take some shrewd shift to swing things in the next year or 
 two, but with the goal before him, Corinne and her un 
 selfish love, he could afford to work and wait. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 Duncan sought Blythe in his office. He did not anticipate 
 the interview as an easy one, but he intended to cut it as 
 short as possible. He did not intend, either, to deliver 
 himself of any comments on Blythe s business pclicy. 
 Blythe was an old man and Duncan had no mind for 
 accusations, even in his indignation for the Bernardini end 
 of Blythe s responsibility. But his own sense of disgust at 
 having been made a "goat," to some extent, gave brevity 
 and crispness to his remarks. 
 
 "Good afternoon, Duncan, my boy, come in!" Mr. 
 Blythe s tones were ingratiating. "Sit down, won t you? 
 Take that chair there in front of the fan. Damn hot day, 
 I call it!" He mopped the sweat from his own brow 
 vigorously. Duncan took the nearest chair, with formality. 
 
 "Don t like the breeze, eh? Well, it does give some 
 folks the snuffles I believe. Rather have that though, 
 than this. Put your hat over on that stand there and make 
 yourself comfortable. Wait, I ve got a decanter in my 
 closet here, just had a jug of 1882 brought in from the 
 Riverbend winery. Let me give you some." 
 
 "No, thank you, Mr. Blythe," said Duncan briefly, Tve 
 come to talk business, to give you my decision about that 
 offer." 
 
 "Well, say, that s good." Blythe seated himself again 
 and wheeled about toward the boy with interest, his hands 
 clasped across his generous pouch, his thumbs whirling, 
 expectancy showing in his face. Duncan s heart nearly 
 failed him. He could have cursed cricumstances that 
 discovered this man in inevitable colors. Still he had 
 never quite liked Blythe, a sudden thinning of his lips, a 
 
THE CLAW 207 
 
 hardening of the eyes, that turned them, on occasion, from 
 genial blue to the gray of cold steel made him a- man to 
 fear. The change flashed across his face now as Duncan 
 briefly delivered his ultimatum. 
 
 "Well, what s the matter, the offer not to your taste, 
 not generous enough, not enough prospects of dividends?" 
 He smiled but his voice was disagreeable. 
 
 "No, it s not that, not that at all, Mr. Blythe. Nobody 
 in his right senses could ask for a bigger thing. I ve told 
 you that before and I want you to know that I have 
 enough sense to realize it. There s just one reason why I 
 can t take it, just one thing and I m going to tell you 
 straight." 
 
 "All right," interjected Blythe. He had squared himself 
 in his chair as though anticipating the boy. 
 
 "I don t like the character of your business, some of it, a 
 lot of it. I ve been looking into it." 
 
 "Well yes, I supposed you had," interrupted Blythe, "I 
 reckoned I d given you about a week of my own time 
 that s somewhat valuable," he spoke with sarcasm, "to 
 investigating that same business and as far as I could see 
 you were pleased enough with it, mightily pleased, I might 
 say." 
 
 "I was," said Duncan, "with what you showed me. Its 
 the part you didn t show me, or tell me of, that I m not 
 pleased with." Blythe made an ugly grimace. 
 
 "Mr. Blythe, I don t like your cafe business, a business 
 that deliberately caters to and feeds the red-light. I don t 
 like the class of saloons you provide money for. I don t 
 like the part you had indirectly, it may be, in the recent 
 troubles I ve had on my vineyard with my men. Most of 
 all I don t like the way you ve deceived me, jollying me 
 along, sympathizing with my views in the matter, indignant 
 
208 THE CLAW 
 
 for what I ve met and my men have met at the hands of 
 Bernardini. I didn t know you owned a dollar of stock in 
 the Bernardini winery. Now I ve learned that you practically 
 own the business, and rumor, at least, has it that you knew 
 what was going on between Bernardini and Morton." 
 
 Duncan stopped. Blythe sat silent a moment. He had 
 sunk into his chr.ir till one shoulder met his ear. His legs 
 were stretched out negligently in front of him. One hand 
 flecked the ashes from his cigar, the other toyed with a 
 desk rule. His eyes half closed following the movements of 
 his fingers. His attitude was one of insolence that assumed 
 defense. 
 
 "That s all you don t like about my busines, young man? 
 All the criticism you have to make?" Duncan colored. 
 Knowing absolutely that he was in the right, the man, his 
 words and his expression, put him in bad. 
 
 "That s all, at least that s the reason I can t take up 
 with this offer. 1 thank you for it, sincerely. I appreciate 
 it. I m more sorry than I can say to have taken your 
 valuable time to no purpose to yourself. Good afternoon." 
 
 "Say you, come back here!" Blythe s words stopped 
 him. He was on his feet, his insolence gone, a scrutinizing 
 whimsical look on his face. "There s no use in being in 
 such a hurry. If I am such a bad fellow I don t contaminate. 
 Sit down here, I want to talk to you." Duncan sat down 
 reluctantly. 
 
 "You ve thrown down my offer, a Jim-dandy one, too, 
 I ll repeat. And you ve come here and intimated that I 
 am engaged in a business that a man of ideals, we ll say, can t 
 stand for. That may be so, but let s see about it. I don t 
 pretend to be a highbrow myself, and never was, and I take 
 life as I find it. This is the way I ve found it, namely, 
 that there isn t any business one can engage in and make 
 
THE CLAW 209 
 
 a living that hasn t its compromises. The worst 
 element will be served, along with the best, by 
 some one, some where, some how, and the least one 
 can do is to make the best of it. If business throws 
 a man with that sort of people, and in the way of serving 
 that sort of people, why, he has to call it luck and pocket 
 the money without looking, if it hurts his feelings to 
 scrutinize it. 
 
 "Now of course you thought I was a man who held 
 different ideas and did a different business. Yes, I kind of 
 made you think so. I ll tell you how it was. I was 
 perfectly sincere in my offer. I needed you in my business 
 and too, I had a sneaking desire, even such low cusses as 
 we kind of men are," he added sarcastically, "have such 
 impulses sometimes, I had the impulse to help you 
 out a bit. I saw where your father with all honor to 
 his memory had failed, by this very lack of business common 
 sense, of taking the world as you find it policy of which 
 I speak, and I thought this a place for both of us to be 
 served. 
 
 "But almost straight off you began to evince highbrow 
 and kid glove tendencies; I saw I was up against it. Well, 
 I never have been known to drop a hard proposition till I 
 was dead sure it was beyond me to swing it. Here, said I, 
 is a young man straight from college, a member of the Y. M. ( 1 . 
 A., the Society for the Uplift, etc.; a young man with a 
 Purpose, capital p, and the ambition to swing the world one 
 notch nearer the millennium. Now he s bound to come 
 to earth with a big jolt sometime, and then he ll look for a 
 bread and butter job and say like the rest of us generally 
 have to, to hell with the uplift . 
 
 "I conceived it my pleasure to ease that jolt a bit and help 
 make as easy a landing as possible so I thought to nurse him 
 
210 THE CLAW 
 
 along easy, to remove his delusions by slow and painless 
 process and at last, when the time came, let him see the seamy 
 side of the business as well as the society side, as it were. 
 If he had the grit to stay with it after that he was worth his 
 salt; I d be glad I did it, 
 
 "But," continued Blythe, "he s torn away the veil and has 
 looked the whole bally enterprise in the teeth. Well, I want 
 to say now I m not ashamed of anything. W T hy, do you suppose 
 men don t know about my business? Do you suppose my 
 associates, the other liquor men, aren t engaged in exactly 
 the same kind of business, only less successfully? I might 
 inquire where you got your information concerning my affairs. 
 Probably from some one of my contemporaries who knew he 
 could put it over you and is laughing in his sleeve while he 
 goes about similar business." 
 
 "You re wrong!" retorted Duncan, "I asked no one. I 
 investigated, myself, as I had a right to do and took no one s 
 word for it, except public word and that can pretty well be 
 depended on. If I hadn t been away for years I probably 
 would have known about these things, if, as you say, such 
 things are common. But I am mightily deceived if they are. 
 I have labored under the impression that the majority of 
 men in our class run a straightforward business that sells 
 good goods to reputable patrons and discourages excess and 
 the associations your cafes provide." 
 
 "My dear boy!" Blythe had risen and laid his hand on 
 Duncan s shoulder, with the old assumption of friendliness. 
 "A mistakel I m sorry to shatter your ideals, to remove 
 your delusions, but it can t be helped. The liquor business 
 couldn t exist today without excess, the neavy drinker or damn 
 it, the baudy bouses and their patronage. 
 
 "But that s no argument for doing away with it, for 
 good men and women who drink moderately being deprived 
 
THE CLAW 211 
 
 of that privilege; for men who make their business by making 
 liquor or raising the grapes that make the wine, going out of 
 business. It s no reason either why they shouldn t cater 
 to that perticular kind of trade. Its all right to talk regulation, 
 restriction, etc., all right, when you re doing politics. But 
 there s just one solution to the hard facts of life, to the evil 
 and suffering that exist." Duncan looked up surprised at 
 Blythe in the role of the philosopher. "That solution is 
 that good men live by it, by the intended evil of the world. 
 
 "Men will war and you and I, or some other fellow, lives 
 off the money from their arms and their supplies. Men and 
 women will get sick and they ll die and the doctors and the 
 undertakers earn their bread thereby. Men and women 
 will drink and carouse, they will buy the booze to do it with 
 and you and I might as well be the recipients of the little 
 good that comes out of it the money from that booze. Now 
 ain t that sense? Come, buck up! You re a young fellow 
 and it comes hard at first but I m giving it straight. I m 
 giving you, damn it, the biggest proposition a young fellow 
 of brains and ambition and a girl waiting for him somewhere," 
 he nudged Duncan facetiously, "ever had proposed to him. 
 What do you say? Better reconsider it." 
 
 "Thank you, no\" said Duncan. 
 
 Blythe spread his hands; "Oh, well, that s all right. Sorry 
 we couldn t put it through, but no harm done to anybody, 
 I guess." Duncan rose to go, but he detained him. 
 
 "By the way, what do you have in mind about your place, 
 if its any of my business. I suppose you will be able to arrange 
 your finances without embarrassment." Duncan turned with 
 chagrin. In his anxiety in one matter he had been guilty of 
 an awkward omission. He was still under obligations to 
 the man whose project he had rejected, and with criticism. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he said quickly. "I should have 
 
212 THE CLAW 
 
 spoken of that, I meant to. Of course I shall relieve you 
 of the renewal of that mortgage. You have been more than 
 kind to carry it so long and I know it means no special ad 
 vantage to you. I ll borrow money and pay you this week. 
 I m sure I can get the amount." 
 
 "Oh, that s all right, that s all right!" interposed Blythe. 
 "I didn t mean my part of it. We ll let that stand just as 
 it is. But the others; of course, now this is off I couldn t carry 
 out that offer concerning the notes. By the way who did you 
 say held them? I believe you told me once." 
 
 "Whitten, Jones and Powell. I think there ll be no trouble 
 about getting them renewed, and as I said before I appreciate 
 the kindness and extent of your proposition and I certainly 
 appreciate your renewed generosity. I will accept it only 
 because to do otherwise would cause me a good deal of in 
 convenience just now and I ll try and relieve you as soon 
 as possible." 
 
 "Don t mention it, don t mention it," interposed Blythe. 
 He had risen from his chair and was walking to the door with 
 Duncan, his former engaging manner resumed. 
 
 "And you, what do you intend to do, with your time and 
 the energies you refuse to lend me?" he smiled affably on the 
 boy. 
 
 "I still hold the Grape Association s offer tentatively, you 
 know, and some other propositions," he thought it would 
 not be good taste to refer to the assembly candidacy. 
 
 "That s good, that s good! Then you re all right .nd 
 well-heeled. Well, goodbye, come in again, any time you 
 feel like it, and good luck to you!" He ushered Duncan out 
 with an ostentation almost paternal. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 From the hospital Glad went to Marlinee s. The latter 
 shared a modest appartment on a quiet street with a friend, 
 another business woman. Both were away during the day, 
 and Glad found the quiet and retirement of the cozy house 
 most grateful. She still shrank painfully from going out 
 or meeting her former friends and associates. In the new 
 knowledge lent her by her unhappy experiences she realized 
 the character of some of the young girls who had been her 
 companions. What she in her innocence had entered into as 
 girlish larks were to these poor young creatures loose episodes, 
 first lessons in the education leading to deliberate and 
 professional immorality. 
 
 Into the gulf of awful possibilities escaped, Glad looked with 
 eyes that lent a terrible seeing. She had been on the verge; was 
 indeed on the verge; and a horrible obsession, induced by the 
 urgings of her loose girl friends, clung to her for weeks and 
 unceasingly suggested this as her natural end. It was this 
 horror which still dwelt in her frightened eyes; this suggestion 
 that in the midst of the merriest of intercourse with her friends 
 suddenly invoked a melancholy reverie to them unaccountable. 
 It was this that made her physical and mental recovery so 
 slow. She never left the house except of evenings when in 
 the protection of the twilight, she walked out with Marlinee 
 for the air. N orris, bold in his defiance of society and all 
 Glad s foes would gladly have taken the girl abroad at his 
 side in daylight, and urged evenings of diversion, the picture 
 show or the recreation parks but the girl steadfastly refused 
 his attentions. 
 
 The problem of Glad s life was indeed, at this period, a 
 most puzzling one to the three who had assumed it. She was 
 
214 THE CLAW 
 
 as alone in the world as Mailinee, save for her brother. A 
 tiny income from her father s estate lent barely enough to 
 feed and clothe her. She seemed incapable of realizing or 
 providing for her future. Marlinee had decided upon 
 one thing, to keep the girl with her till her mental poise was 
 fully recovered. Her affections had become much bound 
 up in Glad. Their similar circumstances of loneliness appealed 
 to her and her woman s instincts were involved in the care 
 and solicitude for the charming child-woman. Barring 
 the spectre of Glad s tragedy it was a happy household and 
 when the two men joined them, as they frequently did, there 
 was much innocent and wholesome merriment. 
 
 Marlinee was perfectly aware of Duncan s heart affair, but 
 she appreciated with some humor that, at the height of his 
 infatuation he found a surprising amount of pleasure and 
 satisfaction in the little group of friends, organized on such 
 an unusual and tragic basis. For as practical and one-ideaed 
 an individual as he was Duncan was guilty of most diverting 
 and wholly unconscious inconsistencies. The girl had always 
 detected these. They were more marked than ever, and 
 contributed strengthening versatility and attractiveness to 
 his character. The little coterie of friends called themselves 
 humorously, "The Family of the Five." 
 
 Glad was sitting one morning on the sheltered side piazza, 
 some three weeks after making her home with Marlinee. She 
 was alone, as usual at that hour. Unusually lighthearted 
 today, she was humming some popular song as she plied her 
 needle at a dainty bit of fancy work. She was a charming 
 picture in her light morning frock, her soft hair tucked up 
 under a morning cap, her sleeves back from her round arms. 
 Her cheeks were pink with returning health, and the morning s 
 exercises, provided by the light housekeeping in which she 
 shared. 
 
THE CLAW 215 
 
 She heard steps on the walk. It was the grocer boy, no 
 doubt, with the morning order. He would go around to the 
 kitchen. She did not look up till someone stepped on the porch. 
 Then she sprang to her feet, her eyes dilating with horror. 
 It was a man, the man she had known. He laughed lightly 
 and took off his hat. 
 
 "Well, hello! You seem frightened." She was backing 
 slowly toward the door, her hand to her heart, her eyes held 
 in a sort of trance. 
 
 "Sit down", he said, c urtly. She moved on groping for 
 the open door. 
 
 "Sit down!" he repeated, "Come back and sit down, I say." 
 
 His manner was impelling. Slowly, as if under a hypnotic 
 spell she returned. He pushed the chair toward her and she 
 sat down. He took one near. 
 
 "Now then, that s sensible" he said. "Well now, how about 
 it? I guess now you re ready to go with me." 
 
 "To go with you!" She started from her seat but he laid 
 hold of her wrist. 
 
 "Oh, just don t get excited, I don t want any fuss here. I 
 expect you ve got neighbors close by and it might be awkward 
 for both of us. You re alone here, just now, I know that, and 
 will be for some time, so we can have a quiet little chat here, 
 in this cozy corner, like we used to before. Remember?" He 
 brought his face close to hers, with a hateful grimace. She 
 could have struck him and the fierce hate burned her 
 throat but something kept her docile, dead. 
 
 "Say, you ve improved your looking fine, do you know it? 
 You re plumper, got more color!" he was eyeing her, appraising 
 her hideously. He drew a finger across her limp and relaxed 
 arm. She wrenched herself away from him. 
 
 "Let me be, I hate you!" He laughed, softly. 
 
 "Well, that complimentary after the nice things you used 
 
216 THE CLAW 
 
 to say to me, but never mind. You re a pretty little devil. 
 I like to see you mad." She was panting, straining from 
 him. 
 
 "What do you want?" she cried. "Say what you want 
 and go!" 
 
 "All right, it s just this." His intimacy, his banter, was 
 dropped like a garment and more ominous attitude assumed. 
 He jerked himself to a sitting posture with a covert look through 
 the vines, then bent toward her, a hand pressed on her shrinking 
 knee. 
 
 "Its just this," he said, "and you know it well enough. 
 It s time you was coming across to the redlights. The girls 
 told you that in the beginning. It s where you belong." A 
 deathly shudder went through the girl and her head went back 
 in faintness. 
 
 "Now don t act a fool, we havn t time. Of course I might 
 take you right along with me now but there s some risk. What 
 I want is for you to come along quiet, the way 
 you ought to do. What do you want to stay here for on 
 charity?" 
 
 "No, not that," she gasped. 
 
 "Oh, yes, it is. Suppose they enjoy taking care of you, 
 those high-browed goody-goodies? Or maybe, say! What 
 kind of a joint is this? I ve seen men coming here, you little 
 devil! If you ve played me She had wrenched herself 
 from him, striking out at him with all her puny strength. 
 
 "You brute!" she cried. "You say that of them, of my 
 friends. Oh, I could kill you! They are my friends, the 
 best ever made." 
 
 "Oh sit down, sit down! Don t lets have any dramatics 
 here," he pulled her violently down into the chair again. "So 
 you would hurt me, would you? Well, that s all right as 
 long as it isn t the other. If it had been," his voice held a 
 
THE CLAW 217 
 
 threat that changed to complaceny as he noted her changed 
 and cowed attitude. 
 
 "Well now, you know what you ought to do. You don t 
 want to be a charge to these noble friends of yours. It ain t 
 just nature for society people to look after a chit like you 
 and they ll get tired of it after awhile. You ve got nobody 
 to go to, and there just ain t any way for it." The girl moaned 
 faintly. To her crushed and horrified mind, already obsessed 
 by the suggestion, the argument seemed logical, absolute. 
 
 "All right now, we understand each other, and there s to 
 be no cold feet, remember. There don t need to be any ex 
 planation. I wouldn t suggest that you hold a farewell 
 reception when you make known your intentions," his humor 
 was horrible to the shuddering girl. "You re alone all day. 
 Just pack up your things some day, we ll make it tomorrow, 
 and hike. Call me up before you leave. Here," he gave her a 
 card with a number on it, "and I ll tell you where to send 
 your things and where I ll meet you. You can leave a little 
 note saying you ve decided not to be a burden any longer, 
 etc. You can think up the frills, you re long on dramatic effect. 
 But just don t mention your address, that s all!" 
 
 "Oh my God! My God!" the girl moaned. 
 
 "Now that s all, only", he bent over her his lips close to 
 her ear, "hurry up, get busyl And in case you might be in 
 clined to change your mind, I ll just suggest that I ve the 
 address of that fine high-brow brother of yours in my pocket, 
 and I ll be glad to let him know what sort his little Sis has 
 become nowdays." 
 
 She gave a start and her eyes flew open in fixed horror, 
 then a great faintness swept her, her head went back, her 
 arms fell feebly at her side. Her eyes closed. He stood 
 over her a moment. His eyes were eager, like eyes of a beast 
 with its prey beneath his claw. He stooped toward her. 
 
218 THE CLAW 
 
 "Why not now? Hell! Why didn t I have a cabby waiting? 
 But I wasn t sure of the kid. He stops here mornings sometimes. 
 Shame to miss a chance though." He gave a quick look around 
 and strode toward the door. The telephone was just inside 
 on the wall. Then he turned back. 
 
 "No, I ain t quite game," he whispered. "They d have 
 too dead sure a thing on me if they should catch me." 
 
 He gazed at the girl, reluctantly, as he tiptoed past her. 
 She was quite still, lying in a dead faint, like death. He 
 reached for his hat (what gentleman s instinct within his 
 degraded breast had prompted his removal of it when he 
 approached!) and slipped covertly down the steps. He 
 walked away with the brisk air of a solicitor or the reader of 
 gas meters. Marlinee, returning to the house for a forgotten 
 and unmailed letter found the child not five minutes later. 
 
 Glad s first hysterical ejaculations in her rousing moments 
 suggested the cause of her prostrated condition but her 
 distraught mind as soon as full consciousness returned, resisted 
 even in her physical weakness, the attempts of her friend to 
 draw from her the story of the morning s episode. She was 
 hypnotized with a frightful necessity to keep the matter a 
 secret and to fulfill the horrible contract. But Marlinee 
 with the assistance of Duncan for whom she telephoned at 
 once to the Grape Protective Association, at last succeeded 
 in gaining the details from her reluctant lips. 
 
 "Oh, I shouldn t have told you!" she cried hysterically. 
 "I shouldn t have told you! I should have gotten ready and 
 gone. He was right. It s where I belong. I ve known 
 it all along, that I would go at last!" 
 
 "Hush!" cried Marlinee, "you mustn t talk that way, dear 
 child. You don t know what you re saying." 
 
 "Oh, no, no!" the girl moaned, "I ve no business here with 
 you who are good. It s no use, just as he said." 
 
THE CLAW 219 
 
 "Honey dear, you re sick. You re beside yourself. You 
 are hysterical from this awful experience. When you are 
 better, you ll feel differently. I m going to give you this, 
 it will quiet you and perhaps you ll sleep, and when you wake 
 you ll be able to see things clearer. Don t be afraid, I shan t 
 leave you. We will never leave you alone again." Marlinee 
 gave the girl a powder prescribed at the hospital for her hours 
 of hysteria, and the child presently sank into sleep. She 
 arranged over the telephone with one of the office girls to 
 take care of her unfinished work, and remained with Glad 
 the rest of the day. 
 
 With the girl s story learned, Duncan sought Norris. His 
 first impulse had been to call up the chief of police and give 
 him a description of the man, but if found arid arrested, the 
 girl would have to identify him and thus be brought into 
 publicity. They must secure her safety against the man s 
 designs in some other way. In the telephone booth of the 
 Star office he told Norris the story. The latter, white with 
 rage, bit his lip in his perplexity. He itched to get his hands 
 on the man s throat, but any move towards his discovery 
 would, as Duncan suggested, involve Glad. 
 
 "No," he agreed at last, with reluctance, "I guess we can t 
 do anything about it. Can t give it to the police, anyway. 
 But leave it to me! I ll find the man yet and punish him 
 with my own hands. I ll find him, damn him, if I have to 
 hunt him down to the mouth of the pit." 
 
 He struck his hand on the desk suddenly. "I ve got it, 
 I believe. By Heck, I ve got it! They re looking for a man 
 right now, a white slavery case. The federal officers are 
 in town today. This may be him. He was here, the man 
 they want, three or four months ago; they know that. And 
 then got out of town suddenly. They ve heard he s back. 
 By Gad! This may be him. That s why he hasn t showed 
 
220 THE CLAW 
 
 up before. They were on his trail. That s why he didn t 
 take her with him that night after he drugged her. Something 
 scared him. He got on. Wait! What night was that? 
 You know, she told you. 
 
 "The eighteenth of April?" He was flipping the notes of 
 his date-book feverishly. "The eighteenth! Let see, I ve 
 got it here, somewhere, the night of the raid on Emma White s 
 house over in the tenderloin when they thought they had 
 him. Here, here it is, the eighteenth!" he shourted. "Say 
 that s it, that s him! Do you see? That s how he came to 
 drop her after he d done his devil s work that night at the 
 cafe. Some one put him wise, and he skipped in the early 
 morning, threw her out in the street, anywhere to get rid 
 of her and get away. Oh, damn him! Damn him! Damn 
 him! 
 
 "And now he comes back to finish his work. Well, we ll 
 get him! We ve got to get him. I ll put the officers on 
 this minute." He snatched the receiver." 
 
 "But Glad," suggested Duncan. 
 
 "Oh Heck!" cried Norris. His collapse was humorous. 
 
 "Well," he was at it again, his news instinct abbetting 
 his zeal for Glad and his craving for revenge. "I ll guard 
 Glad all right, but I ll get him yet. Tell you what! I ll 
 go to the federal officers. I ll have an excuse. You see I 
 had the dope on this white slave story in April, when they 
 were working on the case. Wilkins of the force tipped it off 
 to me, and I d turned the story into the desk when they got on 
 that we had it, and called up and called off the boss. Said 
 it d spoil their case you know. Well, I ll tell them I ve got 
 something to give them on the case. I ll say that we heard 
 here in a new way about the overtures of a man to a young 
 woman today, good family, people not willing to have girl s 
 
THE CLAW 221 
 
 name used, but gave description, and I sized it up as the man 
 they re after. See? No danger at all to Glad. 
 
 "Oh say, that s great, it s him all right! Why, you know 
 there isn t any reason why he wouldn t have taken the little 
 girl off this morning, especially after she fainted. He knew 
 she was alone, watched and knew. The thing is done every 
 day somewhere. But he was scairy, you see? Maybe he s 
 got a tip already that the officers are about. There isn t a 
 minute to lose. I ll tell McWhirter I ve got a line on 
 a story, and I ll go up there right now. Trust me," he called 
 back at sight of Duncan s anxious face, "I won t give the 
 little girl away." 
 
 In the days following, when Glad was being nursed and 
 coaxed and petted back to a semblance of her former self, 
 it was Norris who proved the rescuer; Norris who swept away 
 the long nightmare of Glad s obsession and her courageous 
 resistance to that unacknowledged and reclaiming emotion 
 she had realized since their renewed acquaintance. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 With the new threat to Glad s welfare and peace of mind 
 it was found necessary to remove her to a place where she 
 could have constant attendance. Marlinee conceived the 
 idea of taking the girl to her ranch home. Mammy was 
 there, faithful Mammy, boarding the help and taking care 
 of the chickens and turkeys. Mammy would be only too 
 happy for Glad to do for and spoil. 
 
 Marlinee would spend every week-end, as usual at the 
 "Wickiup", her ranch bungalow. Duncan and Norris would 
 see them occasionally, and Mammy s strong arm and informed 
 care would keep harm away from the little girl while she 
 tried again to take hold on normal life from which a frightful 
 fate seemed designed to snatch her. 
 
 The arrangement could not be put into effect, however, till 
 the end of the week when Marlinee would be free to go to 
 the country with Glad. In the meantime the services of a 
 nurse were secured. Glad s nervous condition and the absence 
 of the girls from the house demanding that she have attendance. 
 
 Two mornings after the catastrophe that induced Glad s 
 relapse, Duncan, in the office of the Protective Association, 
 was handed a note by a messenger boy. There were no charges. 
 He signed for it and wheeling about in his chair to his desk 
 opened and read. The boy waited. 
 
 "Mr. Cameron: Let me see you tonight without fail at 
 the Non Pareil at 2:30. I got something mighty important 
 to tell you that has to do with that little friend of yours. You ll 
 be sorry if you don t come, kid. Honest to God, this is straight. 
 Give the head waiter your card. 
 
 "Molly." 
 
THE CLAW 223 
 
 Duncan frowned and said something; under his breath. He 
 looked up and saw the waiting boy. 
 
 "An answer?" he said. 
 
 "Yes, she said to wait." 
 
 He read the note again. His first impulse had been to tear 
 it up and throw it in the waste basket. It was an obvious 
 effort of the woman to abet the overtures he had repulsed at 
 Blythe s^cafes, but the suggestion concerning Glad caught in 
 his mind. Import was added by her recent experience. 
 
 It was repulsive to him, the thought of acceding a meeting 
 with this woman in such a place. If she had real news to impart, 
 why did she not appoint another and different rendezvous. 
 But his reason told him there was no more respectable place 
 where such a woman could meet him. If it were a mere excuse 
 for the sake of an appointment he would discover the fact at 
 once and could leave her. Besides he had been to the Non 
 Pareil before, risking to some extent his reputation by being 
 seen there, if indeed he could risk anything in a company that 
 compromised all who were found in it. He would go. He 
 reached for a pen, hesitated, then wrote one word without 
 signature : 
 
 "Coming." 
 
 He folded the note and sealed it in an envelope, unaddressed. 
 "Here," he said to the boy and gave him a quarter. The 
 latter went off whistling. Such transactions were a large part 
 of his daily business. 
 
 Duncan was at the cafe at the hour appointed. He gave 
 his card to the head waiter. It was a part of the arrangement 
 that was most distasteful to him. A man may part with 
 anything, in a risk for a large stake, but his name. 
 
 The waiter led Duncan between the rows of tables where 
 respectability dines and takes its leave at twelve, and indecency 
 takes the tables on the stroke and wines till morning. He led 
 
224 THE CLAW 
 
 Duncan down the room, where the same garish scene was 
 being enacted as on the night of his previous visit, apparently 
 by the same people, the painted, bedecked, blatant women 
 with their wine spattered gowns; the blear eyed men staring 
 vapidly at their coquetries, or by a new provocation of wine 
 and passion seizing their partners violently about the waist 
 and whirling away, caught up in the mad vortex. 
 
 He was led past the curtained boxes where glimpses of 
 bestial revelry were caught at its height through the partings 
 or where men and women, beyond reviving for the night 
 were dragged by their partners and discarded while they 
 sought other companions whose sense and zest was not yet 
 exhausted. Here in the semi-privacy of one of these boxes 
 was where Duncan had expected to meet the woman, but 
 to his discomforture the man led him on, through the rear 
 door and up the staircase he had observed before. 
 
 At the threshold Duncan drew back and was about to throw 
 up the enterprise. It was a capital situation to find himself 
 in. He cursed his quixotic impulses. Yet it was not an 
 impulse. All day, }ust as he was about to annul the engagement 
 his thought caught again on the issue, Glad. There might be 
 real danger waiting her in spite of their precautions. The 
 woman had shown in her interviews with him before a gleam 
 of regard for the girl. Was it not possible that she had 
 o verheard some fiendish plot designed to snatch the child 
 yet, from her friends? There was no way for it, he must go. 
 He followed the man down the crimson twilight of the passage 
 way till he stopped at a door and knocked. The woman 
 opened it. 
 
 "Hello! Come in." 
 
 Duncan stopped in the doorway. "What did you want?" 
 he asked. She laughed derisively. 
 
 "Well, we can t talk out here. Come in. You re not 
 
THE CLAW 225 
 
 ufraid of nothin arc you?" He stepped inside and the door 
 closed behind him. It had a spring lock. 
 
 "Well, how are you, kid? Sit down and make yourself at 
 home. I like to see folks comfortable. What ll you have?" 
 The table was well stocked with wine. She made a motion 
 to pour him a glass but he waved it aside sternly. He was 
 still standing. "What do you want? Why did you bring 
 me here, in here? I expected to meet you out there where 
 I saw you the other night." She laughed, a trailing amused 
 laugh. 
 
 "W T ell, you didn t see any place out there just exactly suited 
 to telling secrets, did you? Not what you might call a cozy 
 corner for just you and me? Say, you re nervous, boy! And 
 yet," she came suddenly from behind the table leaning one 
 ringed hand on the stand, the other laid heavily on his shoulder, 
 her rouged face in its jewelled harness pushed close to his. 
 
 "Say, drop it, kid! Cut it out. Take it from me 1 know 
 your game! Playing the innocent, aren t you? One of your 
 high-brow, goody-goody kind, just home from college, good 
 as he went! Never been in a place like this before. Don t 
 know anything about it! 
 
 "Yet you ve been here all right, only you hadn t any time 
 for Molly McFee. Molly McFee wasn t good enough for 
 you. Or else you were a cheap guy, that s it. Didn t even 
 want to order the drinks. I did it tonight, you see. Knew 
 I d have to," she laughed scornfully. He had shaken her 
 hand from off him and drawn back a step as she talked. He 
 was perfectly aware of the meaning of the situation. Why 
 had he not thought of it before, her persistence, her continued 
 reference to Glad in their evening meetings, her displeasure 
 at his refusals to her solicitations? He was facing that most 
 dangerous of creatures, a jealous and vicious woman. As he 
 eyed her apparently in absolute self command, he was thinking 
 
226 THE CLAW 
 
 fast. He noted the lock on the door through which he had 
 come. There were other doors, but they too were no doubt 
 locked. 
 
 He relaxed suddenly and turning to a chair seated himself. 
 "Yes," he said, "all right, but you had something you wanted 
 to tell me." He bent forward, smiling easily, turning his 
 hat nonchantly in his hand. She eyed him with curiosity, 
 surprise. 
 
 "What?" she said unguardedly. 
 
 "You said in your note that you had something to tell 
 me about my friend," he spoke carefully, the friend we talked 
 about before. You brought me here with the idea you had 
 something of importance to say about her. That was why 
 I came, the only reason!" 
 
 An ugly look passed over her face. She poured out a glass 
 for herself and drank it off quickly. As she put it down she 
 looked at him. Her eyes grew to narrow slits. "Yes, your 
 friend, always your friendl" she underlined the word. "That s 
 just what I want to talk about." She threw back her head 
 and her face flamed to the forehead under the white paste. 
 
 "Your friend, that s just what she is, and I knew it all 
 right! You tried to fool me. You would have nothing of 
 me, because you re a hypocrite, a cheap skate too! It might 
 be found out. It would cost you too much! But this girl, 
 this little girl, that you pretend to befriend, that you take 
 to your house, the house of another friend, by the way; that s 
 two, you know!" 
 
 Duncan sprang from his chair. "You lie!" he cried. He 
 would have taken her by the throat but he remembered she 
 was a woman. He siezed her arm in his great hand. She 
 wrenched it away caressing the hurt with malignant eyes but 
 he continued: 
 
 "I m not through, oh, I m not through with you\" she cried. 
 
THE CLAW 227 
 
 "Maybe I don t know all. Likely I don t, but I nin guess 
 about things. You were her friend back there, weren t you? 
 Her good friend, oh yes she told me so. Guess you were 
 sort of disappointed when you got back here. Guess you 
 kind of thought you were stung when you come to pay the 
 hospital bills!" 
 
 He gave a cry and sprang at her, but she evaded him, sprang 
 to one side, then turned and clasped him about the neck. 
 Her face pressed his, her arms urged him to her bosom, her 
 voice came in panting caress: 
 
 "Oh I wouldn t get sore, kid, if I was you! That s 9,11 
 right, I was just kiddin! Come, I always liked you even if 
 you ain t treated me square." Her eyes were coals of fire, 
 her hands bands of steel that bound and burnt him. He 
 strained against them, flung them off with a curse and threw 
 her from him. She fell heavily against the door, screaming. 
 It opened, another opened, the \vall seemed to give at every 
 point and let in faces, forms, men pushing and ogling, women, 
 screaming and climbing on chairs to look over the heads of 
 the men, girls frightened and clinging to their partners, a 
 policeman pushing his way with oaths and brute force, and 
 Blytbel 
 
 The woman gained her feet and sprang at him. The officer s 
 arm intercepted. She turned with vile curses for him. The 
 policeman laid a heavy hand on her shoulder and reached for 
 ( ameron. The woman was screaming, protesting in hysterical 
 terms with wild accusations. He had refused her her price. 
 He was in her debt for many liaisons. He was a cheap guy 
 who refused to patronize legitimate business but traded on 
 innocent girls. 
 
 Duncan listened, dumb, looking with stupefaction on the 
 crowding faces of the throng. It was as though he was ob- 
 
228 THE CLAW 
 
 serving a cleverly played farce, or was it a dream? Blythe 
 interceded, clapping him on the shoulder genially: 
 
 "Well, old man. I m sure surprised to see you here. Not- 
 just the place you d expect to find one interested in the Uplift, 
 eh? But maybe you were trying the Uplight on Molly McFee. 
 How about it Molly?" 
 
 "I don t know what you mean. I don t know what this 
 means!" cried Duncan. It s a put up job, a plot, a damned 
 plot, all of it! I came here to 
 
 "Oh yes, that s all right my boy, that s all right! We 
 understand," he turned to the crowd with a laughs that 
 maddened Duncan. "Nothing doing here, Ortly," to the 
 policeman whose hand dropped away from Duncan at the 
 word. "Run along Molly and no noise, it s thirty days for 
 you! I don t stand for this sort of thing here, you know. 
 The policeman pushed the girl, sobbing hysterically, through 
 the crowd. "Get out now, all of you!" the crowd vanished 
 like a nightmare. 
 
 "That s all right, boy, don t look so cut up about it!" 
 continued Mr. Blythe, setting up a chair and righting an 
 overturned bottle, the contents of which were staining the 
 floor. "Boys will be boys, we understand that. I couldn t 
 think you were quite the exception you tried to make out 
 to be. Yet you did fool me some. I wouldn t have looked 
 for quite this. You oughtn t to hit it up quite so hard young 
 man, really," waving his hands toward the empty bottles 
 and the disordered room. 
 
 "Mr. Blythe," cried Duncan laying hold of him, "this is all 
 a cursed damnable plot and I like a fool, walked into it. Don t 
 you believe that? Can t you believe it?" He recitedjthe 
 details beginning with the note from the woman and reminding 
 him of Glad, the girl of whom he had spoken. 
 
 Oh, ho!" nodded Blythe, "so that s the way of it. I knew 
 
THE CLAW 229 
 
 there must be a girl in the case somewhere. Told you the 
 other day, you know. So it s all fixed and regular and Molly, 
 the little she-devil is jealous, eh?" 
 
 "Jealous!" exclaimed Duncan scornfully. There was odious- 
 ness in the intimation. "1 don t know why! I ve never had 
 anything to do with her, except that I ve seen her in the street 
 and other places, sometimes, and she s solicited me." 
 
 "How about here?" sneered Blythe, "and at the Non Pareil, 
 the nights you ve been seeing the underworld, taking notes 
 on my business. You know I was aware of those little private 
 visits you ve been making." Duncan colored. 
 
 "That s nothing to me," he said. "I told you I d been 
 investigating, looking into it myself, that I hadn t taken 
 anybody s word for it." 
 
 "Well then," laughed Blythe, "it looks something like a 
 boomerang. No offence, it s kind of funny that s all, devilish 
 funny, ain t it?" Blythe was seized with extravagant mirth. 
 
 "No, it s not funny," exclaimed Duncan, his face was white. 
 "And the whole thing has come through the cursed kind of 
 places you keep, it s how the little girl had her down fall and 
 it s how I came to get into this damned compromising business 
 tonight, the whole town looking in." He was breathing hard, 
 the seriousness of the affair gripping him. "What s to be 
 done?" he demanded. 
 
 Blythe clapped him on the shoulder with returned good-will. 
 "Forget it, boy, why this is nothing! Of course the rough- 
 house isn t pleasant or a part of my business. I make a 
 point of keeping an orderly place at least, you ve noticed 
 that. But as far as this sort of thing is concerned, what 
 did I tell you the other day? And I might add, that a young 
 fellow isn t a young fellow if he don t take his fling at this 
 sort of thing sometime or other." 
 
 "But I don t agree with you," returned Duncan, "and 
 
230 THE CLAW 
 
 it s not what I came here for, I wasn t brought up that way. 
 The whole thing makes me sick." 
 
 "Oh, well, cheer up and come along;" he guided Duncan, 
 in his ill concealed disgust, out through a back way to the 
 street. 
 
 "Now go home and to bed and forget it," admonished 
 Blythe. "Course I believe you. I know you, I was only 
 fooling. You re one of the straight kind. I know that. There s 
 no harm done, only, well it was something of a joke. Ha! Ha! 
 And if the papers should happen to get hold of it or anything, 
 but they won t, don t you fret. Good night." 
 
 Duncan did not follow Blythe s admonition. He presently 
 found his room but without knowing how he went there. 
 The full significance of the night s affkir had gripped him 
 on the moment of Blythe s leaving and he had walked in 
 a trance of horror and conjecture that took no note of things 
 exterior. Now he entered his room. He tossed his hat on 
 the bed and sat down, his face in his hands, his eyes staring 
 blankly before him trying to study the situation. His mind 
 was held in a cramp of apprehension, tortured with the thought 
 of the publicity already gained and of another fear, the one 
 Blythe facetiously suggested. 
 
 If it should get into the papers before he could get to any 
 one, to his friends, to Corinne, to tell them the straight of it. 
 And how could he tell the facts to all, to his friends, his hundreds 
 of friends in the city and throughout the valley. The cold 
 sweat stood out on him. The fingers with which he held a 
 match to his cigar he had been smoking absently, desperately 
 were stiff with nervous cold. 
 
 And how could he explain, anyway, in a manner that would 
 make the explanation public, as public as the story would be. 
 He could not use the name of Glad for an excuse to defend 
 him in an affair that, barring the roughhouse feature, would 
 
THE CLAW 231 
 
 be considered by many men as legitimate, ordinary. Oh, 
 the whole abominable affair, it was maddening. 
 
 He might call up the papers, it occurred to him, 
 and buy the boys off, but his acquaintance with the Sun 
 people was slight; the Searchlight reporters he knew not at 
 all, they were new in town. Besides, he threw away his cigar in 
 disgust, call them up, give the affair away, when perhaps 
 they hadn t gotten hold of it at all? What a fool. 
 
 Anyway, hope glimmered, Blythe would see that the thing 
 was shut up. Blythe couldn t afford to have his place figure 
 in such a way. Why, of course. Why hadn t he thought of 
 it. They were even now, he and Blythe, thanks to this wretched 
 girl Blythe had had his revenge for Duncan s rejection of 
 his offer, his revenge and his laugh. After it Blythe was 
 immediately placated, his genial friend; had slapped him on 
 the back and assured him he could go home and sleep without 
 anxiety, the only danger was from the newspapers and they 
 would be looked after. That was what Blythe had said and 
 Blythe was powerful. 
 
 Pshaw. He had lost his head, had had a regular brain 
 storm. Well, now he d go to bed. He was dead tired, also 
 his head was splitting from the numberless cigars with which 
 he had smoked out his trouble from its lair; he was ordinarily 
 a very sane smoker. Four o clock, four hours to catch some 
 sleep, get his breakfast and get to the office. He threw off 
 his clothes and turned off the light. One thing, he couldn t 
 have done differently. He had to go. The fact that it was 
 a hoax instead of Glad in peril made no difference. It was 
 the comforting thought that sent him off into sound sleep. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 When Norris entered the news-room of the Journal office the 
 next morning, he found McWhirter crouched over the morning 
 paper in inflamed and expanded condition, his speech effectually 
 blocked by his untoward emotions. He reached the sheet 
 to Norris without a word but as the latter read all his young 
 anathemas were not sufficient to express his feelings. The 
 head ran : 
 
 "ROUGH HOUSE AT THE NON PAREIL LAST NIGHT 
 
 Woman of Under-World accuses Prominent Citizen. 
 
 Youth of Well Known Family in Unsavory Affair. 
 
 Other Liaisons Implied." 
 
 Beneath was a highly colored account of the affair with 
 Duncan s name used. 
 
 The other boys arrived and fell upon the sheet with 
 incredulous ejaculations. The morning daily had, during its 
 short existence, been guilty of many indiscretions and breaches 
 of the code of decent journalism in an ambition to be counted 
 the yellow sheet of the town, but it had never accomplished 
 such a dastardly thing as this before. 
 
 "Oh, the dirty skunks! The skulking cowardly ginks! 
 The fools, to undertake anything like that on Duncan with 
 his reputation and following." 
 
 What do you suppose there is to it, anyway?" asked 
 Hay ward. "It s sure a fake, that s certain. Let s see the Sun. 
 Nothing in it, wouldn t have been anyway, if there was anything 
 to it. They re white." 
 
 "And what would the Searchlight handle it for?" demanded 
 Barton. 
 
 "Just out of pure cussedness, out of damn fool idiocy. 
 
THE CLAW 233 
 
 Cause they haven t the ability to get out a decent sheet, to 
 get real news." McWhirter was getting back his speech. 
 "They ought to be ridden out of town, a paper that d do a 
 thing like that!" His further reflections were not printable. 
 
 "What are you going to do about it?" asked Winston. 
 
 "Do about it! Well, that s to be seen. Norris get Duncan 
 upon the line." But Norris had already vanished. He was 
 in the telephone booth frantically trying to get Duncan s 
 house, when Duncan himself strode into the news office. 
 
 He was white to the lips and he held, clutched in his fingers, 
 a copy of the Searchlight that he had just bought of a newsboy 
 outside. He had glanced at the page casually, scanning the 
 telegraphic news, then his eyes turned to the local page and 
 the story caught his eye. The blood left his head as he read 
 and surged back again with a rush that hurt. One thought 
 flashed into his mind, vivid, enlightening, the one that had 
 evaded him the night before when his conjectures as to the 
 woman s reasons for pressing her solicitations, the inadequacy 
 of the theory of her jealousy, teased him. Blythel Blythe 
 had planned it, planned it all for his undoing. Blythe had 
 given it to the newspaper. Subsidied the new sheet for his 
 purposes. 
 
 He was in front of the Journal office. By instinct he turned, 
 his mind on fire. The Journal was his paper, his father s 
 paper. It was the Searchlight s natural rival. He would 
 find redress. Blythe would smart for this. He would tell 
 the whole story, it would be plain enough. It was the kind 
 of damnable plot that men sometimes play on another. 
 
 The boys sprang up at sight of Duncan and Hay ward pushed 
 a chair toward him but he ignored it and stood with his back 
 to the wall, facing them with clenched fist as though the 
 Journal five, bending concerned eager faces on him were 
 Blythe, the enemy. From his stark and rigid face, his blue 
 
234 THE CLAW 
 
 eyes looked out, curiously young, with an expression of in 
 credible outrage. 
 
 "Oh say, here he is!" cried little Norris bursting from the 
 telephone booth. "Say, what s there in it? It s a damn lie 
 ain t it? Oh, we ll fix them all right." He pushed into the 
 group surrounding Duncan. 
 
 "It s a lie," said Duncan, "and it isn t. It s all facts except 
 that they colored em up, gave them the wrong look, played 
 them up to suit the taste." The boys looked at each other 
 in hesitation, embarrasment. Duncan caught their expression. 
 
 "No, listen. That s all right, you ll understand in a moment. 
 Wait till I get hold of myself." He took a chair then, bending 
 forward, his eyes flaming, his words coming between set teeth. 
 
 "I was there all right. I was sent for and I went. I was 
 sent for. The woman sent a note telling me she wanted to 
 see me about something, about, about" he paused, suddenly 
 and went weak. His jaw dropped, his arms fell to his sides 
 and he sat staring stupidly. 
 
 "What s the matter?" cried McWhirter. "Say, he s all in. 
 He s hurt or something." 
 
 "Yes," said Duncan rising unsteadily to his feet, "Yes, 
 I forgot. I am sick. I ll go. I ll tell you later, another time, 
 later." His words trailed off incoherently as he rose, slowly, 
 like an old man, and moved away. The boys stared at each 
 other with mouths open. 
 
 "What the devil. Say he s drunk, no he ain t, he s sick 
 or something. 
 
 "Norris, go after him, go and see. Ask him what s the 
 matter. Bring him back. Gosh, there s more in this than 
 you think," cried McWhirter, his news sense rioting. 
 
 But Norris for once was out of commission. He stood 
 staring after Duncan, astonishment and dismay rooting him 
 to the spot. At McWhirter s words he broke from his stupor 
 
THE CLAW 235 
 
 and sprinted after Duncan, taking the steps at a bound. He 
 reached him at the corner. Duncan was still moving in a 
 sort of daze, his eyes staring before him. 
 
 "Duncan, for the Lord s sake, what s the matter?" cried 
 Norris. "Have you gone off your nut? Say buck up, it 
 ain t so bad. Why didn t you go on? Why didn t you tell 
 us? You had something to say all right." Duncan paused 
 and leaned against the palings of the courthouse yard. 
 
 "Glad," he said, his face white and wondering. "Glad, it 
 was about her the woman wrote. I forgot, somehow, I was so 
 mad. I was wild, I was so mad. It was Glad. She wrote she 
 had something to tell me about her. I thought it might 
 concern her safety, since that last time, and I went. Of 
 course I couldn t tell them, back there, and I wasn t quick 
 enough. I couldn t seem to think up anything else that would 
 hold water. It s made me look bad, I guess," he stared at 
 at Norris out of his blue eyes, helplessly. Norris siezed his 
 lax hand in a violent grip and his young eyes looked worship. 
 
 "Duncan," he breathed, "you re a Prince. But here, we 
 mustn t stand here." Already one or two passersby had 
 eyed Duncan with interest. "Let s get somewhere where we 
 can talk. Going to the Association office?" 
 
 "Yes," said Duncan rousing himself, "there won t be anybody 
 there for an hour, I ve been going early." They sought 
 the building, climbing a half dozen flights of stairs. The 
 elevator boy had not come yet. 
 
 Duncan unlocked the door and they went in. "Sit down," 
 he said. He took a chair near Norris, his poise had returned 
 and with it a grim attitude of fight. "I ve got it all sized up," 
 he said, "and if it wasn t for the complications I d make Blythe 
 smart for it, give you the whole story. It was a plot, 
 a deliberate plot for which the woman was made use of. I ll 
 tell you all about it." He began, detailing the entire story 
 
236 THE CLAW 
 
 of his dealings with Blythe, his investigation, nightly, of 
 the cafes and the details of the evening s affair. Norris 
 followed him alert, eager. Beside his interest on Duncan s 
 account the story held all the dramatic elements of a great 
 newspaper story, the sort that falls to a reporter s lot but a 
 few times in his career. 
 
 Lord, what a yarn. He could see it played up in the Journal s 
 best style on the first page. What a scoop to put over his 
 contemporaries, the morning papers, the sensation of the 
 year; Blythe, the big man of the town caught in such a scheme. 
 What a knock out for him, for the Searchlight. What an 
 exoneration for Duncan. 
 
 As Duncan talked he pieced motive with motive with all 
 the genius of the reporter s mind, the news instinct that is 
 like the detective s sense in its specialization, in its talent for 
 discovering thread ends. It was all plain, plainer to him than 
 to Duncan, even, for he knew of the latter s popularity. He 
 had the gossip of the political world at his tongue s end. He 
 knew that there was nothing to keep Duncan from the legislature 
 if he wanted it; and Blythe coveted this man s talents in his 
 own particular interests. 
 
 Blythe, Norris saw it all now, Blythe, whose enterprises 
 included every phase of the liquor business needed to have his 
 power behind the law makers. To have one of those law 
 makers a partner of himself, drawing his livelihood from 
 the same kind of business, would mean the assurance of vigorous 
 work at the capitol in the booze interests. 
 
 But Duncan had refused on the very grounds of disapproval 
 of Blythe s business. He refused to acknowledge that vice 
 was a part of the liquor business and that it must therefore 
 be condoned by laws made for the purpose. He was 
 an idealist and held an exalted, impossible idea of the industry. 
 He was not ready to withdraw from the business himself, 
 
THE CLAW 237 
 
 as a grower, nor from efforts in the interests of what he 
 considered the clean and honorable end of the liquor business. 
 He was, still, in the minds of the wine people, a proper and 
 desirable candidate as their representative. And just here 
 came tbe cnix. 
 
 There were not a few other idealists, men of illusions, like 
 Duncan, valuable supporters of the liquor cause. The inner 
 circle of the liquor interests, the liquor men who played with 
 the hands of vice were not prepared to come into the open, 
 even among their own people, and make a stand for that at 
 which many, particularly the growers of wine grapes, would 
 revolt. There would be division at a time when the liquor 
 interests of the state had most need to stand together, defeat 
 at the hands of the prohibition people. 
 
 To discredit Duncan, to shatter his reputation as the clean, 
 upright young fellow he was supposed to be this was Blythe s 
 plot. It was a diabolical one that risked nothing for Blythe. 
 The smirk regrets expressed in an interview appended to 
 the Searchlight story in which Blythe regretted the notoriety 
 lent to his irreproachable refreshment resort, by the introduction 
 by Duncan of a woman of such character, and the creating of 
 such a scene effectively exonerated his house of discredit. 
 And Blythe, a talented reader of character, had banked on 
 Duncan s chivalry, his loyalty to Glad, to block any steps 
 toward public exoneration. Oh, it was devilish! Norris 
 chewed the end of his unsmoked cigarette and muttered 
 unprintable ejaculations as Duncan talked. 
 
 "If you d only told me," he groaned, "if you d only taken 
 me or some of the boys into your confidence about Blythe, 
 about this offer, we could have given you Blythe s dimensions 
 in a minute, there isn t anything we don t know about men; 
 our business is a clearing house for character." 
 
 "I m used to tending to my own affairs and working them 
 
238 THE CLAW 
 
 out myself," explained Duncan. "I didn t want to go to anybody 
 else about Blythe. It didn t seem square after he d made 
 me such an offer. I didn t want to imply anything wrong 
 about him if it wasn t there." Norris groaned: 
 
 " You re too darned idealistic, Duncan," he exclaimed. 
 " You re chuck full of it, of the chivalry at the Round Table 
 age; it doesn t go in this Anno Domino, 1914. I tell you it 
 doesn t," and Norris bent the anxious eyes of a grandfather 
 on Duncan s moody and pondering face. 
 
 "Oh, cut it out," cried Duncan, he had no mind to be preached 
 to by a stripling. "I m tired of the talk of idealism , it sounds 
 like Blythe. Idealism! You make me a Sissy. Is it idealism 
 to be square with a man and expect him to be square with 
 you? Idealism to do what s straight in front of you to 
 do r like looking after that little sister of Garrisons? If that s 
 idealism , well, call it so if you want to." He squared his 
 big shoulders impatiently, reached for and lighted a cigar. 
 
 Norris was on his feet. His arm went impulsively across 
 Duncan s stubborn back where the big muscles stood out under 
 the thin shirt. The caress was almost that of a girl. "By 
 Gad, Duncan! It is idealism, and of the biggest sort. The 
 kind a lot of men ought to have and there d be no such darned 
 mess as this you re in right now. I haven t words to tell 
 you how I feel about your loyalty to my little girl, not Garrison s 
 sister, you know." The bright color flashed up in his face. 
 "I suppose I don t realize it," his voice had grown suddenly 
 husky, "somehow I don t take these things so seriously, I 
 mean the trouble Glad s had. It seems so apart from herself. 
 It s as though some white little butterfly or something had 
 inadvertantly been dashed into the gutter; soiled and hurt for 
 a moment, but as soon as out it was itself, clean and pure again, 
 for nothing can really touch her; the sweet, pure woman within 
 
THE CLAW 239 
 
 her. Do you understand? But I suppose it would go hard 
 with her if people knew, hard, always." 
 
 "That s just it," interrupted Duncan, "the world. That s 
 why I ve tried to save Glad from publicity, to make it so 
 no one will ever know, can ever point a finger in scorn at her, 
 at you as her husband. They mustn t know. We must 
 guard her, no matter what happens. Why, even the reputation 
 given me by this damnable hatched up affair couldn t begin 
 to hurt me, as the facts concerning her experiences, unresponsible 
 as she is for them, could forver damn her." 
 
 He spoke with the concern he had growingly felt for the 
 girl and Norris. He was not sorry for the sacrifice he had 
 made. It was as he had said, no sacrifice, but the involuntary 
 course of his impulses that had, from his infancy, been utilized 
 in the line of duty and unhesitating service to others. 
 Back in his brain one cry, the cry of his own self- 
 interest the last at all times to be served raised with 
 agonized appeal, the name "Corinne." 
 
 His mother, Marlinee; he thought of these, too, but he 
 could tell them, they would understand. Corrine! How could 
 he bring to his defense now all the facts that he had failed to 
 apprise her of before, of Glad, his investigation of Blythe s 
 places after their unqualified endorsement of him and his 
 proposals. Why had he not told Oorinne of Glad before, 
 as Marlinee had suggested? She had seemed to think he 
 should. How could he make Corinnc understand now? 
 Norris thoughts were running fast along the same line: 
 
 "Well, you shouldn t have to suffer for my sake, and Glad s," 
 he said. "We must think some way out." 
 
 "Oh no, let it go," exclaimed Duncan desperately. "It s 
 no matter about me, I guess I can live through it." 
 
 "You shan t. We ve got to find a way out. I ve got to 
 get McWhirter some word right now, he sent me after you." 
 
240 THE CLAW 
 
 "Curse McWhirter," exclaimed Duncan, "it s none of his 
 business." For once he condemned newspaper zeal and 
 forgot for the moment that he had run into the office for 
 vindication at the first word of his affair. Norris was thinking 
 hard. 
 
 "It won t hurt to tell him this much, and it ll square you; 
 the same that I gave the federal officers the other day. That 
 a girl you and I know, of good family, who must be shielded, 
 has been persecuted by the overtures of a man found to be 
 a panderer; that this wom?,n who had solicited you, as those 
 women do, and was refused by you, made out in her note that 
 she wanted to see you, that she knew something about this 
 man s designs; that you went for that cause, and then you 
 can tell all about Blythe, you know, and his motives for this. 
 But wait. No, it needs something else. This ain t enough." 
 He paused and gnawed the end of his cigarette in perplexity, 
 defeat. 
 
 "No, that won t do, darn it! They d say, anybody would 
 say, that the whole defense was faked up. We need something 
 else. If we could get the woman s word, an affidavit to the 
 effect that she was bribed. We must find her, try to get it. 
 Don t you see, there s the key, the key to your case and to 
 the biggest newspaper story that was ever landed in this 
 town. What s the name of the girl?" 
 
 "Molly McFee." 
 
 "Molly McFee!" Norris yell raised him from his chair. 
 "I ve got it then, leave it to me. Oh say, just leave it to me. 
 Lord! what a chance!" He was pounding Duncan hysterically 
 on the back with his fists. Duncan wheeled on him with 
 open mouth : 
 
 "What s the matter, are you crazy?" 
 
 "Crazy nothing, we ve got it, that s all. I know this Molly 
 McFee. Got to beat it this minute for the jail, before they 
 
THE CLAW 241 
 
 let her out/ he grabbed his hat and dashed for the door. On 
 the threshold he turned back. "Say, lay low, don t say 
 anything to anybody. Stay right here and be ready to come 
 when I call you up." He was gone. Duncan sat and stared 
 as the door banged behind him. He went to the window and 
 looked out and shortly saw Norris hitting up a hot pace in 
 the direction of the city jail. Half way there Norris turned 
 into a small grocery store and called up McWhirter on the 
 phone. McWhirter s greeting was not cordial: 
 
 "Hello! What the devil do you mean by taking all day 
 to a thing like this? Where are you? Why don t you come 
 back to the office? I haven t given you this assignment 
 anyhow, it takes careful handling and a big head." Norris 
 ignored the implication in the zeal of his interests. At the 
 moment, Duncan s friend, bent on his exoneration, had vanished 
 and the reporter was in possession. He was perfectly aware 
 that to land the story meant the making of him as far as local 
 newspaper fame was concerned. It meant a quick jump 
 from emergency man and general roustabout to "courthouse", 
 maybe, in place of Hay ward when the latter took the lay-off 
 his growing habits prophesied. 
 
 "Come back, nothing," he shouted. "Why, I ve got the 
 whole story, or will have in fifteen minutes more. Duncan s 
 told me all about it and it s the biggest thing the town s known 
 for a blue moon. A big plot that involves Blythe and maybe 
 some others. I say, McWhirter," he dropped to conciliation, 
 "you mustn t call me off now. Duncan s my personal friend 
 and gave me what he wouldn t have given any of the other boys. 
 I ve just got a little matter down at the city jail to clear up 
 and I ll have the whole thing in my hands and we ll put it all 
 over the Searchlight in tonight s issue." He paused and 
 waited in nerve racking suspense for the word from the other 
 end. 
 
242 THE CLAW 
 
 "Well hurry up then, and be damned quick about it," was 
 the cheering admonition, and the next moment Norris was 
 beating it down the street. He "beat it" across the next 
 square, but as he came in sight of the jail he paused and dropped 
 into a leisurely saunter. He swung easily up the steps and 
 into the office. If Blythe was behind the affair, it wouldn t 
 be an easy matter to get an interview with Molly McFee. 
 
 "Hello Jeff," he said casually, to the desk sergeant. "How s 
 business, anything doing?" 
 
 "Oh not much." The man came out from behind the rails 
 and stood in the lobby with him. "Nothing but a few drunks 
 and Molly McFee. I reckon you saw about that in the Search 
 light tbis morning." 
 
 "Yes," said Norris, he struck a match on the cement wall 
 and lighted a cigarette, and handed his case to the jailer. 
 
 "Have a smoke?" The jailer took one. Norris cigarettes 
 were of the best quality. 
 
 "How about it? Molly run in for a moral example , the 
 story faked up by the Searchlight?" 
 
 "Naw, there was a row down there all right. Didn t you 
 see who? Cameron of La Mesa vineyard. He d been run 
 in, too, but Blythe happened in just at the right time. Blythe 
 owns the cafe you know. Blythe didn t like to see -Cameron 
 bawled out so to satisfy the crowd we just gathered in Molly. 
 She ll get out in a few days." 
 
 "Hum," said Norris. "I kind of wanted to see her. The 
 Searchlight beat us to it but we ve got to have something on 
 it prominent citizen, Cameron, you know. I understand 
 Molly made some pretty stiff charges. Maybe she can give 
 me some more dope on it. Think I could see her?" 
 
 "Aw, guess you better not. The less said about it the 
 better. Blythe was anxious to save Cameron, you know." 
 
 "That s so, all right." Norris started off indifferently, 
 
THE CLAW 243 
 
 then he turned back. "Oh, by the way, how did that matter 
 come out between you and the Chief over that jail break; 
 the story we held out, for you, you know? Did you manage 
 to square yourself?" 
 
 "Oh yes, sure," answered the man, hastily. "Sure, that 
 was fixed up all right. It was awful good of you to keep 
 that quiet." 
 
 "Yes, well it was unusual. We had the whole dope on it 
 you know. McWhirter wanted to run it anyway, but I told 
 him better not. He said the other day we might get a new 
 line on it, he didn t believe the thing had blown over so I 
 thought I d ask you." 
 
 "Oh sure, sure! It s all over, tell him that. It s all 0. K. 
 There ain t anything to be said about it, really. You won t 
 print anything about it will you?" He came close to Norris, 
 soliciting him anxiously. 
 
 "Oh no, I reckon not, since it s all over," said Norris. "Lets 
 see, did you say I could look in on Molly?" 
 
 The sergeant showed Norris up the stairway into the woman s 
 department. He paused, then unlocked the door and handed 
 Norris the key. 
 
 "Be sure and lock it when you come out," he said. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 Marlinee, whose time for reaching the office was a half 
 hour later than that of the boys found the newsroom vacated 
 but for McWhirter. The latter was at his desk, hunched 
 over the devastating issue of the Searchlight and in deep 
 thought. 
 
 "Top o the mornin to yez, Misther McWhirter," called 
 Marlinee airily, in excellent imitation of the tongue of his 
 forefathers." What s th news?" 
 
 "J see that?" asked McWhirter briefly, pointing to the 
 cafe story. Marlinee bent over his shoulder and read. The 
 next moment McWhirter was on his feet. 
 
 "Don t do it. Don t do it\" he stuttered. "Don t faint, 
 I say!" He reached frantically for a chair and pushed the 
 white and panting girl into it. It flashed through his mind, 
 too late that Duncan was a particular friend of Marlinee, 
 possibly her finance. "Oh Lord! Oh Lord! What an ass I am," 
 he flayed himself. He was eminently relieved on seeing the 
 color rush back to Marlinee s face and her eyes flash with 
 challenge. 
 
 "Mr. McWhirter," she cried. "That s a lie, you know its 
 a lie, but what are we going to do about it?" 
 
 "Well, it isn t a lie. That s the trouble," said McWhirter, 
 delicately, fearful of a feminine relapse. "Duncan was there 
 all right. He was in this morning and started to tell us about 
 it. Seemed to think there was some plot, or something. Then 
 he had to leave before he got through. I m waiting to get a 
 line on it now from him, sent little Norris for it." He did 
 not care to impart to Marlinee his uneasiness in regard to 
 Duncan s strange conduct. Personally he thought Cameron 
 
THE CLAW 245 
 
 was drunk, not over his last night s affair yet. McWhirter 
 had no faith in any man until he was shown. 
 
 "Let me see it again/ cried the girl. She seized the paper 
 and read, pondering each line, and a light fell upon her. 
 
 "McWhirter!" she cried, "I know all about it, or believe 
 I do. It was a plot, a plot a woman of that sort might think 
 of to entrap a man that her wiles can t gain. I know of this 
 woman, that she was interested in Duncan, made overtures 
 to him. (Duncan had told her of his investigation of the 
 two cafes. ) "She got him there on a pretext at last, and I 
 know what that pretext was. It was But suddenly 
 Marlinee s mouth closed, her head dropped. She sat tapping 
 the desk with her pencil, embarrassed and silent. 
 
 "Well, for heaven s sake, say it!" cried McWhirter. " You 
 going to throw a fit, catch a brain storm, like the rest of em? 
 Grab your lid and beat it, like Duncan did a minute ago? Or 
 stand rooted to the spot s f you d seen a ghost, like Norris? 
 Say, what s there in it? For a fellow that s been as little of 
 a lady s man as Duncan is reputed to have been I must say 
 he s stirring up a devil of a fuss now he s got in the running." 
 
 Marlinee s mind was dizzily groping for safe ground. Duncan 
 had spared Glad. That was what made him leave, suddenly 
 and compromisingiy, when just on the point of explanation. 
 Well she must save her, too, but just at that moment feminine 
 emotions rose in her distracted bosom and she could have 
 shaken with perfectly good will the soft and endearing little 
 kitten she was sheltering at her home and who had precipitated 
 all the trouble. "Wasn t a man s reputation as important 
 as a woman s?" fumed Marlinee to herself. "Must Duncan 
 be downed by a vicious story in his own town without a word 
 in his own defense for the sake of this foolish little puss!" Well 
 there was some things she could tell; as much enlightenment 
 
246 THE CLAW 
 
 as Norris gave the officers to help in their search, and she 
 would. 
 
 "Mr. McWhirter," she said earnestly. I know how this 
 woman managed her appointment, and why Duncan refused 
 to tell her subterfuge. It was because it would involve another, 
 an innocent young girl, whom he shrank from brining into 
 publicity. But if he had thought in time, it needn t have. 
 This girl is a friend of mine and of Norris, that s another 
 reason he stopped. It just occured to him. She is visiting 
 me now, out at my home on the vineyard. She was in town 
 with me here, before, but I took her out there because she 
 was being persecuted by the attentions and solicitations of 
 a man we believe to be a professional pariderer. We have 
 notified the officers about him. Norris thinks he is the man 
 wanted just now on a white slavery charge. This woman 
 was in the employ of the man, we thought, or were afraid. 
 She annoyed Duncan about the girl, asking about her when 
 ever she saw him. And yet, we were puzzled that she would 
 be so persistent and open about it. We thought 
 maybe she had heard about the man s designs, and for some 
 reason wanted to frustrate them," Marlinee was speaking 
 with care, in an effort to keep her story logical and to the 
 facts, without entangling the story of Glad s first experience. 
 
 "Don t you see, Duncan got word from the woman that 
 she wanted to see him about this young girl ; my friend. Duncan 
 went, thinking it might be important. No, he didn t say 
 anything to me about it. He wouldn t be apt to. Besides," 
 Marlinee caught at the excuse with a relief, "I was away from 
 the office yesterday, don t you remember? And Duncan 
 didn t know where I was even if he had wanted to tell me. But 
 that s it, Mr. McWhirter. I m sure of it, I know it. It 
 was in order to shield the girl, a mere child, that he wouldn t 
 tell." McWhirter knitted his eyebrows as he pondered, 
 
THE CLAW 247 
 
 then his face cleared and he threw back his shoulders as if 
 casting off a weight. 
 
 "Well then, that s all right, and I don t see for the life of 
 me what was the use of all this brain storm business over it; 
 wouldn t have hurt the little girl to have told that much." 
 
 "Oh well, you know Duncan is different from some folks; 
 he has exalted ideas of chivalry, and then Why, Norris was 
 right here and he couldn t have, without speaking to him first 
 for Norris" (Yes, she would tell him, it would help that much 
 more. ) Norris is engaged to the girl. Don t you see?" 
 
 McWhirter drew a long whistle. "That kid, well what do 
 you know about that! Well," he grinned. "He s hot and 
 heavy on the case right now. Jumped at it like a terrier 
 after a rat. He s run down Duncan and telephoned a minute 
 ago he had all the story except something he wanted to get 
 from the jail. Norris in pursuit of a friend s vindication, his 
 sweethearts rescue and reportorial fame. Sounds like a 
 movie doesn t it? Well the days of romance aren t over 
 yet." 
 
 Marlinee waited in racking expectation of Norris return. 
 Should she have told McWhirter? Did Duncan tell Norris 
 his reasons for withholding the explanation and would the 
 latter take the authority to use Glad s story to vindicate 
 Cameron, or would they have arranged some other feasible 
 explanation that would eliminate Glad from the affair and 
 yet exonerate Duncan? If the latter, then she had spoiled 
 all. She must get hold of Norris before he came back. She 
 tried the jail but failed to locate him. She would call up 
 Duncan at the Grape Association. She could say little over 
 the wire but would try and learn the line of defense determined 
 upon. The sound of Duncan s voice reassured her, it was 
 firm and self-possessed and brought composure to her own 
 senses. 
 
248 THE CLAW 
 
 "Duncan," she said, steadily, "I ve seen it and understand 
 all. What are you going to do about it? what have you and 
 Norris decided on? Just a word, so that I will know what 
 to say. As much as Norris told the officers, Duncan?" she 
 added anxiously. 
 
 "Yes, said Duncan. "That was what we thought. Norris 
 will be back to the office soon, he thought. He saw a way out. 
 He ll tell you. Don t worry." Marlinee hung up the receiver 
 and dropped forward on the telephone desk, weak from the 
 reaction and relief. At the Association, Whitten, Jones 
 and Powell, friends of Duncan and members of the Association, 
 dropped in one by one. Each had read the Searchlight s 
 astounding story and each in turn fell on Duncan with 
 ejaculations of amazement and anathemas for the morning 
 paper. Others came in with the same indignation. 
 
 "It s a damn shame for the Searchlight to run such a thing," 
 exclaimed Powell. "They ought to be boycotted." 
 
 "And Ely the hadn t any call to talk in such pious manner 
 about the reputation of his house-guests. Everybody knows 
 his house all right. Say, you ll put em through for this, the 
 Searchlight folks, won t you Cameron?" contributed Whitten. 
 
 "Sure, I would," agreed Powell, "and we ll give you all 
 the help we can. It s a cursed nasty trick just now at the 
 beginning of the campaign. I m surprised at Blythe. He 
 could have shut this up and I should have thought he would. 
 He ought to be a little more interested in your success than 
 anybody else." 
 
 "I can t say anything about it just now, gentlemen," 
 said Duncan. "Though I appreciate your kindness. I m 
 deciding what move to make. Sometimes its best to let a 
 thing like that go by." 
 
 "Sure," assented Jones, "anybody d know it was colored 
 up to suit the yellow taste of a yellow dog like the Searchlight 
 
THE CLAW 249 
 
 editor. As far as the affair itself is concerned, Oh well." 
 he shrugged his shoulders and clapped Duncan jovially on 
 the back. "Nobody begrudges a young fellow like you his 
 fling, eh, men?" 
 
 Duncan winced. It was one of the features of the brain 
 racking puzzle he was facing. His inability to clear himself 
 would commit him uncompromisingly to the wordly viewpoint 
 of most men regarding these things. That he would not 
 suffer in the eyes of the world, of his friends, with anything 
 like the condemnation that he expected was a matter of surprise 
 and shock. He resented the policy that restrained their 
 judgment of him, he strained with all the fierce prejudice of 
 his early training and his own convictions against embracing 
 such a code of morality. But he was bound hand and foot by 
 circumstances, events of so bewildering a nature that in utter 
 hopelessness of working out the solution he was possessed of 
 calm desperation. 
 
 He had one over-whelming desire, to get to Mr. Cummings 
 and tell him all. With Mr. Cummings he would withold 
 not a detail, even to Glad s story. It was due him as the 
 father of Corinne to know every circumstance that would 
 assure him the affianced husband of his daughter was & man 
 of irreproachable life. His loyalities involved two women 
 but of the two his promised bride was due the preference. 
 
 He had the office girl call up the Cummings home and 
 inquire for Mr. Cummings. He could say little over the phone 
 but he wanted to beg Mr. Cummings to reserve his judgment 
 until he could see him. Corinne herself was at the beach and 
 he would write to her. But Mr. Cummings was not at home 
 and as Duncan turned back to his desk the former entered 
 gravely, with inquiring face. Duncan dismissed the girl 
 and closing the door after her pulled up a chair for him. The 
 latter had just come from Blythe s. He had had no intentions 
 
250 THE CLAW 
 
 of going to him first but had met him in front of his office 
 building and on the impulse made inquiry into the affair. 
 The latter had urged him into his office and had given his 
 version of the story. 
 
 "Pretty bad, I m sorry," said Blythe, "I remember that 
 Duncan was popular with your family, attentive to your 
 daughter some what, isn t he?" Mr. Cummings winced, 
 and recalled Corinne s critism of Blythe s manners. 
 
 "But it couldn t be helped. I did the best I could for him 
 If it hadn t been for me he d have been run in, too, for disturbing 
 the peace. As luck would have it I was there last night on 
 a tour of inspection. I make a point to keep every department 
 of my business under my eye, and was on the ground just in 
 time Don t know that I would have saved Duncan on 
 his own account for the situation was a bad one, as you ll 
 admit, and has lent unpleasant notoriety to the cafe. But 
 a feeling for his mother and his father, I used to be one of 
 his fathei s friends you know, made me do what I could for 
 him. It s damned unfortunate the Searchlight got the story. 
 A muckraking, one-horse sheet, that! But as long as it had 
 it, I had to set myself right, you see that of course. 
 
 "Fact is, a young fellow like that ought to be shown up. 
 Now I m not squeamish at all; I haven t anything to say 
 about the kind of affairs the normal youngster entertains, 
 but this was raw, I say, and especially in view of Cameron s 
 presumptions and the show his friends were giving him here. 
 I guess all the woman said was true, and more ; at least according 
 to gossip he s been going some right here in his own town; 
 some young woman up on Howard Street. 
 
 "You don t meant the little newspaper girl he takes out 
 some times! I won t have a word about Marlinee Madison, 
 I know her! She and my daughter were school friends 
 cried Mr. Cummings. He was fond of Marl nee. 
 
THE CLAW 251 
 
 "Madison? No, that ain t the name, its another. Sombody 
 he used to know back East, extraordinary pretty girl they 
 say, high-bred, friend of his college chum back there. 
 Particularly nasty case, I call it!" 
 
 Mr. Cummings had been listening with growingly anxious 
 face. The evidences were suspicious. He himself had met 
 Duncan with a remarkably pretty girl whom he did not know, 
 Corinne and he. Duncan was either pre-occupied at the time 
 or did not wish to see them. He had never spoken to them 
 of a friend from the East although he had talked with apparent 
 freedom of his life there and of his friend Garrison. Why 
 had he neglected to speak of the girl? Why had he not brought 
 her to their house, made her acquainted with them, if his 
 interest in her was honorable? The thing looked compromising, 
 terribly compromising, but he refused to accept the in 
 terpretations of Blythe and hoped despairingly for another 
 explanation of the affair. It had already accomplished this 
 much, he forsaw, eliminated the possiblity of partnership with 
 Blythe. Blythe spoke of the matter himself with apparent 
 regret. 
 
 "The whole thing s inexplicable, really! I d made Cameron 
 an offer, an offer of partnership in my business. You ll be 
 surprised no doubt, and it was something unusual I own, 
 and worth while for a young fellow of his age and prospects. 
 But I saw what we all have, the timber in the man. Duncan 
 had the matter under consideration but I will say that this 
 effectively ends all negotiations. A man that can throw a 
 friend down like that just at the start wouldn t be a safe one 
 for a partner. I never would stand for excess among my 
 men, in any line, and I certainly would expect my partner to 
 be a man of dignity and self-respect. It makes Cameron s 
 chances for nomination bad, too. This 11 queer him in the 
 eyes of a lot of folks, and it ought to. Going? \Vell good-day! 
 
252 THE CLAW 
 
 "I say," Blythe added, observing Mr. Cumming s gray face 
 with a new enlightenment. "I hope this matter isn t too 
 personal with you. I d be sawfully sorry. But I can say 
 this, that it s better for a man to be found out for what he 
 really is before it s too late. Good-day." 
 
 Duncan told Mr. Cummings the entire story beginning 
 with his arrival from the east and his discovery of Glad s 
 plight. The relief the latter felt in the utter exoneration 
 of the boy from the ugly accusations of the morning showed 
 in the sincere tears that stood in the older man s eyes as he 
 gripped Duncan s hands. 
 
 "Thank God, Duncan. Thank God for this! I can t 
 tell you what this means to me. What a load this takes 
 from my mind. It seems incredable that Blythe was at the 
 back of the plot. Blythe is a man with worldly motives and 
 principles and your refusal of his offer and your criticisms 
 no doubt cut him, but I can t grasp his doing anything so 
 unprincipled, so dastardly as this. However, I am more 
 than happy that you have cleared yourself so completely 
 from circumstances that certainly looked the worst. The 
 thing is now to clear yourself in the eyes of the community. 
 As you say, you can t do so at the expense of the little girl. 
 And I will say, Duncan," cried Mr. Cummings enthusiastically, 
 "that I m proud of you in this matter. Chivalry, my boy, 
 is a virtue that s fading from the world, and fading fast. This 
 smacks of the old kind." His face was flushed with the pride 
 of a father. He himself was a gentlemen of the old type 
 and the fine traditions of his southern breeding. Duncan 
 sketched rapidly Norris plans as far as he knew and could 
 surmise them. 
 
 "That s all right, that s all right, if she will come through 
 with a statement! That s all right if the Journal will print 
 it ; that and your own statement ; you say you will make one? 
 
THE CLAW 253 
 
 They ve,got to print it! We won t stand for a dirty low down 
 sheet like the Searchlight coming in here and attacking the 
 members of our first families," he added, proudly. "Duncan, 
 I ll go up to the Journal. Let s see Morrison, the editor, 
 isn t there; he s in the north this summer. McWhirter 
 has all responsibility, you say? Well, but look here, you 
 have money in the sheet. That ought to swing it. But 
 anyway I ll go up, I ll go up! They ve got to come through, 
 no matter what it takes. Blythe, if he s done this, will find 
 he doesn t own the entire Riverdale press!" 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Molly was sitting on the edge of one of the several cots in 
 the woman s department, by a chance vacant except for herself. 
 She was still dishevelled from the night s fray and unwashed. 
 Her make up and the gaudy finery of her evening dress were 
 curiously out of place in the revealing sunlight that fell through 
 the windows. They had the appearance of the tinsel 
 decorations of a ball room in daylight. Her face behind the 
 heavy streaked rouge was worn and sullen. 
 
 "Hello, Molly! Doing time for your fun last night, are 
 you?" greeted Norris. He seated himself on the cot opposite 
 her. "Well you gave the Searchlight the scoop on us last 
 night. Now come through with some dope for me, that s a 
 good girl." 
 
 The girl turned her back on him. "Aw, forget it," she 
 said. 
 
 "Well, you don t need t be sore about it," said Norris. 
 "By the way, I was up to Cayorisville the other day." 
 
 The girl started. "Say, you were? Did you see any of 
 my folks?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes, I saw your dad, and he was hitting up the same old 
 pace, apparently. And your mother, she asked about you." 
 
 "And you?" the girl asked breathlessly. 
 
 "Oh, I said you were all fine and dandy rnd keeping 
 busy. You were busy all right last night, wern t you?" he 
 laughed. The girl winced. "What d you go up there for?" 
 she asked idly. 
 
 "To see about some business. To see about a new monument 
 for our cemetery lot, where my father and mother are buried," 
 he added with hesitation, as though the names were not to 
 be spoken in this presence. 
 
THE CLAW 255 
 
 "Say," the girl bent forwardly eagerly. "You didn t happen 
 to see th stone I had put up for my little sister Emmy, did 
 you?" 
 
 "Why I guess maybe I did. Your lot is across the drive 
 from ours?" 
 
 "Yes, a real nice place," the girl answered eagerly, "among 
 the best people, and a new stone. I just got it out last week; 
 white, with a little lamb, a little white lamb on top, and under 
 neath, Emmy Wilson, Born July 5, 1907; died May 8, 1914; 
 Suffer little children . 
 
 "Seven years old, my God! it don t seem possible she was 
 that old, it s such a little while ago she was a tiny baby, sleeping 
 with me. She was the prettiest little thing with blue eyes 
 that laughed all the time, and curly hair. I couldn t go to 
 th funeral. I was up at Frisco and sent word I was sick a 
 bed. Oh, but I wanted to, something fierce, to see her just 
 once more. But God, I m glad she is dead!" she cried 
 passionately. "She might of been like me, its so easy and she 
 was so pretty. 
 
 "Well the stone was all right was it? Looked fine, and as 
 good as anybody s? It ought to, I paid enough for it. Every 
 body robs a girl like me, even the tombstone folks. I gave 
 the man a hundred dollars for it, and that wasn t all" Norris 
 stared at her. For the first time compassion for her kind 
 took hold of him as he pondered the hideous bargain, but 
 he hurried on to the business in hand. 
 
 "Well, what was this stunt you pulled off on Omeron 
 last night and how long is Blythe going to let you stay in 
 here?" he asked suddenly. 
 
 "Blythe promised to get me out earl and he ain t done it," 
 she looked resentfully at the watch on her bosom. "Blythe, 
 Oh Lord, I forgot you was a reporter! What made you say 
 anything about Blythe?" 
 
256 THE CLAW 
 
 " Cause I know all about the business, all about your 
 bargain, yours and his. Now Molly, come right through. 
 I know all about you, you know, and there are reasons why 
 you ought to give me this straight with no fooling round, 
 see? What did you go into this with Blythe for? I d suppose 
 that you wouldn t want to get into the limelight. I d suppose 
 you d be rather anxious to keep in the dark. The papers 
 get up to Cayonsville, you know. Your name read Molly 
 McFee in the Searchlight story but I happen to know your 
 right one, and I might put the right one in." The girl whitened. 
 
 "Just what are you going to get out of this, anyhow?" 
 
 "Money," said the girl. "You ain t so green PS to suppose 
 I did it for nothin ." 
 
 "No, I wasn t, but still I wasn t quite ready to think you d 
 do such a devilish thing as this, anyway. You re pretty far 
 gone, I know, but I thought at least you were honest. I 
 didn t suppose you d try to ruin the reputation of a little 
 girl, you, with the sob story just now about your little sister," 
 he added brutally. "I didn t suppose you d be such a fool, 
 either, as to think you could put one over on a man like Cameron 
 that is absolutely out and out straight, that all the country 
 knows is out and out straight, and that you, Molly McFee, 
 aren t fit to black the shoes of. Now I m giving it to you 
 straight. The whole town s laughing at you and Blythe, 
 today." The girl s face went a sickly yellow under its daubed 
 paint. 
 
 "What d ye mean?" she demanded. "Ain t he a bad one, 
 wasn t it him that done it? Blythe said so. I believed him." 
 
 "No it wasn t, and I ll just set you right about it. Cameron 
 and this girl are absolutely innocent. He hadn t ^een her 
 for six months before he came out here. Besides they are 
 people that couldn t possibly be involved in such a thing, 
 
THE CLAW 257 
 
 there are some folks like that, though I suppose you couldn t 
 understand it," he threw in cruelly. 
 
 "Yes," she cried. Don t say that, I have some sense left 
 anyway. I knew she was all right herself, that s what I 
 liked the little kid for. If she d got into trouble it wasn t 
 her fault. But she talked a lot about him. That was before 
 I left the candy shop. Then I heard she was in trouble. 
 I went to see her, and met him at the gate. He said he was 
 her brother, but I knew he lied cause I d seen her brother s 
 picture. He said she was away too, and that was a lie. So 
 I didn t go in to see her, and after that I went to Frisco. When 
 I come back I seen him here at the Non Pariel. I tried to 
 talk to him about Glad, but he lied again, and pretended she 
 was out of town. I found out she was here, that he was looking 
 after her, or seemed to be. Ely the said " 
 
 "What did Blythe say?" demanded Norris. She hesitated, 
 then went on. 
 
 "Blythe said he was a bad one a low-down sneak that 
 played the gentleman and the pious act. Blythe said he d 
 been running down his business; talking about his cafes to 
 folks, sayin they were immoral and ought to be put out of 
 business all the while he was keeping this little girl, and may 
 be another. He said Cameron was fooling a lot of folks, and 
 was going to try to run for office and he wanted to show him 
 up in his own colors." 
 
 "And you" 
 
 "Well I told you," she said sullenly. "I liked the girl, 
 and then he, Cameron, made me mad, lied to me at the gate 
 that morning and went past me like I was dirt under his feet; 
 like I wasn t fit to live, acted the same way in the cafes. 
 Never d have anything to do with me. I was glad to do 
 it!" 
 
 "I see." The girl s story was following Duncan s, and his 
 
258 THE CLAW 
 
 surmises to every detail. "But you were a fool, you know. 
 How did it come you didn t know who it was, instead of Cam 
 eron, the other man? You know him; he s of your kind 
 Westweyer." 
 
 "Westmeyerl" The girl sprang to her feet, her face livid. 
 "WesimeyerV she screamed. "Say that again!" 
 
 "Sit down! Sit down, and keep quiet! Do you want to 
 go into the tank?" She dropped down on the cot, 
 her head in her arms, all the blasphemy known to her vile 
 vocabulary pouring forth from her drawn lips. Norris, inured 
 as he was to such words, shuddered. 
 
 "H/estmeyerl" she cried at last, when the hysteria of rage 
 was over. "That s why he took me away from the Ingle- 
 nook. That s why he took me to Frisco and put me in the 
 cribs. Cause he was tired of me; cause he wanted somebody 
 else; cause he saw this girl an wanted her. Why! I d been 
 living with him! He promised to marry me! I thought I d 
 be a regular wife! 
 
 "An he had to cut an leave her cause the cops were onto 
 him. He dropped me at Frisco like I was an old cat in a 
 sack. Went off and left me! But I got out and come back 
 here to find him. I found him. He d come back, I reckon, 
 for her. He nearly killed me when he saw me." She un 
 clasped a collar of beads and showed a cruel mark on her bare 
 throat. "But he took me back cause I could be of use to him 
 while he was hiding. He s still hiding 
 
 "Where?" demanded Norris. 
 
 "Oh, my God! I mustn t tell you; he d kill me!" 
 
 "If you don t," cried Norris, "I ll print your name in the 
 headlines as big as that placard over there, and have copies 
 of the paper in Cayonsville by night." 
 
 His words were like hammer strokes on her bare head. 
 
THE CLAW 259 
 
 She fended them. Her face livid; her eyes desperate. "Oh, 
 my God! my God!" she groaned. 
 
 "Besides, you ve been stung! StungV he cried, "by the 
 man that promised to marry you. Stung this week, while 
 you thought you had him to yourself. He hasn t been hid 
 ing, oh no! He thought the officers were off the scent. He s 
 been trying to get this girl again; found out where she lived, 
 and went out there and intimidated her. Would have car 
 ried her off right then if he hadn t heard some one coming, 
 and had to beat it. You ll protect this man, will you, that 
 took you from your home and from your mother and little 
 sister on promise of employment; ruined you on promise of 
 marriage; and put you in a brothel while he ran after others? 
 Come, what do you say?" cried Norris, shaking her roughly. 
 "Will you speak or shall I 
 
 "Wait, wait!" cried the girl. "Let me think. You don t 
 know what it ll mean to me, W T estmeyer Blythe! Blythe 
 owns the baudy houses in Frisco that Westmeyer operates 
 for." Norris started. "Blythe must have known West 
 meyer was the man, not Cameron. Westmeyer is in his em 
 ploy. Oh!" her voice shrilled with hatred. 
 
 "Sure, then, speak and give him away both of em. West 
 meyer can t hurt you; the Federal officers will pinch him 
 before night. And Blythe my story ll fix him! Come, 
 will you do it? Think! Think of your home, of your little 
 sister! You won t need to appear. The charge is a white 
 slave one, a penitentiary offense. Oh, there is a lot to West- 
 meyer s credit! Come, give him away, tip him off to us, 
 send him up and save a hundred others like little Emmy, 
 like Glad, like yourself!" 
 
 The girl was silent. Her breast heaved convulsively. 
 "But you how do you know all this? What do you care?" 
 
 Norris dropped on his knees before the distraught girl. 
 
260 THP] CLAW 
 
 For the time he forgot what manner of woman she was. A 
 bright flush rose in his cheeks and spread to his temples. 
 
 "Because the girl, Westmeyer s victim, she is minel She 
 is to be my bride. Because she is beautiful and innocent 
 in spite of her horrible experience. Oh Molly, I don t know 
 about these things; I m a man, and a man can t understand, 
 but she s tried to tell me, and I ve seen how she s suffered 
 how she starts of a sudden with an awful look of memory on 
 her dear face. How the thing follows her day and night! 
 
 "She s tried to make me understand. When I asked her 
 to marry me, she cried cried terribly! Think of that! That 
 a girl should have to cry at such a time when a man asks her 
 for herself. She tried to tell me that she couldn t marry me. 
 She tried to tell me what it meant not to be able to come to 
 her husband like other women. She s tried all along not to 
 let me care for her, but I loved her before, and I love her now. 
 What s happened don t make any difference to me. It hasn t 
 hurt her pure, sweet soul! But she suffers. Oh, her poor 
 baby lips that quiver always, even when she smiles! I ve 
 vowed to God to find this man and see him punished. Molly, 
 for God s sake, help me do it!" 
 
 Molly listened, and strange emotions moved in her breast. 
 She had known this boy since babyhood, and his clean young 
 life that had touched the world and its vileness at every point, 
 yet without defilement. He was a suppliant now, at her 
 feet her feet! The feet of the defiled, of the unclean one 
 one from whom it would seem no human creature could have 
 a favor to ask. Yet he was there, no longer bullying, com 
 manding, but pleading, telling her of his love, of the anguish 
 of his young heart as though she were another woman a 
 good woman; as though she were his mother or his sister. 
 And she could help him! It was a new thought, that she 
 could serve. That she, fallen and abandoned, could be of 
 
THE CLAW 261 
 
 use to this beautiful boy and the child to whom her heart 
 had gone out because she was like her little sister. She could 
 save two, give two happiness and relief; and many others , 
 Norris had said, many others she might give escape 
 from Westmeyer s designs. Besides, she owed it to Norris. 
 Norris had been kind, never betraying her secret at home 
 the story of her ruin. Always bringing her news of her 
 family when he came from one of his infrequent visits there. 
 
 She rose and stood with an uprightness new and impres-- 
 sive and jestured Norris to his feet. "What is it you want 
 me to do? How can I help you?" 
 
 "Tell me where to find Westmeyer," he said breathlessly. 
 
 "At the corner of Filmore and M Street, in the old hotel 
 block, in the third story, last room to the right as you go 
 down the hall." 
 
 He wrote the directions down hurriedly. "Now for the rest! 
 What was the arrangement you had with Blythe about this 
 matter? What did he give you for it?" 
 
 "He gave me fifty and said if I pulled it off right he d make 
 it a hundred. He said I d be run in for disturbing the peace, 
 an was to plead guilty. He d have Johnny or some of em 
 there to pay my fine. He said he d see I got out by noon." 
 
 "Now tell me again, just a^ plain as you can, just what 
 Blythe said about Cameron, except for the name of Glad. 
 Don t use that. We ve got to protect her, you see." He 
 sat down on the edge of the cot and wrote rapidly. She re 
 peated the story as told before, with surprising lucidity and 
 calmness. When she had finished, he handed her the notes 
 and she signed her name the name by which she was known 
 in the tenderloin district, "Molly McFee." He slipped the 
 note book into his pocket and rose. 
 
 "Now then, Molly, the police court convenes at ten o clock. 
 If Blythe keeps his word, you ll be the first one heard, and you- 
 
262 THE CLAW 
 
 11 be out by ten-fifteen or ten-thirty. I ll be there, and after 
 you get out I want you to go around the corner to the notary 
 public s office Cline, at Sixth and Washington. I ll meet 
 you there, and I want you to make affadavit to this state 
 ment just as it stands. After that I ll look after you give 
 you money to get out of town or any place you want to go. 
 I ll see that you don t lose by this." At the door he turned. 
 The girl was still standing in the middle of the room, her 
 hands clasped loosely, her eyes looking idly out of the window. 
 She was very pale. 
 
 "I just want to say," he added, "in case you might take it 
 into your head to throw me down, get cold feet or anything, 
 that I can use this just as it stands for the paper, and I will. 
 It s going in this afternoon." 
 
 The girl did not answer. She stood as before preoccupied, 
 indifferent. He closed the door, turned the key in the lock, 
 and gained the office three steps at a time. 
 
 " Ju get anything?" asked the desk seargent, as he snapped 
 the key back on his ring. 
 
 "Oh, a little." The next moment Norris was tearing down 
 the street. He turned in at the Federal building. He found 
 Payson and Grant, the secret service men in the office, and 
 gave them his tip. 
 
 "Say are you sure of this?" exclaimed Payson, eagerly, 
 while Grant reached for his hat. 
 
 "Sure, unless the woman s lied to me about the whole thing, 
 and she ain t. You saw that story in the Searchlight this 
 morning? I caught this while I was running down dope on 
 that; woman came through with a story a peach of a story. 
 Got to get back to the office with it." He was off. 
 
 The men left the building immediately. Norris was a 
 youngster to turn such a trick when they had been using 
 all the ingenuity of their profession in locating Westmeyer, 
 
THE CLAW 263 
 
 but the boy had given them a valuable tip before that, had 
 made them certain the man they were looking for was still 
 in town. He might serve them again. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 At the Journal office Norris broke in on McWhirter and 
 Mr. Cummings in consultation. They had telephoned Dun 
 can and he had just joined them. The boy was breathless, 
 his cheeks were flaming, and the triumph was in his eyes. 
 
 "Well?" exclaimed McWhirter. 
 
 "Say, I ve got it, and it s the biggest thing that s ever passed 
 over the pike! It s all right, everything s all right, 
 and we ll make Blythe wish he was in Hades before night." 
 He threw his notes on the desk. 
 
 "What!" McWhirter seized and read them with inco 
 herent ejaculations. "Say, what do you know about that! 
 But we ought to have this attested before a notary public." 
 
 "Yes, I thought of that, but there wouldn t be any way to 
 get hold of Molly in jail. Blythe s got em primed. I just 
 almost didn t get at her myself. But I ve arranged to be at 
 the police court and take her across to Cline the minute she s 
 out." 
 
 "S pose she won t go?" 
 
 "Well, we ll have to use it that way then," urged the boy 
 stubbornly. "Other sheets get it across that way the Ex 
 aminer, the Chronick." 
 
 "Yes, you re right, but we ve got to have the affidavit if 
 we can get it. Now then," he thrust the notes back into 
 Norris hands, "go to it and be mighty quick about it!" Nor 
 ris dashed for his desk, exultation seething in his veins. He 
 was to write the story, too! He hadn t dared hope for that. 
 He appreciated fully the situation, that, as McWhirter had 
 said, the story needed skillful handling. He threw a sheet 
 into the typewriter and the next moment was hammering 
 madly. 
 
THE CLAW 265 
 
 "Oh say/ he called suddenly over his shoulder, "this isn t 
 all. I forgot to tell you, we ll get another scoop. Molly 
 tipped off Westmeyer, her paramour. He s the white slave 
 man wanted by the officers; they ll pinch him by noon if they 
 have good luck." 
 
 McWhirter dropped back into his chair and gazed for a 
 full minute at the boy. "Well, that ll do for you, my son. 
 Too rapid an elevation in the journalistic field is as dangerous 
 as in any other." 
 
 The news of Westmeyer s arrest was telephoned in just 
 as McW^hirter pounded back from the composing room, 
 where he had seen Norris story in the hands of three of the 
 most rapid operators. It would be in time for the noon edi 
 tion. 
 
 "What s that!" he wheezed, at sound of Norris ejacula 
 tions. "Scoop number 2? Well, keep right on young man, 
 you ve got the dope on that too, I guess. Say, the rest of 
 you boys can lay off. Go to the park and play ball today; 
 Norris is the whole show." 
 
 The issue of the Journal that went down to office history 
 as "Norris paper," held a 144-point screamer and two two- 
 column heads. The paper was not ordinarily sensational 
 in its leanings, but this was an exceptional occasion. It was 
 a chance to accomplish two good deeds exonerate an es 
 teemed fellow-citizen from a scurrilous and contemptible 
 charge, and put one, in fact two, over a despised contem 
 porary. Beneath this head, designed to strike the reader 
 between the eyes at the first glance, were two opposing columns. 
 First, the statement of Molly McFee, properly attested 
 by the notary public, and second, a statement by Cameron, 
 brief, explicit, that described the hoax by which the woman 
 had obtained her meeting with him the story, in fact, as 
 told by Duncan to Norris and Mr. Cummings, but with a 
 
266 THE CLAW 
 
 skillful omission of Glad s name or any reference that might 
 reveal her identity, or the suggestion of her first experience 
 with the man. 
 
 Westmeyer was bound over for hearing at San Francisco. 
 The only part of the story that gave Norris regret as the sheets 
 of copy were turned off under his eager fingers was the fact 
 that Molly McFee had been held by the officers as an impor 
 tant witness. He had promised Molly that she would not 
 be involved further in the affair. 
 
 As an exoneration of Cameron, and an indictment of Blythe, 
 the Journal story was complete, and from a newspaper stand 
 point comprised one of the cleverest journalistic coups that 
 had ever been accomplished in the town. Norris was made 
 more of than it was in the power of most youths of his age 
 and experience to sustain with modesty. The boys of his 
 own office generously contributed to the general praise. 
 
 Reward was not forthcoming until some weeks, but when 
 it arrived it was of a form to sustain Norris reputation of what 
 McWhirter designated as a "movie hero." It was an offer 
 from San Francisco s biggest daily. The boy s work for the 
 secret service men that led directly to Westmeyer s arrest 
 had been recited in the ante-rooms of the courthouse during 
 the trial, where reporters and officers loafed and gossiped, 
 and had drifted up to the powers in the editorial office of the 
 big daily, where the searchlight is always active, spotting 
 ability where it may be found. 
 
 Norris, in the delirium of his surprise, tossed a perfectly 
 good "fiver" at a passing taxi for the service of bearing him 
 and the news at a rate that defied all speed laws, out to Glad. 
 He returned in a sobered and reflective mood, for after a riot 
 ous celebration of his good luck in which the household joined, 
 Glad, at parting, bestowed one of the famed "little round 
 kisses," and then let her small hands slide from his neck to 
 
THE CLAW 207 
 
 his shoulders as she looked up at him with a demure little 
 maternal rebuke: 
 
 "Five dollars for a taxi, and a telephone in the house! Boy, 
 we never will get married!" 
 
 His jaw dropped, and he looked at her with genuine chagrin. 
 "Well, what do you know about that!" 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 . At Carmel by the Sea, Corinne basked in the enjoyment 
 of her yearly outing, with the usual following of masculine 
 admirers from the best society of a dozen different places. 
 Her mother was with her, and Duncan was to join them for 
 a few days, shortly, coming down with Mr. Cummings for a 
 week. 
 
 On the day the Journal story set the town by the 
 ears, Mrs. Cummings was called up by her husband on the 
 long-distance telephone. She was so long at the receiver, 
 and her exclamations spoke of such astonishing news that 
 Corinne, lounging indolently on the cottage veranda, called 
 impatiently to her. 
 
 "Well, mother, for goodness sake, hurry up and let s hear 
 what s happened. Your Oh s and Ah s and Is it possible 
 are enough to give one nervous prostration" 
 
 Her mother did not respond at once. In fact she disap 
 peared without a word into the rear of the house. Corinne 
 started up impatiently and ran down the hall. 
 
 "Mother," she called. "Mother! Don t you hear me? 
 I want to know who you were talking to, and what they were 
 saying." 
 
 "Oh, your father was telling me about something annoying 
 at home," Mrs. Cummings equivocated. "He calls up every 
 day, you know." 
 
 "Yes, I know, but he needn t have turned me off so shortly 
 when I answered the phone, with just a good morning, sister; 
 call your mother, will you? The chauffer s quit, I suppose, 
 or the laundryman has lost father s favorite pajamas, or 
 something equally thrilling, though your ejaculations sounded 
 
THE CLAW 269 
 
 as momentous as though he were announcing a national ca 
 lamity." 
 
 "Well, dear, you re going on that trip in the launch today, 
 aren t you you and the girls? I would, because your father 
 will be down this evening, and will be here for several days." 
 
 "Oh, is that it? Well, it s a wonder you wouldn t have 
 told me at first, as though I didn t have any particular interest 
 in old dad," the girl pouted. "Well, and isn t Duncan com 
 ing?" In her pout she had forgotten him temporarily. 
 
 "Not this time, 1 believe. He s very busy." 
 
 "Oh, fiddlestrings! Very busy! He always is busy, makes 
 me an admirable fiance! Hasn t seen me for three weeks and 
 now sends word he s too busy. I m glad 1 haven t let you 
 announce my engagement. It shan t be announced till Dun 
 can can come through with a little more devotion the at 
 tentions an engaged girl is supposed to receive from her sweet 
 heart. I d be mortified to death if the girls knew we were 
 engaged, and that he s left me down here alone for three weeks." 
 She flashed out of the door impatiently. Her mother heard 
 her with relief calling up her friends and arranging an all- 
 day outing. 
 
 Mr. Curnmings had said, "Dear, something very unfortunate 
 has happened that involves Duncan. It s in the morning 
 Searchlight, and I m afraid some of the Riverdale people 
 down there may get hold of it and show it to Corinne. She 
 mustn t see it till I get down to explain. It s all right. Duncan 
 is all right, but the Searchlight, from motives known to itself, 
 has started a nasty scandal about him. Plan something 
 that will keep Oorinne away from the house and a chance 
 to see the papers all day. I ll be down on the evening train." 
 
 Mrs. Cummings confessed an impatience similar to that 
 of Corinne concerning Duncan. All her pride was wrapped 
 up in the girl, their only child, and she demanded for her an 
 
270 THE CLAW 
 
 extravagant measure of adulation. Duncan had never been 
 demonstrative in his admiration for Corinne. She did not 
 understand the Scotch character that feels it deprecative 
 of its deepest feelings to put them into words, and she con 
 strued his attitude toward Corinne as lack of appreciation 
 of her. Her ambitions for their union had not until recently 
 accorded with that of her husband. 
 
 When Duncan had come home with his newly-plucked 
 honors and a future imiting him, more brilliant than his 
 friends could have dreamed, the situation changed. He had 
 improved too, wonderfully, and altogether he was quite the 
 most promising suitor Corinne had. Her vanity, however, 
 like that of Corinne, suffered lack by Duncan s calm and 
 unemotional courtship, his refusal to turn aside from his 
 business or other duties at the solicitations of Corinne. The 
 news conveyed guardedly by her husband irritated her mind 
 with a new reproach toward the boy. What could he have 
 been doing what wordly, inadvertant step could have 
 brought upon him this surprising charge. She was impa 
 tient to know the entire story apprehensive. 
 
 It was seven o clock when Corinne burst into the room, 
 aflame, a paper grasped in her hand. Friends had met the 
 party at the wharf unable to keep the delicious tid-bit conveyed 
 in the morning Searchlight. 
 
 "What does this mean, mother? Have you seen the Search 
 light?" The girl was breathless, her heart bounding in her 
 bosom from haste and emotion. "This is what you were 
 talking about this morning. I know it was! Tell me, mother, 
 this minute!" 
 
 The mother s face had gone white, and she reached for the 
 paper. "Yes, I m afraid it is. Let me see it." 
 
 "Oh yes, look at it! look at it!" the girl cried, thrusting the 
 paper into her hands. "It s a beautiful thing, an admirable 
 
THE CLAW 271 
 
 picture Duncan, our immaculate Duncan, in the limelight 
 as a ladies man, an irresistible fellow with many amoratas. 
 Duncan!" she laughed scornfully. "Oh, it s too dramatic 
 for anything a regular moving-picture situation. The soiled 
 do\e, the wronged and revengeful woman hurling her wrath 
 ful accusations in vain against his adamant heart!" 
 
 "Hush!" said her mother. "This is awful, Corinnc, really 
 disgusting and awful." 
 
 "Awful!" mocked the girl. "I should say it is awful, if 
 it s true. Duncan couldn t even manage his affairs of passion 
 with smartness. I wouldn t mind a little manlike deviltry 
 on his part, but this, to be caught in a situation like this 
 made the laughing stock of the town it makes one sick!" 
 
 "You mustn t talk that way," edmonished her mother. 
 "Your father didn t want you to know anything about it till 
 he came. He said he had the entire explanation and exoner 
 ation of Duncan. 
 
 "Oh, he did? And why don t Duncan come down and speak 
 for himself? Ashamed, is he? Hasn t the spirit to be game!" 
 
 Mrs. Cummings sighed. She could find no words with which 
 to restrain Corinne s insolent outpouring, she herself being 
 impressed with much the same feelings in the matter. 
 
 Mr. Cummings, on his arrival, rebuked sternly Corinne s 
 tirade of Duncan, with which she greeted him. 
 
 "Wait, my child, till you hear the whole matter." 
 
 "So Duncan sends you to explain for him, to apologize, to 
 set things right with me! Oh, I got his letter this morning 
 three lines, I believe. Your father will tell you all. I m 
 sure you will understand and forgive me when you hear, 
 et ceteral Well, I like a man that has to have another settle 
 his troubles for him!" She sank into a chair and gazed haught 
 ily out the window as her father talked. He gave them the 
 
272 THE CLAW 
 
 story of the affair as told by Duncan, including Glad s his 
 tory, but without identifying her. 
 
 "Now, my dear," he concluded, turning to Corinne, "I 
 can see nothing for which you should feel such resent 
 ment," for Corinne sat unmoved. "I consider that Duncan 
 has acted in every circumstance a most manly part a heroic 
 part, I may say. I m proud of the boy, of the fine chivalry 
 and self-sacrifice he has shown himself capable of. I m proud 
 to call him my son. I regret beyond words the circumstan 
 ces, of course, but the statements in the paper today will 
 constitute a complete exoneration of him in the eyes of his 
 friends and the public, and it s likely that Blythe will get his 
 in the trial of this man. I confess, I m amazed. He s acted 
 the part of a dastardly scoundrel, and he deserves all he gets!" 
 
 "So Duncan has thrown up the partnership with Blythe!" 
 exclaimed Mrs. Cummings. 
 
 "Why, certainly, my dear. As it s turned out, as Blythe s 
 showed his hand, would you wont a son-in-law of yours to be 
 connected with him a dealer in white slavery, an owner 
 of the vice dens of San Francisco, to say nothing of his ability 
 for dastardly dealing? And to think the way he talked to 
 me today about Duncan!" 
 
 "You re sure it s true Duncan s story? That there isn t 
 any possibility of ," she praised, bashed at her husband s 
 reproving face. 
 
 "Do I think there is any possibility of Duncan s not telling 
 me the truth of his lying to me, you ask? Really, Jane, 
 I m ashamed to have to make answer to such a question. 
 I d trust Duncan beyond any man I know. He don t know 
 what falsehood is." 
 
 "Oh yes, you defend Duncan! You call him ti paragon, 
 and ask me to overlook his having made a fool of himself, 
 and me, Corinne cried, suddenly turning with naming 
 
THE CLAW 273 
 
 face. "Well, I ll tell you what I think he is, I think he s 
 an unfeeling, ill-bred fellow, to have got himself in such a vulgar 
 position looking after a silly, half-baked girl that could take 
 care of herself if she had a grain of sense; neglecting me and 
 refusing even now to come down and make what little amends 
 he could for this abominable affair. Afraid! Afraid to 
 come! A coward, that s what he is!" Her face was scarlet, 
 and her eyes coals of fire. 
 
 "You talk of this girl, of this consideration and thought- 
 fulness for her, but you don t think of me, how he s neglected 
 me all this time, even since we were engaged, excused himself 
 from his engagements, risked his reputation p.nd my hap 
 piness for this girl who is nothing to him. Nothing? He ll 
 have to show me!" 
 
 "Corinne," cried her father. "You are vulgar!" 
 
 "Well he will!" she repeated. "If she isn t anything to 
 him but a friend why hasn t he told us of her? Why hasn t 
 he brought her out to see us, if she is such a charming and 
 worthy creature? Why didn t he enlist my interest and char 
 ity for her instead of Marlinee s? Did he explain that?" 
 she cried. 
 
 "Yes, he explained it. He explained it in a very beautiful 
 way in a way that was a very beautiful compliment to you," 
 said her father. 
 
 "Well?" Corinne waited. She was never beyond a compli 
 ment. 
 
 "He said that he had thought of doing so the first night 
 he called after getting home, but the moment he saw you 
 coming down the hall to meet him, all radiant and beautiful, 
 he knew he couldn t; that it would not do; that somehow 
 those things weren t for you. You lived beyond, above such 
 common things in a world of your own." He paused, with 
 emotion. He had heard Duncan s simple and eloquent tribute 
 
274 THE CLAW 
 
 the more impressive because of his characteristic reticence, 
 with a great happiness that his daughter could call forth 
 such sentiment from one like Cameron, but he repeated it 
 now with a kind of shame, in the face of the girl s uncontrolled 
 and vulgar outburst. But Corinne was appeased. This 
 was really more than she could ha\e expected from Duncan. 
 
 "He said that?" 
 
 "Yes, but there was something he did not say that I think 
 perhaps he felt without knowing it, namely, that you might 
 not have entered with heartiness, the heartiness that Marlinee 
 did, into his solicitude for the little girl. That you would 
 not have understood him his motives. Your recent words 
 seem to affirm that." 
 
 The girl colored. "Oh, no, of course, no doubt I am not 
 capable of rising to the appreciation of such quixotic heights 
 as Marlinee." 
 
 "That s just it," said her father. "I don t think you are. 
 I don t think, 1 haven t thought all along, that you have 
 understood Duncan, or appreciated him, his unusual and 
 admirable personality that causes him to stand head and 
 shoulders above the average man. His fine ideals that he d 
 not relinquished if he had to die for them. Perhaps he felt 
 instinctively that he could not bring these things to you, 
 because you are too remote, too self-centered to give him 
 the sympathy and understanding he would need, that a man 
 might expect from the woman he chose for his wife." 
 
 The girl sat silent and sullen, her teeth pressing into her 
 indrawn lip. Her father had never talked to her in such a 
 manner before. No one had ever told her anything about 
 herself but in terms of adulation and flattery. She resented 
 it. She resented her father s championship of Duncan, and 
 above all she entertained a jealousy of Marlinee and Glad 
 that, smouldering in the past weeks, sprang up with the present 
 
THE CLAW 275 
 
 provocation into a flame that burnt in her throat. Suddenly 
 a woman s relief came to her, she burst into tears and ran 
 from the room. 
 
 Father, I think you have been most unkind to Corinne, 
 with all she has to bear," exclaimed her mother, severely. 
 "I confess I feel a good deal as she does about this matter, 
 and 1 am wholly out of sympathy with your views of Duncan s 
 conduct. It has worked unbearable humiliation on Corinne 
 and has spoiled his material prospects entirely." 
 
 "Oh, do you think so?" said Mr. Cummings, dryly. He 
 lit a cigar, drew the morning paper out of his pocket and 
 began reading. Mrs. Cummings, in disgust, joined her daugh 
 ter. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 Duncan resumed his duties at the office of the Grape Pro 
 tective Association with outward composure, after the spec 
 tacular circumstance in which he had occupied the leading 
 role. His friends said he carried himself uncommonly well. 
 The affair had secured for him the popularity yielded a man 
 who has been the victim of treacherous designs and has suc 
 cessfully frustrated them, but Duncan had never aspired at 
 any time to the role of hero. He felt a deep chagrin in the 
 knowledge that his name was on the lips of the entire town. 
 In his own sense of humiliation, Corinne, her embarrassment, 
 the unpleasant association that would be hers on account 
 of their generally acknowledged relationship, increased his 
 discomfort. 
 
 He had not gone down to Carmel with Mr. Cummings, 
 as his impulse urged him to do, for the work of the association 
 pressed, and he had given almost the entire day to his own 
 interests. He promised himself, and Corinne, in the letter 
 mailed on the same train on which her father left for the beach, 
 that he would be down the following week. 
 
 It was w r ell for his own peace of mind that he postponed 
 his visit. Corinne refused to answer Duncan s letter with 
 a single line of assurance, but by the middle of the following 
 week the tribute Mr. Cummings had quoted from Duncan 
 began to accomplish its work. Duncan did not wholly lack 
 the sentiments of a lover. Also the famous copy of the Journal, 
 that re-established Duncan s assailed character and worsted 
 so brilliantly the assailer, was impressive. Letters came 
 pouring in from her friends eugolizing Duncan and condemn 
 ing Blythe. As Duncan s fiance (the fact was generally 
 
THE CLAW 277 
 
 understood by her friends), she found herself a sort of heroine, 
 once removed. 
 
 A letter to Duncan toward the end of the week, with grace 
 ful excuse for neglect, reached him the day before he had 
 planned to leave for the coast. It gave him great happiness. 
 Corinne had chosen to let him wait for her pardon, and suffer 
 a bit for his stupidity. It was her right. He had gone over 
 the affair many times since, and accused himself of unre- 
 sourcefulness. Corinne had reason to feel impatience, and 
 the sweet generosity that breathed from her note touched him. 
 
 The beach outing was a golden memoiy for Duncan, brief 
 as it was. Corinne was in her most ingratiating mood, 
 and the delightful intimacy provided by the fact of his presence 
 as a house-guest, and the many opportunities of compan 
 ionship together on the beach or on the bay, or on the long 
 tramps along the wind-swept cliffs, discovered daily to him 
 new attractions in the woman he was assured already encom 
 passed all womanly charms. 
 
 But under it all a certain depression lurked that claimed 
 him when alone; a sense of a great hurt. His faith in the 
 justification of the traffic in whose interest he was employed 
 and toward which he was contributing his part, was shaken; 
 a great foreboding, the need of relinquishing many things, 
 in fact, no less than the whole fabric of his moral prejudices 
 and convictions, shook him, as the vibrations of an earthquake 
 are felt, that threaten catastrophe shortly, and the levelling 
 of all things. 
 
 Duncan, at last, had met in the open, in a series of distinct 
 engagements, the forces, the principles, the men, the bust-ness 
 that reduce purity to debauchery and innocence to vice. 
 These men and conditions should be looked after, they and all 
 the intermediate class of evil doers. It was not the responsi 
 bility of a few, but bis responsibility the responsibility of 
 
278 THE CLAW 
 
 every decent .and right minded man. And he had pledged 
 himself to look to his responsibility. He pledged himself, 
 if he got to the state legislature to do his best to eliminate the 
 abuses connected with the liquor business, the low saloons, 
 the dives, the illicit selling. Yet, in doing so, in doing all he 
 had done and all he promised himself to do, would he yet be 
 guilty? Of what? His mind shrank from the answer. Guilty 
 of establishing in power, the very sources of these various evils; 
 the great persuader of men towards all forms of depravity, 
 all manner of denials of conscience and duty and sense of 
 decency and justice. In other words and the question rose 
 on his mental horizon like a frightful specter Was not the 
 liquor traffic from the soil and the vine up the Evil behind the 
 evils?" 
 
 With such a consideration tugging at his sleeve for attention, 
 he resumed his duties at the Grape Protective Association 
 with an utter lack of enthusiasm an utter distaste that 
 caused him to wish he could forget the very name of the con 
 tention that held the political field and into which he would 
 be drawn must be drawn, shortly, must as a man make one 
 stand or the other and throw the weight of all his energies 
 into that choice. 
 
 Even now he should be declaring himself if he desired the 
 nomination of assemblyman. The wine men were taking it 
 for granted that he wanted coveted the office. No sane 
 young man of twenty-six could refuse such a plum. They 
 were proceeding with the understanding that 1 e would take 
 the nomination and were already engaged in plans to make 
 known his candidacy at a banquet of the wine men the com 
 ing week. 
 
 He had not the slightest doubt but that he would accept. 
 By very inertia, by the very inability to consider the breaking 
 away from his lifetime associations and convictions, he would 
 
THE CLAW 279 
 
 accept, but that he should find himself serving, not the cause 
 he ought to serve, but one manipulated by and in the interests 
 of the worst element represented therein a party to the evil 
 he had expected to defeat was the dark foreboding that his 
 present reflections suggested. Eventually he did the unusual. 
 He sought a confidant. He told Mr. Cummings his fears. 
 
 "It s not that I think the whole system and all belonging 
 to it is rotten/ he concluded. "That would mean to implicate 
 you and me in the responsibility for conditions. But the ques 
 tion is can we can decent men control the business, and 
 manipulate the laws to the elimination of these features and 
 these men that are a disgrace to every one of us engaged in 
 the industry?" 
 
 He sat moodily in his chair behind the office desk, his young 
 eyes looking sternly before him, and afar, as though he saw 
 the reproach he had named moving toward him, in some sad 
 future. The arraignment of evil by youth is an impressive 
 thing and not without its rebuke. The mind of age recalls 
 with trepidation, under the candid gaze of those clear, unclouded 
 eyes, the neglect, the compromises, the surrenders of which 
 it has been guilty since the day when it, like this youth, un 
 covered with indignant heart, weakness, w r rong, evil undreamed 
 of, in a world which it had thought till then, wholly fair. 
 
 Mr. Cummings was a wordly man, but as such, one of the 
 best. He had made his fortune with less capitulations than 
 most men. Above the grade of Blythe, he was raised as 
 high as the tree above the offal at its roots that nourished it. 
 And that was the secret of his career, the career of the men 
 engaged in the politer forms of the liquor business; he drew 
 his success, his prosperity, from an unacknowledged, perhaps 
 unrecognized wrong, beneath the surface of his business, 
 a wrong that accomplishes not only material injustice and 
 
280 THE CLAW 
 
 material suffering, but the more subtle hurt an assault on 
 the man himself, on his mind and his soul. 
 
 Possibly it was this sense of arraignment and the realiza 
 tion of it, as he sat in the presence of the strong young man 
 across the table from him, that urged Mr. Cummings to more 
 than usually forceful efforts in clearing Duncan s apparently 
 befogged brain. 
 
 "Well, boy, it s no wonder you feel as you do. You ve 
 been hit hard, and in rapid succession. It s logical that a 
 man of your temperament and your age should feel as you do, 
 you, who start out with all sorts of confidence in life and the 
 motives of men, because you are young, and, in yourself, are 
 right. It comes hard. I m pretty far away from my own 
 youth but, by Gad I can understand it. 
 
 "But, because of your very temperament, a temperament 
 I say it to your credit exceptionally quixotic and one that 
 assumes responsibility early, you are peculiarly liable to 
 some excess in your judgments some exaggeration in your 
 conclusions. It s easier in your young indignation to over 
 estimate, rather than to under estimate things, the regret- 
 able things of the world. It s very easy for your mind in its 
 feeling of revolt to conceive incorrect causes or to fail of dis 
 crimination in assigning them. You re in danger of assuming 
 too much responsibility for others. Its an over conscientious 
 ness that tends to the cramping of action, the restriction of 
 growth and the possibility of the greater usefulness. Its the 
 malady of the over sensitive mind, one that, not to give offense, 
 provides the fanatic, the crank. 
 
 "There is a middle stand one may take in all matters, one 
 that lean.s neither to the one side nor to the other. In the 
 present argument, that is the side you and I already occupy, 
 that your father occupied before you; it is the side that claims 
 from thinking men and women their sympathy and support. 
 
THE CLAW 281 
 
 "Of course, though, I needn t go into all this you know it 
 already. You are in the employ and are daily engaged in 
 the interests of that contingent, those, I call, the Contingent of 
 the Sane. Yet, with the recent jolts you ve had from the 
 other side of our business the side of the Excess its worth 
 while fortifying your mind with the argument of our side in 
 order that you re not thrown from sheer reaction to the side 
 of the other excess prohibition. 
 
 "Temperance, my boy, temperance a noble word is the 
 only solution for this problem. It s the only possible stand 
 to take. It s the only safe ground that will provide on the 
 one hand for regulation and the elimination of abuse and on 
 the other hand against a revolt from the threatened regimen 
 that would curtail personal liberty, develop regulation of each 
 man s habits to a common rule, the result of which would be 
 a reaction to animalism. 
 
 "My boy," continued Mr. Cummings, earnestly, "you 
 have looked upon the abuses of our business and your horror 
 has caused you to say, Can any good live in this thing? But 
 have you recalled the good, the undeniable good that belongs 
 to the business; the part the industry has had in the economic 
 life of the state; the lands it has turned from useless desert to 
 fruitful acres supporting families, industries, whole com 
 munities and great cities; the people it gives honest employ 
 ment; the harmless social pleasures it provides not in the 
 questionable refreshment places and disreputable dives alone. 
 Wine is there, but is it there only? Is it not a part of the 
 best society you know, of your own home, and mine? Is it 
 not associated, not only with regretful things, the result of 
 weakness and wrong doing, but with every pleasant hour of 
 social companionship you have known? Because wine was 
 used for a little girl s downfall in the hands of a human devil, 
 
282 THE CLAW 
 
 is that wine defiled in the hands of my fair daughter, your 
 mother, or the Christ? 
 
 "There are two uses of all human good and that good is not 
 intrinsically changed by the hand th?t uses it, whether that 
 hand be the hand of the Master or the hand of a Judas." 
 
 "Yes that s true!" cried Duncan. He had listened as was 
 his wont, without interruption, with the utmost concentra 
 tion, "and that is just what I foresee in this case that the 
 hand of Judas will be the user, betraying us, the honest, the 
 decent, the humane, to the perpetuation and establishment 
 of a damnable business not the exploitation of the Good we 
 conceive our industry to be. 
 
 "Mr. Cummings, the money of Blythe and of a dozen men 
 like him the big interests the interests fortified by all the 
 departments of the liquor industry, from the lawful business 
 of the winery to the illicit business of the dive, is going into 
 this fight, is paying for the expenses of this very office, organized 
 under the name of the Grape Protective Association, to enlist 
 on the side of the Wets those whom the saloons, working in 
 the open could not enlist. You know that I know it. It s 
 one of the strategies of the campaign." 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Cummings, "it is one of the strategies, and 
 as such, is like some of the discreditable alliances of war a 
 necessity demanded by the crisis. But there are justifiable 
 rewards to this arrangement: we are enlisting hundreds of 
 thoughtful men and women who, when added to our number, 
 will help swing things for the right use of the good; men and 
 women who, standing on this middle ground of temperance 
 and discouragement of abuse, will help to make the fight against 
 dishonorable business. They will help to establish the wine 
 industry in the eyes of the country in the position it should 
 occupy, that of a benefaction, a contributor to the happiness 
 of men, to regulation of the saloon if it is seen fit to allow it 
 
THE CLAW 283 
 
 to remain to the place of the clean and decent institution it 
 should and can be. 
 
 "That s the work, boy, to which you are called. I thor 
 oughly believe that that you, of all the young blood in this 
 valley are fitted by your zeal, your ideals and your capacity 
 for service, to be the leader in this great movement. I don t 
 look for a victory by the Drys this year it doesn t seem con 
 ceivable. But things are working that way fast, and unless 
 the Champion comes, a man big enough, with enough pride 
 in the industry to rid it of the abuses that are making it ene 
 mies and threatening its life, then that industry, with all its 
 traditions and associations dear to us, will be flung out of the 
 state with opprobrium, and with material ruin to many. 
 
 "We need, we must have your work at the state capitol, 
 first, to help block the prohibitionist in their future efforts 
 against us, and secondly, as I have said, to initiate the reform 
 measures within our own circles. Don t get weak-kneed on 
 the proposition. Don t lose faith in your friends, the vast 
 majority of the liquor people. Don t desert those who, like 
 yourself, have put their all, through trying years into an in 
 vestment that the Drys with the destructive obsession of all 
 fanatics are bent on destroying. Fight is the word, and you re 
 a fighter if I know one when I see him!" 
 
 Duncan sat long after Mr. Cummings had gone, sunk in 
 the review of the latter s argument; not his argument 
 alone, but the personality of the man. His embodiment 
 in himself of the best traditions of the liquor industry, served 
 to infuse in him new faith, revived confidence. It was true, 
 as Mr. Cummings had said, he was, himself, given to excess 
 in his judgments he was tenacious of his own convictions 
 perhaps erratic. It was difficult for him to hold two objects 
 before his mental vision at once and give them impartial con 
 sideration. It had been so in this case. The vice of the 
 
284 THE CLAW 
 
 liquor traffic had stood large in his eyes, obscuring all other 
 things, obscuring the places where liquor was drunk and 
 enjoyed by men of guarded habits, the homes where wine was 
 mingled with pleasurable intercourse. 
 
 Heavens! What was he about to do? To forget his alleg 
 iance to the men, the homes, the society to which he belonged? 
 Could he acknowledge to the Enemy his people were wrong, 
 engaged voluntarily in the work of degrading and debauch 
 ing their fellow men; assign criminal intentions to all the 
 temperate users of wine and those that made an honest living 
 by making it? Could he class Mr. Cummings, his father, 
 even Corinne, whose slender arm had raised a glass of good 
 wishes to him at their parting class them, with Blythe, 
 and Westmeyer, and the woman? God forgive him! He had 
 need to guard his impulses, to exercise caution in his deduc 
 tions. 
 
 His work, then, was cut out for him. He reached for the 
 phone and telephoned to Forbes of the Wine Association to 
 know if the date had been set for the banquet. The sacrifice 
 that most attested to his new resolve was that he anticipated 
 donning a dress suit for the occasion, that must be dragged 
 from his trunk and sent to the cleaners for pressing. A dress 
 suit, he opined, was indispensable to a promising candidate 
 for the legislature on the evening of his announcement speech. 
 He had worn the dress suit but once before on graduation 
 night. His predilection for a "soft" shirt had won him the 
 nickname of "the cowboy" at Yale. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 Affairs were going famously with Norris. He had won his 
 spurs, he had won a charming girl and he had been made an 
 esteemed member of the Riverdale press club. The affair 
 took place ?t a dinner in his honor and that of a visiting 
 Eastern newspaper man of note, in the "Little Red Room" 
 of the St. George grill. Marlinee, the following morning, 
 received hilarious rumors of the event. 
 
 "Ask Norris how he got home last night," urged Gordon. 
 
 "Ask him what he thinks of the intelligence of cabbies when 
 a man has misplaced his address." 
 
 "Say, Norris, which will it be for a bracer, whisky straight 
 or a little gin rickey?" 
 
 Norris, turning off rehash with nervous jabs, colored and 
 flung over his shoulder, "Forget it!" 
 
 "Norris is young," remarked Gordon, the sporting editor, 
 reaching for another sheet of copy which he adjusted with 
 care in his roller, "but for one of his age, precocious. I might 
 say devilish precocious! Take last night, for instance, when 
 Berry put it to him straight whether between man and woman, 
 he considered Scotch or Bourbon or rye the best." 
 
 His remarks were interrupted as he dodged a desk dictionary 
 hurled by Norris after which the latter fell with new and in 
 creasing agitation upon the story of the perennial yard-fence 
 war between the Murphys and the McGuires. 
 
 Marlinee glanced at the boy and noted his flushed face, 
 and heavy eyelids. She had not liked the look of the boy lately, 
 in the days since his discovered greatness. He was paying 
 for his new popularity, she feared, paying for his success, as 
 Fessendon, had said, as she knew only too well was the absurd 
 and insane way of men in the world that ability in a man 
 
286 THE CLAW 
 
 must be the sign for immediate attack on those forces of strength 
 and manhood that make and keep him able and efficient. 
 It was an arrangement that she considered at all times with 
 marvel and growing disgust disgust with the world, and with 
 men in particular. Her recent experiences, the glimpses she 
 had received of the work of booze, contributed to her indigna 
 tion and she was in no mood for facetiousness in the matter. 
 
 "If Norris got drunk last night, I think it s a disgrace and 
 if you fellows helped him to get drunk you ve fallen about ten 
 notches in my estimation!" she exclaimed. 
 
 The effect was what they had wanted. It was fun to "stir 
 up" Marlinee. 
 
 "Drunk well, no," remarked Gordon, judiciously, "I 
 don t know as I d put it in quite such brutal terms as that, 
 but politely soused, let s say slightly incapacitated in the 
 motor regions." 
 
 "Drunk, oh, no!" threw in Hay ward. "His intellectual 
 powers were intact I might say, reanimated, illuminated, 
 scintillant!" The boys roared and clapped their knees in 
 mirth. Norris, his face scarlet, reached for his hat and bolted. 
 Marlinee waited till the door closed after him and then ex 
 claimed : 
 
 "Oh, you talk that way you Hay ward! You make merry, 
 all of you, and think you ve done a fine and clever thing, getting 
 this boy drunk, soused stewed all the other cute phrases 
 you have for your abominable work; this boy, younger by 
 six years than any of you; new, fresh, with life just opening 
 to him, and prospects any man might covet. You think it 
 great sport, do you, to start him on the swift road to loss of 
 all these things, the road Wakefield and Morton have taken 
 just for fun just for your entertainment? And you are men, 
 aren t you?" 
 
 The boys stared at her in chagrin, embarrassment, their 
 
THE CLAW 287 
 
 mirth gone, and Gordon raised a word of apology, but she waved 
 it aside. 
 
 "I know you so well!" she was speaking as though to her 
 self. "Men, who germinate life and keep it alive in the earth! 
 You who talk to us women, flatter us as the bringers in of 
 life and its preservers without whom you would lack all 
 grace and goodness. Yes true a woman may bring forth 
 life, nourish and care for it; sacrifice and think for it, while it s 
 yet in her bosom; bring it forth in agony; watch, tend, cherish 
 through its beautiful babyhood and childhood and when she s 
 brought it to the place of this one this beautiful boy when 
 she s managed to keep him clean and manly and undefiled 
 then you men put your profane hand and smite and spoil him 
 spoil her fruit her gift that she has given her woman s soul 
 and life for. That s what you do, you men, and I hate you 
 for it!" 
 
 "Marlinee, Marlinee!" It was Hay ward at her side, his face 
 full of concern and remorse. "Don t say that! It s true 
 every word and awful, but we didn t mean it we didn t think. 
 Men don t think really! It s just some brute something 
 in them that pushes them to such things, into making fools 
 and asses of themselves and others. Don t take it so ser 
 iously!" 
 
 "No, don t get sore, Marlinee!" abetted the other boys, 
 pushing around with regretful faces. They were alarmed at 
 the girl s emotions. Her whole being seemed aflame with 
 an indignation that would consume her and her words had 
 struck home too, with truth that scorched. 
 
 "Well, then," Marlinees dropped into her chair in weakness 
 Her lips were trembling and she feared the disgrace of tears. 
 "Don t do it. For Heaven s sake, don t do it! Take care of 
 Norris you all love him, I know. Think of his mother and 
 father in their graves out there at Cayonsville and his 
 
288 THE CLAW 
 
 little Girl! Help him to keep straight and right for her." 
 
 "We will trust us we will!" chorused the boys, in repent 
 ance, They fell on their typewriters again with a vigor at 
 testing their relief and good will. 
 
 Fessendon lounged into the newsroom. He appeared to 
 arrive as by the power of attraction on each occasion when 
 the subject of booze was foremost, but the newsroom had 
 no desire to open up the subject again at the present time. 
 
 "Where s McWhirter?" he asked. "I ve got some dope 
 for him." 
 
 "Out, just this minute, I ll take it," said Gordon with eager 
 cordiality. "Want to see him particularly? Sit down." 
 Fessendon sat down and drew his hand over his forehead with 
 a jesture of weariness new to him. He had gotten just back 
 from a heavy lecture tour and the last hour had been spent 
 on a job the least congenial of any of his duties, from the 
 discouragements met, that of soliciting funds for the campaign. 
 His territory was the hardest of the state. In the center of 
 the wine grape industry wine men and others turned him 
 down alike. The banks that held some men favorable to the 
 cause were tied up effectually by the liquor interests; even 
 the churches. The Thing had some of them and their clergy 
 tied hard and fast. It was strange to Fessendon how many 
 excuses men could find for not looking this problem full in 
 the face. 
 
 One of his calls had been on a young clergyman, a man com 
 mitted to much the same liberal religious views as Fessendon 
 but who carried those views farther. He was a seeker of the 
 Ideal, the Absolute. How well Fessendon understood the 
 spirit of the man a mere lad. How well he remembered his 
 own grave and determined pursuit it is one that belongs to 
 youth. It is a noble one and provides for the finest philsophy 
 the world knows, but Fessendon understood the doctrine of 
 
THE CLAW 289 
 
 the Absolute that, itself, holds error, and here was a youth 
 with his fine, young arm and his vigorous, thoughtful brain 
 and his consecrated heart, ignoring the claims of humanity 
 while he sought in his tomes for the philosophical place of 
 liquor prohibition in the world s history. 
 
 It had come too soon that was what the logic of the tomes 
 said before men were ready for it educated to it. The 
 great transformations in the mind and consciences of the 
 world are all biological and subject to natural law. Prohibi 
 tion would break into that law disturb the fine workings of 
 logical cause and effect. Prohibition would mean the invoking 
 of a moral cataclysm a thing abnormal and deterrent to the 
 eventual object. 
 
 Fessendon listened to the lad, wording the age-old doctrine 
 of delay the avoidance of that interruption of the composed 
 order of things so grateful to the philosophic mind. Fessen 
 don understood that, too, and in no critical way. He had 
 been a philosopher in his day was now but he had learned 
 many things besides. He took time now from his pressing 
 duties to tell the boy about it. He was fond of him and he 
 needed him for his work. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "you are right. Nature works by laws of 
 her own which cannot be frustrated and every thing that 
 happens is normal even the abnormal things of life. They 
 are all within the law the part of the law we don t happen 
 to see. But you talk of prohibition as something outside that 
 law because it s revolutionary, sudden violent, perhaps. 
 Doesn t Nature allow for that sort of thing in her progress? 
 Land areas are not made by erosion of the hills, alone, a process 
 we may watch and understand. A great upheaval occurs, 
 and a continent is made in a day. Wars revolutions both 
 are historical cataclysms, but the world leaped ahead after 
 the Reign of Terror as never before. The Christ is rejected 
 
200 THE CLAW 
 
 as a Savior by some men because he came out of time, out of 
 the conceived order of evolution for a perfect man, yet he is 
 saving men and women daily to near perfection. 
 
 "Oh, my boy! You are young. You are strong and the 
 world is before you. Your opportunity is here today now\ 
 Whatever you can accomplish of good toward your fellow man 
 is within the law of God and Nature else it could never be 
 accomplished. 
 
 "Get busy there are men and women and little children 
 by the hundreds and thousands in the world today in whom 
 the likeness of God is being destroyed by this curse drink. 
 Do we need philosophy, or science, or even religion to tell us 
 it should be stopped? How many more men and women 
 do we want to see take the road of those we know of every day, 
 while we are trying to discover if the time is ripe for the banish 
 ment of this thing? 
 
 "Greed greed alone keeps it established. Will you be a 
 partner to it will you give your young new strength to that 
 which induces decay and death? My boy, forget for the 
 time the doctrine of philosophic consistency and get into the 
 fight." 
 
 His last encounter had been with the pastor of one of the 
 smart churches of the city. He was shown into a richly fur 
 nished study. The entire air and furnishings of the room spoke 
 of worldiness, luxury and self indulgence. Fessendon knew 
 the man s church to be possessed of the same qualities, one 
 which, professing to embody the spirit and teachings of Christ, 
 was actuated in the motives of its people by a policy of com 
 promise with the worldly and the material, the fruits of which 
 were far from those of the life and service of the Master. He 
 expected nothing from Dr. Burrington. The call was merely 
 perfunctory and in the line of his routine activities for the 
 
THE CLAW 291 
 
 Dry campaign. He made short work of it, stating his errand 
 briefly. 
 
 "I see," began Dr. Burrington. Well Ahem! Keally 
 my dear Fessendon, I might make a point never to bring sub 
 jects of local agitation into the pulpit to introduce the con 
 crete. I believe that the clergyman serves the best purpose of 
 his calling who presents the Gospel in its broadest and 
 most comprehensive sense and leaves the individual to make 
 the deductions the application to conduct and choice." 
 
 "Yes," agreed Fessendon, "I see!" It does save a lot of 
 thought and gives the individual a chance to do as he darn 
 pleases." The clergyman looked shocked, but he continued: 
 
 "The teachings of the Master were given for all time and 
 all men and circumstances. The man or woman who adopts 
 the fundamental principles of Christianity is certain to regu 
 late his life and choices in consistence there with." 
 
 "Yes," said Fessendon, "I ve noticed. In God We Trust 
 was the motto in the house of Billy Blyther and his wife, the 
 folks the police pinched last week for shop-lifting." The 
 clergyman looked at Fessendon with an expression of some 
 annoyance but he was a man of large charity and one practised 
 in accomodating himself to others. 
 
 "No," he concluded in a kind but firm manner. "I m 
 sorry to disappoint you, but I have promised myself not to 
 introduce into my church anything that will tend to cause 
 division or the disturbance of the very delightful spirit of har 
 mony and fellowship that now prevails." 
 
 "You haven t disappointed me in the least, Doctor, I assure 
 you," answered Fessendon, in the most cordial of tones as 
 he rose from his chair. "I really wasn t expecting any assist 
 ance of any sort from you. I know that the directing forces 
 of your church are men immediately associated with the 
 liquor interests and I didn t expect you to be a big enough man 
 
292 THE CLAW 
 
 to break with those forces. I hope," he added fervently, 
 taking the Doctor s hand in a grip that made the latter wince, 
 "I surely hope, Doctor, that you ll get your accustomed raise!" 
 
 Fessendon was tired, awfully tired, physically, but there 
 was no end of fight in him yet. That was the way he came to 
 land, now, on Max Burgess, who, inadvertantly and unfortun 
 ately, lounged into the Journal office as Fessendon sat wait 
 ing for McWhirter. 
 
 Burgess was a type of man grown especially in the west 
 the professional booster one who lives on other men s en 
 thusiasms. Burgess lived in a blatant atmosphere of boost. 
 The eloquent phraseology of that virtue was at his tongue s 
 end. His services were valuable but a little forced. The 
 business man, short in cash, who observed Burgess breezy 
 bulk approaching was wont to reach for his hat and conceive 
 a sudden engagement. Moral courage was not equal to the 
 refusing of a subscription and risking the eloquent anathemas 
 with which Burgess was wont to favor the man who refused 
 to "boost." Fessendon himself precipitated the matter. He 
 found Burgess diverting. 
 
 "Well, what have you got on your mind today?" He asked 
 as Burgess breezed in, and clapped him on the back with 
 large geniality. 
 
 "Square paving Park Square paving! We want to get 
 that square paved and start in on those municipal dances the 
 other towns are giving weekly to draw the Saturday night 
 trade. Come now come right through, Scott-Browne! 
 I know you re public spirited, and this is going to mean more 
 for the merchants of this town than any proposition that s 
 been put up here for the past five years. Come on, I tell you!" 
 Thus quoth Burgess, warming up in true booster style. Fes 
 sendon was a man and as said before no man could risk Burgess 
 wordy opprobrium. Besides Fessendon had an idea. He 
 
THE CLAW 293 
 
 reluctantly handed over a fifty cent piece fifty cent pieces 
 were not very plentiful those days with Fessendon. Burgess 
 pocketed it with effusiveness and turned to another victim. 
 
 "Here/ called Fessendon, "Wait! Suppose you subscribe 
 now to my enterprise. Suppose you put down your subscrip 
 tion to the California Dry campaign." 
 
 "California Dry!" Burgess turned and eyed Fessendon up 
 and down contemptuously. 
 
 "Say what you giving us? When you talk to me, talk 
 about d live proposition!" 
 
 " Live proposition! Fessendon was on his feet on the 
 instant. He had been likened in his lean indolence to a 
 sleeping hound. His movement now, was like one like a 
 wolf-hound in fierceness and attack. The boys involuntar 
 ily pushed between the two, but Fessendon had no use for 
 physical weapons he had a better. 
 
 " Live proposition! You talk of a live proposition, and 
 thrust your petty plea for a pavement into my face. You 
 think you are the only men the men that handle the dollars 
 other men s dollars. A live proposition! Well, is there 
 anything liv-er than that that deals with men and women and 
 little children, with human breath in them?" 
 
 "A live proposition! Is there anything liv-er than a pro 
 position looking to conserving the strength and efficiency of 
 men? What builds highways and railroads and conceives of 
 factories and business? The brains within them. The really 
 live thing there their souls. And my proposition deals with 
 souls \ 
 
 And who conceives and brings forth the men who do these 
 things. Women mothers. I m talking about Theml Is 
 there anything liv-er than that? W T ho s going to keep the work 
 going who s going to do the boosting and the building of the 
 country after you re sealed up in your fine mausoleum out 
 
294 THE CLAW 
 
 there in the cemetery? The children, the children bom and 
 unborn today. I m talking about them, about them and their 
 welfare. I m boosting not for a dancing pavement, or a 
 highway, or a stocking factory, or a municipal market. I m 
 boosting for a town where these children can grow up with 
 clean minds and clear eyes and strong and efficient brains and 
 a degree of material comfort ; a place where no men will prey on 
 them if they happen to be a little weaker than their fellows. 
 Isn t this a live proposition? Well, I wonder! 
 
 "Yet, you laugh at these things you who give a dozen pages 
 in your booster pamphlets to the churches of the town and 
 fail to mention the great and prosperous saloon business that 
 is netting the city $5,000 annually. Why do you mention 
 the one and not the other? Because you are cowards. You 
 fill your pockets with the returns of the one the thing you 
 know hurts your town and the people in it, and the thing you 
 hav n t the face to boost for and you refuse support and sym 
 pathy to the other. Oh I know you, Max Burgess, you and 
 your kind! You sit in your clubs over your cocktails and cigars, 
 secure in your damnable conceit. You call yourselves the 
 rational the Fit, and we who give our time and energy to 
 these other things the men whose business is with the things 
 of morality and religion you call us fanatics cranks crea- 
 tures of vapid brain. Fools! Not to know that if you are 
 Fit it is because of borrowed virtues the virtues taught by 
 the teachers and the preachers. You live by the benefits of 
 other men. Even your egotism is covered by the Christian 
 charity of your fellows! 
 
 "And the dreamers, those you despise, they have been the 
 guardians of men s progress from the beast upward through 
 all ages. Stomach and loins, stomach and loins, and the ape 
 forever grins over the shoulder of the man! It is the preacher 
 and the seer that have held him to the path and kept alive in 
 
THE CLAW 295 
 
 him the consciousness of something beyond the sense of the 
 farther goal. 
 
 "Yet you deprecate these forces. You call meetings to 
 talk street lighting and new boulevards and publicity campaigns 
 and you term the man who fails to come through with his 
 enthusiasm and cash, narrow guage , the little man , while 
 you fail utterly and wholly, to sense the real things, the things 
 that come first character, temperance, industry, efficiency 
 of service the things that most serve the material end. 
 And to the movements and institutions in your town that 
 foster these things, you contribute not a dollar, or an hour of 
 your attention and co-operation! 
 
 "This is your rationality, your enterprise, the large spirit 
 of citizenship you men boast!" His words came like whip 
 strokes Burgess half rose from his chair "In God s 
 name, who is the narrow guage , the little man Faugh!" 
 Fessenden turned on his heel "I don t understand your 
 kind of intelligence." 
 
CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 Duncan awaited the banquet of the wine men with some 
 trepidation. They would expect a speech from him. In 
 fact, his address announcing his candidacy would lead off 
 the after dinner speeches. The sense of the occasion was the 
 promotion of the wine industry and it was appropriate that 
 it should open with the name of the man who should lead 
 the wine interests in their future efforts to secure legislation 
 favorable to themselves and discouraging to their opponents. 
 
 Duncan was no speaker, he told himself. However, he had 
 never failed to come through with something, when called on 
 unexpectedly or appointed to public appearance during his 
 college course. But to prepare and deliver a speech in his own 
 interests! He could never remember having done anything 
 strictly in his own interests in his life. Left alone he would 
 never be seeking this office, now. A seat in the legislature 
 was a thing to be coveted as a creditable accomplishment for 
 a member of his family, but to "do politics," to button-hole 
 this man and set up the drinks for that with a view to harvest 
 ing votes was impossible for him. If, however, by sacrificing 
 his own feelings of reticence and modesty he could put through 
 a needed work that would be of service to his friends and the 
 wine industry, he was willing to pocket his own preferences, 
 as he had done on so many other occasions, and go to it. 
 
 He did not intend to waste his time and the time of his em 
 ployers thinking up fancy phrases for a long and pyrotechnic 
 address, however. He would merely announce his candidacy, 
 together with his intentions to serve his constituents, if elected, 
 with conscientiousness and industry, and would close with 
 appreciation for the confidence placed in him by the wine 
 men that had inspired their calling for him as their represen- 
 
THE CLAW 297 
 
 tative. That would be a type of all his campaign speeches. 
 Strictly business no time wasted, no frills! 
 
 But, unenthusiastic as had been his contemplation of the 
 affair and his part in it, the occasion itself provided his inspira 
 tion. No, perhaps it was his mother who suggested the real 
 inspiration. Jeanie, never demonstrative, whose reticence 
 and plodding habits had increased during Duncan s absence, 
 from utter lack of companionship and diversion, during the 
 weeks since his return, had known a strange revival. In the 
 regard of none had he come to hold a more changed place than 
 in the eyes of his mother. Strange had been their relations 
 always; rather that of partners than of mother and son. 
 
 If Duncan had been aware of a lack in his father s affections, 
 he had also known the same in regard to his mother. All of 
 Jeanie s pride had been wrapped up in Douglas. Douglas 
 was his father s son, the reflection of that brilliancy and grace 
 that had surprised, and to speak accurately, eclipsed her life. 
 Her ambitions had been centered in Douglas. The part of 
 the younger son, the lad of ordinary parts, was to serve the 
 boy of talents, as her s had been to devote her poor gifts to 
 the father. She felt the incongruity of elevating Duncan to 
 Douglas place in her husband s ambitions, with almost the 
 keenness of Duncan himself and, therefore, none of the sweet 
 flattery with which a mother ordinarily surrounds her child, 
 that lulls his own suggestions of inefficiency and inspires him 
 with self-confidence and the power to accomplish, was Duncan s, 
 from his mother. 
 
 What this lack meant to the backward, self-deprecative 
 boy, none can tell, nor did he realize. Fortunately, that lack 
 had boon supplied in part by another. Marlinee, her confidence, 
 her faith in him, her letter abounding in optimism and en 
 couragement took the place of the letter from home that has 
 such potential part in the life of most students. Marlinee 
 
298 THE CLAW 
 
 without knowing it without Duncan or Jeanie knowing it 
 made possible the self-confidence that, by a slow development, 
 at last met Duncan s unfolding powers and wrought, in the 
 last year or two of his college course, the strength and vigor 
 of his new personailty. It was Marlinee who gave to Jennie 
 the joy she knew when she greeted Duncan on his return. 
 
 Jeanie had never told him of the joy; it was a secret that 
 she had hugged to herself in the strange selfishness with which 
 people keep the dear things about others to themselves. Jeanie s 
 secret was this: Duncan, returned, was his father s son. 
 
 It seemed a miracle, a thing she could not have dared pray 
 for, but it was true. The moment he strode up the steps, 
 he was Cameron come back; she saw it in every little detail of 
 his new personailty: his quick, decisive ways, his swift obser 
 vations and conclusions, his new readiness of speech, his new 
 impelling masterfulness. 
 
 For this change, the rumors concerning Duncan on the lips 
 of his friends had prepared her somewhat. Complacency 
 had grown at every report of his Washington success and when 
 the gossip reached her seclusion that Duncan was being named 
 for a state office her pride knew no bounds. New honors 
 unbelievable followed : Duncan was asked to take a partnership 
 with Blythe. Duncan was engaged to the daughter of one of 
 the wealthiest men in the valley and the most exclusive. 
 As mother of such a personage Jeanie was like to be overwhelmed 
 by her honors. 
 
 And Duncan never knew. It gave him surprise and grief 
 that Jeanie should have felt such disappointment when he 
 announced at last, that he could not take up with Blythe s 
 offer. She had seemed somewhat more than usually interested, 
 to be sure, when he first consulted her about the matter and 
 she had urged him to go into it, but he was not prepared for 
 her apparent concern when he abandoned the idea. 
 
THE CLAW 299 
 
 "But, mother, you wouldn t have me accept Blythe s offer, 
 would you, under the circumstances?" 
 
 "No, no, I canna say I wud," she agreed, reluctantly, "but 
 I m sair grieved aboot it. Oh, no not for mysel dinna 
 think it but frae you." 
 
 Tonight, as he was dressing, she came to his door and asked 
 with a concern unusual, if there was anything she could do. 
 She had laid out his clothes for him, smoothing with much 
 awe the folds of the dress suit Duncan s dress suit! It was 
 a badge of his transformation. She looked at him as he said 
 good-bye something, new, worshipful and pathetic in her 
 eyes, that moved him: 
 
 "Well, mother, wish me success for my speech." It was 
 then her voice broke and in unaccustomed tenderness, she 
 reached up and kissed him. 
 
 "Laddie, ye look fair like yir father! How proud he wud 
 be o ye th nicht." Duncan s vision clouded and he went 
 down the steps to his machine, unseeing. He had never 
 dreamed of such a tribute. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 It had been many years since Duncan had seen so many 
 of his father s friends assembled in one body. It reminded 
 him of the halcyon clays of La Mesa vineyard. Cameron 
 himself should have been there at the head of the table, master 
 of ceremonies Cameron with his fine, exceptional presence 
 that impressed every one, even the man casually met; Cameron 
 with his brilliant resources, his versatility, his eloquence, his 
 gifts of imagery and wit that sprang to his need on the inspira 
 tion of the moment. It was true, as his mother had said: what 
 would this occasion not have meant to his father, the occasion 
 when his son would be honored by the greatest gift in the 
 power of his father s friends, the leadership of their 
 cause. A great desire arose in him to do his father credit on 
 this rare night; to have men say of him as of his brother on 
 that other occasion so long ago: "This is his father s son!" 
 
 He wished that he had prepared his speech more carefully, 
 and with more elaboration. Now, in this presence, with the 
 emotions impelled by his mother s words, the occasion took 
 meaning moment. Early memories stirred him, revived in 
 him the old days, with their fine visions and expectations. 
 He recalled the early struggles of the growers, their disappoint 
 ing experiences and their yet unfufillled hopes for the success 
 of the industry ; the hopes built in the future in his own efforts 
 in their behalf. Great thoughts surged in him and with them 
 almost but not quite, the keen terms, the timely phrases with 
 which to catch and speak them. Ah if just this once, his 
 father s muse would breathe in him the godlike power to speak 
 his full heart! 
 
 Another muse loosed his tongue. The banquet was long. 
 Duncan at no time had use for banquets. He was temperate 
 
THE CLAW 301 
 
 in his inclinations and he resented at all times the imposing 
 of gastronomic feats in the name of good fellowship. Then, 
 too, such occasions invariably entailed the drinking of too much 
 wine. Unfortunately, he had had more than he wanted, 
 already. His friends knew that his candidacy would be the 
 announcement of the evening and throughout the day he had, 
 from custom s sake, absurd as he acknowledged it, set up 
 the drinks many times, and received like courtesy at the hands 
 of his numerous business friends. He had remembered, at 
 each round that he should be saving all his fortitude in that 
 matter till night the occasion would tax his best control. 
 
 Already he began to feel the effect of his reluctant indulgence 
 in the first up flickering of the lights in the back of his brain; 
 the first illumination of the mind that tells the normal man 
 that abnormal exhilaration is moving in his veins and that it 
 is time to call a halt. It was as. far toward excess as he had 
 ever gone this stage experienced but a few times before and 
 always from such inadvertent cause. 
 
 But, unfortunately, he was not the first speaker. A senator 
 and one or two other notables from abroad were present. A 
 round of toasts was called, for these. He had left his glass 
 untouched during the courses, but there was no avoiding re 
 sponse to this call. He drank with the rest, cursing his ill 
 luck. Well, he came next, at any rate, and ten minutes would 
 put his part through. He could excuse himself on some pre 
 text, afterward, if the thing growing bigger and more riotous 
 in his brain got beyond his control. 
 
 Outwardly, he was absolutely calm. He looked at the hand 
 turning with seeming negligence the slender goblet and there 
 was not a quiver in it. His voice was firm and controlled, and 
 the man opposite him, a new comer who had met Duncan for 
 the first time that night, told himself, as he glanced at the strong, 
 well-contained figure, the quiet, clean-cut face with its wide 
 
302 THE CLAW 
 
 brow, its frank eyes and firm chin, that here was a young fellow 
 in all ways fitted to be the leader needed at this crisis. 
 
 Duncan s name was called. He heard it pronounced a 
 long way off, from the master of ceremonies who had receded 
 into a vast perspective. His heart bounded up as though 
 it were trying to break from his body. The blood beat in 
 his ears. There was absolutely nothing in his head at the 
 moment but the bobbing lights of his brain. By sheer im 
 pulse he reached and drank off with one swallow the wine 
 with which the waiter had just filled the glass in his hand. 
 
 He rose and looked down the far vista of scintillating lights 
 and gleaming shirt fronts, and, in that moment, absolute 
 composure returned. He began speaking calmly, slowly. 
 His words were not those of the speech he had conceived, but 
 another, a wholly different one. Words, phrases, came to 
 his lips as he needed them, almost before the thought was 
 formed. The thoughts were those he had conceived in the 
 early evening the inspiration of his mother s words, his 
 father s remembered presence, nd the thrill of this assemblage 
 before him. 
 
 His speech was a perfect medium. It flowed like a current 
 bearing freightage, like a thread under the needle weaving 
 a perfect pattern; like the music record turned in a pianola; 
 his part merely mechanical the medium over which it passed. 
 
 He spoke of the early days of the valley, of the yellow valley 
 as he remembered it, first, a child of five or six. He spoke of 
 the coming of the pioneers his father, the men gathered there 
 about this board; of the brilliant promise of the golden land, 
 of their fine plans arid hopes, of the great vineyard common 
 wealth growing swiftly under their hands; the land that once 
 barren, presently smiled with green vineyards, acres and acres, 
 as far as the eye could reach, vineyard row after vineyard row, 
 
THE CLAW 303 
 
 wheeling into vision as the trains of the new railroads brought 
 the people flocking to the country. 
 
 He spoke of the struggles of the growers; of conditions that 
 worked hardship; of the great_hand to hand struggle of the 
 shipping agencies in their throat cutting competition, of the 
 present armistice of the interests and the realization of the 
 contending forces that the life of the industry lay only in co 
 operation. 
 
 He pictured the enemies of the wine business the prohi 
 bitionists with their slanderous accusations of growers and 
 wine makers, and their campaign designed against the existence 
 of the liquor business. His hearers waited on his words breath 
 lessly. 
 
 And here he made sudden digression and in rising earnestness 
 pictured the evils within the business that furnished argument 
 for the enemy. He left no unworthy feature untouched law 
 lessness, carousal, the despoiling of homes by the selling to 
 men given to excess, the corruption of justice, gambling, 
 immorality. His words stung. He spoke in fierce arraign 
 ment of men in high places who combined with honest business, 
 the vicious. 
 
 He turned suddenly, with apology for introducing 
 the personal, with emotion expressing his deep apprecia 
 tion to his friends, for their sympathy and loyalty in the recent 
 attack upon himself. He accepted that loyalty, he added, 
 not wholly as a tribute to himself, but more as the generosity 
 of men to his father s son. 
 
 V He spoke of his father in voice of thrilling tenderness ; recalled 
 the old days ; with happy phrase and ingenious imagery invoked 
 the presence of the elder Douglas. He was there at that very 
 table in the midst of his friends tonight his old friends! 
 His presence with its grace and charm was beside them, his 
 voice with the old cordial ring was in their ears his face with 
 
304 THE CLAW 
 
 its irresistible smile sunned them. They bent forward across 
 the table, with eager faces, as though the thing were reality; 
 with eyes filled with old loyalty, while sighs, and a man s deep 
 sob broke on the silence of the speaker s periods. They had 
 loved Cameron. 
 
 He spoke of his brother, and, suddenly, the boy Douglas 
 was there in their midst, in the person of the other boy, Duncan, 
 the same flashing eye, the hair swept back proudly from the 
 forehead, the cheeks spotted with regal color. 
 
 He closed suddenly and briefly, shaken by his own emotions: 
 in the name of that beloved father and perished brother; in 
 the name of the new loyalty he owed his father s friends, in 
 the name of the great and noble industry they all had labored 
 to foster he pledged his heart and hand s best service. 
 
 Duncan took his seat. It hid been a great speech. It 
 took his hearers long to get their breath. A full minute was 
 ticked off audibly by the great clock on the wall before the 
 applause burst forth such applause as had not been raised 
 there before. Men reached to grip Duncan s hands; men sprang 
 from their seats with their congratulations, and the toast 
 was raised high and clamorously. 
 
 "His father, from the ground up! " 
 
 "Why as he spoke I lost him and Cameron was there," said 
 one. 
 
 "His father, with the same prod for his imagination!" whis 
 pered another of the diners, meaningly. "Well, some men 
 have to have that. It accomplishes the needed inhibition 
 knocks out self-consciousness and loosens up eloquence." 
 
 "Yes?" answered the man at his side. It was Doctor Elliot 
 His eyes followed his companions glance with a concern effect 
 ively covered by his professional command. Duncan was 
 drooping forward in his chair, his elbows on the table, one hand 
 raised to the waiter for another glass. The light and glow had 
 
THE CLAW 305 
 
 gone out of him. He smiled mechanically at the men crowding 
 about him. He looked like a man exhausted. 
 
 He sat through the seemingly endless address of the next 
 speaker. Then he turned to the men at either side and excus 
 ing himself started to leave the table. The room was sway 
 ing dizzily about him, he groped for the backs of the chairs 
 to guide his steps and a waiter glided noiselessly and subser 
 viently to his side and offered him his arm. At that moment 
 his name was called in the stentorian voice of a hotel page. 
 
 "Duncan Cameron is wanted at once at La Mesa vineyard! 
 Is Doctor Elliot here? He is also wanted, instantly!" 
 
 The sound passed through Duncan like an electric shock. 
 His first thought was of his mother, and he was instantly sober. 
 He plunged out into the lobby into the crowd gathered there 
 about a boy from the vineyard, his chauffeur. The latter, 
 hat less and breathless, with white face, was leaning against 
 the desk. He started at Duncan s appearance and swallowed, 
 unable to speak. Duncan shook him fiercely: 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Oh something awful Morton his wife come quick!" 
 With a cry Duncan darted past him to the waiting machine, 
 the Doctor at his heels. The boy sprang in after, but 
 Duncan was at the wheel ; he threw in the clutch and the machine 
 sprang forward with a bound. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 Affairs with Morton had been growing rapidly worse since 
 his discharge. The notoriety lent him by Antonio s trial had 
 worked him hardship. He had lost his standing with his friends 
 of the business world. Even those who would have condoned 
 infraction of the law that made it illegal to buy wine from the 
 wineries for retail in dry territories, found it to their interests 
 to treat with coolness the offender, now that his offense had 
 been given unpleasant publicity. There was no work to be 
 found by Morton around Riverdale. His pride would not 
 allow him to descend from the position of manager of one of 
 the largest vineyards of the state, and an enviable business 
 standing to that of mere day laborer. 
 
 He went to Lodi, to Stockton, into the Sacramento valley, 
 looking for a managership, or clerkship, but all such positions 
 were filled and the waiting list overcrowded. Duncan s 
 grim justice would not permit him to write Morton a recom 
 mendation. For Elsie s sake, however, he went to the stores 
 and secured an extension of credit with promise to settle their 
 accounts himself if there was no money forthcoming from Mor 
 ton, and he insisted upon Elsie s occupying the manager s cot 
 tage through the summer or until Morton was settled with a 
 job some where. 
 
 Elsie remained, her growing concern for her husband and 
 little brood admonished her to retain the friends she had 
 and lent a foreboding that she would need them even more in 
 the future than now. She had hoped that his excursion after 
 work, away from his old associations and drinking companions 
 would give him an opportunity to brace up and get hold of 
 himself, but the weakness at which the alcohol poison had 
 struck seemed to be a vital one, provided by a nervous pre- 
 
THE CLAW 307 
 
 disposition to excess. He had always played to excess, worked 
 to excess, carried any enthusiasm he might adopt to a point 
 beyond the normal. His temperament, fitted to accomplish, 
 to accomplish even brilliantly, certain to obtain success in 
 anything he might take up within the limit of his natural ability, 
 was also just the kind of temperament to provide a victim to 
 the alcohol habit and one with whom the work of degeneracy, 
 moral and physical, would be quick. The latter work was 
 already accomplished and Morton was a physical wreck. 
 The outward signs of excess, so apparent to the experienced 
 eye, turned him away with a refusal from more positions than 
 he knew. 
 
 Morton returned from his latest trip in search of work in 
 a more alarming condition than Elsie had ever seen him before, 
 one that spoke desperation. He had evidently known no 
 cessation of drink since he had left. The hideous temptation 
 had met him at every turn, beckoned in every town he went, 
 invited at every street, breathed across his face from the 
 mouths of men turned and, just as his will, with a desperate 
 revival of strength had cried, "I won t," laid hold on him with 
 its iron hand and a leer that said, "Oh, yes you will, you know, 
 for you are mineV 1 and the shuddering ego in the man bowed 
 its submission and followed. 
 
 Morton was morose, uncommunicative, sat, while at home, 
 for hours without a word, his head in his hands, his eyes staring 
 sullenly before him. He was frequently away and returned 
 in the early hours of the morning or not at all till the next night. 
 Elsie shuddered at thought of his return. Her night hours, 
 while she sat and waited for him, or tossed in suspense on her 
 bed, dreading the sound of his unsteady steps were full of the 
 anguish that only those who have lived with the same 
 terror know. She wondered with tortured mind what manner 
 of child would be the one that slept in her bosom, what 
 
308 THE CLAW 
 
 hideous inheritance of weakness and evil it knew, conceived 
 by a drunkard and carried by a mother whose daily thought 
 impressed its subconscious mind with such drea,d. She prayed 
 piteously that the curse might pass from it. She prayed des 
 perately for her children, that the frightful greed that hunts 
 on the highways of the land and in the streets of the city and 
 in the places where men meet for legitimate comradeship and 
 pleasure where they must go to press the business of life- 
 might not lay hold on her beautiful boys. 
 
 She thought with a frightful dread of the future, of the 
 future in which that threat would live and pursue, though she 
 might raise them strong, and see them established in soberness 
 and industry. 
 
 How it would wait for them at that hour God knew when 
 when accident, or infirmity or undiscovered weakness or the 
 need at a crucial moment would cause them to turn to Its 
 embrace The Terrible One from whose arms, the fever of 
 whose breath they should never more be freed, till life had gone 
 out in a last gasp of despair and remorse. So Elsie thought, 
 sitting day by day, sewing on her baby clothes, with her heart 
 a dead thing within her and her brain a nest of living drep.d! 
 
 Morton had been away for two days. She could not locate 
 him. He had said when he left that he would be back that 
 night, be at the Fair Association headquarters the greater 
 part of the day Grant, president of the Association, had prom 
 ised him a day of auditing the books. He would not be out 
 till late. There was little need of that postscript. She never 
 looked for him early. 
 
 He did not come that night nor the next day, nor the next 
 night. She had called up at the Fair Association office. They 
 had not seen him. He was to have been there. They had 
 given him a day s work; possibly more. He had seemed glad 
 to have the job. 
 
THE CLAW 309 
 
 Elsie s heart was sick. She knew the reason why Morton 
 had not shown up. The family would not even have his 
 wages for the one day. They needed it. She had called up 
 many places where she thought he might be. At her request, 
 Duncan had searched through the various saloons where 
 he thought Morton might be found. They were no longer 
 those of the plate glass character. 
 
 The man who begins as a social drinker and finds himself 
 presently in the gutter has, in his descent, fallen through 
 several strata of society, and at the last it is the dive down by 
 the tracks, or across in the tenderloin that receives the finished 
 work. It is the low saloon the hell holes of the red light- 
 that get the pickings from the palaces on Broadway and Com 
 mercial street. With a vast righteousness the Palace bar 
 refuses to quench with more drink the fires it has started in 
 the maddened throats of men. The low saloon may have him, 
 then, if it will be so inhuman as to prey on visible weakness. 
 
 And the low saloon receives him. But by a strange circum 
 stance the pennies handed across the bar of the dive by the 
 shaking hand of the man in the last grip of alcohol poisoning, 
 find a place side by side with the gold pieces the smart patrons 
 toss carelessly to the cashier of the Palace. The strong box 
 of the Palace and the dive are the same. 
 
 And Duncan acknowledged this as true, in some cases, in 
 such cases as Blythe, and others, but not with all. And not 
 much longer. He was thrilled with the zest for a fight a 
 fight that would put the greedy man, the man of unscrupulous 
 ambitions out of business, and exalt the industry of the sound 
 man the humane man the man who would sell pure goods 
 to temperate men, at sane hours in a safe and respectable 
 place. He commended the Palace saloon for its respectability 
 for the clean and sanitary and attractive and wholesome en 
 vironment it supplied for its patrons. 
 
310 THE CLAW 
 
 He commended the Palace saloon s humanity for refusing 
 drink to Morton and his kind. He condemned, in all the terms 
 he knew, the saloon that would receive Morton s infrequently 
 earned dimes and send him home to abuse Elsie and the 
 children. But what he intended to do with Morton and his 
 kind at the stage the Palace saloon found it had no farther 
 use for them just what he meant to do with them he hadn t 
 considered. It is the point at which a great many pause in 
 their reform of the saloon. 
 
 Duncan did not find Morton. But Morton came home. 
 On the third night at midnight, Elsie, waking from a sleep of 
 sheer exhaustion into which she had fallen, heard his footsteps. 
 She hurried out into the hall, the nervous fear that always 
 clutched her now-a-days turning her cold and shivering. She 
 wished now that she had accepted Jeanie s offer to 
 stay with her till Morton returned, but she had never 
 failed Morton. She hung a desperate hope on that fact. Some 
 how she felt that the day she went away and closed the door 
 against him, the day he should return and find no light or 
 presence at home, would be the day she lost him forever. 
 
 Besides, Morton usually returned home sober, at least from 
 any prolonged sprees. It was when he was working up to a 
 season of excess that he was she had not yet called it "danger 
 ous." She had let the children remain with Jeanie for to 
 night as she frequently did. She was glad. 
 
 He was at the door. He had come home on the night trolley 
 that passed the end of the vineyard. He had drawn his day s 
 wages in advance on excuse of a bill that needed paying and had 
 doubled it, tiipled it, a half dozen times in a remarkable streak 
 of luck at poker in the rooms of the Golden West bar across 
 the tracks. He had gone no farther for three days than the 
 bar in front. The Golden West had managed to return every 
 cent Morton had won to the till from whence it came. 
 
THE CLAW 311 
 
 For three days Morton had lived on poison. From the 
 Golden West, when his money was gone he made his way to 
 a bar up town the second stratum up but the bar of the 
 second stratum up, while not, itself, lacking in hospitality to 
 any man who might have the price of a beer had recently re 
 ceived a hard jolt at the hands of a newly appointed and zealous 
 officer for selling to individuals bearing Morton s earmarks. 
 And beside, Morton had not the price. The bar-keep, however, 
 gave him the news that he was wanted, that his wife had had 
 Cameron calling up all the saloons in town to locate him. 
 
 " Cameron!" The word acted like fire in the veins of the 
 man already mad with the need of another drink. The bar 
 keeper for the sake of old times stretched his conscience and 
 gave Morton that drink. It was a small one but it was all 
 that he could do for him. He took him out to the corner and 
 put him on the suburban car. The drink brought him tem 
 porary relief. Morton slept on the way out and when he had 
 been helped oft 7 the car by the conductor a friendly man, 
 who knew Elsie and pitied her he wove his way with dif 
 ficulty homeward. But at the door of his home, with Elsie 
 coming down the hall toward him, her scared and haggard 
 face lighted by the low gleam of the night lamp, the flame of 
 his rage and thirst broke out within him. She was slow in 
 opening the door and he beat viciously upon it. When she 
 had opened it and he reeled in, she fell back in a fear that 
 enraged him. Why did she look that way at him? Why had 
 she sent Cameron, crying the whole town over for him Cam 
 eron, the man that had ruined him, he demanded hoarsely, 
 his rage clearing his tongue. 
 
 "Harry, be quiet! You ll wake the neighbors. Come in 
 let me get something to eat for you. You are tired, sick." 
 
 "No," he cried, "Answer me why did you send that cur 
 after me?" 
 
312 THE CLAW 
 
 "You were gone so long, dear, and I was worried I was 
 afraid," she said soothingly. 
 
 "Afraid, afraid of your husband? That s a nice way to talk. 
 Afraid you re afraid are you? You look at me as if I d hurt 
 you kill you." 
 
 "Why no, not that!" she shuddered. 
 
 "You do. You are always looking at me as though I was 
 something awful, something you couldn t stand; something 
 too far gone for anything! You look at me, always, out of 
 your big eyes, and you send some one after me when I go away, 
 as though I were a baby as though I didn t know what I 
 was doing as though I couldn t take care of myself." He 
 had come near her and was glaring into her face in a frenzy of 
 rage. "I ll teach you to spy on me, to send that sneak after 
 me," he seized her arm "I ll teach you!" He struck her 
 full in the face with his open hand. She staggered back, 
 groping for the wall, her hand going to her face in s daze of 
 horror. 
 
 "Harry!" Her tone maddened him: 
 
 "Shut up! Shut up, I say. Don t cry! Don t you dare 
 cry when I strike you. Not a w 7 himper I won t have it!" 
 
 "But Harry oh, Harry you struck me! Oh my God, 
 you struck me!" Her face went down on her arm with a 
 shuddering cry. He seized her, whirled her half around and 
 glared savagely into her dazed face. 
 
 "If you yell like that again I ll kill you! Ah, I know you 
 I know you d have folks think I was all in. That I was clean 
 gone a drunken sot that s what you want them to think! 
 That s what you sent Cameron for, to tell everybody he saw 
 that I was off my nut- gone down and out and no good." 
 
 "Harry no!" she cried. "Not that. You don t under 
 stand. You re not in a condition to understand." 
 
 "There it goes again not in a condition! Ah its a fine 
 
THE CLAW 313 
 
 wife that talks that way to her husband. You re a faithful 
 wife, you are, yes but how do I know! How do I know 
 that you are! You re right I m away too much." 
 
 "Harry! you shan t talk that way. I can t live and let 
 you talk that way!" 
 
 Well how do I know you ought to live?" he seized her arm, 
 dragging her to him and staring into her eyes with a searching 
 face. "How do I know?" her blood froze at the look. She 
 struggled with all her strength to get away, but he held her, 
 pushing her slowly backward and to her knees, his eyes on her 
 face. 
 
 "Harry!" she cried, her strength going. "Harry! You 
 won t kill me will you? You won t kill me and the little 
 baby!" 
 
 "Maybe I ought to. Maybe I ought to!" She flung her 
 self upon him as he held her, threw her arms about his knees, 
 clung to him, called him by the tender names she used to have 
 for him before she had lost heart for such terms. 
 
 "Harry, dear Harry! Look at me. You forget who I am. 
 It s I, Elsie your wife who loves you! Remember oh, 
 remember how happy we were that night when you took me. 
 You were so proud and bonnie! And we walked home, Harry, 
 under the tall trees. The moon was very high and it shone 
 on the roof of our little house yours and mine. And don t 
 you remember dear when the first baby came? He was 
 so little oh, his dear little toes!" she laughed hysterically. 
 "And the next little baby girl. Harry! We both wanted a 
 girl. And she died." She was speaking calmer now, as she 
 felt his tense body relax and his hands tremble and lose their 
 grip. She had gained her feet, her arms still embracing him. 
 
 "And then another boy with blue eyes just like yours, 
 sweetheart!" She kissed his eyelids, dropping over his sullen 
 eyes. His hands had dropped from her shoulders and he 
 
314 THE CLAW 
 
 leaned against the wall dazedly. This was what she had 
 foreseen madness. But she had won him from himself this 
 time perhaps for all time. She was thrilled with a great 
 
 joy. 
 
 "And dear, this one, this little one!" She stretched her 
 arms with a comprehensive jesture. 
 
 The word was a scream. He had seized her, pushing her to 
 her knees, again, his hands on her throat. 
 
 "That s it, that s it! I d forgotten. That s why you ought 
 to die." His hands closed on her throat but relaxed. 
 
 "No not that way!" he panted. "You ll look at me you 
 you ll look at me from your big eyes. Wait!" He reached into 
 his breast, holding her with one iron hand. She knew. Her 
 head went back, her hands clasped the arm that held her. 
 It came to her that "little baby" would never know neither 
 this, nor the tragedy of his own life. A great peace took her 
 and she smiled as she fell. 
 
 He saw her face through the smoke. The blue eyes looked 
 at him still and with a terrible cry he turned the pistol to his 
 own breast and fell beside her. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 It was twelve miles to the vineyard. The men reached it 
 in fifteen minutes. They turned in past the family home, 
 the lights of the house flashing by like a shot. The machine 
 ground to a standstill outside Morton s house, beyond, with 
 a shock that threw the occupants from their seats. Duncan s 
 neighbors closed about it silently with blanched faces. 
 
 " Where are they?" he asked, with parched lips. 
 
 They waved him without words to the hallway. Duncan 
 and the Doctor passed up the steps with hats off, the crowd 
 closing silently behind. In the hall, in the rear, just in 
 front of the door, they came upon them. There had been 
 no need for the doctor s services he had been sent for in 
 the first panic. The bodies had not been moved from where 
 they fell: Elsie s and Morton s Elsie s lying face upward, 
 a curious smile upon it, Morton s fallen across her, his head 
 under him, the pistol still clutched in his hand. 
 
 A tragedy such as enacted on La Mesa Vineyard, shocking 
 in its effect on all connected with it, must at all times fall most 
 prostratingly on that mind in which dwells a sense of responsi 
 bility for the catastrophe, even the faintest. Such was the 
 shaft that felled Duncan. Grief, horror, these would not have 
 served to loose to such an extent his practiced self-control, 
 but the reproach of Morton, of Elsie, almost the last words he 
 could remember from her this fell upon his horrified senses 
 as he looked upon the tragedy, the culminating blight. 
 
 With a face like a dead man, Duncan assumed control of 
 the situation. He cleared the house of the staring throng, he 
 called the undertaker, he made temporary disposition of the 
 bodies after the official formalities were over. From his chauf 
 feur he had learned that Elsie s children were with his mother, 
 
316 THE CLAW 
 
 One of his first acts had been to call her up and assure himself 
 of her condition and the care of the innocent orphans. His 
 mother s tones over the telephone betrayed the shock she had 
 undergone but she WPS a woman of self control. Duncan had 
 drawn from her his own resourcefulness and quiet in time of 
 crisis. 
 
 He did all things swiftly, silently, a hundred things that 
 appeared to be done in the next few days, during that somber 
 and never to be forgotten time of death, the t me when the 
 mortal, unavailing tokens of the vanished, are abandoned to 
 their place. He did all things, moving with quickness and 
 decision, his physical and mental powers made to serve his will 
 the while within him he knew the burden of an insupportable 
 weight; something that dragged upon him till he was near 
 to fainting, to falling; the consciousness of his own part in the 
 unspeakable catastrophe. 
 
 It never left him. In the moment his mind crowded with 
 concerns for the living and work for the dead loosed one in 
 stant its preoccupations, remorse gripped him and his brain 
 writhed in its agony as in a physical spasm. Morton! Elsie! 
 Their little children! With tragic precociousness they de 
 manded daily what he had done with their papa and mama. 
 Had the officers come and taken them away to prison, like 
 they did little Carlos s papa? Was that why they were brought 
 over and left all night at "grandma s" so that the wicked "cops" 
 could come and carry Daddy and Marmie off? 
 
 Duncan thought he had been a witness of human grief. 
 He thought his mind had suffered in the revelations of Glad s 
 calamity, in Amanda s grief, before, in that hour when Douglas 
 young body had been given into his father s arms, in his father s 
 death. He thought he had sounded all the poignant forms of 
 grief, but he had never imagined for himself such anguish as 
 he knew in the definace of these babies demanding father 
 
THE CLAW 317 
 
 mother those priceless possessions that drink had snatched 
 from them in hideous tragedy. 
 
 Drink! God drink\ Drink made of the fruit of his own 
 vineyard why not? Or some one s else vineyard. Wine 
 harmless wine, social wine; the temperance drink, the drink 
 that brings no excess, that tends to sobriety, to health, to 
 happiness! Wine, to be drunk at the bar and at the clubs and 
 in the homes; to be exploited among men who have not known 
 its use; among the women, the mothers and the sisters, among 
 the boys and girls; among the little children; to be infused in 
 the veins of children unborn! Wine for the sake of the in 
 dustry; for the sake of the men and women who want to earn 
 a living thereby; who want an income a handsome income, 
 fine houses, luxurious clothes, automobiles, college courses, 
 European trips! Wine that must be consumed that the 
 business may live! Wine\k& polite way by which men take 
 their first step toward death! 
 
 His mind encompassed many things: he thought of the 
 speech he had made, championing this very thing, and of 
 the effect the very visible effect on his audience. The 
 paper had pronounced it one of the most eloquent in the 
 history of the town; bad recalled Cameron and spoken of the 
 deep impression made on the wine men by the young man who 
 in all ways promised to be the brilliant leader and public man 
 his well remembered and esteemed father had been. 
 
 Duncan recalled his success with something like physical 
 nausea. And it had all been induced by wine, his eloquence 
 even, the spirit that took him out of himself and conveyed him 
 to undreamed heights. In other words, he was drunk. It 
 was drink entering in and possessing him and using him as a 
 mouth piece to word its specious arguments. Once before it 
 had laid hold on him, covertly, without his knowing its designs: 
 that night at Corinne s. And it had made a beast of him, 
 
318 THE CLAW 
 
 in one moment had struck from the throne of his being, his 
 regal self, his decent and purity-loving ego, and loosed some 
 thing, within him of which he had not known himself possessed, 
 breathing abominable desire toward the woman he loved. This 
 was its proper work then to revive the hardly vanquished 
 beast in a man and with it the impulse of lust and slaughter. 
 
 Yet it had its politic means. It not only dashed off the locks 
 behind which man s lowest being is held safe by his conscious 
 and civilized self, but it catered to that same self, whispered 
 into the sane mind its persuasions. The plausibility of its 
 service: "Men are not always their best, at the fullest of their 
 powers, when they most need them; the physical fails by acci 
 dent or weakness, or the result of some sustained strain. Here 
 is an ally stimulus for the hour for crucial moment, 
 and no harm done." 
 
 He shuddered. With perfect understanding and compas 
 sion he saw now the way Middleson and Wakefield and Toland 
 had gone how Hay ward and Hattery were going, and a dozen 
 others he knew. How be would have gone inevitably should 
 he follow the course be began the other night the course 
 of public life and the necessity to keep up and hold his own. 
 He had set his mark in his first speech it was by the prod of 
 wine that he had accomplished his first brilliant success. Wine 
 provided the match that united emotion with the power of 
 expression. He would have sought it again, often, always, 
 for beside the temptation provided by its serviceability there 
 was the inherited weakness for it. 
 
 "God! Was there any doubt but that what Morton had 
 said of his father was true that the drink at the last, had 
 possessed him? Yes, and was it not before, long before, that 
 the thing began; when he was a youth, like himself, and in 
 the same way drink, a prod to his natural resources the avail- 
 ibility of which his erratic temperament made uncertain? 
 
THE CLAW 319 
 
 And this was the explanation of that genius that flamed up 
 on the moment, in the hour of conviviality and fellowship 
 into a dazzling thing, and left him exhausted and over wrought 
 for a day. Thus the explanation of that growing disability, 
 the gradual loosening of his hold on practical affairs; the 
 unrest, the impatience, the harshness later with Jeanie and 
 himself, strive as they might to please him. 
 
 Certainly he had known that some of it was provided by 
 too much use of stimulants but he and Jeanie had carried 
 it all with a great charity, a great ignorance. If it were excess 
 it was the result of his bereavement, of the shocked and ravished 
 love of his great heart. They had never questioned his course, 
 never reproached by word or look, never tried to dissuade 
 him from his determined course, had allowed themselves to 
 see and think nothing. Ah, what blindness, what mistaken 
 devotion! 
 
 He sought Dr. Elliot s office on appointment. And sat 
 waiting for him with a gray, and stricken face. 
 
 "Doctor," he asked at once, "I came to ask you about 
 something and I want the truth. What did my father die 
 of, what was the real cause?" The doctor studied him for 
 a moment, Duncan looked like a man to be answered. 
 
 "Your father died of alcohol poisoning, occasioned by 
 long social use of drink, mostly wine, hastened by excess in 
 his last years. His death followed an unusual indulgence. 
 It caused rupture of the already enlarged blood vessels of 
 the heart and induced hemorrhage." Duncan sat silent for 
 a long moment, then he reached for his hat: "Thank you," 
 he said. But at the door he wheeled: 
 
 "In .God s name, doctor, why didn t you tell me, why didn t 
 you let me know before! Why didn t you warn me months, 
 years, before my father died, when he first began to go that 
 way? I might have done something to prevent it. I might 
 
320 THE CLAW 
 
 have done something, many things, since. Do you think 
 if I d known that I would have kept on providing the stuff 
 that killed my father, one of the finest, one of the strongest? 
 My God, doctor! What did you mean?" For once, in what, 
 in the eyes of most men would have been called an unusually 
 conscientious career, Dr. Elliot s face flushed and his eyes 
 showed chagrin, shame. 
 
 "God knows Duncan, it s the way of our profession to 
 cover up, to make it easy for the family. I tried myself, 
 believe that, my boy, to make your father see, and understand 
 reason, but he was too far gone. It was a part of his social 
 habits first, and then when the chemical need came it was 
 too late. He didn t want you to know, your mother did not 
 want you to know. They made me promise." 
 
 Duncan hung his hea,d, he went slowly out. Something 
 vital in his conception of his father and mother that made 
 up his life, slipped from his heart and away forever. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 Duncan was absent from his duties at the Grape Protective 
 Association a week. When he returned he walked into the 
 president s office and laid his resignation on the latter s desk. 
 Mr. Whitten looked at him inquiringly, then opened and read 
 it. 
 
 "What s this for?" he asked abruptly. 
 
 "What s it for?" asked Duncan, hoarsely. A great 
 indignation seized him. "You haven t heard of the tragedy 
 on my place?" 
 
 "Why yes, very terrible, very regretable. But really I 
 don t see what that has to do with it." 
 
 "You don t?" Duncan choked. Words failed him in 
 his utter indignation. Was it imposs ble that this man could 
 face it out, make pretense of ignorance of any possible connection 
 between .his business, his and Whitten s, and this hideous 
 catastrophe? Excuse, he might, argue he would, naturally, 
 Duncan could not have hoped that the case would lie as plain 
 in all men s eyes as in his own, but this was heartless. 
 
 "I can t talk about it now," he cried. "I ll tell you my 
 mind soon, tonight, at the meeting called n the interests 
 of the campaign." He turned and walked out. 
 
 It was the first meeting of the wine men called to complete 
 plans for the summer s fight, the campaign of the Wets against 
 the Dry amendment. It would include practically all of 
 those present on the night of the banquet, and more. Duncan 
 was scheduled for the leading talk. His recent announcement 
 and the work he had already done as secretary of the local 
 protective association fitted him to be the most effective and 
 popular speaker. His mind, working along the simplest 
 lines of deduction, told him that his first responsibility was 
 
322 THE CLAW 
 
 to undo his arguments of the banquet night. It was the 
 only course to take, to convey to all his new knowledge, the 
 new light that had dawned on him on that fearful morning, 
 gleaming across the prostrate bodies of his friends. 
 
 He sought the place in the evening. It was the banquet 
 room of the same hotel in which the first meeting was held. 
 As he entered the memories of the night one week before were 
 so vivid as to almost overwhelm him. The week had left 
 its mark on him; he looked old, worn. But he walked with a 
 grim determination, his shoulders squared. An incident of 
 the afternoon had roused every ounce of fight in him. Whitten 
 and Powell, the latter the chairman of the program committee 
 for the evening, had met him as he was coming out of the 
 St. George grill and asked for a word with him. They stepped 
 into an ante-room off the lobby and sat down. 
 
 "Well Cameron, Whitten here tells me you have changed 
 face on the liquor question and are about to throw your friends 
 down, that you expect to speak on the subject tonight instead 
 of the talk we d expected from you." Duncan looked across 
 at Whitten squarely for a full moment, contempt in his gaze. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "that s true. 
 
 "Well, say," remarked Powell, "I guess you d better not. 
 I guess you d better just cut it out. I haven t any argument 
 with you about your stand; I suppose you conceive it to be 
 right, but there s no need of making a fuss about it. You 
 have your own convictions and you re willing to allow us ours, 
 I suppose. We ll just cancel that talk of yours tonight." 
 
 "You will? answered Duncan. "Well, you won t. I m 
 scheduled to talk at the meeting tonight. I m announced 
 candidate for assemblyman and this meeting is called for 
 introducing my views to the rest of the wine men, it s my 
 meeting. I intend to talk." 
 
 The two men stared at him. He sat back in his chair motion- 
 
THE CLAW 323 
 
 less. Not a muscle of him twitched, his face was absolutely 
 composed but his words bit like a steel clip and his clenched 
 fist, lying out on the table, raised the great muscles in his 
 arm to his bared elbow. They reached for their hats with 
 some embarrassment and sidled toward the door. 
 
 "All right, just as you say," said Powell, "but I think you d 
 better reconsider the matter." As the door closed behind 
 them Duncan reached for the telephone. Pie got Mr. 
 Cummings on the line. Mr. Cummings had been out of 
 town since the day after the tragedy and he had not been able 
 to see him. 
 
 "Mr. Cummings?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "This is Duncan. Mr. Cummings, you are chairman of 
 the campaign committee of our association, the Grape Growers 
 Protective Association?" 
 
 "Why of course, yes." 
 
 "I am the main speaker tonight, you know. The meeting 
 was called in order for me to repeat my announcement of 
 the other night and outline a plan of campaign for fighting 
 the Drys. Isn t that so?" 
 
 "Yes, certainly!" 
 
 "Mr. Cummings, I have changed front on this question. 
 Since the tragedy, the unspeakable tragedy on my vineyard, 
 I have seen a new light, the real face of this problem. I wrote 
 you a line at Sacramento indicating that, saying I wanted to 
 see and talk the matter over with you when you returned. 
 Maybe you didn t get it. I want to talk to you, I want to 
 talk to all my friends whom I yet love, esteem; my change 
 of heart has made no difference in that way. I want to talk 
 to them, tell them what I feel and how I came to feel it, convince 
 them that I am right. I want, like a man, to come before 
 
324 THE CLAW 
 
 them in their own circle, not public, and make my stand, 
 then step down and out of the business forever." 
 
 "Duncan!" 
 
 "Yes, that s it. But they re trying to prevent me. Some 
 of them, Whitten and Powell, were in here just now and said 
 they guessed I d better call my speech off, they d cancel the 
 talk, etc. By God! If I had ever had my doubts about the 
 integrity of this business it s now when these men I ve trusted 
 as conscientious, honest men, my friends, deny me the privilege 
 of taking a frank stand, an honest say in the matter in their 
 councils behind the closed doors of their meeting. Will you 
 stand for it, Mr. Cummings, or will you, with the authority 
 that s yours, say I shall have a chance to have my word?" 
 
 "My boy, this is all so new, so amazing, so overwhelming! 
 I wish I could see you, talk to you before night. But I can t, 
 I m leaving just now for Lodi and won t be back till just in 
 time for the meeting. Whitten, Powell, you say? Why 
 no, .they have no such authority if you want to speak, if you re 
 determined to speak. You re booked and they can t cancel 
 it without your request or my permission. I ll see to that. 
 
 "But Duncan, boy, have a care! Think what this means. 
 Think what an irretrievp.ble step it involves your whole 
 career, your life prospects. Duncan, do you know what 
 you re talking about?" The older man s voice came brokenly. 
 
 "Mr. Cummings, I know what I m talking about. I realize 
 every thing. Good-bye and thank you." He hung up the 
 phone. 
 
CHAPTER XL. 
 
 Duncan took his stand on the platform in a deadly silence 
 and looked about him on the audience of his friends. He 
 was absolutely composed. He began calmly, slowly, almost 
 colorlessly : 
 
 "I have looked, since I last addressed you, on a tragedy, a 
 tragedy in which a man killed 1 is w fe and unborn child. 
 The man was drunk. The man and woman were my friends. 
 They were two, designed by nature, to have lived long in health 
 and happiness and - fruitfulness. They leave two little sons 
 and a daughter to want parents care throughout life and to 
 hold in memory, as their heritage, this hideous tragedy. 
 
 "Some people would say I had no part in this tragedy. I 
 had. It was In my house that the father and husband took 
 his first glass. Before that he had not known what drink 
 was. He learned at my father s table. In my house we 
 gave him two gifts, wine and his wife, the one, later, to slay 
 the other. 
 
 "Before this man came to my house, before he took his first 
 glass of wine he was a man of physical perfection; he was a 
 man absolutely moral, he was a man with a creditable amount 
 of mentality. He loved his wife as the best man among you 
 loves his. I saw his eyes when he kissed her, a bride in her 
 orange blossoms in my father s house. I was only a boy, 
 but I remember his eyes when he kissed her and I knew in 
 that moment that he loved her. 
 
 "That was ten years ago. For some years, many years, 
 wine did not take hold on him to any visible effect. During that 
 time he had worked hard and saved. He had a little orchard 
 ranch of his own that he worked, or hired worked. He had 
 become my foreman and he gave me the best service he knew. 
 
326 THE CLAW 
 
 Children had come, two little boys and a little girl. They 
 were very happy, he and his little family. 
 
 "Then the time came when the poison in the wine that you 
 and I know is in wine, in the purest we sell began to have its 
 effect. It was at the time when he was run down, tired, 
 worn in mind and body from his work in my service. At 
 that time I was away and the social end of my business fell 
 on him, the responsibility of mingling with men, with my 
 friends and business acquaintances, with you, here tonight. 
 It is the custom among you, among us, to show our good-will 
 and friendship for each other with drink, the treats, beer and 
 wine, taken in friendly fashion at the bar. It was what he 
 was called on to do as my representative, to show he was one 
 among you. The thing began to tell. From a man of physical 
 perfection he became a physical wreck. From a man of 
 mentality he became a mental wreck. From a man of un 
 impeachable character he became a man whose morals were 
 undermined, a drunkard, a carouser. From a man of industry 
 and a promising material future he became a loafer and gambler 
 who impoverished his family by his vicious habits. From a 
 man who loved his wife and was kind and generous in his 
 home, he became abusive, cruel, neglectful. 
 
 "From all the splendid promise of his young life, at 
 twenty-six, just my age, he became in ten years an insane, 
 maddened brute who slew his wife with child, and left two 
 little boys and a girl whose grief for their father and mother 
 is unsupportable. He came to this, My God!" cried Duncan, 
 his voice suddenly breaking n any agony. "He came to this 
 from the wine he drank at my table. 
 
 "What are you going to do with me, you people, you law 
 abiding people who make laws to punish murderers? What 
 are we going to do, you and I, who have engaged in this deadly 
 work of raising, of making a thing that begot this unspeakable 
 
THE CLAW 327 
 
 tragedy? What name shall we call ourselves if we continue 
 in our work? 
 
 " Why/ you say, this is madness, folly; this is the insanity 
 of conscientiousness that involves the man who grows the 
 grapes, that makes the wine in a catastrophe like this? 
 
 "Madness? Insanity? Call it so if you like! If you do, 
 it is to refuse to look with eyes open and honest on the truth, 
 to follow premise to conclusion. To be sure I had not seen 
 it before, not wholly, though God knows there have been enough 
 things in my life in the past month to give me pause, to help 
 me to see. But I was blind, I was prejudiced, I was like 
 the rest of you, proud of my superior judgment that made 
 delicate cleavage between my responsibility and another 
 man s ruin, the cleavage dictated by self-will, self-interest. 
 
 "But now I see. I have looked on two, dead three at the 
 hand of drink. I have looked in the eyes, God help me! of 
 their children, three babies that ask daily with reproachful 
 faces, What have you done with my papa and mamma? 
 I can no longer deceive myself. I am sick with my grief and 
 the sense of my awful responsibility in this terrible catastrophe. 
 Henceforth I repudiate this thing in all its forms, and I give 
 my hand and my vote and everything that is in me to the 
 elimination of this hideous mistake, this criminal business." 
 He paused and not a sound was heard but the hard breathing 
 of many men. He went on. 
 
 "This is my personal stand, all I have to say for my own 
 part in this affair. But I remember that here, the other 
 night, I not only declared my stand at that time, but I said 
 many things, used many arguments to establish the integrity 
 of our cause; that in printed form my judgment in these matters 
 has gone out all over the land with intent to convince and 
 enlist in our cause. 1 have visited chambers of commerce, 
 merchants associations, all sorts of bodies of men representative 
 
328 THE CLAW 
 
 of the business and industrial interests of this state, and solicited 
 their sympathy and support in the name of industrial brother 
 hood. I want to retract here and now all such argument. 
 We, our industry, the wine industry, has nothing whatever 
 in common with the other commercial interests solicited and 
 has no call for their sympathy and support. 
 
 "Does the product of the orange ranch, or the peach orchard, 
 the output of the shoes and clothing factories, the meat in 
 the market and the milk of the dairies all the industrial and 
 the business interest enlisted by us does their produce work 
 for the consumer such results as does the product of the wine 
 grape vineyard, the wineries, the distilleries and the saloons? 
 
 "Does the consumption of oranges, of milk or meat, make 
 men lose their physical faculties and their sense of right, make 
 them take the money that should go to feed their wives and 
 children, to buy more oranges and milk and meat for themselves? 
 Does patronizing the dry goods store and the grocery store 
 and the shoe factory incite to vice and crime? Was ever 
 a consumer of these wares sent thereby to an early grave in 
 the hideous throes of a last, fatal sickness like alcoholism? 
 Does these men s business cause other men and other business 
 to be taxed for orphans homes, reformatories, asylums, prisons, 
 potter s fields? 
 
 " No, there s no possible comparison or likeness between the 
 liquor business and any other lawful business. Rather it is 
 to be classed with those activities of men properly outlawed, 
 because they prey on other men, and it s rank, unmitigated 
 nerve and gall for us to go to those men who are conducting a 
 business that doesn t lean hard on others, that stands on its 
 own merits and doesn t prosper through other men s weakness; 
 it s unspeakable gall and conceit for us to go to them and beg 
 them to come to our aid, they who are paying for our paupers 
 
THE CLAW 329 
 
 and indigent while we rob them of the patronage of the man 
 whose wages goes over the bar and into our pockets! 
 
 But we must have the industry. We earn our living by it, 
 we ve got thousands in it. Oh yes, I said it the other night. 
 I ve gone up and down the valley saying it, and the letters 
 come pouring into my office and we run them off on the press 
 with the same burden of argument. Here are some of them. 
 He drew from his pocket a late copy of the Association s 
 sheet and read. " Prosperity would be an obsolete word 
 in my family for the time if the amendment should carry. 
 It would knock me out of two thousands of dollars every 
 year. It will destroy a great industry and for me a desirable 
 revenue. 
 
 " Prosperity would be obsolete in my family, but isn t 
 it an obsolete word in the family of the booze fighters? 
 
 " It w r ould destroy a desireable revenue, but hasn t 
 it destroyed other desirable things for thousands of people, 
 precious things, like home and happiness and peace of mind? 
 
 " It would knock me out of two thousand dollars a year, 
 But doesn t it knock out a lot of people annually, of a lot of 
 things that belong to them, families of their living, wives 
 of their husbands, children of their opportunities; the 
 opportunities of health, of a quiet and happy home? Hasn t 
 it knocked babies out of the chance to see life with any 
 possibility of sound bodies and clean minds? Knocked 
 out unborn children like Elsie s from the gift of life itself? 
 
 "And yet we must keep it up for the desirable revenue. 
 This is what we say, we who boast of our altruistic age! This 
 is what we say, men and women of the societies and secret 
 orders that exalt the ideals of brotherhood, of the churches 
 that pretich self-denial and the sacrifice for the weaker brother 
 for whom the Christ died! 
 
 "Oh, I m arraigning myself, my friends. Dou t forget 
 
330 THE CLAW 
 
 that! I haven t a stone to throw at other people. I wanted 
 to say these things to you; perhaps it was to ease the hurt a 
 bit in my own breast. 
 
 "And the liquor business intends to stay, whether people 
 want it or not. It intends to stay. The wine business. Why 
 we re just the side show! We re just the candy and gum 
 show-case in the front windows to fool the public about what s 
 going on in the back room. But the real business, the liquor 
 traffic, the saloon, it s going to stay. How? By means of 
 money. The money of Blythe and men like him of the illicit 
 and the immoral end of the business. 
 
 "Oh, we know it, you and I, who, with one hand, write 
 our smirk protests against the abuses inside the business 
 that must be stopped, and with the other reach behind our 
 backs for the rotten campaign money from the saloons, the 
 Chinese dives and the baudy houses! Don t be afraid, I m 
 talking among ourselves, entre nous you know," added Duncan 
 with immense sarcasm. 
 
 "And how are we going to swing the votes at the election 
 this fall? As we always do. By rounding up all the bums 
 from San Diego to the Frisco water-front for registration and 
 setting up the drinks afterwards. Oh, no, I didn t learn this 
 all at once. It s been a part of my unused knowledge, my 
 unused increment , if you please information deposited to 
 my credit (or discredit), that I didn t have any present use 
 for. I ve been calling it in lately. I ve been calling in all 
 the knowledge about this thing that I could get hold of and 
 looking at it at last for the hideous thing it is. 
 
 "I spoke the other night about my father," his voice went 
 suddenly tender and so low that they could scarcely hear it 
 even in the breathless silence. "I made his ambitions, his 
 confidence in the business, part of my argument and appeal. 
 I don t suppose you can hardly credit me with the truth when 
 
THE CLAW 331 
 
 I tell you I didn t know, I positively didn t know till tonight 
 how he died, why he died. I don t know that I could speak 
 of it now, if I didn t know that you, his friends, knew. You 
 have ell been generous and considerate. You thought it was 
 kindness to keep the secret. But I wish to God some of 
 you had told me. It might have saved so wucbl 
 
 "I want to say that that knowledge hasn t changed my 
 love or devotion for my father in the least degree. It doesn t 
 alter the loveableness of him, his generous heart, his fine, 
 splendid loyalties, or his adherence to and appreciation of all 
 things honorable and noble, it doesn t!" his voice thrilled 
 with passionate defense. "But it does prove two things: 
 that a great and a noble man can be mistaken in his convictions, 
 and that such a man can have weaknesses, physical perhaps, 
 that can t be overcome and must, therefore, be guarded. 
 And if I conceive of any duty that is mine now, in the light of 
 this discovery that has shocked and prostrated my heart 
 anew, it is this, that, as his son, it is my necessity, in filial 
 loyalty, to amend in myself any tendency to a similar weakness 
 and to see that in no manner do I farther give my hand 
 or influence to the thing that laid him low. 
 
 "I thank you. I thank you with all my heart for your 
 generous friendship in the past, and your proffered support, 
 which I cannot now accept. That s all." 
 
CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 He bowed gravely to the audience and to the committee 
 on the platform and turned into the wings of the small stage. 
 Mr. Cummings was there. Instinctively his hand went out 
 to him as to a friend, but he turned as though he had not 
 seen him. Duncan groped in the wings for his hat. He 
 opened a back door and went out into the street. 
 
 He had burned his first bridge, there was a whole field yet 
 to devastate. Already he had known the first shock of the 
 bereavements that were to be his in the lo^s of his friends. 
 His cheek burned at the rebuke he had received from Mr. Cum 
 mings. It didn t matter, only to have it over with. It was early. 
 He could accomplish all, tonight. He would drive to Corinne s. 
 Most likely she had heard of his anticipated action from her 
 father and would have her reception of him prepared. 
 
 Corinne was at the rear of the house in the illuminated 
 grape arbor. He caught a glimpse of her white dress and her 
 dainty foot swinging negligently from the hammock. She 
 was, to his vision, in her coolness and remoteness from the 
 tragic things of his life the past week, like a mountain 
 spring to the eye of an exhausted traveler. He could have 
 sunk down beside her on the damp cool earth and stayed 
 there forever. He almost forgot his errand for the moment, 
 in the delight of the picture as he paused. A discarded book 
 lay in her lap. Her dainty fingers were teasing a diminutive 
 kitten perched on the pillow beside her, its tiny provoked 
 mouth wide to ensnare them. 
 
 Corinne had not heard of Duncan s purpose but she was 
 irritated with him for his failure to call for a whole week, 
 he had not seen her since the tragedy. He had telephoned 
 once only, to know if the children could stay with them during 
 
THE CLAW 333 
 
 the funeral. Someone else had brought them over and she 
 had turned them over to the maid. He had not even called 
 her up to thank her. 
 
 As he approached a faint hope sprang up in Duncan. How 
 beautiful she was, how kind! She had been so gracious about 
 the child en that day and had looked after them so well. 
 Her face was now charmin and tender as she gathered the 
 indignant kitten into her two hands and snuggled him under 
 her chin with a little exclamation of endearment. She was 
 so human. Perhaps why shouldn t she understand, why 
 not see all, as did he, and with sweet and gracious spirit put 
 aside the disappointment she must feel in the abandonment of 
 his piospects and their early marriage, arid wait for him! 
 Wait, till when? Ah, he could not tell. His affairs were 
 surely in a bad way, but wait, as women had done before, as 
 heroic women will do always for the man they love. 
 
 "Corinnef" 
 
 She dropped the kitten precipitately. His surprised catship, 
 rightly accusing Duncan as the cause for his displacement 
 arched himself in cat spite and with a violent "spit" like a 
 hissing firecracker leaped out of sight. Duncan laughed at 
 the absurd performance and striding to her dropped down on 
 a stool at Corrinne s side: 
 
 "Jealous, is he? Well I certainly entertained the same 
 sentiments when I saw him the recipient of your caresses a 
 moment ago." She gave a slight shrug and drew her light 
 scarf about her shoulders. 
 
 "Yes?" she said. "You have not seemed to crave those 
 attentions particularly yourself. I haven t seen you for a 
 week, dear. You must have been occupied?" 
 
 "Occupied!" he spoke in a shocked voice. "Why yes, you 
 know surely, how occupied I must have been. There are so 
 
334 THE CLAW 
 
 many things to see to, to think of in a case like that," he 
 shuddered. "I have been busy day and night." 
 
 "Oh I suppose so," she said, indifferently, "but I should 
 think you might have given me a little thought." 
 
 "A little thought, a little thought! Corinne I have thought 
 of you day and night, day and night. That s why I came 
 here now, oh, Corinne!" His voice broke suddenly and as 
 she looked at him in surprise she saw that his face was very 
 white and his hair where the light struck it, surely that was 
 gray in his hair. 
 
 "Well," she said with a grudging smile, "you don t seem to 
 have learned yet where to come with your troubles. Tell 
 them to the right source and they are always settled for you, 
 you know." She rallied a laugh, but his grave face held her. 
 
 "Troubles, yes, that s it! That s what I came to talk about. 
 But I don t know how to begin. Corinne, you must know 
 that this frightful catastrophe has made me feel differently 
 about some things." 
 
 "Some things?" she looked at him, mystified, and he hurried 
 on. 
 
 "Yes, dear, can t you understand? About many things, 
 about drink, about the liquor business, our business." He 
 paused, gazing into her eyes with a pathetic hope of under 
 standing and sympathy, but they were expressionless but for 
 amazement. He hurried on recklessly precipitating the 
 end in a sentence. "I ve just come from a meeting of the 
 wine growers. I ve called off my candidacy for the legislature. 
 I m out of the race, out of the business, for good and all." 
 
 "Duncan!" 
 
 He had never heard such a tone from her lips, her lips from 
 which he had believed only the tenderest most womanly tones 
 came. The word was a condensation of all the amazement, 
 disappointment and contempt that a selfish and defeated 
 
THE CLAW 335 
 
 woman could express. It stung him like a whip lash full 
 across the face. She sprang to her feet and her face under 
 the electric globe was chalk white; her breast heaved as though 
 she had been in a race: 
 
 "Well I always knew you were a sentimental, slow, stupid 
 fellow but I didn t suppose you equal to this. Why, you re 
 a fooll A fooll" She stamped her foot, angrily. 
 
 He had risen and his face, white before, was ghastly, but 
 he stood quietly looking at her, just looking at her. 
 
 "Why do you look at me like that?" she cried. "Surprised 
 arc you? Shocked? Thought I d take this, as I did the 
 others, your crazy break with Blythe, your silly affair at 
 the Non Pareil, thought I d just accept all these evidences of 
 asinine ability, welcome them as the tokens of my future 
 prosperity with a husband of your brain power?" 
 
 "Good night," he said and turned on his heel. 
 
 Duncan went around the house and down the walk to the 
 gate, in passing the veranda steps he stooped under the over 
 hanging branch that had caught Corinne s hair the night he 
 kissed her. It was swaying out across the walk now. He 
 moved it aside mechanically with his hand as he passed, and 
 he remembered. 
 
 He went out the large arched gate. Corinne s little spaniel 
 slipped out after him and fell with demonstrative caresses 
 upon him. He turned and put him gently through the gate 
 again and saw his sad, disappointed dog eyes watch him as 
 he turned away. He went on across the road and up to the 
 house. He did all things as though he had come from Corinne s 
 after an evening of pleasant ordinary intercourse. He was 
 like a man that is deathly wounded and knows it, knows that 
 when he takes away the hand that stays and staunches for 
 the moment that the life blood will gush from him and he 
 will fall. 
 
330 THE CLAW 
 
 He went into the house and up to his room. His mother 
 heard him come in. She had known he was to be present at 
 a meeting but of the nature of it she was ignorant. Duncan 
 had not told her of the storm that had possessed his brain 
 since the night of the murder. It is a strange thing that 
 often "nearest of kin" may sit hours or a lifetime beside another 
 and never know or sense the death throes that are going on 
 within his heart and brain. But Duncan s outward appearance, 
 his haggard face and haunted eyes might easily have been 
 interpreted as the result of the shock received from the tragedy. 
 
 He had not told his mother of the step he contemplated. 
 Something told him his will might be weakened and even 
 love of his mother must not be allowed to change his course. 
 Yet another thing had prevented. One of the most pathetic 
 of human griefs is the first discovery by a child of fault in 
 a loved parent. It is a discovery that must come to all, 
 since parenthood does not involve perfection. To few is the 
 discovery reserved until so late as with Duncan. He had 
 vaguely acknowledged failings in his father, lovable failings 
 mostly. The knowledge of his father s weakness was the 
 first to vitally mar that dear image. Simultaneous with it 
 was a more serious and painful revelation. His father, his 
 mother, alike had been guilty of a great remissness toward 
 him, an error in judgment fraught with terrible and far reaching 
 consequences. He could understand their thought toward 
 him, to spare him the pain, the disappointment of that 
 knowledge, but therein lay the crux of his disillusionment; 
 the element of selfishness had entered into their motives, 
 unconsciously no doubt, but it was there. To preserve 
 Cameron s pride, to spare his humiliation while alive, to 
 reserve his memory as the worshipped and adored object it 
 was, that too, was the motive involved in their denial, delicate, 
 
THE CLAW 337 
 
 subtle; many would not have sensed it. Duncan did with 
 a poignancy exaggerated by the recent tragedy. 
 
 If he had only known! If he had only known! He might 
 have saved Morton, by counsel, by kind words, if he had 
 approached him with compassion, with pardon instead, as 
 he did, with a brutal fist. His mind writhed in the agony 
 of the thought. 
 
 It was this feeling of disappointment, of deep and unexpressed 
 hurt toward his mother that helped to seal his characteristically 
 reserved lips and cause him to leave till the last, till things 
 were irretreviably settled, the intelligence of his break with 
 his friends, with his material prospects, with Corinne. Yet 
 now, when all others had cast him off, he had the wistfulness 
 of the little boy. He wanted his mother s comfort, his mother s 
 arms. 
 
 She came at last as he lay stretched across his bed. He had 
 not undressed. The whole meaning of Corinne s dismissal 
 had taken him and he groaned in his anguish. Here too, 
 was, bitterness beyond bitterness; Corinne, the beautiful, 
 the cherished, the altogether lovely, to have throwrl off the 
 guise and in her vulgar railings, shown herself the common 
 woman. 
 
 His mother approached the door on her way to her room. 
 She paused at his threshold with surprise, the light from 
 the hall falling across the bed. 
 
 "Duncan, what ails ye, are ye sick?" 
 
 "Yes, I m sick mother, so sick I could die!" She came 
 in with concern, and seated herself on the bed by him. 
 
 "Ye mustn t grieve yirsel sae aboot that, it s awfu an 
 beyond words but it cudna be helped. We done wh we 
 cud." He shuddered but reached out and found her hand. 
 
 "It isn t that, altogether. Oh I am very selfish that I 
 should care, or have a thought for myself in the face of this 
 
338 THE CLAW 
 
 other thing. But I m sore hurt," there were times when 
 Duncan unconsciously framed his mother s phrases. "Listen 
 mother." 
 
 He told her all. His anguish of mind over his sense of 
 personal responsibility, his doubt concerning his father, 
 occasioned by Morton s words, his visit to the doctor and the 
 confirmation. She started at that and drew her hand away 
 from his. 
 
 "He shouldna hae told ye!" she said, in a strange voice. 
 
 "Oh yes he should, indeed he should, mother. I should 
 have known. Oh, I wish to God I had .known long ago!" 
 
 Then he hurried on, telling of his resignation of the secretary 
 ship, telling of the night s meeting and his speech and with 
 drawal, of Corinne. He paused. He was very tired, but 
 it was done, the last hard thing accomplished and he would 
 have his mother s forgiveness now, and her comfort. He 
 waited for her. He waited a moment. 
 
 "Mother?" his voice held surprise. She rose then, swiftly, 
 and turned toward the door, the light from the hall on her 
 face showed it very white and sharp. 
 
 "Mother!" he cried, in concern, starting toward her. Then 
 she turned. 
 
 "Say nae word, lad!" she cried harshly. "Ye canna say 
 mair, ye hae done it noo, deserted yir farther an me an yir 
 faither s friends, deserted the chances ye had to mak a p;reat 
 man o yirsel an honor t yir faither s name and to his family. 
 Whist, away!" as his arms implored her. "There s naething 
 mair to be said." She swept past him and up the stairs. 
 Duncan fell forward on his knees beside the bed and the night 
 was very dark. 
 
 He roused in the early morning from exhausted sleep, 
 following hours of waking anguish. As consciousness with 
 its bitter realities broke upon him he felt one desire, one craving, 
 
THE CLAW 339 
 
 the hills the hills oh, the healing of the hills! The wide 
 clean hills, the lonely hills, where no human faces looked. 
 The hills, the free hills, where loads drop from one and breath 
 comes deep. He must seek them if but for a day, a few hours. 
 
 He knew the way he would take, and the place; the old 
 trail up to Welches summit cabin. It stood alone, isolated, 
 where the view swept the who e valley to the right and left. 
 Below were the places of the summer people that lolled in 
 their hammocks and waited for the Saturday night tango 
 parties. They were too indolent to find this spot, to climb 
 to this noble outlook where the free winds from east and west, 
 blew. It was a place all his own, or rather, Marlinee s first 
 and his afterwards. Formerly old Welch, the girl s uncle, 
 had invited his family s use of it whenever desire called. It 
 went with the other possessions willed to Marlinee and she 
 had renewed the informal arrangement. It was his favorite 
 haunt when rare opportunity offered. He would go there now. 
 He must go. Here in the valley he would go mad from the 
 conflict of his distracted life, the confusion of arraigning voices 
 that, turn whichever way he would, accused him of neglect, 
 of mischoice. Even Marlinee had deserted him, Marlinee 
 who would know, who would understand. He had not seen 
 her since the first day after the tragedy. Where was she? 
 He wanted her. 
 
 He set out on foot under a scorching sun. He did not mind. 
 The heat rays burned through his thin shirt to his fevered 
 body, it was a counter irritant to the wounds he carried. He 
 was glad for the breath of the open, the smell of desert and 
 the wash, of the resinous weeds ripening in the scorch of the 
 summer. Before him the blue rim of the mountains rose, 
 cool, remote, the trees jagged against the sky. 
 
 He tramped all day and half the night and when the moon 
 had pushed its slow way at last up the back of the ridge and 
 
340 THE CLAW 
 
 found Welch s little shelf and clearing Duncan had gained 
 the cabin. He threw off his pack. He loosened and cast 
 his belt from him. He fell, too weary for thought or food, 
 across the cabin bunk, sound asleep. 
 
CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 Marlinee turned in her last page of copy, detailing the 
 doings of the Rescherche club at their final pre-vacation 
 dansant. Society and mankind in general went its way as 
 though tragedy did not exist. 
 
 Oh, it was a brutal world! Men and women moved on 
 uncaring, unseeing, while their kind dropped by the way, by 
 accident or sickness or hideous catastrophe. They swept on, 
 voicing their petty concerns; tango parties and household 
 helps, ambitions for a place in the sporting column or a seat 
 in the senate. They were like beasts, like the lowest swarm 
 of created things that, gathering to the food morsel, tracks 
 across its dead. In the office, while her eyes still saw Elsie s 
 dead face and her ears still heard the sobs of Elsie s little ones, 
 there was laughter, the gossip of the candidates and wagers 
 on the afternoon game. Ah, she could not stand it! This 
 was her last story, the Rescherche Club, and she would be gone 
 on a short vacation McWhirter, in view of her white face and 
 trembling hands, had granted her. 
 
 She flipped the sheet from her typewriter roller and jabbed 
 it on the copy hook. She swept her desk clean of its disorder, 
 shut and locked her drawer and hurried to the dressing room. 
 She caught up her suit-case and ran out of the building to the 
 car. Already as she sat in the open, the wind sweeping her 
 hot face, she felt relief, rest. She was free! Tomorrow she 
 would face away to the hills, her prime tonic and renewer, 
 the place where always sanity and sleep, poise and patience, 
 returned to her no matter in what condition of need she sought 
 them. 
 
 Not hers the conventional outing; a seat in the auto stage, 
 somebody s smoke in front of her obscuring the view, and 
 
342 THE CLAW 
 
 the smell of the motor filling her nostrils; a bedroom in some 
 popular inn, boasting the over done artistry of the ordinary 
 mountain resort. Instead, her broncho, "Mischief," a canteen 
 and blankets at her back; her destination Well, a woman 
 can t quite sleep alone of nights on a mountain road! She 
 would have to stop with people at some of the camps, accept 
 the hospitality urged by some of her friends, already, to use 
 Society s distorted phrase, " vacationing." 
 
 Glad would be safe with Mammy. Duncan? She had not 
 seen him since the day of the funeral and then not to speak 
 to him. Their hands had met in the last sad service for the 
 dead as they laid, each in his own tribute, with blinded eyes 
 in the cold hands. 
 
 Each had thought, surely, each had thought the same 
 things. One instant covert gl?nce at Duncan s set face and 
 she could have sworn that at last sight, vision, with its awful 
 accompaniment of remorse had come. But the following day 
 she read of the call for the wine men s meeting and his name 
 Cameron announced to repeat to a larger and more representa 
 tive meeting, his declarations of the night before the tragedy; 
 the night before the tragedy when he had given his hand and 
 all that was in him to this thing, to the exploitation of the 
 thing that had slain Elsie and made a murderer and suicide 
 of Morton. 
 
 And he could do this. He could take up his work again, 
 delayed a moment in order to bury the dead the dead of his 
 business! Well, it was the last. It was over! All in her that 
 had climbed and clung to the figure of Duncan in love, in 
 devotion, in loyalty and hope, fell with the crash of the image 
 itself. Ah, she must get away, forget forget that he had ever 
 been, that such weakness, such blindness, such persistent, 
 voluntary, shameful selfishness could live in a form of such 
 deceiving beauty, strength and promise as that of Duncan! 
 
THE CLAW 343 
 
 She must go. This week no doubt, or soon, the office must 
 announce his engagement to Corinne. In the announcement 
 of his alliance with the vain and wordly woman, was involved 
 the last commitment of himself to that course which bespoke 
 absolute self-seeking above all other and higher clains. 
 
 How long she had hoped for Duncan, prayed for him! 
 Not to possess him though her heart was wholly his. What 
 she had told Elsie had been true. She would never marry 
 any man between whom and herself, her convictions of right 
 stood. It was not a voluntary thing, her determination, but 
 something innate and fundamental for which she was not 
 responsible. There are some things stronger than love or 
 hate, than any personal emotion. These are the inherited 
 things, the loyalties, the principals and convictions that are 
 men s, made ready to wear as it were, and which are reinforced 
 by their own conclusions, reached by inherited roads of reason 
 ing. 
 
 In Marlinee this passion of principal was developed to an 
 unusual degree. She came from a line of men and women of 
 convictions, her knowledge of her father and of his career in 
 vested self-sacrifice and service to others with the value of 
 first importance. 
 
 That thing that stood in her eyes r,s the synonym of all 
 selfishness, to her keen judgments whose deductions were 
 made in a man s world, as the embodiment of egotistic greed, 
 was the liquor business. The man who chose the liquor busi 
 ness with its imposition of human suffering, as the way to his 
 livelihood, and prosperity was a man between whom and 
 herself there could be no possible compromise. Duncan was 
 such a man but not in heart she had thought, she had been 
 sure. His convictions were wholly imposed; some day he would 
 throw them off and his own personality would emerge with 
 vigorous new judgments and independent conclusions and 
 
344 THE CLAW 
 
 alliances. Then he would be a new man taking the place in 
 the world of one who realizes his responsibilities. 
 
 She had hoped, she had prayed, and this had come! She 
 did not blame God. Her biology and her theology were 
 curiously interlinked but this time neither was accountable 
 for Duncan s action. It was his own independent choice. 
 He had looked at both arguments. He could not have helped 
 but see, in the face of these terrible evidences, and he had 
 deliberately chosen his way. 
 
 Ah the pain of it was greater than her own personal loss, 
 the loss that she knew from the first must be hers if Duncan 
 took this way. She was so conscious that it might have been 
 otherwise, that she might have lost Duncan, the Duncan she 
 had hoped him to be, but not Duncan himself. She was vividly 
 conscious of the things within her made to attract, to hold 
 love; things that drew other men to her. She knew Duncan s 
 frank affection and his dependence upon her. She knew more. 
 Her woman s cleverness told her just what small concession 
 what slight relinquishments, how small an assumption of the 
 worldly charm, practised by Corinne, and assumed by herself 
 would serve to convert that affection and dependence into 
 conquest. 
 
 She desired him. How she desired him! But that stern 
 thing within her soul forbade her. She stretched her arms 
 wistfully toward him across the barrier while he was yet fair 
 and hopeful in his indecision of life, but when he rose from 
 that hour they had shared together beside the dead with his 
 purpose formed and unmovable, she turned tear-blinded and 
 groping to the Power within, grateful it was herself, her un 
 compromising greater self, that had withheld her. 
 
 Mischief, the broncho, heard it all, poured into his soft, 
 quivering ears as they paused at the canyon spring for a drink. 
 He munched the wet grass beside the trough enterprisingly 
 
THE CLAW 345 
 
 and listened with quite as much real attention as some polite 
 humans give. Marlinec had slipped from the saddle to 
 stretch and rest herself. She pressed close to the warm should 
 ers and laid her face against the soft nose of Mischief as she 
 talked. She drew there-from a sense of companionship and 
 sympathy. 
 
 "But there I don t believe after all that you were listening 
 I don t believe you know a thing I said," sighed the girl, as 
 the broncho reached suddenly for a far and tempting weed. 
 "Oh, Mischief, et tu Brute! That s a pun, dear." She 
 climbed wearily into the saddle again. 
 
 Marlinee visited Camp No. 1 and Camp No. 2 of the "Jolly 
 Timers" with whom she was socially allied. She rode on to 
 the big hotel beginning these days to seethe with the first sum 
 mer gaieties. At the hotel the evening stage came in with 
 the valley papers. She had turned her back from the valley 
 and journalism three days before with the feeling that she never 
 wanted to see either again, but such was the grip of civiliza 
 tion that here she was out with the rest, out to meet the auto 
 mobile and get the news. 
 
 She bought a cop} of the Journal and withdrew to a corner 
 of the hotel veranda under an electric light, to read. The first 
 words her eyes fell upon were the headlines announcing Duncan s 
 withdrawal from the assembly race. She gave an exclamation 
 and stared at them. She read them over and fell feverishly 
 on the story. It was sensational, giving full details and 
 quotations from the adress. It excused absence of an inter 
 view on the ground that Mr. Cameron could not be located. 
 
 He had left early on a two days trip just where it 
 could not be learned. 
 
 Duncan Duncan had seen, had repudiated his former busi 
 ness broken with his old associates thrown over the assembly 
 man s race! It had come! Duncan was a new man! An 
 
346 THE CLAW 
 
 emotion so great that it seemed her body could not bear it, 
 took her. She dropped her head on the porch rail and in the 
 seclusion of her corner she sobbed for very happiness as if her 
 heart would break. 
 
 When the paroxysm of her reaction was over she grasped 
 another thought. It was not usual for the afternoon paper to 
 play up like a new story, one that fell to the morning paper and 
 McWhirter had played this one up in his best style, on the 
 front page. What did that mean? 
 
 She ran and bought the morning papers from the news stand, 
 and scanned them. The Sun had a brief account of the meet 
 ing without details, merely stating the surprise of the wine 
 men in the announcement of Cameron and his withdrawal of 
 his candidacy. The other, Blythe s sheet, overflowed across 
 two columns with a lurid account of the "traitor to the cause." 
 Both had acted in the interest of their constituients, the for 
 mer the better class of wine grape men and their sympathizers, 
 the latter, Blythe, showing his hand again, with the backing 
 of the liquor men, enraged by Duncan s daring. 
 
 And McWhirter McWhirter had come out for the Drys! 
 There could be no other explanation. In fact, the matter 
 was settled when she turned to the editorial page. In an edi 
 torial bearing the unmistakeable marks of McWhirter s 
 inimitable pen, was a splendid and fearless enunciation of the 
 paper s new policy. The rumors she had heard before leaving . 
 the office were true. McWhirter had bought the controlling 
 interest from the editor-in-chief, Morrison, whose growing 
 invalidism necessitated his retirement, and the first issue under 
 the new management announced his new and changed con 
 victions. 
 
 This was joy on joy and Marlinee for very happiness slept 
 little that night. There is the proverbial "last straw" to an 
 excess of that quality as to an excess of its contrary, and Mar- 
 
THE CLAW 347 
 
 lince knew it in the letter she received next morning from Norris. 
 It was written on copy paper and occupied an envelop of the 
 largest office size, the pertinent admonition on the cover being 
 "Eat Raisins!" It detailed in one paragraph all the news of 
 the office for the past four days ending with the postscript 
 like a mere afterthought like one of the most inconsequential 
 things in the world. 
 
 "Oh, yes, Duncan and Corinne are busted so I don t get the 
 job of writing up their society funeral. Duncan is Dry, 
 now, so Marlinee, go to it! I always did want to see you win 
 out." 
 
 "The impudent little rascal!" cried Marlinee, and her nose 
 went into the air, but her heart was beating against her side as 
 though it would break through. All night long in the back 
 of her brain while her heart raised it inexpressible praise for 
 Duncan, the thought worded itself, "And what of Corinne?" 
 and her breath came short at the thought. "Ah I must not 
 think of it I must not," she told herself "This is enough, 
 to see character grow in Duncan; insight, independence, cour 
 age and the spirit of big self denial." It was enough; she thank 
 ed God for that. But now 
 
CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 Early, Marlinee turned her pony s nose up the trail to the 
 cabin. The hotel could not hold her and her joy. She wanted 
 to get away away from the people in a large place by her 
 self, where she could voice her raptuie. There on the broad 
 flat, or in the little thicket behind she would build her an altar, 
 perhaps, like the happy people of old and offer on it her sacrifice 
 of thanksgiving for Duncan Duncan and his new vision. 
 
 She could not ride it was too slow. She slipped from the 
 saddle and trudged along beside the broncho, her shoulder to 
 his, her face pressed againts his, while she whispered 
 
 "Mischief Mischief do you hear, Honey? Duncan has 
 changed. He s seen a light he s thrown it all over all of 
 it! Oh Mischief do you hear me?" She took his face be 
 tween her hands and drew it to her till she could see herself 
 in his two great eyes. 
 
 "Mischief do you hear? Then answer say something 
 show me you re glad or I I ll just burst with gladness, 
 myself!" A sunflower she had tucked in her khaki blouse 
 tickled his nose, he wrinkled it and showed his teeth with a 
 surprising semblance of a broad horse smile and she kissed 
 him. 
 
 "You dear!" she said in sobbing breath. 
 
 She was full of a great merriment she ran ahead of him 
 laughing. She sang snatches of rolicking songs, she whistled 
 till she had all the birds along the trail answering and once, 
 with an indra\vn breath she dropped on her knees in the path 
 she could not wait for the heights and the stone altar. She 
 dropped her face in her hands and then cast it bck full in the 
 face of the sun "Oh God, Oh God, Thank You! Thank You! 
 Thank You!" 
 
THE CLAW 349 
 
 When she reached the flat she rode into a little shady thicket 
 nearby, She threw the lines over Mischief s head to the 
 ground, which for a well bred broncho means as good as tied. 
 She slipped from the saddle, and shook down her short riding 
 breeches and stretched one cramped leg and then the other 
 luxuriously she had ridden the last hour. Then she ran 
 down the slope toward the house; ran and slid like a little 
 boy on the smooth pine needles and dashed up breathless to 
 the cabin door. 
 
 Welch had never locked his cabin and Marlinee followed the 
 same code. Anybody was welcome to its hospitality, sought 
 at the end of one of the hardest trails on the mountains. It 
 was an ideal spot for her occasional outings, utterly isolated, 
 yet the camps were so near, below, that she could almost 
 have dropped a pebble from her doorstep into them and the 
 voice of their night rollickings reached her on the breeze. She 
 would stay here today, tonight, she was not afraid; she was 
 accustomed to going about alone in a city of men which held 
 far more threat than this lovely spot in the heart of God s 
 hills. Then, too, she carried a bright, quick actioned little 
 thing in her belt, and she knew how to use it. 
 
 She dashed open the door. The bright rays of the morning sun 
 revealed dust and disorder and a man s form lying prone on 
 the cot across from the table. She started back, her hand in 
 voluntarily seeking her belt, but the next moment it had slipped 
 to her bosom where her heart leaped up and back and left her 
 faint. 
 
 "Duncan!" 
 
 Oh! was he dead? had he killed himself?" was her first 
 awful thought and she reached him her knees nearly failing 
 under her. "Duncan!" 
 
 She laid her hand fearfully on him but his great back heaved 
 
350 THE CLAW 
 
 in strong and regular respirations. He was not dead. He was 
 not hurt perhaps he was sick. How did he come there? 
 
 "Duncan?" she called in great wonderment, but softly that 
 she might not rouse him too quickly. "Duncan, what s the 
 matter, how did you get here?" He moved, groaned, with 
 the impatience of a tired man, and fell back into sleep. She 
 looked on him with a great amazement and tenderness. How 
 haggard he was in spite of his great strength, how worn, and 
 his temples gray? Why, Duncan had not been gray before 
 gray streaking his bright hair everywhere Duncanl How he 
 must have suffered! 
 
 She would not wake him, he was tired tired out. That 
 was why he had come to get away. To get away, as she 
 had done. She laughed a trembling little laugh, full of wonder. 
 She sat down beside him. She would wait till he woke. In 
 a moment she would go and get her saddle bags with her light 
 provisions in them. He had had no breakfast nothing in 
 the cabin was disturbed. She would have breakfast all ready 
 for him when he awoke. 
 
 She rose with a great gladness, but he stirred, roused, sat 
 up and stared about him confusedly. She turned and waited 
 she could not have spoken. He looked at her at last, stupidly, 
 with eyes that failed to see, to understand. He drew his hand 
 across his head and got up, then his hands went out: 
 
 "Marlinee Marlinee!" he cried. "What where am 1?" 
 Then memory struck across his dazed brain and he staggered 
 to a chair and dropped into it, a great groan falling from him. 
 She was at his side. 
 
 "Duncan! You are hurt or sick! Tell me what can I 
 do for you?" 
 
 "Oh nothing, nothing!" he shook his head. "Child how 
 did you get here?" He spoke like an old man, an old, broken 
 man, 
 
THE CLAW 351 
 
 "No don t as she put her hands on him in concern. 
 "Don t worry. It s nothing that can be helped now! It s all 
 past and gone and too late " he groaned. "I ve been weak 
 I ve been blind and in my blindness terrible things have 
 happened. Antonio, Morton, Elsie the eyes of the dead and 
 the living alike reproach me. Oh My God I wish I could die!" 
 His head fell forward in his arms and great sobs shook him. 
 
 She stood speechless, overwhelmed. The grief of a strong 
 man is a pitiful thing, the grief of this man Duncan the 
 strong, the tender, the bearer of other peoples griefs and woes 
 was unbearable. Her heart was wrung at the sight of his 
 overthrow, it was insupportable. The tears dropped slowly 
 through his fingers tears from Duncan? She could not 
 have it! 
 
 "Dear," she cried, "you must not this is madness! You 
 must not blame yourself so you must not involve yourself 
 like this in things for which you were not responsible. You 
 are not to blame. You were conscientious in your convic 
 tions and your conduct was guided by them and even your con 
 victions were not your own they w r ere imposed!" she cried, 
 indignantly. "You hava never had anything of your own. 
 Oh, I know your life your thoughts your choices, were 
 made for you. You are not to be condemned for that you 
 are not\" Her hands went out to him. Duncan took them in 
 a grip that hurt but he groaned. 
 
 "No, no, you mustn t say that. You mustn t lend me 
 defense. I have made fearful mistakes and I must suffer for 
 them even now when I would make up for them.. when I 
 tried to make up for them I brought suffering on myself and 
 others, on Mr. Cummings Corinne It s all over it s 
 no matter about that but my mother, even she don t under 
 stand. She suffers. She thinks I have disgraced my father 
 now and His big hand closed as though a spasm of 
 
352 THE CLAW 
 
 physical pain took him "that does for me!" His head went 
 down on the table again and his shoulders shook with grief 
 that found no utterance. 
 
 Marlinee stood silent, her whole being going out to comfort 
 and heal this boy this great boy! Oh, to take him in her 
 arms and comfort him. She would comfort him he was 
 hers even his mother had cast him off. Whose the right 
 now, but hers, to comfort and defend to bring his broken 
 mind and spirit back to peace and sanity! All her love, the 
 impulse of her sex rose within her. She laid her arm across 
 his shoulder and drew him to her with a jesture of possession, 
 of inexpressible tenderness and protection. "Dear!" her voice 
 held a poignant hurt. She laid her face close to his. "Listen 
 dear," she said. 
 
 She was calm now the sudden power and resource of a 
 woman were hers. She lifted his big shoulders, bringing him 
 back gently till his head rested against her and his eyes looked 
 wonderingly up into her face, like a child. She began, gently: 
 
 "I haven t know r n you always, but I seem to know, somehow, 
 just what you were like when you were a little boy, and because 
 you don t know, I ll tell you." Her voice was very quiet and 
 he leaned back, relaxing suddenly, like a tired child. She 
 smoothed his hair softly as she talked. 
 
 "You were a little boy a little tow-headed boy!" she laughed 
 tenderly. "And the first thing you knew was your mother s 
 face, a loving face, an anxious face, and her hands that were 
 always busy. And the next thing you knew was your father. 
 
 "And your mother did all the things for you that a mother 
 does but she was always having to run away, when you would 
 like to have had her stay longer she was so busy. But your 
 father stayed. He never had to run eway. He talked to you, 
 and he told you funny stories and showed you curious things. 
 
THE (VLAW 353 
 
 So that it was your mother that you needed always, and loved, 
 but it was your father that you admired and adored. 
 
 "And then there was another your brother. And he was 
 very wonderful. You didn t discover him till a little later, or 
 rather, you hardly knew the difference at first, they were so 
 much alike in the wonderful things they said, and their wonder 
 ful ways. 
 
 "But very soon, while you were just a little fellow, you learned 
 why your mother was so busy, why she was always running 
 away when you wanted her. It was because there were things 
 to be done, things for your father and your brother to give 
 them comfort and make their lives easy. And so very soon 
 after that you began helping her, helping her to think and to 
 do, so that your father and brother might not have to work or 
 worry or be in any way different from the lighthearted, enter 
 taining father and brother they were. You d rather do those 
 things, do a great many things, than have them changed. 
 It seemed right that you should, you and your mother, that 
 you should serve them with your hands and that they should 
 give to you of their brightness and brilliancy. You were very 
 proud of them. 
 
 "And you gave them, besides, another great thing." She 
 was speaking slowly, choosing her words with care, fearful of 
 startling him to defense, of offending, yet determined that he 
 should learn that which would remove the last veil from his eyes 
 and clear his vision wholly. As she talked her heart prayed 
 for words for the right words. "You gave them the power 
 to think for you, and decide for you, and to settle and establish 
 all your choices. For they seemed somehow so much better 
 able to do it. 
 
 "So, you gave, and they gave, each in his own way. And 
 the service of each to each was beautiful indeed it was very 
 beautiful!" Her eyes filled. She felt him tremble under her 
 
354 THE CLAW 
 
 hands his lips quivered and the tears stood out beneath the 
 closed eyelids, but she went on. 
 
 The only trouble was that you gave too much, more than 
 they could have asked, more than they would have asked if 
 they had known. You gave yourself, and all that was in you, 
 the privilege of making you what you were to be. You gave 
 all in one splendid sacrifice. Oh no! Not that you knew it. 
 
 It was all consistent, in an order of things wholly 
 abnormal and wrong," she said, boldly. 
 
 " People do not understand. They do not know what weight 
 of influence they lay on their children, especially if those child 
 ren are devoted to them. Nor can they understand how that 
 influence exerted from the beginning, especially on the less 
 self-willed souls, leaves them no way of choice, no way of in 
 dependence, of initiative. Some day she said, dreamily 
 with sudden digression, "when I have my children, I shall 
 remember. 
 
 "So everything was imposed, that belonged to you, even 
 your most intimate choices and preferences." He started, 
 thinking of Corinne. It was true, it was the barreness of his 
 life, the lack of any self-gratification, self-luxury, that had 
 impelled him to aspire to this sumptutous girl. That, and 
 the willed wish of his father. 
 
 Marlinee was sitting beside him now, quietly. The climax was 
 passed; he was himself again. He bent forward on the table, 
 his chin in his hands, looking afar with his steady eyes. What 
 he saw, what his thoughts were she could not guess. She prayed 
 it was the full revelation. 
 
 "So that s all, dear. You see you are no more to blame for 
 your convictions than I am for mine. They were born in us, 
 they were greater than ourselves; we could not resist them." 
 She drew a quick breath and rose from her chair. He turned 
 and caught her hand. 
 
THE CLAW 355 
 
 "Marlinee, you are wonderful! You are kind beyond words. 
 I see it now, I see it!" His eyes shone with a great light. "I 
 have seen it, dimly, I have known it, before, but I was afraid 
 to look at it, to look at it in the face my life, their lives. I 
 WF,S afraid for the pain of it. But you have done it for me. 
 You have taken away the veil, and in such a way that the 
 pain is gone " he spoke with a deep breath a sob like one 
 who has seen a catastrophe pass. "Ah, no one else could have 
 done it. No one else could have done it but you. God bless 
 you, Marlinee!" 
 
 She drew her hand away at last from the touch of his reverent 
 kiss and stood gazing out of the little window into the green 
 thicket beyond. Emotion shook her to the depths. The 
 strain of the past hour, the gladness of Duncan s deliverance 
 and the memory of other things, her nearness to him and his 
 dearness. She had held him this moment; she had warmed 
 him with her warmth and wooed him with her hope and vision 
 back to life and strength again. Ah God was good, he had 
 given her much! 
 
 The moment was too tense. She gave a little shiver and 
 laugh and turned to him. "I m hungry there s bacon and 
 flapjack stuff in my saddle pack but I expect the man to make 
 the fire!" He started, relief in his face. "Sure, I forgot," 
 he said and strode out the door. She watched him shoulder 
 ing his way up the slope to Mischief. 
 
 She stood over him as he coaxed a fire under a battered camp 
 stove outside the door, and she laid the rich strips of bacon in 
 the steaming pan, turning them deftly with her hunting knife. 
 She had rolled up her sleeves and turned in the neck of her 
 shirtwaist. The whiteness of her bosom, met by the sunburned 
 throat, was dazzling. 
 
 "You have the nerve," she laughed, "to get to my house 
 first!" 
 
356 THE CLAW 
 
 "You had the nerve," he said, "to run away from me! Mar- 
 linee, what made you do it?" Marlinee found it necessary to 
 seek the cabin for new supplies. 
 
 "What made you do it Marlinee?" Duncan persisted. 
 She had delayed that he might forget his question. She did 
 not wish to tell him, to revive anything. There was no need. 
 It was joy to see him himself, to know the nightmare of the past 
 week her thoughts of him as he had been were over forever. 
 
 "Duncan, see what delicious strips of bacon!" She held up 
 a slice, delicately balanced on her knife-point. "I m powerful 
 hungry. Lets not talk any moie till we ve et, as Winston says." 
 
 "But, Marlinee, listen! I want to tell you how much I ve 
 missed you. How much I ve wanted you. I ve been sick and 
 sore that you weren t there, I m so accustomed to your help 
 and your cousel, to telling everything to you, Marlinee. 
 I can t say what it means to me. You re so kind!" He reached 
 for the little disengaged hand, but it was gone. Marlinee had 
 sprung to her feet. Her cheeks were very red they had been 
 too near the flame. Her eyes flashed in the old fashion and her 
 little chin was tilted high. She eyed Duncan long and cur 
 iously from under her lashes. Then, with a quick little inso 
 lent laugh, she stretched both arms and yawned. 
 
 "Ye-e-es. So kind! Quite like a grandmother No?" 
 
 It was a merry dinner. Reaction had come for each of them, 
 reaction from the last rTour and the last terrible days, and with 
 it a lightheartedness, childish in its quality. The woods rang 
 with their innocent hilarity. After dinner Duncan smoked in 
 contentment under a great pine tree, his head pillowed in the 
 fragrant needles. Marlinee was close by. The sweet, cool 
 wind of the forest caressed him, soothing like a kind hand, 
 blowing from him for the time all care and anxiety, all thought 
 of the future, not soreness and hurt, nor sorrow, a deep and 
 never to be forgotten sorrow, yet even these were assuaged 
 
THE CLAW 357 
 
 allayed as though Marlinee s words had drawn a thorn from 
 his inflamed mind and the hills were a sweet and healing seda 
 tive, easing all the remaining hurt. 
 
 They talked of many things and she told him, now, of how 
 she came to leave the valley, and of the papers and Norris 
 letter telling of Duncan s step. He had thought her in the valley 
 all the time, and somehow cognizant of all his experiences, 
 even with Corinne. He told her dispassionately of the girl, 
 and of his disappointment in her manner of receiving his news. 
 But on this point Marlinee did not lend her usually instructive 
 observations. There were some forms of knowledge Marlinee 
 possessed that she kept to herself. Then their talk drifted to 
 other things, to pleasanter things. Sometimes they were 
 silent while Marlinee read in desultory fashion from the magazine 
 in her hands or looked beyond her book to the checkerboard 
 valley below. 
 
 Duncan woke with a shiver and sat up with a start. The 
 woods were in twilight. 
 
 "What the devil! Where" he muttered. Then he sud 
 denly remembered. " Marlinee!" he cried. His voice held 
 apology. He sprang up and pounded down the hill, full of 
 self-reproach. Why, it was late! Marlinee must have started 
 supper and fed the pony. Darn it, what a cad he was! 
 
 But Marlinee was not in the cabin nor the pony in the thicket. 
 After he had come back, bewildered, he found a little note 
 stuck to the table with his pocket knife. He seized it quickly 
 and read: 
 
 "On to Durfey s! Don t apologize, I wouldn t have disturbed 
 you for anything. You had such a good sleep. You must do 
 that every day, it ll do you a lot of good. And stay till you 
 have lost that lean and hungry look and hcive some fat on your 
 
358 THE CLAW 
 
 bones I like fat men. Don t drop matches and don t forget 
 to put out your camp fire. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 "Grandmama" 
 
 Duncan said a large, bad word. Then he sat down and stared 
 at himself. He had forgotten in his new relief, in his happiness 
 in finding Marlinee he had forgotten everything. Conven 
 tionalities there were no such thing! He had actually never 
 thought in his relief and utter contentment at being with her 
 again, with the utter naturalness of it like this, just they two, 
 alone in this dear intimate fashion, he had actually never 
 thought of the impossibility of it. He looked at himself in 
 amazement, but it was so. Marlinee, woman like, had thought 
 of and provided for it, and she had gone. Heavens! She 
 had gone instead of him, left the cabin he had usurped, sought 
 some other haven for the night. What else was there for her 
 to do, in delicacy! 
 
 He sat in an agony of self-reproach. The cold sweat stood 
 out on him, the sweat of chagrin. He could not endure the 
 thought of his position of what she must think of him. Mar 
 linee, whose regard he desired above everything else! He had 
 never before entertained the thought of losing it. Now he 
 knew that he could not lose it. It would be unendurable. 
 Not that she would despise him. She would only laugh at 
 his stupidity. Duncan "stupid" in the eyes of Marlinee! 
 The thought agonized him. Yet that would not be new; surely 
 she had often had cause to think him as stupid, slow. But 
 now it was different. 
 
 Suddenly he realized how different and why. He knew at 
 last! 
 
 Why had he not thought of it before? And she had told him 
 
THE CLAW 359 
 
 everything, interpreted everything else in his heart. Had 
 she read this, too, and fled before the knowledge? 
 
 "Marlineel" His hands went out in the darkness and with 
 it all the longing of his man s soul. 
 
CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 Duncan s address before the wine people had made an 
 immense impression. His ardor, his tremendous vigor, the 
 passionate enunciation of his new convictions had fallen on 
 his hearers and for the time enthralled the consciousness of 
 all with the conception of the liquor traffic which he now held. 
 All the embellishments of oratory that characterized and lent 
 ornament to Duncan s former address, making it a classic of 
 its kind, were absent now, and the raw heart and conscience 
 of the man was bared in his stinging arraignment of himself 
 and his industry. It was something his hearers could never 
 forget. 
 
 On none had the impressions of the evening fallen with 
 greater effect than on Mr. Cummings. He was late in arriv 
 ing. He was making his way to the platform just as Duncan 
 was called, and paused in the wings of the small stage. Dun 
 can s first words, the first tones of his voice struck and held 
 him. He listened in astonishment, in unbelief at the pure 
 nerve of the man, his daring, his astounding surety of himself, 
 expressed in the blunt, uncompromising statements with which 
 he began his speech. As Duncan proceeded a flame that had 
 seemingly been kept in abeyance, flashed out. It seemed to 
 envelop the man; he was on fire. His new convictions were a 
 conflagration in which one saw old prejudices consumed before 
 the eye and the new motive, self-denial, the thought for the 
 other man, rise to imperishable place. 
 
 All recognized, all responded to the persuasion. For the 
 first fifteen minutes Duncan took to enunciate his new faith, 
 the entire assemblage was an involuntary unit in its accept 
 ance of the new creed. Then the reaction came. Whitten 
 was the first to recover. He saw Cummings in the wings and 
 
THE CLAW 361 
 
 called to him sharply. The latter turned with ^n abruptness 
 that lost the moment to Duncan and left the boy with the im 
 pression of repudiation. 
 
 "Say, what do you mean by this?" demanded Whitten in 
 a fierce aside; his face was white. "This is your work. Now 
 go out there and explain it to the audience it s up to you!" 
 
 "I ve nothing to say!" answered Cummings, pugnaciously. 
 He was not accustomed to taking orders. 
 
 "Well, you have or you ought to have. This is a Hell of 
 a mess to have put us in and then step aside and leave us." 
 
 "Oh, all right, if you feel that way I ll just do it I ll have 
 my say, too," answered Mr. Cummings, angrily, and he stepped 
 out on the platform. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he began, "You have heard what Cameron 
 had to say. He asked me to see that he had an opportunity 
 to speak to you. He was scheduled on the program for a speech, 
 presumably one favoring our interests. He said he could not 
 take the part expected of him, but as an honest man he wished 
 rather to come before you than publicly, make his renuncia 
 tion of his former convictions and give you the reason for that 
 renunciation. I thought that fair. The gentlemen of the 
 program committee disagreed with me but as general chair 
 man of the campaign I used my authority to overrule their 
 judgment and to insist that Cameron have his chance, the chance 
 to take the stand of a fearless man, no matter how you or I 
 may judge his sentiments. It there s any blame forthcoming 
 for the matter I m ready to assume it." He bowed and took 
 his seat. 
 
 There seemed nothing further to be said. Whitten had 
 received two blows in rapid succession and seemed unable to 
 n .lly his defense. He sullenly resumed the chair and called 
 on the next speaker. 
 
 For Mr. Cummings, speeding home in his machine, the inci- 
 
362 THE CLAW 
 
 dent constituted an era. It is not often that a man who has 
 reached the age of fifty-five meets with an influence that over 
 turns the entire structure of his former life and establishes 
 another, new from the foundations up; but the boy s words had 
 done this for Cummings. Yet not so much the boy s words; 
 it was more the spirit, fresh, young, fearless in declaration of 
 his newly conceived propaganda of life. 
 
 What was he that he should withhold the service and sympathy 
 of his few remaining years, when this lad gave all, yielded all, 
 all the dazzling wordly promise of his young life ambition, 
 wordly honor, even love itself threw all into the balance in 
 a splendid and daring self-renunciation in the name of his new 
 faith. He had long resisted that faith Cummings the vision 
 of the larger altruism. Now he knew that God had given 
 him once again the opportunity of embracing it by the inspira 
 tion furnished in this beloved boy. 
 
 He saw plainly the call, the call to all men and women who 
 had been users of drink as an established custom, a part of the 
 domestic regimen, of hospitality and tradition, and who, so 
 far, had suffered no ill effects there from. It was, in the terse 
 and common phrase, "up to" such men and women now, in 
 a time and age when drink was taking hold on the peculiar 
 temperament of the people, especially of the young, with such 
 appalling effect it was up to all men and women of generous 
 impulses to demonstrate a big self denial. 
 
 Well, he was big enough for that sacrifice, he hoped. It 
 might come hard at first and he might not be able to 
 extend his reform to embrace his household, but for himself 
 he made his choice, to give over the use of wine and other 
 drinks himself and to resist the code of custom that urged 
 him to offer drink to others. 
 
 And he kept his word, although it was hard, harder than 
 he could have believed or imagined. It was hard, for it 
 
THE CLAW 363 
 
 constituted a task involving a biological transformation 
 as well as a social one. He told himself laughingly, when 
 his hand went out for a familiar glass, that he surely was 
 not to be bested in his new determination by a mere strip 
 ling. There are many kinds of heroism and young heroism 
 at all times monopolizes the spot-light but none is greater 
 than that of a man grown old who, seeing error in his forner 
 ways, casts off the impulses and habits of a life time for 
 the sake and in the name of the young generation. Mr. 
 Cummings was such a hero. 
 
CHAPTER XLV 
 
 One of the practical results of Duncan s new stand Mr. 
 Cummings descerned on the following morning when daylight 
 furnished a more comprehensive view of the subject - - his 
 financial situation. It was unfortunate at present. It 
 would be made precarious by his last night s avowel. 
 
 One half of Duncan s place was mortgaged, the notes be 
 ing held by Blythe. The other half had been made security 
 for the money borrowed from three different wine men, Whit- 
 ten, Jones and Powel. These men were by the circum 
 stance of Duncan s avowed change of heart and opposition 
 to the industry, his enemies. Each held his notes on demand. 
 Cummings saw catastrophe ahead for Duncan should these 
 men act on motives of ordinary revenge. 
 
 Inadvertantly he had assumed great responsibility for 
 that catastrophe, if it came. Blythe s return fire, following 
 Duncan s frustration of the former s plot against him, and 
 its public exposure, had been a letter from Blythe s lawyer 
 notifying Cameron that Blythe wanted his money and would 
 at once begin foreclosure proceedings if it was not forth 
 coming. 
 
 Duncan sought Mr. Cummings, cursing himself for the 
 confidence with which he had allowed the mortgage to remain 
 in Blythe s hands, and made application for a loan from the 
 Grower s Bank, of which Mr. Cummings was president. 
 
 "You want a loan of $25,000 to cover the mortgage?" said 
 Mr. Cummings. "Well, I ve no doubt in the world but that 
 you can be accomodated but of course the matter will have 
 to be taken up formally before the directors at the next meeting. 
 I d advise you to write Blythe and say that you ve arranged 
 
THE CLAW 365 
 
 for the money and that it ll be forthcoming; within the next 
 ten or fifteen days." 
 
 Duncan did so at once. He would be immensely relieved 
 when he had the papers in his own hands again. It was an 
 extremely neat piece of work on Blythe s part and strictly 
 along his line of conduct, disarming Duncan of ny anxiety 
 in the matter when the latter offered to relieve him of the 
 mortgage some weeks ago. And he had learned from Duncan 
 who held the notes. Duncan s mind took sudden alarm 
 again. But no, the men were his friends and, in the instance 
 of Blythe s contemptible conduct toward him, had expressed 
 their sentiments concerning the latter in most condemnatory 
 terms. The notes would be safe with them. 
 
 That the situation had now changed, wholly and seriously, 
 Mr. Cummings plainly saw and Duncan, his and his all, were 
 in the hands of men now arrayed with Blythe on the side of 
 those whom Duncan s new stand logically opposed. Also 
 these men were among the directors of the Grower s Bank. 
 Well, he must do his best for the boy. The directors meeting 
 was that evening. 
 
 After the board s usual preliminary business, Mr. Cummings 
 introduced the subject of the loan: "Gentlemen, Duncan 
 Cameron approached me some time ago and asked for a loan 
 of $25,000 on two hundred and fifty acres of his place. I told 
 him that I had no doubt that we could let him have it but 
 that I would take the matter up with you tonight." The 
 answer, couched by Whitten, he had anticipated. 
 
 "Well, I guess that matter can be easily disposed of. There 
 are none of us hankering to accomodate Cameron after the 
 way he s thrown down, his friends, the wine men." 
 
 "No, that s right," added Powell and Bernardini. 
 
 "What do you say, Blythe?" asked Whitten. Blythe 
 had not spoken. "I understand Duncan wants the money 
 
366 THE CLAW 
 
 to take up a mortgage held by you. You ll be both the payer 
 and the recipient in this case and you ought to have something 
 to say," he added, facetiously. Blythe answered with an 
 assumption of his large and suave manner. 
 
 "Well, I certainly wouldn t urge you men to a thing you 
 can t do in justice to yourselves, put your selves out to do a 
 favor for a man that s done you as Cameron did. 
 Don t make the loan, I d say. Teach the youngster a lesson. 
 Let him scratch for it a while. I m in no hurry for my money." 
 
 Cummings turned and looked at Blythe for a full moment. 
 The latter sat toying carelessly with a paper knife. He had 
 the air of a kindly man who was willing to forego his own 
 preferences in the matter to accomplish the deserved rebuke 
 of another. He had lied, lied again barefacedly, as he had 
 done to Cummings on the morning after the plot designed 
 against Duncan. This man was the limit of unmitigated 
 gall, effrontery and dastardliness. His designs were as plain 
 as the map on the wall yonder. Mr. Cummings bent foreward 
 across the table: 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Mr. Blythe, but I guess that must be 
 a mistake. I saw a letter written by your lawyer to Cameron 
 two weeks ago in which you demanded payment of that mortgage 
 and stated that if the money was not forthcoming you would 
 begin foreclosure proceedings at once. It was because of 
 that letter that Duncan asked for this loan. I say, Blythe, 
 what are you going to do with ibat mortgage?" 
 
 "It s none of your damned business!" said Blythe. Mr. 
 Cummings was not a young man but he was one of vigor and 
 of Southern blood that would not take an insult. The other 
 men threw themselves between the two. 
 
 "You say that, you low down, lying scoundrel; you who 
 would ruin and blight a boy young enough to be your son! 
 It isn t my business? Well, I ll make it my business. I 
 
THE CLAW 367 
 
 stood responsible for this loan. I made Cameron the tentative 
 promise that it would be forthcoming. He wrote you that 
 he would have the money shortly and you never told him 
 you didn t want it, that he was welcome to an extension of 
 time on it. Now then, you shall have it!" Mr. Cummings 
 reached inside his pocket, brought out his check book and 
 writing out a check to the full amount threw it across the 
 table at Blythe. "There!" he said. The latter waved a 
 dissenting but propitiatory hand. 
 
 "I think these gentlemen will agree, Mr. Cummings, that 
 this isn t regular. I think they will agree that I can t take 
 your check for Cameron s mortgage. Your own business 
 knowledge will tell you that if you stop to think," he added 
 with largeness. "And as I said before, I prefer to hold the 
 obligation, at least until Cameron insists on relieving me 
 of it," 
 
 Mr. Cumming s face went from the white of his recent rage, 
 to scarlet. It was true. There was no business precedence 
 by which Blythe could be made to take the check from him, 
 and release the mortgage. If he, in his impulsiveness had 
 stopped to think he would have known that. The man had 
 had the insolence to refuse him and at the same time, to rebuke 
 his apparent lack of business knowledge. He was farious 
 but there was nothing to be done. 
 
 "Very well," he said, "we ll see about this later" He put 
 through the remaining business with a curt ness and expedition 
 provided by his suppressed fury and humiliation, emphasized 
 by Blythe s self-satisfied manner. 
 
CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 Cumrnings spent the following day trying to locate Duncan. 
 He learned from his mother that he was in the mountains 
 but the latter had misunderstood Duncan s stated destination. 
 She thought it Walthers, instead of Welches. Walthers was 
 an old claim of Cameron s on the farther side of the range. 
 Mr. Cummings, by phone, dispatched a messenger from the 
 mountain resort near Walther s to hunt Duncan and it was 
 only in the late afternoon that it was learned that he was in 
 another part of the mountains. Marlinee at Durfey s camp 
 everheard the answer to an inquiry for the boy and at once 
 gave the information of his whereabouts. Then she telephoned 
 to Cummings. 
 
 "Mr. Cummings? This is Marlinee, Marlinee Madison. I 
 heard of your inquiry. Duncan is up at Welches, my uncle s 
 cabin, you know. We can send a messenger for him. I 
 hope nothing serious has* happened," she added anxiously. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Marlinee! I m glad to hear your voice. You 
 can get him? That s good, as soon as you can, please. No 
 it s nothing serious," he fibbed, "just business, but its urgent. 
 It s too late for him to catch the valley stage. I ll be in camp 
 in an hour with the machine and you can get him down in the 
 mean time. Good-bye." 
 
 Duncan was at the camp by the appointed hour. 
 The apologies he had prepared for his conduct of the afternoon 
 were waved aside by Marlinee in her anxiety to learn Duncan s 
 conjecture concerning the matter in hand. Her own thoughts 
 and his had been the same in the last hour. What could it 
 mean? Why was Mr. Cummings seeking Duncan, coming 
 urgently for him when both he and his daughter had but 
 
THE CLAW 369 
 
 recently repudiated him. Yet Mr. Cu minings voice over 
 the phone had been most cordial. 
 
 "You don t think it s anything serious do you, dear?" asked 
 Marlinee. "You look as if something was worrying you." 
 
 "I hope not, but I confess, I pjn worried," answered Duncan. 
 "I had forgotten, overlooked in my other anxieties, something 
 important, something I should have but there s Mr. 
 Cummings now! I ll let you know, I ll call you up when I 
 get down -to the valley," he colled back, seeing his own anxiety 
 immediately reflected in the face of the girl. "Don t worry, 
 Marlinee." 
 
 On the way down, Mr. Cummings related the story of the 
 directors meeting, including in the recital his own efforts to 
 go to Duncan s rescue. 
 
 "Now I ll tell you what I want you to do," he added. I ve 
 put $50,000 to your credit in the Growers Bank today and 
 I ve drawn a check for half that amount in favor of Blythe. 
 I want you to hunt up his attorney and give him the check 
 and get that mortgage back tonight. Go to it, right off! I 
 want to see that cur, Blythe, whipped. 
 
 "With the rest of the money I d advise you to take up those 
 outstanding notes of yours, at once. They re not safe, not 
 safe a day with those men. No, that s all right," he added 
 as Duncan turned to him with lips that could form no words 
 but with eyes in which amazement and gratitude for Mr. 
 Cummings generous provision had drawn the quick tears. 
 
 "I m not afraid of my security, if you aren t afraid to trust 
 me with your fortunes. The vineyard is good, absolutely 
 good, and when you get that grape juice factory of yours 
 going, "he laughed, boyishly, "or turn your place over to raisin 
 or table-grapes as I fancy you propose to do now you ve turned 
 prohibitionist, you ll more than pay out in a few years." 
 
 "But Mr. Cummings, I can t take your kindness. I m 
 
370 THE CLAW 
 
 no longer eligible to it. Whitten was right, I can ask no 
 further favors from my old friends, and then, Corinne." Mr. 
 Cummings was silent a moment and when he spoke his voice 
 was husky : 
 
 "My boy, no one could be more regretful of one result of 
 this regeneration of yours than I, for it seems to be true, that 
 I have thereby lost a son. I am sorry. I am humiliated 
 that it should be so. But this fact does not alter my affection 
 for the son of my best friend, a boy who has come to take a 
 place in my heart that no formal rela.tionsh.ip could enhance. 
 Duncan, lad, I love you as I would have loved my own son, 
 had I one. But besides that, you have become something 
 more. In your youth and the purpose of your new manhood 
 you have renewed in me something of the moral vigor I fear 
 I had sadly lost. You have revived within me elements of 
 moral strength that have helped me to a long delayed determ 
 ination. I am with you, my boy, in your new purpose and 
 cause, with you with all the strength of my hand and the 
 co-operation of my sympathy and material aid. I am proud 
 and happy beyond words to have the privilege of helping you in 
 your first steps on the new way." He extended his hand 
 and Duncan took it in a grip of fellowship and understanding 
 known only to strong men. 
 
 Duncan sought Blythe s attorney and gave him the check. 
 He was working late at his office. Just returned from his 
 summer outing he had found instructions awaiting him from 
 Blythe to proceed at once to foreclose on Cameron. 
 Blythe was impatient at having lost the day. The paper, 
 just completed by the lawyer, lay upon his desk. The latter 
 chagrined at the loss of the comfortable fee involved in the, 
 anticipated proceeding, handed over to Duncan the mortgage, 
 then off handedly remarked, "By the way, Mr. Cameron, 1 *! 
 have three notes here for collection, formerly held against 
 
THE CLAW 371 
 
 you by Whitten, Powell and Jones. In the course of his business 
 they came into Mr. Blythe s hands and he is urgent for 
 immediate payment. He has already notified the bank to that 
 effect. 
 
 There was no glimmer of emotion on Duncan s face to 
 betray his surprise at Blythe s latest and most complete designs 
 for his ruin. He drew out his check book and saying casually : 
 
 "Very well, I ll just settle for those at the same time," 
 proceeded to write a check for the full amount. 
 
CHAPTER XLVII 
 
 Duncan walked up the drive to the house. He took off his 
 hat as he went and looked about him and up at the old trees 
 bending over him, great eucalyptus trees of twenty or thirty 
 years growth, and pepper trees interspersed with the huge 
 bushes of oleander, white and red. He looked afar at the 
 house, shabby, crying for paint and repair, but charming n its 
 broad low lines and its possibilities of hospitality. Home\ 
 Yes it was home, his home, the hcme of his mother and if 
 it were in the possibility of God s goodness, the home of her, 
 dearest of all women. But he dared not think of that yet. 
 
 It seemed a month, a fuL summer since he had left it all 
 and then everything had been over cast with the gloom of his 
 own distracted imagination and the recent tragedy. How 
 different now! His heart was filled with a great gratitude 
 that it was yet his home,- that the calamity so imminent, so 
 nearly precipitated, had passed , that, thanks to Providence 
 and Mr. Cummings, the place was his and a safe provision 
 made for its future by an honest and faithful friend. God 
 had been good! 
 
 This load and the others he had carried, blame for what he 
 had done and what he had left undone, were all gone; healed, 
 the self accusation. Even his mother s attitude, he was 
 going home w th no anxiety for that. It had been one of the 
 things they had talked of together, he and Marlinee. Like 
 two following a tangled thread through many windings to its 
 place of fastening, they had unwoven reasons. Fearlessly, 
 with no rebuke, only compassion, he had faced the fact that 
 his mother was one whose motives, like his own were not 
 self -provided. Jeanie, like himself, had had no life of her 
 own. The insistent personality of her father had plucked her, 
 
THE CLAW 373 
 
 a girl of unformed mind and humble family traditions. That 
 same insistent personality had mastered her, soul, body and 
 imagination with the complete subjugation of superior will, 
 acting on a yielding and devoted mind. 
 
 It was that which provided the narrowness of judgment that 
 left Duncan uninformed of the vital things concerning his 
 ather. It was this that caused her rebellion, the first she 
 had ever shown against a male creature, certainly the first 
 toward her man son. The breach would heal. He would 
 have patience. And already, as his thoughts comforted him he 
 s: \v she was there to meet him, standing in the sunshine under 
 the drooping trumpet-vine her hands wrapped in her large 
 apron in the quaint old country way. 
 
 " Duncan!" 
 
 He took her in his arms very tenderly. She clung to him 
 passionately and began to cry. 
 
 "Oh, I thocht ye wud never come hame! I ve wanted ye 
 sair. It was a shamefu thing, the w y I did ye, Duncan, lad, 
 the nicht ago, but I was sair hurt, an my heart was near to 
 breakin ." 
 
 "Yes, mother, yes," he said. He led her to a seat and they 
 sat down. 
 
 "I ve knew a the time that ye were richt, that the temperance 
 folk were richt. But I cudna admeet it, it was like death 
 tae admeet it, that be cud be wrang." Her voice broke in 
 a great sob. Her hand felt out and met his. They clasped 
 in an understanding and fellowship, perfect. 
 
CHAPTER XL VIII. 
 
 It was characteristic of Duncan that he should begin at 
 once the rehabilitation of his new life, both moral and material. 
 After consultation with his mother on the matter he sought 
 the nearest grape juice factory and signed with the company 
 for his entire grape crop for the season. At the end of the 
 season he intended grafting over his whole acreage to table 
 and raisin grapes. 
 
 When he reviewed the prices brought by both the past 
 years, compared with that paid for wine grapes, he wondered 
 at his lack of common judgment that had kept him so long at 
 his present business. There was no reason why La Mesa 
 vineyard should not be made to pay out on new lines. No 
 reason why he should not keep the place intact, if hard work 
 and perseverance could do it, but if it seemed best to sell a 
 portion he would not now hesitate. He owed something, 
 much, to his mother, to ease her day by bringing relief from the 
 long strain of financial stringency and give her comforts long 
 denied. And he would look to his own material provision, 
 to get out from under the burden and stigma of debt; get 
 on his feet again as a man standing on his own financial bottom. 
 That would be better and more to the credit of his father s 
 name than the adherence to many impractical ideals. 
 
 His life seemed now strangely big, wide and free, and himself, 
 one from whom the weights had been removed. His new 
 vision gave him new sight in many ways and made his long 
 apprenticeship in error seem almost incredible. His new 
 perceptions of the liquor problem were more vivid than any 
 other. As the doctor sees the skeleton in all men, the banker 
 the man s financial status, and the dressmaker makes mental 
 comments on the set of the gowns on the women she meets, 
 
THE CLAW 375 
 
 so Duncan now specializing in the subject of the liquor problem 
 saw many things and many phases never before perceived. 
 It seemed as though his thoughts were directed and kept in 
 that line by a hundred suggestions and incidents daily, all 
 more or less painful and revealing. 
 
 He felt a personal chagrin now, in the institutions whose 
 business was such as to be carried on behind blinds and glazed 
 doors. He felt a shame for the men who came out therefrom, 
 a shame especially for the turned out work of those places 
 seen in the drunks and bums that the saloon spewed forth. 
 
 Presently the logical end was accomplished in Duncan. 
 He, who habitually threw his whole soul ancl strength into 
 any work he undertook, in any cause he espoused, could be 
 no mere on looker in this one, no mere rooter on the side lines 
 in this fight. He sought Fessendon and got into it. 
 
 He offered himself for a lecture tour up and down the valley. 
 He no longer considered that he was not an accomplished 
 speaker; accomplished or not, he had something to say that 
 must be said. His speech before the wine men had reached 
 but a few of those his written arguments and former Wet 
 talks throughout the valley had. He must undo this work, 
 too. He gave his days to hard man s labor on the vineyard, 
 and his nights to lecture engagements. The old family machine 
 that had come to cry its increasing infirmities to the world 
 was heard nightly on the avenue speeding toward some engage 
 ment place. And Duncan talked. Oh, how he talked, no 
 embellishments, no frills, just plain facts! 
 
 Also he kept his interest in the Journal, now in McWhirter s 
 administrative hands, and abetted him in the way of newspaper 
 publicity in the interests of the Drys. The change in the 
 management had come in the interval between the tragedy 
 on the vineyard and his renouncement speech before the 
 wine men. McWhirter, expecting his opposition to the new 
 
376 THE CLAW 
 
 sentiments of the sheet, had made him an offer for his interest 
 in it and was dumfounded at Duncan s frank statement of his 
 own change of heart. The men at once made alliance, an 
 alliance of resources and efficiency that accomplished great 
 things for the Cause. McWhirter, strange as it may seem, 
 stayed in the newspaper game because he wanted to. He had 
 inherited a cozy fortune some years back and after a trip 
 around the world, when he visited the places known to him 
 by heart from his much reading, he returned and showed up 
 the following morning at the Journal office. 
 
 "Well, I m ready to go on the desk whenever you want me," 
 he said to Morrison, and the latter embraced him like the 
 p overbial long lost brother. 
 
 McWhirter went into his new enterprise with perfect under 
 standing of the probable outcome. To publish a Dry sheet 
 in the wine grape districts was waving a red rag at the bulls. 
 But, as McWhirter explained to Duncan and Fessendon, 
 "This sheet s been running long enough, it s been three years 
 since it went to smash, and I don t like to see precedents 
 ignored, especially by an outlander like Morrison." 
 
 And Norris stayed with the Journal. It was not really 
 the sacrifice that it sounded, and therein Norris was robbed 
 of another opportunity of posing in the "movie hero" role. 
 With Hay ward gone (Hay ward was taking the Keeley cure 
 and after that he intended cutting out and away from all 
 his former associates and going back east) and Winston off 
 the job Winston had been afraid of the prohibition regime 
 little Norris had his hands full and his salary nearly doubled. 
 There was nothing stingy about McWhirter. If he went to 
 smash he was going to smash hard. And after that he intended 
 looking after Norris some other way. He was, as Fessendon 
 had deplored, childless, and he loved the boy. It was that, 
 his affection and paternal concern for him, that turned the 
 
THE CLAW 377 
 
 balance of his sentiment in favor of the Drys. Fessendon s 
 last appesl had been effective, too. 
 
 Norris and Glad were very happy. The wedding was to 
 be next month. The only shadow that fell across their felicity 
 was the news Norris turned up on his beat one day. It was 
 old news, not of the sort rushed to the news column. Molly 
 McFec had committed suicide in one of the baudy houses 
 across the track. She had won the case against Westmeyer 
 that sent him up for twenty years. She had come back to 
 her old haunts and sought her end, like thousands on the 
 same tragic road. 
 
 Norris with infinitesimal pains recovered the body from the 
 potter s field and had it carried to Cayonsville, to the cemetery 
 where little Emmy was buried. It was the least he could do, 
 and Glad abbetted him. Molly had done much for them, her 
 sacrifice had been great. 
 
 So they laid Molly away beside little Emmy, in "a real nice 
 place among the best people." They had a stone set up for 
 her, a white stone. It bore her name, her real name: Margaret 
 Wilson, and the date of her birth and death. She was not 
 old, only twenty-one. There was a line of reading, too, on 
 the stone. Glad had found it in the worn bible of Norris mother. 
 They thought it appropriate for Molly, remembering with 
 gentle gratitude her service to them, to humanity. It was 
 in the words of the compassionate Jesus, and read: 
 
 "She hath done what she could." 
 
CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 In all of Duncan s new enterprises and interests, in every 
 determination and choice he had made, his mind involuntarily 
 turned to one, for council and approval. That one was 
 Marlinee. His need for her increased. He could think 
 of no fut are apart from her, as he could not remember any 
 past when he had really lived, that had been separated from 
 her presence and comradeship. 
 
 Corinne had dropped to the most inconsequential of places 
 in his mind, nowdays, these days of fine new activities, of fine 
 new ambitions and expectations. He passed her occasionally 
 on the avenue and was able to lift his hat with a bow and 
 smile of the utmost unconcern. Indeed, the shock that had 
 thrown to the ground the fabric of his former life, with all its 
 predilections and preferences, had revealed his attachment 
 for Corinne in a new light. He understood now, how misguided 
 had been the impulses that set their ambitions on this girl 
 between whom and himself, by the manner of their up bringing, 
 their different standards and their whole out-look on life there 
 could have been no possible compatibility. 
 
 Marlinee was still in the hills. McWhirter had extended 
 her outing an extra week in view of the need he acknowledged 
 when he thought of her, and she was still at her cabin. Mammy 
 was with her, now. Glad, Norris had carried off to his relatives 
 in Cayonsville, and the trousseau was getting on beautifully. 
 
 Duncan held off his desire as a strong man holds off his own 
 interests, till the greater are served. Then he saddled his 
 horse and left for the mountains. He pushed Brewster till 
 he was wont to faint, across the desert and wash and up the 
 canyon. Every step nearer his goal increased his determination, 
 and in his new man s passion the invincible will of his father 
 
THE CLAW 379 
 
 grew. Marlinee must hear him! It was not possible that 
 his being could cry for her as it did and not her s for him. She 
 might not know it, in her naughty willfulness, in the pretty 
 teasing way with which she met the overtures of all male-kind, 
 she might try and make him think, make herself think, that 
 she had no need of him. He would show her; she must see. 
 
 He had not written her of his coming, he wanted her un 
 prepared, and he was taken aback somewhat by the calmness 
 of her reception. It was just at sunset that he and Brewster 
 came into the open in the clearing above the cabin and upon 
 Marlinee in the path just before them. She had walked out 
 on the trail to the point of the finest view. It was her nightly 
 custom just at sun down. He could not know that ten minutes 
 before, the view and all else had been forgotten when she heard 
 far below and out of sight on the trail, but distinct, the thud 
 of a horse s foot and a familiar voice in admonishment. She had 
 started up and all the blood in her surged to the surface, 
 tingling. Her hands flew to her breast and her eyes 
 looked like those of a wild thing that waits and listens, terri 
 fied, yet glad. 
 
 Now he was there, just beyond that great boulder. The 
 next minute he would see, would be here beside her. "Ah!" 
 her breath came in a little gasp. 
 
 He waited for no preliminaries, in spite of her disconcerting 
 coolness. He flung the bridle over Brewster s head Brewster 
 might go hang, if he liked and throwing himself out of the 
 stirrups, reached the girl with a stride. 
 
 "Marlinee, this is a token, you are here to meet me!" 
 
 "Oh, no," she laughed, "just to see if that shiftless Bil y 
 Baker has gotten my barn painted yet. See," she pointed 
 past him coolly, "he has, that s it gleaming down there to the 
 right where the sun strikes it." He caught the hand abruptly 
 
380 THE CLAW 
 
 and drew her to him till he gazed into her face with his steady 
 eyes. 
 
 "Marlinee, look at me. Listen to me. I love you! I 
 want you, I have wanted you every moment since I have been 
 away. I wanted you the moment you had gone, and I awoke. 
 It all came to me then, at that moment. I want you now with 
 all my being and my soul. You are all to me that a woman 
 could be to a man. I want your love, the comfort of your 
 arms as on that day, I shall never know peace or happiness 
 till I have them. 
 
 "Oh, I know," as her face dropped, blushes turning to paleness. 
 He had carried her off her feet by the suddenness of him, the 
 pession of him. "I know what you are thinking of. It took 
 me a long time to find out, and I thought it was someone else 
 I cared for. It was a mistake, the feeling I had for her, Corinne. 
 It is like like anything pale, weak, inferior, beside this perfect, 
 this holy thing! I have always loved you, depended on you, 
 lived in and by you, ever since I knew you. You know that. 
 But I didn t know you were o clever, you had so much wisdom. 
 I was a little afraid of you, a little in awe of you I think, 1 
 he paused and she laughed, a little trembling laugh with a 
 lilt of mockery in it. 
 
 " Afraid, afraid of me? Ah, but you are so much greater, 
 you have so much, so much more 
 
 "So much what?" 
 
 "Why, this" she touched his strong arms with the daintiest 
 of fingers, "and ibis" her ands went up on his wide shoulders. 
 "You are big," she measured it off with her hands, "and I 
 am little. You are strong, and I am so weak!" 
 
 "Dearl" 
 
 "You are a man, and I am just a woman." He laughed 
 big and deep; for the time the momentous question was pairied 
 by her coquetry, by his joy in her. 
 
THE CLAW 381 
 
 "I am a man and you are a woman, but this grea and glorious 
 state of ours, says we are equal and the same, and you can get 
 out and Svhup me any old day you like at the polls. Marlinee!" 
 he gave her a little shake, "what you going to say?" But 
 she parleyed : 
 
 You don t understand. A woman, a woman can vote 
 oh yes and do a lot of things that a man can and can t, but 
 she never gets away from being a woman and she still has 
 to have a man!" 
 
 "Marlinee!" 
 
 "Yes/ a real man. One that can bully and boss her." He 
 shouted in merriment. This from Marlinee who was never 
 satisfied to leave the field of argument without the proverbial 
 last word. 
 
 "Oh, of course I don t mean one that will knock her about 
 and make her pack and cany for him, but a man big enough 
 and strong enough to do for her, and to think for her she gets 
 so tired of doing, and thinking. No, I mean make her do 
 and think as she ought to. Not because he has the muscle 
 to make her do it, but the heart and soul that knows. She 
 wants a man bigger than herself, body, mind and spirit; oh, 
 she does, every woman does! She wants a master." 
 
 il Marlinee\" His gladness in her, his surprise and joy in 
 the new Marlinee he was discovering was greater than words. 
 He took her nervous, outstretched hands, but she drew them 
 from him gently. "Wait," she said. She seated herself on 
 a boulder at the side of the trail and he sat by her in a great 
 happiness and patience, his eyes contentedly on the receding 
 valley, or absently watching a tiny gleam of his spur in the 
 twilight as he hugged his crossed legs. 
 
 "Oh Duncan, I want to tell you all my heart! I must, 
 before," she did not finish. "I have been just sick for months 
 and years about it; about men. They think so little, they care 
 
382 THE CLAW 
 
 so little about it, that they are men. They expect a woman, 
 if she is good, to be absolutely good and careful, and if she 
 goes the least bit out of the way its all over with her. They 
 call her, the good woman, an angel . And she must stay an 
 angel, a nice lonely angel to the end of her days. 
 
 . "But a man, a man who is the first work of the Almighty, 
 the head of the woman , it s no matter about him. He can do 
 what he likes. He has no thought, no pride in his greatness; 
 that he stands in the world a god, the creator of life and gener 
 ation. He has no thought to keep clean and fine and honorable 
 for that work." She turned suddenly to him and gave him 
 both her hands, laid them on his breast with her face close to 
 him. 
 
 "I love you, Duncan, I have always loved you!" her voice 
 came with a quick intake. He had closed on her hands so 
 fiercely. 
 
 "But no, not yet. Listen, dear, just one moment!" She 
 held him off, slipped from him and moved away, standing 
 apart, her eyes looking far across the valley. He waited 
 breathlessly. 
 
 "I told you I love you, and its true. I do, but I do more 
 than that I covet you. I have always coveted you, always, 
 ever since I came to know and understand other men. You. 
 are so different! You have self-respect, you have pride, you 
 have pride in your flesh. And that is everything, isn t it? Life 
 is so vague ; we know so little of its purpose ; a future heaven 
 and immortality yes, we believe in all that, but the now: 
 to keep the law of the now\ 
 
 "That s all we know, all we really know. And that is nature s 
 law, the law of the God of nature; the law all nature keeps in 
 integrity, but men. That law to bring forth after one s kind , 
 to increase and multiply on the earth . How wonderful 
 to engage in the work of creation. For two to co-operate in 
 
THE CLAW 383 
 
 that work." She spoke with awe. "The work of the 
 Almighty!" In the dim light he saw her face diffused, her 
 eyes alight, one hand to her bosom, the other reaching back 
 in the darkness to him. He took it tremblingly. 
 
 "To bring life into the world, life that lives forever. Isn t 
 thpt enough to make one keep his heart true and his life clean? 
 That s what I saw in life, and it was very great. But there 
 were so few great enough to understand, to see it. None, but 
 you you. And I loved you, I coveted you because you were 
 great enough." 
 
 "Dear! Dear\" he kissed her hand with a great reverence. 
 
 "You mustn t mind because I thought of it first, perhaps," 
 she went on. "You must not mind if I think for you sometimes, 
 ahead of you. It is the mother part. And there is always 
 that in which you are greater, as I said, oh, so much greater; 
 your strength, your arms, oh, how I have wanted them when I 
 was tired, and I couldn t think enough for myself, I have wanted 
 my other self, you\ 
 
 She turned and he smiled, his eyes full of understanding 
 and a happiness too great for words. He held out his arms, 
 and she came to him, slowly, delaying each step as if the end 
 were too dear to hasten. 
 
 "Now," she said, and his arms enfolded her. 
 
 He had no words for the honor for which her woman s soul 
 had chosen him. Great thoughts passed through him, mighty 
 thoughts, and his mind was opened. He understood life and 
 love and the meaning of all spiritual things, moral effort and 
 the struggle and travail of valiant souls against evil, the evil 
 that would slay life. This was that for which the prophets 
 and teachers had lived and men died, the martyrs and the 
 Christ; what men like Fessendon and himself, please God, 
 would give their man s hand and strength to, and all the 
 resources of their minds, not for the attainment of a remote 
 
384 THE CLAW 
 
 heaven and the saving of men s souls to eternity, not that 
 only, but this other work: the regeneration of the world, the 
 world where human beings live and bring forth; the making 
 of it a place safe, where men shall not prey on other men or 
 on the children of men, but where man and woman shall have 
 opportunity to live and keep the royal law, to mate in cleanliness 
 and beauty and bring forth their kind in honor, that not only 
 bodies shall live in peace and health and prosperity, but souls 
 in integrity and the fulfilment of the purpose of the Creator. 
 This was the Light, the light that broke upon Duncan s 
 consciousness that first night, bringing the beginning of 
 knowledge. This was the light elaborating that knowledge 
 to all the boundaries of creation. This was the Ideal, not 
 an idealism remote and apart from the purposes of life, but 
 its fabric and substance. 
 
 "MarlineeV He took her to him with all his being. It 
 was their marriage day. 
 
 The End 
 
UNIVERSITY OP CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW 
 
 NOV 29 1915 
 
 141917 
 F 14 1919 
 
 ; 1 22 1921 
 
 
 HUN 7 1926 
 
 JUL30I92? 
 
 30m-l, l 
 
313021 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY