WILD WINGS 
 
 J3y MARGARET R. PIPER
 
 WILD WINGS 
 
 UNIT. OF TATJF. LTBKARY. T.OS
 
 THE SYLVIA ARDEN BOOKS 
 
 By MARGARET R. PIPER 
 
 
 
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 THE PAGE COMPANY 
 53 BEACON STREET, BOSTON, MASS.
 
 'MISS HOLIDAY IS GOING OUT WITH ME,' HE ASSERTED." 
 
 (See page 273.}
 
 
 
 
 WILD WINGS 
 
 A ROMANCE OF YOUTH 
 
 
 BY 
 
 MARGARET REBECCA PIPER 
 
 Author of 
 ' ' SYLVIA' s EXPERIMENT, " " SYLVIA OF THE HILL TOP, ' ' 
 * ' SYLVIA ARDEN DECIDES, " ' ' THE HOUSE 
 ON THE HILL, ' * etc. 
 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BT 
 
 JOHN GOSS 
 
 
 @ 
 
 
 THE PAGE COMPANY 
 BOSTON ^ MDCCCCXXI 
 
 

 
 Copyright, 1921, by 
 THE PAGE COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 Made in U. S. A. 
 
 First Impression, October, 1921 
 
 PRINTED BY C. H. SIMONDS COMPANY 
 BOSTON, MASS., U.S.A.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I MOSTLY TONY 1 
 
 II WITH ROSALIND IN ARDEN 14 
 
 III A GIRL WHO COULDN'T STOP BEING A 
 
 PRINCESS 26 
 
 IV A BOY WHO WASN'T AN Ass BUT BE- 
 
 HAVED LIKE ONE 38 
 
 V WHEN YOUTH MEETS YOUTH .... 47 
 
 VI A SHADOW ON THE PATH ..... 58 
 
 VII DEVELOPMENTS BY MAIL 70 
 
 VIII THE LITTLE LADY WHO FORGOT ... 81 
 
 IX TEDDY SEIZES THE DAY ...... 93 
 
 X TONY DANCES INTO A DISCOVERY . . . 105 
 
 XI THINGS THAT WERE NOT ALL ON THE 
 
 CARD 117 
 
 XII AND THERE is A FLAME . . . . . . 129 
 
 XIII BITTER FRUIT 138 
 
 XIV SHACKLES 148 
 
 XV ON THE EDGE OP THE PRECIPICE . . . 160 
 
 XVI IN WHICH PHIL GETS His EYES OPENED 168 
 
 XVII A WEDDING RING IT WAS HARD TO RE- 
 MEMBER 180 
 
 XVIII A YOUNG MAN IN LOVE 191 
 
 XIX Two HOLIDAYS MAKE CONFESSION . . . 203 
 
 XX A YOUNG MAN NOT FOR SALE . . . .215 
 
 XXI HARRISON CRESSY REVERTS 225 
 
 XXII THE DUNBURY CURE . 238 
 
 2132207
 
 WILD WINGS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 MOSTLY TONY 
 
 AMONG the voluble, excited, commencement- 
 bound crowd that boarded the Northampton train 
 at Springfield two male passengers were conspic- 
 uous for their silence as they sat absorbed in their 
 respective newspapers which each had hurriedly 
 purchased in transit from train to train. 
 
 A striking enough contrast otherwise, however, 
 the two presented. The man next the aisle was 
 well past sixty, rotund of abdomen, rubicund of 
 countenance, beetle-browed. He was 1 elaborately 
 well-groomed, almost foppish in attire, and wore 
 the obvious stamp of worldly success, the air of 
 one accustomed to giving orders and seeing them 
 obeyed before his eyes. 
 
 His companion and chance seat-mate was young, 
 probably a scant five and twenty, tall, lean, close- 
 knit of frame with finely chiseled, almost ascetic 
 features, though the vigorous chin and generous 
 sized mouth forbade any hint of weakness or effem- 
 inacy. His deep-set, clear gray-blue eyes were the 
 eyes of youth ; but they would have set a keen ob- 
 server to wondering what they had seen to leave 
 that shadow of unyouthful gravity upon them. 
 
 It happened that both men the elderly and the 
 young had their papers folded at identically the 
 same page, and both were studying intently the face
 
 WILD WINGS 
 
 of the lovely, dark-eyed young girl who smiled 
 out of the duplicate printed sheets impartially at 
 both. 
 
 The legend beneath the cut explained that the 
 dark-eyed young beauty was Miss Antoinette Hol- 
 iday, who would play Eosalind that night in the 
 Smith College annual senior dramatics. The in- 
 terested reader was further enlightened to the fact 
 that Miss Holiday was the daughter of the late 
 Colonel Holiday and Laura LaRue, a well known 
 actress of a generation ago, and that the daughter 
 inherited the gifts as well as the beauty of her 
 famous mother, and was said to be planning to 
 follow the stage herself, having made her debut as 
 the charming heroine of "As You Like It." 
 
 The man next the aisle frowned a little as he 
 came to this last sentence and went back to the 
 perusal of the girl's face. So this was Laura's, 
 daughter. Well, they had not lied in one respect 
 at least. She was a winner for looks. That was 
 plain to be seen even from the crude newspaper 
 reproduction. The girl was pretty. But what 
 else did she have beside prettiness? That was the 
 question. Did she have any of the rest of it 
 Laura's wit, her inimitable charm, her fire, her 
 genius? Pshaw! No, of course she hadn't. Na- 
 ture did not make two Laura LaRue's in one cen- 
 tury. It was too much to expect. 
 
 Lord, what a woman! And what a future she 
 had had and thrown away for love ! Love ! That 
 wasn't it. She could have had love and still kept 
 on with her career. It was marriage that had been 
 the catastrophe the fatal blunder. Marriage and 
 domesticity for a woman like that! It was asi- 
 nine worse criminal ! It ought to have been for- 
 bidden by law. And the stubbornness of her! 
 After all these years, remembering, Max Hempel 
 could have groaned aloud. Every stage manager
 
 in New York, including himself, had been ready 
 to bankrupt himself offering her what in those 
 days were almost incredible contracts to prevent 
 her from the suicidal folly on which she was bent. 
 But to no avail. She had laughed at them all, 
 laughed and quit the stage at six and twenty, and 
 a few years later her beauty and genius were still 
 in death. What a waste! What a damnation 
 waste ! 
 
 At this point in his animadversions Max Hempel 
 again- looked at the girl in the newspaper, the girl 
 who was the product of the very marriage he had 
 been cursing, LaRue's only daughter. If there had 
 been no marriage, neither would there have been 
 this glorious, radiant, vividly alive young creature. 
 Men called Laura LaRue dead. But was she? 
 Was she not tremendously alive in the life of her 
 lovely young daughter? Was it not he, and the 
 other childless ones who had treated matrimony 
 as the one supreme mistake, that would soon be 
 very much dead, dead past any resurrection? 
 
 Pshaw ! He was getting sentimental. He wasn't 
 here for sentiment. He was here for cold, hard 
 business. He was taking this confounded journey 
 to witness an amateur performance of a Shake- 
 speare play, when he loathed traveling in hot 
 weather, detested amateur performances of any- 
 thing, particularly of Shakespeare, on the millionth 
 of a chance that Antoinette Holiday might be pos- 
 sessed of a tithe of her mother's talent and might 
 eventually be starred as the new ingenue he was 
 in need of, afar off, so to speak. It was Carol Clay 
 herself who had warned him. Carol was wonder- 
 ful would always be wonderful. But time passes. 
 There would come a season when the public 
 would begin to count back and remember that 
 Carol had been playing ingenue parts already for 
 over a decade. There must always be youth
 
 WILD WINGS 
 
 fresh, flaming youth in the offing. That was the 
 stage and life. 
 
 As for this Antoinette Holiday girl, he had none 
 too much hope. Max Hempel never hoped much 
 on general principles, so far as potential stars 
 were concerned. He had seen too many of them 
 go off fizz bang into nothingness, like rockets. It 
 was more than likely he was on a false trail, that 
 people who had seen the girl act in amateur things 
 had exaggerated her ability. He trusted no judg- 
 ment but his own, which was perhaps one of the 
 reasons why he was one of the greatest living stage 
 managers. It was more than likely she had noth- 
 ing but a pretty, shallow little talent for play act- 
 ing and no notion under the sun of giving up so- 
 ciety or matrimony or what-not for the devilish 
 hard work of a stage career. Very likely there 
 was some young galoot waiting even now, to whisk 
 Laura LaRue's daughter off the stage before she 
 ever got on. 
 
 Moreover there was always her family to cope 
 with, dyed in the wool New Englanders at that, 
 no doubt with the heavy Puritan mortmain upon 
 them, narrow as a shoe string, circumscribed as a 
 duck pond, walled in by ghastly respectability. 
 Ten to one, if the girl had talent and ambition, 
 they would smother these things in her, balk her 
 at every turn. They had regarded Ned Holiday's 
 marriage to Laura a misalliance, he recalled. 
 There had been quite a to-do about it at the time. 
 Good God! It had been a misalliance all right, 
 but not as they reckoned it. It had not been con- 
 sidered suitable for a Holiday to marry an actress. 
 Probably it would be considered more unsuitable 
 for a Holiday to be an actress. Suitable! Bah! 
 The question was not whether the career was fit 
 for the girl, but whether the girl could measure up 
 to the career. And irascibly, unreasonably indig-
 
 MOSTLY TONY 
 
 riant as if he had already been contending in argu- 
 ment with legions of mythical, over-respectable 
 Holidays, Max Hempel whipped his paper open to 
 another page, a page that told of a drive some- 
 where on the western front that had failed miser- 
 ably, for this was the year nineteen hundred and 
 sixteen and there was a war going on, "on the 
 other side." Oh, typically American phrase! 
 
 Meanwhile the young man, too, had stopped star- 
 ing at Antoinette Holiday's pictured face and was 
 staring out of the window instead at the fast flying 
 landscape. He had really no need anyway to look 
 at a picture of Tony. His head and heart were 
 full of them. He had been storing them up for 
 over eight years and it was a considerable collec- 
 tion by now and one in which he took great joy 
 in lonely hours in his dingy little lodging room, or 
 in odd moments as he went his way at his task 
 as a reporter for a great New York daily. The 
 perspicuous reader will not need to be told that 
 the young man was in love with Tony Holiday 
 desperately in love. 
 
 Desperately was the word. Slight as Max Hem- 
 pel's hope may have been that Laura LaRue's 
 daughter was to prove the ingenue he sought, in- 
 finitely slighter was Dick Carson's hope of ever 
 making Tony his wife. How could it be otherwise? 
 Tony Holiday was as far above him in his own 
 eyes as the top of Mount Tom was high above the 
 onion beds of the valley. The very name he used 
 was his only because she had given it to him. Dick 
 Nobody he had been. Richard Carson he had be- 
 come through grace of Tony. 
 
 Like his companion the young man went back 
 into the past, though not so far a journey. -As 
 vividly as if it were but yesterday he remembered 
 the misery of flesh and spirit which had been his 
 as he stowed himself away in the hay loft in the
 
 WILD WINGS 
 
 Holiday's barn, that long ago summer dawn, too 
 sick to take another step and caring little whether 
 he lived or died, conscious vaguely, however, that 
 death would be infinitely preferable to going back 
 to the life of the circus and the man Jim's coarse 
 brutality from which he had made his escape at 
 last. 
 
 And then he had opened his eyes, hours later, 
 and there had been Tony and there had been 
 chiefly Tony ever since, for him. 
 
 If ever he amounted to anything, and he meant 
 to amount to something, it would be all due to 
 Tony and her Uncle Phil. The two of them had 
 saved him in more ways than one, had faith in 
 him when he wasn't much but a scarecrow, igno- 
 rant, profane, unmoral, miserable, a "gutter brat" 
 as some one had once called him, a phrase he had 
 never forgotten. It had seemed to brand him, set 
 him apart from people like the Holidays forever. 
 But Tony and Doctor Phil had shown him a differ- 
 ent way of looking at it, proved to him that nothing 
 could really disgrace him but himself. They had 
 given him his chance and he had taken it. Please 
 God he would make himself yet into something 
 they could be proud of, and it would all be their 
 doing. He would never forget that, whatever hap- 
 pened. 
 
 A half hour later the train puffed and wheezed 
 into the station at Northampton. Dick Carson 
 and Max Hempel, still close together, descended 
 into the swarming, chattering crowd which was 
 delightfully if confusingly congested with pretty 
 girls, more pretty girls and still more pretty girls. 
 But Dick was not confused. Even before the 
 train had come to a full stop he had caught sight 
 of Tony. He had a single track mind so far as 
 girls were concerned. From the moment his eyes 
 discovered Tony Holiday the rest simply did not
 
 MOSTLY TONY 
 
 exist for him. It is to be 'doubted whether he 
 knew they were there at all, in spite of their mani- 
 fest ubiquity and equally manifest pulchritude. 
 
 Tony saw him, too, as he loomed up, taller than 
 the others, bearing resistlessly down upon her. 
 She waved a gay greeting and smiled her welcome 
 to him through the throng. Max Hempel, close 
 behind, caught the message, too, and recognized 
 the face of the girl who smiled as the original of 
 the newspaper cut he had just been studying so 
 assiduously. Deliberately he dogged the young 
 man's heels. He wanted to get a close-up view 
 of Laura LaRue's daughter. She was much pret- 
 tier than the picture. Even from a distance he 
 had made that out, as she stood there among the 
 crowd, vivacious, vivid, clad all in white except 
 for the loose coral-hued sweater which set off her 
 warm brunette beauty and the slim but charmingly 
 rounded curves of her supple young body. Yes, 
 she was like Laura, like her and yet different, with 
 a quality which he fancied belonged to herself and 
 none other. 
 
 Almost jealously Hempel watched the meeting 
 between the girl and the youth who up to now 
 had been negligible enough, but suddenly emerged 
 into significance as the possible young galoot al- 
 ready mentally warned off the premises by the 
 stage manager. 
 
 "Dick ! O Dick ! I'm so glad to see you," cried 
 the girl, holding out both hands to the new arrival. 
 Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining. She 
 looked quite as glad as she proclaimed. 
 
 As for the young man who had set down his 
 suitcase and taken possession of both the proffered 
 hands, there wasn't the slightest doubt that he was 
 in the seventh heaven of bliss wherever that may 
 be. Next door to Fool's Paradise, Max Hempel 
 hoped somewhat vindictively.
 
 8 WILD WINGS 
 
 "Just you wait, young man," he muttered to him- 
 self. "Bet you'll have to, anyway. That glorious 
 young thing isn't going to settle down to the shal- 
 lows of matrimony without trying the deep waters 
 first, unless I'm mightily mistaken. In the mean- 
 time we shall see what we shall see to-night." And 
 the man of power trudged away in the direction 
 of a taxicab, leaving youth alone with itself. 
 
 "Everybody is here," bubbled Tony. "At least, 
 nearly everybody. Larry went to a horrid old 
 medical convention at Chicago, and can't be here 
 for the play; but he's coming to commencement. 
 Of course, Granny isn't able to travel and Aunt 
 Margery couldn't come because the kiddies have 
 been measling, but Ted is here, and Uncle Phil- 
 bless him ! He brought the twins over from Dun- 
 bury in the car. Phil Lambert and everybody are 
 waiting down the street. Carlotta too! To think 
 you haven't ever met her, when she's been my room- 
 mate and best friend for two years! And, oh! 
 Dicky ! I haven't seen you myself for most a year 
 and I'm so glad." She beamed up at him as she 
 made this rather ambiguous statement. "And 
 you haven't said a word but just 'hello!' Aren't 
 you glad to see me, Dicky?" she reproached. 
 
 He grunted at that. 
 
 "About a thousand times gladder than if I were 
 in Heaven, unless you happened to be sitting be- 
 side me on the golden stairs. And if you think 
 I don't know how long it is since I've seen you, you 
 are mightily mistaken. It is precisely one million 
 years in round numbers." 
 
 "Oh, it is?" Tony smiled, appeased. "Why 
 didn't you say so before, and not leave me to 
 squeeze it out of you like tooth-paste?" 
 
 Dick grinned back happily. 
 
 "Because you brought me up not to interrupt 
 a lady. You seemed to have the floor, so to speak."
 
 MOSTLY TONY 
 
 "So to speak, indeed," laughed Tony. "Carlotta 
 says I exist for that sole purpose. But come on. 
 Everybody's crazy to see you and I've a million 
 things to do." And tucking her arm in his, Tony 
 marshaled the procession of two down the stairs 
 to the street where the car and the old Holiday 
 Hill crowd waited to greet the newest comer to the 
 ranks of the commencement celebrants. 
 
 With the exception of Carlotta Cressy, Tony's 
 roommate, the occupants of the car are known al- 
 ready to those who followed the earlier tale of Hol- 
 iday Hill. * 
 
 First of all there was the owner of the car, Dr. 
 Philip Holiday himself, a married man now, with 
 a small son and daughter of his own, "Miss Mar- 
 gery's" children. A little thicker of build and 
 thinner of hair was the doctor, but possessed of 
 the same genial friendliness of manner and whim- 
 sical humor, the same steady hand held out to help 
 wherever and whenever help was needed. He was 
 head of the House of Holiday now for his father, the 
 saintly old pastor, had gone on to other fields and 
 his soldier brother Ned, Tony's father, had also 
 gone, in the prime, of life, two years before, victim 
 of typhus, leaving his beloved little daughter, and 
 his two sons just verging into manhood, in the care 
 of the younger Holiday. 
 
 As Dick and the doctor exchanged cordial greet- 
 ings, the latter's friendly eyes challenged the young 
 man's and were answered. Plainly as if words 
 had been spoken the doctor knew that Dick was 
 keeping faith with the old pact, living up to the 
 name the little girl Tony had given him in her im- 
 pulsive generosity. 
 
 "Something not quite right, though," he thought. 
 "The boy isn't all happy. Wonder what the 
 
 * The earlier experiences of the Holidays and their friends are 
 related in "The House on the Hill."
 
 10 WILD WINGS 
 
 trouble is. Probably a girl. Usually is at that 
 age." 
 
 At the wheel beside the doctor was his namesake 
 and neighbor, Philip Lambert. Phil was gradu- 
 ating, himself, this year from the college across 
 the river, a sturdy athlete of some note and a Phi 
 Beta Kappa man as well. Out of a harum-scarum, 
 willful boyhood he had emerged into a finely tem- 
 pered, steady young manhood. The Dunbury 
 wiseacres who had been wont to shake their heads 
 over Phil's youthful escapades and prophesy a bad 
 end for such a devil-may-care youngster now pat- 
 ted themselves complacently on the back, as wise- 
 acres will, and declared they had always known the 
 boy would turn out a credit to his family and the 
 town. 
 
 On the back seat were Phil's sisters, the pretty 
 twins, Charley and Clare, still astonishingly alike 
 at twenty, as they had been at twelve, and still full 
 of the high spirits and ready laughter and wit that 
 had made them the life of the Hill in the old days. 
 Neither looked a day over sixteen, but Clare had 
 already been teaching two years in a Dunbury 
 public school and Charley was to go into nurse's 
 training in the fall. 
 
 Larry, the young" doctor, as Dunbury had taken 
 to calling him in distinction from his uncle, was 
 not yet arrived, as Tony had explained; but Ted, 
 her younger brother, was very much on the scene, 
 arrayed in all the extravagant niceties of modish 
 attire affected by university undergraduates. At 
 twenty, Ted Holiday w r as as handsome as the tra- 
 ditional young Greek god and possessed of a god- 
 like propensity to do as he liked and the devil take 
 the consequences. Already Ned Holiday's younger 
 son had acquired something of a reputation as 
 a high flier among his own sex, and a heart breaker 
 among the fairer one. Reckless, debonair, utterly
 
 MOSTLY TONY 11 
 
 irresponsible, he was still "terrible Teddy" as his 
 father had jocosely dubbed him long ago. Yet he 
 was quite as lovable as he was irrepressible, and 
 had a manifest grace to counterbalance every one 
 of his many faults. His soberer brother Larry 
 worried uselessly over Ted's misdeeds, and took 
 him sharply to task for them; but even Larry ad- 
 mitted that there was something rather magnifi- 
 cent about Ted and that possibly in the end he 
 would "come out the soundest Holiday of them all. 
 
 There remains only Carlotta to be introduced. 
 Carlotta was lovely to look upon. A poet speaks 
 somewhere of a face "made out of a rose." Car- 
 lotta had that kind of a face and her eyes were of 
 that deep, violet shade which works mischief and 
 magic in the hearts of men. As for her hair, it 
 might well have been the envy of any princess, in 
 or out of the covers of a book, so fine spun was it in 
 texture, so pure gold in color, like the warm, vivid 
 shimmer of tropical sunshine. She lifted an in- 
 quiring gaze now to Dick, as she held out her hand 
 in acknowledgment of the introduction, and Dick 
 murmured something platitudinous, bowed politely 
 over the hand and never noticed what color her 
 eyes were. A single track mind is both a curse and 
 a protection to a man. 
 
 "Carlotta would come," Tony was explaining 
 gaily, "though I told her there wasn't room. Let 
 me inform you all that Carlotta is the most com- 
 pletely, magnificently, delightfully spoiled young 
 person in these United States of America." 
 
 "Barring you?" teased her uncle. 
 
 "Barring none. By comparison with Carlotta, 
 I am all the noble army of saints, martyrs and 
 seraphim on record combined. Carlotta is preor- 
 dained to have her own way. Everybody unites 
 to give it to her. We can't help it. She hypno- 
 tizes us. Some night you will miss the moon in
 
 12 WILD WINGS 
 
 its accustomed place and you will find that she 
 wanted it for a few moments to play^with." 
 
 Philip Lambert had turned around in his seat 
 and was surveying Carlotta rather curiously dur- 
 ing this teasing tirade of Tony's. 
 
 "Oh, well/' murmured Carlotta. "Your old 
 moon can be put up again when I am through with 
 it. I shan't do it a bit of harm. Anyway, Mr. 
 Carson must not be told such horrid things about 
 me the very first time he meets me, must he, Phil? 
 He might think they were true." She suddenly 
 lifted her eyes and smiled straight up into the 
 face of the young man on the front seat who was 
 watching her so intently. 
 
 "Well, aren't they?" returned the young man ad- 
 dressed, stooping to examine the brake. 
 
 Carlotta did not appear in the least offended 
 at his curt comment. Indeed the smile on her lips 
 lingered as if it had some inner reason for being 
 there. 
 
 "Hop in, Tony," ordered Ted with brotherly per- 
 emptoriness. "Carlotta, you are one too many, my 
 love. You will have to sit in my lap." 
 
 "I'm getting out," said Phil. "I'm due across 
 the river. Want Ted to take the wheel, Doctor?" 
 
 "I do not. I have a wife and children at home. 
 I cannot afford to place my life in jeopardy." The 
 doctor's eyes twinkled as they rested a moment on 
 his youngest nephew. 
 
 "Now, Uncle Phil, that's mean of you. You 
 ought to see me drive." 
 
 "I have," commented Dr. Holiday drily. "Come 
 on over here, one of you twinnies, if Phil must go. 
 See you to-night, niy boy?" he turned to his name- 
 sake to ask as Charley accepted the invitation and 
 clambered over the back of the seat while the doc- 
 tor took her brother's vacated post. 
 
 Phil shook his head.
 
 MOSTLY TONY 13 
 
 "No. I was in on the dress rehearsal last night. 
 I've had my share. But you folks are going to 
 see the jolliest Rosalind that ever grew in Arden 
 or out of it. That's one sure thing." 
 
 Phil smiled at Tony as he spoke, and Dick, set- 
 tling himself in the small seat beside Ted, felt a 
 small barbed dart of jealousy prick into him. 
 
 Tony and Phil were obviously exceedingly good 
 friends. They had, he knew, seen much of each 
 other cluring the past four years, with only a river 
 between. Phil was Tony's own kind, college- 
 trained, with a certified line of good old New Eng- 
 land ancestry behind him. Moreover, he* was a 
 darned fine fellow one of the best, in fact. In 
 spite of that hateful little' jabbing dart, Dick ac- 
 knowledged that. Ah well, there was more than 
 a river between himself and Tony Holiday and 
 there always would be. Who was he, nameless as 
 he was, to enter the lists against Philip Lambert or 
 any one else? 
 
 The car sped away, leaving Phil standing bare- 
 headed in the sunshine, staring after it. The 
 mocking silver lilt of Carlotta Cressy's laughter 
 drifted back to him. He shrugged, jammed on his 
 hat and strode off in the direction of the trolley 
 car. 
 
 Dick Carson might just as well have spared 
 himself the pain of jealousy. Phil had already 
 forgotten Tony, was remembering only Carlotta, 
 who would never deliberately do a mite of harm 
 to the moon, would merely want to play with it 
 at her fancy and leave it at her whim for somebody 
 else to replace, if anybody cared to take the pains. 
 And what was a moon more or less anyway?
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 WITH ROSALIND IN ABDEN 
 
 OF course it is understood that every graduating 
 class rightfully asserts, and is backed up in its 
 belief by doting >and nobly partisan relatives and 
 blindly devoted, hyperbolic friends, that its partic- 
 ular, unique and proper senior dramatics is the 
 most glorious and unforgettable performance in 
 all the histrionic annals of the college, a thing to 
 make Will Shakespeare himself rise and applaud 
 from his high and far off hills of Paradise. 
 
 Certainly Tony's class knew, past any qualms of 
 doubt, and made no bones of proclaiming its con- 
 viction that there never had been such a wonderful 
 "As You Like It" and that never, so long as the 
 stars kept their seats in the heavens and senior 
 classes produced Shakespeare two practically syn- / 
 onymous conditions would there ever be such an- 
 other Rosalind as Tony Holiday, so. fresh, so spon- 
 taneous, so happy in her acting, so bewitchingly 
 winsome to behold, so boyish, yet so exquisitely 
 feminine in her doublet and hose, so daring, so 
 dainty, so full of wit and grace and sparkle, so 
 tender, so merry, so natural, so all-in-all and 
 utterly as Will himself would have liked his "right 
 Rosalind" to be. 
 
 So the class maintained and so they chanted 
 soon and late, in many keys, "with a hey and a ho 
 and a hey nonino." And who so bold or malicious, 
 or age cankered as to dispute the dictum? Is it 
 not youth's privilege to fling enthusiasm and su- 
 
 14
 
 WITH ROSALIND IN ARDEN 15 
 
 perlatives to the wind and to deal in glorious arro- 
 gance? 
 
 It must be admitted, however, in due justice, 
 that the class that played "As You Like It" that 
 year had some grounds on which to base its pre- 
 tensions and vain-glory. For had not a great 
 stage manager been present and applauded until 
 his palms were* purple and perspiration beaded his 
 beak of a nose? Had he not, as the last curtain 
 descended, blown his nose, mopped his brow, ex- 
 claimed "God bless my soul!" three times in suc- 
 cession and demanded to be shown without delay 
 into the presence of Rosalind? 
 
 As we know already, the great stage manager 
 had not come over-willingly or over-hopefully to 
 Northampton to see Tony Holiday play Rosalind. 
 Indeed, when it had been first suggested that he do 
 so, he had objected violently and remarked with 
 conviction that he would "be da er blessed if he 
 would." But he had come and he had been 
 blessed involuntarily. 
 
 For he had seen something he had not expected 
 to see a real play, with real magic' to it, such 
 magic as all his cunning stage artifice, all the stud- 
 ied artistry of his fearfully and wonderfully sala- 
 ried stellar attachments somehow missed achiev- 
 ing. He tried afterwards to explain to Carol Clay, 
 his favorite star, just what the quality of the magic 
 was, but somehow he could not get it into words. 
 It wasn't exactly wordable perhaps. It was some- 
 thing that rendered negligible the occasionally 
 creaking mechanism and crudeness of stage busi- 
 ness and rendition ; something compounded of dew 
 and sun and wind, such as could only be found in a 
 veritable Forest of Arden; something elusive, ex- 
 quisite, iridescent ; something he had supposed had 
 vanished from the world about the time they put 
 Pan out of business and stopped up the Pipes of Ar-
 
 16 WILD WINGS 
 
 cady. It was enchanting, elemental, genuine Eliz- 
 abethan, had the spirit of Master Skylark himself 
 in it. Maybe it was the spirit of youth itself, im- 
 mortal youth, playing immortal youth's supreme 
 play? Who knows or can lay finger upon the se- 
 cret of the magic? The great stage manager did 
 not and could not. He only knew that, in spite of 
 himself, he had drunk deep for a moment of true 
 elixir. 
 
 But as for Rosalind herself that was another 
 matter. Max Hempel was entirely capable of an- 
 alyzing his impressions there and correlating them 
 with the cold hard business on which he had come. 
 Even if the play had proved a greater bore than he 
 had anticipated, the trip from Broadway to the 
 Academy of Music would still have been materially 
 worth w r hile. Antoinette Holiday was a genuine 
 find, authentic star stuff. They hadn't spoiled her, 
 plastered her over with meaningless mannerisms. 
 She was virgin material untrained, with worlds to 
 learn, of course; but with a spark of the true fire 
 in her her mother's own daughter, which was the 
 most promising thing anybody could say of her. 
 
 No wonder Max Hempel had peremptorily de- 
 manded to be shown behind the scenes without an 
 instant's delay. Hie was almost in a panic lest 
 some other manager should likewise have gotten 
 wind of this Rosalind and be lurking in the wings 
 even now to pounce upon his own legitimate prey. 
 He couldn't quite forget either the tall young man 
 of the afternoon's encounter, his seatmate up from 
 Springfield. He wasn't exactly afraid, however, 
 having seen the girl and w^atched her live Rosalind. 
 The child had wings and would want to fly far and 
 free with them, unless he was mightily mistaken in 
 his reading of her. 
 
 Tony was still resplendent in her wedding white, 
 and with her arms full of roses, w r hen she obeyed
 
 WITH ROSALIND IN ARDEN 17 
 
 the summons to the stage door on being told that 
 the great manager wished to see her. She came 
 toward him, flushed, excited, adorably pretty. She 
 laid down her roses and held out her hand, shy, 
 but perfectly self-possessed. 
 
 " 'Well, this is the Forest of Arden/ " she quoted. 
 "It must be or else I am dreaming. As long as I 
 can remember I have wanted to meet you, and here 
 you are, right on the edge of the forest." 
 
 He bowed low over her hand and raised it gal- 
 lantly to his lips. 
 
 "I rather think I am still in Arden myself," he 
 said. "My dear, you have given me a treat such as I 
 never expected to enjoy again in this world. You 
 made me forget I knew anything about plays or 
 was seeing one. You carried me off with you to 
 Arden." 
 
 "Did you really like the play?" begged Tony, 
 shining-eyed at the praise of the great man. 
 
 "I liked it amazingly and I liked your playing 
 even more amazingly. Is it true that you are 
 going on the stage?'' He had dropped Arden now, 
 gotten down to what he would have called brass 
 tacks. The difference was in hts voice. Tony 
 sensed it vaguely and was suddenly a little fright- 
 ened. 
 
 "Why, I I don't know," she faltered. "I hope 
 so. Sometime." 
 
 "Sometime is never," he snapped. "That won't 
 do." 
 
 The Arden magic was quite gone by this time. 
 He was scowling a little and thrust out his upper- 
 lip in a way Tony did not care for at all. It oc- 
 cured to her inconsequentially that he looked a 
 good deal like the wolf, in the story, who threat- 
 ened to "huff and puff" until he blew in the house 
 of the little pigs. She didn't want her house blown 
 in. She wished Uncle Phil would come. She
 
 18 WILD WINGS 
 
 stooped to gather up her roses as if they might 
 serve as a barricade between her and the wolf. 
 But suddenly she forgot her misgivings again, for 
 Max Hempel was saying incredible things, things 
 which set her imagination agog and her pulses 
 leaping. He was offering her a small role, a maid's 
 part, in one of his road companies. 
 
 "Me !" she gasped from behind her roses. 
 
 "You." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "To-morrow the day after next week at the 
 latest. Chances like that don't go begging long, 
 young lady. Will you take it?" 
 
 "Oh, I wish I could!" sighed Tony. "But I 
 am afraid I can't. Oh, there is Uncle Phil!" she 
 interrupted herself to exclaim with perceptible re- 
 lief. 
 
 In a moment Doctor Holiday was with them, 
 his arm around Tony while he acknowledged the 
 introduction to the stage manager, who eyed him 
 somewhat uncordially. The two men took each the 
 other's measure. Possibly a spark of antagonism 
 flashed between them for an instant. Each wanted 
 the lovely little Rosalind on his own side of the 
 fence, and each suspected the other of desiring to 
 lure her to the other side if he could. For the 
 moment however, the advantage was all with the 
 doctor, with his protecting arm around Tony. 
 
 "Holiday!" muttered Hempel. "There was a 
 Holiday once who married one of the finest act- 
 resses of the American stage carried her off to 
 nurse his babies. I never forgave that man. He 
 was a brute." 
 
 Tony stiffened. Her eyes flashed. She drew 
 away from her uncle and confronted the stage 
 manager angrily. 
 
 "He wasn't a brute, if you mean my father!" 
 she burst out. "My mother was Laura Laliue."
 
 WITH ROSALIND IN ARDEN 19 
 
 "I know it," grinned the manager, thoroughly 
 delighted to have struck fire. The girl was better 
 even than he had thought. She was magnificent, 
 angry. "That's why I'm here," he added. "I 
 just offered this young person a part in a prac- 
 tically all-star cast, touring the West. Do you 
 mind?" he challenged Doctor Holiday. 
 
 "I should mind her accepting," said the other 
 man tranquilly. "As it is, I am duly appreciative 
 of the "offer. Thank you." 
 
 "What if I told you she had accepted?" the wolf 
 snapped. 
 
 Tony saw the swift shadow cloud her uncle's 
 face and hated the manager for hurting him like 
 that, 
 
 "I didn't," she protested indignantly. "You 
 know I wouldn't promise anything without talk- 
 ing to you, Uncle Phil. I told him I couldn't go." 
 
 "But you wanted to," persisted the wolf, bound 
 to get his fangs in somewhere. 
 
 Tony smiled a little wistfully. 
 
 "I wanted to most awfully," she confessed, pat- 
 ting her uncle's arm to take the sting out of her 
 admission. "Will you ask me again some day?" 
 she appealed to the manager. 
 
 He snorted at that. 
 
 "You'll come asking me, young lady, and be- 
 fore long, too. Laura La Rue's daughter isn't 
 going to settle down to being either a butterfly or 
 a blue-stocking. You are going on the stage and 
 you know it. No use, Holiday. You won't be 
 able to hold her back. It's in the blood. You may 
 be able to dam the tide for a time, but not for- 
 ever." 
 
 "I don't intend to dam it," said the doctor 
 gravely. "If, when the time comes, Tony wishes 
 to go on the stage, I shall not try to prevent her. 
 In fact I shall help her in every way in my power."
 
 20 WILD WINGS 
 
 "Uncle Phil !" Tony's voice had a tiny catch in 
 it. She knew her grandmother would be bitterly 
 opposed to her going on the stage, and had imag- 
 ined she would have to win even her uncle over by 
 slow degrees to the gratifying of this desire of her 
 heart. It had hurt her even to think of hurting him 
 or going against him in any way he who was, " fa- 
 ther and mother and a' " to her. Dear Uncle Phil ! 
 How he always understood and took the big, broad 
 viewpoint ! 
 
 The manager grunted approval at that. His 
 belligerency waned. 
 
 "Congratulate you, sir. That's spoken like a 
 man of sense. Evidently you are able to see over 
 the wall farther than most of the witch-ridden New 
 Englanders I've met. I should like the chance to 
 launch this Eosalind of yours. But don't make it 
 too far off. Youth is the biggest drawing card in 
 the world and the most transient. You have to 
 get in the game early to get away with it. I'll 
 start her whenever you say next week next 
 month next year. Guarantee to have her ready to 
 understudy a star in three months and perhaps a 
 star herself in six. She might jump into the 
 heavens overnight. Stranger things have happened. 
 What do you say? May I have an option on the 
 young lady?" 
 
 "That is rather too big a question to settle off 
 hand at midnight. Tony is barely twenty-two and 
 she has home obligations which will have to be con- 
 sidered. Her grandmother is old and frail and 
 a New Englander of the old school." 
 
 "Too bad," commiserated the manager. "But 
 never mind all that. All I ask is that you won't 
 let her sign up with anybody else without giving 
 me a chance first." 
 
 "I think we may safely promise that and thank 
 you. Tony and I both appreciate that you are
 
 WITH ROSALIND IN ARDEN 21 
 
 doing her a good deal of honor for one small school 
 girl, eh Tony?" The doctor smiled down at his 
 flushed, starry-eyed niece. He understood precisely 
 what a big moment it was for her. 
 
 "Oh, I should think so !" sighed Tony. "You are 
 awfully kind, Mr. Hempel. It is like a wonder- 
 ful dream almost too good to be true." 
 
 Both men smiled at that. For youth no dream 
 is quite too extravagant or incredible to be poten- 
 tially true. No grim specters of failure and dis- 
 illusionment and frustration dog its bright path. 
 All possibilities are its divine inheritance. 
 
 "Mr. Hempel, did you know my mother?" Tony 
 asked suddenly, with a shadow of wistfulness in 
 her dark eyes. There were so few people whom 
 she met that had known her mother. It was as if 
 Laura LaRue had moved in a different orbit from 
 that of her daughter. It always hurt Tony to feel 
 that. But here was one who was of her mother's 
 own world. No wonder her eyes were beseeching 
 as they sought the great manager's. 
 
 He bowed gravely. 
 
 "I knew her very well. She was one of the most 
 beautiful women I have ever seen and one of the 
 greatest actresses. Your father was a lucky man, 
 my dear. Few women would have given up for 
 any man what she gave up for him." 
 
 "Oh, but she loved him," explained Laura La- 
 Rue's daughter simply. 
 
 Again Hempel nodded. 
 
 "She did," he admitted grimly. r After all these 
 years there was no use admitting that that had 
 been the deepest rub of all, that Laura had loved 
 Ned Holiday and had never, for even the span of a 
 moment, thought of caring for himself. "I repeat, 
 your father was a very lucky man a damnably 
 lucky one." 
 
 And with that they shook hands and parted.
 
 22 WILD WINGS 
 
 It was many months before Tony was to see Max 
 Hempel again and many waters were to run under 
 the bridge before the meeting came to pass. 
 
 Outside in the car, Ted, Dick and the twins 
 waited the arrival of the heroine of the evening. 
 The three latter greeted her with a burst of pride- 
 ful congratulation; the former, being merely a 
 brother, was distinctly cross at having been kept 
 waiting so long and did not hesitate to express his 
 sentiments fully out loud. But Doctor Holiday 
 cut short his nephew's somewhat ungracious speech 
 by a quiet reminder that the car was here primarily 
 for Tony's use, and the boy subsided, having no 
 more to say until, having deposited the occupants 
 of the car at their various destinations, he an- 
 nounced to his uncle with elaborate careless- 
 ness that he would take the car around to the 
 garage. 
 
 But he did not turn in at the side street where 
 the garage was. Instead he shot out Elm Street, 
 "hitting her up" at forty. There had been a rea- 
 son for his impatience. Ted Holiday had important 
 private business to transact ere cock crow. 
 
 Tony lay awake a long time that night, dream- 
 ing dreams that carried her far and far into the 
 future, until Eosalind's happy triumph of the 
 evening almost faded away in the glory of the yet- 
 to-be. It was characteristic of the girl's stage of 
 development that in all her dreams, no lovers, 
 much less a possible husband, ever once entered. 
 Tony Holiday was in love with life and life alone 
 that wonderful June night. As Hempel had 
 shrewdly perceived she was conscious of having 
 wings and desirous of flying far and free with 
 them ere she came to pause. 
 
 She did remember, in passing however, how she 
 had caught Dick's eyes once as he sat in the box 
 near the stage, and how his rapt gaze had thrilled
 
 WITH ROSALIND IN ARDEN 23 
 
 her to intenser playing of her part. And she re- 
 membered how dear he was afterward in the car 
 when he held her roses and told her softly what 
 a wonderful, wonderful Rosalind she was. But, 
 on the whole, Dick, like most of the rest of the 
 people with whom she had held converse since 
 the curtain went down upon Arden, seemed un- 
 important and indistinct, like courtiers and for- 
 esters, ^not specifically named among the drama- 
 tis personcc, just put in to fill out and make a 
 more effective stage setting. 
 
 Dick, too, in his room on Greene Street, was 
 wakeful. He sat by the window far into the night. 
 His heart was heavy within him. The gulf be- 
 tween him and Tony had suddenly widened im- 
 measureably. She was a real actress. He hadn't 
 needed a great manager's verdict to teach him 
 that. He had seen it with his own eyes, heard 
 it with his own ears, felt it with his own heart. 
 He had worshiped and adored and been made 
 unutterably sad and lonely by her dazzling suc- 
 cess, glad as he was that it had come to her. Tony 
 would go on in her shining path. He would al- 
 ways lag behind in the shadows. They would 
 never come together as long as they both lived. 
 She had started too far ahead. He could never 
 overtake her. 
 
 If only there were some way of finding out who 
 he was, get some clue as to his parentage. He 
 only knew that the man they called Jim, who had 
 kicked and beaten and sworn at him with foul 
 oaths until he could bear it no longer, was no 
 kin of his, though the other had claimed the au- 
 thority to abuse him as he abused his horses and 
 dogs when drink and ugliness were upon him. 
 If only he could find Jim again after all these 
 years, perhaps he could manage to get the truth 
 out of him, find out what the man knew of him-
 
 24 WILD WINGS 
 
 self, and how he had come to be in a circus 
 troupe. Yet after all, perhaps it was better not 
 to know. The facts might separate him from 
 Tony even more than he was separated by his ig- 
 norance of them. As it was, he started even, with 
 neither honor nor shame bequeathed him from the 
 past. What he was, he was in himself. And if 
 by any miracle of fortune Tony ever did come to 
 care for him it would be just himself, plain Dick, 
 that she would love. He knew that. 
 
 The thought was vaguely comforting and he, 
 too, fell adreaming. Most of us foiled humans 
 learn to play the game of make-believe and to find 
 such consolation as we may therein. Often and 
 often in his lonely hours Dick Carson had sum- 
 moned Tony Holiday to his side, a Tony as bright 
 and beautiful and all adorable as the real Tony, 
 but a dream Tony, withal, a Tony who loved him 
 even as he loved her. And in his make-believe 
 he was no longer a nameless, impecunious cub re- 
 porter, but a man who had arrived somewhere, 
 made himself worthy, so far as any mere man 
 could, of the supreme gift of Tony's caring. 
 
 To-night, too, Dick played the game determinedly, 
 but somehow he found its consolation rather 
 meager, as cold and remote as the sparkle of the 
 June stars, millions of miles away up there in 
 the velvet sky, after having sat by the side of the 
 living, breathing Tony and, looking into her happy 
 eyes, known how little, how very little, he was in 
 her thoughts. She liked him to be near her, he 
 knew, just as she liked her roses to be fragrant, 
 but neither the roses nor himself was a vital ne- 
 cessity to her. She could do very well without 
 either. That was the pity of it. 
 
 At last he got up and went to bed. Falling into 
 troubled sleep he dreamed that he and Tony were 
 wandering, hand in hand, in the Forest of Arden.
 
 WITH ROSALIND IN ARDEN 25 
 
 From afar off came the sound of music, airy voices 
 chanting : 
 
 "When birds do sing, hey ding a ding 
 Sweet lovers love the spring." 
 
 And then somebody laughed mockingly, like 
 Jacques, and somebody else, clad in motley like 
 Touchstone, but who seemed to speak in Dick's own 
 voice, murmured, "Ay, now am I in Arden, the more 
 fool I." 
 
 And even with these words the forest vanished 
 and Tony with it and the dreamer was left alone 
 on a steep and dusty road, lost and aching for the 
 missing touch of her hand. 
 
 But later he woke to the song of a thousand birds 
 greeting the new day with full-throated joy. And 
 his heart, too, began to sing. For it was indeed 
 a new day a day in which he should see Tony. He 
 was irrationally content. Of such is the kingdom 
 of lad's love!
 
 CHAPTER III 
 A GIRL WHO COULDN'T STOP BEING A PRINCESS 
 
 IN the lee of a huge gray bowlder on the summit 
 of Mount Tom sat Philip Lambert and Carlotta 
 Cressy. Below them stretched the wide sweep of 
 the river valley, amethyst and topaz and emerald, 
 rich with lush June verdure, soft shadowed, tran- 
 quil, in the late afternoon sunshine. They had been 
 silent for a little time but suddenly Carlotta broke 
 the silence. 
 
 "Phil, do you know why I brought you up here?" 
 she asked. As she spoke she drew a little closer 
 to him and her hand touched his as softly as a 
 drifting feather or a blown cherry blossom might 
 have touched it. 
 
 He turned to look at her. She was all in white 
 like a lily, and otherwise carried out the lily tradi- 
 tion of belonging obviously to the non-toiling-and- 
 spinning species, justifying the arrangement by 
 looking seraphically lovely in the fruits of the loom 
 and labor of the rest of the world. And after all, 
 sheer loveliness is an end in itself. Nobody expects 
 a flower to give account of itself and flower-like 
 Carlotta was very, very lovely as she leaned against 
 the granite rock with the valley at her feet. So 
 Phil Lambert's eyes told her eloquently. The val- 
 ley was not the only thing at Carlotta's feet. 
 
 "I labored under the impression that I did the 
 bringing up myself," he remarked, his hand closing 
 over hers. "However, the point is immaterial. 
 You are here and I am here. Is there a cosmic 
 reason?" 
 
 26
 
 BEING A PRINCESS 27 
 
 "There is." Carlotta's voice was dreamy. She 
 watched a cloud shadow creep over the green- 
 plumed mountain opposite. "I brought you up 
 here so that you could propose to me suitably and 
 without interruption." 
 
 "Huh!" ejaculated Phil inelegantly, utterly 
 taken by surprise by Carlotta's announcement. 
 "Do you mind repeating that? The altitude seems 
 to have, affected my hearing." 
 
 "You heard correctly. I said I brought you up 
 here to propose to me." 
 
 Phil shrugged. 
 
 "Too much 'As You Like It,' ' he observed. 
 "These Shakespearean heroines are a bad lot. May 
 I ask just why you want me to propose to you, my 
 dear? Do you have to collect a certain number of 
 scalps by this particular rare day in June? Or is 
 it that you think you would enjoy the exquisite 
 pleasure of seeing me writhe and wriggle when you 
 refuse me?" 
 
 Phil's tone was carefully light, and he smiled as 
 he asked the questions, but there was a tight drawn 
 line about his mouth even as he smiled. 
 
 "Through bush, through briar, 
 Through flood, through fire" 
 
 he had followed the will o' the wisp, Carlotta, for 
 two years now, against his better judgment and to 
 the undoing of his peace of mind and heart. And 
 play days were over for Phil Lambert. The work- 
 a-day world awaited him, a world where there 
 would be neither space nor time for chasing phan- 
 toms, however lovely and alluring. 
 
 "Don't be horrid, Phil. I'm not like that. You 
 know I'm not," denied Carlotta reproachfully. "I 
 have a surprise for you, Philip, my dear. I am 
 going to accept you."
 
 28 WILD WINGS 
 
 "No!" exclaimed Phil in unfeigned amazement. 
 
 "Yes," declared Carlotta firmly. "I decided it 
 in church this morning when the man was telling 
 us how fearfully real and earnest life is. Not that 
 I believe in the real : earnestness. I don't. It's 
 bosh. Life was made to be happy in and that is 
 why I made up my mind to marry you. You might 
 manage to look a little bit pleased. Anybody 
 would think you were about to keep an appoint- 
 ment with a dentist, instead of having the inesti- 
 mable privilege of proposing to me with the inside 
 information that I am going to accept you." 
 
 Phil drew away his hand from hers. His blue 
 eyes were grave. 
 
 "Don't, Carlotta! I am afraid the chap was 
 right about the real-earnestness. It may be a fine 
 jest to you. It isn't to me. You see I happen to 
 be in love with you." 
 
 "Of course," murmured Carlotta. "That is 
 quite understood. Did you think I would have 
 bothered to drag you clear up on a mountain top 
 to propose to me if I hadn't known you were in love 
 with me and I with you?" she added softly. 
 
 "Carlotta! Do you mean it?" Phil's whole 
 heart was in his honest blue eyes. 
 
 "Of course, I mean it. Foolish! Didn't you 
 know? Would I have tormented you so all these 
 months if I hadn't cared?" 
 
 "But, Carlotta, sweetheart, I can't believe you 
 are in earnest even now. Would you marry me 
 really?" 
 
 "Would I? Will I is the verb I brought you up 
 here to use. Mind your grammar." 
 
 Phil clasped his hands behind him fpr safe keep- 
 ing. 
 
 "But I can't ask you to marry me at least not 
 to-day." 
 
 Carlotta made a dainty little face at him.
 
 BEING A PRINCESS 29 
 
 "And why not? Have you any religious scru- 
 ples about proposing on Sunday?" 
 
 He grinned absent-mindedly and involuntarily at 
 that. But lie shook his head and his hands stayed 
 behind his back. 
 
 "I can't propose to you because I haven't a red 
 cent in the world at least not more than three red 
 cents. I couldn't support an everyday wife on 'em, 
 not to mention a fairy princess." 
 
 "As if that mattered," dismissed Carlotta airily. 
 "You are in love with me, aren't you?" 
 
 "Lord help me!" groaned Phil. "You know I 
 am." 
 
 "And I am in love with you for the present. 
 You had better ask me while the asking is good. 
 The wind may veer by next week, or even by to- 
 morrow. There are other young men who do not 
 require to be commanded to propose. They spurt, 
 automatically and often, like Old Faithful." 
 
 Phil's ingenuous face clouded over. The other 
 young men were no fabrication, as he knew to his 
 sorrow. He was forever stumbling over them at 
 Carlotta's careless feet. 
 
 "Don't, Carlotta," he begged again. "You don't 
 have to scare me into subjection, you know. If I 
 had anything to justify me for asking you to marry 
 me I'd do it this minute without prompting. You 
 ought to know that. And you know I'm jealous 
 enough already of the rest of 'em, without your 
 rubbing it in now." 
 
 "Don't worry, old dear," smiled Carlotta. "I 
 don't care a snap of my fingers for any of the poor 
 worms, though I wouldn't needlessly set foot on 'em. 
 As for justifications 1 have a whole bag of them up 
 my sleeve ready to spill out like a pack of cards 
 when the time comes. You don't have to concern 
 yourself in the least about them. Your business is 
 to propose. 'Come, woo me, woo, me, for now I am
 
 30 WILD WINGS 
 
 in a holiday humor and like' enough to consent' " 
 she quoted Tony's lines and, leaning toward him, 
 lifted her flower face close to his. "Shall I count 
 ten?" she teased. 
 
 "Carlotta, have mercy. You are driving me 
 crazy. Pretty thing it would be for me to propose 
 to you before I even got my sheepskin. Jolly 
 pleased your father would be, wouldn't he, to be 
 presented with a jobless, penniless son-in-law?" 
 
 "Nonsense !" said Carlotta crisply. "It wouldn't 
 matter if you didn't even have a fig leaf. You 
 wouldn't be either jobless or penniless, if you were 
 his son-in-law. He has pennies enough for all of 
 us and enough jobs for you, which is quite sufficient 
 unto the day. Don't be stiff and silly, Phil. And 
 don't set your jaw like that. I hate men who set 
 their jaws. It isn't at all becoming. I don't say 
 my dear misguided Daddy wouldn't raise a merry 
 little row just at first. He often raises merry little 
 rows over things I want to do, but in the end he al- 
 ways comes round to my way of thinking and wants 
 precisely what I want. Everything will be smooth 
 as silk, I promise you. I know what 1 am talking 
 about. I've thought it out very carefully. I don't 
 make up my mind in a hurry, but when I do decide 
 what I want I take it." 
 
 "You can't take this," said Philip Lambert. 
 
 Carlotta drew back and stared, her violet eyes 
 very wide open. Never in all her twenty two years 
 had any man said "can't" to her in that tone. It 
 was a totally new experience. For a moment she 
 was too astounded even to be angiy. 
 
 "What do you mean?" she asked a little limply. 
 
 "I mean 1 won't take your father's pennies nor 
 hold down a pseudo-job I'm not fitted for, even for 
 the sake of being his son-in-law. And I won't 
 marry you until I am able to support you on the 
 kind of job I am fitted for."
 
 BEING A PRINCESS 31 
 
 "And may I inquire what that is?" demanded 
 Carlotta sharply, recovering sufficiently to let the 
 thorns she usually kept gracefully concealed prick 
 out from among the roses. 
 
 Phil laughed shortly. 
 
 "Don't faint, Carlotta. I am eminently fitted to 
 be a village store-keeper. In fact that is what I 
 shall be in less than two weeks. I am going into 
 partnership with my father. The new sign Stuart 
 Lambert and Ron is being painted now." 
 
 Carlotta gasped. 
 
 "Phil! You wouldn't. You can't." 
 
 "Oh yes, Carlotta. I not only could and would 
 but I am going to. It has been understood ever 
 since I first went to college that when I was out I'd 
 put my shoulder to the wheel beside Dad's. He has 
 been pushing alone too long as it is. He needs me. 
 You don't know how happy he and Mums are about 
 it. It is what they have* dreamed about and 
 planned, for years. I'm the only son, you know. 
 It's up to me." 
 
 "But, Phil! It is an awful sacrifice for you." 
 For once Carlotta forgot herself completely. 
 
 "Not a bit of it. It is a flourishing concern not 
 just a two-by-four village shop a real department 
 store, doing real business and making real money. 
 Dad built it all up himself, too. He has a right to 
 be proud of it and I am lucky to be able to step in 
 and enjoy the results of all his years of hard work. 
 I'm not fooling myself about that. Don't get the 
 impression I am being a martyr or anything of the 
 sort. I most distinctly am not." 
 
 Carlotta made a little inarticulate exclamation. 
 Mechanically she counted the cars of the train 
 which was winding its black, snake-like trail far 
 down below them in the valley. It hadn't occurred 
 to her that the moon would be difficult to dislodge.
 
 32 WILD WINGS 
 
 Perhaps Carlotta didn't know much about moons, 
 after all. 
 
 Phil went on talking earnestly, putting his case 
 before her as best he might. He owed it to Carlotta 
 to try to make her understand if he could. He 
 thought that, under all the whimsicalities, it was 
 rather fine of her to lay down her princess pride 
 and let him see she cared, that she really wanted 
 him. It made her dearer, harder to resist than 
 ever. If only he could make her understand ! 
 
 "You see I'm not fitted for city life," he explained. 
 "I hate it. I like to live w T here everybody has a 
 plot of green grass in front of his house to set his 
 rocking chair- in Sunday afternoons ; where people 
 can have trees that they know as well as they know 
 their own family and don't have to go to a park to 
 look at 'em ; where they can grow tulips and green 
 peas and babies, too, if the lord is good to 'em. 
 I want to plant my roots where people are neigh- 
 borly and interested in each other as human beings, 
 not shut away like cave dwellers in apartment 
 houses, not knowing or caring who is on the other 
 side of the wall. I should get to hating people if 
 I had to be crowded into a subway with them, day 
 after day, treading on their toes, and they on mine. 
 Altogether I am afraid I have a small town mind, 
 sweetheart." 
 
 He smiled at Carlotta as he made the confession, 
 but she did not respond. Her face gave not the 
 slightest indication as to what was going on in her 
 mind as he talked. 
 
 "I wouldn't be any good at all in your father's 
 establishment. I've never wanted to make money 
 on the grand scale. I wouldn't be my father's son 
 if I did. I couldn't be a banker or a broker if I 
 tried, and I don't want to try." 
 
 "Not even for the sake of having me?" Carlotta's 
 voice was as expressionless as her face. She still
 
 BEING A PRINCESS 33 
 
 watched the train, almost vanishing from sight now 
 in the far distance, leaving a cloud of ugly black 
 smoke behind it to mar the lustrous azure of the 
 June sky. 
 
 Phil, too, looked out over the valley. He dared 
 not look at Carlotta. He was young and very much 
 in love. He wanted Carlotta exceedingly. For a 
 minute everything blurred before his gaze. It 
 seemed as if he would try anything, risk anything, 
 give up anything, ride rough shod over anything, 
 even his own ideals, to gain her. It was a tense 
 moment. He came very near surrendering and 
 thereby making himself, and Carlotta too, unhappy 
 forever after. But something stronger held him 
 back. Oddly enough he seemed to see that sign 
 Stuart Lambert and Son written large all over the 
 valley. His gaze came back to Carlotta. Their 
 eyes met, The hardness was gone from the girl's, 
 leaving a wistful tenderness, a sweet surrender, no 
 man had ever seen there before. A weaker lad 
 would have capitulated under that wonderful, 
 new look of Carlotta's. It only strengthened 
 Philip Lambert. It was for her as well as him- 
 self. 
 
 "I am sorry, Carlotta," he said. "I couldn't do 
 it, though I'd give you my heart to cut up into pieces 
 if it could make you happy. Maybe I would risk it 
 for myself. But I can't go back on my father, even 
 for you." 
 
 "Then you don't love me." Carlotta's rare and 
 lovely tenderness was burned away on the instant 
 in a quick blaze of anger. 
 
 "Yes I do, dear. It is because I love you that 
 I can't do it. I have to give you the best of me, not 
 the worst of me. And the best of me belongs in 
 Dunbury. I wish I could make you understand. 
 And I wish with all my heart that, since ^ can't 
 come to you, you could care enough to come to me.
 
 34 WILD WINGS 
 
 But I am not going to ask it not now anyway. 
 I haven't the right. Perhaps in two years time, if 
 you are still free, I shall ; but not now. It wouldn't 
 be fair." 
 
 "Two years from now, and long before, I shall 
 be married," said Carlotta with a sharp little me- 
 tallic note in her voice. She was trying to keep 
 from crying but he did not know that and winced 
 both at her words and tone. 
 
 "That must be as it will," he answered soberly. 
 "I cannot do any differently. I would if I could. 
 It it isn't so easy to give you up. Oh, Carlotta! 
 I love you." 
 
 And suddenly, unexpectedly to himself and Car- 
 lotta, he had her in his arms and was covering her 
 face with kisses. Carlotta's cheeks flamed. She 
 was no longer a lily, but a red, red rose. Never in 
 her life had she been so frightened, so ecstatic. 
 With all her dainty, capricious flirtations she had 
 always deliberately fenced" herself behind barriers. 
 No man had ever held her or kissed her like this, 
 the embrace and kisses of a lover to whom she be- 
 longed. 
 
 "Phil! Don't, dear I mean, do, dear I love 
 you," she whispered. 
 
 But her words brought Phil back to his senses. 
 His arms dropped and he drew away, ashamed, re- 
 morseful. He was no saint. According to his way 
 of thinking a man might kiss a girl now and then, 
 under impulsion of moonshine or mischief, but 
 lightly always, like thistledown. A man didn't 
 kiss a girl as he had just kissed Carlotta unless he 
 had the right to marry her. It wasn't playing 
 straight. 
 
 "I'm sorry, Carlotta. I didn't mean to," he said 
 miserably. 
 
 "I'm not. I'm glad. I think way down in my 
 heart I've always wanted you to kiss me, though I
 
 BEING A PRINCESS 35 
 
 didn't know it would be like that. I knew your 
 kisses would be different, because you are differ- 
 ent." 
 
 "How am I different?" Phil's voice was humble. 
 In his own eyes he seemed pitifully undiff erent, pre- 
 cisely like all the other rash, intemperate, male 
 fools in the world. 
 
 "You are different every way. It would take too 
 long to. tell you all of them, but maybe you are 
 chiefly different because I love you and I don't love 
 the rest. Except for Daddy. I've never loved any- 
 body but myself before, and when you kissed me 
 I just seemed to feel my meness going right out of 
 me, as if I stopped belonging to myself and began 
 to belong to you forever and ever. It scared me 
 but I liked it." 
 
 "You darling!" fatuously. "Carlotta, will you 
 marry me?" 
 
 It was out at last the words she claimed she 
 had brought him up the mountain to say the words 
 he had willed not to speak. 
 
 "Of course. Kiss me again, Phil. We'll wire 
 Daddy tomorrow." 
 
 "Wire him what?" The mention of Carlotta's 
 father brought Phil back to earth with a jolt. 
 
 "That we are engaged and that he is to find a 
 suitable job for you so we can be married right 
 away," chanted Carlotta happily. 
 
 Phil's rainbow vanished almost as soon as it 
 had appeared in the heavens. He drew a long 
 breath. 
 
 "Carlotta, I didn't mean that. I can't be engaged 
 to you that way. I meant will you marry me 
 when I can afford to have a fairy princess in my 
 home?" 
 
 Carlotta stared at him, her rainbow, too, fading. 
 
 "You did?" she asked vaguely. "I thought " 
 
 "I know," groaned Phil. "It was stupid of me
 
 36 WILD WINGS 
 
 worse than stupid. It can't be helped now I sup- 
 pose. The damage is done. Shall we take the next 
 car down? It is getting late." 
 
 He rose and put out both hands to help her to 
 her feet. For a moment they stood silent in front 
 of the gray bowlder. The end of the world seemed 
 to have come for them both. It was like Humpty 
 Dumpty. All the King's horses and all the King's 
 men couldn't restore things to their old state nor 
 bring back the lost happiness of that one perfect 
 moment when they had belonged to each other with- 
 out reservations. Carlotta put out her hand and 
 touched Philip's. 
 
 "Don't feel too badly, Phil," she said. "As you 
 say, it can't be helped nothing can be helped. It 
 just had to be this way. We can't either of us make 
 ourselves over or change the way we look at tilings 
 and want things. I wish I were different for both 
 our sakes. I wish I were big enough and brave 
 enough and fine enough to say I would marry you 
 anyway, and stop being a princess. But I don't 
 dare. I know myself too well. I might think I 
 could do it up here where it is all still and purple 
 and sweet and sacred. But when we got down to 
 the valley again I am afraid I couldn't live up to it, 
 nor to you, Philip, my king. Forgive me." 
 
 Phil bent and kissed her again not passionately 
 this time, but with a kind of reverent solemnity as 
 if he were performing a rite. 
 
 "Never mind, sweetheart. I don't blame you any 
 more than you blame me. We've got to take life 
 as we find it, not try to make it over into something 
 different to please ourselves. If some day you meet 
 the man who can make you happy in your way, I'll 
 not grudge him the right. I'm not sure I shall 
 even envy him. I've had my moment." 
 
 "But Phil, you aren't going to be awfully un- 
 happy about me?" sighed Carlotta, "Promise you
 
 BEING A PRINCESS 37 
 
 won't. You know I never wanted to hurt the moon, 
 dear." 
 
 Philip shook his head. 
 
 "Don't worry about the moon. It is a tough old 
 orb. I shan't be too unhappy. A man has a whole 
 lot of things beside love in his life. I am not going 
 to let myself be such a fool as to be miserable be- 
 cause things started out a little differently from 
 what I would like to have them." His smile was 
 brave fiut his eyes belied the smile and Carlotta's 
 heart smote her. 
 
 "You will forget me," she said. It was half a 
 reproach, half a command. 
 
 Again he shook his head in denial. 
 
 "Do you remember the queen who claimed she 
 had Calais stamped on her heart? Well, open mine 
 a hundred years from now and you'll read Ga/r- 
 lotta." 
 
 "But won't you ever marry?" pursued Carlotta 
 with youth's insistence on probing wounds to the 
 quick. 
 
 "I don't know. Probably," he added honestly. 
 "A man is a poor stick in this world without a 
 home and kiddies. If I do it will be a long time 
 yet though. It will be many a year before I see 
 anybody but you, no matter where I look." 
 
 "But I am horrid selfish, cowardly, altogether 
 horrid." 
 
 "Are you?" smiled Phil. "I wonder. Anyway 
 I love you. Come on, dear. We'll have to hurry. 
 The car is. nearly due." 
 
 And, as twilight settled down over the valley 
 like a great bird brooding over its nest, Philip and 
 Carlotta went down from the mountain.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A BOY WHO WASN'T AN ASS BUT BEHAVED LIKE ONE 
 
 BACCALAUREATE services being over and the 
 graduates duly exhorted to the wisdom of the ages, 
 the latter were for a time permitted to alight from 
 their lofty pedestal in the public eye and to revert 
 temporarily to the comfortable if less exalted state 
 of being plain every day human girls. 
 
 While Philip and Carlotta went up on the heights 
 fondly believing they were settling their destinies 
 forever, Tony had been enjoying an afternoon en 
 famille with her uncle and her brother Ted. 
 
 Suddenly she looked at her watch and sprang up 
 from the arm of her uncle's chair on which she had 
 been perched, chattering and content, for a couple 
 of hours. 
 
 "My goodness! It is most four o'clock. Dick 
 will be here in a minute. May I call up the garage 
 and ask them to send the car around? I'm dying 
 for a ride. We can go over to South Hadley and 
 get the twins, if you'd like. I'm sure they must 
 have had enough of Mt. Holyoke by this time." 
 
 "Car's out of commission," grunted Ted from be- 
 hind his sporting shee.t. 
 
 "Out of commission? Since when?" inquire/! 
 Doctor Holiday. "It was all right when you took 
 it to the garage last night." 
 
 "I went out for a joy ride and had a smash up/' 
 explained his nephew nonchalantly, and still hidden 
 behind the newspaper. 
 
 "Oh Ted! How could you when you know we 
 
 38
 
 A BOY WHO WASN'T AN ASS 39 
 
 want to use the car every minute?" There was 
 sharp dismay and reproach in Tony's voice. 
 
 "Well, I didn't smash it on purpose, did I?" 
 grumbled her brother, throwing down the paper. 
 "I'm sorry, Tony. But it can't be helped now. 
 You'd better be thankful I'm not out of commission 
 myself. Came darn near being." 
 
 "Oh Ted!" There was only concern and sym- 
 pathy in his sister's exclamation this time. Tony 
 adored her brothers. She went over to Ted now, 
 scrutinizing him as if she half expected to see him 
 minus* an arm or a leg. "You weren't hurt?" she 
 begged reassurance. 
 
 "Nope nothing to signify. Got some purple 
 patches on my person and a twist to my wrist, but 
 that's all. I was always a lucky devil. Got more 
 lives than a cat." 
 
 He was obviously trying to carry matters off 
 lightly, but never once did he meet his uncle's- eyes, 
 though he was quite aware they were fixed on him. 
 
 Tony sighed and shook her head, troubled. 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't take such risks," she 
 mourned. "Some day you'll get dreadfully hurt. 
 Please be careful. Uncle Phil," she appealed to 
 the higher court, "do tell him he mustn't speed so. 
 He won't listen to me." 
 
 "If Ted hasn't learned the folly of speeding by 
 now, I am afraid that nothing I can say will have 
 much effect. I wonder 
 
 Just here the telephone interrupted with an an- 
 nouncement that Mr. Carson was waiting down- 
 stairs. Tony flew from the phone to dab powder on 
 her nose. 
 
 "Since we can't go riding I think I'll take Dick 
 for a walk in Paradise," she announced into the 
 mirror. "Will you come, too, Uncle Phil?" 
 
 "No, thank you, dear. Run along and tell Dick 
 we expect him back to supper with us."
 
 40 WILD WINGS 
 
 The doctor held open the door for his niece, then 
 turned back to Ted, who was also on his feet now, 
 murmuring something about going out for a stroll. 
 
 "Wait a bit, son. Suppose you tell me first pre- 
 cisely what happened last night." 
 
 "Did tell you." The boy fumbled sulkily at the 
 leaves of a magazine that lay on the table. "I took 
 the car out and, when I was speeding like Sam Hill 
 out on the Florence road, I struck a hole. She 
 stood up on her ear and pitched u er me out in 
 the gutter. Stuck her own nose into a telephone 
 pole. I telephoned the garage people to go after 
 her this morning. They told me a while ago she was 
 pretty badly stove up and it will probably take a 
 couple of weeks to get her in order." The story 
 came out jerkily and the narrator kept his eyes 
 consistently floorward during the recital. 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 "What more do you want?" curtly. "I said I 
 was sorry, if that is what you mean." 
 
 "It isn't what I mean, Ted. I assume you didn't 
 deliberately go out to break my car and that you are 
 not particularly proud of the outcome of your joy 
 ride. I mean, exactly what I asked. Have you told 
 me the whole story?" 
 
 Ted was silent, mechanically rolling the corner 
 of the. rug under his foot. His uncle studied the 
 good-looking, unhappy young face. His mind 
 worked back to that inadvertent "u er me" of 
 the confession. 
 
 "Were you alone?" he asked. 
 
 A scarlet flush swept the lad's face, died away, 
 leaving it a little white. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The answer was low but distinct. It was like 
 a knife thrust to the doctor. In all the eight years 
 in which he had fathered Ned's sons, both before 
 and since his brother's death, never once to his
 
 A BOY WHO WASN'T AN ASS 41 
 
 knowledge had either one lied to him, even* to save 
 himself discomfort, censure or punishment. With 
 all their boyish vagaries and misdeeds, it had been 
 the one thing he could count on absolutely, their 
 unflinching, invariable honesty. Yet, surely as the 
 June sun was shining outside, Ted had lied to him 
 just now. Why? Eash twenty was too young to 
 go its way unchallenged and unguided. He was 
 responsible for the lad whose dead father had com- 
 mitted him to his charge. 
 
 Only a few weeks before his death Ned had 
 written with curious prescience, "If I go out any 
 time, Phil, I know you will look after the children 
 as I would myself or better. Keep your eye on Ted 
 especially. His heart is in the right place, but he 
 has a reckless- devil in him that will bring him and 
 all of us to grief if it isn't laid." 
 
 Doctor Holiday went over and laid a hand on 
 each of the lad's hunched shoulders. 
 
 "Look at me, Ted/' he commanded gently. 
 
 The old habit of obedience strong in spite of his 
 twenty years, Ted raised his eyes, but dropped them 
 again on the instant as if they were lead weighted. 
 
 "That is the first time you ever lied to me, I 
 think, lad," said the doctor quietly. 
 
 A quiver passed over the boy's face, but his lips 
 set tighter than ever and he pulled away from his 
 uncle's hands and turned, staring out of the window 
 at a rather dusty and bedraggled looking hydrangea 
 on the lawn. 
 
 "I wonder if it was necessary," the quiet voice 
 continued. "I haven't the slightest wish to be hard 
 on you. I just want to understand. You know 
 that, son, don't you?" 
 
 The boy's head went up at that. His gaze de- 
 serted the hydrangea, for the first time that day, 
 met his uncle's, squarely if somewhat miserably. 
 
 "It isn't that, Uncle Phil. You have every right
 
 42 WILD WINGS 
 
 to come down on me. I hadn't any business to have 
 the car out at all, much less take fool chances with 
 it. But honestly I have told you all all I can 
 tell. I did lie to you just now. I wasn't alone. 
 There was a a girl with me." 
 
 Ted's face was hot again as he made the confes- 
 sion. 
 
 "I see," mused the doctor. "Was she hurt?" 
 
 "No that is not much. She hurt her shoulder 
 some and cut her head a bit." The details came 
 out reluctantly as if impelled by the doctor's steady 
 eyes. "She telephoned me today she was all right. 
 It's a miracle we weren't both killed though. We 
 might have been as easy as anything. You said 
 just now nothing you could say would make me 
 have sense about speeding. I guess what happened 
 last night ought to knock sense into me if anything 
 could. I say, Uncle Phil ; 
 
 "Well?" as the boy paused obviously embarrassed. 
 
 "If you don't mind I'd rather not say anything 
 more about the girl. She I guess she'd rather 
 I wouldn't," he wound up confusedly. 
 
 "Very well. That is your affair and hers. Thank 
 you for coming halfway to meet me. It made it 
 easier all around." 
 
 The doctor held out his hand and the boy took it 
 eagerly. 
 
 "You are great to me, Uncle Phil lots better 
 than I deserve. Please don't think I don't see that. 
 And truly I am awfully ashamed of smashing the 
 car, and not telling you, as I ought to have this 
 morning, and spoiling Tony's fun and and every- 
 thing." Ted swallowed something down hard as if 
 the "everything" included a good deal. "I don't 
 see why I have to be always getting into scrapes. 
 Can't seem to help it, somehow. Guess I was made 
 that way, just as Larry was born steady." 
 
 "That is a spineless jellyfish point of view, Ted.
 
 A BOY WHO WASN'T AN ASS 43 
 
 Don't fool yourself with it. There is no earthly 
 reason why you should keep drifting from one es- 
 capade to another. Get some backbone into you, 
 son." 
 
 Ted's face clouded again at that, though he wasn't 
 sulky this time. He was remembering some other 
 disagreeable confessions he had to make before 
 long. He knew this was a good opening for them, 
 but somehow^ he could not drive himself to follow 
 it up. He could only digest a limited amount of 
 humble pie at a time and had already swallowed 
 nearly all he could stand. Still he skirted warily 
 along the edge of the dilemma. 
 
 "I suppose you think I made an awful ass of my- 
 self at college this year," he averred gloomily. 
 
 "I don't think it. I know it." The doctor's eyes 
 twinkled a little. Then he grew sober. "Why do 
 you, Ted? You aren't really an ass, you know. If 
 you were, there might be some excuse for behaving 
 like one." 
 
 Ted flushed. 
 
 "That's what Larry told me last spring when he 
 was pitching into me about well about something. 
 I don't know why I do, Uncle Phil, honest I don't. 
 Maybe it is because I hate college so and all the 
 stale old stuff they try to cram down our throats. 
 I get so mad and sick and disgusted with the whole 
 thing that I feel as if I had to do something to 
 offset it something that is real and live, even if 
 it isn't according to rules and regulations. I hate 
 rules and regulations. I'm not a mummy and I 
 don't want to be made to act as if I were. I'll be a 
 long time dead and I want to get a whole lot of fun 
 out of life first. I hate studying. I want to do 
 things, Uncle Phil" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "I don't want to go back to college." 
 
 "What do you want to do?"
 
 44 WILD WINGS 
 
 "Join the Canadian forces. It makes me sick 
 to have a war going on and me not in it. Dad quit 
 college for West Point and everybody thought it 
 was all right. I don't see why I shouldn't get into 
 it. I wouldn't fall down on that. I promise you. 
 I'd make you* proud of me instead of ashamed the 
 way you are now." The boy's voice and eyes were 
 unusually earnest. 
 
 His uncle did not answer instantly. He knew 
 that there was some truth in his nephew's analysis 
 of the situation. It was his uneasy, superabundant 
 energy and craving for action that made him find 
 the more or less restricted life of the college, a 
 burden, a bore and an exasperation, and drove him 
 to crazy escapades and deeds of flagrant lawless- 
 ness. He needed no assurance that the boy would 
 not "fall down" at soldiering. He would take to 
 it as a duck to water. And the discipline might 
 be the making of him, prove the way to exorcise the 
 devil. Still there were other considerations which 
 to him seemed paramount for the time at least. 
 
 "I understand how you feel, Ted," he said at last. 
 "If we get into the war ourselves I won't say a word 
 against your going. I should expect you to go. 
 We all would. But in the meantime as I see it 
 you are not quite a free agent. Granny is old and 
 very, very feeble. She hasn't gotten over your 
 father's death. She grieves over it still. If you 
 went to war I think it would kill her. She couldn't 
 bear the strain and anxiety. Patience, laddie. 
 You don't want to hurt her, do you?" 
 
 "I s'pose not," said Ted a little grudgingly. 
 "Then it is no, Uncle Phil?" 
 
 "I think it ought to be no of your own will for 
 Granny's sake. We don't live to ourselves alone 
 in this world. We can't. But aside from Granny 
 I am not at all certain I should approve of your 
 leaving college just because it doesn't happen to
 
 A BOY WHO WASN'T AN ASS 45 
 
 be exciting enough to meet your fancy and means 
 work you are too lazy and irresponsible to settle 
 down to doing. Looks a little like quitting to me 
 and Holidays aren't usually quitters, you know." 
 
 He smiled at the boy but Ted did not smile back. 
 The thrust about Holidays and quitters went home. 
 
 "I suppose it has got to be college again if you 
 say so/' he said soberly after a minute. "Thank 
 heaven there are three months ahead clear though 
 first." 
 
 "To play in?" 
 
 "Well, yes. Why not? It is all right to play 
 in vacation, isn't it?" the boy retorted, a shade 
 aggressively. 
 
 "Possibly- if you have earned the vacation by 
 working beforehand." 
 
 Ted's eyes fell at that. This was dangerously 
 near the ground of those uncomfortable, inevitable 
 confessions which he meant to put off as long as 
 possible. 
 
 "Do you mind if I go out now?" he asked with 
 unusual meekness after a moment's rather awkward 
 silence. 
 
 "No, indeed. Go ahead. I've had my say. Be 
 back for supper with us?" 
 
 "Dunno." And Ted disappeared into the ad- 
 joining room which connected with his uncle's. 
 In a moment he was back, expensive panama hat 
 in one hand and a lighted cigarette held jauntily 
 in the other. "I meant to tell you you could take 
 the car repairs out of my allowance," he remarked 
 casually but with his eye shrewdly on his guardian 
 as he made the announcement. 
 
 "Very well," replied the latter quietly. Then 
 he smiled a little seeing his nephew's crestfallen 
 expression. "That wasn't just what you wanted 
 me to say, was it?" he added. 
 
 "Not exactly," admitted the boy with a return-
 
 46 WILD WINGS 
 
 ing grin. "All right, Uncle Phil. I'm game. I'll 
 pay up." 
 
 A moment later his uncle heard his whistle as he 
 went down the driveway apparently as care free 
 as if narrow escapes from death were nothing in 
 his young life. The doctor shook his head dubi- 
 ously as he watched him from the window. He 
 would have felt more dubious still had he seen the 
 boy board a Florence car a few minutes later on 
 his way to keep a rendezvous with the girl about 
 whom he had not wished to talk.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 WHEN YOUTH MEETS YOUTH 
 
 THREE quarters of an hour later Ted was seated 
 on a log, near a small rustic bridge, beneath which 
 flowed a limpid, gurgling stream. On a log beside 
 him sat a girl of perhaps eighteen years, exceedingly 
 handsome with the flaming kind of beauty like a 
 poppy's, striking to the eye, shallow-petaled. She 
 was vividly effective against the background of deep 
 green spruces and white birch in her bright pink 
 dress and large drooping black hat. Her coloring 
 was brilliant, her lips full, scarlet, ripely sensuous. 
 Beneath her straight black brows her sparkling, 
 black eyes gleamed with restless eagerness. An 
 ugly, jagged, still fresh wound showed beneath a 
 carefully curled fringe of hair on her forehead. 
 
 "I don't like meeting you this way," Ted was 
 saying. "Are you sure your grandfather would 
 have cut up rough if I had come to the house and 
 called properly?" 
 
 "You betcher," said his companion promptly. 
 "You don't know grandpa, He's death on young 
 men. He won't let one come within a mile of me 
 if he can help it. He'd throw a fit if he knew I 
 was here with you now. We should worry. What 
 he don't know won't hurt him," she concluded with 
 a toss of her head. Then, as Ted looked dubious, 
 she added, "You just leave grandpa to me. If you 
 had had your way you would have spilled the beans 
 by telephoning me this morning at the wrong time. 
 See how much better I fixed it. I told him a piece 
 
 47
 
 48 WILD WINGS 
 
 of wood flew up and hit me when I was chopping 
 kindling before breakfast and that my head ached 
 so I didn't feel like going to church. Then the min- 
 ute he was out of the yard I ran to the 'phone and 
 got you at the hotel. It was perfectly simple that 
 way slick as grease. Easiest thing in the world 
 to make a date. We couldn't have gotten away 
 with it otherwise." 
 
 Ted still looked dubious. The phrase "gotten 
 away with it" jarred. At the moment he was not 
 particularly proud of their mutual success in 
 "getting away with it." The girl wasn't his kind. 
 He realized that, now he saw her for the first time 
 in daylight. 
 
 She had looked all right to him on the train 
 night before last. Indeed he had been distinctly 
 fascinated by her flashing, gypsy beauty, ready 
 laughter and quick, keen, half "fresh" repartee 
 when he had started a casual conversation with her 
 when they chanced to be seat mates from Holyoke 
 on. 
 
 Casual conversations were apt to turn into casual 
 flirtations with Ted Holiday. Afterward he wasn't 
 sure whether she had dared him or he had dared 
 her to plan the midnight joy ride which had so 
 narrowly missed ending in a tragedy. Anyway it 
 had seemed a jolly lark at the time a test of the 
 mettle and mother wit of both of them to "get away 
 with it." 
 
 And she had looked good to him last night when 
 he met her at the appointed trysting place after 
 "As You Like It." She had come out of the shad- 
 ows of the trees behind which she had been lurking, 
 wearing a scarlet tam-o'-shanter and a long dark 
 cloak, her eyes shining like January stars. He had 
 liked her nerve in coming out like that to meet 
 him alone at midnight. He had liked the way she 
 "sassed" him back and put him in his place, when
 
 WHEN YOUTH MEETS YOUTH 49 
 
 he had tried impudently enough to kiss her. He 
 had liked the way she laughed when he asked her 
 if she was afraid to speed, on the home stretch. It 
 was her laugh that had spurred him on, intoxicated 
 him, made him send the car leaping faster and still 
 faster, obeying his reckless will. 
 
 Then the crash had come. It was indeed a mir- 
 acle that they had not both been killed. No thanks 
 to the rash young driver that they had not been. 
 It woTild be many a day before Ted Holiday would 
 forget that nightmare of dread and remorse which 
 took possession of him as* he pulled himself to his 
 feet and went over to where the girl's motionless 
 form lay on the grass, her face dead white, the blood 
 flowing from her forehead. 
 
 Never had he been so thankful for anything in 
 his life as he was when he saw her bright eyes snap 
 open, and heard her unsteady little giggle as she 
 murmured, "My, but I thought I was dead, didn't 
 you?" 
 
 Game to her fingertips she had been. Ted ac- 
 knowledged that, even now that the glamour had 
 worn off. Never once had she whimpered over her 
 injuries, never hurled a single word of blame at 
 him for the misadventure that had come within a 
 hair's breadth of being the last for them both. 
 
 "It wasn't a bit more your fault than mine," she 
 had waived aside his apologies. "And it was great 
 while it lasted. I wouldn't have missed it for 
 anything, though I'm glad I'm not dead before I've 
 had a chance to really live. All I ask is that you 
 won't tell a soul I was out with you. Grandpa 
 would think I was headed straight for purgatory if 
 he knew." 
 
 "I won't," Ted had promised glibly enough, and 
 had kept his promise even at the cost of lying to 
 his uncle, a memory which hurt like the toothache 
 even now.
 
 50 WILD WINGS 
 
 But looking at the girl now in her tawdry, in- 
 appropriate garb he suffered a revulsion of feeling. 
 What he had admired in her as. good sport quality 
 seemed cheap now, his own conduct even cheaper. 
 His reaction against himself was fully as poignant 
 as his reaction against her. He was suddenly 
 ashamed of his joy ride, ashamed that he had ever 
 wished or tried to kiss her, ashamed that he had 
 fallen in with her suggestion for a clandestine 
 meeting this afternoon. 
 
 Possibly Madeline sensed that he was cold to 
 her charms at the moment. She flashed a shrewd 
 glance at him. 
 
 "You don't like one as well to-day as you did last 
 night," she challenged. 
 
 Caught, Ted tried half-heartedly to make denial, 
 but the effort was scarcely a success. He had yet 
 to learn the art of lying gracefully to a lady. 
 
 "You don't," she repeated. "You needn't try to 
 pretend you do. You can't fool me. You're get- 
 ting 1 cold feet already. You're remembering I'm 
 just just a pick-up." 
 
 Ted winced again at that. He did not like the 
 word "pick-up" either, though to his shame he 
 hadn't been above the thing itself. 
 
 "Don't talk like that, Madeline. You know I 
 like you. You were immense last night. Any 
 other girl I know, except my sister Tony, would 
 have had hysterics and fainting fits and lord knows 
 what else with half the excuse you had. And you 
 never made a bit of fuss about your head, though 
 it must have hurt like the deuce. I say, you don't 
 think it is going to leave a scar, do you?" 
 
 He leaned forward with genuine concern to ex- 
 amine the red wound. 
 
 "I think it is more than likely. Lot you'll care, 
 Ted Holiday. You'll never come back to see 
 whether it leaves a scar or not. See that bee over
 
 WHEN YOUTH MEETS YOUTH 51 
 
 there nosing around that elderberry. Think he'll 
 corne back next week? Not much. I know your 
 kind," scornfully. 
 
 That bit into the lad's complacency. 
 
 "Of course, I care and of course, I'll come back," 
 he protested, though a moment before he had had 
 not the slightest wish or purpose to see her again, 
 rather to the contrary. 
 
 "To see whether there is a scar?" 
 
 "To see you," he played up gallantly. 
 
 Her hard young face softened. 
 
 "Will you, honest, Ted Holiday? Will you come 
 back?" 
 
 She put out her hand and touched his. Her eyes 
 were suddenly wistful, gentle, beseeching. 
 
 "Sure I'll come back. Why wouldn't I?" The 
 touch of her hand, the new softness, almost pathos 
 of her mood touched him, appealed to the chivalry 
 always latent in a Holiday. 
 
 He heard her breath come quickly, saw her full 
 bosom heave, felt the warm pressure of her hand. 
 He wanted to put his arm around her but he did 
 not follow the impulse. The code of Holiday 
 "noblesse oblige" was operating. 
 
 "I wish I could believe that," Madeline sighed, 
 looking down into the water which whirled and 
 eddied in white foam and splash, over the rocks. 
 "I'd like to think you really wanted to come 
 really cared about seeing me again. I know I'm 
 not your kind." 
 
 He started involuntarily at her voicing unexpec- 
 tedly his own recent thought. 
 
 "Oh, you needn't be surprised," she threw at him 
 half angrily. "Don't you suppose I know that 
 better than you do. Don't you suppose I know 
 what the girls you are used to look like? Well, 
 I do. I've watched 'em, on the street, on the 
 campus, in church, everywhere. I've even seen
 
 52 WILD WINGS 
 
 your sister and watched her, too. Somebody 
 pointed her out to me once when she had made a 
 hit in a play and I've seen her at Glee Club con- 
 certs and at vespers in the choir. She is lovely 
 lovely the way I'd like to be. It isn't that she's 
 any prettier. She isn't. It's just that she's dif- 
 ferent acts different looks different dresses 
 different from me. 1 can't make myself like her 
 and the rest, no matter how I try. And I do try. 
 You don't know how hard I try. I got this dress 
 because I saw your sister Tony wearing a pink 
 dress once. I thought maybe it would make me 
 look more like her. But it doesn't. It makes me 
 look more not like her than ever, doesn't it?" she 
 appealed rather disconcertingly. "It's horrid. I 
 hate it." 
 
 "I don't know much about girls' dresses," said 
 Ted. "But, now you speak of it, maybe it would 
 be prettier if it were a little " he paused for a 
 word "quieter," he decided on. "Do you ever 
 wear white? Tony wears it a lot and I think she 
 looks nice in it." 
 
 "I've got a white dress. I thought about putting 
 it on to-day. But somehow it didn't look quite nice 
 enough. I thought well, I thought I looked hand- 
 somer in the pink. I wanted to look pretty for 
 you." The last was very low scarcely audible. 
 
 "You look good to me all right," said the boy 
 heartily and he meant it. He thought she looked 
 prettier at the moment than she had looked at any 
 time since he had made her acquaintance. 
 
 Perhaps he was right. She had laid aside for 
 once her mask of hard boldness and was just a 
 simple, humble, rather pathetic little girl, voicing 
 secret aspirations toward a fineness life had denied 
 her. 
 
 "I say, Madeline," Ted went on. "You don't 
 meet other chaps the way you met me to-day, do
 
 WHEN YOUTH MEETS YOUTH 53 
 
 you?" Set the blind to lead the blind! If there 
 was anything absurd in scapegrace Ted's turning 
 mentor he was unconscious of the absurdity, was 
 exceedingly in earnest. 
 
 "What's that to you?" She snapped the mask 
 back into place. 
 
 "Nothing that is I wouldn't that's all." 
 
 She laughed shrilly. 
 
 "You're a pretty one to talk," she scoffed. 
 
 Ted flushed. 
 
 "I Jmow I am. See here, Madeline. You're 
 dead "right. I ought not to have taken you out 
 last night. I ought not to have let you meet me 
 here to-day." 
 
 "I made you I made you do both those things." 
 
 Ted shook his head at that. 
 
 "A man's to blame always," he asserted. 
 
 "No, he isn't," denied Madeline. "A girl's to 
 blame always." 
 
 They stared at each other a moment while the 
 brook tinkled through the silence. Then they both 
 laughed at the solemnity of their contradictions. 
 
 "But there isn't a bit of harm done," went on 
 Madeline. "You see, I knew that first night on the 
 train that you were a gentleman." 
 
 "Some gentlemen are rotters," said Ted Holiday, 
 with a wisdom beyond his twenty years. 
 
 "But you are not." 
 
 "No, I'm not; but some other chap might be. 
 That is why I wish you would promise not to go 
 in for this sort of thing." 
 
 "With anybody but you," she stipulated. 
 
 "Not with anybody at all," corrected Ted soberly, 
 remembering his own recent restrained impulse to 
 put his arm around her. 
 
 "Well, I don't want to at least not with anybody 
 but you. I never did it before with anybody. 
 Honest, Ted, I never did."
 
 54 WILD WINGS 
 
 "That's good. I felt sure that you hadn't." 
 "Why?" 
 
 He grinned sheepishly and stooped to break off 
 a dry twig from a nearby bush. 
 
 "By the way you didn't let me kiss you," he ad- 
 mitted. "A fellow likes that in a girl. Did you 
 know it?" He tossed away the twig and looked 
 back at the girl as he asked the question. 
 
 "I thought they liked the other thing." 
 
 "They do and they don't," said Ted, his paradox 
 again betraying a scarcely to be expected wisdom. 
 "But that is neither here nor there. What I 
 started out to say was that I'm glad you don't make 
 a practice of this pick-up business. It it's no 
 good," he summed up. 
 
 "I know." Madeline nodded understanding of 
 the import of his warning. She was far too hand- 
 some and too prematurely developed physically to 
 be devoid of experience of the ways of the opposite 
 sex. Like Ophelia she knew there were tricks in 
 the world and she liked frank Ted Holiday the bet- 
 ter for reminding her of them. "I won't do it," 
 she promised. "That is, unless you don't ever come 
 back yourself. I don't know what I'll do then- 
 something awful, maybe." 
 
 "I'll come fast enough. I'll come to-morrow." he 
 added obeying a sudden impulse, Ted fashion. 
 
 "Will you?" The girl's face flushed with delight. 
 "When?" 
 
 "To-morrow afternoon. I can't dodge the ivy 
 stuff in the morning. Will four o'clock do all 
 right?" 
 
 "Yes. Come here to this same place." 
 
 "I say, Madeline, can't I come to the house? I 
 hate doing it like this." 
 
 "No, you can't. If you want to see me you'll have 
 to do it this way. It's lots nicer here than in the 
 house, anyway."
 
 WHEN YOUTH MEETS YOUTH 55 
 
 Ted acquiesced, since he had no choice, and rose, 
 announcing that it was time to go now. 
 
 "We don't have to go yet. I told Grandpa I was 
 going to spend the evening with my friend, Linda 
 Bates. He won't know. We can stay as long as 
 we like." 
 
 "I am afraid we can't," said Ted decidedly. 
 "Come on, my lady." He held out both hands and 
 Madeline let him draw her to her feet, though she 
 was pouting a little at his gainsaying of her wishes. 
 
 "You may kiss me now," she said suddenly, lift- 
 ing her face to his. 
 
 But Ted backed away. The code was still on. 
 A girl of his own kind he would have kissed in a 
 moment at such provocation, or none. But he had 
 an odd feeling of needing to protect this girl from 
 herself as well as from himself. 
 
 "You had more sense than I did last night. Let's 
 follow your lead instead of mine," he said. "It's 
 better." 
 
 "But Ted, you will come to-morrow?" she 
 pleaded. "You won't forget or go back on your 
 promise?" 
 
 "Of course, I'll come," promised Ted again 
 readily. 
 
 Five minutes later they parted, he to take his 
 car, and she to stroll in the opposite direction to- 
 ward her friend Linda's house. 
 
 "He is a dear," she thought. "I'm glad he 
 wouldn't kiss me, so there," she said aloud to a 
 dusty daisy that peered up at her rather mock- 
 ingly from the gutter. 
 
 An automobile horn honked behind her. She 
 stepped aside, but the car stopped. 
 
 "Well, here is luck. Where are you going, my 
 pretty maid?" called a gay, bold voice. 
 
 She turned. The speaker was one Willis Hub- 
 bard, an automobile agent by profession, lady's man
 
 56 WILD WINGS 
 
 and general Lothario by avocation. His handsome 
 dark face stood out clearly in the dusk. She could 
 see the avid shine in his eyes. She hated him all 
 of a sudden, though hitherto she had secretly rather 
 admired him, though she had always steadily re- 
 fused his invitations. 
 
 For Madeline was wary. She knew how other 
 girls had gone out with Willis in his smart car and 
 come back to give rather sketchy accounts of the 
 evening's pleasure jaunt. Her friend Linda had 
 tried it once and remarked later that Willis was 
 some speed and that Madeline had the right hunch 
 to keep away from him. 
 
 But it happened that Madeline Taylor was the- 
 particular peach that Willis Hubbard hankered 
 after. He didn't like them too easy, ready to drop 
 from the bough at the first touch. All the same, 
 he meant to have his way in the end with Madeline. 
 He had an excellent opinion of his powers as a con- 
 quering male. He had, alas, plenty of data to 
 warrant it in his relations with the fair and some- 
 times weak sex. 
 
 "What's your hurry, dearie?" he asked now. 
 "Come on for a spin. It's the pink of the evening." 
 
 But she thanked him stiffly and refused, remem- 
 bering Ted Holiday's honest blue eyes. 
 
 "What are you so almighty prunes and prisms 
 for, all of a sudden? It's the wrong game to play 
 with a man, I can tell you, if you want to have a 
 good time in the world. I say, Maidie, be a good 
 girl and come out with me to-morrow night. We'll 
 have dinner somewhere and dance arid make a night 
 of it. Say yes, you beauty. A girl like you 
 oughtn't to stay cooped up at home forever. It's 
 against nature." 
 
 But again Madeline refused and moved away 
 with dignity. 
 
 "Your grandfather will never know. You can
 
 WHEN YOUTH MEETS YOUTH 57 
 
 plan to stay with Linda afterward. I'll meet you 
 by the sycamore tree just beyond the Bates' place at 
 eight sharp give you the best time you ever had 
 in your life. Believe me, I'm some little spender 
 when I get to going." 
 
 "No, thank you, Mr. Hubbard. I tell you I can't 
 go." 
 
 He stared at the finality of her manner. He 
 had no means of knowing that he was being meas- 
 ured up, to his infinite disadvantage, with a blue 
 eyed fad who had stirred something in the girl be- 
 fore him that he himself could never have roused 
 in a thousand years. But he did know he was 
 being snubbed and the knowledge disturbed his fond 
 conceit of self. 
 
 "Highty tighty with your 'Mr. Hubbards' ! You 
 will sing another tune by to-morrow night. I'll 
 wait at the sycamore and you'll be there. See if 
 you won't. You're no fool, Maidie. You want a 
 good time and you know I'm the boy to give it 
 to you. So long! See you to-morrow night." He 
 started his motor, kissed his hand impudently to 
 her and was off down the road, leaving Madeline to 
 follow slowly, in his dust.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A SHADOW ON THE PATH 
 
 ACROSS the campus the ivy procession wound its 
 lovely length, flanked by rainbow clad Junior ush- 
 ers immensely conscious of themselves and their 
 importance as they bore the looped laurel chains 
 between which walked the even more important 
 Seniors, all in white and each bearing an American 
 Beauty rose before her proudly, like a wand of 
 youth. 
 
 At the head of the procession, as president of the 
 class, walked Antoinette Holiday, a little lady of 
 quality, as none who saw her could have helped 
 recognizing. Her uncle, watching the procession 
 from the steps of a campus house, smiled and sighed 
 as he beheld her. She was so young, so blithe- 
 hearted, so untouched by the sad and sordid things 
 of life. If only he could keep her so for a little, 
 preserve the shining splendor of her shield of inno- 
 cent young joy. But, even as he thought, he knew 
 the folly of his wish. Tony would be the last to 
 desire to have life tempered or kept from her. She 
 would want to drain the whole cup, bitter, sweet 
 and all. 
 
 Farther back in the procession was Carlotta, 
 looking as heavenly fair and ethereal as if she had 
 that morning been wafted down from the skies. 
 Out of the crowd Phil Lambert's eyes met hers and 
 smiled. Very sensibly and modernly these two had 
 decided to remain the best of friends since fate 
 
 58
 
 A SHADOW ON THE PATH 59 
 
 prevented their being lovers. But Phil's eyes were 
 rather more than friendly, resting on Carlotta, and, 
 underneath the diaphanous, exquisite white cloud of 
 a gown that she wore, Carlotta's heart beat a little 
 faster for what she saw in his face. The hand that 
 held her rose trembled ever so slightly as she smiled 
 bravely back at him. She could not forget those 
 "very different" kisses of his, nor, with all the will 
 in the world, could she go back to where she was 
 before, she went up the mountain and came down 
 again in the purple dusk. She knew she had to 
 get used to a strange, new world, a world without 
 Philip Lambert, a rather empty world, it seemed. 
 She wondered if this new world would give her any- 
 thing so wonderful and sweet as this thing that 
 she had by her* own act surrendered. Almost she 
 thought not. 
 
 Ted, standing beside his uncle, watching the pro- 
 cession, suddenly heard a familiar whistle, a signal 
 dating back to Holiday Hill days, as unmistakable 
 as the Star Spangled Banner itself, though who 
 should be using it here and why was a mystery. In 
 a moment his roving gaze discovered the solution. 
 Standing upon a slight elevation on the campus 
 opposite he perceived Dick Carson. The latter 
 beckoned peremptorily. Ted wriggled out of the 
 group, descended with one leap over the rail to the 
 lawn, and made his way to where the other youth 
 waited. 
 
 "What in Sam Hill's chewing you?" he demanded 
 upon arrival. "You've made me quit the only spot 
 I've struck to-day where I had room to stand on my 
 own feet and see anything at the same time." 
 
 "I say, Ted, what train was Larry coming on?" 
 counterquestioned Dick. 
 
 "Chicago Overland. Why?" 
 
 "Are you sure?" 
 
 "Of course I am sure. He wired Tony. What
 
 60 WILD WINGS 
 
 in thunder are you driving at? Get it out for 
 Pete's sake?" 
 
 "The Chicago Overland smashed into a freight 
 somewhere near Pittsburgh this morning. There 
 were hundreds of people killed. Oh, Lord, Ted! 
 I didn't mean to break it to you like that." Dick 
 was aghast at his own clumsiness as Ted leaned 
 against the brick wall of the college building, his 
 face white as chalk. "I wasn't thinking guess I 
 wasn't thinking about much of anything except 
 Tony," he added. 
 
 Ted groaned. 
 
 "Don't w r onder," he muttered. "Let's not let her 
 get wind of it till we have to. Are you sure there 
 there isn't any mistake?" Ted put up his hand to 
 brush back a refractory lock of hair and found his 
 forehead wet with cold perspiration. "There's got 
 to be a mistake. Larry I won't believe it, so 
 there!" 
 
 "You don't have to believe it till you know. 
 Even if he was on the train it doesn't mean he is 
 hurt." Dick would not name the harsher possi- 
 bility to Larry Holiday's brother. 
 
 "Of course, it doesn't," snapped Ted. "I say, 
 Dick, is it in the papers yet?" 
 
 "No, it will be in an hour though, as soon as 
 the evening editions get out." 
 
 "Good ! Dick, it's up to you to keep Tony from 
 knowing. She is going to sing in the concert at 
 five. That will keep her occupied until six. But 
 from now till then nix on the news. Take 
 her out on the fool pond, walk her up Sunset Hill, 
 quarrel with her, make love to her, anything, so she 
 w r on't guess. I don't dare go near her. I'd give it 
 away in a minute, I'm such an idiot. Besides I 
 can't think of anything but Larry. Gee!" The 
 boy swept his hand across his eyes. "Last time I 
 saw him I consigned him to the devil because he
 
 A SHADOW ON THE PATH 61 
 
 told me some perfectly true things about myself and 
 tried to give me some perfectly sound advice. And 
 now I'm damned if I believe it. Larry is all 
 right. He's got to be/' fiercely. 
 
 "Of course, he is," soothed Dick. "And I'll try 
 to do as you say about Tony. I'm not much of an 
 actor, but I guess I can carry it through for for 
 her sake." 
 
 The little break in the speaker's voice made Ted 
 turn quickly and stare at the other youth. 
 
 "Dick, old chap, is it like that with you? I 
 didn't know." 
 
 Ted's hand went out and held the other's in a cor- 
 dial grip. 
 
 "Nobody knows. I I didn't mean to show it 
 then. It's no good. I know that naturally." 
 
 "I'm not so sure about that. I know one member 
 of the family that would be mighty proud to have 
 you for a brother." 
 
 The obvious ring of sincerity touched Dick. It 
 was a good deal coming from a Holiday. 
 
 "Thank you, Ted. That means a lot, I can tell 
 you. I'll never forget your saying it like that. 
 You won't give me away, I know." 
 
 "Sure not, old man. Tony is way up in the 
 clouds just now, anyway. We are all mostly ants 
 in our minor ant hills so far as she is concerned. 
 Gee! I hope it isn't this thing about Larry that is 
 going to pull her down to earth. If anything had 
 to happen to any of us why couldn't it have been me 
 instead of Larry. He is worth ten of me." 
 
 "We don't know that anything has happened to 
 Larry yet," Dick reminded. "I say, Ted, they must 
 have got the ivy planted. Everybody's coming 
 back. Tony is lunching with me at Boyden's right 
 away, and I'll see that she has her hands full until 
 it is time for the concert. You warn Miss Car- 
 lotta, so she'll be on guard after I surrender
 
 62 WILD WINGS 
 
 her. I'm afraid you will have to tell your uncle." 
 "I will. Trot on, old man, and waylay Tony. 
 I'll make a mess of things sure as preaching if I 
 run into her now." 
 
 Tony thought she had never known Dick to be so 
 entertaining or talkative as he was during that 
 luncheon hour. He regaled her with all kinds of 
 newspaper yarns and related some of his own once 
 semi-tragic but now humorous misadventures of his 
 early cub days. He talked, too, on current events 
 and world history, talked well, with the quiet poise 
 and assurance of the reader and thinker, the man 
 who has kept his eyes and ears open to life. 
 
 It was a revelation to Tony. For once their res- 
 pective roles were reversed, he the talker, she the 
 listener. 
 
 "Goodness me, Dick!" she exclaimed during a 
 pause in what had become almost a monologue. 
 "Why haven't you ever talked like this before? I 
 always thought I had to do it all and here you talk 
 better than I ever thought of doing because you 
 have something to say and mine is just chatter and 
 nonsense." 
 
 He smiled at that. 
 
 "I love your chatter. But you are tired to-day 
 and it is my turn. Do you know what we are going 
 to do after luncheon ?" 
 "No, what?" 
 
 "We are going to take a canoe out on your Para- 
 dise and get into a shady spot somewhere along the 
 bank and you will lean back against a whole lot of 
 becoming cushions and put up that red parasol of 
 yours so nobody but me can see your face and 
 then" 
 
 "Dicky! Dicky! Whatever is in you to-day? 
 Paradise, pillows and parasols are familiar symp- 
 toms. You will be making love to me next." 
 
 "I might, at that," murmured Dick. "But you
 
 A SHADOW ON THE PATH 63 
 
 did not hear the rest of my proposition. And then 
 I shall read you a story a story that I wrote 
 myself." 
 
 "Dick!" Tony nearly upset her glass of iced tea 
 in her amazement at this unexpected announce- 
 ment. "You don't mean you have really and truly 
 written a story !" 
 
 "Honest to goodness such as it is. Please to 
 remember it is my maiden effort and make a mar- 
 gin of allowance. But I want your criticism, too 
 all the benefit of your superior academic training." 
 
 "Superior academic bosh !" scoffed Tony. "I'll 
 bet it is a corking story," she added unacadem- 
 ically. "Come on. Let's go, quick. I can't wait 
 to hear it." 
 
 Nothing loath to get away speedily before the 
 newsboys began to cry the accident through the 
 streets, Dick escorted his pretty companion back 
 to the campus and on to Paradise, at which point 
 they took a canoe and, finally selecting a shady 
 point under an over-reaching sycamore tree, drifted 
 in to shore where Tony leaned against the cushions, 
 tilted her parasol as specified at the angle which 
 forbade any but Dick to see her charming, expres- 
 sive young face and commanded him to "shoot." 
 
 Dick shot. Tony listened intently, watching his 
 face as he read, feeling as if this were a new Dick 
 a Dick she did not know at all, albeit a most inter- 
 esting person. 
 
 "Why Dick Carson !" she exclaimed when he fin- 
 ished. "It is great a real story with real laughter 
 and tears in it. I love it, It is so so human." 
 
 The author flushed and fidgeted and protested 
 that it wasn't much just a sketch clone from life 
 with a very little dressing up and polishing down. 
 
 "I have a lot more of them in my head, though," 
 he added. "And I'm going to grind them out as 
 soon as I get time. I wish I had a bigger vocab-
 
 64 WILD WINGS 
 
 ulary and knew more about the technical end of 
 the writing game. I am going to learn, though- 
 going to take some night work at the University 
 next fall. Maybe I'll catch up a little yet if I 
 keep pegging away." 
 
 "Catch up! Dick, you make me so ashamed. 
 Here Larry and Ted and I have had everything 
 done for us all our lives and we've slipped along 
 with the current, following the line of least resist- 
 ance. And you have had everything to contend 
 with and you are way ahead of the rest of us al- 
 ready. But why didn't you tell me before about 
 the story? I think you might have, Dicky. You 
 know I would be interested," reproachfully. 
 
 "I I wasn't talking much about it to anybody 
 till I knew it was any good. But I just took a 
 notion to read it to you to-day. That's all." 
 
 It wasn't all, but he wanted Tony to think it was. 
 Not for anything would he have betrayed how read- 
 ing the story was a desperate expedient to keep her 
 diverted and safe from news of the disaster on the 
 Overland. 
 
 He escorted Tony back to the campus house at 
 the latest possible moment and Carlotta, in the 
 secret, pretended to upbraid her roommate for her 
 tardiness and flew about helping her to get dressed, 
 talking continuously the while and keeping a sharp 
 eye on the door lest some intruder burst in and say 
 the very thing Tony Holiday must not be permitted 
 to hear. It would be so ridiculously easy for some- 
 body to ask, "Oh, did you hear about the awful 
 wreck on the Overland?" and then the fat would be 
 in the fire. 
 
 But, thanks to Carlotta, nobody had a chance to 
 say it and later Tony Holiday, standing in the twi- 
 light in front of College Hall's steps, sang her solo, 
 Gounod's beautiful Ave Maria, smiled happily 
 down into the faces of the dear folks from her be-
 
 A SHADOW ON THE PATH 65 
 
 loved Hill and only regretted that Larry was not 
 there with the rest Larry who, for all the others 
 knew, might never come again. 
 
 After dinner Ted rushed off again to the tele- 
 graph office which he had been haunting all the af- 
 ternoon to see if any word had come from his 
 brother, and Doctor Holiday went on up to the cam- 
 pus to escort his niece to the informal hop. He had 
 decided to go on just as if nothing was wrong. If 
 Larry was safe then there was no need of clouding 
 Tony's joy, and if he wasn't well, there would be 
 time enough to grieve when they knew. By virtue 
 of his being a grave and reverend uncle he was ad- 
 mitted to the sacred precincts of his niece's room 
 and had hardly gotten seated when the door flew 
 open and Ted flew in waving two yellow telegraph 
 blanks triumphantly, one in each hand, and an- 
 nouncing that everything was all right Larry was 
 all right, had wired from Pittsburgh. 
 
 Before Tony had a chance to demand what it was 
 all about the door opened again and a righteously 
 indignant house mother appeared on the threshold, 
 demanding by what right an unauthorized male had 
 gone up her stairway and entered a girl's room, 
 without permission or escort. 
 
 "I apologize," beamed Ted with his most engag- 
 ing smile. "Come on outside, Mrs. Maynerd and 
 I'll tell you all about it." And tucking his arm in 
 hers the irrepressible youth conveyed the angry per- 
 sonage out into the hall, leaving his uncle to explain 
 the situation to Tony. 
 
 In a moment he was back triumphant. 
 
 "She says I may stay since I'm here, and 
 Uncle Phil is here to play dragon," he announced. 
 "She thought at first Carlotta would have to be ex- 
 punged to make it legal, but I overruled her, told 
 her you and I had played tiddle-de-winks with each 
 other in our cradles," he added with an impish grin
 
 66 WILD WINGS 
 
 at his sister's roommate. "Of course I never laid 
 eyes on you till two years ago, but that doesn't mat- 
 ter. I have a true tiddle-de-winks feeling for you, 
 anyway, and that is what counts, isn't it, sweet- 
 ness?" 
 
 Carlotta laughed and averred that she was going 
 to expunge herself anyway as Phil was waiting for 
 her downstairs. She picked up a turquoise satin 
 mandarin cloak from the chair and Ted sprang to 
 put it around her bare shoulders, stooping to kiss 
 the tip of her ear as he finished. 
 
 "Lucky Phil !" he murmured. 
 
 Carlotta shook her head at him and went over to 
 Tony, over whom she bent for an instant with un- 
 usual feeling in her lovely eyes. 
 
 "Oh, my dear," she whispered. "I wish I could 
 tell you- how I feel. I'm so glad so glad." And 
 then she was gone before Tony could answer. 
 
 "Oh me !" she sighed. "She has been so wonder- 
 ful. You all have. Ted Uncle Phil ! Come over 
 here. I want to hold you tight." 
 
 And, with her brother on one side df her and her 
 uncle on the other, Tony gave a hand to each and for 
 a moment no one spoke. Then Ted produced his 
 telegrams one of which was addressed to Tony and 
 one to her uncle. Both announced the young doc- 
 tor's safety. "Staying over in Pittsburgh. Letter 
 follows," was in the doctor's message. "Sorry 
 can't make commencement. Love and congratula- 
 tions," was in Tony's. 
 
 "There, didn't I tell you he was all right?" de- 
 manded Ted, as if his brother's safety were due to 
 his own remarkably good management of the affair. 
 "Gee! Tony! If you knew how I felt when Dick 
 told me this morning. I pretty nearly disgraced 
 myself by toppling over, just like a girl, on the cam- 
 pus. Lord ! It was fierce."
 
 A SHADOW ON THE PATH 67 
 
 "I know." Tony squeezed his hand sympa- 
 thetically. "And Dick why Dick must have kept 
 me out in Paradise on purpose." 
 
 "Sure he did. Dick's a Jim. dandy and don't you 
 forget it." 
 
 "I shan't," said Tony, her eyes a little misty, re- 
 membering how Dick had fought all day to keep her 
 care-free happiness intact. "I don't know whether 
 to be angry at you all for keeping it from me or to 
 fall on .your necks and weep because you were all so 
 dear not to tell me. And oh! If anything had 
 happened to Larry ! I don't see how I could have 
 stood it. It makes us all seem awfully near, 
 doesn't it?" 
 
 "You bet!" agreed Ted with more fervor than 
 elegance. "If the old chap had been done for I'd 
 have felt like making for the river, myself. Funny, 
 now the scare is over and he is all safe, I shall prob- 
 ably cuss him out as hard as ever next time he tries 
 to preach at me." 
 
 "You had better listen to him instead. Larry is 
 apt to be right and you are apt to be wrong, and you 
 know it." 
 
 "Maybe it is because I do know it and because he 
 is so devilish right that I damn him," observed the 
 youngest Holiday sagely, his eyes meeting his 
 uncle's over his sister's head. 
 
 It wasn't until he had danced and flirted and 
 made merry for three consecutive hours at the hop, 
 and proposed in the exuberance of his mood to at 
 least three different charmers whose names he had 
 forgotten by the next day, that Ted Holiday remem- 
 bered Madeline and his promise to* keep tryst with 
 her that afternoon. Other things of more moment 
 had swept her clean from his mind. 
 
 "Thunder!" he muttered to himself. "Wonder 
 what she is thinking when I swore by all that was
 
 68 WILD WINGS 
 
 holy to come. Oh well! I should worry. I 
 couldn't help it. I'll write and explain how it hap- 
 pened." 
 
 So said, so done. He scribbled off a hasty note 
 of explanation and apology which he signed "Yours 
 devotedly, Ted Holiday" and went out to the corner 
 mail box to dispatch the same so it would go out in 
 the early morning collection, and prepared to dis- 
 miss the matter from his mind again. 
 
 Coming back into his room he found his uncle 
 standing on the threshold. 
 
 "Had to get a letter off," murmured the young 
 man as his uncle looked inquiring. He turned to 
 light a cigarette with an air of determined casual- 
 ness. He didn't care to have Uncle Phil know any 
 more about the Madeline affair. 
 
 "It must have been important." 
 
 "Was," curtly. "Did you think I was joy riding 
 again?" 
 
 "No, I heard you stirring and thought you might 
 be sick. I haven't been able to get to sleep myself." 
 
 Seeing how utterly worn out his uncle looked, 
 Ted's resentment took quick, shamed flight. Poor 
 Uncle Phil ! He never spared himself, always bore 
 the brunt of everything for them all. And here he 
 himself had just snapped like a cur because he sus- 
 pected his guardian of desiring to interfere with his 
 high and mighty private business. 
 
 "Too bad," he' said. "Wish you'd smoke, Uncle 
 Phil. It's great to cool off your nerves. Honest 
 it is ! Have one?" He held out his case. 
 
 Doctor Holiday smiled at that, though he declined 
 the proffered weed. He understood very well that 
 the boy was making tacit amends for his ungra- 
 ciousness of a moment before. 
 
 "No, I'll get to sleep presently. It has been 
 rather a wearing day." 
 
 "Should say it had been. I hope Aunt Margery
 
 A SHADOW ON THE PATH 69 
 
 doesn't know about the wreck. She'll worry, if she 
 knew Larry was coming east." 
 
 "I wired her this evening. I didn't want to take 
 any chance of her thinking he was in the smash." 
 
 Ted laid down his cigarette. 
 
 "You never forget anybody do you, Uncle Phil?" 
 he said rather soberly for him. 
 
 "I never forget Margery. She is a very part of 
 myself, lad." 
 
 And when he was alone Ted pondered over that 
 last speech of his uncle's. He wondered if there 
 would ever be a Margery for him, and, if so, what 
 she would think of the Madelines if she knew of 
 them.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 DEVELOPMENTS BY, MAIL 
 
 AFTER the family had reassembled on the Hill the 
 promised letter from Larry arrived. He was stay- 
 ing on so long as his services were needed. The 
 enormous number of victims of the wreck had 
 strained to the uttermost the city's supply of doc- 
 tors and nurses, and there was more than enough 
 work for all. The writer spared them the details of 
 the wreck so far as possible; indeed, evidently was 
 not anxious to relive the horrors on his own account. 
 He mentioned a few of the many sad cases only. 
 One of these was the instant death of a famous sur- 
 geon whose loss to the world seemed tragic and 
 pitifully wasteful to the young doctor. Another 
 was the crushing to death of a young mother who, 
 with her two children, had been happily on their 
 way to meet the husband who had been in South 
 America for a year. Larry had made friends with 
 her on the train and played with the babies who re- 
 minded him of his small cousins-, Eric and Hester, 
 Doctor Philip's children. 
 
 A third case he went into more fully, that of a 
 young woman just a mere girl in appearance 
 though she wore a wedding ring who had received 
 a terrible blow on the base of her brain which had 
 driven out memory entirely. She did not know 
 who she was, where she was going, or whence she 
 had come. Her physical injuries, otherwise, were 
 
 not serious, a broken arm and some bad bruises, 
 
 70
 
 DEVELOPMENTS BY MAIL 71 
 
 nothing but what she would easily recover from in 
 a short time; but, for all her effort, the past 
 remained as something on the other side of a 
 strange, blank wall. 
 
 "She tries pitifully hard to remember, and is 
 so sweet and brave we are all devoted to her. I al- 
 ways stop and talk to her when I go by her. She 
 seems to cling to me, rather, as if I could help her 
 get things back. Lord knows I wish I could. She 
 is too dainty and fragile a morsel of humanity to be 
 left to fight such a thing alone. She is a regular 
 little Dresden shepherdess, with the tiniest feet and 
 hands and the yellowest hair and bluest eyes I ever 
 saw. Her husband must be about crazy, poor chap, 
 not hearing from her. I suppose he will be turning 
 up soon to claim her. I hope so. I don't know 
 what will become of her if he does not. 
 
 "It is late and I must turn in. I don't know 
 when I shall get home. I don't flatter myself Dun- 
 bury will miss me much when it has you. Give 
 everybody my love and tell Tony I am awfully 
 sorry I couldn't get to commencement. I guess 
 maybe she is glad enough to have me alive not to 
 mind much. I'm some glad to be alive myself." 
 
 The letter ended with affectionate greetings to 
 the older doctor from his nephew and junior assis- 
 tant. With it came another epistle from the same 
 city from an old doctor friend who had watched 
 Philip Holiday, himself, grow up, and had immedi- 
 ately set his eye on the younger Holiday, when he 
 had discovered the relationship. 
 
 "You have a lad to be proud of in that Larry of 
 yours," he wrote. "He is on the job early and late, 
 no smart Alecness, no shirking, no fool questions, 
 just there on the spot when you want him with 
 cool head, steady nerves and a hand as gentle as a 
 woman's. I like his quality, Phil. Quality shows 
 up at a time like this. He is true Holiday,
 
 72 WILD WINGS 
 
 through and through, and you can tell him I said 
 so when you see him." 
 
 The doctor smiled, well pleased at this tribute to 
 Ned's son and this letter, like Larry's, he handed to 
 his wife Margery to read. 
 
 The thirties had touched "Miss Margery" lightly. 
 She was still slim and girlish-looking. In her 
 simple gown of that forgetmenot blue shade which 
 her husband particularly loved she seemed scarcely 
 older than she had on that day, some eight years 
 earlier, when he had found her giving a Fourth of 
 July party to the Hill youngsters, and had begun to 
 lose his heart to her then and there. It was not by 
 shedding care and responsibility, however, that she 
 had kept her youth. It was by no means the easiest 
 thing in the world to be a busy doctorls wife, the 
 mother of two lively children and faithful daughter 
 to an invalid and rather "difficult" mother-in-law, 
 as well as to care for a big house and an elastic 
 household, which in vacation time included Ned 
 Holiday's children and their friends. Needless to 
 say she did not do any painting these days. But 
 there is more than one way of being an artist, and 
 of the art of simple, lovely, human living Margery 
 Holiday was past mistress. 
 
 "Doesn't sound much like 'Lazy Larry' these days, 
 does it?" she commented, giving the letters back to 
 her husband. "I know you are proud of Doctor 
 Fenton's letter, Phil. You ought to be. It is more 
 than a little due to you that Larry is what he is." 
 
 "We are advertised by our loving wives," he mis- 
 quoted teasingly. "I have always observed that 
 the things we approve of in the younger generation 
 are the fruit of seeds we planted. The things we 
 disapprove of slipped in inadvertedly like weeds." 
 
 The same mail that brought Larry's letter 
 brought one also to Ted from Madeline Taylor, a 
 letter which made him wriggle a little internally,
 
 DEVELOPMENTS BY MAIL 73 
 
 and pull his forelock, as was his habit when things 
 were a bit perturbing. 
 
 Madeline had gone to bed that Sunday night 
 after her meeting with Ted in the woods, full of the 
 happiest kind of anticipations and shy, foolish, im- 
 possible dreams. Her mind told her it was the 
 rankest of nonsense to dream about Ted Holiday, 
 but her heart would do it. She knew the affair 
 with Ted had begun wrong, but she couldn't help 
 hoping.it would come out beautifully right. She 
 couldn't help making believe she had found her 
 prince, a bonny laddie who liked her well enough 
 to play straight with her and to come again to see 
 her. 
 
 She meant to try so hard, so very hard, to make 
 herself into the kind of girl he was used to and liked. 
 She cut out the picture of Tony Holiday that Max 
 Hempel and Dick Carson had studied that day on 
 the train. She studied it even harder and hid it 
 away among her very special treasures where she 
 could take it out and look at it often and use it as 
 a model. She even snatched her hitherto precious 
 earrings from their pink cotton resting place and 
 hurled them as far as she could into the night. She 
 was very sure Tony Holiday did not wear earrings, 
 and she was even surer she had seen Ted's eyes 
 resting disapprovingly on hers. The earrings had 
 to go. They had gone. 
 
 The next afternoon she had waited for a while 
 patiently by the brook. The distant clock struck 
 the half hour, the three quarters, the full hour. No 
 Ted Holiday. By this time her patience had long 
 since evaporated and now blazed into blind rage. 
 Ted had forgotten his promise, if indeed he had ever 
 meant to keep it. He was with those other girls 
 his kind. Maybe he was laughing at her, telling 
 them how "easy" she had been, how gullible. No, 
 he wouldn't! He would be ashamed to admit he
 
 74 WILD WINGS 
 
 had had anything to do with her. Men did not 
 boast of their conquest of one kind of girl to an- 
 other. She had read enough fiction to know that. 
 
 In any case she hated Ted Holiday with a fine 
 fury of resentment. She wanted to make him suf- 
 fer, even as she was suffering, though she sensed 
 vaguely that men couldn't suffer that way. It was 
 only women who were capable of such fine-drawn 
 torture. Men went free. 
 
 From her rage against her recreant cavalier she 
 went on to rage against life built on a man-made 
 plan for the benefit of man. Women were hurt, no 
 matter what they did. Being good wasn't any use. 
 You got hurt all the worse if you were good. It 
 was silly even to try. It was better to shut your 
 eyes and have a good time. 
 
 Pursuing this reasoning brought Madeline Tay- 
 lor to the sycamore tree that night where Willis 
 Hubbard's car waited. She went with Willis, not 
 to please him, not to please herself, but to spite Ted 
 Holiday. She had hinted to Ted she would do 
 something desperate if he failed her. She had done 
 something desperate, but it was herself, not Ted, 
 that had been hurt. She discovered that too late. 
 
 The next morning had brought Ted's pleasant, 
 penitent note, explaining his defection and expres- 
 sing the hope that they might meet again soon, 
 signed hers "devotedly." Poor Madeline! The 
 cup of her regret was very bitter to the taste as she 
 read that letter of Ted Holiday's. 
 
 Something of her misery and self-abasement 
 crept into the letter to Ted, together with a pas- 
 sionate remorse for having doubted him and her 
 even more vehement regret for having gone out 
 with Willis Hubbard. The whole complex story 
 of her emotional reactions was of course not written 
 down for Ted's eyes; but he read quite enough to 
 permit him to guess more than he cared to know.
 
 DEVELOPMENTS BY MAIL 75 
 
 Hubbard was evidently something of a rotter. 
 Maybe he was a bit of a rotter himself. If he 
 hadn't taken the girl out joy riding himself she 
 wouldn't have gone with the other two nights 
 later. That was plain to be seen with half an eye 
 and Ted Holiday was man enough to look at the 
 fact straight and unblinking for a moment. 
 
 Well! He should worry. It wasn't his fault if 
 Madeline had been fool enough to go out with Hub- 
 bard, when she knew what kind of a chap he was. 
 He wasn't her keeper. He didn't see why she had 
 to ask him to forgive her. It was none of his busi- 
 ness. And he wished she hadn't begged so ear- 
 nestly and humbly that he would see her again soon. 
 He didn't want to see her. Yet, down underneath, 
 Ted Holiday had an uneasy feeling he ought to 
 want it, ought to try to make up to her in some way 
 for something which was somehow his fault, even 
 though he did disclaim the responsibility. 
 
 Two days later came another letter even more dis- 
 turbing. It seemed Madeline was going to Holyoke 
 again soon to visit her Cousin Emma and wanted 
 Ted to join her. She was "dying" to see him. He 
 could stay at Cousin Emma's, but maybe he 
 wouldn't like that because there was a raft of chil- 
 dren always under foot and Fred, Emma's husband, 
 was a dreadful "ordinary" person who smoked a 
 smelly pipe and sat round in his shirt sleeves. But 
 if he would come and stay at a hotel they could 
 have a wonderful time. She did want to see him so 
 much. Besides, Willis pestered her all the time 
 and said if she went away he would come down in 
 his car every night to see her. So if Ted didn't 
 want her to run around with Willis as he said in 
 his last letter he had better come himself. She 
 didn't like Willis the way she did Ted, though. 
 Some ways she hated him and she wished awfully 
 she hadn't ever had anything to do with him. And
 
 76 WILD WINGS 
 
 finally she liked Ted better than anybody in the 
 world, and would he please, please come to Holyoke, 
 because she wanted him to so very, very much? 
 
 And then the postscript. "The cut is going to 
 leave a scar, I am most sure. I don't care. I like 
 it. It makes me think of you and what a wonder- 
 ful time we had together that night." 
 
 Ted read the letter coming up the Hill, and for 
 once forebore to whistle as he made the ascent. His 
 mind was busy. A week of Dunbury calm and 
 sweet do-nothing had sufficed to make him undeni- 
 ably restless. Madeline's proposal struck him as 
 rather a jolly idea accordingly. After all, she was 
 a dandy little girl, and he owed her a lot for not 
 making any fuss over his nearly killing her. He 
 didn't like this Hubbard fellow, either. He rather 
 thought it was his duty to go and send him about 
 his business. Ted was a bit of a knight, at heart, 
 and felt now the chivalric urge, combining with 
 others less unselfish, to go to the rescue of the dam- 
 sel and set her free of the false besieger. 
 
 Her undisguised admission of her caring for him 
 was a bit disconcerting, although perhaps also a 
 little sweet to his youthful male vanity. Her 
 caring was a complication, made him feel as if 
 somehow he ought to make up to her for failing, 
 her in the big thing by granting her the smaller 
 favor. 
 
 By the time he had reached the top of the Hill 
 he was rather definitely committed in his own mind 
 to the Holyoke trip, if he could throw enough dust 
 in his uncle's eyes to get away with it. 
 
 Arrived at the house he flung the other mail on 
 the hall table and went upstairs. As he passed 
 his grandmother's room he noticed that the door 
 was ajar and stepped in for a word with her. She 
 looked very still and white as she lay there in the 
 big, old fashioned four-poster bed! Poor Granny!
 
 DEVELOPMENTS BY MAIL 77 
 
 It was awfully sad to be old. Ted couldn't quite 
 imagine it for himself, somehow. 
 
 " 'Lo, Granny dear," he greeted, stooping to kiss 
 the withered old cheek. "How goes it?" 
 
 "About as usual, dear. Any word from Larry?'' 
 There was a plaintive note in Madame Holiday's 
 voice. She was never quite content unless all the 
 "children" were under the family roof-tree. And 
 Larry was particularly dear to her heart. 
 
 "Yes, I just brought a letter for Uncle Phil. The 
 very idea of your wanting Larry when you have 
 Tony and me, and you haven't had us for so long." 
 Ted pretended to be reproachful and his grand- 
 mother reached for his hand. 
 
 "I know, dear boy. I am very glad to have you 
 and Tony. But Larry is a habit, like Philip. You 
 mustn't mind my missing him." 
 
 "Course I don't mind, Granny. I was just joss- 
 ing. I don't blame you a bit for missing Larry. 
 He is a mighty good thing to have in the family. 
 Wish I were half as valuable." 
 
 "You are, sonny. I am so happy to be having 
 you here all summer." 
 
 "Maybe not quite all summer. I'll be going off 
 for little trips," he prepared her gently. 
 
 "Youth! Youth! Never still always wanting 
 to fly off somewhere!" 
 
 "We all fly back mighty quick," comforted Ted. 
 "There come the kiddies." 
 
 A patter of small feet sounded down the hall. In 
 the next moment they were there sturdy Eric, the 
 six year old, apple-cheeked, incredibly energetic, 
 already bidding fair to equal if not to rival his 
 cousin Ted's reputation for juvenile naughtiness ; 
 and Hester, two years younger, a rose-and-snow 
 creation, cherubic, adorable, with bobbing silver 
 curls, delectably dimpled elbows and corn flower 
 blue eyes.
 
 78 WILD WINGS 
 
 Fresh from the tub and the daily delightful frolic 
 with Daddy, they now appeared for that other cere- 
 monial known as saying good-night to Granny. 
 
 "Teddy ! Teddy ! Ride us to Granny," demanded 
 Eric hilariously, jubilant at finding his favorite tall 
 cousin on the spot. 
 
 " 'Es, wide us, wide us/' chimed in Hester, not 
 to be outdone. 
 
 "You fiends!" But Ted obediently got down on 
 "all fours" while the small folks clambered up on 
 his back and he "rode" them over to the bed, their 
 bathrobes flying as they went. Arrived at the des- 
 tination Ted deftly deposited his load in a giggling, 
 squirming heap on the rug and then gathering up 
 the small Hester, swung her aloft, bringing her 
 down with her rose bud of a mouth close to Granny's 
 pale cheeks. 
 
 "Kiss your flying angel, Granny, before she flies 
 away again." 
 
 "Me ! Me !" clamored Eric vociferously, hugging 
 Ted's knees. "Me flying angel, too!" 
 
 "Not much," objected Ted. "No angel about you. 
 Too, too much solid flesh and bones. Kiss Granny, 
 quick. I hear your parients approaching." 
 
 Philip and Margery appeared on the threshold, 
 seeking their obstreperous offspring. 
 
 There was another stampede, this time in the 
 direction of the "parients." 
 
 "Ca'y me! Ca'y me, Daddy," chirruped Hester. 
 "No, me. Ride me piggy-back," insisted Eric. 
 "Such children!" smiled Margery. "Ted, you 
 encourage them. They are more barbarian than 
 ever when you are here, and they are bad enough 
 under normal conditions." 
 
 Ted chuckled at that. He and his Aunt Margery 
 were the best of good friends. They always had 
 been since Ted had refused to join her Round Table 
 on the grounds that he might have to be sorry for
 
 DEVELOPMENTS BY MAIL 79 
 
 being bad if lie did, though he had subsequently 
 capitulated, in view of the manifest advantages ac- 
 cruing to membership in the order. 
 
 "That's right. Lay it to me. I don't believe 
 Uncle Phil was a saint, either, was he, Granny?" 
 he appealed. "I'll bet the kids get some of their 
 deviltry by direct line of descent." 
 
 His grandmother smiled. 
 
 "We forget a good deal about our children's 
 naughtinesses when they are grown up," she said. 
 "I've even forgotten some of yours, Teddy." 
 
 "Lucky," grinned her grandson, stooping to kiss 
 her again. "Allans, enfants." 
 
 Later, when the obstreperous ones were in bed 
 and everything quiet Philip and Margery sat to- 
 gether in the hammock, lovers still after eight years 
 of strenuous married life and discussed Larry's 
 last letter, which had contained the rather aston- 
 ishing request that he be permitted to bring the 
 little lady who had forgotten her past to Holiday 
 Hill with him. 
 
 "Queer proposition!" murmured the doctor. 
 "Doesn't sound like sober Larry." 
 
 "I am not so sure. There is a quixotic streak in 
 him in all you Holidays, for that matter. You 
 can't say much. Think of the stray boys you have 
 taken in at one time or another, some of them rather 
 dubious specimens., I infer." 
 
 Margery's eyes smiled tender raillery at her hus- 
 band. He chuckled at the arraignment, and ad- 
 mitted its justice. Still, boys were not mystery 
 ladies. She must grant him that. Then he sobered. 
 
 "It is only you that makes me hesitate, Margery 
 mine. You are carrying about as heavy a burden 
 now as any one woman ought to take upon herself, 
 with me and the house and the children and Granny. 
 And here is this crazy nephew of mine proposing 
 the addition to the family of a stranger who hasn't
 
 80 WILD WINGS 
 
 any past and whose future seems wrapped mostly 
 in a nebular hypothesis. It is rather a large order, 
 my dear." 
 
 "Not too large. It isn't as if she were seriously 
 ill, or would be a burden in any way. Besides, it 
 is Larry's home as well as ours, and he so seldom 
 asks anything for himself, and is always ready to 
 help anywhere. Do you really mind her coming, 
 Phil?" ' 
 
 "Not if you don't. I am glad to agree if it is not 
 going to be too hard for you. As you say, Larry 
 doesn't ever ask much for himself and I am inter- 
 ested in the case, anyway. Shall we wire him to 
 bring her, then?" 
 
 "Please do. I shall be very glad." 
 
 "You are a wonder, Margery mine." And the 
 doctor bent and kissed his wife before going in to 
 telephone the message to be sent his nephew that 
 night, a message bidding him and the little stranger 
 welcome, whenever they cared to come to the House 
 on the Hill. 
 
 And far away in Pittsburgh, Larry got the word 
 that night and smiled content. Bless Uncle Phil 
 and Aunt Margery! They never failed you, no 
 matter what you asked of them.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE LITTLE LADY WHO FORGOT 
 
 LARRY HOLIDAY was a rather startlingly energetic 
 person when he once got under way. The next 
 morning he overruled the "Mystery Lady's" faint 
 demurs, successfully argued the senior doctor 
 into agreement with his somewhat surprising plan 
 of procedure, wired his uncle, engaged train reser- 
 vations for that evening, secured a nurse, preempted 
 the services of a Red Cap who promised to be wait- 
 ing with a chair at the station so that the little in- 
 valid would not have to set foot upon the ground, 
 and finally carried the latter with his own str6ng 
 young arms onto the train and into a large, cool 
 stateroom where a fan was already whirring and 
 the white-clad nurse waiting to minister to the 
 needs of the frail traveler. 
 
 In a few moments the train was slipping smoothly 
 out of the station and the girl who had forgotten 
 most things else knew that she was being spirited 
 off to a delightful sounding place called Holiday 
 Hill in the charge of a gray-eyed young doctor who 
 had made himself personally responsible for her 
 from the moment he had extricated her, more dead 
 than alive, from the wreckage. Somehow, for the 
 moment she was quite content with the knowledge. 
 
 Leaving his charge in the nurse's care, Larry 
 Holiday ensconced himself in his seat not far from 
 the stateroom and pretended to read his paper. 
 But it might just as well have been printed in an- 
 
 81
 
 82 WILD WINGS 
 
 cient Sanscrit for all the meaning its words con- 
 veyed to his brain. His corporeal self occupied the 
 green plush seat. His spiritual person was else- 
 where. 
 
 After fifteen minutes of futile effort at concentra- 
 tion he flung down the paper and strode to the door 
 of the stateroom. A white linen arm answered his 
 gentle knock. There was a moment's consultation, 
 then the nurse came out and Larry went in. 
 
 On the couch the girl lay very still with half- 
 closed eyes. Her long blonde braids tied with blue 
 ribbons lay on the pillow on either side of her sweet, 
 pale little face, making it look more childlike than 
 ever. 
 
 "I can't see why I can't remember," she said to 
 Larry as he sat down on the edge of the other cot 
 opposite her. "I try so hard." 
 
 "Don't try. You are just wearing yourself out 
 doing it. It will be all right in time. Don't 
 worry." 
 
 "I can't help worrying. It is oh, it is horrible 
 not to have any past to be different from every- 
 body in the world." 
 
 "I know. It is mighty tough and you have been 
 wonderfully brave about it. But truly I do believe 
 it will all come back. And in the meanwhile you 
 are going to one of the best places in the world to 
 get well in. Take my w r ord for it." 
 
 "But I don't see why I should be going. It isn't 
 as if I had any claim on you or your people. Why 
 are you taking me to your home?" The blue eyes 
 w T ere wide open now, and looking straight up into 
 Larry Holiday's gray ones. 
 
 Larry smiled and Larry's smile, coming out of 
 the usual gravity and repose of his face, was ir- 
 resistible. More than one young woman, case and 
 non-case, had wished, seeing that smile, that its 
 owner had, eyes for girls as such.
 
 THE LITTLE LADY WHO FORGOT 83 
 
 "Because you are the most interesting patient I 
 ever had. Don't begrudge it to me. I get measles 
 and sore throats mostly. .Do you wonder I snatched 
 you as a dog grabs a bone?'' Then he sobered. 
 "Truly, Ruth you don't mind my calling you that, 
 do you, since we don't know your other name? the 
 Hill is the one place in the world for you just now. 
 You will forgive my kidnapping you when you see 
 it and my people. You can't help liking it and 
 them.'; 
 
 "I am not afraid of not liking it or them if " 
 She had meant to say "if they are at all like you," 
 but that seemed a little too personal to say to one's 
 doctor, even a doctor who had saved your life and 
 had the most wonderful smile that ever was, and 
 the nicest eyes. "If they will let me," she substi- 
 tuted. "But it is such a queer, kind thing to do. 
 The other doctors were interested in me, too, as a 
 case. But it didn't occur to any of them to offer me 
 the hospitality of their homes and family for 
 an unlimited time. Are you Holidays all like 
 that?" 
 
 "More or less," admitted Larry with another 
 smile. "Maybe we are a bit vain-glorious about 
 Holiday hospitality. It is rather a family tradi- 
 tion. The House on the Hill has had open doors 
 ever since the first Holiday built it nearly two hun- 
 dred years ago. You saw Uncle Phil's wire. He 
 meant that 'welcome ready.' You'll see. But any- 
 way it won't be very hard for them to open the door 
 to you. They will all love you." 
 
 She shut her eyes again at that. Possibly the 
 young doctor's expression was rather more un-pro- 
 fessionally eloquent than he knew. 
 
 "Tired?" he asked. 
 
 "Not much tired of wondering. Maybe my 
 name isn't Euth at all." 
 
 "Maybe it isn't. But it is a name anyway, and
 
 84 WILD WINGS 
 
 you may as well use it for the present until you can 
 find your own. I think Ruth Annersley is a pretty 
 name myself," added the young doctor seriously. 
 "I like it." 
 
 "Mrs. Geoffrey Annersley," corrected the girl. 
 "That is rather pretty too." 
 
 Larry agreed somewhat less enthusiastically. 
 
 Ruth lifted her hand and fell to twisting the 
 wedding ring which was very loose on her thin 
 little finger. 
 
 "Think of being married and not knowing w r hat 
 your husband looks like. Poor Geoffrey Annersley ! 
 I wonder if he cares a great deal for me." 
 
 "It is quite possible," said Larry Holiday grimly. 
 
 He had taken an absurd dislike to the very name 
 of Geoffrey Annersley. Why didn't the man appear 
 and claim his wife? Practically every paper from 
 the Atlantic to the Pacific had advertised for him. 
 If he was any good and wanted to find his wife he 
 would be half crazy looking for her by this time. 
 He must have seen the newspaper notices. There 
 was something queer about this Geoffrey Anners- 
 ley. Larry Holiday detested him cordially. 
 
 "You don't suppose he was killed in the wreck, 
 do you?" Ruth's mind worked on, trying to put 
 the pieces of the puzzle together. 
 
 "You were traveling alone. Your chair was 
 near mine. I noticed you because I thought " 
 He broke off abruptly. 
 
 "Thought what?" 
 
 "That you w r ere the prettiest girl I ever saw in 
 my life," he admitted. "I wanted to speak to you. 
 Two or three times I was on the verge of it but I 
 never could quite get up the courage. I'm not much 
 good at starting conversations with girls. My kid 
 brother, Ted, has the monopoly of that sort of thing 
 in my family." 
 
 "Oh, if you only had," she sighed. "Maybe I
 
 THE LITTLE LADY WHO FORGOT 85 
 
 would have told you something about myself and 
 where I was going when I got to New York." 
 
 "I wish I had," regretted Larry. "Confound my 
 shyness! I don't see why anybody ever let you 
 travel alone from San Francisco to New York any- 
 way," he added. "Your Geoffrey ought to have 
 taken better care of you." 
 
 "Maybe I haven't a Geoffrey. The fact that 
 there was an envelope in my bag addressed to Mrs. 
 Geoffrey Annersley doesn't prove that I am Mrs. 
 Geoffrey Annersley." 
 
 "No, still there is the ring." Larry frowned 
 thoughtfully. "If you aren't Mrs. Geoffrey Anners- 
 ley you must be Mrs. Somebody Else, I suppose. 
 And the locket says Ruth from Geoffrey." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I suppose I am Mrs. Geoffrey Anners- 
 ley. It seems as if I must be. But why can't I 
 remember? It seems as if any one would remember 
 the man she was married to as if one couldn't 
 forget that, no matter what happened. But if 
 there is a Geoffrey Annersley why doesn't he come 
 and get me and make me remember him?" 
 
 Larry shook his head. 
 
 "Don't worry, please. We'll keep on advertising. 
 He is bound to come before long if he really is your 
 husband. Some day he will be coming up our hill 
 and run away with you, worse luck!" 
 
 Ruth's eyes were on the ring again. 
 
 "It is funny," she said. "But I can't make my- 
 self feel married. I can't make the ring mean any- 
 thing to me. I don't want it to mean anything. 
 I don't want to be married. Sometimes I dream 
 that Geoffrey Annersley has come and I put 
 my hand over my eyes because I don't want to see 
 him. Isn't that dreadful?" she turned to Larry to 
 ask. 
 
 "You can't help it." Larry tried manfully to 
 push back his own wholly unreasonable satisfaction
 
 86 WILD WINGS 
 
 in her aversion to her presumptive husband. "It is 
 the blow and the shock of the whole thing. It will 
 be all right in time. You will fall on your Geoff- 
 rey's neck and call him blessed when the time 
 comes." 
 
 "I don't believe he is coming," she announced 
 suddenly with conviction. 
 
 Larry got up and walked over to her couch. 
 
 "What makes you say that?" he demanded. 
 
 "I don't know. It was just a feeling I had. 
 Something inside me said right out loud : 'He isn't 
 coming. He isn't your husband.' Maybe it is be- 
 cause I don't want him to come and don't want him 
 to be my husband. Oh, dear! It is all so queer 
 and mixed up and horrid. It is awful not to be 
 anybody just a ghost. I wish I'd been killed. 
 Why didn't you leave me? Why did you dig me 
 out? All the others said I was dead. Why didn't 
 you let me be dead? It would have been better." 
 
 She turned her face away and buried it in the 
 pillow, sobbing softly, suddenly like a child. 
 
 This was too much for Larry. He dropped on 
 his knees beside her and put his arms around the 
 quivering little figure. 
 
 "Don't, Ruth," he implored. "Don't cry and 
 don't don't wish you were dead. I I can't stand 
 it." 
 
 There was a tap at the door. Larry got to his 
 feet in guilty haste and went to the door of the 
 stateroom. 
 
 "It is time for Mrs. Annersley's medicine," an- 
 nounced the nurse impersonally, entering and 
 going over to the wash stand for a glass. 
 
 The white linen back safely turned, Larry gave 
 one swift look at Ruth and bolted, shutting the 
 door behind him. The nurse turned to look at the 
 patient whose face was still hidden in the pillow 
 and then her gaze traveled meditatively toward the
 
 THE LITTLE LADY WHO FORGOT 87 
 
 door out of which the young doctor had shot so 
 precipitately. Larry had forgotten that there was 
 a mirror over the wash stand and that nurses, how- 
 ever impersonal, are still women with eyes in their 
 heads. 
 
 "H m," reflected the onlooker. "I wouldn't 
 have thought he was that kind. You never can 
 tell about men, especially doctors. I wish him joy 
 falling in love with a woman who doesn't know 
 whether or not she has a husband. Your tablets, 
 Mrs. Annersley," she added aloud. 
 
 "Larry, I think your Ruth is the dearest thing 
 I ever laid eyes on," declared Tony next day to her 
 brother. "Her name ought to be Titania. I'm not 
 very big myself, but I feel like an Amazon beside 
 her. And her laugh is the sweetest thing so soft 
 and silvery, like little bells. But she doesn't laugh 
 much, does she? Poor little thing!" 
 
 "She is awfully up against it," said Larry with 
 troubled eyes. "She can't stop trying to remember. 
 It is a regular obsession with her. And she is very 
 shy and sensitive and afraid of strangers." 
 
 "She doesn't look at you as if you were a stranger. 
 She adores you." 
 
 "Nonsense!" said Larry sharply. 
 
 Tony opened her eyes at her brother's tone. 
 
 "Why, Larry ! Of course, I didn't mean she was 
 in love with you. She couldn't be when she is 
 married. I just meant she adored you well, the 
 way Max adores me," she explained as the tawny- 
 haired Irish setter came and rested his head on her 
 knee, raising solemn worshipful brown eyes to her 
 face. "Why shouldn't she? You saved her life 
 and you have been wonderful to her every way." 
 
 "Nonsense!" said Larry again, though he said it 
 in a different tone this time. "I haven't done much. 
 It is Uncle Phil and Aunt Margery who are the
 
 88 WILD WINGS 
 
 wonderful ones. It is great the way they both 
 said yes right away when I asked if I could bring 
 her here. I tell you, Tony, it means something to 
 have your own people the kind you can count on 
 every time. And it is great to have a home like 
 this to bring her to. She is going to love it as soon 
 as she is able to get downstairs with us all." 
 
 Up in her cool, spacious north chamber, lying 
 in the big bed with the smooth, fine linen, Ruth felt 
 as if she loved it already, though she found these 
 Holidays even more amazing than ever, now that 
 she was actually in their midst. Were there any 
 other people in the world like them she wondered 
 so kind and simple and unfeignedly glad to take a 
 stranger into their home and a queer, mysterious, 
 sick stranger at that! 
 
 "If I have to begin living all over just like a baby 
 I think I am the luckiest girl that ever was to be 
 able to start in a place like this with such dear, 
 kind people all around me," she told Doctor Holi- 
 day, senior, to whom she had immediately lost her 
 heart as soon as she saw his smile and felt the touch 
 of his strong, magnetic, healing hand. 
 
 "We will get you out under the trees in a day or 
 two," he said. "And then your business will be to 
 get well and strong as soon as possible and not 
 worry about anything any more than if you were 
 the baby you were just talking about. Can you 
 manage that, young lady?" 
 
 "I'll try. I would be horrid and ungrateful not 
 to when you are all so good to me. I don't believe 
 my own people are half as nice as you Holidays. 
 I don't see how they could be." 
 
 The doctor laughed at that. 
 
 "We will let it go at that for the present. You 
 will be singing another tune when your Geoffrey 
 Annersley comes up the Hill to claim you." 
 
 The girl's expressive face clouded over at that.
 
 THE LITTLE LADY WHO FORGOT 89 
 
 She did not quite dare to tell Doctor Holiday as 
 she had his nephew that she did not want to see 
 Geoffrey Annersley nor to have to know she was 
 married to him. It sounded horrid, but it was true. 
 Sometimes she hated the very thought of Geoffrey 
 Annersley. 
 
 Later Doctor Holiday and his nephew went over 
 the girl's case together from both the personal and 
 professional angles. There was little enough to 
 go on in untangling her mystery. The railway 
 tickets which had been found in her purse were in 
 an un-postmarked envelope bearing the name Mrs. 
 Geoffrey Annersley, but no address. The bag- 
 gage train had been destroyed by fire at the time of 
 the accident, so there were no trunks to give evi- 
 dence. The small traveling bag she had carried 
 with her bore neither initial nor geographical desig- 
 nation, and contained nothing which gave any clew 
 as to its owner's identity save that she was pre- 
 sumably a person of wealth, for her possessions 
 were exquisite and obviously costly. A small jewel 
 box contained various valuable rings, one or two 
 pendants and a string of matched pearls which 
 even to uninitiated eyes spelled a fortune. Also, 
 oddly enough, among the rest was an absurd little 
 childish gold locket inscribed "Kuth from Geof- 
 frey." 
 
 She had worn no rings at all except for a single 
 platinum-set, and very perfect, diamond and a plain 
 gold band, obviously a wedding ring. The infer- 
 ence was that she was married and that her hus- 
 band's name was Geoffrey Annersley, but where 
 he was and why she was traveling across the 
 United States alone and from whence she had come 
 remained utterly unguessable. Larry had seen to 
 it that advertisements for Geoffrey Annersley were 
 inserted in every important paper from coast to 
 coast but nothing had come of any of his efforts.
 
 90 WILD WINGS 
 
 As for the strange lapse of memory, there seemed 
 nothing to do but wait in the hope that recovered 
 health and strength might bring it back. 
 
 "It may come bit by bit or by a sudden bound 
 or never," was Doctor Holiday's opinion. "There 
 is nothing that I know of that she or you or any 
 one can dp except let nature take her course. It 
 is a case of time and patience. I am glad you 
 brought her to us. Margery and I are very glad 
 to have her." 
 
 "You are awfully good, Uncle Phil. I do ap- 
 preciate it and it is great to have you behind me 
 professionally. I haven't got a great deal of confi- 
 dence in myself. Doctoring scares me sometimes. 
 It is such a fearful responsibility." 
 
 "It is, but you are going to be equal to it. The 
 confidence will come with experience. You need 
 have no lack of faith in yourself ; I haven't. There 
 is no reason why I should have, when I get letters 
 like this." 
 
 The senior doctor leaned over and extracted old 
 Doctor Fenton's letter from a cubby hole in his desk 
 and gave it to his nephew to read. The latter pe- 
 rused it in silence with slightly heightened color. 
 Praise always embarrassed him. 
 
 "He is too kind," he observed as he handed back 
 the letter. "I didn't do much out there, precious 
 little in fact but what I was told to do. I figured 
 it out that we young ones were the privates and it 
 was up to us to take orders from the captains who 
 knew their business better than we did and get 
 busy. I worked on that basis." 
 
 "Sound basis. I am not afraid that a man who 
 can obey well won't be able to command well when 
 the time comes. It isn't a small thing to be recog- 
 nized as a true Holiday, either. It is something 
 to be proud of." 
 
 "I am proud, Uncle Phil. There is nothing I
 
 THE LITTLE LADY WHO FORGOT 91 
 
 would rather hear and deserve. But, if I am any- 
 where near the Holiday standard, it is you mostly 
 that brought me up to it. I don't mean any dis- 
 praise of Dad. He was fine and I am proud to be 
 his son. But he never understood me. I didn't 
 have enough dash and go to me for him. Ted and 
 Tony are both more his kind, though I don't believe 
 either of them loved him as I did. But you 
 seemed to understand always. You helped me to 
 believe in myself. It was the best thing that 
 could have happened to me, coming to you when 
 I did." 
 
 Larry turned to the mantel and picked up a 
 photograph of himself which stood there, a lad of 
 fifteen or so, facing the world with grave, sensitive 
 eyes, the Larry he had been when he came to the 
 House on the Hill. He smiled at his uncle over 
 the boy's picture. 
 
 "You burned out the plague spots, too, with a 
 mighty hot iron, some of them," he added. "I'll 
 never forget your sitting there in that very chair 
 telling me I was a lazy, selfish snob and that, all 
 things considered, I didn't measure up for a nickel 
 with Dick. Jerusalem! I wonder if you knew 
 how that hit. I had a fairly good opinion of Larry 
 Holiday in some ways and you rather knocked the 
 spots out of it, comparing me to my disadvantage 
 with a circus runaway." 
 
 He replaced the picture, the smile still lingering 
 on his face. 
 
 "It was the right medicine though. I needed 
 it. I can see that now. Speaking of doses I wish 
 you would make Ted tutor this summer. I don't 
 know whether he has told you. I rather think not. 
 But he flunked so many courses he will have to 
 drop back a year unless he makes' up the work and 
 takes examinations in the fall." 
 
 The senior doctor drummed thoughtfully on the
 
 92 WILD WINGS 
 
 desk. So that was what the boy had on his mind. 
 
 "Why not speak to him yourself?'' he asked after 
 a minute. 
 
 "And be sent to warm regions as I was last 
 spring when I ventured to give his lord highrnighti- 
 ness some advice. No good, Uncle Phil. He won't 
 listen to me. He just gets mad and swings off in 
 the other direction. I don't handle him right. 
 Haven't your patience and tact. I wonder if he 
 ever will get any sense into his head. He is the 
 best hearted kid in the world, and I'm crazy over 
 him, but he does rile me to the limit with his fifty- 
 seven varieties of foolness."
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 TED SEIZES THE DAY 
 
 THE next morning Ted strolled into his uncle's 
 office to ask if the latter had any objections to his 
 accepting an invitation to a house-party from Hal 
 Underwood, a college classmate, at the latter's home 
 near Springfield. 
 
 The doctor considered a moment before answer- 
 ing. He knew all about the Underwoods and knew 
 that his erratic nephew could not be in a safer, 
 pleasanter place. Also his quick wit saw a chance 
 to put the screws on the lad in connection with the 
 tutoring business. 
 
 "I suppose your June allowance is able to float 
 your" traveling expenses," he remarked less guile- 
 lessly than the remark sounded. 
 
 The June allowance w T as, it seemed, the missing 
 link. 
 
 "I thought maybe you would be willing to allow 
 me a little extra this month on account of com- 
 mencement stunts. It is darned expensive sending 
 nosegays to sweet girl graduates. I couldn't help 
 going broke. Honest I couldn't, Uncle Phil." 
 Then as his uncle did not leap at the suggestion 
 offered, the speaker changed his tack. "Anyway, 
 you would be willing to let me have my July money 
 ahead of time, wouldn't you?'' he ingratiated. "It 
 is only ten days to the first." 
 
 But Doctor Holiday still chose to be inconven- 
 iently irrelevant. 
 
 J 93
 
 94 WILD WINGS 
 
 "Have you any idea how much my bill was for 
 repairing the car?" he asked. 
 
 Ted shook his head shamefacedly, and bent to 
 examine a picture in a magazine which lay on the 
 desk. He wasn't anxious to have the car incident 
 resurrected. He had thought it decently buried 
 by this time, having heard no more about it. 
 
 "It was a little over a hundred dollars," contin- 
 ued the doctor. 
 
 The boy looked up, genuinely distressed. 
 
 "Gee, Uncle Phil! It's highway robbery." 
 
 "Scarcely. All things considered, it was a very 
 fair bill. A hundred dollars is a good deal to pay 
 for the pleasure of nearly getting yourself and 
 somebody else killed, Ted." 
 
 Ted pulled his forelock and had nothing to say. 
 
 "Were you in earnest about paying up for that 
 particular bit of folly, son?" 
 
 "Why, yes. At least I didn't think it would be 
 any such sum as that," Ted hedged. "I'll be 
 swamped if I try to pay it out of my allowance. 
 I can't come out even, as it is. Couldn't you take 
 it out of my own money what's coming to me when 
 I'm of age?" 
 
 "I could, if getting myself paid were the chief 
 consideration. As it happens, it isn't. I'm sorry 
 if I seem to be hard on you, but I am going to hold 
 you to your promise, even if it pinches a bit. I 
 think you know why. How about it, son?" 
 
 "I suppose it has to go that way if you say so," 
 said Ted a little sulkily. "Can I pay it in small 
 amounts?" 
 
 "How small? Dollar a year? I'd hate to wait 
 until I was a hundred and forty or so to get my 
 money back." 
 
 The boy grinned reluctantly, answering the 
 friendly twinkle in his uncle's eyes. He was re- 
 lieved that a joke had penetrated what had begun to
 
 TED SEIZES THE DAY 95 
 
 appear to be an unpleasantly jestless interview. He 
 hated to be called to account. Like many another 
 older sinner he liked dancing, but found paying the 
 piper an irksome business. 
 
 "Nonsense, Uncle Phil! I meant real paying. 
 Will ten dollars a month do?" 
 
 "It will, provided you don't try to borrow ahead 
 each month from the next one." 
 
 "I won't," glibly. "If you will- The boy 
 broke off and had the grace to look confused, realiz- 
 ing he'had been about to do the very thing he had 
 promised in the same breath not to do. "Then 
 that means I can't go to Hal's," he added soberly. 
 
 He felt sober. There was more than Hal and 
 the house-party involved, though the latter had 
 fallen in peculiarly fortuitous with his other 
 plans. He had rashly written Madeline he would 
 be in Holyoke next week as she desired, and the 
 first of July and his allowance would still be just 
 out of reach next week. It was a confounded nui- 
 sance, to say the least, being broke just now, with 
 Uncle Phil turned stuffy. 
 
 "No, I don't want you to give up your house- 
 party, though that rests with you. I'll make a 
 bargain with you. I'll advance your whole July 
 allowance minus ten dollars Saturday morning." 
 
 Ted's face cleared, beamed like sudden sunshine 
 on a cloudy March day. 
 
 "You will! Uncle Phil, you certainly are a 
 peach!" And in his exuberance he tossed his cap 
 to the ceiling, catching it deftly on his nose as it 
 descended. 
 
 "Hold on. Don't rejoice too soon. It was to be 
 a bargain, you know. You have heard only one 
 
 "Oh h!" The exclamation was slightly crest- 
 fallen. 
 
 "I understand that you fell down on most of
 
 96 WILD WINGS 
 
 your college work this spring. Is that correct?" 
 
 This was a new complication and just as he had 
 thought he was safely out of the woods, too. Ted 
 hung his head, gave consent to his uncle's question 
 by silence and braced himself for a lecture, though 
 he was a little relieved that he need not bring up 
 the subject of that inconvenient flunking of his, 
 himself; that his uncle was already prepared, who- 
 ever it was that had told tales. The lecture did 
 not come, however. 
 
 "Here is the bargain. I will advance the money 
 as I said, provided that as soon as you get back from 
 Hal's you will make arrangements to tutor with 
 Mr. Caldwell this summer, in all the subjects you 
 failed in and promise to put in two months of good, 
 solid cramming, no half way about it." 
 
 "Gee, Uncle Phil ! It's vacation." 
 
 "You don't need a vacation. If all I hear of you 
 is true, or even half of it, you made your whole 
 college year one grand, sweet vacation. What is 
 the answer? Want time to think the proposition 
 over?" 
 
 "No o. I guess I'll take you up. I suppose 
 I'll have to tutor anyway if I don't want to drop 
 back a class, and I sure don't," Ted admitted hon- 
 estly. "Unless you'll let me quit and you won't. 
 It is awfully tough, though. You never made 
 Tony or Larry kill themselves studying in vaca- 
 tions. I don't see 
 
 "Neither Tony or Larry ever flunked a college 
 course. It remained for you to be the first Holi- 
 day to wear a dunce cap." 
 
 Ted flushed angrily at that. The shot went 
 home, as the doctor intended it should. He knew 
 when to hit and how to do it hard, as Larry had 
 testified. 
 
 "Fool's cap if you like, Uncle Phil. I am not a 
 dunce."
 
 TED SEIZES THE DAY 97 
 
 "I rather think that is true. Anyway, prove it 
 to us this summer and there is no one who will be 
 gladder than I to take back the aspersion. Is it 
 understood then? You have your house-party and 
 when you come back you are pledged to honest 
 work, no shirking, no requests for time off, no 
 complaints. Have I your word?" 
 
 Ted considered. He thought he was paying a 
 stiff price for his house-party and his lark with 
 Madeline. He could give up the first, though a 
 fellow always had a topping time at Hal's ; but he 
 couldn't quite see himself owning ignominiously to 
 Madeline that he couldn't keep his promise to her 
 because of empty pockets. Morever, as he had ad- 
 mitted, he would have to tutor anyway, probably, 
 and he might as well get some gain out of the pain. 
 
 "I promise, Uncle Phil." 
 
 "Good. Then that is settled. I am not going 
 to say anything more about the flunking. You 
 know how we all feel about it. I think you have 
 sense enough and conscience enough to see it about 
 the way the rest of us do." 
 
 Ted's eyes were down again now. Somehow 
 Uncle Phil always made him feel worse by what he 
 didn't say than a million sermons from other people 
 would have done. He would have gladly have given 
 up the projected journey and anything else he 
 possessed this moment if he could have had a clean 
 slate to show. But it was too late for that now. 
 He had to take the consequences of his own folly. 
 
 "I see it all right, Uncle Phil," he said looking up. 
 "Trouble is I never seem to have the sense to look 
 until afterward. You are awfully decent about 
 it and letting me go to Hal's and everything. I 
 I'll be gone about a week, do you mind?" 
 
 "No. Stay as long as you like. I am satisfied 
 with your promise to make good when you do 
 come."
 
 98 WILD WINGS 
 
 Ted slipped away quickly then. He was ashamed 
 to meet his uncle's kind eyes. He knew he was 
 playing a crooked game with stacked cards. He 
 hadn't exactly lied hadn't said a word that wasn't 
 strictly true, indeed. He was going to Hal's, but 
 he had let his uncle think he was going to stay 
 there the whole week whereas in reality he meant 
 to spend the greater part of the time in Madeline 
 Taylor's society, which was not in the bargain at 
 all. Well he would make up later by keeping his 
 promise about the studying. He would show them 
 Larry wasn't the only Holiday who could make 
 good. The dunce cap jibe rankled. 
 
 And so, having satisfied his sufficiently elastic 
 conscience, he departed on Saturday for Spring- 
 field and adjacent points. 
 
 He had the usual "topping" time at Hal's and 
 tore himself away with the utmost reluctance from 
 the house-party, had half a mind, indeed, to wire 
 Madeline he couldn't come to Holyoke. But after 
 all that seemed rather a mean thing to do after 
 having treated her so rough before, and in the end 
 he had gone, only one day later than he had prom- 
 ised. 
 
 It was characteristic that, arrived at his destina- 
 tion, he straightway forgot the pleasures he was 
 foregoing at Hal's and plunged whole-heartedly 
 into amusing himself to the utmost with Mad- 
 eline Taylor. Carpe Diem was Ted Holiday's 
 motto. 
 
 Madeline had indeed proved unexpectedly pretty 
 and attractive when she opened the door to him 
 on Cousin Emma's little box of a front porch, clad 
 all in white and wearing no extraneous ornament 
 of any sort, blushing delightfully and obviously 
 more than glad of his coming. He would not have 
 been Ted Holiday if he hadn't risen to the occasion. 
 The last girl in sight was usually the only girl for
 
 TED SEIZES THE DAY 99 
 
 him so long as she was in sight and sufficiently 
 jolly and good to look upon. 
 
 A little later Madeline donned a trim tailored 
 black sailor hat and a pretty and becoming pale 
 green sweater and the two went down the steps 
 together, bound for an excursion to the park. As 
 they descended Ted's hand slipped gallantly under 
 the girl's elbow and she leaned on it ever so little, 
 reveling in the ceremony and prolonging it as 
 much as possible. Well she knew that Cousin 
 Emma and the children were peering out from be- 
 hind the curtains of the front bedroom upstairs, and 
 that Mrs. Bascom and her stuck up daughter Lily 
 had their faces glued to the pane next door. They 
 would all see that this was no ordinary beau, but 
 a real swell like the magnificent young men in the 
 movies. Perhaps as she descended Cousin Emma's 
 steps and went down the path between the tiger 
 lilies and peonies that flanked the graveled path 
 with Ted Holiday beside her, Madeline Taylor had 
 her one perfect moment. 
 
 Only the "ordinary" Fred, on hearing his wife's 
 voluble descriptions later of Madeline's "grand" 
 young man failed to be suitably impressed. "Them 
 swells don't mean no girl no good no time," he had 
 summed up his views with sententious accumula- 
 tion of negatives. 
 
 But little enough did either Ted or Madeline 
 reck of Fred's or any other opinion as they fared 
 their blithe and care-free way that gala week. The 
 rest of the world was supremely unimportant as 
 they went canoeing and motoring and trolley riding 
 and mountain climbing and "movieing" together. 
 Madeline strove with all her might to dress and act 
 and fee as nearly like those other girls after whom 
 she was modeling herself as possible, to do nothing, 
 which could jar on Ted in any way or remind him 
 that she was "different." In her happiness and
 
 100 WILD WINGS 
 
 sincere desire to please she succeeded remarkably 
 well in making herself superficially at least very 
 much like Ted's own "kind of girl" and though 
 with true masculine obtuseness he was entirely 
 unaware of the conscious effort she was putting into 
 the performance nevertheless he enjoyed the results 
 in full and played up to her undeniable charms 
 with his usual debonair and heedless grace and 
 gallantry. 
 
 The one thing that had been left out of the pro- 
 gram for lack of suitable opportunity w r as dancing, 
 an omission not to be tolerated by two strenuous 
 and modern young persons who would rather fox 
 trot than eat any day. Accordingly on Thursday 
 it was agreed that they should repair to the White 
 Swan, a resort down the river, famous for its ex- 
 cellent cuisine, its perfect dance floor and its 
 "snappy" negro orchestra. Both Ted and Madeline 
 knew that the Swan had also a reputation of an- 
 other less desirable sort, but both were willing to 
 ignore the fact for the sake of enjoying the "j oiliest 
 jazz on the river" as the advertisement read. The 
 dance was the thing. 
 
 It was, indeed. The evening was decidedly the 
 best yet, as both averred, pirouetting and spinning 
 and romping through one fox trot and one step 
 after another. The excitement of the music, the 
 general air of exhilaration about the place and 
 their own high-pitched mood made the occasion 
 different from the other gaieties of the week, mer- 
 rier, madder, a little more reckless. 
 
 Once, seeing a painted, over-dressed or rather 
 under-dressed, girl in the arms of a pasty-faced, 
 protruding-eyed roue, both obviously under the 
 spell of too much liquid inspiration, Ted suffered 
 a momentary revulsion and qualm of conscience. 
 He shouldn't have brought Madeline here. It 
 wasn't the sort of place to bring a girl, no matter
 
 TED SEIZES THE DAY 101 
 
 how good the music was. Oh, well! What did it 
 matter just this once? They were there now and 
 they might as well get all the fun they could out 
 of it. The music started up, he held out his hand 
 to Madeline and they wheeled into the maze of 
 dancers, the girl's pliant body yielding to his arms, 
 her eyes brilliant with excitement. They danced 
 on and on and it was amazingly and imprudently 
 late when they finally left the Swan and went home 
 to Cousin Emma's house. 
 
 Texl had meant to leave Madeline at the gate, but 
 somehow he lingered and followed the girl out into 
 the yard behind the house where they seated them- 
 selves in the hammock in the shade of the lilac 
 bushes. And suddenly, without any warning, he 
 had her in his arms and was kissing her tempest- 
 uously. 
 
 It was only for a moment, however. He pulled 
 himself together, hot cheeked and ashamed and 
 flung himself out of the hammock. Madeline sat 
 very still, not saying a word, as she watched him 
 march to and fro between the beds of verbena and 
 love-lies-bleeding and portulaca. Presently he 
 paused beside the hammock, looking down at the 
 girl. 
 
 "I am going home to-morrow," he said a little 
 huskily. 
 
 Madeline threw out one hand and clutched one 
 of the boy's in a feverish clasp. 
 
 ''No! No!" she cried. "You mustn't go. 
 Please don't, Ted." 
 
 "I've got to," stolidly. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "You know why." 
 
 "You mean what you did just now?" 
 
 He nodded miserably. 
 
 "That doesn't matter. I'm not angry. I I 
 liked it."
 
 102 WILD WINGS 
 
 "I am afraid it does matter. It makes a mess 
 of everything, and it's all my fault. I spoiled 
 things. I've got to go." 
 
 "But you will come back?" she pleaded. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "It is better not, Madeline. I'm sorry." 
 
 She snatched her hand away from his, her eyes 
 shooting sparks of anger. 
 
 "I hate you, Ted Holiday. You make me care 
 and then you go away and leave me. You are 
 cruel selfish. I hate you hate you." 
 
 Ted stared down at her, helpless, miserable, 
 ashamed. No man knows what to do with a scene, 
 especially one which his own folly has precipitated. 
 
 "Willis Hubbard is coming down to-morrow 
 night and if you don't stay as you promised I'll go 
 to the Swan with. him. He has been teasing me to 
 go for ages and I wouldn't, but I will now, if you 
 leave me. I'll I'll do anything." 
 
 Ted was worried. He did not like the sound of 
 the girl's threats though he wasn't moved from 
 his own purpose. 
 
 "Don't go to the Swan with Hubbard, Madeline. 
 You mustn't." 
 
 "Why not? You took me." 
 
 "I know I did, but that is different," he finished 
 lamely. 
 
 "I don't see anything very different," she 
 retorted hotly. 
 
 Ted bit his lip. Remembering his own recent 
 aberration, he did not see as much difference as he 
 would have liked to see himself. 
 
 "I suppose you wouldn't have taken your kind of 
 girl to the Swan," taunted Madeline. 
 
 "No, I" 
 
 It was a fatal admission. Ted hadn't meant to 
 make it so bluntly, but it was out. The damage 
 was done.
 
 TED SEIZES THE DAY 103 
 
 A demon of rage possessed the girl. Beside her- 
 self with anger she sprang to her feet and delivered 
 a stinging blow straight in the boy's face. Then, 
 her mood changing, she fell back into the hammock 
 sobbing bitterly. 
 
 For a moment Ted was too much astonished by 
 this fish-wife exhibition of temper even to be angry 
 with himself. Then a hot wave of wrath and 
 shame surged over him. He put up his hand to his 
 cheek as if to brush away the indignity of the blow. 
 But lie was honest enough to realize that maybe 
 he had deserved the punishment, though not for the 
 reason the girl had dealt it. 
 
 Looking down at her in her racked misery, his 
 resentment vanished and an odd impersonal kind of 
 pity for her possessed him instead, though her at- 
 traction was gone forever. He could see the scar 
 on her forehead, and it troubled and reproached 
 him vaguely, seemed a symbol of a deeper wound 
 he had dealt her, though never meaning any harm. 
 He bent over her, gently. 
 
 "Forgive me, Madeline," he said. "I am sorry- 
 sorry for everything. Goodby." 
 
 In a moment he was gone, past the portulaca and 
 love-lies-bleeding, past Cousin Emma's unlit 
 parlor windows, down the walk between the tiger 
 lilies and peonies, out into the street. And 
 Madeline, suddenly realizing that she was alone, 
 rushed after him, calling his name softly into the 
 dark. But only the echo of his firm, buoyant 
 young feet came back to her straining ears. She 
 fled back to the garden and, throwing herself, face 
 down, on the dew drenched grass, surrendered to 
 a passion of tearless grief. 
 
 Ted astonished his uncle, first by coming home a 
 whole day earlier than he had been expected and 
 second, by announcing his intention of seeing 
 Robert Caldwell and making arrangements about
 
 104 WILD WINGS 
 
 the tutoring that very day. He was more than 
 usually uncommunicative about his house-party 
 experiences the Doctor thought and fancied too 
 that just at first after his return the boy did not 
 meet his eyes quite frankly. But this soon passed 
 away and he was delighted and it must be confessed 
 considerably astounded too to perceive that Ted 
 really meant to keep his word about the studying 
 and settled down to genuine hard work for perhaps 
 the first time, in his idle, irresponsible young life. 
 He had been prepared to put on the screws if 
 necessary. There had been no need. Ted had ap- 
 plied his own screws and kept at his uncongenial 
 task with such grim determination that it almost 
 alarmed his family, so contrary was his conduct 
 to his usual light-hearted shedding of all obliga- 
 tions which he could, by hook or crook, evade. 
 
 Among other things to be noted with relief the 
 doctor counted the fact that there were no more 
 letters from Florence. Apparently that flame 
 which had blazed up rather brightly at first had 
 died down as a good many others had. Doctor 
 Holiday was particularly glad in this case. He 
 had not liked the idea of his nephew's running 
 around with a girl who would be willing to go "joy- 
 riding'' with him after midnight, and still less had 
 he liked the idea of his nephew's issuing such in- 
 vitations to any kind of girl. Youth was youth and 
 he had never kept a very tight rein on any of Ned's 
 children, believing he could trust them to run 
 straight in the main. Still there were things one 
 drew the line at for a Holiday.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 TONY DANCES INTO A DISCOVERY 
 
 TONY was dressing for dinner on her first even- 
 ing at Crest House. Carlotta was perched on the 
 arm of a chair near by, catching up on mutual gos- 
 sip as to events that had transpired since they 
 parted a month before at Northampton. 
 
 "I have a brand new young man for you, Tony. 
 Alan Massey the artist. At least he calls himself 
 an artist, though he hasn't done a thing but phil- 
 ander and travel two or three times around the 
 globe, so near as I can make out, since somebody 
 died and left him a disgusting big fortune. Aunt 
 Lottie hints that he is very improper, but anyway 
 he is amusing and different and a dream of a dancer. 
 It is funny, but he makes me think a little bit once 
 in a while of somebody we both know. I won't tell 
 you who, and see if the same thing strikes you." 
 
 A little later Tony met the "new young man." 
 She was standing with her friend in the big living 
 room waiting for the signal for dinner when she 
 felt suddenly conscious of a new presence. She 
 turned quickly and saw a stranger standing on the 
 threshold regarding her with a rather disconcert- 
 ingly intent gaze. He was very tall and foreign- 
 looking, "different," as Carlotta had said, with 
 thick, waving blue-black hair, a clear, olive skin and 
 deep-set, gray-green eyes. There was nothing about 
 him that suggested any resemblance to anyone she 
 
 105
 
 106 WILD WINGS 
 
 knew. Indeed she had a feeling that there was 
 nobody at all like him anywhere in the world. 
 
 The newcomer walked toward her, their glances 
 crossing. Tony stood very still, but she had an 
 unaccountable sensation of going to meet him, as 
 if he had drawn her to him, magnet-wise, by his 
 strange, sweeping look. They were introduced. 
 He bowed low in courtly old world fashion over the 
 girl's hand: 
 
 "I am enchanted to know Miss Holiday," he said. 
 His voice was as unusual as the rest of him, deep- 
 throated, musical, vibrant an unforgettable voice 
 it seemed to Tony who for a moment seemed to have 
 lost her own. 
 
 "I shall sit beside Miss Tony to-night, Carla," 
 he added. It was not a question, not a plea. It 
 was clear assertion. 
 
 "Not to-night, Alan. You are between Aunt 
 Lottie and Mary Frances Day. You liked Mary 
 Frances yesterday. You flirted with her outrage- 
 ously last night." ' 
 
 He shrugged. 
 
 "Ah, but that was last night, my dear. And this 
 is to-night. And I have seen your Miss Tony. That 
 alters everything, even your seating arrangements. 
 Change me, Carlotta." 
 
 Carlotta laughed and capitulated. Alan's high- 
 handed tactics always amused her. 
 
 "Not that you deserve it," she said. "Don't be 
 too nice to him, Tony. He is not a nice person at 
 all." 
 
 So it happened that Tony found herself at dinner 
 between Ted's friend, and her own, Hal Underwood, 
 and this strange, impossible, arbitrary, new per- 
 sonage who had hypnotized her into unwonted 
 silence at their first meeting. 
 
 She had recovered her usual poise by this time, 
 however, and was quite prepared to keep Alan
 
 TONY DANCES INTO A DISCOVERY 107 
 
 Massey in due subjection if necessary. She did 
 not like masterful men. They always roused her 
 own none too dormant willfulness. 
 
 As they sat down he bent over to her. 
 
 "You are glad I made Carlotta put us together," 
 he said, and this, too, was no question, but an asser- 
 tion. 
 
 Tony was in arms in a flash. 
 
 "On the contrary, I am exceedingly sorry she 
 gave in to you. You seem to be altogether too 
 accustomed to having your own way as it is." And 
 rather pointedly she turned her pretty shoulder on 
 her too presuming neighbor and proceeded to devote 
 her undivided attention for two entire courses to 
 Hal Underwood. 
 
 But, with the fish, Hal's partner on the other 
 side, a slim young person in a glittering green 
 sequined gown, suggesting a fish herself, or, at 
 politest, a mermaid, challenged his notice and Tony 
 returned perforce to her left-hand companion who 
 had not spoken a single word since she had snubbed 
 him as Tony was well aware, though she had seemed 
 so entirely absorbed in her own conversation with 
 Hal. 
 
 His gray-green eyes smiled imperturbably into 
 hers. 
 
 "Am I pardoned? Surely I have been punished 
 enough for my sins, whatever they may have been." 
 
 "I hope so," said Tony. "Are you always so 
 disagreeable?" 
 
 "I am never disagreeable when I am having my 
 own way. I am always good when I am happy. 
 At this moment I am very, very good." 
 
 "It hardly seems possible," said Tony. "Car- 
 lotta said you were not good at all." 
 
 He shrugged, a favorite mannerism, it seemed. 
 
 "Goodness is relative and a very dull topic in any 
 case. Let us talk, instead, of the most interesting
 
 108 WILD WINGS 
 
 subject in the universe love. You know, of course, 
 I am madly in love with you." 
 
 "Indeed, no. I didn't suspect it," parried Tony. 
 "You fall in love easily." 
 
 "Scarcely easily, in this case. I should say rather 
 upon tremendous provocation. I suppose you know 
 how beautiful you are.'' 
 
 "I look in the mirror occasionally," admitted 
 Tony with a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "Car- 
 lotta told me you were a philanderer. Forewarned 
 is forearmed, Mr. Massey." 
 
 "Ah, but this isn't philandery. It is truth." 
 Suddenly the mockery had died out of his voice 
 and his eyes. "Carissima, I have waited a very 
 long time for you too long. Life has been an 
 arid waste without you, but, Allah be praised, you 
 are here at last. You are going to love me ah, my 
 Tony how you are going to love me!" The last 
 words were spoken very low for the girl's ears alone, 
 though more than one person at the table seeing 
 him bend over her, understood, that Alan Massey, 
 that professional master-lover was "off" again. 
 
 "Don't, Mr. Massey. I don't care for that kind 
 of jest." 
 
 "Jest! Good God! Tony Holiday, don't you 
 know that I mean it, that this, is the reaj tiling at 
 last for me and for you? Don't fight it, Made- 
 moiselle Beautiful. It will do no good. I love 
 you and you are going to love me divinely." 
 
 "I don't even like you," denied Tony hotly. 
 
 "What of that? What do I care for your liking? 
 That is for others. But your loving that shall 
 be mine all mine. You will see." 
 
 "I am afraid you are very much mistaken if you 
 do mean all you are saying. Please talk to Miss 
 Irvine now. You haven't said a word to her since 
 you sat down. I hate rudeness." 
 
 Again Tony turned a cold shoulder upon her
 
 TONY DANCES INTO A DISCOVERY 109 
 
 amazing dinner companion but she did not do it 
 so easily or so calmly this time. She was not un- 
 used to the strange ways of men. Not for nothing 
 had she spent so much of her life at army posts 
 where love-making is as familiar as brass buttons. 
 Sudden gusts of passion were no novelty to her, nor 
 was it a new thing to hear that a man thought he 
 loved her. But Alan Massey was different. She 
 disliked him intensely, she resented the arrogance 
 of his assumptions with all her might, but he inter- 
 ested her amazingly. And, incredible as it might 
 seem and not to be admitted out loud, he was speak- 
 ing the truth, just now. He did love her. In her 
 heart Tony knew that she had felt his love before 
 he had ever spoken a word to her when their eyes 
 had met as he stood on the threshold and she knew 
 too instinctively, that his love if it was that was 
 not a thing to be treated like the little summer day 
 loves of the others. It was big, rather fearful, not 
 to be flouted or played with. One did not play with 
 a meteor when it crossed one's path. One fled from 
 it or stayed and let it destroy one if it would. 
 
 She roused herself to think of other people, to 
 forget Alan Massey and his wonderful voice which 
 had said such perturbing things. Over across the 
 table, Carlotta was talking vivaciously to a pasty- 
 visaged, narrow-chested, stoop-shouldered youtl 
 who scarcely opened his mouth except to consume 
 food, but whose eyes drank in every movement of 
 Carlotta's. One saw at a glance he was another of 
 that spoiled little coquette's many victims. Tony 
 asked Hal who he was. He seemed scarcely worth 
 so many of Carlotta's sparkles, she thought. 
 
 "Herb Lathrop father is the big tea and coffee 
 man all rolled up in millions. Carlotta's people 
 are putting all the bets on him, apparently, though 
 for the life of me I can't see why. Don't see why 
 people with money are always expected to match
 
 110 WILD WINGS 
 
 up with somebody with a w r hole caboodle of the same 
 junk. Ought to be evened up I think, and a bit 
 of eugenics slipped in, instead of so much cash, for 
 good measure. You can see what a poor fish he is. 
 In my opinion she had much better marry your 
 neighbor up there on the Hill. He is worth a gross 
 of Herb Lathrops and she knows it. Carlotta is 
 no fool." 
 
 "You mean Phil Lambert?" Tony was surprised. 
 
 Hal rnodded. 
 
 "That's the chap. Only man I ever knew that 
 could keep Carlotta in order." 
 
 "But Carlotta hasn't the slightest idea of marry- 
 ing Phil," objected Tony. 
 
 "Maybe not. I only say he is the man she ought 
 to marry. I say, Tony, does she seem happy to 
 you?" 
 
 "Carlotta! Why, yes. I hadn't thought. She 
 seems gayer than usual, if anything." Tony's eyes 
 sought her friend's face. Was there something a 
 little forced about that gaiety of hers? For the 
 first time it struck her that there was a restlessness 
 in the lovely violet eyes which was unfamiliar. 
 Was Carlotta unhappy ? Evidently Hal thought so. 
 "You have sharp eyes, Hal," she commented. "I 
 hadn't noticed." 
 
 "Oh, I'm one of the singed moths you know. I 
 know Carlotta pretty well and I know she is fighting 
 some kind of a fight maybe with herself. I rather 
 think it is. Tell Phil Lambert to come down here 
 and marry her out of hand. I tell you Lambert's 
 the man." 
 
 "You think Carlotta loves Phil?" 
 
 "I don't think. 'Tisn't my business prying into 
 a girl's fancies. I'm simply telling you Phil Lam- 
 bert is the man that ought to marry her, and if he 
 doesn't get on to the job almighty quick that pop- 
 eyed simpleton over there will be prancing down the
 
 TONY DANCES INTO A DISCOVERY 111 
 
 aisle to Lohengrin with Carlotta before Christmas, 
 and the jig will be up. You tell him what I say. 
 And study the thing a bit yourself while you are 
 here, Tony. See if you can get to the bottom of it. 
 I hate to have her mess things up for herself that 
 way." 
 
 Whereupon Hal once* more proceeded to do his 
 duty to the mermaid, leaving Tony to her other- 
 partner. 
 
 "Well," the latter murmured, seeing her free. 
 "I have done the heavy polite act, discussed 
 D' Annunzio, polo and psycho-analysis and finished 
 all three subjects neatly. Do I get my reward?" 
 
 "What do you ask?" 
 
 "The first dance and then the garden and the 
 moon and you all to myself." 
 
 Tony shook her head. She was on guard. 
 
 "I shall want more than one dance- and more than 
 one partner. I am afraid I shan't have time for 
 the moon and the garden to-night. I adore dancing. 
 I never stop until the music does." 
 
 A flash of exultancy leaped into his eyes. 
 
 "So? I might have known you would adore 
 dancing. You shall have your fill. You shall 
 have many dances, but only one partner. I 
 shall suffice. I am one of the best dancers in the 
 world." 
 
 "And evidently one of the vainest men," coolly. 
 
 "What of it? Vanity is good when it is not mis- 
 placed. But I was not boasting. I am one of the 
 best dancers in the world. Why should I not be? 
 My mother was Lucia Vannini. She danced before 
 princes." He might have added, "She was a 
 prince's mistress." It had been the truth. 
 
 "Oh !" cried Tony. She had heard of Lucia Van- 
 nini a famous Italian beauty and dancer of three 
 decades ago. So Alan Massey was her son. No 
 wonder he was foreign, different, in ways and looks.
 
 112 WILD WINGS 
 
 One could forgive his extravagances when one 
 knew. 
 
 "Ah, you like that, my beauty? You will like it 
 even better when you have danced with me. It is 
 then that you w r ill know what it is to dance. We 
 shall dance and dance and love. I shall make you 
 mine dancing, Toinetta mla" 
 
 Tony shrank back from his ardent eyes and his 
 veiled threat. She was a passionate devotee of her 
 own freedom. She did not want to be made his or 
 any man's certainly not his. She decided not to 
 dance with him at all. But later, when the violins 
 began to play and Alan Massey came and stood be- 
 fore her, uttering no word but commanding her to 
 him with his eyes and his out-stretched, nervous, 
 slender, strong, artist hands, she yielded could 
 scarcely have refused if she had wanted to. But 
 she did not want to, though she told herself it was 
 with Lucia Vannini's son rather than with Alan 
 Massey that she desired to dance. 
 
 After that she thought not at all, gave herself up 
 to the very ecstasy of emotion. She had danced 
 all her life, but, even as he had predicted, she 
 learned for the first time in this man's arms what 
 dancing really was. It was like nothing she had 
 ever even dreamed of pure poetry of motion, a 
 curious, rather alarming weaving into one of two 
 vividly alive persons in a kind of pagan harmony, 
 a rhythmic rapture so intense it almost hurt. It 
 seemed as if she could have gone on thus forever. 
 
 .But suddenly she perceived that she and her 
 partner had the floor alone, the others had stopped 
 to watch, though the musicians still played on 
 frenziedly, faster and faster. Flushed, embarrassed 
 at finding herself thus conspicuous, she drew her- 
 self away from Alan Massey. 
 
 "We must stop," she murmured. "They are all 
 looking at us."
 
 TONY DANCES INTO A DISCOVERY 113 
 
 "What of it?" He bent over her, his passionate 
 eyes a caress. "Did I not tell you, carissima? 
 Was it not very heaven?" 
 
 Tony shook her head. 
 
 "I am afraid there was nothing heavenly about 
 it. But it was wonderful. I forgive you your 
 boasting. You are the best dancer in the world. 
 I am sure of it." 
 
 "And you will dance with me again and again, 
 my yonder-girl. You must. You want to." 
 
 "I want to," admitted Tony. "But I am not go- 
 ing to at least not again to-night. Take me to a 
 seat," 
 
 He did so and she sank down with a fluttering 
 sigh beside Miss Lottie Cressy, Carlotta's aunt. 
 The latter stared at her, a little oddly she thought, 
 and then looked up at Alan Massey. 
 
 "You don't change, do you, Alan?" observed 
 Miss Cressy. 
 
 "Oh yes, I change a great deal. I have been very 
 different ever since I met Miss Tony." His eyes 
 fell on the girl, made no secret of his emotions con- 
 cerning her and her beauty. 
 
 Miss Cressy laughed a little sardonically. 
 
 "No doubt. You were always different after 
 each new sweetheart, I recall. So were they 
 some of them." 
 
 "You do me too much honor," he retorted suavely. 
 "Shall we not go out, Miss Holiday? The garden 
 is very beautiful by moonlight." 
 
 She bowed assent, and together they passed out 
 of the room through the French window. Miss 
 Cressy stared after them, the bitter little smile still 
 lingering on her lips. 
 
 "Youth for Alan always," she said to herself. 
 "Ah, well, I was young, too, those days in Paris. 
 I must tell Carlotta to warn Tony. It would be a 
 pity for the child to be tarnished so soon by touch-
 
 114 WILD WINGS 
 
 ing his kind too close. She is so young and so 
 lovely." 
 
 Alan and Tony strayed to a remote corner of the 
 spacious gardens and came to a pause beside the 
 fountain which leaped and splashed and caught the 
 moonlight in its falling splendor. For a moment 
 neither spoke. Tony bent to dip her fingers in the 
 cool water. She had an odd feeling of needing 
 lustration from something. The man's eyes were 
 upon her. She was very young, very lovely, as 
 Miss Cressy had said. There was something 
 strangejy moving to Alan Massey about her virginal 
 freshness, her moonshine beauty. He was unac- 
 customed to compunction, but for a fleeting second, 
 as he studied Tony Holiday standing there with 
 bowed head, laving her hands in the sparkling pur- 
 ity of the water, he had an impulse to go away and 
 leave her, lest he cast a shadow upon her by his 
 lingering near her. 
 
 It was only for a moment. He was far too selfish 
 to follow the brief urge to renunciation. The girl 
 stirred his passion too deeply, roused his will to 
 conquer too irresistibly to permit him to forego the 
 privilege of the place and hour. 
 
 She looked up at him and he smiled down at her, 
 once more the master-lover. 
 
 "I was right, was I not, Toiruetta mia? I did 
 make you a little bit mine, did I not? Be honest. 
 Tell me." He laid a hand on each of her bare white 
 shoulders, looked deep, deep into her brown 
 eyes as if he would read secret things in their 
 depths. 
 
 Tony drew away from his hands, dropped her 
 gaze once more to the rippling white of the water, 
 which was less disconcerting than Alan Massey's 
 too ardent green eyes. 
 
 "You danced with me divinely. I shall also make 
 you love me divinely even as I promised. You know
 
 TONY DANCES INTO A DISCOVERY 115 
 
 it, dear one. You cannot deny it," the magically 
 beautiful voice which pulled so oddly at her heart 
 strings went on softly, almost in a sort of chant. 
 "You love me already, my white moonshine girl," 
 he whispered. "Tell me you do." 
 
 "Ah but I don't," denied Tony. "I I won't. I 
 don't want to love anybody." 
 
 "You cannot help it, dear heart. Nature made 
 you for loving and being loved. And it is I that 
 you a"re going to love. Mine that you shall be. Tell 
 me, did you ever feel before as you felt in there when 
 we were dancing?" 
 
 "No," said Tony, her eyes still downcast. 
 
 "I knew it. You are mine, belovedest. I knew 
 it the moment I saw you. It is Kismet. Kiss me." 
 
 "No." The girl pulled herself away from him, 
 her face aflame. 
 
 "No? Then so." He drew her back to him, and 
 lifted her face gently with his two hands. He bent 
 over her, his lips close to hers. 
 
 "If you kiss me I'll never dance with you again 
 as long as I live!" she flashed. 
 
 He laughed a little mockingly, but he lowered 
 his hands, made no effort to gainsay her will. 
 
 "What a horrible threat, you cruel little moon- 
 beam! But you wouldn't keep it. You couldn't. 
 You love to dance with me too well." 
 
 "I would," she protested, the more sharply be- 
 cause she suspected he was right, that she would 
 dance with him again, no matter what he did. "Any 
 way I shall not dance with you again to-night. 
 And I shall not stay out here with you any longer." 
 She turned to flee, but he put .out his hand and held 
 her back. 
 
 "Not so fast, my Tony. They have eyes, and ears 
 in there. If you run away from me and go back 
 with those glorious fires lit in your cheeks and in 
 your eyes they will believe I did kiss you*."
 
 116 WILD WINGS 
 
 "Oh!" gasped Tony, indignant but lingering, 
 recognizing the probable truth of his prediction. 
 
 "We shall go together after a minute with sedate- 
 ness, as if we had been studying the stars. I am 
 wise, my Tony. Trust me." 
 
 "Very well," assented Tony. "How many stars 
 are there in the Pleiades, anyway?" she asked with 
 sudden imps of mirth in her eyes. 
 
 Again she felt on safe ground, sure that she had 
 conquered and put a too presuming male in his 
 place. She had no idea that the laurels had been 
 chiefly not hers at all but Alan Massey's, who was 
 quite as wise as he boasted. 
 
 But she kept her wortl and danced no more with 
 Alan Massey that night. She did not dare. She 
 hated Alan Massey, disapproved of him heartily 
 and knew it would be the easiest thing in the world 
 to fall in love with him, especially if she let herself 
 dance often with him as they had danced to-night. 
 
 And so, her very first night a.t Crest House, 
 Antoinette Holiday discovered that there was such 
 a thing as love after all, and that it had to be reck- 
 oned with whether you desired or" not to welcome it 
 at your door.
 
 THINGS THAT WERE NOT ALL ON THE CARD 
 
 AFTER that first night in the garden Alan Massey 
 did not try to make open love to Tony again, but 
 his eyes, following her wherever she moved, made 
 no secret of his adoration. He was nearly always 
 by her side, driving off other devotees when he 
 chose with a cool high-handedness which sometimes 
 amused, sometimes infuriated Tony. She found 
 the man a baffling and fascinating combination of 
 qualities, all petty selfishness and colossal egotisms 
 one minute, abounding in endless charms and graces 
 and small endearing chivalries the next; outrage- 
 ously outspoken at times, at other times, reticent 
 to the point of secretiveness ; now reaching the most 
 extravagant pitch of high spirits, and then, almost 
 without warning, submerged in moods of Stygian 
 gloom from which nothing could rouse him. 
 
 Tony came to know something of his romantic 
 and rather mottled career from Carlotta and others, 
 even from Alan himself. She knew perfectly well 
 he was not the kind of man Larry or her uncle 
 would approve or tolerate. She disapproved of him 
 rather heartily herself in many ways. At times she 
 disliked him passionately, made up her mind she 
 would have no more to do with him. At other 
 times she was all but in love with him, and sus- 
 pected she would have found the world an intoler- 
 ably dull place with Alan Massey suddenly removed 
 
 from it. When they danced together she was dan- 
 
 117
 
 118 WILD WINGS 
 
 gerously near being what he had claimed she was or 
 would be all his. She knew this, was afraid of it, 
 yet she kept on dancing with him night after night. 
 It seemed as if she had to, as if she would have 
 danced with him even if she knew the next moment 
 would send them both hurtling through space, like 
 Lucifer, down to damnation. 
 
 It was not until Dick Carson came down for a 
 week end, some time later, that Tony discovered 
 the resemblance in Alan to some one she knew of 
 which Carlotta had spoken. Incredibly and inex- 
 plicably Dick and Alan possessed a shadowy sort 
 of similarity. In most respects they were as differ- 
 ent in appearance as they were in personality. 
 Dick's hair was brown and straight ; Alan's, black 
 and wavy. Dick's eyes were steady gray-blue; 
 Alan's, shifty gray-green. Yet the resemblance 
 was there, elusive, though it was. Perhaps it lay 
 in the curve of the sensitive nostrils, perhaps in the 
 firm contour of chin, perhaps in the arch of the 
 brow. Perhaps it was nothing so tangible, just a 
 fleeting trick of expression. Tony did not know, 
 but she caught the thing just as Carlotta had and 
 it puzzled and interested her. 
 
 She spoke of it to Alan the next morning after 
 Dick's arrival, as they idled together, stretched out 
 on the sand, waiting for the others to come out of 
 the surf. 
 
 To her surprise he was instantly highly annoyed 
 and resentful. 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, Tony, don't get the resem- 
 blance mania. It's a disgusting habit. I knew a 
 woman once who was always chasing likenesses in 
 people and prattling about them got her in trouble 
 once and served her right. She told a young lieu- 
 tenant that he looked extraordinarily like a certain 
 famous general of her acquaintance. It proved 
 later that the young man had been born at the post
 
 NOT ALL ON THE CARD 119 
 
 where the general was stationed while the presump- 
 tive father was absent on a year's cruise. It had 
 been quite a prominent scandal at the time." 
 
 "That isn't a nice story, Alan. Morever it is en- 
 tirely irrelevant. But you and Dick do look alike. 
 I am not the only or the first person who saw it, 
 either." 
 
 Alan started and frowned. 
 
 "Good Lord! Who else?" he demanded. 
 
 "Carlotta!" 
 
 "The devil she did!" Alan's eyes- were vindic- 
 tive. Then he laughed. "Commend me to a girl's 
 imagination ! This Dick chap seems to be head over 
 heels in love with you," he added. 
 
 "What nonsense!" denied Tony crisply, fashion- 
 ing a minature sand mountain as she spoke. 
 
 "No nonsense at all, my dear. Perfectly obvious 
 fact. Don't you suppose I know how a man looks 
 when he is in love? I ought to. I've been in love 
 often enough." 
 
 Tony demolished her mountain with a wrathful 
 sweep of her hand. 
 
 "And registered all the appropriate emotions be 
 fore the mirror, I suppose. You make me sick, 
 Alan. You are all pose. I don't believe there is a 
 single sincere thing about you." 
 
 "Oh, yes, there is are two." 
 
 "What are they?" 
 
 "One is my sincere devotion to yourself, my beau- 
 tiful. The other an equally sincere devotion to 
 myself" 
 
 "I grant you the second, at least." 
 
 "Don't pose, yourself, my darling. You know 
 I love you. You pretend you don't believe it, but 
 you do. And way down deep in your heart you 
 love my love. It makes your heart beat fast just 
 to think of it. See ! Did I not tell you?" He had 
 suddenly put out his hand and laid it over her heart.
 
 120 WILD WINGS 
 
 "Poor little wild bird! How its wings flutter!" 
 
 Tony got up swiftly from the sand, her face scar- 
 let. She was indignant, self-conscious, betrayed. 
 For her heart had been beating at a fearful clip and 
 she knew it. 
 
 "How dare you touch me like that, Alan Massey? 
 I detest you. I don't see why I ever listen to you 
 at all, or let you come near me." 
 
 Alan Massey, still lounging at her feet, looked up 
 at her as she stood above him, slim, supple, softly 
 rounded, adorably pretty and feminine in her black 
 satin bathing suit and vivid, emerald hued cap. 
 
 "I know why," he said and rose, too, slowly, with 
 the indolent grace of a leopard. "So do you, my 
 Tony," he added. "We both know. Will you dance 
 with me a great deal to-night?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "How many times?" 
 
 "Not at all." 
 
 "Indeed! And does his Dick Highmightiness 
 object to your dancing with me?" 
 
 "Dick! Of course not. He hasn't anything to 
 do with it. I am not going to dance with you be- 
 cause you are behaving abominably to-day, and you 
 did yesterday and the day before that. I think you 
 are nearly always abominable, in fact." 
 
 "Still, I am one of the best dancers in the world. 
 It is a temptation, is it not, my own?" 
 
 He smiled his slow, tantalizing smile and, in spite 
 of herself, Tony smiled back. 
 
 "It is," she admitted. "You are a heavenly 
 dancer, Alan. There is no denying it. If you were 
 Mephisto himself I think I would dance with you 
 occasionally." 
 
 "And to-night?" 
 
 "Once," relented Tony. "There come the others 
 at last." And she ran off down the yellow sands 
 like a modern Atalanta.
 
 NOT ALL ON THE CARD 121 
 
 "My, but Tony is pretty to-night!" murmured 
 Carlotta to Alan, who chanced to be standing near 
 her, as her friend fluttered by with Dick. "She 
 looks like a regular flame in that scarlet chiffon. It 
 is awfully daring, but she is wonderful in it." 
 
 "She is always wonderful," muttered Alan mood- 
 ily, watching the slender, graceful figure whirl and 
 trip and flash down the floor like a gay poppy petal 
 caught in the wind. 
 
 Carlotta turned. Something in Alan's tone ar- 
 rested her attention. 
 
 "Alan, I believe, it is real with you at last," she 
 said. Up to that moment she had considered his 
 affair with Tony as merely another of his many ad- 
 ventures in romance, albeit possibly a slightly more 
 extravagant one than usual. 
 
 "Of course it is real real as Hell," he retorted. 
 "I'm mad over her, Carla. I am going to marry her 
 if I have to kill every man in the path to get to her," 
 savagely. 
 
 "I am sorry, Alan. You must see Tony is not for 
 the like of you. You can't get to her. I wish you 
 wouldn't try." 
 
 Dick and Tony passed close to them again. Tony 
 was smiling up at her partner and he was looking 
 down at her with a gaze that betrayed his caring. 
 Neither saw Alan and Carlotta. The savage light 
 gleamed brighter in Alan's green eyes. 
 
 "Carlotta, is there anything between them?" he 
 demanded fiercely. 
 
 "Nothing definite. He adores her, of course, and 
 she is very fond of him. v She feels as if he sort of 
 belonged to her, I think. You know the story?" 
 
 "Tell me." 
 
 Briefly Carlotta outlined the tale of how Dick had 
 taken refuge in the Holiday barn when he had run 
 away from the circus, and how Tony had found him, 
 sick and exhausted from fatigue, hunger and abuse ;
 
 122 WILD WINGS 
 
 how the Holidays had taken him in and set him on 
 his feet, and Tony had given him her own middle 
 name of Carson since he had none of his own. 
 
 Alan listened intently. 
 
 "Did he ever get any clue as to his identity?" he 
 asked as Carlotta paused. 
 
 "Never." 
 
 "Has he asked Tony to marry him?" 
 
 "I don't think so. I doubt if he ever does, so long 
 as he doesn't know who he is. He is very proud and 
 sensitive, and has an almost superstitious venera- 
 tion for the Holiday tradition. Being a Holiday 
 in New England is a little like being of royal 
 blood, you know. I don't believe you will ever have 
 to make a corpse of poor Dick, Alan." 
 
 "I don't mind making corpses. I rather think I 
 should enjoy making one of him. I detest the long, 
 lean animal." 
 
 Had Alan known it, Dick had taken quite as 
 thorough a dislike to his magnificent self. At that 
 very moment indeed, as he and Tony strolled in the 
 garden, Dick had remarked that he wished Tony 
 wouldn't dance with "that Massey." 
 
 "And why not?" she demanded, always quick to 
 resent dictatorial airs. 
 
 "Because he makes you well conspicuous. He 
 hasn't any business to dance with you the way he 
 does. You aren't a professional but he makes you 
 look like one." 
 
 "Thanks. A left-hand compliment but still a 
 compliment !" 
 
 "It wasn't meant for one," said Dick soberly. 
 "I hate it. Of course you dance wonderfully your- 
 self. It isn't just dancing with you. It is poetry, 
 stuff of dreams and all the rest of it. I can see that, 
 and I know it must be a temptation to have a chance 
 at, a partner like that. Lord! Tony! No man in 
 every day life has a right to dance the way he can.
 
 NOT ALL ON THE CARD 123 
 
 He out-classes Castle. I hate that kind of a 
 man half woman." 
 
 "There isn't anything of a woman about Alan, 
 Dick. He is the most virulently male man I ever 
 knew." 
 
 Dick fell silent at that. Presently he began again. 
 
 "Tony, please don't be offended at what I am 
 going to say. I know it is none of my business, but 
 I wish you wouldn't keep on with this affair with 
 Massey." 
 
 "Why not?" There was an aggressive sparkle in 
 Tony's eyes. 
 
 "People are talking. I heard them last night 
 when you were dancing with him. It hurts. Alan 
 Massey isn't the kind of a man for a girl like you to 
 flirt with." 
 
 "Stuff and nonsense, Dicky! Any kind of a man 
 is the kind for a girl to flirt with, if she keeps her 
 head." 
 
 "But Tony, honestly, this Massey hasn't a good 
 reputation." 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 "Newspaper men know a great deal. They 
 have to. Besides, Alan Massey is a celebrity. He 
 is written up in our flies." 
 
 "What does that mean?" 
 
 "It means that if he should die to-morrow all we 
 would have to do would be to put in the last flip. 
 The biographical data is all on the card ready to 
 shoot." 
 
 "Dear me. That's rather gruesome, isn't it?" 
 shivered Tony. "I'm glad I'm not a celebrity. I'd 
 hate to be stuck down on your old flies. Will I get 
 on Alan's card if I keep on flirting with him?" 
 
 "Good Lord ! I should hope not." 
 
 "I suppose I wouldn't be in very good company. 
 I don't mean Alan. I mean his ladies." 
 
 "Tony ! Then you know ?"
 
 124 WILD WINGS 
 
 "About Alan's ladies? Oh, yes. He told me 
 himself." 
 
 Dick looked blank. What was a man to do in a 
 case like this, finding his big bugaboo no bugaboo 
 at all? 
 
 "I know a whole lot about Alan Massey, maybe 
 more than is on your old card. I know his mother 
 was Lucia Vannini, so beautiful and so gifted that 
 she danced in every court in Europe and was loved 
 by a prince. I know how Cyril Massey, an Ameri- 
 can artist, painted her portrait and loved her and 
 married her. I know how she worshiped him and 
 was absolutely faithful to him to the day he .died, 
 when the very light of life went out for her." 
 
 "She managed to live rather cheerfully afterward, 
 even without light, if all the stories about her are 
 true," observed Dick, with, for him, unusual cyni- 
 cism. 
 
 "You don't understand. She had to live." 
 
 "There are other ways of living than those she 
 chose." 
 
 "Not for her. She knew only two things love 
 and dancing. She was thrown from a horse the 
 next year after her husband died. Dancing was 
 over for her. There was only her beauty left. 
 Her husband's people wouldn't have anything to 
 do with her because she had been a dancer and be- 
 cause of the prince. Old John Massey, Cyril's 
 uncle, turned her 'and her baby from his door, and 
 his cousin John and his wife refused even to see 
 her. She said she would make them hear of her 
 before she died. She did." 
 
 "They heard all right. She, and her son too, 
 must have been a thorn in the flesh of the Masseys. 
 They were all rigid Puritans I understand, espe- 
 cially old John." 
 
 "Serve him right," sniffed Tony. "They were 
 rolling in wealth. They might have helped her
 
 NOT ALL ON THE CARD V 125 
 
 kept her from the other thing they condemned so. 
 She wanted money only for Alan, especially after he 
 began to show that he had more than his father's 
 gifts. She earned it in the only way she knew. I 
 don't blame her." 
 
 "Tony !" 
 
 "I can't help it if I am shocking you, Dick. I 
 can understand why she did it. She didn't care 
 anything about the lovers. She never cared for any- 
 one after Cyril died. She gave herself for Alan. 
 Can'f you see that there was something rather fine 
 about it? I can." 
 
 Dick grunted. He remembered hearing some- 
 thing about a woman whose sins w r ere forgiven her 
 because she loved much. But he couldn't reconcile 
 himself to hearing such stories from Tony Holiday's 
 lips. They were remote from the clean, sweet, 
 wholesome atmosphere in which she belonged. 
 
 "Anyway, Alan was a wonderful success. He 
 studied in Paris and he had pictures on exhibition 
 in salons Qver there before he was twenty. He was 
 feted and courted and flattered and loved, until 
 he thought the world was his and everything in it 
 including the ladies." Tony made a little face at 
 this. She did not care very- much for that part of 
 Alan's story, herself. "His mother was afraid he 
 was going to have his head completely turned and 
 would lose all she had gained so hard for him, so 
 she made him come back to America and settle 
 down. He did. He made a great name for him- 
 self before he was twenty-five as a portrait painter 
 and he and his mother lived so happily together. 
 She didn't need any more lovers then. Alan was 
 all she needed. And then she died, and he went 
 nearly crazy with grief, went all to pieces, every 
 way. I suppose that part of his career is what 
 makes you say he isn't fit for me to flirt with." 
 
 Dick nodded miserably.
 
 126 WILD WINGS 
 
 "It isn't very pleasant for me to think of, either," 
 admitted Tony. "I don't like it any better than 
 you do. But he isn't like that any more. When 
 old John Massey died without leaving any will Alan 
 got all the money, because his cousin John and his 
 stuck-up wife had died, too, and there was nobody 
 else. Alan pulled up stakes and traveled all over 
 the world, was gone two years and, when he came 
 back, he wasn't dissipated any more. I don't say 
 he is a saint now. He isn't, I know. But he got 
 absolutely out of the pit he was in after his m'other's 
 death." 
 
 "Lucky for him they never found the baby John 
 Massey, who was stolen," Dick remarked. "He 
 would have been the heir if he could have appeared 
 to claim the money instead of Alan Massey, who was 
 only a grand nephew." 
 
 Tony stared. 
 
 "There wasn't any baby," she exclaimed. 
 
 ^Oh yes, there was. John Massey, Junior, had 
 a son John who was kidnapped when he was asleep 
 in the park and deserted by his nurse who had gone 
 to flirt with a policeman. There was a great fuss 
 made about it at the time. The Masseys offered 
 fabulous sums of money for the return of the child, 
 but he never turned up. I had to dig up the story 
 a few years ago when old John died, which is why I 
 know so much about it." 
 
 "I don't believe Alan knew about the baby. He 
 didn't tell me anything about it." 
 
 "I'll wager he knew, all right. It would be 
 mighty unpleasant for him if the other Massey 
 turned up now.'' 
 
 "Dick, I believe you would be glad if Alan lost 
 the money," reproached Tony. 
 
 "Why no, Tony. It's nothing to me, but I've 
 always been sorry for that other Massey kid, though 
 he doesn't know what he missed and is probably a
 
 NOT ALL ON THE CARD 127 
 
 jail-bird or a janitor by this time, not knowing he is 
 heir to one of the biggest properties in America." 
 
 "Sorry to disturb your theories, Mr. er Carson," 
 remarked Alan Massey, suddenly appearing on the 
 scene. "My cousin John happens to be neither a 
 jail-bird nor a janitor, but merely comfortably dead. 
 Lucky John!"' 
 
 "But Dick said he wasn't dead at least that no- 
 body knew whether he was or not,'' objected Tony. 
 
 "Unfortunately your friend is in error. John 
 Massey is entirely dead, I assure you. And now, 
 if he is quite through with me and my affairs, per- 
 haps Mr. Carson will excuse you. Come, dear." 
 
 Alan laid a hand on Tony's arm with a proprie- 
 torial air which made Dick writhe far more than 
 his insulting manner to himself had done. Tony 
 looked quickly from one to the other. She hated 
 the way Alan was behaving, but she did not want 
 to precipitate a scene and yielded, leaving Dick, 
 with a deprecatory glance, to go with Alan. 
 
 "I don't like your manner," she told the latter. 
 "You were abominably rude just now." 
 
 "Forgive me, sweetheart. I apologize. That 
 young man of yours sets my teeth on edge. I can't 
 abide a predestined parson. I'll wager anything 
 he has been preaching at you." He smiled ironic- 
 ally as he saw the girl flush. "So he did preach, 
 and against me, I suppose." 
 
 "He did, and quite right, too. You are not at all 
 a proper person for me to flirt with, just as he said. 
 Even Miss Lottie told me that and when Miss Lottie 
 objects to a man it means 
 
 "That she has failed to hold him herself," said 
 Alan cynically. "Stop, Tony. I want to say some- 
 thing to you before we go in. I am not a proper 
 person. I told you that myself. There have been 
 other women in my life a good many of them. I 
 told you that, too. But that has absolutely nothing
 
 128 WILD WINGS 
 
 to do with you and me. I love you. You are the 
 only woman I ever have loved in the big sense, at 
 least the only one I have ever wanted to marry. I 
 am like my mother. She had many lesser loves. 
 She had only one great one. She married him. 
 And I shall marry you." 
 
 "Alan, don't. It is foolish worse than foolish 
 to talk like that. My people would never let me 
 marry you, even if I wanted to. Dick was speak- 
 ing for them just now when he warned me against 
 you." 
 
 "He was speaking for himself. Damn him!" 
 "Alan !" 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Tony. I'm a brute to-night. 
 I am sorry. I won't trouble you any more. I won't 
 even keep you to your promise to dance once with 
 me if you wish to be let off." 
 
 The music floated out to them, called insistently 
 to Tony's rhythm-mad feet and warm young blood. 
 "Ah, but I do want to dance with you," she 
 sighed. "I don't want to be let off. Come." 
 
 He bent over her, a flash of triumph in his eyes. 
 "My own !" he exulted. "You are my own. Kiss 
 me, belovedest." 
 
 But Tony pulled away from him and he followed 
 her. A moment later the scarlet flame was in his 
 arms whirling down the hall to the music of the 
 violins, and Dick, standing apart by the window 
 watching, tasted the dregs of the bitterest brew life 
 had yet offered him. Better, far better than Tony 
 Holiday he knew where the scarlet flame was blow- 
 ing. 
 
 His dance with Tony over, Alan retired to the 
 library where he used the telephone to transmit a 
 wire to Boston, a message addressed to one James 
 Roberts, a retired circus performer.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 AND THERE IS A FLAME 
 
 WHEN Alan Massey strayed into the breakfast 
 room, one of the latest arrivals at that very informal 
 meal, he found a telegram awaiting him. It was 
 rather an odd message and ran thus, without capi- 
 talization or punctuation. "Towa" named correct 
 what is up let sleeping dogs lie sick." Alan 
 frowned as he thrust the yellow envelope into his 
 pocket. 
 
 "Does the fool mean he is sick, I wonder," he 
 cogitated. "Lord, I wish I could let well enough 
 alone. But this sword of Damocles business is be- 
 ginning to get on my nerves. I have half a mind 
 to take a run into town this afternoon and see the 
 old reprobate. I'll bet he doesn't know as much 
 as he claims to, but I'd like to be sure before he 
 dies." 
 
 Just then Tony Holiday entered, clad in a rose 
 hued linen and looking like a new blown rose her- 
 self. 
 
 "You are the latest ever," greeted Carlotta. 
 
 "On the contrary I have been up since the crack 
 of dawn," denied Tony, slipping into a seat beside 
 her friend. 
 
 Carlotta opened her eyes wide. Then she under- 
 stood. 
 
 "You got up to see Dick off," she announced. 
 
 "I did. Please give me some strawberries, Hal, 
 if you don't mean to eat the whole pyramid your- 
 
 129
 
 130 WILD WINGS 
 
 self. I not only got up, but I went to the station ; 
 not only went to the station, but I walked the whole 
 mile and a half. Can anybody beat that for a morn- 
 ing record?'' Tony challenged as she deluged her 
 berries with cream. 
 
 Alan Massey uttered a kind of a snarling sound 
 such as a lion disturbed from a nap might have 
 emitted. He had thought he was through with Car- 
 son when the latter had made his farewells the night 
 before, saying goodnight to Tony before them all. 
 But Tony had gotten up at some ridiculously early 
 hour to escort him to the station, and did not mind 
 everybody's knowing it. He subsided into a dense 
 mood of gloom. Jhe morning had begun badly. 
 
 Later he discovered Tony in the rose garden with 
 a big basket on her arm and a charming drooping 
 sun hat shading her even more charming face. She 
 waved him away as he approached. 
 
 "Go away," she ordered. "I'm busy." 
 
 "You mean you have made up your mind to be 
 disagreeable to me," he retorted, lighting a ciga- 
 rette and looking as if he meant to fight it out 
 along that line if it took all summer. 
 
 Tony snipped off a rose with her big shears and 
 dropped it into her basket. It rather looked as if 
 she were meaning to snip off Alan Massey figura- 
 tively in much the same ruthless manner. 
 
 "Put it that way, if you like. Only stay away. 
 I mean it." 
 
 "Why?" he persisted. 
 
 Thus pressed she turned and faced him. 
 
 "It is a lovely morning all blue and gold and 
 clean-washed after last night's storm a good morn- 
 ing. I'm feeling good, too. The clean morning has 
 got inside of me. And when you come near me I 
 feel a pricking in my thumbs. You don't fit into 
 my present mood. Please go, Alan. I am per- 
 fectly serious. I don't want to talk to you."
 
 AND THERE IS A FLAME 131 
 
 "What have I done? I am no different from 
 what I was yesterday." 
 
 "I know. It isn't anything you have done. It 
 isn't you at all. It is I who am different or want 
 to be." Tony spoke earnestly. She was perfectly 
 sincere. She did want to be different. She had 
 not slept well the night before. She had thought 
 a great deal about Holiday Hill and Uncle Phil 
 and her brothers and well, yes about Dick Car- 
 son. "They all armed her against Alan Massey. 
 
 Alan threw away his cigarette with an angry 
 gesture. 
 
 "You can't play fast and loose with me, Tony 
 Holiday. You have been leading me on, playing 
 the devil with me for days. You know you have. 
 Now you are scared, and want to get back to shal- 
 low water. It is too late. You are in deep seas 
 and you've got to stay there with me." 
 
 "I haven't got to do anything, Alan. You are 
 claiming more than you have any right to claim." 
 
 But he came nearer, towered above her, almost 
 menacingly. 
 
 "Because that nameless fool of a reporter with 
 his sanctimonious airs and impeccable morals, has 
 put you against me you want to sack me. You 
 can't do it. Last night you were ready to go any 
 lengths with me. You know it. Do you think I 
 am going to be balked by a miserable circus brat 
 a mere nobody? Not so long as I am Alan Massey. 
 Count on that." 
 
 Tony's dark eyes were ablaze with anger. 
 
 "Stop there, Alan. You are saying things that 
 are not true. And I forbid you ever to speak of 
 Dick like that again to me." 
 
 "Indeed! And how are you going to prevent 
 my saying what I please about your precious pro- 
 tege?" sneered Alan. 
 
 "I shall tell Carlotta I won't stay under the same
 
 132 WILD WINGS 
 
 roof with anybody who insults my friends. You 
 won't have to restrain yourself long in any case. I 
 am leaving Saturday perhaps sooner." 
 
 "Tony!" The sneer died away from Alan's face, 
 which had suddenly grown white. "You mustn't 
 go. I can't live without you, my darling. If you 
 knew how I worshiped you, how I cannot sleep of 
 nights for wanting you you wouldn't talk of going 
 away from me. I was brutal just now. I admit it. 
 It is because I love you so. The thought of your 
 turning from me, deserting me, maddened me. I 
 am not responsible for what I said. You must for- 
 give me. But, oh my belovedest, you are mine! 
 Don't try to deny it. We have belonged to each 
 other for always. You know it. You feel it. I 
 have seen the knowledge in your eyes, felt it flutter 
 in your heart. Will you marry me, Tony Holiday? 
 You shall be loved as no woman was ever loved. 
 You shall be my queen. I will be true to you for- 
 ever and ever, your slave, your mate. Tony, Tony, 
 say yes. You must !" 
 
 But Tony drew back from him, frightened, re- 
 pulsed, shocked, by the storm of his passion which 
 shook him as mighty trees are shaken by tempests. 
 She shrank from the hungry fires in his eyes, from 
 the abandon and fierceness of his wooing. It was 
 an alien, disturbing, dreadful thing to her. 
 
 "Don't," she implored. "You mustn't love me 
 like that, Alan. You must not." 
 
 "How can I help it, sweetheart? I am no ice- 
 berg. I am a man and you are the one woman in 
 the world for me. I love you love you. I w^ant 
 you. I'm going to have you make you mine 
 marry you, bell and book, what you will, so long 
 as you are mine mine mine." 
 
 Tony set down her basket, clasped her hands be- 
 hind her and stood looking straight up into his face. 
 
 "Listen, Alan. I cannot marry you. I couldn't,
 
 AND THERE IS A FLAME 133 
 
 even if I loved you, and I don't think I do love you, 
 though you fascinate me and, when we are dancing, 
 I forget all the other things in you that I hate. I 
 have been very foolish and maybe unkind to let it 
 go on so far. I didn't quite know what I was doing. 
 Girls don't know. That is why they play with men 
 as they do. They don't mean to be cruel. They 
 just don't know." 
 
 "But you know now, my Tony?" His dark, 
 stormy face was very close to hers. Tony felt her 
 hearf leap but she did not flinch nor pull away this 
 time. 
 
 "Yes, Alan, I know, in a way, at least. We 
 mustn't go on like this. It is bad for us both. I'll 
 tell Carlotta I am going home to-morrow." 
 
 "You want to go away from me?" The haunt- 
 ing music of his voice, more moving in its hurt than 
 in its mastery of mood, stirred Tony Holiday pro- 
 foundly, but she steadied herself by a strong effort 
 of w T ill. She must not let him sweep her away from 
 her moorings. She must not. She must remember 
 Holiday Hill very hard. 
 
 "I have to, Alan," she said. "I am very sorry if 
 I have hurt you, am hurting you. But I can't 
 marry you. That is final. The sooner we end 
 things the better." 
 
 "By God! It isn't final. It never will be so 
 long as you and I are both alive. You will come 
 to me of your own accord. You will love me. You 
 do love me now. But you are letting the world 
 come in between where it has no right to come. I 
 tell you you are mine mine!" 
 
 "No, no !" denied Tony. 
 
 "And I say yes, my love. You are my love. I 
 have set my seal upon you. You can go away, back 
 to your Hill, but you will not be happy without me. 
 You will never forget me for a waking moment. 
 You cannot. You are a part of me, forever."
 
 134 WILD WINGS 
 
 There was something solemn, inexorable in Alan's 
 tones. A strange fear clutched at Tony's heart. 
 Was he right? Could she never forget him? 
 Would he always be a part of her forever? No, 
 that was nonsense! How could it be true? How 
 could he have set his seal upon her when he had 
 never even kissed her? She would not let him hyp- 
 notize her into believing his prophecy. 
 
 She stooped mechanically to pick up her roses 
 and remembered the story of Persephone gathering 
 lilies in the vale of Enna and suddenly borne off 
 by the coal black horses of Dig to the dark kingdom 
 of the lower world. Was she Persephone? Had 
 she eaten of the pomegranate seeds while she 
 danced night after night in Alan Massey's arms? 
 No, she would not believe it. She was free. She 
 would exile Alan Massey from her heart and life. 
 She must. 
 
 This resolve was in her eyes as she lifted them to 
 Alan's. The fire had died out of his now, and his 
 face was gray and drawn in the sunshine. His 
 mood had changed as his moods so often did swiftly. 
 
 "Forgive me, Tony," he said humbly. "I have 
 troubled you, frightened you. I am sorry. You 
 needn't go away. I will go. I don't want to spoil 
 one moment of happiness for you. I never shall, 
 except when the devil is in me. Please try to re- 
 member that. Say always, 'Alan loves me. No 
 matter what he does or says, he loves me. His 
 love is real, if nothing else about him is.' You do 
 believe that, don't you, dearest?" he pleaded. 
 
 "I do, Alan. I have always believed it, I think, 
 ever since that first night, though I have tried not 
 to. I am very sorry though. Love your kind of 
 love is a fearful thing. I am afraid of it." 
 
 "It is fearful, but beautiful too very beautiful 
 like fire. Did you ever think what a strange dual 
 element fire is? It consumes is a force of des-
 
 AND THERE IS A FLAME 135 
 
 truction. But it also purifies, burns out dross. 
 Love is like that, my Tony. Mine for you may damn 
 me forever, or it may take me to the very gate of 
 Heaven. I don't know myself which it will be." 
 
 As he spoke there was a strange kind of illumina- 
 tion on his face, a look almost of spiritual exalta- 
 tion. It awed Tony, bereft her of words. This 
 was a new Alan Massey an Alan Massey she had 
 never seen before, and she found herself looking up 
 instead of down at him. 
 
 He stooped and kissed her hand reverently, as a 
 devotee might pay homage at the shrine of a saint. 
 
 "I shall not see you again until to-night, Tony. 
 I am going into town. But I shall be back for 
 one more dance with you, heart's dearest. And 
 then I promise I will go away and leave you to- 
 morrow. You will dance w r ith me, Tony once? 
 We shall have that one perfect thing to remem- 
 ber?" 
 
 Tony bowed assent. And in a moment she was 
 alone with her roses. 
 
 That afternoon she shut herself in her room to 
 write letters to the home people whom she had 
 neglected badly of late. Every moment had been 
 so full since she had come to Carlotta's. There had 
 been so little time to write and when she had writ- 
 ten it had given little of what she was really living 
 and feeling just the mere externals and not all of 
 them, as she was very well aware. They would 
 never understand her relation with Alan. They 
 would disapprove, just as Dick had disapproved. 
 Perhaps she did not understand, herself, why she 
 had let herself get so deeply entangled in something 
 which could not go on, something, which was the 
 profoundest folly, if nothing worse. 
 
 The morning had crystallized her fear of the 
 growing complication of the situation. She was 
 glad Alan was going away, glad she had had the
 
 136 WILD WINGS 
 
 strength of will to deny him his will, glad that she 
 could now after to-night coine back into undis- 
 puted possession of the kingdom of herself. But 
 in her heart she was gladder that there was 
 to-night and that one last dance with Alan Mas- 
 sey before life became simple and sane and tame 
 again, and Alan and his wild love passed out of it 
 forever. 
 
 She finished her letters, which were not very 
 satisfactory after all. How could one write real 
 letters when one's pen was writing one thing and 
 one's thoughts were darting hither and thither 
 about very different business? She threw herself in 
 the chaise longue, not yet ready to dress and go 
 down to join the others. There was nobody there 
 she cared to talk to, somehow. Alan was not there. 
 Nobody else mattered. It had come to that. 
 
 Idly she picked up a volume of verse that lay 
 beside her on the table and fluttered its pages, seek- 
 ing something to meet her restless mood. Present- 
 ly in her vagrant seeking she chanced upon a little 
 poem a poem she read and reread, twice, three 
 times. 
 
 "For there is a flame that has blown too near, 
 And there is a name that has grown too dear, 
 
 And there is a fear. 
 And to the still hills and cool earth and far sky I make 
 
 moan. 
 
 The heart in my bosom is not my own ! 
 Oh, would I were free as the wind on wing! 
 Love is a terrible thing!" 
 
 Tony laid the book face down upon the table, still 
 open at the little verse. The shadows were grow- 
 ing long out there in the dusk. The late afternoon 
 sun was pale honey color. A soft little breeze 
 stirred the branches of a weeping willow tree and
 
 AND THERE IS A FLAME 137 
 
 set them to swaying languorously. Unseen birds 
 twittered happily among the shrubbery. A golden 
 butterfly poised for a moment above the white holly 
 hocks and then drifted off over the flaming scarlet 
 poppies and was lost to sight. 
 
 It was all so beautiful, so serene. She felt that 
 it should have come like a benediction, cooling the 
 fever of her tired mind, but it did not It could not 
 even drive the words of the poem out of her head. 
 
 Oh, would I were free as the wind on wing ! 
 Love is a terrible thing!
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 BITTER FRUIT 
 
 FROM the North Station in Boston Alan Massey 
 directed his course to a small cigar store on Atlan- 
 tic Avenue. A black eyed Italian lad in attend 
 ance behind the counter looked up as he entered 
 and surveyed him with grave scrutiny. 
 
 "I am Mr. Massey," announced Alan. "Mr. 
 Roberts is expecting me. I wired." 
 
 "Jim's sick," said the boy briefly. 
 
 "I am sorry. I hope he is not too sick to see me." 
 
 "Naw, he'll see you. He wants to." The speak- 
 er motioned Alan to follow him to the rear of the 
 store. Together they mounted some narrow stairs, 
 passed through a hallway and into a bedroom, a 
 disorderly, dingy, obviously man-kept affair. On 
 the bed lay a large framed, exceedingly ugly looking 
 man. His flesh was yellow and sagged loosely away 
 from his big bones. The impression he gave was 
 one of huge animal bulk, shriveling away in an un- 
 lovely manner, getting ready to disintegrate en- 
 tirely. The man was sick undoubtedly. Possibly 
 dying. He looked it. 
 
 The door shut with a soft click. The two men 
 were alone. 
 
 "Hello, Jim." Alan approached the bed. "Bad 
 as this? I am sorry." He spoke with the care- 
 less, easy friendliness he could assume when it 
 suited him. 
 
 The man grinned, faintly, ironically. The grin 
 
 138
 
 BITTER FRUIT 139 
 
 did not lessen the ugliness of his face, rather accen- 
 tuated it. 
 
 "It's not so bad," he drawled. "Nothing but 
 death and what's that? I don't suffer much not 
 now. It's cancer, keeps gnawing away like a rat 
 in the wall. By and by it will get up to my heart 
 and then it's good-by Jim. I shan't care. What's 
 life good for that a chap should cling to it like a 
 barnacle on a rock?" 
 
 "W do though," said Alan Massey. 
 
 "Oh, yes, we do. It's the way we're made. We 
 are always clinging to something, good or bad. 
 Life, love, home, drink, power, money! Always 
 something we are ready to sell our souls to get or 
 keep. With you and me it was money. You sold 
 your soul to me to keep money and I took it to 
 get money." 
 
 He laughed raucously and Alan winced at the 
 sound and cursed 1 the morbid curiosity that had 
 brought him to the bedside of this man who for 
 three years past had held his own future in his 
 dirty hand, or claimed to hold it. Alan Massey 
 had paid, paid high for the privilege of not know- 
 ing things he did not wish to know. 
 
 "What kind of a trail had you struck when you 
 wired me,' Massey? I didn't know you were anx- 
 ious for details about young John Massey's career 
 I thought you preferred ignorance. It was what 
 you bought of me." 
 
 "I know it was," groaned Alan, dropping into a 
 creaking rocker beside the bed. "I am a fool. I 
 admit it. But sometimes it seems to me I can't 
 stand not knowing. I want to squeeze what you 
 know out of you as you would squeeze a lemon until 
 there was nothing left but bitter pulp. It is driving 
 me mad." 
 
 The sick man eyed the speaker with a leer of 
 malicious satisfaction. It was meat to his soul to
 
 140 WILD WINGS 
 
 see this lordly young aristocrat racked with misery 
 and dread, to hold him in his power as a cat holds 
 a mouse, which it can crush and crunch at any 
 moment if it will. Alan Massey's mood filled Jim 
 Roberts with exquisite enjoyment, enjoyment such 
 as a gourmand feels on setting his teeth in some 
 rare morsel of food. 
 
 "I know," he nodded. "It works like that often. 
 They say a murderer can't keep away from the scene 
 of his crime if he is left at large. There is an ir- 
 resistible fascination to him about the spot where 
 he damned his immortal soul." 
 
 "I'm not a criminal," snarled Alan. "Don't talk 
 to me like that or you will never see another cent of 
 my money." 
 
 "Money!" sneered the sick man. "What's that 
 to me now? I've lost my taste for money. It is 
 no good to me any more. I've got enough laid by 
 to bury me and I can't take the rest with me. Your 
 money is nothing to me, Alan Massey. But you'll 
 pay still, in a different way. I am glad you came. 
 It is doing me good." 
 
 Alan made a gesture of disgust and got to his 
 feet, pacing to and fro, his face dark, his soul torn, 
 between conflicting emotions. 
 
 "I'll be dead soon," went on the malicious, purr- 
 ing voice from the bed. "Don't begrudge me my 
 last fling. When I am in my grave you will be safe. 
 Nobody in the living world but me knows young 
 John Massey's alive. You can keep your money 
 then with perfect ease of mind until you get to 
 where I am now and then, maybe you will find out 
 the money will comfort you no longer, that nothing 
 but having a soul can get you over the river." 
 
 The younger man's march came to a halt by the 
 bedside. 
 
 "You shan't die until you tell me what you know 
 about John Massey," he said fiercely.
 
 BITTER FRUIT 141 
 
 "You're a fool," said James Roberts. "What you 
 don't know you are not responsible for you can 
 forget in a way. If you insist on hearing the whole 
 story you will never be able to get away from it to 
 your dying day. John Massey as an abstraction is 
 one thing. John Massey as a live human being, 
 whom you have cheated out of a name and a fortune, 
 is another." 
 
 "I never cheated him of a name. You did that." 
 
 The man grunted. 
 
 "Right. That is on my bill. Lord knows, I wish 
 it wasn't. Little enough did I ever get out of that 
 particular piece of deviltry. I over-reached myself, 
 was a darned little bit too smart. I held on to the 
 boy, thinking I'd get more out of it later, and he 
 slid out of my hands like an eel and I had nothing 
 to show for it, until you came along and I saw a 
 chance to make a new deal at your expense. You 
 fell for it like a lamb to the slaughter. I'll never 
 forget your face when I told you John Massey was 
 alive and that I could produce him in a minute for 
 the courts. If I had, your name would have been 
 Dutch, young man. You'd never have gotten a look 
 in on the money. You had the sense to see that. 
 Old John died without a w T ill. His grandson and 
 not his grand-nephew was his heir provided any- 
 body could dig up the fellow, and I was the boy that 
 could do that. I proved that to you, Alan Massey." 
 
 "You proved nothing. You scared me into hand- 
 ing you over a whole lot of money, you blackmailing 
 rascal, I admit that. But you didn't prove any- 
 thing. You showed me the baby clothes you said 
 John Massey wore when he was stolen. The name 
 might easily enough have been stamped on the linen 
 later. You showed me a silver rattle marked 'John 
 Massey.' The inscription might also easily enough 
 have been added later at a crook's convenience. 
 You showed me some letters purporting to have
 
 142 WILD WINGS 
 
 been written by the woman who stole the child and 
 was too much frightened by her crime to get the 
 gains she planned to win from it. The letters, too, 
 might easily have been forgery. The whole thing 
 might have been a cock and bull story, fabricated 
 by a rotten, clever mind like yours, to apply the 
 money screw to me." 
 
 "True," chuckled Jim Roberts. "Quite true. I 
 wondered at your credulity at the time." 
 
 "You rat! So it was all a fake, a trap?" 
 
 "You would like to believe that, wouldn't you? 
 You would like to have a dying man's oath that 
 there was nothing but a pack of lies to the whole 
 thing, blackmail of the crudest, most unsupport- 
 able variety?" 
 
 Alan bent over the man, shook his fist in the evil, 
 withered old face. 
 
 "Damn you, Jim Roberts ! Was it a lie or was it 
 not?" 
 
 "Keep your hands off me, Alan Massey. It was 
 the truth. Sarah Nelson did steal the child just as 
 I told you. She gave the child to me when she was 
 dying a few months later. I'll give my oath on that 
 if you like." 
 
 Alan brushed his hand across his forehead, and 
 sat down again limply in the creaking rocker. 
 
 "Oh, you are willing to believe that again now, 
 are you?" mocked Roberts. 
 
 "I've got to, I suppose. Go on. Tell me the 
 rest. I've got to know. Did you really make a 
 circus brat of John Massey and did he really run 
 away from you? That is all you told me before, 
 you remember." 
 
 "It was all you wanted to know. Besides," the 
 man smiled his diabolical grin again, "there was a 
 reason for going light on the details. At the time 
 I held you up I hadn't any more idea than you had 
 where John Massey was, nor whether he was even
 
 BITTER FRUIT 143 
 
 alive. It was the weak spot in my armor. But 
 you were so panic stricken at the thought of having 
 to give up your gentleman's fortune that you never 
 looked at the hollowness of the thing. You could 
 have bowled over my whole scheme in a minute by 
 being honest and telling me to bring on your cousin, 
 John Massey. But you didn't. You were only too 
 afraid I would bring him on before you could buy 
 me off. I knew I could count on your being blind 
 and rotten. I knew my man." 
 
 "Tnen you don't know now whether John Massey 
 is alive or not?" Alan asked after a pause during 
 which he let the full irony of the man's confession 
 sink into his heart and turn there like a knife in a 
 wound. 
 
 "That is where you're dead wrong. I do know. 
 [ made it my business to find out. It was too im- 
 portant to have an invulnerable shield not to patch 
 up the discrepancy as early as possible. It took me 
 a year to get my facts and it cost a good chink of the 
 filthy, but I got them. I not only know that John 
 Massey is alive but I know where he is and what he 
 is doing. I could send for him to-morrow, and 
 cook your goose for you forever, young man." 
 
 He pulled himself up on one elbow to peer into 
 Alan's gloomy face. 
 
 "I may do it yet," he added. "You needn't offer 
 me hush money. It's no good to me, as I told you. 
 I don't want money. I only want to pass the time 
 until the reaper comes along. You'll grant that 
 it would be amusing to me to watch the see-saw tip 
 once more, to see you go down and your cousin John 
 come up." 
 
 Alan was on his feet again now, striding nerv^ 
 ously from door to window and back again. He 
 had wanted to know. Now he knew. He had 
 knowledge bitter as wormwood. The man had lied 
 before. He was not lying now.
 
 144 WILD WINGS 
 
 "What made you send that wire? Were you on 
 the track, too, trying to find out on your own where 
 your cousin is?" 
 
 "Not exactly. Lord knows I didn't want to know. 
 But I had a queer hunch. Some coincidences 
 bobbed up under my nose that I didn't like the looks 
 of. I met a young man a few days ago that was 
 about the age John would have been, a chap with a 
 past, w r ho had run away from a circus. The thing 
 stuck in my crop, especially as there was a kind of 
 shadowy resemblance between us that people 
 noticed." 
 
 "That is interesting. And his name?" 
 
 "He goes under the name of Carson Kichard 
 Carson." 
 
 Koberts nodded. 
 
 "The same. Good boy. You have succeeded in 
 finding your cousin. Congratulations !" he cackled 
 maliciously. 
 
 "Then it really is he?" 
 
 "Not a doubt of it. He was taken up by a family 
 named Holiday in Dunbury, Massachusetts. They 
 gave him a home, saw that he got some schooling, 
 started him on a country newspaper. He was 
 smart, took to books, got ahead, was promoted 
 from one paper to another. He is on a New York 
 daily now, making good still, I'm told. Does it 
 tally?" 
 
 Alan bowed assent. It tallied all too well. The 
 lad he had insulted, jeered at, hated with instinc- 
 tive hate, was his cousin, John Massey, the third, 
 whom he had told the other was quite dead. John 
 Massey was very much alive and was the rightful 
 heir to the fortune which Alan Massev was spend- 
 ing as the heavens had spent rain yesterday. 
 
 It was worse than that. If the other was no 
 longer nameless, had the right to the same fine, old 
 name that Alan himself bore, and had too often
 
 BITTER FRUIT 145 
 
 disgraced, the barrier between him and Tony Holi- 
 day was swept away. That was the bitterest drop 
 in the cup. No wonder he hated Dick hated him 
 now with a cumulative, almost murderous intensity. 
 He had mocked at the other, but how should he 
 stand against him in fair field? It was he Alan 
 Massey that was the outcast, his mother a woman 
 of doubtful fame, himself a follower of false fires, 
 his life ignoble, wayward, erratic, unclean? Would 
 it notJbe John rather than Alan Massey Tony Holi- 
 day would choose, if she knew all? This ugly, ven- 
 omous, sin-scarred old rascal held his fate in the 
 hollow of his evil old hand. 
 
 The other was watching him narrowly, evidently 
 striving to follow his thoughts. 
 
 "Well?" he asked. "Going to beat me at my own 
 game, give your cousin his due?" 
 
 "No," curtly. 
 
 "Queer," mused the man. "A month ago I would 
 have understood it. It would have seemed sensible 
 enough to hold on to the cold cash at any risk. Now 
 it looks different. Money is filthy stuff, man. It 
 is what they put on dead eye-lids to keep them down. 
 Sometimes we put it on our own living lids to keep 
 us from seeing straight. You are sure the money's 
 worth so much to you, Alan Massey?" 
 
 The man's eyes burned livid, like coals. It was a 
 strange and rather sickening thing, Alan Massey 
 thought, to hear him talk like this after having 
 lived the rottenest kind of a life, sunk in slime for 
 years. 
 
 "The money is nothing to me," he flung back. 
 "Not now. I thought it was worth considerable 
 when I drove that devilish bargain with you to keep 
 it. It has been worse than nothing, if you care to 
 know. It killed my art the only decent thing 
 about me the only thing I had a right to take hon- 
 est pride in. John Massey might have every penny
 
 146 WILD WINGS 
 
 of it to-morrow for all I care if that were all there 
 were to it." 
 
 "What else is there?" probed the old man. 
 
 "None of your business," snarled Alan. Not for 
 worlds would he have spoken Tony Holiday's name 
 in this spot, under the baleful gleam of those dying 
 eyes. 
 
 The man chuckled maliciously. 
 
 "You don't need to tell me, I know. There's al- 
 ways a woman in it when a man takes the path to 
 Hell. Does she want money? Is that why you 
 must hang on to the filthy stuff?" 
 
 "She doesn't want anything except what I can't 
 give her, thanks to you and myself the love of a 
 decent man." 
 
 "I see. When we meet the woman we wish we'd 
 sowed fewer wild oats. I went through that my- 
 self once. She was a white lily sort of girl and I 
 well, I'd gone the pace long before I met her. I 
 wasn't fit to touch her and I knew it. I went down 
 fast after that nothing to keep me back. Old 
 Shakespeare says something somewhere about our 
 pleasant vices beings whips to goad us with. You 
 and I can understand that, Alan Massey. We've 
 both felt the lash." 
 
 Alan made an impatient gesture. He did not 
 care to be lumped with this rotten piece of flesh 
 lying there before him. 
 
 "I suppose you are wondering what*my next move 
 is," went on Roberts. 
 
 "I don't care." 
 
 "Oh yes, you do. You care a good deal. I can 
 break you, Alan Massey, and you know it." 
 
 "Go ahead and break and be damned if you 
 choose," raged Alan. 
 
 "Exactly. As I choose. And I can keep you 
 dancing on some mighty hot gridirons before I 
 shuffle off. Don't forget that, Alan Massey. And
 
 BITTER FRUIT 147 
 
 there will be several months to dance yet, if the 
 doctors aren't off their count." 
 
 "Suit yourself. Don't hurry about dying on my 
 account," said Alan with ironical courtesy. 
 
 A few moments later he was on his way back to 
 the station. His universe reeled. All he was sure 
 was that he loved Tony Holiday and would fight to 
 the last ditch to win and keep her and that she 
 would be in his arms to-night for perhaps the last 
 time. . The rest was a hideous blur.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 SHACKLES 
 
 THE evening was a specially gala occasion, with 
 a dinner dance on, the last big party before Tony 
 went home to her Hill. The great ball room at 
 Crest House had been decorated with a network of 
 greenery and crimson rambler roses. A ruinous- 
 priced, de luxe orchestra had been brought down 
 from the city. The girls had saved their prettiest 
 gowns and looked their rainbow loveliest for the 
 crowning event. 
 
 Tony was wearing an exquisite white chiffon and 
 silver creation, with silver slippers and a silver fil- 
 let binding her dark hair. Alan had sent her some 
 wonderful orchids tied with silver ribbon, and these 
 she w r ore; but no jewelry whatever, not even a ring. 
 There was something particularly radiant about 
 her young loveliness that night. The young men 
 hovered abo-ut her like honey bees about a rose and 
 at every dance they cut in and cut in until her white 
 and silver seemed to be drifting from one pair of 
 arms to another. 
 
 Tony was very gay and bountiful and impartial 
 in her smiles and favors, but all the time she waited, 
 knowing that presently would come the one dance 
 to which there would be no cutting in, the dance 
 that would make the others seem nothing but shad- 
 ows. 
 
 By and by the hour struck. She saw Alan leave 
 his place by the window where he had been moodily 
 
 148
 
 SHACKLES 149 
 
 lounging, saw him come toward her, taller than any 
 man in the room, distinguished a king among the 
 rest, it seemed to Tony, waiting, longing for his 
 coming, yet half dreading it, too. For the sooner 
 he came, the sooner it must all end. She was with 
 Hal at the moment, waiting for the music to begin, 
 but as Alan approached she turned to her compan- 
 ion with a quick appeal in her eyes and a warm 
 flush on her cheeks. 
 
 "I am sorry, Hal," she said, low in his ear. "But 
 this is Alan's. He is going away to-morrow. For- 
 give me." 
 
 Hal turned, stared at Alan Massey, turned back 
 to Tony, bowed and moved away. 
 
 "Hanged if there isn't something magnificent 
 about the fellow," he thought. "No matter how 
 you detest him there is something about him that 
 gets you. I wonder how far he has gone with Tony. 
 Gee! It's a rotten combination. But Lordy! 
 How they can dance those two!" 
 
 Never as long as she lived was Tony Holiday to 
 forget that dance with Alan Massey. As a musi- 
 cian pours himself into his violin, as a poet puts 
 his soul into his sonnet, as a sculptor chisels his 
 dream in marble, so her companion flung his passion 
 and despair and imploring into his dancing. They 
 forgot the others, forgot everything but themselves. 
 They might have been dancing alone on the top of 
 Olympus for all either knew or cared for the rest 
 of the world. 
 
 It was Alan, not Tony, who brought it to an end, 
 however. He whispered something in the girl's ear 
 and their feet paused. In a moment he was holding 
 open the French window for her to pass out into 
 the night. The white and silver vanished like a 
 cloud. Alan Massey followed. The window swung 
 shut again. The music stopped abruptly as if now 
 its inspiration had come to an end. A single note
 
 150 WILD WINGS 
 
 of a violin quivered off into silence after the others, 
 like the breath of beauty itself passing. 
 
 Carlotta and her aunt happened to be standing 
 near each other. The girl's eyes were troubled. 
 She wished Alan had not come back at all from the 
 city. She hoped he really intended to go away 
 to-morrow as he had told her. More than all she 
 hoped she was right in believing that Tony had re- 
 fused to marry him. Like Dick, Carlotta had rev- 
 erence for the Holiday tradition. She could not 
 bear to think of Tony's marrying Alan. She felt 
 woefully responsible for having brought the two 
 together. 
 
 "Did you say he was going to-morrow?" asked 
 her aunt. 
 
 Carlotta nodded. 
 
 "He won't go," prophesied Miss Cressy. 
 
 "Oh, yes. I think he will. I don't know for cer- 
 tain but I have an idea she refused him this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "Ah, but that was this morning. Things look 
 very different by star light. That child ought not 
 to be out there with him. She is losing her head." 
 
 "Aunt Lottie! Alan is a gentleman," demurred 
 Carlotta. 
 
 Miss Lottie smiled satirically. Her smile re- 
 peated Ted Holiday's verdict that some gentlemen 
 were rotters. 
 
 "You forget, my dear, that I knew Alan Massey 
 when you and Tony were in short petticoats and 
 pigtails. You can't trust too much to his gentle- 
 manliness." 
 
 "Of course, I know he isn't a saint," admitted 
 Carlotta. "But you don't understand. It is real 
 with Alan this time. He really cares. It isn't 
 just just the one thing." 
 
 "It is always the one thing with Alan Massey's 
 kind. I know what I am talking about, Carlotta.
 
 IT WAS HIS GENTLENESS THAT CONQUERED.'
 
 SHACKLES 151 
 
 He was a little in lave with me once. I dare say we 
 both thought it was different at the time. It 
 wasn't. It was pretty much the same thing. 
 Don't cherish any romantic notions about love, 
 Carlotta. There isn't any love as 3 r ou mean it." 
 
 "Oh yes, there is," denied Carlotta suddenly, a 
 little fiercely. "There is love, but most of us 
 aren't aren't worthy of it. It is too big for us. 
 That is why we get the cheap little stuff. It is all 
 we are fit for." 
 
 Miss Carlotta stared at her niece. But before she 
 could speak HarUnderwood had claimed the latter 
 for a dance. 
 
 "H m !" she mused looking after the two. "So 
 even Carlotta isn't immune. I wonder who he was." 
 
 Meanwhile, out in the garden Tony and Alan had 
 strayed over to the fountain, just as they had that 
 first evening after that first dance. 
 
 "Tony, belovedest, let me speak. Listen to me 
 just once more. You do love me. Don't lie to me 
 with your lips when your eyes told me the truth in 
 there. You are mine, mine, my beautiful, my 
 love all mine." 
 
 He drew her into his arms, -not passionately but 
 gently. It was his gentleness that conquered. A 
 storm of unrestrained emotion would have driven 
 her away from him, but his sudden quiet strength 
 and tenderness melted her last reservation. She 
 gave her lips unresisting to his kiss. And with 
 that kiss, desire of freedom and all fear left her. 
 For the moment, at least, love was all and enough. 
 
 "Tony, my belovedest," he whispered. "Say it 
 just once. Tell me you love me." It was the old, 
 old plea, but in Tony's ears it was immortally new. 
 
 "I love you, Alan. I didn't want to. I have 
 fought it all along as you know. But it was no use. 
 I do love you." 
 
 "My darling ! And I love you. You don't know
 
 152 WILD WINGS 
 
 how I love you. It is like suddenly coming out into 
 sunshine after having lived in a cave all my life. 
 Will you marry me to-morrow, carissimaf" 
 
 But she drew away from his arms at that. 
 
 "Alan, I can't marry you ever. I can only love 
 you." 
 
 "Why not? You must, Tony !" The old master- 
 fulness leaped into his voice. 
 
 "I cannot, Alan. You know why." 
 
 She lifted her eyes to his and in their clear depths 
 he saw reflected his own willful, stained, undisci- 
 plined past. He bowed his head in real shame and 
 remorse. Nothing stood between himself and An- 
 toinette Holiday but himself. He had sown the 
 wind. He reaped the whirlwind. 
 
 After a moment he looked up again. He made 
 no pretence of misunderstanding her meaning. 
 
 "You couldn't forgive?" he pleaded brokenly. 
 Gone was the royal-willed Alan Massey. Only a 
 beggar in the dust remained. 
 
 "Yes, Alan. I could forgive. I do now. I think 
 I can understand how such things can be in a man's 
 life though it would break my heart to think Ted 
 or Larry were like that. But you never had a 
 chance. Nobody ever helped you to keep your eyes 
 on the stars." 
 
 "They are there now," he groaned. "You are 
 my star, Tony, and stars are very, very far away 
 from the like of me," he echoed Carlotta's phrase. 
 
 For almost the first time in his life humility pos- 
 sessed him. Had he known it, it lifted him higher 
 in Tony's eyes than all his arrogance and conceit of 
 power had ever done. 
 
 Gently she slid her hand into his. 
 
 "I don't feel far away, Alan. I feel very near. 
 But I can't marry you not now anyway. You will 
 have to prove to them all to me, too that you are 
 a man a Holiday might be proud to marry. I could
 
 SHACKLES 153 
 
 forget the past. I think I could persuade Uncle 
 Phil and the rest to forget it, too. They are none 
 of them self-righteous Puritans. They could under- 
 stand, just as I understand, that a man might fall 
 in battle and carry scars of defeat, but not be really 
 conquered. Alan, tell me something. It isn't easy 
 to ask but I must. Are the things I have to forget 
 far back in the past or nearer? I know they go 
 back to Paris days, the days Miss Lottie belongs to. 
 Oh, yes," as he started at that. "I guessed that. 
 You mustn't blame her. She was merely trying to 
 warn me. She meant it for my good, not to be spite- 
 ful and not because she still cares, though I think 
 she does. And I know there are things that belong 
 to the time after your mother died, and you didn't 
 care what you did because you were so unhappy. 
 But are they still nearer? How close are they, 
 Alan?" 
 
 He shook his head despairingly. 
 
 "I wish I could lie to you, Tony. I can't. They 
 are too close to be pleasant to remember. But they 
 never will be again. I swear it. Can you believe 
 it?" 
 
 "I shall have to believe it be convinced of it be- 
 fore I could marry you. I can't marry you, not 
 being certain of you, just because -my heart beats 
 fast when you come near me, because I love your 
 voice and your kisses and would rather dance with 
 you than to be sure of going to Heaven. Marriage 
 is a world without end business. I can't rush into 
 it blindfold. I won't." 
 
 "You don't love me as I love you or you couldn't 
 reason so coldly about it," he reproached. "You 
 would go blindfold anywhere to Hell itself even, 
 with me." 
 
 "I don't know, Alan. I could let myself go. 
 While we were dancing in there I am afraid I would 
 have been willing to go even as far as you say with
 
 154 WILD WINGS 
 
 you. But out here in the star-light I am back being 
 myself. I want to make my life into something 
 clean and sweet and fine. I don't want to let my- 
 self be driven to follow weak, selfish, rash impulses 
 and do things that will hurt other people and my- 
 self. I don't want to make my people sorry. They 
 are dearer than any happiness of my own. They 
 would not let me marry you now, even if I wished 
 it. If I did what you want and what maybe some- 
 thing in me wants too run off and marry you to- 
 morrow without their consent it would break 
 their hearts and mine, afterward when I had waked 
 up to what I had done. Don't ask me, dear. I 
 couldn't do it." 
 
 "But what will you do, Tony? Won't you marry 
 me ever?" Alan's tone was helpless, desolate. He 
 had run up against a power stronger than any he 
 had ever wielded, a force which left him baffled. 
 
 "I don't know. It will depend upon you. A 
 year from now, if you still want me and I am still 
 free, if you can come to me and tell me you have 
 lived for twelve months as a man who loves a woman 
 ought to live, I will marry you if I love you enough ; 
 and I think I am sure, I shall, for I love you very 
 much this minute." 
 
 "A year! Tony, I can't wait a year for you. I 
 want you now." Alan's tone was sharp with dis- 
 may. He was not used to waiting for what he de- 
 sired. He had taken it on the instant, as a rule, 
 and as a rule, his takings had been dust and ashes 
 as soon as they were in his hands. 
 
 "You cannot have me, Alan. You can never have 
 me unless you earn the right to win me straight. 
 Understand that once for all. I will not marry a 
 weakling. I will marry a conquerer perhaps." 
 
 "You mean that, Tony?" 
 
 "Absolutely." 
 
 "Then, by God, I'll be a conquerer !" he boasted,
 
 SHACKLES 155 
 
 "I hope you will. Oh, my dear, my dear! It 
 will break my heart if you fail. I love you." And 
 suddenly Tony was clinging to him, just a woman 
 who cared, who wanted her lover, even as he wanted 
 her. But in a breath she pulled herself away. 
 "Take me in, Alan, now/' she said. "Kiss me once 
 before we go. I shall not see you in the morning. 
 This is really good-by." 
 
 Later, Carlotta, coming in to say goodnight to 
 Tony, found the latter sitting in front of the mirror 
 brushing out her abundant red-brown hair and no- 
 ticed how very scarlet her friend's cheeks were and 
 what a tell-tale shining glory there was in her eyes. 
 
 "It was a lovely party," announced Tony casually, 
 unaware how much Carlotta had seen over her 
 shoulder in the mirror. 
 
 "Tony, are you in love with Alan Massey?" de- 
 manded Carlotta. 
 
 Tony whirled around on the stool, her cheeks 
 flying deeper crimson banners at this unexpected 
 challenge. 
 
 "I am afraid I am, Carlotta," she admitted. "It 
 is rather a mess, isn't it?" 
 
 Carlott-a groaned and dropping into a chaise 
 longue encircled her knees with her. arms, staring 
 with troubled eyes at her guest. 
 
 "A mess? I should say it was worse than a 
 mess a catastrophe. You know what Alan is 
 isn't " She floundered off into silence. 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Tony, the more tranquil of the 
 two. "I know what he is and isn't, better than 
 most people, I. think. I ought to. But I love him. 
 I just discovered it to-night, or rather it is the first 
 time I ever let myself look straight at the fact. I 
 think I have known it from the beginning." 
 
 "But Tony ! You won't marry him. You can't. 
 Your people will never let you. They oughtn't to 
 let you."
 
 156 WILD WINGS 
 
 Tony shook back her wavy inane of hair, sent it 
 billowing over her rose-colored satin kimono. 
 
 "It don't matter if the whole world won't let me. 
 If I decide to marry Alan I shall do it." 
 
 "Tony !" 
 
 There was shocked consternation in Carlotta's 
 tone and Tony relenting burst into a low, tremulous 
 little laugh. 
 
 "Don't worry, Carlotta. I'm not so mad as I 
 sound. I told Alan he would have to wait a year. 
 He has to prove to me he is worth loving." 
 
 "But you are engaged?" Carlotta was relieved, 
 but not satisfied. 
 
 Tony shook her head. 
 
 "Absolutely not. We are both free as air 
 technically. If you were in love yourself you 
 would know how much that amounts to by way of 
 freedom." 
 
 Carlotta's golden head was bowed. She did not 
 answer her friend's implication that she could not 
 be expected to comprehend the delicate, invisible, 
 omnipotent shackles of love. 
 
 "Don't tell anyone, Carlotta, please. It is our 
 secret Alan's and mine. Maybe it will always be 
 a secret unless he measures up." 
 
 "You are not going to tell your uncle?" 
 
 "There is nothing to tell yet." 
 
 "And I suppose this is the end of poor, Dick." 
 
 "Don't be silly, Carlotta. Dick newer said a 
 word of love to me in his life." 
 
 "That doesn't mean he doesn't think ^em. You 
 have convenient eyes, Tony darling. You see only 
 what you wish to see." 
 
 "I didn't want to see Alan's love. I tried dread- 
 fully hard not to. But it set up a fire in my own 
 house and blazed and smoked until I had to do some- 
 thing about it. See here, Carlotta. I'd like to 
 ask you a question or two. You are not really go-
 
 SHACKLES 157 
 
 ing to marry Herbert Lathrop, are you?" 
 
 A queer little shadow, almost like a veil, passed 
 over Carlotta's face at this counter charge. 1 
 
 "Why not?" she parried. 
 
 "You know why not. He is exactly what Hal 
 Underwood calls him, a poor fish. He is as close to 
 being a nonentity as anything I ever saw." 
 
 "Precisely why I selected him," drawled Carlotta. 
 "I've got to marry somebody and poor Herbert 
 hasn't^ a vice except his excess of virtue. We can't 
 have another old maid in the family. Aunt Lottie 
 is a shining example of what to avoid. I am not 
 going to be 'Lottie the second' I have decided on 
 that)' 
 
 "As if you could," protested Tony indignantly. 
 
 "Oh, I could. You look at Aunt Lottie's pictures 
 of fifteen years ago. She was just as pretty as I 
 am. She had loads of lovers but somehow they all 
 slipped through her fingers. She has been sex- 
 starved. She ought to have married and had chil- 
 dren. I don't want to be a hungry spinster. They 
 are infernally miserable." 
 
 "Carlotta!" Tony was a little shocked at her 
 friend's bluntness, a little puzzled as to what lay be- 
 hind her arguments. "You don't have to be a hun- 
 gry spinster. There are other men besides Herbert 
 that want to marry you." 
 
 "Certainly. Some of them want to marry my 
 money. Some of them want to marry my body. I 
 grant you Herbert is a poor fish in some ways, but at 
 least he wants to marry me, myself, which is more 
 than the others do." 
 
 "That isn't true. Hal Underwood wants to 
 marry you, yourself." 
 
 "Oh, Hal !" conceded Carlotta. "I forgot him for 
 a moment. Yon are right. He is real too real. 
 I should hurt him marrying him and not caring 
 enough. That is why a nonentity is preferable.
 
 158 WILD WINGS 
 
 It doesn't know what it is missing. Hal would 
 know." 
 
 "But there is no reason why you shouldn't wait 
 until you find somebody you could care for," per- 
 sisted Tony. 
 
 "That is all you know about it, my dear. There 
 is the best reason in the world. I found him and 
 lost him." 
 
 "Carlotta is it Phil?" 
 
 Carlotta sprang up and went over to the window. 
 She took the rose she had been wearing, in her hands 
 and deliberately pulled it apart letting the petals 
 drift one by one out into the night. Then she 
 turned back to Tony. 
 
 "Don't ask questions, Tony. I am not going to 
 talk." But she lingered a moment beside her 
 friend. "You and I, Tony darling, don't seem to 
 have very much luck in love," she murmured. "I 
 hope you will be happy with Alan, if you do 
 marry him. But happiness isn't exactly necessary. 
 There are other things She broke off and be- 
 gan again. "There are other things in a man's life 
 besides love. Somebody said that to me once and I 
 believe it is true. But there isn't so much besides 
 that matters much to a woman. I wish there were. 
 I hate love." And pressing a rare kiss on her 
 friend's cheek Carlotta vanished for the night. 
 
 Meanwhile Alan Massey smoked and thought and 
 cursed the past that had him in its hateful toils. 
 Like the guilty king in Hamlet, his soul, "struggling 
 to be free" was "but the more engaged." He hon- 
 estly desired to be worthy of Tony Holiday, to 
 stand clear in her eyes, but he did not want it badly 
 enough, to the "teeth and forehead of his faults to 
 give in evidence." He did not want to bare the one 
 worst plague spot of all and run the risk not only 
 of losing Tony himself but perhaps also of clearing 
 the way to her for his cousin, John Massey. Small
 
 SHACKLES 159 
 
 wonder he smoked gall and wormwood in his ciga- 
 rettes that night. 
 
 And far away in the heat and grime and din of 
 the great city, Dick Carson the nameless, who was 
 really John Massey and heir to a great fortune, sat 
 dreaming over a girl's picture, telling himself that 
 Tony must care a little to have gotten up in the sil- 
 ver gray of the morning to see him off so kindly. 
 Happily for the dreamer's peace of mind he had no 
 means.of knowing that that very night, in the star- 
 lit garden by the sea, Tony Holiday had taken upon 
 herself the mad and sad and glad bondage of love.
 
 ON THE EDGE OF THE PRECIPICE 
 
 TONY, getting off the train at Dunbury on Sat- 
 urday, found her brothers waiting for her with the 
 car, and the kiddies on the back seat, "for ballast" 
 as Ted said. With one quick apprizing glance the 
 girl took in the two young men. 
 
 Ted was brown and healthy looking, clear-eyed, 
 steady-nerved, for once, without the inevitable ciga- 
 rette in his mouth. He was oddly improved some- 
 how, his sister thought, considering how short a 
 time she had been away from the Hill. She not- 
 iced also that he drove the car much less recklessly 
 than was his wont, took no chances on curves, slid 
 by no vehicles at hair-breadth space, speeded not at 
 all, and though he kept up a running fire of merry 
 nonsense, had his eye on the road as he drove. So 
 far so good. That spill out on the Florence road 
 wasn't all loss, it seemed. 
 
 Larry was more baffling. He was always quiet. 
 He was quieter than ever to-day. There was some- 
 thing in his gray eyes which spelled trouble, Tony 
 thought. What was it? Was he worried about a 
 case? Was Granny w r orse? Was Ted in some 
 scrape? Something there certainly was on his 
 mind. Tony was sure of that, though she could 
 not conjecture what. 
 
 The Holidays had an almost uncanny way of un- 
 derstanding things about each other, things which 
 sometimes never rose to the surface at all. Perhaps 
 
 160
 
 ON THE EDGE OF THE PRECIPICE 161 
 
 it was that they were so close together in sympathy 
 that a kind of small telepathic signal registered au- 
 tomatically when anything was wrong with any of 
 them. So far as her brothers were concerned 
 Tony's intuition was all but infallible. 
 
 She found the family gift a shade disconcerting, 
 a little later, when after her uncle kissed her 
 he held her off at arm's length and studied her face. 
 Tony's eyes fell beneath his questioning gaze. For 
 almost the first time in her life she had a secret to 
 keep from him if she could. 
 
 "What have they been doing to my little girl?" he 
 asked. "They have taken away her sunshininess." 
 
 "Oh, no, they haven't," denied Tony quickly. 
 "It is just that I am tired. We have been on the go 
 all the time and kept scandalously late hours. I'll 
 be all right as soon as I have caught up. I feel as if 
 I could sleep for a century and any prince who has 
 the effrontery to wake me up will fare badly." 
 
 She laughed, but even in her own ears the laugh- 
 ter did not sound quite natural and she was sure 
 Uncle Phil thought the same, though he asked no 
 more questions. 
 
 "It is like living in a palace being at Crest 
 House," she went on. "I've played princess to my 
 heart's content been waited on and fted and 
 flirted with until I'm tired to death of it all and 
 want to be just plain Tony again." 
 
 She slid into her uncle's arms with a weary little 
 sigh. It was good oh so good to have him again ! 
 She hadn't known she had missed him so until she 
 felt the comfort of his presence. In his arms Alan 
 Massey and all he stood for seemed very far away. 
 
 "Got letters for you this morning," announced 
 Ted. "I forgot to give them to you." He fished 
 the aforesaid letters out of his pocket and examined 
 them before handing them over. "One is from Dick 
 the other he held the large square envelope off
 
 162 WILD WINGS 
 
 and squinted at it teasingly. "Some scrawl!" he 
 commented. "Reckless display of ink and flour- 
 ishes, I call it. Who's the party?" 
 
 Tony snatched the letters, her face rosy. 
 
 "Give me Dick's. I haven't heard from him but 
 once since he went back to New York and that was 
 just a card. Oh-h! Listen everybody. The Uni- 
 versal has accepted his story and wants him to do a 
 whole series of them. Oh, isn't that just wonder- 
 ful?" 
 
 Tony's old sparkles were back now. There were 
 no reservations necessary here. Everybody knew 
 and loved Dick and would be glad as she was her- 
 self in his success. 
 
 "Hail to Dicky Dumas !" she added, gaily waving 
 the letter aloft. "I always knew he would get 
 there. And that was the very story he read me. 
 Wasn't it lucky I liked it really? If I hadn't, and 
 it had turned out to be good, wouldn't it have been 
 awful?" 
 
 Everybody laughed at that and perhaps nobody 
 but the doctor noticed that the other letter in the 
 unfamiliar handwriting was tucked away very 
 quickly out of sight in her bag and no comments 
 made. 
 
 It was not until Tony had gone the rounds of the 
 household and greeted everyone from Granny down 
 to Max that she read Alan's letter, as she sat curled 
 up in the cretonned window seat, just as the little 
 girl Tony had been wont to sit and devour love sto- 
 ries. This was a love story, too her own and with 
 a sadly complicated plot at that. 
 
 It was the first letter she had had from Alan and 
 she found it very wonderful and exciting reading. 
 It was brimming over, as might have been expected, 
 with passionate lover's protests and extravagant 
 endearments which Tony could not have imagined 
 her Anglo-Saxon relatives or friends even conceiv-
 
 ON THE EDGE OF THE PRECIPICE 163 
 
 ing, let alone putting on paper. But Alan was dif- 
 ferent. These things were no affectation with him, 
 but natural as breathing, part and parcel of his per- 
 sonality. She could hear him now say "carissima" 
 in that low, deep-cadenced, musical voice of his and 
 the word seemed very sweet and beautiful to her as 
 it sang in her heart and she read it in the dashing 
 script upon the paper. 
 
 He was desolated without her, he wrote. Noth- 
 ing was worth while. Nothing interested him. 
 He was refusing all invitations, went nowhere. He 
 just sat alone in the studio and dreamed about her 
 or made sketches of her from memory. She was 
 everywhere, all about him. She filled the studio 
 with her voice, her laughter, her wonderful eyes. 
 But oh, he was so lonely, so unutterably lonely 
 without her. Must he really wait a whole year 
 before he made her his? A year was twelve long, 
 long months. Anything could happen in a year. 
 One of them might die and the other would go frus- 
 trate and lonely forever, like a sad wind in the 
 night. 
 
 Tony caught her breath quickly at that sentence. 
 The poetry of it captivated her fancy, the dread of 
 what it conjured clutched like cold hands at her 
 heart. She wanted Alan now, wanted love now. 
 Already those 'dear folks downstairs were beginning 
 to seem like ghosts, she and Alan the only real peo- 
 ple. What if he should die, what if something 
 should happen to keep them forever apart, how 
 could she bear it? How could she? 
 
 She turned back to her letter which had turned 
 into an impassioned plea that she would never for- 
 sake him, no matter what happened, never drive 
 him over the precipice like the Gadderene swine. 
 
 "You and your love are the only thing that can 
 save me, dear heart," he wrote. "Remember that 
 always. Without you I shall go down, down into
 
 164 WILD WINGS 
 
 blacker pits than I ever sank before. With you I 
 shall come out into the light. I swear it. But oh, 
 beloved, pray for me, if you know how to pray. I 
 don't. I never had a god." 
 
 There were tears in Tony's eyes as she finished 
 her lover's letter. His unwonted humility touched 
 her as no arrogance could ever have done. His 
 appeal to his desperate need moved her profoundly 
 as such appeals will always move woman. It is an 
 old tale and one oft repeated. Man crying out at a 
 woman's feet, "Save me ! Save me ! Myself I cannot 
 save!" Woman, believing, because she longs to 
 believe it, that salvation lies in her power, taking on 
 herself the all but impossible mission for love's 
 high sake. 
 
 Tony Holiday believed, as all the million other 
 women have believed since time began, that she 
 could save her lover, loved him tenfold the more 
 because he threw himself upon her mercy, came 
 indeed perhaps to truly love him for the first time 
 now with a kind of consecrated fervor which 
 belonged all to the spirit even as the love that had 
 come to her while they danced had belonged rather 
 to the flesh. 
 
 And day by day Jim Roberts grew sicker and the 
 gnawing thing crept up nearer to his heart. Day 
 by day he gloated over the goading whips he 
 brandished over Alan Massey's head, amused him- 
 self with the various developments it lay in his 
 power to give to the situation as he passed out of 
 life. 
 
 He wrote two letters from his sick bed. The first 
 one was addressed to Dick Carson, telling the full 
 story of his own and Alan Massey's share in the 
 deliberate defraudment of that young man of his 
 rightful name and estate. It pleased him to read 
 and reread this letter and to reflect that when it was
 
 ON THE EDGE OF THE PRECIPICE 165 
 
 mailed Alan Massey would drink the full cup of 
 disgrace and exposure while he who was infinitely 
 guiltier would be sleeping very quietly in a cool 
 grave where hate, nor vengeance, nor even pity 
 could touch him. 
 
 The other letter, which like the first he kept 
 unmailed, was a less honest and less incriminating 
 letter, filled with plausible half truths, telling how- 
 he had just become aware at last through coming 
 into possession of some old letters of the identity of 
 the boy he had once had in his keeping and who had 
 run away from him, an identity which he now 
 hastened to reveal in the interests of tardy justice. 
 The letter made no mention of Alan Massey nor of 
 the unlovely bargain he had driven with that young 
 man as the price of silence and the bliss of 
 ignorance. It was addressed to the lawyers who 
 handled the Massey estate. 
 
 Roberts had followed up various trails and dis- 
 covered that Antoinette Holiday was the girl 
 Massey loved, discovered through the bribing of a 
 Crest House servant, that the young man they 
 called Carson was also presumably in love with the 
 girl whose family had befriended him so generously 
 in his need. It was incredibly good he thought. 
 He could hardly have thought out a more diaboli- 
 cally clever plot if he had tried. He could make 
 Alan Massey writhe trebly, knowing these things. 
 
 Pursuing his malignant whim he wrote to Alan 
 Massey and told him of the existence of the two 
 letters, as yet unmailed, in his table drawer. He 
 made it clear that one of the letters damned Alan 
 Massey utterly while the other only robbed him of 
 his ill-gotten fortune, made it clear also that he him- 
 self did not know which of the two would be mailed 
 in the end, possibly he would decide it by a flip of a 
 coin. Massey could only wait and see what 
 happened.
 
 166 WILD WINGS 
 
 "I suppose you think the girl is worth going to 
 Hell for, even if the money isn't," he had written. 
 "Maybe she is. Some women are, perhaps. But 
 don't forget that if she loves you, you will be 
 dragging her down there too. Pretty thought, isn't 
 it? I don't mean any future-life business either. 
 That's rot. I heard enough of that when I was a 
 boy to sicken me of it forever. It is the here and 
 now Hell a man pays for his sins with, and that is 
 God's truth, Alan Massey." 
 
 And Alan, sitting in his luxurious studio reading 
 the letter, crushed it in his hands and groaned 
 aloud. He needed no commentary on the "here 
 and now Hell" from Jim Roberts. He was living 
 it those summer days if ever a man did. 
 
 It wasn't the money now. Alan told himself he 
 no longer cared for that, hated it in fact. It was 
 Tony now, all Tony, and the horrible fear lest 
 Roberts betray him and shut the gates of Paradise 
 upon him forever. Sometimes in his agony of fear 
 he could almost have been glad to end it all with 
 one shot of the silver-mounted automatic he kept 
 always near, to beat Jim Roberts to the bliss of 
 oblivion in the easiest way. 
 
 But Alan Massey had an incorrigible belief in his 
 luck. Just as he had hoped, until he had all but 
 believed, that his cousin John was as dead as he had 
 told that very person he was, so now he hoped 
 against all reason that he would be saved at the 
 eleventh hour, that Roberts would go to his death 
 carrying with him the secret that would destroy 
 himself if it ceased to be a secret. 
 
 Those unmailed letters haunted him, however, 
 day and night, so much so, in fact, that he took a 
 journey to Boston one day and sought out the little 
 cigar store again. But this time he had not 
 mounted the stairs. His business was with the 
 black-eyed boy. With one fifty dollar bill he
 
 ON THE EDGE OF THE PRECIPICE 167 
 
 bought the lad's promise to destroy the letters and 
 the packet in Robert's drawer in the event of the 
 latter's death; secured also the promise that if at 
 any time before his death Roberts gave orders that 
 either letter should be mailed, the boy would send 
 the same not to the address on the envelope but to 
 Alan Massey. If the boy kept faith with Ms 
 pledges there would be another fifty coming to him 
 after the death of the man. He bought the lad even 
 as Roberts had once bought himself. It was a 
 sickening transaction but it relieved his mind con- 
 siderably and catered in a measure to that incor- 
 rigible hope within him. 
 
 But he paid a price too. Fifty miles away from 
 Boston was Tony Holiday on her Heaven kissing 
 hill. He was mad to go to her but dared not, lest 
 this fresh corruption in some way betray itself to 
 her clear gaze. 
 
 So he went back to New York without seeing her 
 and Tony never knew he had been so near. 
 
 And that night Jim Roberts took an unexpected 
 turn for the worse and died, foiled of that last 
 highly anticipated spice of malice in flipping the 
 coin that was to decide Alan Massey's fate. 
 
 In the end the boy had not had the courage to 
 destroy the letters a he had promised to do. 
 Instead he sent them both, together with the packet 
 of evidence as to John Massey's idientity, to Alan 
 Massey. 
 
 The thing was in Alan's own hands at last. 
 Nothing could save or destroy him but himself. 
 And by a paradox his salvation depended upon his 
 being strong enough to bring himself to ruin.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 IN WHICH PHIL GETS HIS EYES OPENED 
 
 AT home on her Hill Tony Holiday settled down 
 more or less happily after her eventful sally into the 
 great world. To the careless observer she was 
 quite the same Tony who went down the Hill a few 
 weeks earlier. If at times she was unusually quiet, 
 had spells of sitting very still with folded hands and 
 far away dreams in her eyes, if she crept away by 
 herself to read the long letters that came so often, 
 from many addresses but always in the same bold, 
 beautiful script and to pen long answers to these ; if 
 she read more poetry than was her wont and sang 
 love songs with a new, exquisite, but rather heart 
 breaking timbre in her lovely contralto voice, no 
 one paid much attention to these signs except pos- 
 sibly Doctor Philip who saw most things. He 
 perceived regretfully that his little girl was slip- 
 ping away from him, passing through some 
 experience that was by no means all joy or content- 
 ment and which was making her grow up all too 
 fast. But he said nothing, quietly bided the hour 
 of confidence which he felt sure would come sooner 
 or later. 
 
 Tony puzzled much over the complexities of life 
 these days, puzzled over other things beside her 
 own perverse romance. Carlotta too was much on 
 her mind. She wished she could wave a magic 
 wand and make things come right for these two 
 friends of hers who were evidently made for each 
 
 168
 
 PHIL GETS HIS EYES OPENED 169 
 
 other as Hal had propounded. She wondered if 
 Phil were as unhappy as Carlotta was and meant 
 to find out in her own time and way. 
 
 She had seen almost nothing of him since her 
 return to the Hill. He was working very hard in 
 the store and never appeared at any of the little 
 dances and picnics and teas* with which the 
 Dunbury younger set passed away the summer days 
 and nights, and which Ted and the twins* and 
 usually Tony herself frequented. Larry never did. 
 He Kated things of that sort. But Phil was 
 different. He had always liked fun and parties and 
 had always been on hand and in great demand 
 hitherto at every social function from a Ladies' Aid 
 strawberry festival to a grand Masonic ball. It 
 wasn't natural for Phil to shut himself out of things 
 like that. It was a bad sign Tony thought. 
 
 At any rate she determined to find out for herself 
 how the land lay if she could. .Having occasion to 
 do some shopping she marched down the Hill and 
 presented herself at Stuart Lambert and Son's, 
 demanding to be served by no less a person than 
 Philip himself. 
 
 "I want a pair of black satin pumps with very 
 frivolous heels," she announced. "Produce them 
 this instant, slave." She, smiled at Phil and he 
 smiled back. He and Tony had always been the 
 best of chums. 
 
 "Cannzy ones?" he laughed. "That's what one of 
 our customers calls them." 
 
 And while he knelt before her with an array of 
 shoe boxes around him, fitting a dainty slipper on 
 Tony's pretty foot, Tony herself looked not at the 
 slipper but at Philip, studying his face shrewdly. 
 He looked older, graver. There was less laughter 
 in his blue eyes, a grimmer line about his young 
 mouth. Poor Phil! Evidently Carlotta wasn't 
 the only one who was paying the price of too much
 
 170 WILD WINGS 
 
 loving. Tony made up her mind to rush in, though 
 she knew it might be a case for angel hesitation. 
 
 "I've never given you a message Hal Underwood 
 sent you," she observed irrelevantly. 
 
 Philip looked up surprised. 
 
 "Hal Underwood! What message did he send 
 me? I hardly know him." 
 
 "He seemed to know you rather well. He told me 
 to tell you to come down and marry Carlotta, that 
 you were the only man that could keep her in order. 
 That is too big, Phil. Try a smaller one." The 
 speaker kicked off the offending slipper. Philip 
 mechanically picked it up and replaced it in the box. 
 
 "That is rather a queer message," he commented. 
 "I had an idea Underwood wanted to marry 
 Carlotta himself. Try this." He reached for 
 another pump. His eyes w r ere lowered so Tony 
 could not see them. She wished she could. 
 
 "He does," she said. "She won't have him." 
 
 "Is is there anybody she is likely to have?" 
 The words jerked out as the young man groped for 
 the shoe horn which was almost beside his hand but 
 which apparently he did not see at all. 
 
 "I am afraid she is likely to take Herbert Lathrop 
 unless somebody stops her by main force. Why 
 don't you play Lochinvar yourself, Phil? You 
 could." 
 
 Philip looked straight up at Tony then, the 
 slipper forgotten in his hand. 
 
 "Tony, do you mean that?" he asked. 
 
 "I certainly do. Make her marry you, Phil. 
 It is the only way with Carlotta." 
 
 "I don't want to make any girl marry me," he 
 said. 
 
 "Oh, hang your silly pride, Phil Lambert! 
 Carlotta wants to marry you I tell you though she 
 would murder me if she knew I did tell you." 
 
 "Maybe she does. But she doesn't want to live
 
 PHIL GETS HIS EYES OPENED 171 
 
 in Dunbury. I've good reason to know that. We 
 thrashed it out rather thoroughly on the top of 
 Mount Tom last June. She hasn't changed her 
 mind." 
 
 Tony sighed. She was afraid Phil was right. 
 Carlotta hadn't changed her mind. Was it because 
 she was afraid she might, that she was determining 
 to marry Herbert? 
 
 "And you can't leave Dunbury?" she asked 
 soberly. 
 
 Just at that moment Stuart Lambert approached, 
 a tall fine looking man, with the same blue eyes and 
 fresh coloring as his son and brown hair only 
 slightly graying around the temples. He had an 
 air of vigor and ageless youth. Indeed a stranger 
 might easily have taken the two men for brothers 
 instead of father and son. 
 
 "Hello, Tony, my dear," he greeted cordially. 
 "It is good to see you round again. We have 
 missed you. This boy of mine getting you what 
 you want?' 7 
 
 "He is trying," smiled Tony. "A woman doesn't 
 always know what she wants, Mr. Lambert. The 
 store is wonderful since it was enlarged and I see 
 lots of other improvements too." Her eyes swept 
 her surroundings with sincere appreciation. 
 
 "Make your bow to Phil for all that. It is good 
 to get fresh brains into a business. We old fogies 
 need jerking out of our ruts." 
 
 The older man's eyes fell upon Phil's bowed head 
 and Tony realized how much it meant to him to 
 have his son with him at last, pulling shoulder to 
 shoulder. 
 
 "New brains nothing!" protested Phil. Dad's 
 got me skinned going and coming for progressive- 
 ness. As for old fogies he's the youngest man I 
 know. Make all your bows to him, Tony. It is 
 where they belong." And Phil got to his feet and
 
 172 WILD WINGS 
 
 himself made a solemn obeisance in Stuart Lam- 
 bert's direction. 
 
 Mr. Lambert chuckled. 
 
 "Phil was always a blarney," he said. "Don't 
 know where he got it. Don't you believe a word he 
 says, my dear." But Tony saw he was immensely 
 pleased with Phil's tribute for all that. "How do 
 you like the sign?" he asked. 
 
 "Fine. Looks good to me and I know it does to 
 you, Mr. Lambert." 
 
 "Well, rather." The speaker rested his hand on 
 Phil's shoulder a moment. "I tell you it is good, 
 young lady, to have the son part added, worth 
 waiting for. I'm mighty proud of that sign. 
 Between you and me, Miss Tony, I'm proud of my 
 son too." 
 
 "Who is blarneying now?" laughed Phil. "Go 
 on with you, Dad. You are spoiling my sale." 
 
 The father chuckled again and moved away. 
 Phil looked down at the girl. 
 
 "I think your question is answered. I can't leave 
 Dunbury," he said. 
 
 "Then Carlotta ought to come to you." 
 
 "There are no oughts in Carlotta's bright lexi- 
 con. I don't blame her, Tony. Dunbury is a dead 
 hole from most points of view. I am afraid she 
 wouldn't be happy here. You wouldn't be yourself 
 forever. Bet you are planning to get away right 
 now." 
 
 Tony nodded ruefully. 
 
 "I suppose I am, Phil. The modern young 
 woman isn't much to pin one's faith to I am afraid. 
 Do I get another slipper? Or is one enough?" 
 
 Phil came back from his mental aberration with a 
 start and a grin at his own expense. 
 
 "I am afraid I am not a very good salesman 
 today," he apologized. "Honestly I do better 
 usually but you hit me in a vulnerable spot."
 
 PHIL GETS HIS EYES OPENED 173 
 
 "You do care for Carlotta then?" probed Tony. 
 
 "Care ! I'm crazy over her. I'd go on my hands 
 and knees to Crest House if I thought I could get 
 her to marry me by doing it." 
 
 "You would much better go by train the next 
 one. That's my advice. Are you coming to 
 Sue Emerson's dance? That is why I am buy- 
 ing slippers. You can dance with 'em if you'll 
 come." 
 
 "Sorry. I don't go to dances any more." 
 
 "Tfiat is nonsense, Phil. It is the worst thing in 
 the world for you to make a hermit of yourself. No 
 girl's worth it. Besides there are other girls 
 besides Carlotta." 
 
 Phil shook his head as he finished replacing 
 Tony's trim brown oxfords. 
 
 "Unfortunately that isn't true for me," he said 
 rising. "At present my world consists of my- 
 self bounded, north, south, east and west by 
 Carlotta." 
 
 And Tony passing out under the sign of 
 STUART LAMBERT AND SON a few minutes 
 later sighed a little. Here was Carlotta w r ith a real 
 man for the taking and too stubborn and foolish to 
 put out her hand and here was herself, Tony 
 Holiday, tying herself all up in a strange snarl for 
 the sake of somebody who wasn't a man at all as 
 Holiday Hill standards ran. What queer creatures 
 women were! 
 
 Other people besides Tony w r ere inclined to score 
 Phil's folly in making a hermit of himself. His 
 sisters attacked him that very night on the subject 
 of Sue Emerson's dance and accused him of being a 
 "Grumpy Grandpa" and a grouch and various other 
 uncomplimentary things when he announced that 
 he wasn't going to attend the function. 
 
 "I'm the authentic T. B. M.," he parried from his 
 perch on the porch railing. "I've cut out dancing."
 
 174 WILD WINGS 
 
 "More idiot you!" retorted Charley promptly. 
 "Mums, do tell Phil it is all nonsense making such 
 an oyster in a shell of himself." 
 
 Mrs. Lambert smiled and looked up at her tall 
 young son, looked rather hard for a moment. 
 
 "I think the twins are right, Phil," she said. 
 "You are working too hard. You don't allow your- 
 self any relaxation." 
 
 "Oh, yes I do. Only my idea of relaxation 
 doesn't happen to coincide with the twins. Danc- 
 ing in this sort of weather with your collar 
 slumping and the perspiration rolling in tidal 
 waves down your manly brow doesn't strike me as 
 being a particularly desirable diversion." 
 
 "H-mp!" sniffed Charley. "You didn't object to 
 dancing last summer when it was twice as hot. 
 You went to a dance almost every night when 
 Carlotta was visiting Tony. You know you did." 
 
 "I wasn't a member of the esteemed firm of Stuart 
 Lambert and Son last summer. A lily of the field 
 can afford to dance all night. I'm a working man 
 I'd have you know." 
 
 "Well, I think you might come just this once to 
 please us," joined in Clare, the other twin. "You 
 are a gorgeous dancer, Phil. I'd rather have a one 
 step with you than any man I know." Clare 
 always beguiled where Charley bullied, a method 
 much more successful in the long run as Charley 
 sometimes grudgingly admitted after the fact. 
 
 Phil smiled now at pretty Clare and promised to 
 think about it and the twins flew off across the 
 street to visit with Tony and Ruth whom the whole 
 Hill adored. 
 
 "Phil dear, aren't you happy?" asked Mrs. 
 Lambert. "Have we asked too much of you 
 expecting you to settle down at home with us?" 
 
 "Why yes, Mums. I'm all right." Phil left his 
 post on the rail and dropped into a chair beside his
 
 PHIL GETS HIS EYES OPENED 175 
 
 mother. Perhaps he did it purposely lest she see 
 too much. "Don't get notions in your head. I like 
 living in Dunbury. I wouldn't live in a city for 
 anything and I like being with Dad not to mention 
 the rest of you." 
 
 Mrs. Lambert shifted her position also. She 
 wanted to. see her son's face; just as much as he 
 didn't want her to see it. 
 
 "Possibly that is all so but .you.aren't happy for 
 all that. You can't fool mother eyes, my dear." 
 
 Phil looked straight at her then with a little 
 rueful smile. 
 
 "I reckon I can't," he admitted. "Very well 
 then. I am not entirely happy but it is nobody's 
 fault and nothing anybody can help." 
 
 "Philip, is it a girl?" 
 
 How they dread the girl in their sons' lives 
 these mothers! The very possibility of her in the 
 abstract brings a shadow across the path. 
 
 "Yes, Mums, it is a girl." 
 
 Mrs. Lambert rose and went over to where her son 
 sat, running her fingers through his hair as she had 
 been wont to do when the little boy Phil was in 
 trouble of any sort. 
 
 "I am very sorry, dear boy," she said. "It won't 
 help to talk about it?'' 
 
 "I am afraid not. Don't worry, Mums. It is 
 just well, it hurts a little just now that's all." 
 
 She kissed his forehead and went back to her 
 chair. It hurt her to know her boy was being hurt, 
 hurt her almost as much to know she could not help 
 him, she must just let him close the door on his 
 grief and bear it alone. 
 
 Yet she respected his reserve and loved him the 
 better for it. Phil was like that always. He 
 never cried out when he was hurt. She remem- 
 bered how long ago the little boy Phil had come to 
 her with a small finger just released from a slam-
 
 176 WILD WINGS 
 
 ming door that had crushed it unmercifully, the 
 tears streaming down his cheeks but uttering no 
 sound. She rcalled another incident of years later, 
 when the coach had been obliged to put some one 
 else in Phil's place on the team the last minute be- 
 cause his sprained ankle had been bothering. She 
 and Stuart had come on for the game. It had been 
 a bitter disappointment to them all. To the boy it 
 had been little short of a tragedy. But he had 
 smiled bravely at her in spite of the trouble in his 
 blue eyes. "Dont mind, Mums. It is all right," 
 he had said steadily. "We've got to win. We 
 can't risk my darned ankle's flopping. It's the 
 bleachers for me. The game's the thing." 
 
 The game had always been the thing for Phil. 
 Even in his blundering, willful boyhood he had 
 played hard and played fair and taken defeat like 
 a man when things had gone against him. 
 
 There was a moment's silence. Then Mrs. Lam- 
 bert spoke again. 
 
 "Phil, I wish you would go to the dance with the 
 girls. It will please them and be good for you. 
 You can't shut yourself away from everything the 
 way you are doing, if you are going to make Dun- 
 bury your home. Your father never has. He has 
 always given himself freely to it, worked with it, 
 played with it, made it a real part of himself. You 
 mustn't start out by building a wall around your- 
 self." 
 
 "Am I doing that, Mums?" Phil's voice was 
 sober. 
 
 "I am afraid you are, Phil. It troubles your 
 father. He was so disappointed when you wouldn't 
 serve on the library committee. They were dis- 
 appointed too. They didn't expect it of your 
 father's son." 
 
 "I I wasn't interested." 
 
 "No, you weren't interested. That was the
 
 PHIL GETS HIS EYES OPENED 177 
 
 trouble. You ought to have been. You have had 
 your college training, the world of books has been 
 thrown wide open for you. You come back here 
 and aren't interested in seeing that others less 
 fortunate get the right kind of books into their 
 hands and heads. I don't want to preach, dear. 
 But education isn't only a privilege. It is a re- 
 sponsibility." 
 
 "Maybe you are right, Mums. I didn't think of 
 it thai way. I just didn't want to bother. I was 
 well, I was thinking too much about myself I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 "Youth is apt to. There were other things too. 
 When they asked you to take charge of the Fourth 
 of July pageant, to dig up Dunbury's past history 
 and make it live for us again, your father and I both 
 thought you would enjoy it. He was tremendously 
 excited about it, full of ideas to help. But the pro- 
 ject fell through because nobody would undertake 
 the leadership. You were too busy. Every one 
 was too busy." 
 
 "But, Mums, I was busy," Phil defended himself. 
 "It is no end of a job to put things like that through 
 properly." 
 
 "Most things worth doing are no end of a job. 
 Your father would have taken it with all the rest 
 he has on his hands and made a success of it. But 
 he was hurt by your high handed refusal to have 
 anything to do with it and he let it go, though you 
 know having Fourth of July community celebra- 
 tions is one of his dearest hobbies always has been 
 since he used to fight so hard to get rid of the old, 
 wretched noise, law breaking and rowdyism kind of 
 village celebration yoti and the other young Dun- 
 bury vandals delighted in." 
 
 Phil flushed at that. The point went home. He 
 remembered vividly his boyish self tearing reluc- 
 tantly from Doctor Holiday's fireworks impelled
 
 178 WILD WINGS 
 
 by an unbearably guilty conscience to confess to 
 Stuart Lambert that his own son had been a trans- 
 gressor against the law. Boy as he was, he had 
 gotten out of the interview with his father that 
 night a glimpse into the ideal citizenship which 
 Stuart Lambert preached and lived and worked for. 
 He had understood a little then. He understood 
 better now having stood beside his father man to 
 man. 
 
 "I am sorry, Mums. I would have done the thing 
 if I'd known Dad wanted me to. Why didn't he say 
 so?" 
 
 Mrs. Lambert smiled. 
 
 "Dad doesn't say much about what he wants. 
 You will have to learn to keep your eyes open and 
 find out for yourself. I did." 
 
 "Any more black marks on my score? I may as 
 well eat the whole darned pie at once." Phil's 
 smile was humorous but his eyes were troubled. It 
 was a bit hard when you had been thinking you had 
 played your part fairly creditably to discover you 
 had been fumbling your cues wretchedly all along. 
 
 "Only one other thing. We w r ere both immensely 
 disappointed when you wouldn't take the scout- 
 mastership they offered you. Father believes 
 tremendously in the movement. He thinks it is 
 going to be the making of the next generation of 
 men. He would have liked you to be a Scoutmaster 
 and when you wouldn't he went on the Scout 
 Troop Committee himself though he really could not 
 spare the time." 
 
 "I see," said Phil. "I guess I've been pretty 
 blind. Funny part of it is I really wan fed to take 
 the ScoutmasteY job but I thought Dad would think 
 it took too much of my time. Anything more?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "Not a thing. Haven't you had quite enough of a 
 lecture for once?" his mother smiled back.
 
 PHIL GETS HIS EYES OPENED 179 
 
 "I reckon I needed it. Thank you, Mums. I'll 
 turn over a new leaf if it isn't too late. I'll go to 
 the dance and I'll ask them if there is still a place 
 for me on the library committee and I'll start a 
 troop of Scouts myself another bunch I've had my 
 eyes on for some time." 
 
 "That will please Dad very much. It pleases me 
 too. Boys are very dear to my he*art. I wonder if 
 you can guess why, Philip, my son?" 
 
 "I wish I'd been a better son, Mums. Some chaps 
 never seem to cause their 'mothers any worry or 
 heart ache. I wasn't that kind. I am afraid I am 
 not even yet." 
 
 "No son is, dear, unless there is something wrong 
 with him or the mother. Mothering means heart 
 ache and worries, plus joy and pride and the joy and 
 pride more than makes up for the rest. It has for 
 me a hundred times over even when I had a rather 
 bad little boy on my hands and now I have a man 
 a man I am glad and proud to call my son."
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 A WEDDING RING IT WAS HARD TO REMEMBER 
 
 IT was a grilling hot August afternoon. The 
 young Holidays were keeping cool as best they could 
 out in the yard. Ruth lay in the canopied 
 hammock against a background of a hedge of sweet 
 peas, pink and white and lavender, looking rather 
 like a dainty, frail little flower herself. Tony in 
 cool white was seated on a scarlet Navajo blanket, 
 leaning against the apple tree. Around her was a 
 litter of magazines and an open box of bonbons. 
 Ted was stretched at his ease on the grass, gazing 
 skyward, a cigarette in his lips, enjoying well- 
 earned rest after" toil. Larry occupied the green 
 garden bench in the lee. of the hammock. He was 
 unsolaced either by candy or smoke and looked 
 tired and not particularly happy. There were 
 dark shadows under his gray eyes which betrayed 
 that he was not getting the quota of sleep that 
 healthy youth demands. His eyes were downcast 
 now, apparently absorbed in contemplation of a 
 belated dandelion at his feet. 
 
 "Ruth, why don't you come down to the dance 
 with us tonight?" demanded Tony suddenly 
 dropping her magazine. "You are well enough now 
 and I know you would enjoy it. It is lovely down 
 on the island where the pavilion is all quiet and 
 pine- woodsy. You needn't dance if you don't want 
 to. You could just lie in the hammock and listen 
 to the music and the water. We'd come and talk 
 to you between dances so you wouldn't be lone- 
 some. Do come." 
 
 180
 
 A WEDDING RING 181 
 
 "Oh, I couldn't." Ruth's voice was dismayed, her 
 blue eyes filled with alarm at the suggestion. 
 
 "Why couldn't you?" persisted Tony. "You 
 aren't going to just hide away forever are you? It 
 is awfully foolish, isn't it, Larry?" she appealed to 
 her brother. 
 
 He did not answer, but he did transfer his gaze 
 from the dandelion to Euth as- if he were considering 
 his sister's proposition. 
 
 "Sure, it's foolish," Ted replied for him, sitting 
 up. "Come on down and dance the first foxtrot 
 with me, sweetness. You'll like it. Honest you 
 will, when you get started." 
 
 "Oh, I couldn't" reiterated Ruth. 
 
 "That is nonsense. Of course, you could," 
 objected Tony. It is just your notion, Ruthie. 
 You have kept away from people so long you are 
 scared. But you would get over that in a minute 
 and truly it would be lots better for you. Tell her 
 it would, Larry. She. is your patient." 
 
 "I don't know whether it would or not," returned 
 Larry in his deliberate way, which occasionally 
 exasperated the swift-minded, impulsive Tony. 
 
 "Then you are a rotten doctor," she flung back. 
 "I know better than that myself and Uncle Phil 
 agrees with me. I asked him." 
 
 "Ruth's my patient, as you reminded me a 
 moment ago. She isn't Uncle Phil's." There was 
 an unusual touchiness in the young doctor's voice. 
 He was not professionally aggressive as a rule. 
 
 "Well, I wouldn't be a know-it-all, if she is," 
 snapped Tony. "Maybe Uncle Phil knows a thing 
 or two more than you do yet. And anyway you are 
 only a man and I am a girl and I know that girls 
 need people and fun and dancing. It isn't good for 
 anybody to hide away by herself. I believe you are 
 keeping Ruth away from everybody on purpose." 
 
 The hot weather and other things were setting
 
 182 WILD WINGS 
 
 Tony's nerves a bit on edge. She felt slightly 
 belligerent and not precisely averse to picking a 
 quarrel with her aggravatingly quiet brother, if he 
 gave her half an opening. 
 
 Larry flushed and scowled at that and ordered her 
 sharply not to talk nonsense. Whereupon Ted 
 intervened. 
 
 "I'm all on your side, Tony. Of course it is bad 
 for Ruth not to see anybody but us. Any fool 
 would know that. Dancing may be the very thing 
 for her anyhow. You can't tell till you try. 
 Maybe when you are foxtrotting with me, goldi- 
 locks, you'll remember how it seemed to have some 
 other chap's arm around you. It might be like 
 laying a fuse." 
 
 "I'm glad you all know so much about my 
 business," said Larry testily. "You make me tired, 
 both of you." 
 
 "Oh," begged Ruth, her blue eyes full of trouble. 
 "Please, please, don't quarrel about me." 
 
 "I beg your pardon," apologized Larry. "See 
 here, would you be willing to try it, just as an 
 experiment? Would you go down there for a little 
 while tonight with us?" 
 
 The blue eyes met the gray ones. 
 
 "If you wanted me to," faltered the blue-eyes. 
 
 "Would you mind it very much?" Larry leaned 
 forward. His voice was low, solicitous. Tony, 
 listening, resented it a little. She didn't see why 
 Larry had to keep his good manners for somebody 
 outside the family. He might have spoken a little 
 more politely to herself, she thought. She had only 
 been trying to be nice to Ruth. 
 
 "Not if you would take care of me and not let 
 people talk to me too much," Ruth .answered the 
 solicitous tone. 
 
 "I will," promised Larry. "You needn't talk to a 
 soul if you don't want to. I'll ward 'em off. And
 
 A WEDDING RING 183 
 
 you can dance if you want to one dance anyway." 
 "With me," announced Ted complacently from 
 the grass. "My bid was in first. Don't you forget, 
 Miss Peaseblossom." Ted had a multitude of pet 
 names for Ruth. They slipped off his tongue easily, 
 as water falling over a cliff. 
 
 "No, with me," said his brother shortly. 
 
 "Gee, I wish I were a doctor! It gives you a 
 hideous advantage." 
 
 "But I haven't anything to wear," exclaimed 
 Ruth, coming next to the really sole and only 
 supreme woman question. 
 
 "We'll fix that easy as easy," said Tony, 
 amicable again now. "I've a darling blue organdy 
 that will look sweet on you just the color of your 
 eyes. Don't you worry a minute, honey. Your 
 fairy godmother will see to all that. All I ask is 
 that you won't let that old ogre of an M. D. change 
 his mind and say you can't go. It isn't good for 
 Larry to obey him so meekly. He is getting to be 
 a regular tyrant." 
 
 A moment later Doctor Holiday joined the group, 
 dropped on the bench beside Larry and was 
 informed by Tony that Ruth was to go on an 
 adventure down the Hill; to Sue Emerson's dance 
 in fact. 
 
 "Isn't that great?" she demanded. 
 
 "Superb," he teased. Then he smiled approval 
 at Ruth. "Good idea, Larry," he added to his 
 nephew. "Glad you thought of it." 
 
 "I didn't think of it. Tony did. You really 
 approve?" The gray eyes were a little anxious. 
 Larry was by no means a know-it-all doctor, as his 
 sister accused him. He had too little rather than 
 too much confidence in his own judgment in fact. 
 
 "I certainly do. Go to it, little lady. May be the 
 best medicine in the world for you." 
 
 "Now you are talking," exulted Ted. "That's
 
 184 WILD WINGS 
 
 what Tony and I said and Larry wanted to execute 
 us on the spot for daring to have an opinion at all." 
 
 "Scare you much to think of it?" Doctor 
 Holiday asked Ruth, prudently ignoring this last 
 sally. 
 
 "A good deal," sighed Ruth. "But I'll try not to 
 be too much scared if Larry will go too and not let 
 people ask questions." 
 
 The young doctor had long since become Larry to 
 Ruth. It was too confusing talking about two 
 Doctor Holidays. Everybody in Dunbury said 
 Larry or Doctor Larry or at most, respectfully, 
 Doctor Laurence. 
 
 "I'll let nobody talk to you but myself," said 
 Larry. 
 
 "There you are !" flashed Tony. "You might just 
 as well keep her penned up here in the yard. You 
 want to keep her all to yourself." 
 
 She didn't mean anything in particular, only to 
 be a little disagreeable, to pay Larry back for being 
 so snappy. But to her amazement Ruth was 
 suddenly blushing a lovely but startling blush and 
 Larry was bending over to examine the hammock- 
 hook in obvious confusion. 
 
 "Good gracious!" she thought in consternation. 
 "Is that what's up? It can't be. I'm just 
 imagining it. Larry wouldn't fall in love with any 
 one who wore a wedding ring. He mustn't." 
 
 But she knew in her heart that whether Larry 
 must or must not he had. A thousand signs 
 betrayed the truth now that her eyes were open. 
 Poor Larry! No wonder he was cross and unlike 
 himself. And Ruth was so sweet just the girl for 
 him. And poor Uncle Phil! She herself was 
 hurting him dreadfully keeping her secret about 
 Alan and nobody knew what Ted had up his sleeve 
 under his cloak of incredible virtue. And now here 
 was Larry with a worse complication still. Oh
 
 A WEDDING RING 185 
 
 dear! Would the three of them ever stop getting 
 into scrapes as. long as they lived? It was bad 
 enough when they were children. It was infinitely 
 worse now they were grown up and the scrapes 
 were so horribly serious. 
 
 "I suppose you can't tear yourself away from 
 your studies to attend a mere dance?" Doctor 
 Holiday was asking of his younger nephew with a 
 twinkle in his eyes when Tony recovered enough to 
 listen again. 
 
 Ted sent his cigarette stub careening off into the 
 shrubbery and grinned back at his uncle, a grin half 
 merry, half defiant. 
 
 "Like fun, I can't !" he ejaculated. "I'm a union 
 man, I am. I've done my stunt for the day. If 
 anybody thinks I'm going to stick my nose in 
 between the covers of a book before nine A. M. 
 tomorrow he has a whole orchard of brand new 
 little thinks growing up to stub his toes on, that's 
 all." 
 
 "So the student life doesn't improve with 
 intimate acquaintance?" The doctor's voice was 
 still teasing, but there was more than teasing be- 
 hind his questions. He was really interested in 
 his nephew's psychology. 
 
 "Not a da ahem darling bit. If I had my 
 way every book in existence would be placed on a 
 huge funeral pyre and conflagrated instantly. 
 Moreover, it w r ould be a criminal offence punishable 
 by the death sentence for any person to bring 
 another of the infernal nuisances into the world. 
 That is my private opinion publicly expressed." So 
 saying Ted picked himself up from the grass and 
 sauntered off toward the house. 
 
 His uncle chuckled. He was sorry the boy did 
 not take more cordially to books, since it looked as 
 if there were a good two years of them ahead at the 
 least. But he liked the honesty that would not
 
 186 WILD WINGS 
 
 pretend to anything it did not feel, and he liked 
 even better the spirit that had kept the lad true to 
 his pledge of honest work without a squirm or 
 grumble through all these weeks of grilling summer 
 weather when sustained effort of any sort, partic- 
 ularly mental effort, was undoubtedly a weariness 
 and abomination to flesh and soul, to his restless, 
 volatile, ease-addicted, liberty loving young ward. 
 The boy had certainly shown more grit and grace 
 than he had credited him with possessing. 
 
 The village clock struck six. Tony sprang up 
 from her blanket and began to gather up her 
 possessions. 
 
 "I never get over a scared, going-to-be-scolded 
 feeling running down my spine when the clock 
 strikes and I'm not ready for supper," she said. 
 "Poor dear Granny! She certainly worked hard 
 trying to make truly proper persons out of us wild 
 Arabs. It isn't her fault if she didn't succeed, is it 
 Larry?" She smiled at her brother a smile that 
 meant in Tony language "I am sorry I was cross. 
 Let's make up." 
 
 He smiled back in the same spirit. He rose 
 taking the rug and magazines from his sister's hand 
 and walked with her toward the house. 
 
 Ruth sat up in her hammock and smoothed her 
 disarrayed blonde hair. 
 
 "I am glad you are going down the Hill," said the 
 doctor to her. "It is a fine idea, little lady. Do 
 you lots of good." 
 
 "Doctor Holiday, I think I ought to go away," 
 announced Ruth suddenly. "I am perfectly well 
 now, and there is no reason why I should stay." 
 
 "Tired of us?" 
 
 "Oh no! I could never be that. I love it here 
 and love all of you. But after all I am only a 
 stranger." 
 
 "Not to us, Ruthie. Listen. I would like to
 
 A WEDDING RING 187 
 
 explain how I feel about this, not from your point of 
 view but from ours." 
 
 Tony would be going away soon. They needed a 
 home daughter very much, needed Ruth particu- 
 larly as she had such a wonderful way with the 
 children, who adored her, and because Granny 
 loved her so well, though she did not love many 
 people who were not Holidays. And he and Larry 
 needed her good fairy ministrations. They had not 
 been unmindful, though perhaps manlike they had 
 not expressed their appreciation of the way fresh 
 flowers found their way to the offices daily, and 
 they wtere kept from being snowed under by the 
 newspapers of yester week. In short Doctor Holi- 
 day made it very clear that, if Ruth cared to stay 
 she was wanted and needed very much in the House 
 on the Hill. And Ruth touched and grateful and 
 happy promised to remain. 
 
 "If you think it is all right she added 
 with rather sudden blush, "for me to stay when 
 I am married or not married and don't know 
 which." 
 
 Whereupon Doctor Holiday, who happened not to 
 observe the blush, remarked that he couldn't see 
 what that had to do with it. Anyway she seemed 
 like such a child to them that they hardly 
 remembered the wedding ring at all. 
 
 Ruth blushed again at that and wished she dared 
 confess that she was afraid the wedding ring had a 
 good deal to do with the situation in the eyes of one 
 Holiday at least. But she could not bring herself 
 to speak the fatal word which might banish her 
 from the dear Hill and from Larry, who had come 
 to be even dearer. 
 
 A dozen times, while she was dressing for the 
 dance later, Ruth felt like crying out to Tony in the 
 next room that she could not go, that she dared not 
 face strangers, that it was too hard. But she set
 
 188 WILD WINGS 
 
 her lips firmly and did nothing of the sort. Larry 
 wanted her to do it. She wouldn't disappojnt him 
 if it killed her. 
 
 Oh dear ! Why did she always have to do every- 
 thing as a case, never just as a girl. She couldn't 
 even be natural as a girl. She had to be maybe 
 married. She hated the ring which seemed to her a 
 symbol of bondage to a past that was dead and yet 
 still clutched her with cold hands. She had a 
 childish impulse to fling the ring out of the window 
 where she could never never see it again. If it 
 wasn't for the ring 
 
 She interrupted her own thoughts, blushing hotly 
 again. She knew she had meant to go on, "If it 
 were not for the ring she could marry Larry 
 Holiday." She mustn't think about that. She 
 must not forget the ring, nor let Larry forget it. 
 She must not let him love her. It was a terrible 
 thing she was doing. He was unhappy dreadfully 
 unhappy and it was all her fault. And by and by 
 they would all see it. Tony had seen it today, she 
 was almost sure. And Doctor Holiday would see 
 it. He saw so much it was a wonder he had not 
 seen it long before this. They would hate her for 
 hurting Larry and spoiling his life. She could not 
 bear to have them hate her when she loved them so 
 and they had been so kind and good to her. She 
 must go away. She must. Maybe Larry would 
 forget her if she wasn't always there right under his 
 eyes. 
 
 But how could she go? Doctor Philip would 
 think it queer and ungrateful of her after she had 
 promised to stay. How could she desert him and 
 the children and dear Granny? And if she went 
 what could she do? What use was she anyway but 
 to be a trouble and a burden to everybody? It 
 would have been better, much better, if Larry had 
 left her to die in the wreck.
 
 A WEDDING RING 189 
 
 Why didn't Geoffrey Annersley come and get her, 
 if there was a Geoffrey Annersley? She knew she 
 would hate him, but she wished he would come for 
 all that. Anything was better than making Larry 
 suffer, making all the Holidays suffer through him. 
 Oh why hadn't she died, why hadn't she? 
 
 But in her heart Euth knew she did not want to 
 die. She wanted to live. She wanted life and love 
 and happiness and Larry Holiday. 
 
 And then Tony stood on the threshold, smiling 
 friendly encouragement. 
 
 "Ready, hon? Oh, you look sweet! That blue 
 is lovely for you. It never suited me at all. Blue 
 is angel color and I have too much well, of the 
 other thing in my composition to wear it. Come 
 on. The boys have been whistling impatience for 
 half an hour and I do_n't want to scare Larry out of 
 going. It is the first function he has condescended 
 to attend in a blue moon." 
 
 On the* porch Ted and Larry waited, two tall, 
 sturdy, well-groomed, fine-looking youths, bearing 
 the indefinable stamp of good birth and breeding, 
 the inheritance of a long line of clean strong men 
 and gentle women the kind of thing not forged in 
 one generation but in many. 
 
 They both rose as the girls appeared. Larry 
 crossed over to Ruth. His quick gaze took in her 
 nervousness and trouble of mind. 
 
 "Are you all right, Ruth? You mustn't let us 
 bully you into going if you really don't want to." 
 
 "No, I am all right. I do want to with you," 
 she added softly. 
 
 "We'll all go over in the launch," announced Ted, 
 but Larry interposed the fact that he and Ruth were 
 going in the canoe. Ruth would get too tired if she 
 got into a crowd. 
 
 "More professional graft," complained Ted. He 
 was only joking but Tony with her sharpened sight
 
 190 WILD WINGS 
 
 knew that it was thin ice for Larry and suspected he 
 had non-professional reasons for wanting Ruth 
 alone in the canoe with him that night. Poor 
 Larry! It was all a horrible tangle, just as her 
 affair with Alan was. 
 
 It was a night made for lovers, still and starry. 
 Soft little breezes came tiptoeing along the water 
 from fragrant nooks ashore and stopped in their 
 course to kiss Ruth's face as she lay content and 
 lovely among the scarlet cushions, reading the 
 eloquent message of Larry Holiday's gray eyes. 
 
 They did not talk much. They were both a little 
 afraid of words. They felt as if they could go on 
 riding in perfect safety along the edge of the 
 precipice so long as neither looked over or admit- 
 ted out loud that there was a precipice.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 A YOUNG MAN IN LOVE 
 
 TIJE dance was well in progress when Larry and 
 Ruth arrived. The latter was greeted cordially and 
 not too impressively by gay little Sue Emerson, 
 their hostess, and her friends. Ruth was ensconced 
 comfortably in a big chair where she could watch 
 the dancers and talk as much or little as 
 she pleased. Everybody was so pleasant and 
 natural and uncurious that she did not feel 
 frightened or strange at all, and really enjoyed the 
 little court she held between dances. Pretty girls 
 and pleasant lads came to talk with her, the latter 
 besieging her with invitations to dance which she 
 refused so sweetly that they found the little Goldi- 
 locks more charming than ever for her very denial. 
 
 They rallied Larry however on his rigorous 
 dragonship and finally Ruth herself dismissed him 
 to dance with his hostess as a proper guest should. 
 She never meant he must stick to her every moment 
 anyway. That was absurd. He rose to obey 
 reluctantly ; but paused to ask if she wouldn't dance 
 with him just once. No, she couldn't didn't even 
 know whether she could. He mustn't try to make 
 her. And seeing she was in earnest, Larry left her. 
 But Ted came skating down the floor to her and he 
 begged for just one dance. 
 
 "Oh, I couldn't, Ted, truly I couldn't," she denied. 
 
 But obeying a sudden impulse Ted had swooped 
 down upon her, picked her up and before she really 
 knew what was happening she had slid into step 
 
 191
 
 192 WILD WINGS 
 
 with him and was whirling off down the floor in his 
 arms. 
 
 "Didn't I tell you, sweetness?'' he exulted. "Of 
 course you can dance. What fairy can't? Tired?' 
 He bent over to ask with the instinctive gentleness 
 that was in all Holiday men. 
 
 Euth shook her head. She was exhilarated, ex- 
 cited, tense, happy. She could dance she could 
 It was as easy and natural as breathing. She did 
 not want to stop. She wanted to go on and on. 
 Then suddenly something snapped. They came op- 
 posite Sue and Larry. The former called a gay 
 greeting and approval. Larry said nothing. His 
 face was dead white, his gray eyes black with anger. 
 Both Ted and Kuth saw and understood and 
 the lilt went out of the dance for both of them. 
 
 "Oh Lord!" groaned Ted. "Now I've done it. 
 I'm sorry, Ruth. I didn't suppose the old man 
 would care. Don't see why he should if you are 
 willing. Come on, just one more round before the 
 music stops and we're both beheaded." 
 
 But Ruth shook her head. There was no more 
 joy for her after that one glimpse of Larry's face. 
 "Take me to a seat, Ted, please. I'm tired." 
 He obeyed and she sank down in the chair, white 
 and trembling, utterly exhausted. She was hurt 
 and aching through and through. How could she? 
 How could she have done that to Lariy when he 
 loved her so? How could she have let Ted make her 
 dance with him when she had refused to dance with 
 Larry? No wonder he was angry. It was terrible 
 cruel. 
 
 But he mustn't make a scene with Ted. He 
 mustn't. She cast an apprehensive glance around 
 the room. Larry was invisible. A forlornness 
 came over her, a despair such as she had never ex- 
 perienced even in that dreadful time after the 
 wreck when she realized she had forgotten every-
 
 A YOUNG MAN IN LOVE 193 
 
 thing. She felt as if she were sinking down, down 
 in a fearful black sea and that there was no help 
 for her anywhere. Larry had deserted her. Would 
 he never come back? 
 
 In a minute Tony and the others were beside her, 
 full of sympathetic questions. How had it seemed 
 to dance again? Wasn't it great to find she could 
 still do it? How had she dared to do it while Larry 
 was off guard? Why wouldn't she, couldn't she 
 dance- with this one or that one if she could dance 
 with Ted Holiday? But they were quick to see she 
 was really tired and troubled and soon left her alone 
 to Tony's ministrations. 
 
 "Ruth, what is the trouble? Where is Larry? 
 And Ted is gone, too. What happened?" Tony's 
 voice was anxious. She hadn't seen Larry's face, 
 but she knew Larry and could guess at the rest. 
 
 "Ted made me dance with him. I didn't mean to. 
 But when we got started I couldn't bear to stop, it 
 was so wonderful to do it and to find I could. I 
 am afraid Larry didn't like it." 
 
 "I presume he didn't,'' said Larry's sister drily. 
 "Let him be angry if he wants to be such a silly. It 
 was quite all right, Ruthie. Ted has just as much 
 right to dance with you as Larry has." 
 
 "I am afraid Larry doesn't think so and I don't 
 think so either." 
 
 Tony squeezed the other girl's hand. 
 
 "Never mind, honey. You mustn't take it like 
 that. You are all of a tremble. Larry has a fear- 
 ful temper, but he will hang on to it for your sake if 
 for no other reason. He won't really quarrel with 
 Ted. He never does any more. And he won't say a 
 word to you." 
 
 "I'd rather he would," sighed Ruth. "You are all 
 so good to me and I am making a dreadful lot of 
 trouble for you all the time, though I don't -mean to 
 and I love you so."
 
 194 WILD WINGS 
 
 "It isn't your fault, Kuthie, not a single speck of 
 it. Oh, yes. I mean just what you mean. Not 
 simply Larry's being so foolish as to lose his temper 
 about this little thing, but the whole big thing of 
 your caring for each other. It is all hard and 
 mixed up and troublesome; but you are not to 
 blame, and Larry isn't to blame, and it will all 
 come out right somehow. It has to." 
 
 As soon as Ted had assured himself that Ruth was 
 all right in his sister's charge he had looked about 
 for Larry. Sue was perched on a table eating 
 marshmallows she had purloined from somewhere 
 with Phil Lambert beside her, but there was no Lar- 
 ry to be seen. 
 
 Ted stepped outside the pavilion. He was hon- 
 estly sorry his brother was hurt and angry. He 
 realized too late that maybe he hadn't behaved quite 
 fairly or wisely in capturing Ruth like that, though 
 he hadn't meant any harm, and had had not the 
 faintest idea Larry would really care, care enough 
 to be angry as Ted had not seen him for many a long 
 day. Larry's temper had once been one of the most 
 active of the family skeletons. It had not risen 
 easily, but when it did woe betide whatever or 
 whomever it met in collision. By comparison with 
 Larry's rare outbursts of rage Tony's frequent ebul- 
 litions were as summer zephyrs to whirlwinds. 
 
 But that was long past history. Larry had 
 worked manfully to conquer his familiar demon and 
 had so far succeeded that sunny Ted had all but 
 forgotten the demon ever existed. But he remem- 
 bered now, had remembered with consternation 
 when he saw the black passion in the other's face 
 as they met on the floor of the dance hall. 
 
 Puzzled and anxious he stared down the slope to- 
 ward the water. Larry was just stepping into the 
 canoe. Was he going home, leaving Ruth to the 
 mercies of the rest of them, or was he just going off
 
 A YOUNG MAN IN LOVE 195 
 
 temporarily by himself to fight his temper to a finish 
 as he had been accustomed to do long ago when he 
 had learned to be afraid and ashamed of giving into 
 it? Ted hesitated a moment, debating whether to 
 call him back and get the row over, if row there was 
 to be, or to let him get away by himself as he prob- 
 ably desired. 
 
 "Hang it ! It's my fault. I can't let him go off 
 like that. It just about kills him to take it out of 
 himself that way. I'd rather he'd take it out of 
 me." 
 
 With which conclusion Ted shot down the bank 
 whistling softly the old Holiday Hill call, the one 
 Dick had used that day on the campus to summon 
 himself to the news that maybe Larry was killed. 
 
 Larry did not turn. Ted reached the shore with 
 one stride. 
 
 "Larry," he called. "I say, Larry." 
 
 No answer. The older lad picked up the paddle, 
 prepared grimly to push off, deaf, to all intents and 
 purposes to the appeal in the younger one's voice. 
 
 But Ted Holiday was not an easily daunted per- 
 son. With one flying leap he landed in the canoe, 
 all but upsetting the craft in his sudden descent 
 upon it. 
 
 The two youths faced each other. Larry was 
 still white, and his sombre eyes blazed with half 
 subdued fires. He looked anything but hospitable 
 to advances, however well meant. 
 
 "Better quit," he advised slowly in a queer, quiet 
 voice which Ted knew was quiet only because Larry 
 was making it so by a mighty effort of will. "I'm 
 not responsible just now. We'll both be sorry if 
 you don't leave me alone." 
 
 "I won't quit, Larry. I can't. It was my fault. 
 Confound it, old man! Please listen. I didn't' 
 mean to make you mad. Come ashore and punch 
 my fool head if it will make you feel any better."
 
 196 WILD WINGS 
 
 Still Larry said nothing, just sat hunched in a 
 heap, running his fingers over the handle of the pad- 
 dle. He no longer even looked at Ted. His mouth 
 was set at its stubbornest. 
 
 Ted rushed on, desperately in earnest, entirely 
 sincere in his willingness to undergo any punish- 
 ment, himself, to help Larry. 
 
 "Honest, I didn't mean to make trouble," he 
 pleaded. "I just picked her up and made her dance 
 on impulse, though she told me she wouldn't and 
 couldn't. I never thought for a minute you would 
 care. Maybe it was a mean trick. I can see it 
 might have looked so, but I didn't intend it that 
 way. Gee, Larry! Say something. Don't swal- 
 low it all like that. Get it out of your system. I'd 
 rather you'd give me a dozen black eyes than sit 
 still and feel like the devil." 
 
 Larry looked up then. His face relaxed its stern- 
 ness a little. Even the hottest blaze of wrath could 
 not burn quite so fiercely when exposed to a gener- 
 ous penitence like his young brother's. He under- 
 stood Ted was working hard not only to make peace 
 but to spare himself the sharp battle with the demon 
 which, as none knew better that Larry Holiday, did, 
 indeed, half kill. 
 
 "Cut it, Ted," he ordered grimly. " 'Nough said. 
 I haven't the slightest desire to give you even one 
 black eye at present, though I may as well admit if 
 you had been in my hands five minutes ago some- 
 thing would have smashed." 
 
 "Don't I know it?" Ted grinned a little. "Gee, 
 I thought my hour had struck !" 
 
 "What made you come after me then?" 
 
 Ted's grin faded. 
 
 "You know why I came, old man. You know I'd 
 let you pommel my head off any time if it could 
 help you anyhow. Besides it was my fault as I told
 
 A YOUNG MAN IN LOVE 197 
 
 you. I didn't mean to be mean. I'll do any pen- 
 ance you say." 
 
 Larry picked up the paddle. 
 
 "Your penance is to let me absolutely alone for 
 fifteen minutes. You had better go ashore though. 
 You will miss a lot of dances." 
 
 "Hang the dances! I'm staying." 
 
 Ted settled down among the cushions against 
 which Ruth's blonde head had nestled a few hours 
 ago. He took out his watch, struck a match, looked 
 at the time, lit a cigarette with the same match, re- 
 placed the watch and relapsed into silence. 
 
 The canoe shot down the lake impelled by long, 
 fierce strokes. Larry was working off the demon. 
 Far away the rhythmic beat of dance music reached 
 them faintly. Now and then a fish leaped and 
 splashed or a bull frog bellowed his hoarse "Better 
 go home" into the silence. Otherwise there was 
 no sound save the steady ripple of the water under 
 the canoe. 
 
 Presently Ted finished his cigarette, sent its still 
 ruddy remains flashing off into the lake where it fell 
 with a soft hiss, took out his watch again, lit an- 
 other match, considered the time, subtracted 
 gravely, looked up and announced "Time's up, 
 Larry." 
 
 Larry laid down the paddle and a slow reluctant 
 smile played around the corners of his mouth, 
 though there was sharp distress still in his eyes. 
 He loathed losing his temper like that. It sickened 
 him, filled him with spiritual nausea, a profound 
 disgust for himself and his mastering weakness. 
 
 "I've been a fool, kid," he admitted. "I'm all 
 right now. You were a. trump to stand by me. I 
 appreciate it." 
 
 "Don't mention it," nonchalantly from Ted 
 "Going back to the pavilion?"
 
 198 WILD WINGS 
 
 His brother nodded, resumed the paddle and 
 again the canoe shot through the waters, this time 
 toward the music instead of away from it. 
 
 "I suppose you know why your dancing with 
 Kuth made me go savage," said Larry after a few 
 moments of silence. 
 
 "Damned if I do," said Ted cheerfully. "It 
 doesn't matter. I don't need a glossary and ap 
 pendix. Suit yourself as to the explanations. I 
 put my foot in it. I've apologized. That is the 
 end of it so far as I am concerned unless you want 
 to say something more yourself. You don't have 
 to you know." 
 
 "It was plain, fool movie stuff jealousy. That is 
 the sum and substance of it. I'm in love with her. 
 I couldn't stand her dancing with you when she had 
 refused me. I could almost have killed you for a 
 minute. I am ashamed but I couldn't help it. 
 That is the way it was. Now forget it, please." 
 
 Ted swallowed hard and pulled his forelock in 
 genuine perturbation. 
 
 "Good Lord, Larry!" he blurted. "I" 
 
 His brother held up an imperious warning hand. 
 
 "I said 'forget it.' Don't make me want to dump 
 you now, after coming through the rest." 
 
 Ted saluted promptly. 
 
 "Ay, ay, sir! It's forgot. Only perhaps you'll 
 let me apologize again, underscored, now I under- 
 stand. Honest, I'm no end sorry, Larry." 
 
 The other nodded acceptance of the underscored 
 apology and again silence had its way. 
 
 As they landed Ted fastened the canoe and for a 
 moment the two brothers stood side by side in the 
 starlight. Larry put out his hand. Ted took it. 
 Their eyes met, said more than any words could 
 have expressed. 
 
 "Thank you, Ted. You've been great helped a 
 lot."
 
 A YOUNG MAN IN LOVE 199 
 
 Larry's voice was a little unsteady, his eyes were 
 full of trouble and shame. 
 
 "Ought to, after starting the conflagration," said 
 Ted. "I'll attend to the general explanations. 
 You go to Ruth." 
 
 More than one person had wondered at the mys- 
 terious disappearance of the two Holidays. It is 
 quite usual, and far from unexpected, when two 
 young persons of the opposite sex drift off some- 
 where under the stars on a summer night without 
 giving any particular account of themselves; but 
 one scarcely looks for that sort of social or un- 
 social eccentricity from two youths, especially 
 two brothers. Nobody but Ruth and Tony, and 
 possibly shrewd-eyed Sue, suspected a quarrel, but 
 everybody was curious and ready to burst into in- 
 terrogation upon the simultaneous return of the 
 two young men which was quite as sudden as their 
 vanishing had been. 
 
 "Larry and I had a wager up," announced Ted to 
 Sue in a perfectly clear, distinct voice which carried 
 across the length of the small hall now that the 
 music was silent. "He said he could paddle down 
 to the point, current against, him, faster than I 
 could paddle back, current with me. We took a 
 notion to try it out tonight. Please forgive us, 
 Susanna, my dear. A Holiday is a creature of 
 impulse you know." 
 
 Sue made a little face at the speaker. She was 
 quite sure he was lying about the wager, but she was 
 a good hostess and played up.to his game. 
 
 "You don't deserve to be forgiven, either of you," 
 she sniffed. "Especially Larry who never comes to 
 parties and when he does has to go off and do a 
 silly thing like that. Who won though? I will 
 ask that." She smiled at Ted and he grinned back. 
 
 "Larry, of course. Give me a dance, Sue. I've 
 got my second wind."
 
 200 WILD WINGS 
 
 "Bless Ted!" thought Tony, listening to her 
 brother's glib excuses. "Thank goodness he can lie 
 like that. Larry never could." And as her eyes 
 met Ted's a moment later when they passed each 
 other in the maze of dancers he murmured "All 
 right" in her ear and she was well content. Bless 
 Ted, indeed ! 
 
 Meanwhile Larry had gone, as Ted bade him, 
 straight to Ruth. He bent over her tired little 
 white face, an agony of remorse in his own. 
 
 "Ruth, forgive me. I'll never forgive myself." 
 
 "Don't, Larry. It is I who ought to be sorry and 
 I am oh so sorry you don't know. Ted didn't 
 mean any harm. I ought not to have let him do it. 
 It was my fault." 
 
 "There was nobody at fault except me and my 
 fool temper. I am desperately ashamed of myself 
 Ruth. I've left you all alone all this time and I 
 promised I wouldn't. You'll never trust me again 
 and I don't deserve to be trusted. It doesn't do any 
 good to say I am sorry. It can't undo what I did. 
 I didn't dare stay and that's the fact. I didn't 
 know what I'd do to Ted if he got in my way. I 
 felt murderous." 
 
 "Larry!" 
 
 "I know it sounds awful. It is awful. It is an 
 old battle. I thought I'd won it, but I haven't. 
 Don't look so scared though. Nothing happened. 
 Ted came after me like the corking big-hearted kid 
 he is and brought me to, in half the time I could 
 have done it for myself. It is thanks to him I'm 
 here now. But never mind that. It is only you 
 that matters. Shall I take you home? I don't 
 deserve it, but if you will let me it will show you 
 forgive me a little bit anyway," he finished 
 humbly. 
 
 "Don't look so dreadfully unhappy, Larry. It 
 is over now, and of course I forgive you if you
 
 A YOUNG MAN IN LOVE 201 
 
 think there is anything to forgive. I'm so thankful 
 you didn't quarrel with Ted. I was awfully wor- 
 ried and so was Tony. She watched the door every 
 minute till you came back." 
 
 "I suppose so,'' groaned Larry. "I made one hor- 
 rible mess of everything for you all. Are you ready 
 to go?" 
 
 "I'd like to dance with you once first, Larry, if 
 if you would like to." 
 
 "Would I like to !" Larry's face lost its mantle 
 of glo'om, was sudden sunshine all over. "Will you 
 really dance wdth me - after the rotten way I've be- 
 haved?" 
 
 "Of course, I will. I wanted to all the time, but 
 I was afraid. But when Ted made me it all came 
 back and I loved it, only it was you I wanted to 
 dance with most. You know that, don't you, Lar- 
 ry, dear?" The last word was very low, scarcely 
 more than a breath, but Larry heard it and it nearly 
 undid him. A flood of long-pent endearments 
 trembled on his lips. But Ruth held up a hand of 
 warning. 
 
 "Don't, Larry. We mustn't spoil it. We've got 
 to remember the ring." 
 
 "Damn the ring!" he exploded. "I beg your par- 
 don." Larry was genuinely shocked at his own 
 bad manners. "I don't know why I'm such a brute 
 tonight. Let's dance." 
 
 And to the delight and relief of the younger 
 Holidays, Larry and Ruth joined the dancers. 
 
 The dance over, they made their farewells. 
 Larry guided Ruth down the slope, his arm around 
 her ostensibly for her support, and helped her into 
 the canoe. Once more they floated off over the 
 quiet water, under the quiet stars. But their 
 young hearts were anything but quiet. Their love 
 was no longer an unacknowledged thing. Neither 
 knew just what was to be done with it; but there
 
 202 WILD WINGS 
 
 it was in full sight, as both admitted in joy and 
 trepidation and silence. 
 
 As Larry held open the door for her to step in- 
 side the quiet hall he bent over the girl a moment, 
 taking both her hands in his. Then he drew away 
 abruptly and bolted into the living room, leaving 
 her to grope her way up stairs in the dark alone. 
 
 "I wonder," she murmured to herself later as she 
 stood before her mirror shaking out her rippling 
 golden locks from their confining net. "I wonder 
 if it would have been so terrible if he had kissed me 
 just that once. Sometimes I wish he weren't quite 
 so so Holidayish."
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 TWO HOLIDAYS MAKE CONFESSION 
 
 THE next evening Doctor Holiday listened to a 
 rather elaborate argument on the part of his older 
 nephew in favor of the latter's leaving Dunbury 
 immediately in pursuit of his specialist training 
 that he had planned to go in for eventually. 
 
 "You are no longer contented here with me 
 with us?" questioned the older man when the 
 younger had ended his exposition. 
 
 Larry's quick ear caught the faint hurt in his 
 uncle's voice and hastened to deny the inference. 
 
 "It isn't that, Uncle Phil. I am perfectly satis- 
 fied happier here with you that I would be any- 
 where else in the world. You have teen wonder- 
 ful to me. I am not such an ungrateful idiot as 
 not to understand and appreciate what a start it 
 has given me to have you and your name and work 
 behind me. Only maybe I've been under your 
 wing long enough. Maybe I ought to stand on 
 my feet." 
 
 Doctor Holiday studied the troubled young face 
 opposite him. He was fairly certain that he wasn't 
 getting the whole or the chief reasons which were 
 behind this sudden proposition. 
 
 "Do you wish to go at once?" he asked. "Or 
 will the first of the year be soon enough." 
 
 Larry flushed and fell to fumbling with a paper 
 knife that lay on the desk. 
 
 203
 
 204 WILD WINGS 
 
 "I I meant to go right away," he stammered. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 Larry was silent. 
 
 "I judge the evidence isn't all in," remarked the 
 older doctor a little drily. "Am I going to hear 
 the rest of it the real reason for your decision to 
 go just now?" 
 
 Still silence on Larry's part, the old obstinate 
 set to his lips. 
 
 "Very well then. Suppose I take my turn. I 
 think you haven't quite all the evidence yourself. 
 Do you know Granny is dying?" 
 
 The paper knife fell with a click to the floor. 
 
 "Uncle Phil! No, I didn't know. Of course I 
 knew it was coming but you mean - soon?" 
 
 "Yes, Larry,.! mean soon. How soon no one can 
 tell, but I should say three months would be too 
 long to allow." 
 
 The boy brushed his hand across his eyes. He 
 loved Granny. He had always seemed to under- 
 stand her better than the others had and had been 
 himself always the favorite. Moreover he was 
 bound to her by a peculiar tie, having once saved 
 her life, conquering his boyish fear to do so. It 
 was hard to realize she was really going, that no one 
 could save her now. 
 
 "I didn't know," he said again in a low voice. 
 
 "Ted will go back to college. I shall let Tony go 
 to New York to study as she wishes, just as you had 
 your chance. It isn't exactly the time for you to 
 desert ns, my boy." 
 
 "I won't, Uncle Phil. I'll stay." 
 
 "Thank you, son. I felt sure you wouldn't fail 
 us. You never have. But I wish you felt as if you 
 could tell me the other reason or reasons for going 
 which you are keeping back. If it is they are 
 stronger than the one I have given you for staying 
 it is only fair that I should have them."
 
 TWO HOLIDAYS MAKE CONFESSION 205 
 
 Larry's eyes fell. A slow flush swept his face, 
 ran up to his very hair. 
 
 "My boy, is it "Ruth?" 
 
 The gray eyes lifted, met the older man's grave 
 gaze unfalteringly. 
 
 "Yes, Uncle Phil, it is Ruth. I thought you 
 must have seen it before this. It seemed as if I 
 were giving myself away, everything I did or didn't 
 do." 
 
 "I have thought of it occasionally, but dismissed 
 the idea as too fantastic. It hasn't been so obvious 
 as it seemed to you no doubt. You have not made 
 love to her?" 
 
 "Not in so many words. I might just as well 
 have though. She knows. If it weren't for the ring 
 well, I think she would care too." 
 
 "I am very sorry, Larry. It looks like a bad 
 business all round. Yet I can't see that you have 
 much to blame yourself for. I withdraw my ob- 
 jections to your going away. If it seems best to 
 you to go I haven't a word to say." 
 
 "I don't know whether it is best or not. I go 
 round and round in circles trying to work it out. 
 It seems cowardly to run away from it, particu- 
 larly if I am needed here. A man ought not to pull 
 up stakes just because things get a little hard. Be- 
 sides Ruth would think she had driven me away. 
 I know she would go herself if she guessed I was 
 even thinking of going. And I couldn't stand that. 
 I'd go to the north pole myself and stay forever be- 
 fore I would send her away from you all. I was so 
 grateful to you for asking her to stay and making 
 her feel she was needed. She was awfully touched 
 and pleased. She told me last night." 
 
 The senior doctor considered, thought back to 
 his talk with Ruth. Poor child ! So that was 
 what she had been trying to tell him. She had
 
 206 WILD WINGS 
 
 thought she ought to go away on Larry's account, 
 just as he was thinking he ought to go on hers. 
 Poor hapless youngsters caught in the mesh of 
 circumstances ! It was certainly a knotty problem. 
 
 "It isn't easy to say what is right and best to do," 
 he said after a moment. "It is something you will 
 have to decide for yourself. When you came to me 
 you had decided it was best to go, had you not? 
 Was there a specially urgent reason?" 
 
 Larry flushed again and related briefly the last 
 night's unhappy incident. 
 
 "I'm horribly ashamed of the way I acted," he 
 finished. "And the whole thing showed me I 
 couldn't count on my self-control as I thought 
 I could. I couldn't sleep last night, and I thought 
 perhaps maybe the thing to do was to get out quick 
 before I did any real damage. It doesn't matter 
 about me. It is Ruth." 
 
 "Do you think you can stay on and keep a steady 
 head for her sake and for ours?" 
 
 "I can, Uncle Phil. It is up to me to stick and 
 I'll do it. Uncle Phil, how long must a woman 
 in Ruth's position wait before she can legally 
 marry?" 
 
 "Ruth's position is so unique that I doubt if 
 there is any legal precedent for it. Ordinarily 
 when the husband fails to put in appearance 
 and the presumption is he is no longer living, the 
 woman is considered free in the eyes of the law, 
 after a certain number of years, varying I believe, 
 in different states. With Ruth the affair doesn't 
 seem to be a case of law at all. She is in a position 
 which requires the utmost protection from those 
 who love her as we do. The obligation is moral 
 rather than legal. I wouldn't let my mind run on 
 the marrying aspects of the case at present my boy." 
 "I Uncle Phil, sometimes I think I'll just marry
 
 TWO HOLIDAYS MAKE CONFESSION 207 
 
 her anyway and let the rest of it take care of itself. 
 There isn't any proof she is married not the 
 slightest shadow of proof/' Larry argued with sud- 
 den heat. 
 
 His uncle's eyebrows went up. 
 "Steady, Larry. A wedding ring is usually con- 
 sidered presumptive evidence of marriage." 
 
 "I don't care," flashed the boy, the tension of the 
 past weeks suddenly snapping. "She loves me. I 
 don'-t see what right anything has to come between 
 us. What is a wedding ceremony when a man and 
 woman belong to each other as we belong? Hanged 
 if I don't think I'd be justified in marrying 
 her tomorrow ! There is nothing but a ring to 
 prevent." 
 
 "There is a good deal more than a ring to pre- 
 vent," said Doctor Holiday with some sternness. 
 "What if you did do just that and her husband 
 appeared in two months or six?'' 
 
 "I don't believe she has a husband. If she had 
 he would have come after her before this. We've 
 waited. He's had time." 
 
 "You have waited scarcely two months, Larry. 
 That is hardly enough time upon which to base 
 finalities." 
 
 "What of it? I'm half crazy sometimes over the 
 whole thing. I can't see things straight. I don't 
 want to. I don't want anything but Ruth, whether 
 she is married or not. I want her. Some day I'll 
 ask her to go off with me and she will go. She will 
 do anything I ask." 
 
 "Hold on, Larry lad. You are saying things you 
 don't mean. You are the last man in the world to 
 take advantage of a girl's defenseless position and 
 her love for you to gratify your own selfish desires 
 and perhaps wreck her life and your own."
 
 208 WILD WINGS 
 
 Larry bit his lip, wheeled and went over to the 
 window, staring out into the night. At last he 
 turned back, white, but master of himself again. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Uncle Phil. You are right. 
 I was talking like a fool. Of course I'll do nothing 
 of the kind. I won't do anything to harm Ruth 
 anyway. I won't even make love to her if I can 
 help it," he qualified in a little lower tone. 
 
 "If you can't you had better go at once," said his 
 uncle still a bit sternly. Then more gently. "I 
 know you don't want to play the cad, Larry." 
 
 "I won't, Uncle Phil. I promise." 
 
 "Very well. I am satisfied with your word. 
 Remember I am ready to help any way and if it 
 gets too hard I'll make it easy at any time for you 
 to go. But in the mean time we won't talk about 
 it. The least said the better." 
 
 Larry nodded his assent to that and suddenly 
 switched to another subject, asking his uncle what 
 he knew about this Alan Massey with whom Tony 
 was having such an extensive correspondence. 
 
 His uncle admitted that he didn't know much of 
 anything about him, except that he was the in- 
 heritor of the rather famous Massey property and 
 an artist of some repute. 
 
 "He has plenty of repute of other kinds," said 
 Larry. "He is a thorough -going rotter, I infer. 
 I made some inquiries from a chap who knows him. 
 He has gone the pace and then some. It makes 
 me sick to have Tony mixed up with a chap like 
 that." 
 
 "You haven't said anything to her yourself?" 
 
 "No. Don't dare. It would only make it worse 
 for me to tackle her. Neither she nor Ted will 
 stand any interference from me. We are a cranky 
 lot I am afraid. We all have w r hat Dad used to
 
 TWO HOLIDAYS MAKE CONFESSION 209 
 
 call the family devil. So far as I know you are the 
 only person on record that can manage him." 
 
 And Larry smiled rather shanie-facedly at his 
 uncle. 
 
 "I am afraid you will all three have to learn to 
 manage your own particular familiar. Devils are 
 rather personal property, Larry." 
 
 "Don't I know it? I got into mighty close range 
 with mine last night, and just now for that matter. 
 Anyway I am not prepared to do any preaching 
 at anybody at present; but I would be awfully 
 grateful to you if you will speak to Tony. Some- 
 body has to. And you can do it a million times 
 better than anyone else." 
 
 "Very well. I will see what I can do." And 
 thus quietly Doctor Holiday accepted another 
 burden on his broad shoulders. 
 
 The next day he found Tony on the porch read- 
 ing one of the long letters which came to her so 
 frequently in the now familiar, dashing script. 
 
 "Got a minute for me, niece o' mine?" he asked. 
 
 Tony slid Alan's letter back into its envelope and 
 smiled up at her uncle. 
 
 "Dozens of them, nice uncle," she answered. 
 
 "It is getting well along in the summer and high 
 time we decided a few things. Do you still want 
 to go in for the stage business in the fall?" 
 
 "I want to very much, Uncle Phil, if you think 
 it isn't too much like deserting Granny and the 
 rest of you." 
 
 "No, you have earned it. I want you to go. I 
 don't suppose because you haven't talked about 
 Hempers offer that it means you have forgotten 
 it?" 
 
 "Indeed, I haven't forgotten it. For myself I 
 would much rather get straight on the stage if
 
 210 WILD WINGS 
 
 I could and learn by doing it, but you would pre- 
 fer to have me go to a regular dramatic school, 
 wouldn't you?" 
 
 "Yes, Tony, I would. A year of preparation isn't 
 a bit too much to get your bearings in before you 
 take the grand plunge. I want you to be very sure 
 that the stage is what you really want." 
 
 "I am sure of that already. I've been sure for 
 ages. But I am perfectly willing to do the thing 
 any way you want and I am more grateful than 
 I can tell you that you are on my side about it. 
 Are you going to tell Granny? It will about 
 break her .heart I am afraid." Tony's eyes were 
 troubled. She did hate to hurt Granny ; but on the 
 other hand she couldn't wait forever to begin. 
 
 She did not see the shadow that crept over her 
 uncle's face. Well he knew that long before Tony 
 was before the footlights, Granny would be where 
 prejudices and misunderstandings were no more; 
 but he had no wish to mar the girl's happiness by 
 betraying the truth just now. 
 
 "I think we are justified in indulging in a little 
 camouflage there," he said. "We will tell Granny 
 you are going to study art. Art covers a multi- 
 tude of sins," he added with a lightness he was far 
 from feeling. "One thing more, my dear. I have 
 waited a good while to hear something about the 
 young man who writes these voluminous letters." 
 He nodded at the envelope in Tony's lap. "I like 
 his writing; but I should like to know something 
 about him, himself." 
 
 Tony flushed and averted her eyes for a moment. 
 Then she looked up frnnkly. 
 
 "I haven't said anything because I didn't know 
 what to say. He is Alan Massey, the artist. I met 
 him at Carlotta's. He wants to marry me."
 
 TWO HOLIDAYS MAKE CONFESSION 211 
 
 "But you have not already accepted him?" 
 
 "No, I couldn't. He he isn't the kind of man 
 you would want me to marry. He is trying to be, 
 for my sake though. I think he will succeed. I 
 told him if he wanted to ask me again next summer 
 I would tell him what my answer would be." 
 
 "He is on probation then?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And you care for him?" 
 
 "I think so." 
 
 "You don't know it?" 
 
 "No, Uncle Phil. I don't. He cares so much for 
 me so terribly much. And I don't know whether 
 I care enough or not. I should have to care a 
 great deal to overlook what he has been and done. 
 Maybe it wasn't anything but midsummer madness 
 and his wonderful dancing. We danced almost 
 every night until I sent him away. And when we 
 danced we seemed to be just one person. Aside 
 from his dancing he fascinated me. I couldn't for- 
 get him or ignore him. He was is different 
 from any man I ever knew. I feel differently about 
 him from what I ever felt about any other man. 
 Maybe it is love. Maybe it isn't. I I thought it 
 was last month." 
 
 Doctor Holiday shook his head dubiously. 
 
 "And you are not so sure now?" he questioned. 
 
 "Not always," admitted Tony. "I didn't want 
 to love him. I fought it with all my might. 
 I didn't want to be bothered with love. I wanted 
 to be happy and free and make a great success of 
 my work. But after Alan came all those things 
 didn't seem to matter. I am afraid it goes rather 
 deep, Uncle Phil. Sometimes I think he means 
 more to me than even you and Larry and Ted do. 
 It is strange. It isn't kind or loyal or decent
 
 212 WILD WINGS 
 
 But that is the way it is. I have to be honest, 
 even if it hurts." 
 
 Her dark eyes were wistful and beseeched for- 
 giveness as they sought her uncle's. He did not 
 speak and she went on swiftly, earnestly. 
 
 "Please don't ask me to break off with him, 
 Uncle Phil. I couldn't do it, not only because 
 I care for him too much, but because it would be 
 cruel to him. He has gotten out of his dark 
 forest. I don't want to drive him back into it. 
 And that is what it would mean if I deserted him 
 now. I have to go on, no matter what you or 
 Larry or any one thinks about it." 
 
 She had risen now and stood before her uncle 
 earnestly pleading her lover's cause and her own. 
 
 "It isn't fair to condemn a man forever because 
 he has made mistakes back in the past. We don't 
 any of us know what we would have been like if 
 things had been different. Larry and Ted are fine. 
 I am proud of their clean record. It would be 
 horrible if people said things about either of them 
 such as they say about Alan. But Larry and Ted 
 have every reason to be fine. They have had you 
 and Dad and Grandfather Holiday and the rest of 
 them to go by. They have lived all their lives in 
 the Holiday tradition of what a man should be. 
 Alan has had nobody, nothing. Nobody ever 
 helped him to see the difference between right and 
 wrong and why it mattered which you chose. He 
 does see now. He is trying to begin all over again 
 and begin right. And I'm going to stand by him. 
 I have to even if I have to go against you, Uncle 
 Phil." 
 
 There was a quiver almost a sob in Tony's voice 
 Her uncle drew her into his arms. 
 
 "All right, little girl. It is not an- easy thing
 
 TWO HOLIDAYS MAKE CONFESSION 213 
 
 to swallow. I hate to have your shining whiteness 
 touch pitch even for a minute. No, wait, dear. 
 I am not going to condemn your lover. If he is 
 sincerely in earnest in trying to clean the slate, 
 I have only respect for the effort. You afe right 
 about much of it. We can none of us afford to do 
 over much judging. We are all sinners, more or 
 less. And there are a million things to be taken 
 into consideration before we may dare to sit in 
 judgment upon any human being. It takes a God 
 to do that. I am not going to ask you to give him 
 up, or to stop writing or even seeing him. But 
 I do want you to go slow. Marriage is a solemn 
 thing. Don't wreck your life from pity or mis- 
 taken devotion. Better a heart-ache now than a 
 life-long regret. Let your lover prove himself 
 just as you have set him to do. A woman can't 
 save a man. He has to save himself. But if he 
 will save himself for love of her the chances are 
 he will stay saved and his love is the real thing. 
 I shall accept your decision. I shan't fight it in 
 any way, whatever it is. All I ask is that you will 
 wait the full year before you make any definite 
 promise of marriage." 
 
 "I will," said Tony. "I meant to do that any 
 way. I am not such a foolish child as maybe you 
 have been thinking I was. I am pretty much 
 grown up, Uncle Phil. And I have plenty of sense. 
 It I hadn't I should be married to Alan this 
 minute." 
 
 He smiled a little sadly at that. 
 
 "Youth ! Youth ! Yes, Tony, I believe you have 
 sense. Maybe I have under-estimated it. Any 
 way I thank the good Lord for it. No more 
 secrets? Everything clear?" 
 
 He lifted her face in his hands and looked down 
 into her eyes with tender searching.
 
 214 WILD WINGS 
 
 "Not a secret. I am very glad to have you 
 know. We all feel better the moment we dump 
 all our woes on you," she sighed. 
 
 He smiled and stroked her hair. 
 
 "I had much rather be a dumping ground than 
 be shut out of the confidence of any one of you. 
 That hurts. We all have to stand by Larry, just 
 now. Not in words but in well, we'll call it 
 moral support. The poor lad needs it." 
 
 "Oh, Uncle Phil! Did he tell you or did you 
 guess?" 
 
 A little of both. The boy is in a bad hole, Tony. 
 But he will keep out of the worst of the bog. He 
 has grit and chivalry enough to pull through some- 
 how. And maybe before many weeks the mystery 
 will be cleared for better or worse. We can only 
 hope for the best and hold on tight to Larry, and 
 Euth too, till they are out of the woods."
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 A YOUNG MAN NOT FOR SALE 
 
 PHILIP LAMBERT was rather taken by surprise 
 when -Harrison Cressy appeared at the store one 
 day late in August, announcing that he had come 
 to talk business and practically commanding the 
 young man to lunch with him. that noon. It was 
 Saturday and Phil had little time for idle con- 
 jecture, but he did wonder every now and then 
 that morning what business Carlotta's father 
 could possibly have with himself, and if by any 
 chance Carlotta had sent him. 
 
 Later, seated in the dining-room of the Eagle 
 Hotel, Dunbury's one hostelry, it seemed to Phil 
 that his host was distinctly nervous, with con- 
 siderably less than his usual brusque, dogmatic 
 poise of manner. 
 
 Having left soup the waiter shuffled away with 
 the congenital air of discouragement which belongs 
 to his class, and Harrison Cressy got down to 
 business in regard both to the soup and his mission 
 in Dunbtiry. He was starting a branch brokerage 
 concern in a small city just out of Boston. He 
 needed a smart young man to put at the head of 
 it. The smart young man would get a salary of 
 five thousand a year, plus his commissions to start 
 with. If he made good the salary would go up in 
 proportion. In fact the sky would be the limit. 
 He offered the post to Philip Lambert. 
 
 Phil laid down his soup spoon and stared at his 
 companion. After a moment he remarked that it 
 
 215
 
 216 WILD WINGS 
 
 was rather unusual, to say the least, to offer a 
 salary like that to an utter greenhorn in a business 
 as technical as brokerage, and that he was afraid 
 he was not in the least fitted for the position in 
 question. 
 
 "That is my look out," snapped Mr. Cressy. "Do 
 I look like a born fool, Philip Lambert? You 
 don't suppose I am jumping in the dark do you? 
 I have gone to some pains to look up your record 
 in college. I found out you made good no matter 
 what you attempted, on the gridiron, in the class- 
 room, everywhere else. I've been picking men for 
 years and I've gone on the principle that a man 
 who makes good in one place will make good in 
 another if he has sufficient incentive." 
 
 "I suppose the five thousand is to be considered 
 in the light of an incentive," said Phil. 
 
 "It is five times the incentive and more than I 
 had when I started out," grunted his host. 
 "What more do you want?" 
 
 "Nothing. I don't want so much. I couldn't 
 earn it. And in any case I cannot consider any 
 change at present. I have gone in with my father." 
 
 "So I understood. But that is not a hard and 
 fast arrangement. A young man like you has to 
 look ahead. Your father won't stand in the way 
 of your bettering yourself." Harrison Cressy 
 spoke with conviction. Well he might. Though 
 Philip had not known it his companion had spent 
 an hour in earnest conversation with his father 
 that morning. Harrison Cressy knew his ground 
 there. 
 
 "Go ahead, Mr. Cressy," Stewart Lambert had 
 said at the close of the interview. "You have my 
 full permission to offer the position to the boy and 
 he has my full permission to accept it. He is free 
 to go tomorrow if he cares to. If it is for his hap- 
 piness it is what his mother and I want."
 
 A YOUNG MAN NOT FOR SALE 217 
 
 But the younger Lambert was yet to be reckoned 
 with. 
 
 "It is a hard and fast arrangement so far as I am 
 concerned," he said quietly now. "Dad can fire 
 me. I shan't fire myself." 
 
 Mr. Cressy made a savage lunge at a fly that had 
 ventured to light on the sugar bowl, not knowing 
 it was for the time being Millionaire Cressy's sugar 
 bowl. He hated being balked, even temporarily. 
 He had supposed the hardest sledding would be 
 over -when he had won the father's consent. He 
 had authentic inside information that the son had 
 stakes other than financial. He counted on youth's 
 imperious urge to happiness. The lad had done 
 without Carlotta for two months now. It had 
 seemed probable he would be more amenable to 
 reason in August than he had been in June. But 
 it did not look like it just now. 
 
 "You are a darn fool, my young man," he 
 snarled. 
 
 "Very likely," said Phil Lambert, with the samp 
 quietness which had marked his father's speech 
 earlier in the day. "If you had a son, Mr. Cressy, 
 wouldn't you want him to be the same kind of a 
 darn fool? Would you expect him to take French 
 leave the first time somebody offered him more 
 money?" 
 
 Harrison Cressy snorted, beckoned to the waiter 
 his face purple with rage. Why in blankety blank 
 blank et cetera, et cetera, didn't he bring the fish? 
 Did he think they were there for the season? 
 Philip did not know he had probed an old wound. 
 The one great disappointment of Harrison Cressy's 
 career was the fact that he had no son, or had had 
 one for such a brief space of hours that he scarcely 
 counted except as a pathetic might-have-been 
 And even as Phil had said, so he would have wanted 
 his son to behave. The boy was a man, every inch
 
 218 WILD WINGS 
 
 of him, just such a man as Harrison Cressy had 
 coveted for his own. 
 
 "Hang the money part!" he snapped back at 
 Phil, after the interlude with the harrassed waiter. 
 "Let's drop it." 
 
 "With all my heart," agreed Phil. "Considering 
 the money part hanged what is left to the offer? 
 Carlotta?" 
 
 Mr. Cressy dropped his fork with a resounding 
 clatter to the floor and swore muttered monotonous 
 oaths at the waiter for not being instantaneously 
 on the spot to replace the implement. 
 
 "Young man," he said to Phil. "You are too 
 devilish smart. Carlotta is why I am here." 
 
 "So I imagined. Did she send you?" 
 
 "Great Scott, no! My life wouldn't be worth 
 a brass nickel if she knew I was here." 
 
 "I am glad she didn't. I wouldn't like Carlotta 
 to think I could be bribed." 
 
 "She didn't. Carlotta has perfectly clear im- 
 pressions as to where you stand. She gives you 
 entire credit for being the blind, stubborn, pig- 
 headed jack-ass that you are." 
 
 Phil grinned faintly at this accumulation of epi 
 thets, but his blue eyes had no mirth in them. The 
 interview was beginning to be something of a 
 strain. He wished it were over. 
 
 "That's good," he said. "Apparently we all 
 know where we all stand. I have no illusions about 
 Carlotta's view-point either. There is no reason 
 I should have. I got it first hand." 
 
 "Don't be an idiot," ordered Mr. Cressy. "A 
 woman can have as many view-points as there are 
 days in the year, counting Sundays double. You 
 have no more idea this minute where Carlotta 
 stands than than I have," he finished ignomini- 
 ously, wiping his perspiring forehead with an im- 
 ported linen handkerchief.
 
 'YOU SEE, PHILIP/ HE WENT ON ... CARLOTTA IS IN LOVE 
 WITH YOU/"
 
 A YOUNG MAN NOT FOR SALE 219 
 
 "Do you mind telling me just why you are here, 
 if Carlotta didn't send you? I don't flatter my- 
 self you automatically selected me for your new 
 post without some rather definite reason behind 
 it." 
 
 "I came because I had a notion you were the 
 best man for another job a job that makes the 
 whole brokerage business look like a game of jack- 
 straws the job of marrying my daughter 
 Carlotta." 
 
 Phil stared. He had not expected Mr. Cressy to 
 take this position. He had been ready enough 
 to believe Caiiotta's prophecy that her parent 
 would raise a merry little row if she announced to 
 him her intention of marrying that obscure indi- 
 vidual, Philip Lambert, of Dunbury, Massachusetts 
 He thought that particular way of behavior on the 
 parent's part not only probable but more or less 
 justifiable, all things considered. He saw no 
 reason now why Mr. Cressy should feel otherwise. 
 
 Harrison Cressy drained a deep draught of water, 
 once more wiped his highly shining brow and 
 leaned forward over the table toward his puzzled 
 guest. 
 
 "You see, Philip," he went on using the young 
 man's first name for the first time. "Carlotta is 
 in love with you." 
 
 Philip flushed and his frank eyes betrayed that 
 this, though not entirely new news, was not un- 
 welcome to hear. 
 
 "In fact," continued Carlotta's father grimly, 
 "she is so much in love with you she is going to 
 marry another man." 
 
 The light went out of Phil's eyes at that, but he 
 said nothing to this any more than he had to the 
 preceding statement. He waited for the other man 
 to get at what he wanted to say. 
 
 "I can't stand Carlotta's being miserable. I
 
 220 WILD WINGS 
 
 never could. It is why I am here., to see if I can't 
 fix up a deal with you to straighten things out. 
 I am in your hands, boy, at your mercy. I have 
 the reputation of being hard as shingle nails. I'm 
 soft as putty where the girl is concerned. It kills 
 me by inches to have her unhappy." 
 
 "Is she very unhappy?" Phil's voice was 
 sober. He thought that he too was soft as putty, 
 or softer where Carlotta was concerned. It made 
 him sick all over to think of her being unhappy. 
 
 "She is damnably unhappy." Harrison Cressy 
 blew his nose with a sound as- of a trumpet. "Here 
 you," he bellowed at the waiter who was timidly 
 approaching. "Is that our steak at last? Bring 
 it here, quick, and don't jibber. Are you deaf and 
 dumb as well as paralyzed?" 
 
 The host attacked the steak with ferocity, slam- 
 med a generous section on a plate and fairly threw 
 it at the young man opposite. Phil wasn't inter- 
 ested in steak. He scarcely looked at it. His eyes 
 were on Mr. Cressy, his thoughts were on that 
 gentleman's -only daughter. 
 
 "I am sorry she is unhappy," he said. "I don't 
 know how much you know about it all; but since 
 you know so much I assume you also know that 
 I care for Carlotta just as much as she cares for 
 me, possibly more. I would marry her tomorrow 
 if I could." 
 
 "For the Lord Harry's sake, do it then. I'll put 
 up the money." 
 
 Phil's face hardened. 
 
 "That is precisely the rock that Carlotta and 
 I split on, Mr. Cressy. She wanted to have you put 
 up the money. I love Carlotta but I don't love 
 her enough to let her or you buy me." 
 
 The old man and the young faced each other 
 across the table. There was a deadlock between 
 them and both knew it.
 
 A YOUNG MAN NOT FOR SALE 221 
 
 "But this offer I've made you is a bona fide one. 
 You'll make good. You will be worth the five 
 thousand and more in no time. I know your kind. 
 I told you I was a good picker. It isn't a question 
 of buying. Can the movie stuff. It's a fair give 
 and take." 
 
 "I have refused your offer, Mr. Cressy." 
 
 "You refused it before you knew Carlotta was 
 eating her heart out for you. Doesn't that make 
 any difference to you, my lad? You said you loved 
 her,"- reproachfully. 
 
 A huge blue-bottle fly buzzed past the table, 
 passed on to the window where it fluttered about 
 aimlessly, bumping itself against the pane here 
 and there. Mechanically Phil watched its gyra- 
 tions. It was one of the hardest moments of his 
 life. 
 
 "In one way it makes a great difference, Mr. 
 Cressy," he answered slowly. "It breaks my heart 
 to have her unhappy. But it wouldn't make her 
 happy to have me do something I know isn't right 
 or fair or w r ise. I know Carlotta. Maybe I know 
 her better than you do; I know she doesn't want 
 me that way." 
 
 "But you can't expect her to live in a hole like 
 this, on a yearly income that is probably less than 
 she spends in one month just for nothing much." 
 
 "I don't expect it," explained Phil patiently. 
 "I've never blamed Carlotta for deciding against 
 it. But there is no use going over it all. She and 
 I had it o-ut together. It is our affair, not yours, 
 Mr. Cressy." 
 
 "Philip Llambert, did you ever see Carlotta cry?" 
 
 Phil winced. The shot went home. 
 
 "No. I'd hate to," he admitted. 
 
 "You would," seconded Harrison Cressy. "I 
 hated it like the devil myself. She cried all over 
 my new dress suit the other night."
 
 222 WILD WINGS 
 
 Phil's heart was one gigantic ache. The thought 
 of Carlotta in tears was almost unbearable. 
 Carlotta his Carlotta was all sunshine and 
 laughter. 
 
 "It was like this," went on Carlotta's parent. 
 "Her aunt told me she was going to marry young 
 Lathrop old skin-flint tea-and-coffee Lathrop's 
 son. I couldn't quite stomach it. The fellow's 
 an ass, an unobjectionable ass, it is true, but with 
 all the ear marks. I tackled Carlotta about it. 
 She said she wasn't engaged but might be any 
 minute. I said some fool thing about wanting her 
 to be happy, and the next thing I knew she was in 
 my arms crying like anything. I haven't seen her 
 cry since she was a little tot. She has laughed her 
 way through life always up to now. I couldn't 
 bear it. I can't bear it now, even remembering it. 
 I squeezed the story out of her, drop at a time, 
 till I got pretty much the whole bucket full. I 
 tell you, Phil Lambert, you've got to give in. 
 I can't have her heart broken. You can't have 
 her heart broken. God, man, it's your funeral 
 too." 
 
 Phil felt very much as if it were his own funeral. 
 But he did not speak. He couldn't. The other 
 forged on, his big, mumbling bass mingled with 
 the buzz of the blue-bottle in the window. 
 
 "I made up my mind something had to be done 
 and done quick. I wasn't going to have my little 
 girl run her head into the noose by marrying 
 Lathrop when it was you she loved. I got busy, 
 made inquiries about you as I said. I had to before 
 I offered you the job naturally, but it was more 
 than that. I had to find out whether you were the 
 kind of man I wanted my Carlotta to marry. I 
 found out, and came up here to put the proposition 
 to you. I talked to your father first, by the way, 
 and got his consent to go ahead with my plans."
 
 A YOUNG MAN NOT FOR SALE 223 
 
 "You went to my father!" There was concern 
 and a trace of indignation in Phil's voice. 
 
 "Naturally I was playing to win. I had to hold 
 all the trumps. I wanted your father on my side 
 had to have him in fact. He came without a mur- 
 mur. He is a good sport. Said all he wanted was 
 your happiness, same as all I wanted was Car- 
 lotta's. We quite understood each other." 
 
 Phil sat silent with down cast eyes on his almost 
 untasted salad. He couldn't bear to think of his 
 father's being attacked like that, hit with a light- 
 ning bolt out of a clear sky. The more he thought 
 about it the more he resented it. Of course Dad 
 would agree. He was a good sport as Mr. Cressy 
 said. But that didn't make the thing any easier 
 or more justifiable. 
 
 "Your father is willing. I want it. Carlotta 
 wants it. You want it, yourself. Lord, boy, be 
 honest. You know you do. You'll never regret 
 giving in. Remember it is for Carlotta's hap- 
 piness we are both looking for." There was an 
 almost pleading note in Harrison Cressy's voice 
 a note few men had heard. He was more used to 
 command than to sue for what he desired. 
 
 Phil rose from the table. His face was a little 
 white as he stood there, tall, quiet, perfectly master 
 of himself and the situation. Even before the 
 young man spoke Harrison Cressy knew he had 
 failed. 
 
 "I am sorry, Mr. Cressy. If Carlotta wants hap- 
 piness with me I am afraid she will have to come 
 to Dunbury." 
 
 "You won't reconsider?" 
 
 "There is nothing to reconsider. There never 
 was any question. I am sorry you even raised one 
 in Dad's mind. You shouldn't have gone to him 
 in the first place. You should have come to me. 
 It was for me to settle."
 
 224 WILD WINGS 
 
 "Highty, tighty!" fumed the exasperated mag- 
 nate. "People don't tell me what I should and 
 should not do. They do what I tell 'em." 
 
 "I don't," said Philip Lambert in much the same 
 tone he had once said to Carlotta, "You can't have 
 this." "I am sorry, Mr. Cressy. I don't want to 
 be rude, or unkind or obstinate ; but there are some 
 things no man can decide for me. And there are 
 some things I won't do even to win Carlotta." 
 
 Harrison Cressy's head drooped for a moment. 
 He was beaten for once beaten by a lad of twenty- 
 three whose will was quite as strong as his own. 
 The worst of it was he had never liked any young 
 man in his life so well as he liked Philip Lambert 
 at this minute, never so coveted any thing for his 
 daughter Carlotta as he coveted her marriage with 
 Philip Lambert. 
 
 "That is final, I suppose," he asked after a 
 moment, looking up at the young man. 
 
 "Absolutely, Mr. Cressy. I am sorry." 
 
 Harrison Cressy lumbered to his feet. 
 
 "I am sorry too," he said, "damnably sorry for 
 Carlotta and for myself. Will you shake hands 
 with me, Philip? It is good to meet a man now 
 and then."
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 HARRISON CRESSY REVERTS 
 
 LEFT to himself, Harrison Cressy discovered to 
 his annoyance that there was no train out of Dun- 
 bury for two hours. That was the worst of these 
 little one-horse towns. You might as well be dead 
 as alive in 'em. By the time he had smoked his 
 after-dinner cigar he felt as if he might as well be 
 dead himself. He felt suddenly heavy, old, almost 
 decrepit, though that morning when he had left 
 Boston he had considered himself in the prime of 
 life and vigor. Hang it! He was sixty-nine. A 
 man was about done for at sixty-nine, all but ready 
 to turn into his grave. And he without son or 
 grandson. Lord! What a swindle life was any- 
 way ! 
 
 Well, there was no use sitting, still groaning. 
 He would get up and take a little walk until train 
 time. Maybe it was .his liver that made him feel 
 so confoundedly rotten and no count. A little ex- 
 ercise would do him good. 
 
 Absentmindedly he noted, as he strolled down 
 the elm-shaded streets, the neatness of the lawns, 
 the gay flower beds, the hammocks and swings out 
 under the trees as if people really lived out of doors 
 here. There were animate evidences of the fact 
 everywhere. Children played here and there in 
 shady spaces under big trees. Pretty girls on 
 wide, hospitable-looking porches chatted and drank 
 lemonade and knitted. A lithe, red-haired lass in 
 
 225
 
 226 WILD WINGS 
 
 white played tennis on a smooth dirt court with 
 a tall, clean looking youth. As Mr. Cressy passed 
 the girl cried out, "Love all" and the millionaire 
 smiled. It occurred to him it was not so hard to 
 love all in a village like this. It was only in cities 
 that you hated your neighbor and did him first 
 lest you be done yourself. 
 
 He hadn't been loose in a country town like this 
 for years. He had almost forgotten what they 
 were like when you didn't shoot through them in 
 a motor car, rushing always to get somewhere else. 
 His casual saunter down the quiet street was oddly 
 soothing to his nerves, awoke happy, yet half-sad 
 memories. 
 
 He had met and loved Carlotta's mother in a 
 country town. The lilacs had been in bloom and 
 the orioles had stood sponsor for his first Sunday 
 call. They had become engaged by the time the 
 asters were out. The next lilac time they had been 
 married. A third spring and the little Carlotta 
 had come. They had both been disappointed at 
 its not being a boy, but the little girl was a wonder, 
 with hair as gold as buttercups, eyes like wood 
 violets and a laugh that lilted and gurgled like the 
 little brook down in the meadow. 
 
 And then, two years later, the boy had come, 
 come and drifted off to some far place. It had 
 been a bitter blow to Rose as well as to Harrison 
 Cressy, especially as they said there never could 
 be any more children. Kose grew frail, did not 
 rally or regain her strength. They advised a 
 sanitarium in the Adirondacks for her. She had 
 gone, but it had been of no use. By the time they 
 brought in the first gentians Kose had drifted off 
 after her little son. Carlotta and her father were 
 alone. 
 
 By this time Harrison Cressy had begun to show 
 the authentic Midas touch. Only the little Car-
 
 HARRISON CRESSY REVERTS 227 
 
 lotta stood between him and sheer, sordid money 
 grubbing. And even she was an excuse for the 
 getting of always more and more wealth. He told 
 himself Carlotta should be a veritable princess, 
 should go always clad in the finest, have of the best, 
 be surrounded always by the most beautiful. She 
 should know only joy and light and laughter. 
 
 Thinking these thoughts, Carlotta's father sighed. 
 For now at last Carlotta wanted something he 
 coulcl not give her, was learning after twenty-two 
 years of cloudless joy the bitter way of tears. Why 
 hadn't that stubborn boy surrendered? 
 
 For that matter why didn't Carlotta surrender? 
 This was a new idea to Harrison Cressy. All the 
 time he had been talking to Philip Lambert he 
 had been seeing Carlotta only in relation to Crest 
 House and the -Beacon Street mansion. But just 
 now he had been recalling her mother under very 
 different associations. Rose had been content 
 with a tiny little cottage set in a green yard gay 
 with bright old fashioned flowers. He and Rose 
 had nested as happily as the orioles in the maples, 
 especially after the gold-haired baby came. Was 
 Carlotta so different from Rose? Was her hap- 
 piness such a different kind of thing? Were 
 women not pretty much alike at heart? Did they 
 not want about the same things? 
 
 Carlotta loved this lad of hers as Rose had loved 
 himself. Was it her own father who was cheating 
 her out of happiness because he had taught her to 
 believe that money and limousines and great houses 
 and many servants and silken robes are happiness? 
 If he had talked to her of other things, told her 
 about her mother and the happy old days among 
 the lilacs^ and orioles, with little but love to nest 
 with, couldn't he have made her see things more 
 truly, shown her that love was the main thing, that 
 money could not buy happiness? One could not
 
 228 WILD WINGS 
 
 buy much of anything that was worth buying 
 Harrison Cressy thought. One could purchase 
 only the worthless. That was the everlasting 
 failure of money. 
 
 He remembered the boy's, "I love Carlotta. But 
 I don't love her enough to let her or you buy me." 
 It was true. Neither he nor his daughter had been 
 able to purchase the lad's integrity, his good faith, 
 his ideals. And Harrison Cressy was thankful 
 from the bottom of his heart that it was so. 
 
 He turned his steps back to the village and as he 
 did so an oriole flashed out of the shrubbery near 
 him, and passed like a flame out of sight among 
 the trees. This was a good sign. Orioles had 
 nested every year in the maple tree by the little 
 white house where Carlotta had been born. Car- 
 lotta herself had always loved them. "Pretty, 
 pretty, birdie!" she had been wont to call out. 
 "Come, daddy, let's follow him and see where he 
 goes." 
 
 He would go home and tell Carlotta all this, 
 make her see that her happiness was in her own 
 hands. No, it was the boy's story. If Carlotta 
 would not follow the orioles and her own heart for 
 Philip Lambert she would not for any argument 
 of his. 
 
 By this time a distant puff of smoke gave evi- 
 dence that the Boston train was already on its way, 
 leaving Harrison Cressy in Dunbury. Not that 
 he cared. He had business still to transact ere 
 he departed, a new battle to fight. He walked with 
 the firm elastic step of a youth back to town. 
 What did it matter if you were sixty-nine when 
 the best things of life were still ahead of you? 
 
 Accordingly Phil was a second time that day 
 surprised by the unheralded arrival of Carlotta's 
 father, a rather dusty, weary and limp-looking 
 gentleman this time, but exuding a sort of be-
 
 HARRISON CRESSY REVERTS 229 
 
 nignant serenity that had not been there early 
 in the day. 
 
 "Hello," greeted the millionaire blandly. "Mis- 
 sed my train got to browsing round the town like 
 an old billy goat. Not sorry though. It is a nice 
 little town. Mind if I sit down? I'm a bit blown." 
 And dropping on a stool Mr. Cressy fanned himself 
 with his panama and grinned at Philip, a grin 
 the young man could not quite fathom. What 
 new trick had the clever old financier at the bottom 
 of hfs mind? Phil hoped he had not got to go 
 through the thing again. Once had been quite 
 enough for one day. 
 
 "Let me send out for something cool to drink, 
 Mr. Cressy. You must be horribly hot. It is 
 warm in here, even with all the fans going. Hi, 
 there, Tommy!" Philip summoned a freckled, 
 red-haired youth from somewhere in the back- 
 ground. "Run over to Greene's and get a lemon- 
 ade for this gentleman, will you?" 
 
 "Right, Mr. Phil." The boy saluted an odd 
 salute, Mr. Cressy noted. It was rendered with 
 the right hand, the three middle fingers held up, 
 the thumb bent over touching the nail of the little 
 finger. The saluter stood very straight as he went 
 through the ceremony and looked very serious 
 about it. "Queer!" thought the onlooker. The 
 messenger boys he knew did not behave like that 
 when you gave them an order. 
 
 Philip excused himself to attend to a customer 
 and in a moment the red-haired lad was back with 
 a tall glass of lemonade clinking delightfully with 
 ice. Mr. Cressy took it and set it down on the 
 counter while he fumbled for his wallet and pro- 
 duced a dollar bill. 
 
 To his amazement the boy's grin faded, and he 
 drew himself up with dignity. 
 
 "No, thank you, sir," he said to the proffered
 
 230 WILD WINGS 
 
 greenback. "I'm a Scout and Scouts don't take 
 tips." 
 
 "What!" gasped Harrison Cressy. In all his 
 life he did not recall meeting a boy who ever refused 
 money before. He began to think there was some- 
 thing uncanny about this town of Dunbury. First 
 a young man who could not be bought at any price. 
 And now a boy who wouldn't take a tip for service 
 rendered. 
 
 "I said I was a Scout," repeated the lad 
 patiently. "And Scouts don't take tips. We are 
 supposed to do one good turn every day, anyway, 
 and I hadn't gotten mine in before. I'm only a 
 Tenderfoot but I'm most ready for my second class 
 tests. Mr. Phil's going to try me out in first aid 
 as soon as he gets time." 
 
 "Mr. Phil! What's he got to do with it?" 
 inquired Mr. Cressy, after a long, satisfying swig 
 of lemonade. 
 
 "He is our Scout-master and a peach of a one 
 too. He is going to take us on a hike tomorrow." 
 
 "Tomorrow? Tomorrow is Sunday, young man." 
 The Methodist in Harrison Cressy rose to the 
 surface. 
 
 "I know. We all go to church and Sunday 
 school in the morning. Mr. Phil won't take us un- 
 less we do. But in the afternoon he thinks it is all 
 right to go on a hike. We don't practise signaling 
 and things like that, but we get in a lot of nature 
 study. I can identify all my ten trees now and 
 a whole lot more besides, and I've got a bird list 
 of over sixty." 
 
 "You don't say so?" Harrison Cressy was 
 plainly impressed. "So your Mr. Phil gives a good 
 deal of time to that sort of thing, does he?" he 
 added, his eyes seeking Philip Lambert in the 
 distance. 
 
 "Should say he did. I guess he gives about all
 
 HARRISON CRESSY REVERTS 231 
 
 the time he has outside of the store. He's a dandy 
 Scout-master. What he says goes, you betcher." 
 
 Remembering the scene at the luncheon table 
 that day, Harrison Cressy thought it quite probable. 
 What Philip had said had gone "you betcher" on 
 that occasion with a vengeance. So young Lambert 
 gave his off hours to business of this sort. Most 
 of Carlotta's male friends gave most of theirs to 
 polo, jazz, and chorus girls. He began to covet 
 Philip more than ever for a possible, and he hoped 
 probaJble, son-in-law. 
 
 It played into his purposes excellently that 
 Philip on returning invited him to supper on the 
 Hill that night. He wanted to meet the boy's 
 people, especially the mother. Carlotta had told 
 him once that Philip's mother was the most 
 wonderful person in the world. 
 
 Seated at the long table in the Lambert dining- 
 room Harrison Cressy enjoyed a meal such as his 
 chef-ridden soul had almost forgotten could exist 
 a meal so simple yet so delectable that he 
 dreamed of it for days afterward. 
 
 But the food, excellent as it was, was only a 
 small part of the significance of the occasion. It 
 was a revelation to the millionaire to know that a 
 family could gather around the board like this and 
 have such a thoroughly delightful time all round. 
 There was gay talk and ready laughter, a fine 
 flavor of old-fashioned courtesy and hospitality and 
 good will in everything that was said or done. 
 
 The Lambert girls the pretty twins and the 
 younger, slim slip of a lassie, Elinor were charm- 
 ing, fresh, natural, unspoiled, very different from 
 and far more to his taste than most of the young 
 women who came to Crest House hot-house pro- 
 ducts, over-sophisticated, cynical, too familiar with 
 rouge and cigarettes and the game of love and lure, 
 huntresses more or less, the whole pack of them.
 
 232 WILD WINGS 
 
 It seemed girls could still be plain girls on this 
 enchanted Hill girls who would make wonderful 
 wives some day for some lucky men. 
 
 But the mother! She was the secret of it all, 
 quite as remarkable as Carlotta had said. She 
 was extraordinarily well read, talked well on a 
 dozen subjects as to which he was himself but 
 vaguely informed, and she was evidently even more 
 extraordinarily busy. There was talk of a Better 
 Babies movement in which she was interested, of 
 a Red Cross Chapter at which she had spent the 
 afternoon, of a committee meeting of the local 
 Woman's Club which was bringing a noted English 
 poet-lecturer to town. There were Chatauqua 
 plans in view, and a new children's reading room 
 in the public library with a story-telling hour of 
 which Clare was to be in charge. A hundred 
 things indicated that Mrs. Lambert was by no means 
 confined to the four walls of her home for interests 
 and activities. Yet her home was exquisitely kept 
 and she was a mother first of all. One could see 
 that every moment. It was "Mums, this" and 
 "Mums, that" from them all. The life of the home 
 clearly pivoted about her. 
 
 Harrison Cressy found himself wishing that Car- 
 lotta could have known a motherhood like that. 
 Rose had gone so soon. Carlotta had never known 
 what she missed. Perhaps Mr. Cressy himself had 
 not known until he saw Mrs. Lambert and realized 
 what a mother might be. Poor Carlotta ! He had 
 given her a great deal. At least, until this, after- 
 noon, he had thought he had. But he had never 
 given her anything at all comparable to what this 
 quiet village store-keeper and his wife had given 
 to their son and daughters. He hadn't had it to 
 give. He had been poor, after all, all along. 
 Though he hadn't suspected it until now. 
 
 After supper Stuart Lambert had slipped quickly
 
 HARRISON CRESSY REVERTS 233 
 
 away, bidding his son stay up on the Hill a little 
 longer with their guest. Phil had demurred, but 
 had been quietly overruled and had acquiesced per- 
 force. Poor Dad ! There had not been a moment 
 all day to relieve his mind about Mr. Cressy 's offer. 
 Not once had the father and son been alone. Phil 
 was afraid his father was taking the thing a good 
 deal to heart, and it worried him. He had counted 
 on talking-it over together as they went back to the 
 store but his father had willed otherwise. 
 
 It was with Carlotta's father instead of his own 
 that Philip talked first after all. 
 
 "See here, Philip,'' began Mr. Cressy as they 
 descended the Hill in "Lizzie." "I went at this all 
 wrong. So did Carlotta. I understand better 
 now. I've been back in the past this afternoon, 
 remembering what it means to live in the country 
 and love and mate there in the good old-fashioned 
 way as Carlotta's mother and I did. It is what I 
 want her to do with you. Do you get that, boy? 
 I want her to come to Dunbury. I want her to 
 have a piece of your mother. Carlotta never knew 
 what it was to have a mother. It is mostly my 
 fault she doesn't see any clearer. You mustn't 
 blame her, lad." 
 
 "I don't," said Phil. "I love her." 
 
 "I know you do. And she loves you. Go to her. 
 Make her see. Make her marry you and be happy." 
 
 Phil w r as silent, not because he was not moved 
 by the older man's plea but because he was almost 
 too moved, to speak. It rather took his breath away 
 to have Harrison Cressy on his side like this. It 
 was almost too incredible, and yet there was no 
 mistaking the sincerity in the other's words or on 
 his face. Carlotta's father did want Carlotta to 
 come to him on his Hill. 
 
 But would Carlotta want it? That was the 
 question. For himself he sought no higher road
 
 234 WILD WINGS 
 
 to follow than the one where his father and mother 
 had blazed the trail through fair weather and 
 stormy these many years. But would Carlotta be 
 content to travel so with him? He did not know. 
 At any rate he could ask her, try once more to make 
 her see, as her father put it. 
 
 He turned to his companion with a sober smile 
 at this point in his reflections. 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Cr*essy. I will try again and I 
 know it is going to make a great deal of difference 
 to Carlotta and to me to have you on my side. 
 Perhaps she will see it differently this time. I 
 1 hope so." 
 
 "Lord, boy, so do I !" groaned Mr. Cressy. "You 
 will come back to Crest House tomorrow with me?" 
 
 Phil hesitated, considered, shook his head. 
 
 "I'll come next Saturday. I can't get away to- 
 morrow," he said. 
 
 "Why not? For the Lord's sake, boy, get it 
 over !" 
 
 Phil smiled but shook his head. He too wanted 
 to get it over. He could hardly wait to get to Car- 
 lotta, would have started that moment if he could 
 have done so. But there were clear-cut reasons 
 why he could not go tomorrow, obligations that 
 held him fast in Dunbury. 
 
 "I can't go tomorrow because I have promised 
 my boys a hike," he explained. 
 
 Harrison Cressy nearly exploded. 
 
 "Heavens, man! What does a parcel of kids 
 amount to when it comes to getting you a wife? 
 You can call off your hike, can't you?" 
 
 "I could, but it would be hard on a good many of 
 them. They count on it a good deal. Some of them 
 have given up other pleasures they might have 
 had on account of it. Tommy has, for instance. 
 His uncle asked him to go to Worcester with 
 him in his car, and he refused because of his
 
 HARRISON CRESSY REVERTS 235 
 
 date with me. They are all bribed to church and 
 Sunday School by the means. One of the things 
 Scouting stands for is sticking to your job and your 
 word. I don't think it is exactly up to the Scout- 
 master to dodge his responsibilities when he 
 preaches the other kind of thing. Of course, if it 
 were a life and death matter, it would be different. 
 It isn't. I have waited a good many weeks to see 
 Carlotta. I can wait one more." 
 
 Harrison Cressy grunted. He hardly knew 
 whether to fly into a rage with this extraordinary 
 young man or to clap him on the back and tell him 
 he liked him better and better every minute. He 
 contented himself by repeating a remark he had 
 made earlier in the day. 
 
 "You are a darn fool, young man." Then he 
 added, half against his will, "But I like your darn- 
 foolness, hang me if I don't !" 
 
 Phil had a strenuous two hours in the store with 
 never a minute to get at his father. It was not 
 until the last customer had departed, the last clerk 
 fled away and the clock striking eleven that the 
 father and son were alone. 
 
 Philip came over to where the older man stood. 
 His heart smote him when he saw how utterly worn 
 and weary the other looked, as if he had suddenly 
 added a full ten years to his age since morning. 
 His characteristic buoyancy seemed to have de- 
 serted him for once. 
 
 "Dad, I've not had a minute alone with you all 
 day. I am sorry Mr. Cressy bothered you about 
 that blue sky proposition of his. I never would 
 have let him if I had known. Of course there was 
 nothing in it. I didn't consider it for a minute." 
 
 Stuart Lambert smiled wearily and sat down on 
 the counter. 
 
 "I am afraid you have given up more than we 
 realized, Philip, in coming into the store. Mr.
 
 236 WILD WINGS 
 
 Cressy gave me a glimpse into things that I knew 
 nothing about. You should have told us." 
 
 "There was nothing to tell. I've given up noth- 
 ing that was mine. I told Carlotta all along she 
 would have to come to me. I couldn't come to her. 
 My whole life is here with you. It is what I have 
 wanted ever since I had the sense to want anything 
 but to enjoy my fool self. But even then I didn't 
 appreciate what it would be like to be here with you. 
 I couldn't, till I had tried it and found out first 
 hand what kind of a man my dad was. I am ab- 
 solutely satisfied. If Mr. Cressy had offered me a 
 million a year I wouldn't have taken it. It 
 wouldn't have been the slightest temptation even 
 
 ' he smiled a little sadly "even with Carlotta 
 thrown in. I don't want to get Carlotta that way." 
 
 "You say you are satisfied, Philip. Maybe that 
 is so. But you are not happy." 
 
 "I wasn't, just at first. I was a fool. I let the 
 thing swamp me for awhile. Mums helped pull me 
 out of the slough and since then I've been finding 
 out that happiness is well, a kind of by-product. 
 Like the kingdom of heaven it doesn't come for ob- 
 servation. I have had about as much happiness 
 here with you, and with Mums and the girls at 
 home, and with my Scouts in the woods, as I de- 
 serve, maybe more. I'm going to try to get Car- 
 lotta. I haven't given up hope. I'm going down 
 to Sea View next week to ask her again and maybe 
 things will be different this time. Her father is 
 on my side now, which is a great help. He has 
 got the Holiday Hill viewpoint all at once. He 
 wants Carlotta to come to me us. So do I, with 
 all my heart. But whether she does or doesn't, I 
 am here with you as long as you want me, first 
 last and all the time and glad to be. Please believe 
 that, Dad, always." 
 
 Stuart Lambert rose. 
 
 \
 
 HARRISON CRESSY REVERTS 237 
 
 "Philip, you don't know what it means to me 
 to hear you say this." There was a little break 
 in the older man's voice, the suggestion of pent 
 emotion. "It nearly killed me to think I ought to 
 give you up. You are sure you are not making 
 too much of a sacrifice?" 
 
 "Dad! Please don't say that word to me. 
 There isn't any sacrifice. It is what I want. I 
 haven't been a very good son always. Even this 
 summer I am afraid I haven't come up to all you 
 expected of me, especially just at first when I was 
 wrapped up in myself and my own concerns too 
 much to see that doing a good job in the store was 
 only a small part of what I was here in Dunbury to 
 do. But anyway I am prouder than I can tell you 
 to be your son and I am going to try my darndest 
 to live up to the sign if you will let me stay on be- 
 ing the minor part of it." 
 
 He held out his hand and his father took it. 
 There were tears in the older man's eyes. A 
 moment later the store was dark as the two passed 
 out shoulder to shoulder beneath the sign of 
 STUART LAMBERT AND SON.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE DUNBURY CURE 
 
 HARRISON CRESSY awoke next morning to the 
 cheerful chirrup of robins and the pleasant far-off 
 sound of church bells. He liked the bells. They 
 sounded different in the country he thought. You 
 couldn't hear them in the city anyway. There 
 were too many noises to distract you. There was 
 no Sabbath stillness in the city. For that matter 
 there wasn't much Sabbath. 
 
 He got up out of bed and went and looked out 
 of the window. There was a heavenly hush every- 
 where. It was still very early. It had been the 
 Catholic bells ringing for mass that he had heard. 
 The dew was a-dazzle on every grass blade. The 
 robins hopped briskly about at their business of 
 worm-gathering. The morning glories all in fresh 
 bloom climbed cheerfully over the picket fence. He 
 hadn't seen a morning glory in years. It set him 
 dreaming again, took him back to his boyhood days. 
 
 If only Carlotta would be sensible and yield to 
 the boy's wooing. Dunbury had cast a kind of 
 spell upon him. He wanted his daughter to live 
 here. He wanted to come here to visit her. In 
 his imagination he saw himself coming to Carlotta's 
 home not too big a home just big enough to live 
 and grow in and raise babies in. He saw himself 
 playing with Carlotta's little golden-haired violet- 
 eyed daughters, and walking hand in hand with 
 her small son Harrison, just such a sturdy, good- 
 
 238
 
 THE DUNBURY CURE 239 
 
 looking, wide-awake youngster as Philip Lambert 
 had no doubt been. Harrison Cressy's mind dwelt 
 fondly upon this grandson of his. That was a boy 
 indeed ! 
 
 Carlotta's son should not be permitted to grow 
 up a money grubber. There w r ould be money of 
 course. One couldn't very well avoid that under 
 the circumstances. The boy would be trained to 
 the responsibilities of being Harrison Cressy's heir. 
 But he should be taught to see things in their true 
 values and proportions. He must not grow up 
 money-blinded like Carlotta. He should know that 
 money was good very good. But he should know 
 it was not the chief good, was never for an instant 
 to be classed with the abiding things the real 
 things, not to be purchased at a price. 
 
 Mr. Cressy sighed a little at that point and crept 
 back to bed. It occurred to him he would have to 
 leave this latter *part of his grandson's education 
 to the Lambert side of the family. That was their 
 business, just as the money part was his. 
 
 He fell asleep again and presently re-awoke in 
 a kind of shivering panic. What if Carlotta would 
 not marry Philip after all? What if it was too late 
 already? What if his grandson turned out to be 
 a second Herbert Lathrop, an unobjectionable, 
 possibly even an objectionable ass. Perspiration 
 beaded on the millionaire's brow. Why was that 
 young idiot on the Hill waiting? What were 
 young men made of nowadays? Didn't Philip Lam- 
 bert know that you could lose a woman forever 
 if you didn't jump lively? Hanged if he wouldn't 
 call the boy this minute and tell him he just had to 
 change his mind and go to Crest House that very 
 morning without a moment's delay. Delay might 
 be fatal. Harrison Cressy sat up in bed, fumbled 
 for his slippers, shook his head gloomily and re- 
 turned to his place under the covers.
 
 240 WILD WINGS 
 
 It wasn't any use. He might as well give up. 
 He couldn't make Philip Lainbtert do anything he 
 did not want to do. He had tried it twice and 
 failed ignominiously both times. He wouldn't 
 tackle it again. The boy was stronger than he 
 was. He had to lie back and let things take their 
 course as best they might. 
 
 "Cheer up! Cheer up!" counseled the robins 
 outside, but millionaire Cressy heeded not their 
 injunctions. The balloon of his hopes lay pricked 
 and flat in the dust. 
 
 He rose, dressed, breakfasted and discovered 
 there was an eleven o'clock train for Boston. He 
 discovered also that he hadn't the slightest wish 
 to take it. He did not want to go to Boston. He 
 did not want to go to Crest House. And very par- 
 ticularly and definitely he did not want to see his 
 daughter Carlotta. Carlotta might ferret out his 
 errand to Dunbury and be bitterly angry at his 
 interference with her affairs. Even if she were not 
 angry how could he meet her without telling her 
 everything, including things that were the boy's 
 right to tell? It was safer to stay away from Crest 
 House entirely. That was it. He would telegraph 
 Carlotta his gout was worse, that he had gone to 
 the country to take a cure. He would be home 
 Saturday. 
 
 Immensely heartened he dispatched the wire. 
 By this time it was ten-thirty and the dew on the 
 grass was all dry, the morning glories shut tight 
 and the robins vanished. The church bells were 
 ringing again however and Harrison Cressy decided 
 to go to church, the white Methodist church on the 
 common. He wouldn't meet any of the Hill people 
 there. The Holidays were Episcopal, the Lam- 
 berts Unitarian a loose, heterodox kind of creed 
 that. He wished Phil were Methodist. It would 
 have given him something to go by. Then he
 
 THE DUNBURY CURE 241 
 
 grinned a bit sheepishly at his own expense and 
 shook his head. He had had the Methodist creed 
 to go by himself and much good had it done him. 
 Maybe it did not make so much difference what you 
 believed. It was how you acted that mattered. 
 Why that was Unitarianism itself, wasn't it? 
 Queer. Maybe there was something in it after all. 
 
 Seated in the little church Harrison Cressy 
 hardly listened to the preacher's droning voice. 
 He followed his own trend of thought instead, re- 
 calling long-forgotten scriptural passages. "What 
 shall it profit a man though he gain the whole world 
 and lose his own soul?" was one of the recur- 
 ring phrases. He applied it to Philip Lambert, 
 applied it sadly to himself and with a shake of his 
 head to his daughter, Carlotta. He remembered 
 too the story of the rich young man. Had he made 
 Carlotta as the rich young man, cumbered her with 
 so many worldly possessions and standards that 
 by his own hand he was keeping her out of the 
 heaven of happiness she might have otherwise in- 
 herited? He feared so. 
 
 He bowed his head with the others but he did not 
 pray. He could not. He was too unhappy. And 
 yet who knows? Perhaps his unwonted clarity of 
 vision and humility of soul were acceptable that 
 morning in lieu of prayer to Sandalphon. 
 
 As he ate his solitary dinner his despondency 
 grew upon him. He felt almost positive Philip 
 would fail in his mission, that Carlotta would go 
 her willful way to regret and disillusionment, and 
 all these things gone irretrievably wrong would be 
 at bottom his own fault. 
 
 Later he endeavored to distract himself from his 
 dreaiy thoughts by discoursing with his neighbor 
 on the veranda, a tall, grizzled, soldierly looking 
 gentleman with shrewd but kind eyes and the brow 
 of a scholar.
 
 242 WILD WINGS 
 
 As they talked desultorily a groop of khaki clad 
 youngsters filed past, Philip Lambert among them, 
 looking only an older and taller boy in their midst. 
 The lads looked happy, alert, vigorous, were of 
 clean, upstanding type, the pick of the town it 
 seemed probable to Harrison Cressy who said as 
 much to his companion. 
 
 The other smiled and shook his head. 
 
 "You are mistaken, sir," he said. "Three months 
 ago most of those fellows were riffraff the kind 
 that hang around street corners smoking and in- 
 dulging in loose talk and profanity. Young Lam- 
 bert, the chap with them, their Scout-master, picked 
 that kind from choice, turned down a respectable 
 church-mothered bunch for this one, left the other 
 for a man who wanted an easier row to hoe. It 
 was some stunt, as the boys say. It took a man 
 like Phil Lambert to put it through. He has the 
 crowd where he wants them now though. They 
 would go through fire and water if he led them and 
 he is a born leader." 
 
 Harrison Cressy's eyes followed the departing 
 group. Here was a new light on his hoped-for 
 son-in-law. So he picked "publicans- and sinners" 
 to eat with. Mr. Cressy rather liked that. He 
 hated snobs and pharisees, couldn't stomach either 
 brand. 
 
 "It means a good deal to a town like this when 
 its college-bred boys come back and lend a hand like 
 that," the other man went on. "So many of them 
 rush off to the cities thinking there isn't scope 
 enough for their ineffable wisdom and surpassing 
 talents in their own home town. A number of 
 people prophesied that young Lambert would do 
 the same instead of settling down with his father 
 as we all wanted him to do. I wasn't much afraid 
 of that myself. Phil has sense enough to see rather 
 straight usually. He did about that. And then
 
 THE DUNBURY CURE 243 
 
 the kickers put up a howl that he had a swelled 
 head, felt above the rest of Dunbury because he 
 had a college education and his father was getting 
 to be one of the most prosperous men in town. 
 They complained he wouldn't go in for things the 
 rest of the town was interested in, kept to himself 
 when he was out of the store. There were some 
 grounds for the kick I will admit. But it wasn't 
 a month before he got his bearings, had his head 
 out of the clouds and was in the thick of everything. 
 They Swear by him now almost as much as they do 
 by his father which is saying a good deal for Dun- 
 bury has revolved about Stuart Lambert for years. 
 It is beginning to revolve about Stuart Lambert 
 and Son now. But I am boring you with all 
 this. Phil happens to be rather a favorite of 
 mine." 
 
 "You know him well?" questioned Mr. Cressy. 
 
 "I ought to. I am Robert Caldwell, principal 
 of the High School here, I've known Phil since 
 he was in knickerbockers and had him under my 
 direct eye for four years. He kept my eye suf- 
 ficiently busy at that," he added with a smile. 
 "There wasn't much mischief that youngster and 
 a neighbor of his, young Ted Holiday, didn't get 
 into. Maybe that is why he is such a success with 
 the black sheep," he added with a nod in the di- 
 rection in which the khaki-clad lads had gtme. 
 
 "H-mm," observed Mr. Cressy. "I am rather 
 glad to hear all this. You see it happens that I 
 came to Dunbury to offer Philip Lambert a 
 position. My name's Cressy Harrison Cressy," 
 he explained. 
 
 His companion lifted his eye-brows a little 
 dubiously. 
 
 "I see. I didn't know I was discussing a young 
 man you knew well enough to offer a position to. 
 May I ask if he accepted it?"
 
 244 WILD WINGS 
 
 "He did not," admitted Harrison Cressy grimly. 
 
 "Turned it down, eh?" The school man looked 
 interested. 
 
 "Turned it down, man? He made the propo- 
 sition look flatter than a last year's pan-cake and 
 it was a mighty good proposition. At least I 
 thought it was," the magnate added with a faint 
 grin remembering all that went with that 
 proposition. 
 
 Kobert Caldwell smiled. He rather liked the 
 idea of one of his boys making a proposition of 
 millionaire Cressy's look like a last year's pan-cake. 
 It was what he would have expected of Phil 
 Lambert. 
 
 "I am sorry for you, Mr. Cressy," he said. "But 
 I am glad for Dunbury. Philip is the kind we 
 need right here." 
 
 "He is the kind we need right everywhere," 
 grunted Mr. Cressy. "Only we can't get 'em. 
 They aren't for sale." 
 
 "No," agreed Robert Caldwell. "They are not 
 for sale. Ah, the Boston train must be in. There 
 is the stage." 
 
 Mr. Cressy allowed his eyes to stray idly to the 
 arriving bus and the descending passengers. 
 
 Suddenly he stiffened. 
 
 "Good Lord!" he ejaculated, an exclamation 
 called forth by the fact that the last person to 
 alight from the bus was a slim young person in 
 a trim, tailored, navy blue suit and a tiny black 
 velvet toque whose air bespoke Paris, a person with 
 eyes which were precisely the color of violets which 
 grow in the deepest woods. 
 
 A little later Harrison Cressy sat in a deep 
 leather upholstered chair in his bedroom with his 
 daughter Carlotta in his lap. 
 
 "Don't try to deceive me, Daddy darling," Car- 
 lotta was saying. "You were worried dreadfully
 
 THE DUNBURY CURE 245 
 
 worried because your little Carlotta wept salt 
 tears all over your shirt bosom. You thought that 
 Carlotta must not be allowed to be unhappy. 
 Wars, earthquakes, ship sinkings, wrecks any- 
 thing might be allowed to go on as usual but not 
 Carlotta unhappy. You thought that, didn't you, 
 Daddy darling?" 
 
 Daddy darling pleaded guilty. 
 
 "Of course you did, you old dear. The moment 
 I knew you were in Dunbury I knew what you were 
 up tcr. I understand perfectly how your mind 
 works. I ought to. Mine works very much the 
 same way. It is a simple three stage operation. 
 First we decide we want a thing. Next we decide 
 the surest, quickest way to get it and third we 
 get it. At least we usually do. We must do our- 
 selves that much justice, must we not, Daddy 
 darling?" 
 
 Daddy darling merely grunted. 
 
 "You came to Dunbury to tell Phil he had to 
 marry me because I was in love with him and 
 wanted to marry him. He couldn't very well marry 
 me and keep on living in Dunbury because I 
 wouldn't care to live in Dunbury. Therefore he 
 would have to emigrate to a place I would care to 
 live in and he couldn't very well do that unless he 
 had a very considerable income because spending 
 money was one of my favorite sports both indoor 
 and outdoor and I wouldn't be happy if I didn't 
 keep right on playing it to the limit. Therefore, 
 again, the very simple solution of the whole thing 
 was for you to offer Phil a suitable salary so that 
 we could marry at once and live in the suitable 
 place and say, 'Go to it. Bless you my children. 
 Bring on your wedding bells I mean bills. I'll 
 foot 'em.' Put in the rough, that was the plan 
 wasn't it, my dear parent?" 
 
 "Practically," admitted the dear parent with a
 
 246 WILD WINGS 
 
 wry grin. "How did you work it out so 
 accurately?" 
 
 Carlotta made a face at him. 
 "I worked it out so accurately because it was all 
 old stuff. The plan wasn't at all original with 
 you. I drew the first draft of it myself last June 
 up on the top of Mount Tom, took Phil up there on 
 purpose indeed to exhibit it to him." 
 "Humph!" muttered Harrison Cressy. 
 "Unfortunately Phil didn't at all care for the 
 exhibit because it happened that I had fallen in 
 love with a man instead of a puppet. I could have 
 told you coming to Dunbury was no earthly use 
 if you had consulted me. Phil did not take to your 
 plan, did he?" 
 "He did not." 
 
 "And he told you he didn't care for me any 
 more?" Carlotta's voice was suddenly a little low 
 "He did not. In fact I gathered he was fair-to- 
 middling fond of you still, in spite of your abom- 
 inable behavior." 
 
 "Phil, didn't .say I had behaved abominably 
 Daddy. You know he didn't. He might think 
 it but he wouldn't ever say it not to you any- 
 way." 
 
 "He didn't. That is my contribution and 
 opinion. Carlotta, I wish to the Lord Harry you 
 would marry Philip Lambert!" 
 
 Carlotta's lovely eyes flashed surprise and de- 
 light before she lowered them. 
 
 "But, Daddy," she said. "He hasn't got very 
 much money. And it takes a great deal of money 
 for me." 
 
 "You had better learn to get along with less 
 then," snapped Harrison Cressy. "I tell you, Car- 
 lotta, money is nothing the stupidest, most use- 
 less, rottenest stuff in the world." 
 Carlotta opened her eyes very wide.
 
 THE DUNBURY CURE 247 
 
 "Is that what you thought when you came to 
 Dunbury?" she asked gravely. 
 
 "No. It is what I have learned to think since 
 I have been in Dunbury." 
 
 "But you you wouldn't want me to live here?" 
 probed Carlotta. 
 
 "My child, I would rather you w r ould live here 
 than any place in the whole world. I've traveled 
 a million miles since I saw you last, been back in 
 the past with your mother. Things look different 
 to me HOW. I don't want what I did for you. At 
 least what I want hasn't changed. That is the 
 same always your happiness. But I have 
 changed my mind as to what makes for happiness." 
 
 "I am awfully glad, Daddy darling," sighed Car- 
 lotta snuggling closer in his arms. "Because I 
 came up here on purpose to tell you that I've 
 changed my mind too. If Dunbury is good for gout 
 maybe maybe it will be good for what ails me. 
 Do you think it might, Daddy?" For answer he 
 held her very tight. 
 
 "Do you mean it, child? Are you here to tell 
 that lad of ytnirs you are ready to come up his 
 Hill to him?" 
 
 "If if he still wants me," faltered Carlotta. 
 "I'll have to find that out for myself. I'll know 
 as soon as I see Phil. There won't anything have 
 to be said. I am afraid there has been too much 
 talking already. You shouldn't have told him I 
 cried," reproachfully. 
 
 "How could I help it? That is, how the deuce 
 did you know I did? 1 ' floundered the trapped 
 parent. 
 
 "Daddy! You know you played on Phil's 
 sympathy every way you could. It was awful. 
 At least it would have been awful if you had bought 
 him with my silly tears after you failed to buy him 
 with your silly money. But he didn't give in even
 
 248 WILD WINGS 
 
 for a moment even when you told him I cried, 
 did he?" 
 
 "Not even then. But that doesn't mean he 
 doesn't care. He " 
 
 But Carlotta's hand was over his mouth at that. 
 How much Phil cared she wanted to hear from 
 nobody but from Phil himself. 
 
 Philip Lambert found a queer message waiting 
 for him when he came in from his hike. Some 
 mysterious person who would give no name had 
 telephoned requesting him to be at the top of Sun- 
 set Hill at precisely seven o'clock to hear some 
 important information which vitally concerned the 
 firm of Stuart Lambert and Son. 
 
 "Sounds like a hoax of some sort," remarked 
 Phil. "But Lizzie has been chafing at the bit all 
 day in the garage and I don't mind a ride. Come 
 on, Dad, let's see what this bunk means." 
 
 Stuart Lambert smiled assent. And at precisely 
 seven o'clock when dusk was settling gently over 
 the valley and the glory in the western sky was 
 beginning to fade into pale heliotrope and rose 
 tints Lizzie brought the two Lamberts to the crest 
 of Sunset Hill where another car waited, a hired 
 car from the Eagle garage. 
 
 From the tonneau of the other car Harrison 
 Cressy stepped out, somewhat ponderously, fol 
 lowed by some one else, some one all in white with 
 hair that shone pure gold even in the gathering 
 twilight 
 
 Phil made one leap and in another moment, befon 
 the eyes of his father and Carlotta's, not to mention 
 the interested stare of the Eagle garage chauffeur, 
 he swept his far-away princess into his arms. 
 There was no need of anybody's trying to make 
 Carlotta see. Love had opened her eyes. The two 
 fathers smiled at each other, both a little glad and 
 a little sad.
 
 THE DUNBURY CURE 249 
 
 "Brother Lambert," said Mr. Cressy. "Suppose 
 you and I ride down the hill. I rather think this 
 spot belongs to the children." 
 
 "So it seems/' agreed Stuart Lambert. "We 
 will leave Lizzie for chaperone. I think there will 
 be a moon later." 
 
 "Exactly. There always was a moon, I believe. 
 It is quite customary." 
 
 As Stuart Lambert got out of the small car 
 Philip and Carlotta came to him hand-in-hand like 
 happy -children. 
 
 Carlotta slipped away from Phil, put out both 
 hands to his father. He took them with a happy 
 smile. 
 
 "I have a good many daughters, my dear," he 
 said. "But I have always wanted to welcome one 
 more. Do you think you could take in another 
 Dad?" 
 
 "I know I could," said Carlotta lifting her 
 flower face to him for a daughterly kiss. 
 
 "Come, come! Where do I come in on this deal? 
 Where is my son, I'd like to know?" demanded 
 Mr. Cressy. 
 
 "Eight here at your service darnfooln'ess and 
 all," said Phil holding out his hand. 
 
 "Don't rub it in," snapped Harrison Cressy, 
 though he gripped the proffered hand hard. 
 "Come on, Lambert. This is no place for us." 
 
 And the two fathers went down the hill in the 
 hired car leaving Lizzie and the lovers in pos- 
 session of the summit with the world which the 
 moon was just turning to silver at their feet.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 SEPTEMBER CHANGES 
 
 WHEN September came Carlotta, who had been 
 ostensibly visiting Tony though spending a good 
 deal of her time "in the moon with Phil" as she 
 put it, departed for Crest House, carrying Philip 
 with her "for inspection," as he dubbed it some- 
 what ruefully. He wasn't particularly enamored 
 of the prospect of being passed upon by Caiiotta's 
 friends and relatives. It was rather incongruous 
 when you came to think of it that the lovely Car- 
 lotta, who might have married any one in the 
 world, should elect an obscure village store keeper 
 for a husband. But Carlotta herself had no 
 qualms. She was shrewd enough to know that 
 with her father on her side no one would do much 
 disapproving. And in any case she had no fear 
 that any one even just looking at Phil would 
 question her choice. Carlotta was not the woman 
 to choose a man she would have to apologize for. 
 Phil would hold his own with the best of them and 
 she knew it. He was a man every inch of him, and 
 what more could any woman ask? 
 
 Ted went up for his examinations and came back 
 so soberly that the family held its composite 
 breath and wondered in secret whether he could 
 possibly have failed after all his really heroic 
 effort. But presently the word came that he had 
 not only not failed but had rather covered himself 
 with glory. The Dean himself, an old friend of 
 
 250
 
 SEPTEMBER CHANGES 251 
 
 Doctor Holiday's, wrote expressing his congratu- 
 lations and the hope that this performance of his 
 nephew's was a pledge of better things in the future 
 and that this fourth Holiday to pass through the 
 college might yet reflect credit upon it and the 
 Holiday name. 
 
 Ted himself emphatically disclaimed all praise 
 whatsoever in the matter and cut short his uncle's 
 attempt at expressing his appreciation not only of 
 the successful finish of the examinations but the 
 whole summer's hard work and steadiness. 
 
 "I am glad if you are satisfied, Uncle Phil," he 
 said. "But there isn't any credit coming to me. 
 It w^as the least I could do after making such a 
 confounded mess of things. Let's forget it." 
 
 But Ted Holiday was not quite the same un- 
 thinking young barbarian in September that he 
 had been in June. Nobody could work as he had 
 worked that summer without gaining something 
 in character and self-respect. Moreover, being 
 constantly as he w r as with his brother and uncle, 
 he would have been duller than he was not to get 
 a "hunch," as he would have called it, of what it 
 meant to be a Holiday of the authentic sort. 
 Larry's example was particularly salutary. The 
 younger Holiday could not help comparing his own 
 weak-willed irresponsibility of conduct with the 
 older one's quiet self-control and firmness of 
 principle. Larry's love for Ruth was the real 
 thing. Ted could see that, and it made his own 
 random, ill-judged attraction to Madeline Taylor 
 look crude and cheap if nothing worse. He hated 
 to remember that affair in Cousin Emma's garden. 
 He made up his mind there would be no more 
 things like that to have to remember. 
 
 "You can tell old Bob Caldwell," he wrote from 
 college to his uncle, "that he'll sport no more cad- 
 dies and golf balls at my expense. Flunking is
 
 252 WILD WINGS 
 
 too damned expensive every way, saving your 
 presence, Uncle Phil. No more of it for this child. 
 But don't get it into your head I am a violently re- 
 formed character. I am nothing of the kind and 
 don't want to be. If I see any signs of angel pin- 
 feathers cropping out I'll shave 'em. I'd hate 
 to be conspicuously virtuous. All the same if I 
 have a few grains more sense than I had last year 
 they are mostly to your credit. Fact is, Uncle 
 Phil, you are a peach and I am just beginning to 
 realize it, more fool I." 
 
 Tony also flitted from the Hill that September 
 for her new work and life in the big city. Rather 
 against her will she had ensconced herself in a 
 Student Hostelry where Jean Lambert, Phil's older 
 sister, had been living several years very happily, 
 first as a student and later as a successful il- 
 lustrator. Tony had objected that she did not want 
 anything so "schooly," and that the very fact that 
 Jean liked the Hostelry would be proof positive 
 that she, Tony, w r ould not like it. What she really 
 wanted to do was either to have a studio of her own 
 or accept Felice Norman's invitation to make her 
 home with her. Mrs. Norman was a cousin of 
 Tony's mother, a charming widow of wealth and 
 wide social connections whom Tony had always 
 adored and admired extravagantly. Just visiting 
 her had always been like taking a trip to fairy 
 land and to live with her well, it would be just 
 too wonderful, Tony thought. But Doctor Holi- 
 day had vetoed decidedly both these pleasant and 
 impractical propositions. Tony was far too young 
 and pretty to live alone. That was out of the ques- 
 tion. And he was scarcely more willing that she 
 should go to Mrs. Norman, though he liked the lat- 
 ter very well and was glad that his niece would 
 have her to go to in any emergency. He knew 
 Tony, and knew that in such an environment as
 
 SEPTEMBER CHANGES 253 
 
 Mrs. Norman's home offered the girl would all but 
 inevitably drift into being a gay little social but- 
 terfly and forget she ever came to the city to do 
 serious work. Life with Mrs. Norman would be 
 "too wonderful" indeed. 
 
 So Tony went to the Hostelry with the under- 
 standing that if after a few months' trial she really 
 did dislike it as much as she declared she knew she 
 would they would make other arrangements. But 
 rather to her chagrin she found herself liking the 
 place very much and enjoying the society of the 
 other -girls who were all in the city as she and Jean 
 were, pursuing some art or other. 
 
 The dramatic school work was all she had hoped 
 and more, stimulating, engrossing, altogether de- 
 lightful. She made friends easily as always, 
 among teachers and pupils, slipped naturally here 
 as in college into a position of leadership. Tony 
 Holiday was a born queen. 
 
 She had plenty of outside diversion too. Cousin 
 Felice was kind and delighted to pet and exhibit 
 her pretty little kinswoman. There were fascinat- 
 ing glimpses into high society, delightful private 
 dancing parties in gorgeous ball rooms, motor 
 trips, gay theater parties in resplendent boxes, 
 followed by suppers in brilliant restaurants all 
 the pomp and glitter of life that youth loves. 
 
 There were other no less genuinely happy oc- 
 casions spent with Dick Carson, way up near the 
 roof in the theaters and opera house or in queer, 
 fascinating out-of-the-way foreign restaurants. 
 The two had the jolliest kind of time together, 
 always like two children at a picnic. Tony was 
 very nice to Dick these days. He kept her from 
 being too homesick for the Hill and anyway she 
 felt a wee bit sorry for him because he did not know 
 about Alan and those long letters which came so 
 frequently from the retreat in the mountains where
 
 254 WILD WINGS 
 
 the latter was sketching. She knew she ought to 
 tell Dick how far things had gone but somehow 
 she couldn't quite drive herself to do it. She 
 didn't want to hurt him. And she did not want to 
 banish him from her life. She wanted him, needed 
 him just where he was, at her feet, and never 
 bothering her with any inconvenient demands or 
 love-making. It was selfish but it was true. And 
 in any case it would be soon enough to worry Dick 
 when Alan came back to town. 
 
 And then without warning he was back, very 
 much back. And with his return the pleasant 
 nicely balanced, casual scheme of things which she 
 had been following so contentedly was knocked sky 
 high. She had to adjust herself to a new heaven 
 and a new earth with Alan Massey the center of 
 both. In her delight and intoxication at having 
 her lover near her again, more fascinating and 
 lover-like than ever, Tony lost her head a little, 
 neglected her work, snubbed her friends, refused 
 invitations from Dick and Cousin Felice, and in- 
 deed from everybody except Alan. She went every- 
 where with him, almost nowhere without him, 
 spent her days and more of her nights than was at 
 all prudent or proper in his absorbing society, had, 
 in short, what she afterward described to Carlotta 
 as a "perfect orgy of Alan." 
 
 At the end of ten days she called a halt, sat down 
 and took honest account of herself and her pro- 
 ceedings and found that this sort of thing would 
 not do. Alan was too expensive every way. She 
 could not afford so much of him. Accordingly 
 with her usual decision and frankness she explained 
 the situation to him as she saw it and announced 
 that henceforth she would see him only twice a 
 week and not as often if she were especially busy. 
 
 To this ultimatum she kept rigidly in spite of 
 her lover's protests and pleas and threats. She
 
 SEPTEMBER CHANGES 255 
 
 was inexorable. If Alan wanted to see her at all 
 he must do it on her terms. He yielded perforce 
 and was madder over her than ever, feted and wor- 
 shiped and adored her inordinately when he was 
 with her, deluged her with flowers and poetry and 
 letters between times, called her up daily and 
 nightly by telephone just to hear her voice, if he 
 might not see her face. 
 
 So superficially Tony conquered. But she was 
 not over-proud of her victory. She knew that 
 whether she saw Alan or not he was always in the 
 under-current of her thoughts and feelings. In the 
 midst of other occupations she caught herself 
 wondering whether he had written her, whether 
 she would find his flowers when she got home, where 
 he was, what, he was doing, if he was thinking of 
 her as she of him. She wanted him most irration- 
 ally when she forbade his coming to her. She 
 looked forward to those few hours spent with him 
 as the only time when she was fully alive, dreamed 
 them over afterward, knew they meant a hundred- 
 fold more to her than those she spent with any 
 other man or woman. She wore his flowers, pored 
 over his long, beautiful, impassioned letters, de- 
 voured the books of poetry he sent her, danced 
 with him as often and as long as she dared, gave 
 her soul more and more into his keeping, the more 
 so perhaps in that he was so tenderly reverential 
 of her body, never even touching her lips with his, 
 though his eyes often told a less moderate story. 
 
 The orgy over she was again doing well with her 
 work at the school. She knew that. Her teachers 
 praised her gifts and her progress. Without any 
 vanity she could not help seeing that she was forg- 
 ing ahead of others who had started even with her, 
 had more real talent perhaps than most of those 
 with whom she worked and played. But she took 
 no pride in these things. For equally clearly she
 
 256 WILD WINGS 
 
 saw that she was not doing half what she might 
 have done, would have done, had there been no Alan 
 Massey in the city and in her heart. She had a 
 divided allegiance and a divided allegiance is a 
 hard thing to live with as a daily companion. 
 
 But she would not have had it otherwise. Not 
 for a moment did she ever wish to go back to those 
 free days when love was but a name and the flame 
 had not blown so dangerously near. 
 
 As for Alan Massey himself, he alternated be- 
 tween moods which were starry pinnacles of ecstasy 
 and others which were bottomless pits of despair. 
 He lived for two things only his hours with Tony 
 and his work. For he had begun to paint again, 
 magnificently, furiously, with all his old power and 
 a new almost godlike one added to it. As an artist 
 it was his supreme hour. He painted as he had 
 never painted before. 
 
 His love for Tony ran the whole gamut. He 
 loved her passionately, found it exquisite torture 
 to have her in his arms when they danced and to 
 have still to bank the fires which consumed him and 
 of which she only dimly guessed. He loved her 
 humbly, worshipfully as a moth might look to a 
 star. He loved her tenderly, protectingly, longed 
 to shield her by his own might from all griefs, 
 troubles and petty annoyances, to guard her day 
 and night, lest any rough, unlovely or unseemly 
 thing press near her shining sphere. He desired to 
 wrap her about with a magic mantle of beauty 
 and luxury and the quintessence of life, to keep 
 her in a place apart as he kept his priceless col- 
 lection of rubies and emeralds. He loved her 
 jealously, was sick at the thought that some other 
 man might be near her when he might not, might 
 dance with her, covet her, kiss her. He hated 
 all men because of her and particularly he hated
 
 SEPTEMBER CHANGES 257 
 
 with black hate the man whom he was w r rouging 
 daily by his silence, his cousin, John Massey. 
 
 Beneath all this strange, sad welter of emotion 
 deeper still in Alan Massey's heart lay the tragic 
 conviction that he would never win Tony, that his 
 own sins would somehow rise to strike at him like 
 a snake out of the grass. He had lost faith in his 
 luck, had lost it strangely enough when luck had 
 laid at his feet that most desirable of all gifts, Jim 
 Boberts' timely death. 
 
 In .the House on the Hill, things were very quiet, 
 missing the gay presence of the two younger Holi- 
 days and with those at home cumbered with cares 
 and perplexity and grief. 
 
 Things were easier for Buth than for Larry. It 
 was less difficult for her to play the part of quiet 
 friendship than for him, partly because her love 
 was a much less tempestuous affair and partly 
 because a woman nearly always plays a part of 
 any kind with more facility than a man does. And 
 Larry Holiday was temperamentally unfit to play 
 any part whatsoever. He was a Yea-Yea and Nay- 
 Nay person. 
 
 The simplicity of the girl's role was also very 
 largely created by her lover's rigid self control. 
 She took her cue from his quietness and felt that 
 things could not be so bad after all. At least they 
 were together. Neither had driven the other aw T ay 
 from the Hill by any unconsidered act or word. 
 Euth had no idea that being with her under the 
 tormenting circumstances was scarcely undivided 
 happiness for poor Larry or that her peace of mind 
 was more or less purchased at cost of his. 
 
 Larry kept the promise he had made to his uncle 
 more literally than the latter had had any idea 
 he would or could. He never sought out Euth's 
 society, was never alone with her if he could help
 
 258 WILD WINGS 
 
 it, never so much as touched her hand. Ruth being 
 a very human and feminine little person sometimes 
 wished he were not quite so consistently, "Holi- 
 dayish" in his conduct. She missed the ardent 
 gaze of those wonderful gray eyes which he now 
 kept studiously averted from hers. Privately she 
 thought it would not have mattered so fearfully if 
 just once in a while he had forgotten the ring. Life 
 was very, very drab when you never forgot and 
 let yourself go the tiniest little bit. Child like 
 little Euth never guessed that a man like Larry 
 Holiday does not dare let himself go the tiniest 
 little bit, lest he go farther, far enough to regret. 
 
 Doctor Holiday watching in silence* out of the 
 tail of his eye understood better what was going 
 on behind his nephew's quiet exterior demeanor, 
 and wondered sometimes if it had not been a mis- 
 take to keep the boy bound to the wheel like that, if 
 he should not rather have packed him off to the ut- 
 termost parts of the earth, far away from the little 
 lady with the wedding ring who was so little mar- 
 ried. And yet there was Granny, growing per- 
 ceptibly weaker day by day, clinging pathetically 
 to Larry's young strength. Poor Granny! And 
 poor Larry! How little one could do for either! 
 
 Ruth's memory did not return. She remembered, 
 or at least found familiar, books she had read, songs 
 she must have sung, drifted into doing a hundred 
 little simple everyday things she must have done 
 before, since they came to her with no effort. She 
 could sew and knit and play the piano exquisitely. 
 But all this seemed rather a trick of the fingers 
 than of the mind. The people, the places, the life 
 that lay behind that crash on the Overland never 
 returned to her consciousness for all her anxious 
 struggle to get them back. 
 
 It began to look as if her husband, if she had one, 
 were not going to claim her. No one claimed her.
 
 SEPTEMBER CHANGES 259 
 
 Not a single response came from all the extensive 
 advertising which Larry still kept up in vain hope 
 of success. Apparently no one had missed the 
 little Goldilocks. Precious as she was none sought 
 her. 
 
 In the meanwhile she was an undisguised angel 
 visitant to the House on the Hill. If in his kindly 
 hospitality Doctor Holiday had stretched a point or 
 two in the first place to make the little stranger 
 feel at home the case was different now. She was 
 needed, badly needed" and she played the part of 
 house daughter so sweetly and unselfishly that 
 her presence among them was a double blessing to 
 them all, except perhaps to poor Larry who loved 
 her best of all. 
 
 '
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 A PAST WHICH DID NOT STAY BURIED 
 
 COMING in from a lively game of tennis with 
 Elsie Hathaway, his newest sweetheart, the An- 
 cient History Prof's pretty daughter, Ted Holiday 
 found awaiting him a letter from Madeline Taylor. 
 He turned it over in his hands with a keen distaste 
 for opening it, had indeed almost a mind to chuck 
 it in the w-aste paper basket unread. Hang it all ! 
 Why had she written? He didn't want to hear 
 from her, didn't w r ant to be reminded of her exist- 
 ence. He wanted instead distinctly to forget there 
 was a Madeline Taylor and that he had been fool 
 enough to make love to her once. Nevertheless he 
 opened the letter and pulled his forelock in pertur- 
 bation as he read it. 
 
 She had quarrelled with her grandfather and he 
 would not let her come back home. She was with 
 Emma just now but she couldn't stay. Fred was 
 behaving very nastily and he might tell Emma any 
 day that she, Madeline, had to go. They were all 
 against her. Everything was against a girl any- 
 way. They never had a chance as a man did. She 
 wished she had been killed when she had been 
 thrown out of the car that night. It would have 
 been much better for her than being as miserable as 
 she was now. She often wished she was dead. But 
 what she had written to Ted Holiday for was 
 because she thought perhaps he could help her to 
 find a job in the college town. She had to earn 
 
 260
 
 A PAST WHICH DID NOT STAY BURIED 261 
 
 some money right away. She would do anything. 
 She didn't care what and would be very grateful to 
 Ted if he would or could help her to find work. 
 
 That was all. There was not a single personal 
 note in the whole thing, no reference to their flirta- 
 tion of the early summer except the one allusion to 
 the accident, no attempt to revive such frail ties as 
 had existed between them, no reproaches to Ted 
 for having broken these off so summarily. It was 
 simply and exclusively a plea for help from one 
 human being to another. 
 
 Tecl thrust the letter soberly in his pocket and 
 went off for a shower. But the thing went with 
 him. He wished Madeline hadn't written, wished 
 she hadn't besought his aid, wished most of all she 
 hadn't been such a devilish good sport in it all. If 
 she had whined, cast things up against him as she 
 might have done, thrown herself in any way upon 
 him, he could perhaps have ignored her and her plea. 
 But she had done nothing of the sort. She was 
 deucedly game now just as she had been the night 
 of the smash. And by a queer trick of his mind her 
 very gameness made Ted Holiday feel more quiet 
 and responsible, a frame of mind he heartily re- 
 sented. Hanged if he could see why it was his 
 funeral ! If that old Hottentot of a grandfather of 
 hers chose to turn her out without a cent it wasn't 
 his fault. For that matter he wasn't to blame for 
 what Madeline herself had done. He didn't 
 suppose the old man would have cut so rough with- 
 out plenty of cause. Why did she have to bob up 
 now and make him feel so darned rotten? 
 
 Unfortunately, even the briefest of episodes have 
 a way of not erasing themselves as conveniently 
 as most of us would like to have them. The thing 
 was there and Ted Holiday had to look at it whether 
 it made him feel "darned rotten" or not. He did not 
 want to help the girl, did not even want to renew
 
 262 WILD WINGS 
 
 their acquaintance by even so much as a letter. 
 The whole thing was an infernal nuisance. But 
 infernal nuisance or not, he had to deal with it, 
 could not funk it. He was a Holiday and no 
 Holiday ever shirked obligations he himself had in- 
 curred. He was a Holiday and no Holiday ever let 
 a woman ask for help, and not give it. By the 
 time he was back from the shower Ted knew pre- 
 cisely where he stood. Perhaps he had known all 
 along. 
 
 The next day he bestirred himself, went to Berry 
 the florist who he happened to know w r as in need 
 of a clerk, got the burly Irishman's consent to give 
 the girl a job at excellent wages, right away, the 
 sooner the better. Ted opened his mouth to ask 
 for an advance of salary but thought better of it 
 before the words came out. Madeline might not 
 like to have anybody know she was up against it 
 like that. He would have to see to that part of it 
 himself somehow. 
 
 "You're a good customer, Mr. Holiday," the gen- 
 ial florist was saying. "I'm tickled to be obligin' 
 ye and mesilf at the same time. Anything in the 
 flower line, to-day, Mr. Holiday? Some roses 
 now or violets? Got some jim dandies just in. 
 Beauties, I'm tellin' you. Want to see 'em?" 
 
 Ted hesitated. His exchecquer was low, very 
 low. The first of the month was also far away 
 too far, considering all things. His bill at Berry's 
 already passed the bounds of wisdom and the pos- 
 sibility of being paid in full out of the next month's 
 allowance without horribly crippling the debtor. 
 It was exceedingly annoying to have to forfeit that 
 ten dollars to Uncle Phil every month for that 
 darned automobile business which it seemed as if 
 he never would get free of one way or another. He 
 certainly ought not to buy any more flowers this 
 month.
 
 A PAST WHICH DID NOT STAY BURIED 263 
 
 Still, there was the hop to-night. Elsie was go- 
 ing with him. He had run a race with three other 
 applicants for the privilege of escorting her and 
 being victor it behooved him to prove he appreci- 
 ated his gains. He didn't want Elsie to think he 
 was a tight-wad, or worse still suspect him of being 
 broke. He fell, let Berry open the show case, de- 
 bated seriously the respective merits of roses and 
 violets, having reluctantly relinquished orchids as 
 a little too ruinous even for a ruined young man. 
 
 "If they are for Miss Hathaway," murmured a 
 pretty," sympathetic clerk in his ear, "Mr. Delany 
 sent roses this morning and she likes violets best. 
 I've heard her say so." 
 
 That settled it. Ted Holiday wasn't going to be 
 beaten by a poor fish like Ned Delaney. The vio- 
 lets were bought and duly charged along with those 
 other too numerous items on Ted Holiday's ac- 
 count. Going home Ted wrote a cheerful, friendly 
 letter to Madeline Taylor reporting his success 
 in getting her a job and enclosing a check for 
 twenty five dollars, "just to tide you over," he had 
 put in lightly, forbearing to mention that the gift 
 made his bank balance even lighter, so light in fact 
 that it approached complete invisibility. He added 
 that he was sorry things were in a mess for her 
 but they would clear up soon, bound to, you know. 
 And nix on the wish-Iwere-dead-stuff ! It was 
 really a jolly old world as she would say herself 
 when her luck turned. He remained hers sincerely 
 and so forth. 
 
 This business off his mind, young Mr. Holiday 
 felt highly relieved and pleased with himself and 
 the world which was such a jolly old affair as he 
 had just assured Madeline. Later he w r ent to the 
 hop and had a corking time, stayed till the last 
 violin swooned off into silence, then sauntered with 
 deliberate leisureliness toward Prof. Hathaway's
 
 264 WILD WINGS 
 
 house with Elsie on his arm. On the Prof's porch 
 he had lingered as long as was prudent, perhaps 
 a little longer, spooning discreetly the while as one 
 may, even with an Ancient History Prof's daughter. 
 There was nothing suggestive of Ancient History 
 about Elsie. She was slim and young as the little 
 new moon they had both nearly broken their necks 
 to see over their right shoulders a few minutes 
 before. Moreover she was exceedingly pretty and 
 as provocative as the dickens. In the end Ted 
 stole a saucy kiss and left her pretending to be as 
 indignant as if a dozen other impudent youths had 
 not done precisely the same thing since the opening 
 of the college year. It was the lady's privilege to 
 protest. Ted granted that, but neither was he much 
 taken in by injured innocence airs. Elsie was quite 
 as sophisticated as he was himself as he knew very 
 well. No first kiss business for either of them, he 
 reflected as he went whistling back to the f rat house. 
 It was all in the game and both knew it was nothing 
 but a game which made it perfectly pleasant and 
 harmless. 
 
 At the frat house he found a quiet little game of 
 another sort in progress, slid in, took a hand, got 
 interested, played until three A.M. and on quitting 
 found himself in possession of some thirty odd dol- 
 lars he had not had when he sat in. Considering 
 his recent financial depression the thirty dollars 
 was all to the good, covered Madeline's check and 
 Elsie's violets. It was indeed a jolly old world if 
 you treated it right and did not take it or yourself 
 too seriously. 
 
 Inasmuch as playing cards for money was strictly 
 against college rules and gambling had been the one 
 vice of all vices the late Major Holiday had hated 
 with unrelenting hate, it might be a satisfaction to 
 record that the late Major's son took an uneasy 
 conscience to bed that night, or rather that morn-
 
 A PAST WHICH DID NOT STAY BURIED 265 
 
 ing, but truth is truth and we are compelled to state 
 that Ted Holiday did not suffer the faintest twinge 
 of remorse and went to sleep the moment his head 
 touched the pillow as peacefully as a guileless new 
 born babe might have done. 
 
 Moreover when he woke the next morning at an 
 unconscionably late hour he turned over, looked at 
 the clock, grunted and grinned sleepily and lapsed 
 off again into blissful oblivion, thereby cutting all 
 his morning classes and generally submerging him- 
 self in the unregenerate ways of his graceless soph- 
 omoric year. He had never contracted to be 
 conspicuously virtuous it will be recalled. 
 
 The next day he secured a suitable lodging place 
 for Madeline in an inexpensive but respectable 
 neighborhood and the day after that betook him- 
 self to the station to meet the girl herself. Ted 
 never did things by halves. Having made up his 
 mind to stand by he did it thoroughly, perhaps the 
 more punctiliously because in his heart he loathed 
 the whole business and wished he were well out of it. 
 
 For a moment as Madeline came toward him he 
 hardly recognized her. She looked years older. 
 The brilliancy of her beauty was curiously dimmed 
 as an electric light might be dimmed inside a dusty 
 globe. There were hard lines about her full lips 
 and a sharp, driven look in her black eyes. The 
 two had met in June on equal terms of blithe youth. 
 Now, only a few months later, Ted was still a care- 
 less boy but Madeline Taylor had been forced into 
 premature womanhood and wore on her haggard 
 young face, the stamp of a woman's hard won 
 wisdom. 
 
 To the girl Ted Holiday appeared more the bonny 
 Prince Charming than ever only infinitely farther 
 removed from her than he had seemed in those 
 happy summer days which were a million years ago 
 to all intents and purposes now. How good looking
 
 266 WILD WINGS 
 
 he was how tall and clean and manly looking! 
 Her heart gave a quick jump seeing him again after 
 all these dreary months. But oh, she must be very 
 careful must never forget for a moment that things 
 were very, very different now from what they were 
 in June! 
 
 There was a moment's slightly embarrassed 
 silence as they shook hands. Both were remember- 
 ing all too vividly the scene in Cousin Emma's 
 garden upon the occasion of their last meeting. It 
 was Ted who first found tongue and announced 
 casually that he was going to take her straight 
 to the house of Mrs. Bascdm, her landlady to be. 
 
 "She's a good sort," he added. "Mothery like 
 you know. You'll like her." 
 
 Madeline did not answer. She couldn't. Some- 
 thing choked in her throat. The phrase, "mothery 
 like" was almost too much for the girl who had 
 never had a mother to remember and wanted one 
 now as she never had wanted one in her life. Ted's 
 kindness the first she had received from any one 
 these many days touched her deeply. For the 
 first time in months the tears brimmed up into her 
 eyes as she followed her companion to the cab and 
 let him help her in. As the door closed upon them 
 Ted turned and faced the girl and seeing the tears 
 put out his hand and touched hers gently. 
 
 "Don't worry, Madeline," he said. "Things are 
 going to look up. And please don't cry," he 
 pleaded earnestly. 
 
 She wiped away the tears and summoned a wan 
 little smile to meet his. 
 
 "I won't," she said. "Crying is silly and won't 
 help anything. It is just that I was awfully tired 
 and your being so good to me upset me. You've 
 always been good even when I thought you 
 weren't. I understand better now. And oh, Ted, 
 you don't know how ashamed I am of the way I
 
 A PAST WHICH DID NOT STAY BURIED 267 
 
 behaved that night! It was awful my striking 
 you like that. It made me sick to think of it 
 afterward." 
 
 "It needn't have. If anybody has any call to be 
 ashamed of that night it's yours truly. See here, 
 Madeline, I've worried a lot about you though may- 
 be you won't believe it because I didn't write or 
 act as if I were sorry about things. I kept still 
 because it seemed the straightest thing to do all 
 round, but I did think a great deal about you, 
 honest *I did, and I've wondered millions of times 
 if my darn-foolness set things going wrong for you. 
 Did it, Madeline?" he demanded. 
 
 "No," she answered her gaze away from his out 
 the cab window. "You mustn't worry, Ted, or 
 blame yourself. It it's all my fault everything." 
 
 "It's good of you to let me out but I am not so 
 sure I ought to be let out. I'd give a good deal 
 this minute if I could go back and not take Uncle 
 Phil's car that night." Ted leaned forward sud- 
 denly and for a startled instant Madeline thought 
 he meant to kiss her. But nothing was farther 
 from his wish or thought. It was the scar he was 
 looking for. He had almost forgotten it, just as 
 he had almost forgotten the episode it represented. 
 But there it was on her forehead. Even in the 
 gathering darkness it showed with perfect distinct- 
 ness. "I hoped it had gone," he added. "But it is 
 still there, isn't it?" 
 
 "The scar? Yes, it is still there." For a moment 
 the ghost of a smile played about the girl's lips. 
 "I've always liked it. I'd miss it if it went." 
 
 "Well, I don't like it. I hate it," groaned the 
 boy. "Why, Madeline I might have killed you !" 
 
 "I know. Sometimes I wish it had come out so. 
 It it would have been better." 
 
 "Don't Madeline. That is an aw r ful thing to say. 
 Things can't be as bad as all that, you know they
 
 268 WILD WINGS 
 
 can't. By the way, can you tell me the whole bus- 
 iness or would you rather not?" 
 
 The girl shivered. 
 
 "No. Don't ask me, Ted. It it's too awful. 
 Don't bother about me. You have done quite 
 enough as it is. I am very grateful but truly I 
 would rather you wouldn't have anything more to 
 do with me. Just forget I am here." 
 
 And because this injunction was precisely in line 
 with his own inclination Ted suspected its propri- 
 ety and swung counterwise in true Ted fashion. 
 
 "I'll do just exactly as I please about that. I 
 won't pester you but you needn't think I'm going 
 to leave you all soul alone in a strange place when 
 you are feeling rotten anyway. I'm pretty dog- 
 goned selfish but not quite that bad."
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE 
 
 ALTHOUGH Max Hempel had not openly sought 
 out Tony Holiday he was entirely aware of her pre- 
 sence in the city and in the dramatic school. When- 
 ever she played a role in the course of the -latter's 
 program he had his trusted aides on the spot to 
 watch her, gauge her progress, report their finding 
 to himself. Once or twice he had come himself, sat 
 in a dark corner and kept his eye unblinking from 
 first to last upon the girl. 
 
 In November it had seemed good to the school to 
 revive The Killarney Kose, a play which ten years 
 ago had had a phenomenal run and ended as it 
 began with packed houses. It was past history 
 now. Even the road companies had lapsed, and 
 its name was all but forgotten by the fickle public 
 which must and will have ever new sensations. 
 
 Hempel was glad the school had made this partic- 
 ular selection, doubly glad it had given Antoinette 
 Holiday the title role. The play would show 
 whether the girl was ready for his purposes as he 
 had about decided she was. He would send Carol 
 Clay to see her do the thing. Carol would know. 
 Who better? It was she who created the original 
 Rose. 
 
 Tony Holiday behind the scene on that momen- 
 tous erening, on being informed that Carol Clay 
 the famous Carol Clay herself the real Rose 
 was out there in a box, was paralyzed with fear, for 
 
 269
 
 270 WILD WINGS 
 
 the first time in her life, victim of genuine stage 
 fright. She was cold. She was hot. She was one 
 tremendous shake and shiver. She was a very lump 
 of stone. The orchestra was already playing. In 
 a moment her call would come and she was going 
 to fail, fail miserably. And with Carol Clay there 
 to see. 
 
 Some flowers and a card were brought in. The 
 flowers were from Alan of course, great crimson 
 roses. It was dear of him to send them. Later 
 she would appreciate it. But just now not even 
 Alan mattered. She glanced at the card which had 
 come separately, was not with the flowers. It was 
 Dick's. Hastily .she read the pencil- written scrawl. 
 "Am covering the Rose. Will be close up. See 
 you after the show. Best o' luck and love." 
 
 Tony could almost have cried for joy over the 
 message. Somehow the knowledge of Dick's near- 
 ness gave her back her self-possession. She had 
 refused to let Alan come. His presence in the 
 audience always distracted her, made her nervous. 
 But Dick was different. It was almost like having 
 Uncle Phil himself there. She wouldn't fail now. 
 She couldn't. It was for the honor of the Hill. 
 
 A moment later, still clutching Dick's comforting 
 card, she ran in on the stage, swinging her sun- 
 bonnet from its green ribbons with hoydenish grace, 
 chanting a gay little lilt of an Irish melody. Her 
 fear had gone even as the dew might have dis- 
 appeared at the kiss of the sun upon the Killarney 
 greensward. 
 
 Almost at once she discovered Dick and sang a 
 part of her song straight down at him. A little 
 later she dared to let her eyes stray to the box 
 where Carol Clay sat. The actress smiled and Tony 
 smiled back and then forgot she was Tony, was 
 henceforth only Rose of Killarney. 
 
 It was a winsome, old-timey sort of play, with an
 
 ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE 271 
 
 almost Barriesque charm and whimsicality to it. 
 The witching little Rose laughed and danced and 
 gang and flirted and wept and loved her way through 
 it and in the end threw herself in the right lover's 
 arms, presumably there to dwell happy forever 
 after. 
 
 After the last curtain went down and she had 
 smiled and bowed and kissed her hand to the kindly 
 audience over and over Tony fled to the dressing 
 room where she could still hear the intoxicating, 
 delightful thunder of applause. It had come. She> 
 could act. She could. Oh ! She couldn't live and 
 be any happier. 
 
 But, after all she could stand a little more joy 
 without coming to an untimely end, for there sud- 
 denly smiling at her from the threshold was Carol 
 Clay congratulating her and telling her what a 
 pleasure to-night's Rose had been to the Rose of 
 yesterday. And before Tony could get her breath 
 to do more than utter a rather shy and gasping 
 word of gratitude, the actress had invited her to 
 take tea with her on the next day and she had 
 accepted and Carol Clay was gone. 
 
 It was in a wonderful world of dreams that Tony 
 Holiday dwelt as she removed a little of her make- 
 up, gave orders to have all her flowers sent to a 
 near-by hospital, except Alan's, which she gathered 
 up in her arms and drawing her velvet cloak 
 around her, stepped out into the waiting-room. 
 
 But it was a world of rather alarming realities 
 that she went into. There was Dick Carson wait- 
 ing as she had bidden him to wait in the message 
 she had sent him. And there was Alan Massey, 
 unbidden and unexpected. And both these males 
 with whom she had flirted unconscionably for 
 weeks past were ominously belligerent of manner 
 and countenance. She would have given anything 
 to have had a wand to wave the two away, keep
 
 272 WILD WINGS 
 
 them from spoiling her perfect evening. But it 
 was too late. The hour of reckoning which comes 
 even to queens was here. 
 
 "Hello, you two," she greeted, putting on a brave 
 front for all her sinking heart. She laid down the 
 roses and gave a hand impartially to each. "Aw- 
 fully glad to see you, Dicky. Alan, I thought I 
 told you not to come. Were you here all the 
 same?" 
 
 "I was. I told you so in my note. Didn't you 
 get it? I sent it in with the roses." H'e nodded 
 at the flowers she had just surrendered. 
 
 Dick's eyes shadowed. Massey had scored 
 there. He had not thought of flowers. Indeed 
 there had been no time to get any he had gotten 
 the assignment so late. There had been quantities 
 of other flowers, he knew. The usher had car- 
 ried up tons of them it seemed to the popular Rose, 
 but she carried only Alan Massey's home with 
 her. 
 
 "I am sorry, Alan. I didn't see it. Maybe it 
 was there ; I didn't half look at the flowers. Your 
 message did me so much good, Dicky. I was scared 
 to death because they had just said Miss Clay was 
 outside. And somehow when I knew you were 
 there I felt all right again. I carried your card 
 all through the first act and I know it was your 
 wishing me the best o' luck that brought it." 
 
 She smiled at Dick and it was Alan's turn to 
 glower. She had not looked at his roses, had not 
 cared to look for his message; but she carried the 
 other man's card, used it as a talisman. And she 
 was glad. The other was there, but she had for- 
 bidden himself Alan Massey to come, had even 
 reproached him for coming. 
 
 A group of actors passed through the reception 
 room, calling gay goodnights and congratulations 
 to Tony as they; went and shooting glances of
 
 ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE 273 
 
 friendly curiosity at the two, tall frowning men 
 between whom the vivacious Rose stood. 
 
 "Tony Holiday doesn't keep all her lovers on 
 the stage," laughed the near-heroine as she was 
 out of hearing. "Did you ever see two gentlemen 
 that hated each other more cordially?" 
 
 "She is an arrant little flirt, isn't she, Micky?'' 
 The speaker challenged the Irish lover of the play 
 who had had the luck to win the sweet, thorny lit- 
 tle Killarney Rose in the end and to get a real, albeit 
 a play, kiss from the pretty little heroine, who as 
 Tony Holiday as well as Rose was prone to make 
 mischief in susceptible male hearts. 
 
 "She can have me any minute, on the stage or 
 off," answered Micky promptly. "She's a winner. 
 Got me going all right. Most forgot my lines she 
 was so darned pretty." 
 
 Dick took advantage of the confusion of the in- 
 terruption to get in his word. 
 
 "Will you come out with me for a bite somewhere, 
 Tony. I won't keep you late, but there are some 
 things I want to talk qver with you." 
 
 Tony hesitated. She had caught the ominous 
 flash of Alan's eyes. She was desperately afraid 
 there would be a scene if she said yes to Dick now 
 in Alan's hearing. The latter strode over to her in- 
 stantly, and laid his hand with a proprietorial air 
 on her arm. From this point of vantage he faced 
 Dick insolently. 
 
 "Miss Holiday is going out with me," he assert- 
 ed. "You clear out." 
 
 The tone and manner even more than the words 
 were deliberate insult. Dick's face went white. 
 His mouth set tight. There was almost as ugly a 
 look in his eyes as there was in Alan's. Tony had 
 never seen him look like that and was frightened. 
 
 "I'll clear out when Miss Holiday asks me to 
 and not before," he said in a significantly quiet
 
 274 WILD WINGS 
 
 voice. "Don't go too far, Mr. Massey. I have 
 taken a good deal from you. There's a limit. 
 Tony, I repeat my question. Will you go out with 
 me to-night?" 
 
 Before Tony could speak Alan Massey's long 
 right arm shot out in Dick's direction. Dick 
 dodged the blow coolly. 
 
 "Hold on, Massey," he said. "I'm perfectly will- 
 ing to smash your head any time it is convenient. 
 Nothing would afford me greater pleasure in fact. 
 But you will kindly keep from making trouble here. 
 You can't get a woman's name mixed up with a 
 cheap brawl such as you are trying to start. You 
 know, .it won't do." 
 
 Alan Massey's white face turned a shade whiter. 
 His arm fell. He turned back to Tony, real an- 
 guish in his fire-shot eyes. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Tony dearest," he bent over 
 to say. "Carson is right. We'll fight it out else- 
 where when you are not present. May I take you 
 to the taxi? I have one waiting outside." 
 
 Another group of people passed through the 
 vestibule, said goodnight and went on out to the 
 street exit. It made Tony sick to think of what 
 they would have seen if Dick had lost his self con- 
 trol as Alan had. She thought she had never liked 
 Dick as she did that moment, never despised Alan 
 Massey so utterly. Dick was a man. Alan was a 
 spoiled child, a weakling, the slave of his passions. 
 It was no thanks to him that her name was not al- 
 ready bandied about on people's lips, the name of 
 a girl, about whom men came to fist blows like a 
 Bowery movie scene. She was humiliated all over, 
 enraged with Alan, enraged with herself for stoop- 
 ing to care for a man like that. She waited until 
 they were absolutely alone again and then said 
 what she had to say. She turned to face Alan 
 directly.
 
 ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE 275 
 
 "You may take me nowhere," she said. "I don't 
 want to see you again as long as I live." 
 
 For an instant Alan stared at her, dazed, unable 
 to grasp the force of what she was saying, the sig- 
 nificance of her tone. As a matter of fact the ar- 
 tist in him had leaped to the surface, banished all 
 other considerations. He had never seen Tony 
 Holiday really angry before. She was magnificent 
 with those flashing eyes and scarlet cheeks a 
 glorious little Fury a Valkyrie. He would paint 
 her like that. She was stupendous, the most vividly 
 alive thing he had ever seen, like flame itself, in her 
 flaming anger. Then it came over him what she 
 had said. 
 
 "But, Tony," he pleaded, "my belovedest " 
 
 He put out both hands in supplication, but Tony 
 whirled away from them. She snatched the great 
 bunch of red roses from the table, ran to the win- 
 dow, flung up the sash, hurled them out into the 
 night. Then she turned back to Alan. 
 
 "Now go," she commanded, pointing with a small, 
 inexorable hand to the door. 
 
 Alan Massey went. 
 
 Tony dropped in a chair, spent and trembling, 
 all but in tears. The disagreeable scene, the piled 
 up complex of emotions coming on top of the stress 
 and strain of the play were almost too much for 
 her. She was a quivering bundle of nerves and 
 misery at the moment. 
 
 Dick came to her. 
 
 "Forgive me, Tony. I shouldn't have forced the 
 issue maybe. But I couldn't stand any more from 
 that cad." 
 
 "I am glad you did exactly what you did do, 
 Dick, and I am more grateful than I can ever tell 
 you for not letting Alan get you into a fight here 
 in this place with all these people coming and go- 
 ing. I would never have gotten over it if anything
 
 276 WILD WINGS 
 
 like that had happened. It would have been ter- 
 rible. I couldn't ever have looked any of them in 
 the face again." She shivered and put her two 
 hands over her eyes ashamed to the quick at the 
 thought. 
 
 Dick sat down on the arm of her chair., one hand 
 resting gently on the girl's shoulder. 
 
 "Don't cry, Tony," he begged. "I can't stand it. 
 You needn't have worried. There wasn't any 
 danger of anything like that happening. I care 
 too much to let you in for anything of that sort. 
 So does he for that matter. He saw it in a minute. 
 He really wouldn't want to da you any harm any- 
 way, Tony. Even I know that, and you must know 
 it better than I." 
 
 Tony put down her hands, looked at Dick. 
 "I suppose that is true," she sighed. "He does 
 love me, Dick." 
 
 "He does, Tony. I wish he didn't. And I wish 
 with all my heart I were sure you didn't love him." 
 Tony sighed again and her eyes fell. 
 "I wish I were sure, too," she faltered. 
 Dick winced at that. He had no answer. What 
 was there to say? 
 
 "I don't see why I should care. I don't see how 
 I can care after to-night. He is horrid in lots of 
 ways a cad just as you called him. I know 
 Larry would feel just as you do and hate to have 
 him come near me. Larry and I have almost quar- 
 reled about it now. He thinks Uncle Phil is all 
 wrong not to forbid my seeing Alan at all. But 
 Uncle Phil is too wise. He doesn't want to have 
 me marry Alan any mo*re than the rest of you do 
 but he knows if he fights it it would put me on the 
 other side in a minute and I'd do it, maybe, in spite 
 of everybody." 
 
 "Tony, you aren't engaged to him?" 
 She shook her^head.
 
 ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE 277 
 
 "Not exactly. I am afraid I might as well be 
 though. I said I didn't ever want to see him again, 
 but I didn't mean it. I shall want to see him again 
 by to-morrow. I always do no matter what he 
 does. I always shall I am afraid. It is like that 
 with me. I'm sorry, Dicky. I ought to have told 
 you that before. I've been horrid not to, I know. 
 Take me home now, please. I'm tired awfully 
 tired." 
 
 Going home in the cab neither spoke until just 
 as they were within a few blocks of the Hostelry 
 when Dick broke the silence. 
 
 "I am sorry all this had to happen to-night," 
 he said. "Because, well, I am going away to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "Going away! Dick! Where?" It was hor- 
 ribly selfish of her, Tony knew; but it didn't seem 
 as if she could bear to have Dick go. It seemed as 
 if the only thing that was stable in her reeling life 
 would be gone if he went. If he went she would 
 belong to Alan more and more. There would be 
 nothing to hold her back. She was afraid. She 
 clung to Dick. He alone of the whole city full of 
 human beings was a symbol of Holiday Hill. With 
 him gone it seemed to her as if she would be hope- 
 lessly adrift on perilous seas. 
 
 "To Mexico Vera Cruz, I believe," he answered 
 her question. 
 
 "Vera Cruz! Dick, you mustn't! It is awful 
 down there now. Everybody says so." He smiled 
 a little at that. 
 
 "It is because it is more or less awful that they 
 are sending me," he said. "Journalism isn't much 
 interested in placidity. A newspaper man has to 
 be where things are happening fast and plenty. If 
 things are hot down there so much the better. They 
 will sizzle more in the copy." 
 
 "Dick! I can't have you go. I can't bear it."
 
 278 WILD WINGS 
 
 Tony's hand crept into his. "Something dreadful 
 might happen to you," she wailed. 
 
 He pressed her hand, grateful for her real trouble 
 about him and for her caring. 
 
 "Oh no, dear. Nothing dreadful will happen to 
 me. You mustn't worry," he soothed. 
 
 "But I do. I shall. How can I help it? It is 
 just as if Larry or Ted were going. It scares me." 
 
 Dick drew away his hand suddenly. 
 
 "For heaven's sake, Tony, please don't tell me 
 again that I'm just like Larry and Ted to you. It 
 is bad enough to know it without your rubbing it 
 in all the time. I can't stand it not to-night." 
 
 "Dick!" Tony was startled, taken aback by his 
 tone. Dick rarely let himself go like that. 
 
 In a moment he was all contrition. 
 
 "Forgive me, Tony. I'm sorry I said that. I 
 ought to be thankful you care that much, and I am. 
 It is dear of you and I do appreciate it." 
 
 "Oh me !" sighed Tony. "Everything I do or say 
 is wrong. I wish I did care the other way for you, 
 Dicky dear. Truly I do. It would be so much 
 nicer and simpler than caring for Alan," she added 
 naively. 
 
 "Life isn't fixed nice and simple, Tony. At least 
 it never has been for me." 
 
 "Oh, Dick! Everything has been horribly hard 
 for you always, and I'm making it harder. I don't 
 want to, Dicky dear. You know I don't. It is just 
 that I can't help it." 
 
 "I know, Tony. You mustn't bother about me. 
 I'm all right. Will you tell me just one thing 
 though? If you hadn't cared for Massey no I 
 won't put it like that. If you had cared for me 
 would my not having- any name have made any 
 difference?" 
 
 "Of course it wouldn't have made any difference, 
 Dicky. What does a name matter? You are you
 
 ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE 279 
 
 and that is what I would care for do care for. 
 The rest doesn't matter. Besides, you are making 
 a. name for yourself." 
 
 "I am doing it under your name the one you 
 gave me." 
 
 "I am proud to have' it used that way. Why 
 wouldn't I be? It is honored. You have not only 
 lived up to it as you promised Uncle Phil. You 
 have made it stand for something fine. Your sto- 
 ries are splendid. You are going to be famous 
 and I Why, Dicky, just think, it will be my 
 name you will take on up to 1 the stars. Oh, we're 
 here," as the cab jolted to a halt in front of the 
 Hostelry. 
 
 The cabby flung open the door. Tony and Dick 
 stepped out, went up the steps. In a moment they 
 were alone in the dimly lit hall. 
 
 "Tony, would you mind letting me kiss you just 
 once as you would Larry or Ted if one of them were 
 going off on a long journey away from you?" 
 
 Dick's voice was humble, pleading. It touched 
 Tony deeply, and sent the quick tears welling up 
 into her eyes as she raised her face to his. 
 
 For a moment he held her close, kissed her on 
 the cheek and then released her. 
 
 "Good-by, Tony. Thank you and God bless you," 
 he said a little huskily as he let her go. 
 
 "Good-by, Dick." And then impulsively Tony 
 put up her lips and kissed him, the first time he 
 evr remembered a woman's lips touching his. 
 
 A second later the door closed upon him, shutting 
 him out in the night. He dismissed the cab driver 
 and walked blindly off, not knowing or caring in 
 what direction he went. It was hours before he 
 let himself into his lodging house. It seemed as 
 if he could have girdled the earth on the strength of 
 Tony Holiday's kiss. The next morning he was 
 off for Mexico.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE KALEIDOSCOPE REVOLVES 
 
 TONY slept late next morning and when she did 
 open her eyes they fell upon a huge florist box by 
 the door and a special delivery letter on top of it. 
 The maid had set the two in an hour ago and tip- 
 toed away lest she waken the weary little sleeper. 
 
 Tony got up and opened the box. Roses dozens 
 of them, worth the price of a month's wages to 
 many a worker in the city ! Frail, exquisite, shell- 
 pink beauties, with gold at their hearts! Tony 
 adored roses but she almost hated these because 
 it seemed to her Alan was bribing her forgiveness 
 by playing upon her worship of their beauty and 
 fragrance. 
 
 Still kneeling by the flowers she glanced at the 
 clock. Ten-thirty! Dick was already miles away 
 on his hateful journey, had gone sad and hopeless 
 because she loved Alan Massey. Why did it have 
 to be so? Why was love so perverse and unreason- 
 able a thing? Alan was not worthy to touch Dick's 
 hand, though in his arrogance he affected to despise 
 the other. But it was Alan she loved, not Dick. 
 There must be something wrong with her, dreadfully 
 wrong that it should be so. After last night there 
 could be no doubt of that. 
 
 She sat down on the floor, opened Alan's letter, 
 despised herself for letting its author's spell creep 
 over her anew with every word. It was an abject 
 plea for mercy, for forgiveness, for restoration to 
 favor. It had been a devil of jealousy that had 
 
 280
 
 THE KALEIDOSCOPE REVOLVES 281 
 
 possessed him, he had not known what he was do- 
 ing. Surely she must know that he would not will- 
 ingly harm or hurt or anger her in any way. He 
 loved her too much. Carson had behaved like a 
 man. Alan would apologize to him if the other 
 man would accept the apology. It was Tony really 
 who had driven him mad by being so much kinder 
 to the other than to himself. She must realize what 
 he was, not drive him too far. 
 
 "I am sending you roses," he ended. "Please 
 don't throw them away as you did the others. 
 Keep them and let them plead for me. And don't 
 ah Tony, don't ever, ever' say again what you said 
 last night, that you never wanted to see me 
 again! You don't mean it, I know. But don't 
 say it. It kills me to hear you. If you throw me 
 over I'll blow my brains out as sure as I am a liv- 
 ing man this moment. But you won't, you cannot, 
 Tony dearest. You will forgive me, stand by me, 
 rotten as I am. You are mine. You love me. 
 You won't push me down to Hell." 
 
 It was a cowardly letter Tony thought, a letter 
 calculated to frighten her, bring her to subjection 
 again as well as to gratify the writer's own Byronic 
 instinct for pose. He had behaved badly. He ac- 
 knowledged it but claimed forgiveness on the 
 grounds of love, his love for her which had been 
 goaded to mad jealousy by her thoughtless unkind- 
 ness, her love for him which would not desert him 
 no matter what he did. 
 
 But pose or not, Tony was obliged to admit 
 there was some truth in it all. Perhaps it was 
 all true-too true. Even if he did not resort to the 
 pistol as he threatened he would find other means 
 of slaying his soul if not his body if she forsook 
 him now. She could not do it. As he said she 
 loved him too well. She had gone too far in the 
 path to turn back now.
 
 282 WILD WINGS 
 
 Ah why, why had she let it go so far? Why had 
 she not listened to Dick, to Uncle Phil, to Carlotta, 
 even to Miss Lottie? They had all told her there 
 was no happiness for her in loving Alan Massey. 
 She knew it herself better than any of them could 
 possibly know it. And yet she had to go on, for 
 his sake, for her own because she loved him. 
 
 By this time she was no longer angry or resentful. 
 She was just sorry sorry for Alan sorry for 
 herself. She knew just as she had known all along 
 that last night's incident would not really make 
 any difference. It would be put away in time with 
 all the other things she had to forgive. She had 
 ea,ten her pomegranate seeds. She could not es- 
 cape the dark kingdom. She did not wish to. 
 
 Later came violets from Dick which she put in a 
 vase on her desk beside Uncle Phil's picture. But 
 it was the fragrance and color of Alan's roses that 
 filled the room, and presently she sat down and 
 wrote her ill-behaved lover a sweet, forgiving little 
 note. She was sorry if she had been unkind. She 
 had not meant to be. As for what happened it 
 was too late to worry about it now. They had best 
 forget it, if they could. He couldn't very well apol- 
 ogize to Dick in person because he was already on 
 his way to Mexico. There was no need of any 
 penance. Of course she forgave him, knew he had 
 not meant to hurt her, though he had horribly. If 
 he cared to do so he might take her to dinner to- 
 morrow night somewhere where they could dance. 
 And in conclusion she was always his, Tony Holi- 
 day. 
 
 Both Dick and Alan were driven out of her mind 
 later that day by the delightful and exciting in- 
 terview over the tea table with Carol Clay. Miss 
 Clay was a charming hostess, drew the girl out 
 without appearing to do so, got her to talk naturally 
 about many things, her life with her father at
 
 THE KALEIDOSCOPE REVOLVES 283 
 
 army barracks, and with her uncle on her beloved 
 Hill, of her friends and brothers, her college life, 
 of books and plays. Plays took them to the Kill- 
 arney Rose and once more Miss Clay expressed her 
 pleasure in the girl's rendering of one of her own 
 favorite roles. 
 
 "You acted as if you had been playing Rose all 
 your life," she added with a smile. 
 
 "Maybe I have,'' said Tony. "Rose is a good 
 deal like me. Maybe that is why I loved playing 
 her so." 
 
 "I shouldn't wonder. You are a real little 
 actress, my dear. I wonder if you are ready to pay 
 the price of it. It is bitterly hard work and it 
 means giving up half the things women care for." 
 
 The speaker's lovely eyes shadowed a little. 
 Tony wondered what Carol Clay had given up, 
 was giving up for her art to bring that look into 
 them. 
 
 "I am not afraid. I am willing to work. I love 
 it. And I I am willing to give up a good deal." 
 
 "Lovers?" smiled Miss Clay. 
 
 "Must I? I thought actresses always had lovers, 
 at least worshipers. Can't I keep the lovers, Miss 
 Clay?" There was a flash of mischief in Tony's 
 eyes as she asked the important question. 
 
 "Better stick to worshipers. Lovers are risky. 
 Husbands fatal." 
 
 Tony laughed outright at that. 
 
 "I am willing to postpone the fatality," she mur- 
 mured. 
 
 "I am glad to hear it for I lured you here to 
 take you into a deep-laid plot. I suppose you did 
 not suspect that it was Max Hempel who sent me 
 to see you play Rose?" 
 
 "Mr. Hempel? I thought he had forgotten 
 me." 
 
 "He never forgets any one in whom he is in-
 
 284 WILD WINGS 
 
 terested. He has had his eye on you ever since he 
 saw you play Rosalind. He told me when he came 
 back from that trip that I had a rival coming 
 on." 
 
 "Oh, no!" Tony objected even in jest to such 
 desecration. 
 
 "Oh, yes," smiled her hostess. "Max Hempel is a 
 brutally frank person. He never spares one the 
 truth, even the disagreeable truth. He has had his 
 eye out for a new ingenue for a long time. In- 
 genues do get old at least older you know." 
 
 "Not you," denied Tony. 
 
 "Even I, in time. I grant you not yet. It takes 
 a degree of age and sophistication to play youth 
 and innocence. We do it better as a rule at thirty 
 than at twenty. We are far enough away from 
 it to stand off and observe how it behaves and can 
 imitate it better than if we still had it. That is 
 one reason I was interested in your Rose last night. 
 You played like a little girl as Rose should. You 
 looked like a little girl. But you couldn't have 
 given it that delightfully sure touch if you hadn't 
 been a little bit grown up. Do you understand?" 
 
 Tony nodded. 
 
 "I think so. You see I am a little bit grown 
 up." 
 
 "Don't grow up any more. You are adorable as 
 you are. But to business. Have you seen my 
 Madge?" 
 
 "In the 'End of the Rainbow?' Yes, indeed. I 
 love it. You like the part too, don't you? You 
 play it as if you did." 
 
 "I do. I like it better than any I have had since 
 Rose. Did it occur to. you that you would like to 
 play Madge yourself?" 
 
 Tony blushed ingenuously. 
 
 "Well, yes, it did," she admitted half shyly. "Of 
 course, I knew I couldn't play it as you did. It
 
 THE KALEIDOSCOPE REVOLVES 285 
 
 takes years of experience and a real art like yours 
 to do it like that, but I did think I'd like to try it 
 and see what I could do." 
 
 Miss Clay nodded, well pleased. 
 
 "Of course you did. Why not? It is your kind 
 of a role, just as Rose is. You and I are the same 
 types. Mr. Hempel has said that all along, ever 
 since he saw your Rosalind. But I won't keep you 
 in suspense. The long and short of all this pre- 
 liminary is how would you like to be my under- 
 study for Madge?'' 
 
 "Oh, Miss Clay!" Tony gasped. "Do you think 
 I could?" 
 
 "I know you could, my dear. I knew it all the 
 time while I was watching you play Rose. Mr. 
 Hempel has known it even longer. I went to see 
 Rose to find out if there was a Madge in you. 
 There is. I told Mr. Hempel so this morning. He 
 is brewing his contracts now so be prepared. Will 
 you try it?" 
 
 "I'd love to if you and Mr. Hempel think I can. 
 I promised Uncle Phil I would take a year of the 
 school work though. Will I have to drop that?" 
 
 "I think so most of it at least. You would have 
 to be at the rehearsals usually which are in the 
 morning. You might have to play Madge quite 
 often then. There are reasons why I have to be 
 away a great deal just now." Again the shadow 
 darkened the star's eyes and a droop came to her 
 mouth. "It isn't even so impossible that you 
 would be called upon to play before the real Broad- 
 way audience in fact. Understudies sometimes do 
 you know." 
 
 Miss Clay was smiling now, but the shadow in 
 her eyes had not lifted Tony saw. 
 
 "I am particularly anxious to get a good under- 
 study started in immediately," the actress con- 
 tinued. "The one I had was impossible, did not
 
 286 WILD WINGS 
 
 get the spirit of the thing at all. It is absolutely 
 essential to have some one ready and at once. My 
 little daughter is in a sanitarium dying with an 
 incurable heart leakage. There will be a time 
 probably within the next two months when I shall 
 have to be away." 
 
 Tony put out her hand and let it rest upon the 
 other woman's. There was compassion in her 
 young eyes. 
 
 "I am so sorry," she said simply. "I didn't know 
 you had a daughter. Of course, I did know you 
 weren't really Miss Clay, that you were Mrs. Some- 
 body, but I didn't think of your having children. 
 Somehow we don't remember actresses may be 
 mothers too." 
 
 "The actresses remember it sometimes," said 
 Miss Clay with a tremulous little smile. "It isn't 
 easy to laugh when your heart is heavy, Miss Antoi- 
 nette. It is all I can do to go on with 'Madge' some- 
 times. I just have to forget make myself forget 
 I am a mother and a wife. Captain Carey, my 
 husband, is in the British Army. He is in Flanders 
 now, or was when I last heard." 
 
 "Oh, I don't see how you can do it play, I mean," 
 sighed Tony aghast at this new picture the 
 actress's words brought up. 
 
 "One learns, my dear. One has to. An actress 
 is two distinct persons. One of her belongs to the 
 public. The other is just a plain woman. Some- 
 times I feel as if I were far more the first than I 
 am the second. There wouldn't be any more con- 
 tracts if I were not. But never mind that. To 
 come back to you. Mr. Hempel will send you a 
 contract to-morrow. Will you sign it?" 
 
 "Yes, if Uncle Phil is willing. I'll wire him to- 
 night. I am almost positive he will say yes. He 
 is very reasonable and he will see what a wonderful,
 
 THE KALEIDOSCOPE REVOLVES 287 
 
 wonderful chance this is for me. I can't thank 
 you enough, Miss Clay. It all takes my breath 
 away. But I am grateful and so happy ; you can't 
 imagine it." 
 
 Miss Clay smiled and drew on her gloves. The 
 interview was over. 
 
 "There is really nothing to thank me for," she 
 said. "The favor is on the other side. It is I who 
 am lucky. The perfect understudy like a becoming 
 hat is hard to find, but when found is absolutely 
 beyond price. May I send you a pass for to-morrow 
 night io the 'End of the Rainbow'? Perhaps you 
 would like to see it again and play 'Madge' with 
 me from a box. The pass will admit two. Bring 
 one of the lovers if you like." 
 
 Tony wired her uncle that night. In the morn- 
 ing mail arrived Max Hempel's contract as Miss 
 Clay had promised. Tony regarded it with su- 
 perstitious awe. It was the first contract she had 
 ever seen in her life, much less had offered for her 
 signature. The terms were generous appallingly 
 so it seemed to the girl who knew little of such 
 things and was not inclined to over-rate her powers 
 financially speaking. She wisely took the contract 
 over to the school and got the manager's advice to 
 "Go ahead." 
 
 "We've nothing comparable to offer you, Miss 
 Tony. With Hempel and Miss Clay both behind 
 you you are practically made. You are a lucky 
 little lady. I know a dozen experienced actresses 
 in this city who would give their best cigarette 
 cases to be in your shoes." 
 
 Arrived home at the Hostelry, armed with this 
 approval, Tony found her Uncle's answering wire 
 bidding her do as she thought best and sending 
 heartiest love and congratulations. Dear Uncle 
 Phil!
 
 288 WILD WINGS 
 
 And then she sat down and signed the impressive 
 document that made her Carol Clay's understudy 
 and a real wage-earning person. 
 
 All the afternoon she spent in long, delicious, 
 dreamless slumber. At five she was wakened by 
 the maid bringing a letter from Alan, a wonderful, 
 extravagant lover-note such as only he could pen. 
 Later she bathed and dressed, donning the white 
 and silver gown she had worn the night when she 
 had first admitted to Alan in Carlotta's garden that 
 she loved him, first took his kisses. It was rather 
 a sacred little gown to Tony, sacred to Alan and 
 her own surrender to love. He called it her star- 
 light dress and loved it especially because it brought 
 out the springlike, virginal quality of her youth 
 and loveliness as her other more sophisticated gowns 
 did not. Tony wore it for Alan to-night, wanted 
 him to think her lovely, to love her immensely. 
 She wanted to taste all life's joy at once, have a 
 perfect deluge of happiness. Youth must be served. 
 
 Alan, grateful for being forgiven so easily, fell 
 in with her mood and was at his best, courtly, 
 considerate, adoring. He exerted all the magic of 
 his not inconsiderable charm to make Tony forget 
 that other unfortunate night when he had appeared 
 in other, less attractive colors. And Tony was 
 ready enough to forget beneath his worshiping 
 green eyes and under the spell of his wonderful 
 voice. She meant to shut out the unwelcome guests 
 of fear and doubt from her heart, let love alone 
 have sway. 
 
 They dined at a gorgeous restaurant in a great 
 hotel. Tony reveled in the splendor and richness 
 of the setting, delighted in the flawless service, the 
 perfection of the strange and delectable viands 
 which Alan ordered for their consumption. Partic- 
 ularly she delighted in Alan himself and the way 
 he fitted into the richness and luxury. It was his
 
 THE KALEIDOSCOPE REVOLVES 289 
 
 rightful setting. She could not imagine him in 
 any of the shabby restaurants where she and Dick 
 had often dined so contentedly. Alan was a born 
 aristocrat, patrician of the patricians. His looks, 
 his manner, everything about him betrayed it. 
 Most of all it was revealed in the way the waiters 
 scurried to do his bidding, bowed obsequiously 
 before him, recognized him as the authentic master, 
 lord of the purple. 
 
 "So Carson really has gone to Mexico," Alan 
 murmured as they dallied over their salads, looking 
 mostly into each other's eyes. 
 
 "Yes, he went yesterday. I hated to have him 
 go. It is awfully disagreeable and dangerous down 
 there they say. He might get a fever or get killed 
 or something." Tony absent-mindedly nibbling a 
 piece of roll already saw Dick in her mind's eye 
 the victim of an assassin's blade. 
 
 "No such luck!" thought Alan Massey bitterly. 
 The thought brought a flash of venom into his eyes 
 which Tony unluckily caught. 
 
 "Alan! Why do you hate Dick so? He never 
 did you any harm." 
 
 Tony Holiday did not know what outrageous 
 injury Dick had done his cousin, Alan Massey. 
 
 Alan was already suavely master of himself, the 
 venom expunged from his eyes. 
 
 "Why wouldn't I hate him, Antoinetta miaf 
 You are half in love with him." 
 
 "I am not," denied Tony indignantly. "He is 
 just like Lar ." She broke off abruptly, remem- 
 bering Dick's flare of resentment at that familiar 
 formula, remembering too the kiss she had given 
 him in the dimly-lit hall in the Hostelry, the kiss 
 which had not been precisely such a one as she 
 would have given Larry. 
 
 Alan's face darkened again. 
 
 "Oh, yes, you are. You are blushing."
 
 290 WILD WINGS 
 
 ""I am not." Then putting her hands up to her 
 face and feeling it warm she changed her tactics. 
 "Well, what, if I am? I do care a lot about Dick. 
 I found out the other night that I cared a whole lot 
 more than I knew. It isn't like caring for Larry 
 and Ted. It's different. For after all he isn't my 
 brother never was never will be. I'm a wretched 
 flirt, Alan. You know it as well as I do. I've let 
 Dick keep on loving me, knowing all the time I 
 didn't mean to marry him. And I'm not a bit sure 
 I am going to marry you either." 
 
 "Tony !" 
 
 <r Well, anyway not for a long, long time. I w T ant 
 to go on the stage. I can't put all of myself into 
 my work and give it to you at the same time. I 
 don't want to get married. I don't dare to. I don't 
 dare even let myself care too much. I want to be 
 free." 
 
 "You want to be loved." 
 
 "Of course. Every woman does." 
 
 Alan made an impatient gesture. 
 
 "I don't mean lip-worship. You are a woman, 
 not a piece of statuary. Come on now. Let's 
 dance." 
 
 They danced. In her lover's arms, their feet 
 keeping time to the syncopated, stirring rhythms 
 of the violins, their hearts beating to a mightier 
 harmony of nature's own brewing, Tony Holiday 
 was far from being a piece of statuary. She was 
 all woman, a woman very much alive and very 
 much in love. 
 
 Alan bent over her. 
 
 "Tony, belovedest. There are more things than 
 art in the world," he said softly. "Don't you know 
 it, feel it? There is life. And life is bigger than 
 your work or mine. We're both artists, but we'll 
 be bigger artists together. Marry me now. Don't 
 make me wait. Don't make yourself wait. You
 
 THE KALEIDOSCOPE REVOLVES 291 
 
 want it as much as I do. Say yes, sweetheart," he 
 implored. 
 
 Tony shook her head vehemently. She was 
 afraid. She knew that just now all her dreams of 
 success in her chosen art, all her love for the dear 
 ones at home were as nothing in comparison with 
 this greater thing which Alan called life and which 
 she felt surging mightily within her. But she also 
 knew that this way lay madness, disloyalty, regret. 
 She must be strong, strong for Alan as well as for 
 herself. 
 
 "Not yet," she whispered back. "Be patient, 
 Alan. I love you, dear. Wait." 
 
 The music came to an end. Many eyes followed 
 the two as they went back to their places at the 
 table. They were incomparable artists. It was 
 worth missing one's own dance to see them have 
 theirs. Aside from his wonderful dancing and 
 striking personality Alan was at all times a marked 
 figure, attracting attention wherever he went and 
 whatever he did. The public knew he had a super- 
 lative fortune which he spent magnificently as a 
 prince, and that he had a superlative gift which 
 for all they were aware he had flung wantonly 
 away as soon as the money came into his hands. 
 Moreover he was even more interesting because of 
 his superlatively bad reputation which still followed 
 him. The public would have found it hard to 
 believe that at last Alan Massey was leading the 
 most temperate and arduous of lives and devoting 
 himself exclusively to one woman whom he treated 
 as reverently as if she were a goddess. The gazes 
 focussed upon Alan now inevitably included 
 the girl with him, as lovely and young as spring 
 itself. 
 
 "Who was she?" they asked each other. "What 
 was a girl like that doing in Alan Massey's society?" 
 To* most of the observers it meant but one thing,
 
 292 WILD WINGS 
 
 eventually if not now. Even the most cynical and 
 world-hardened thought it a pity, and these would 
 have been confounded if they could have heard just 
 now his passionate plea for marriage. One did 
 not associate marriage with Alan Massey. One 
 had not associated it too much with his mother, 
 one recalled.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 TROUBLED WATERS 
 
 TED HOLIDAY drifted into Berry's to buy floral 
 offerings for the reigning goddess who chanced still 
 to be pretty Elsie Hathaway. Things had gone on 
 gayly since that night a month ago when he had 
 stolen that impudent kiss beneath the crescent 
 moon. Not that there was anything at all serious 
 about the affair. College coquettes must have 
 lovers, and Ted Holiday would not have been him- 
 self if there had not been a pretty sweetheart on 
 hand. 
 
 By this time Ted had far outdistanced the other 
 claimants for Elsie's favor. But the victory had 
 come high. His bank account was again sadly 
 humble in porportions and his bills at Berry's and 
 at the candy shops were things not to be looked 
 into too closely. Nevertheless he was in a gala 
 humor that November morning. Aside from 
 chronic financial complications things were going 
 very well with him. He was working just hard 
 enough to satisfy his newly-awakened common 
 sense or conscience, or whatever it was that was 
 operating. He was having a jolly good time with 
 Elsie and basket ball and other things and college 
 life didn't seem quite such a bore and burden as it 
 had hitherto. Moreover Uncle Phil had just writ- 
 ten that he would waive the ten dollar automobile 
 tax for December in consideration of the approach 
 of Christmas, possibly also in consideration of his 
 
 293
 
 294 WILD WINGS 
 
 nephew's fairly creditable showing on the new leaf 
 of the ledger though he did not say so. In any 
 case it was a jolly old world if anybody asked Ted 
 Holiday that morning as he entered Berry's. 
 
 He made straight for Madeline as he invariably 
 did. He was always friendly and gay and casual 
 with her, always careful to let no one suspect he 
 had ever known her any more intimately than at 
 present not because he cared on his own account 
 Ted Holiday was no snob. But because he had 
 sense to see it was better for Madeline herself. 
 
 He was genuinely sorry for the girl. He could 
 not help seeing how her despondency grew upon 
 her from week to week and that she appeared mis- 
 erably sick as well as unhappy. She looked worse 
 than usual to-day, he thought, white and heavy- 
 eyed and unmistakably heavy-hearted. It troubled 
 him to see her so. Ted had the kindest heart 
 in the world and alwaj r s wanted every one else to 
 be as blithely content with life as he was himself. 
 Accordingly now under cover of his purchase of 
 chrysanthemums for Elsie he managed to get in a 
 word in her ear. 
 
 "You look as if you needed cheering up a bit. 
 How about the movies to-night? Charlie's on. 
 He'll fix you."^ 
 
 "No, thank you, I couldn't." The girl's voice 
 was also prudently low, and she busied herself 
 with the flowers instead of looking at Ted as she 
 spoke. 
 
 "Why not?" he challenged, always impelled to 
 insistence by denial. 
 
 "Because I And then to Ted's consternation 
 the flowers flew out of her hands, scattering in all 
 directions, her face went chalky white and she fell 
 forward in a heavy faint in Ted Holiday's arms. 
 
 Ted got her to a chair, ordered another clerk to 
 get water and spirits of ammonia quick. His arm
 
 TROUBLED WATERS 295 
 
 was still around her when Patrick Berry strayed in 
 from the back room. Berry's eyes narrowed. He 
 looked the girl over from head to foot, surveyed Ted 
 Holiday also with sharp scrutiny and knitted 
 brows. The clerk returned with water and dashed 
 off for the ammonia as ordered. Madeline's eyes 
 opened slowly, meeting Ted's anxious blue ones as 
 he bent over her. 
 
 "Ted!" she gasped. "Oh, Ted!" 
 
 Her eyes closed again wearily. Berry's frown 
 deepened. His best customer had hitherto in his 
 hearing been invariably addressed by the girl as 
 Mr. Holiday. 
 
 In a moment Madeline's eyes opened again and 
 she almost pushed Ted away from her, shooting a 
 frightened, deprecating glance at her employer as 
 she did so. 
 
 "I I am all right now," she said, rising 
 unsteadily. 
 
 "You are nothing of the sort, Madeline," pro- 
 tested Ted, also forgetting caution in his concern. 
 "You are sick. I'll get a taxi and take you home. 
 Mr. Berry won't mind, will you Berry?" appealed 
 the best customer, completely unaware of the queer, 
 sharp look the florist was bending upon him. 
 
 "No, she'd better go," agreed Berry shortly. 
 "I'll call a cab." He walked over to the tele- 
 phone but paused, his hand on the receiver and 
 looked back at Ted. "Where does she live?" he 
 asked. "Do you know?" 
 
 "Forty-nine Cherry," returned Ted still uncon- 
 sciously revelatory. 
 
 The big Irishman got his number and called the 
 cab. The clerk came back with the ammonia and 
 vanished with it into the back room. Berry walked 
 over to where Ted stood. 
 
 "See here, Mr. Holiday," he said. "I don't often 
 go out of my way to give college boys advice. Ad-
 
 296 WILD WINGS 
 
 vice is about the one thing in the world nobody 
 wants. But I'm going to give you a bit. I like 
 you and I liked your brother before you. Here's 
 the advice. Stick to the campus. Don't get mixed 
 up with Cherry Street. You wanted the chry- 
 santhemums sent to Miss Hathaway, didn't you?" 
 
 "I did." There was a flash in Ted's blue eyes. 
 "Send 'em and send a dozen of your best roses to 
 Miss Madeline Taylor, forty-nine Cherry and mind 
 your business. There is the cab. Iteady, Mad- 
 eline?" As the girl appeared in the doorway with 
 her coat and hat on. "I'll take you home." 
 
 "Oh, no, indeed, it isn't at all necessary," 
 protested Madeline. "You have done quite enough 
 as it is, Mr. Holiday. You mustn't bother." The 
 speaker's tone was cool, almost cold and very form- 
 al. She did not know that Patrick Berry had heard 
 that very different, fervid, "Ted ! Oh, Ted !" if indeed 
 she knew it had ever passed her lips as she came 
 reluctantly back to the world of realities. 
 
 Ted held the door open for her. They passed 
 out. But a moment later when Berry peered out 
 the window he saw the cab going in one direction 
 and his best customer strolling off in the other and 
 nodded his satisfaction. 
 
 Sauntering along his nonchalant course, Madeline 
 Taylor already half forgotten, Ted Holiday came 
 face to face with old Doctor Hendricks, a rosy 
 cheeked, white bearded, twinkling eyed Santa Glaus 
 sort of person who had known his father and uncle 
 and brother and had pulled himself through various 
 minor itises and sprains. Seeing the doctor 
 reminded him of Madeline. 
 
 "Hello, Doc. Just the man I wanted to see. 
 Want a job?" 
 
 "Got more jobs than I can tend to now, young 
 man. Anything the matter with you? You look 
 as tough as a two year old rooster."
 
 TROUBLED WATERS 297 
 
 The old man's small, kindly, shrewd eyes scanned 
 the lad's face as he spoke. 
 
 "Smoking less, sleeping more, nerves steadier, 
 working harder, playing the devil lighter," he 
 summed up silently with satisfaction. "Good, he'll 
 come out a Holiday yet if we give him time." 
 
 "I am tough," Ted grinned back, all unconscious 
 that he had been diagnosed in that flitting instant 
 of time. "Never felt better in my life. Always 
 agrees with me to be in training." 
 
 The old doctor nodded. 
 
 "I know. You young idiots will mind your 
 coaches when you won't your fathers and your 
 doctors. What about the job?" 
 
 "There's a girl I know who works at Berry's 
 flower shop. I am afraid she is sick though she 
 won't see a doctor. She fainted away just now 
 while I was in the store, keeled over into my arms, 
 scared me half out of my wits. I'm worried about 
 her. I wish you would go and see her. She lives 
 down on Cherry Street." 
 
 "H-m !" The doctor's eyes studied the boy's face 
 again but with less complacency this time. Like 
 Patrick Berry he thought a young Holiday would 
 better stick to the campus, not run loose on Cherry 
 Street. 
 
 "Know the girl well?" he queried. 
 
 Ted hesitated, flushed, looked unmistakably em- 
 barrassed. 
 
 "Yes, rather," he admitted. "I ran round with 
 her quite a little the first of the summer. I got 
 her the job at Berry's. Her grandfather, a pious 
 old stick in the mud, turned her out of his house. 
 She had to do something to earn her living. I hope 
 she isn't going to be sick. It would be an awful 
 mess. She can't have much saved up. Go and see 
 her, will you, Doc? Forty-nine Cherry. Taylor 
 is the name."
 
 298 WILD WINGS 
 
 "H-m." The doctor made a note of these facts. 
 "All right, I'll go. But you had better keep away 
 from Cherry Street, young man. It is not the en- 
 vironment you belong in." 
 
 "Environment be blessed !" said Ted. "Don't 
 you begin on that sort of rot, please, Doc. Old Pat 
 Berry's just been giving me a lecture on the same 
 subject. You make me tired both of you. As if 
 the girls on Cherry Street weren't as good any day 
 as the ones on the campus, just because they work 
 in shops and stores and the girls on the campus 
 work us," he concluded with a grin. "I'm not an 
 infant that has to be kept in a Kiddie coop you 
 know." 
 
 "Look out you don't land in a chicken coop," 
 sniffed the doctor. "Very well, you young sinner. 
 Don't listen to me if you don't want to. I know I 
 might as well talk to the wind. You always were 
 open to all the fool germs going, Ted Holiday. 
 Some day you'll own the old Doc knew best." 
 
 "I wouldn't admit to being so hanged well up 
 on the chicken-roost proposition myself if I were 
 you," retorted Ted impudently. "So long. I'm 
 much obliged for your kind favors all but the moral 
 sentiments. You can have those back. You may 
 need 'em to use over again." 
 
 So Ted went on his way, dropped in to see Elsie, 
 had a cup of tea and innumerable small cakes, 
 enjoyed a foxtrot to phonograph music with the 
 rug rolled up out of the way, conversed amicably 
 with the Ancient History Prof, himself, who wasn't 
 such a bad sort as Profs go and had the merit of 
 being one of the few instructors who had not flunked 
 Ted Holiday in his course the previous year. 
 
 The next morning Ted found a letter from Doctor 
 Hendricks in his mail which he opened with some 
 curiosity wondering what the old Doc could have 
 to say. He read the communication through in
 
 TROUBLED WATERS 299 
 
 silence and tucking it in his pocket walked out of 
 the room as if he were in a dream, paying no atten- 
 tion to the question somebody called after him as he 
 went. He went on to his classes but he hardly 
 knew what was going on about him. His mind 
 seemed to have stopped dead like a stop watch with 
 the reading of the old doctor's letter. 
 
 He understood at last the full force of the trouble 
 which engulfed Madeline Taylor and why she had 
 said that it would have been better for her if that 
 mad joy ride with him had ended life for her. The 
 doctor had gone to her as he had promised and had 
 extracted the whole miserable story. It seemed 
 Madeline had married, or thought she had married, 
 Willis Hubbard against her grandfather's express 
 command, a few weeks after Ted had parted from 
 her in Holyoke. In less than two months Hubbard 
 had disappeared leaving behind him the ugly fact 
 that he already had one wife living in Kansas City 
 in spite of the pretense of a wedding ceremony 
 which he had gone through with Madeline. Long 
 since disillusioned but still having power and pride 
 to suffer intensely the latter found herself in the 
 tragic position of being a wife and yet no wife. In 
 her desperate plight she besought her grandfather's 
 clemency and forgiveness but that rigid old cove- 
 nanter had declared that even as she had made her 
 bed in willful disobedience to his command so she 
 should lie on it for all of him. 
 
 It was then that she had turned as a last resort 
 to Ted Holiday though always hoping against hope 
 that she could keep the real truth of her unhappy 
 situation from him. 
 
 "It is a bad affair from beginning to end," wrote 
 the doctor. "I'd like to break every rotten bone 
 in that scoundrel's body but he has taken mighty 
 good care to effect a complete disappearance. That 
 kind is never willing to foot the bills for their own
 
 300 WILD WINGS 
 
 villainy. I am telling you the story in order to 
 make it perfectly clear that you are to keep out of 
 the business from now on. You have burned your 
 fingers quite enough as it is I gather. Don't see 
 the girl. Don't write her. Don't telephone her. 
 Let her alone absolutely. Mind, these aren't polite 
 requests. They are orders. And if you don't obey 
 them I'll turn the whole thing over to your uncle 
 double quick and I don't think you want me to do 
 that. Don't worry about the girl. I'll look after 
 her now and later when she is likely to need me 
 more. But you keep hands off. That is flat the 
 girl's wish as well as my orders." 
 
 And this was what Ted Holiday had to carry 
 about with him all that bleak day and a half sleep- 
 less, uneasy night. And in the morning he was 
 summoned home to the House on the Hill. Granny 
 was dying.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 IN DARK PLACES 
 
 THE House on the Hill was a strange place to 
 Tony and Ted those November days, stranger than 
 to the others who had walked day by day with the 
 sense *of the approaching shadow always with them. 
 Death itself was an awesome and unaccustomed 
 thing to them. They did not see how the others 
 bore it so well, took it all so calmly. To make 
 matters worse, Uncle Phil who never failed any one 
 was stricken down with a bad case of influenza and 
 was unable to leave his bed. This of course made 
 Margery also practically hors de combat. The 
 little folks spent most of their time across the street 
 in motherly Mrs. Lambert's care. Upon Ned 
 Holiday's children rested the chief burden of the 
 hour. 
 
 Granny was rarely conscious and all three of her 
 grandchildren coveted the sad privilege of being 
 near her when these brief moments of lucidity came 
 though Tony and Ted could not stand long periods 
 of watching beside the still form as Larry could and 
 did. It was Larry that she most often recognized. 
 Sometimes though he was his father to her and she 
 called him "Ned" in such tones of yearning tender- 
 ness that it nearly broke down his self control. 
 Sometimes too he was Philip to .her and this also 
 was bitterly hard for Larry missed his uncle's 
 support woefully in this dark hour. Ruth, Granny 
 seemed to know, oftener indeed, than she did Tony 
 
 301
 
 302 WILD WINGS 
 
 to the latter's keen grief though she acknowledged 
 the justice of the stab. For she had gone her self- 
 ish way leaving the stranger to play the loving 
 granddaughter's part. 
 
 One night w^hen the nurse was resting and Larry 
 too had flung himself upon the couch in the living 
 room to snatch a little much needed relaxation, 
 leaving Ruth in charge of the sickroom, Ted drifted 
 in and demanded to take his turn at the watch, 
 giving Ruth a chance to sleep. She demurred at 
 first, knowing how hard these vigils were for the 
 restless, unhappy lad. But seeing he was really in 
 earnest she yielded. As she passed out of the room 
 her hand rested for a moment on the boy's bowed 
 head. She had come to care a great deal for sunny, 
 kind-hearted Teddy, loved him for himself and 
 because she knew he loved Larry with deep devotion. 
 
 He looked up with a faint smile and gave her 
 hand a squeeze. 
 
 "You are a darling, Ruthie," he murmured. 
 "Don't know what we would ever do without you." 
 
 And then he was alone with death and his own 
 somber thoughts. He could not get away from the 
 memory of Madeline, could not help feeling with a 
 terrible weight of responsibility that he was more 
 than a little to blame for her plight. Whether he 
 liked to think it or not he couldn't help knowing 
 that the whole thing had started with that foolish 
 joy ride with himself. Madeline had never risked 
 her grandfather's displeasure till she risked it for 
 him. She had never gone anywhere with Hubbard 
 till she went because she was bitterly angry with 
 himself because he had not kept his promise a 
 promise w r hich never should have been made in the 
 first place. And if he had not gone to Holyoke, 
 hadn't behaved like an idiot that last night, hadn't 
 deserted her like a selfish cad to save his own pre- 
 cious self if none of these things had happened
 
 IN DARK PLACES 303 
 
 would Madeline still have gone to Hubbard? 
 Perhaps. But in his heart Ted Holiday had a hate- 
 ful conviction that she would not, that her wretched- 
 ness now was indirectly if not directly chargeable 
 to his own folly. It was terrible that such little 
 things should have such tremendous consequences 
 but there it was. 
 
 All his life Ted Holiday had evaded responsibility 
 and had found self extenuation the easiest thing in 
 the world. But somehow all at once he seemed to 
 have lost the power of letting himself off. He had 
 no plea to offer even to himself except "guilty." 
 Was he going to do as Doctor Hendricks commanded 
 and let Madeline pay the price of her own folly 
 alone or was he going to pay with her? The night 
 was full of the question. 
 
 The quiet figure on the bed stirred. Instantly 
 the boy had forgotten himself, remembered only 
 Granny. 
 
 He bent over her. 
 
 "Granny, don't you know me? It's Teddy," he 
 pleaded. 
 
 The white lips quivered into a faint smile. The 
 frail hand on the cover lid groped vaguely for his. 
 
 "I know Teddy," the lips formed slowly with an 
 effort. 
 
 Ted kissed her, tears in his eyes. 
 
 "Be a man, dear," the lips breathed softly. 
 "Be ' and Granny was off again to a world of 
 unconsciousness from which she had returned a 
 moment to give her message to the grief stricken 
 lad by her side. 
 
 To Ted in his overwrought condition the words 
 were almost like a voice from heaven, a sacred 
 command. To be a man meant to face the hardest 
 thing he had ever had to face in his life. It meant 
 marrying Madeline Taylor, not leaving her like a 
 coward to pay by herself for something which he
 
 304 WILD WINGS 
 
 himself had helped to start. He rose softly and 
 went to the window, staring out into the night. A 
 few moments later he turned back wearing a strange 
 uplifted sort of look, a look perhaps such as 
 Percival bore when he beheld the Grail. 
 
 Strange forces were at work in the House on the 
 Hill that night. Ruth had gone to her room to rest 
 as Ted bade her but she had not slept in spite of 
 her intense weariness. She had almost lost the 
 way of sleep latterly. She was always so afraid 
 of not being near when Larry needed her. The 
 night watches they had shared so often now had 
 brought them very, very close to each other, made 
 their love a very sacred as well as very strong thing. 
 
 Euth knew that the timei was near now when she 
 would have to go away from the Hill. After 
 Granny went there would be no excuse for staying 
 on. If she did not go Larry would. Ruth knew 
 that very well and did not intend the latter should 
 happen. 
 
 She had laid her plans well. She would go and 
 take a secretarial course somewhere. She had 
 made inquiries and found that there was always 
 demand for secretaries and that the training did 
 not take so long as other professional education did. 
 She could sell her rings and live on the money 
 they brought her until she was self supporting. 
 She did not want to dispose of her pearls if she 
 could help it. She wanted to hold on to them as 
 the link to her lost past. Yes, she would leave the 
 Hill. It was quite the right thing to do. 
 
 But oh, what a hard thing it was ! She did not 
 see how she was ever going to face life alone under 
 such hard, queer conditions without Doctor Philip, 
 without dear Mrs. Margery and the children, with- 
 out Larry, especially without Larry. For that 
 matter what would Larry do without her? He 
 needed her so, loved her so much. Poor Larry!
 
 SHE WENT OVER AND LAID A HAND ON THE BOWED HEAD."
 
 IN DARK PLACES 305 
 
 And suddenly Ruth sat up in bed. As clearly 
 as if he had been in the room with her she heard 
 Larry's voice calling to her. She sprang up and 
 threw a dark blue satin negligee around her, went 
 out of the room, down the stairs, seeming to know 
 by an infallible instinct where her lover was. 
 
 On the threshold of the living room she paused. 
 Larry was pacing the floor nervously, his face drawn 
 and gray in the dim light of the flickering gas. 
 Seeing her he made a swift stride in her direction, 
 took both her hands in his. 
 
 "Ruth, why did you come?" There was an odd 
 tension in his voice. 
 
 "You called me, didn't you? I thought you did." 
 Her eyes were wondering. "I heard you say 'Ruth' 
 as plain as anything." 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "No, I didn't call you out loud. Maybe I did 
 with my heart though. I wanted you so." 
 
 He dropped her hands as abruptly as he had 
 taken them. 
 
 "Ruth, I've got to marry you. I can't go on like 
 this. I've tried to fight it, to be patient and hang 
 on to myself as Uncle Phil wanted me to. But I 
 can't go on. I'm done." 
 
 He flung himself into a chair. His head went 
 down on the table. The clock ticked quietly on 
 the mantel. What was Death upstairs to Time? 
 What were Youth and Love and Grief down here? 
 These things were merely eddies in the great tide 
 of Eternity. 
 
 For a moment Ruth stood very still. Then she 
 went over and laid a hand on the bowed head, the 
 hand that wore the wedding ring. 
 
 "Larry, Larry dear," she said softly. "Don't 
 give up like that. It breaks my heart." There 
 was a faint tremor in her voice, a hint of tears not 
 far off.
 
 306 WILD WINGS 
 
 He lifted his head, the strain of his long self 
 mastering wearing thin almost to the breaking point 
 at last, for once all but at the mercy of the dominant 
 emotion which possessed him, his love for the girl 
 at his side who stood so close he could feel her 
 breathing, got the faint violet fragrance of her. 
 And yet he must not so much as touch her hand. 
 
 The clock struck three, solemn, inexorable strokes. 
 Ruth and Larry and the clock seemed the only 
 living things in the quiet house. Larry brushed 
 his hand over his eyes, got to his feet. 
 
 "Ruth, will you marry me?" 
 
 "Yes, Larry." 
 
 The shock of her quiet consent brought Larry 
 back a little to realities. 
 
 "Wait, Ruth. Don't agree too soon. Do you 
 realize what it means to marry me? You may be 
 married already. Your husband may return and 
 find you living illegally with me." 
 
 "I know," said Ruth steadily. "There must be 
 something wrong with me, Larry. I can't seem to 
 care. I can't seem to make myself feel as if I 
 belonged to any one else except to you. I don't 
 think I do belong to any one else. I was born over 
 in the wreck. I was born yours. You saved me. 
 I would have died if you hadn't gotten me out 
 from under the beams and worked over and brought 
 me back to life when everybody else gave me up 
 as dead. I wouldn't have been alive for my husband 
 if you hadn't saved me. I am yours, Larry. If 
 you want me to marry you I will. If you want 
 me any way I am yours. I love you." 
 
 "Ruth !" 
 
 Larry drew her into his arms and kissed her 
 the first time he had ever kissed any girl in his life 
 except his sister. She lay in his arms, her fragrant 
 pale gold hair brushing his cheek. He kissed her 
 over and over passionately, alinostly roughly in the
 
 IN DARK PLACES 307 
 
 storm of his emotion suddenly unpent. Then he 
 was Larry Holiday again. He pushed her gently 
 from him, remorse in his gray eyes. 
 
 "Forgive me, Kuth. It's all wrong. I'm all 
 wrong. We can't do it. I shouldn't have kissed 
 you. I shouldn't have touched you shouldn't 
 have let you come to me like this. You must go 
 now, dear. I am sorry." 
 
 Ruth faced him in silence a moment then bowed 
 her head, turned and walked away to the door 
 meekly like a chidden child. Her loosened hair 
 fell like a golden shower over her shoulders. It 
 was "all Larry could do to keep from going after 
 her, taking her in his arms again. But he stood 
 grimly planted by the table, gripping its edge as if 
 to keep himself anchored. He dared not stir one 
 inch toward that childish figure in the dark robe. 
 
 On the threshold Ruth turned, flung back her 
 hair and looked back at him. There was a kind of 
 fearless exaltation and pride on her lovely young 
 face and in her shining eyes. 
 
 "I don't know whether you are right or wrong, 
 Larry, or rather when you are right and when you 
 are wrong. It is all mixed up. It seems as if it 
 must be right to care or we wouldn't be doing it so 
 hard, as if God couldn't let us love like this if he 
 didn't mean we should be happy together, belong 
 to each other. Why should He make love if He 
 didn't want lovers to be happy?" 
 
 It was an argument as old as the garden of Eden 
 but to Ruth and Larry it was as if it were being 
 pronounced for the first time for themselves, here 
 in the dead of night, in the old House on the Hill, 
 as they felt themselves drawn to each other by the 
 all but irresistible impulse of their mutual love. 
 
 "Maybe," went on Ruth, "I forgot my morals 
 along with the rest I forgot. I don't seem to care 
 very much about right and wrong to-night. You
 
 308 WILD WINGS 
 
 called me. I heard you and I came. I am here." 
 Her lovely, proud little head was thrown back, her 
 eyes still shining with that fearless elation. 
 
 "Kuth! Don't, dear. You don't know what 
 you are saying. I've got to care about right and 
 wrong for both of us. Please go. I I can't stand 
 it." 
 
 He left his post by the table then came forward 
 and held open the door for her. She passed out, 
 went up the stairs, her hair falling in a wave 
 of gold down to her waist. She did not turn 
 back. 
 
 Larry waited at the foot of the stairs until he 
 heard the door of her room close upon her and then 
 he too went up, to Granny's room. Ted met him 
 at the threshold in a panic of fear and grief. 
 
 "Larry I think oh " and Ted bolted unable 
 to finish what he had begun to say or to linger on 
 that threshold of death. 
 
 The nurse was bending over Madame Holiday 
 forcing some brandy between the blue lips. Larry 
 was by the bedside in an instant. The nurse 
 stepped back with a sad little shake of the head. 
 There was nothing she could do and she knew it, 
 knew also there was nothing the young doctor could 
 do professionally. He knelt, chafed the cold hands. 
 The pale lips quivered a little, the glazed eyes 
 opened for a second. 
 
 "Ned Larry give Philip love " That was all. 
 The eyes closed. There was a little flutter of pass- 
 ing breath. Granny was gone. 
 
 It was two days after Granny's funeral. Ted had 
 .gone back to college. Tony would leave for New 
 York on the morrow. Life cannot wait on death. 
 It must go on its course as inevitably as a river 
 must go its way to the sea. 
 
 Yet to Tony it seemed sad and heartless that it 
 should be so. She was troubled by her selfishness,
 
 IN DARK PLACES 
 
 first to Granny living and now to Granny dead. 
 She said as much to her uncle sorrowfully. 
 
 "It isn't really heartless or unkind," he com- 
 forted her. "We have to go on with our work. 
 We can't lay it down or scamp it just because dear 
 Granny's work is done. It is no more wrong for 
 you to go back to your play than it is for me to go 
 back to my doctoring." 
 
 "I know," sighed Tony. "But I can't help feel- 
 ing remorseful. I had so much time and Granny 
 had so little and yet I wasn't willing to give her 
 even a little of mine. I would have if I had known 
 though. I knew I was selfish but I didn't know 
 how selfish. I wish you had told me, Uncle Phil. 
 Why didn't you? You told Kuth. You let her 
 help. Why wouldn't you let me?" she half 
 reproached. 
 
 "I tried to do what was best for us all. I wanted 
 to find a reason for keeping Kuth with us and I did 
 not think then and I don't think now that it was 
 right or necessary to keep you back for the little 
 comfort it could have brought to Granny. You 
 must not worry, dear child. The blame if there is 
 any is mine. I know you would have stayed if I 
 had let you." 
 
 Back in college Ted sorted out his personal letters 
 from the sheaf of bills. Among them was one from 
 Madeline Taylor, presumably the answer to the one 
 Ted had written her from the House on the Hill. 
 He stared at the envelope, dreading to open it. 
 He was too horribly afraid of what it might contain. 
 Suddenly he threw the letter down on the table 
 and his head went down on top of it. 
 
 "I can't do it," he groaned. "I can't. I won't. 
 It's too hard." 
 
 But in a moment his head popped up again 
 fiercely. 
 
 "Confound you!" he muttered. "You can and
 
 310 WILD WINGS 
 
 you will. You've got to. You've made your bed. 
 Now lie on it." And he opened the letter. 
 
 "I can't tell you," wrote the girl, "how your 
 letter touched ine. Don't think I don't understand 
 that it isn't because you love me or really want to 
 marry me that you are asking me to do it. It is 
 all the finer and more wonderful because you don't 
 and couldn't, ever. You had nothing to gain 
 everything to lose. Yet you offered it all as if it 
 were the most ordinary gift in the world instead 
 of the biggest. 
 
 "Of course, I can't let you sacrifice yourself like 
 that for me. Did you really think I would? I 
 wouldn't let you be dragged down into my life even 
 if you loved me which you don't. Some day you 
 will want to marry a girl not somebody like me 
 but your own kind and you can go to her clean 
 because you never hurt me, never did me anything 
 but good ever. You lifted me up always. But 
 there must have been something still stronger that 
 pulled me down. I couldn't stay up. I was never 
 your kind though I loved you just as much as if I 
 were. Forgive my saying it just this once. It 
 will be the last time. This is really good-by. 
 Thank you over and over for everything, 
 
 "Madeline." 
 
 A mist blurred Ted Holiday's eyes as he finished 
 the letter. He was free. The black winged vulture 
 thing which had hovered over him for days was 
 gone. By and by he would be thankful for his 
 deliverance but just now there was room only in 
 his chivalrous boy's heart for one overmastering 
 emotion, pity for the girl and her needlessly 
 wrecked life. What a hopeless mess the whole 
 thing was! And what could he do to help her 
 since she would not take what he had offered in all 
 sincerity? He must think out a way somehow.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 THE PEDIGREE OF PEARLS 
 
 "WHERE is Larry?" asked Doctor Holiday a few 
 days later coming into the dining room at supper- 
 timer "I haven't seen him all the afternoon." 
 
 Margery dropped into her chair with a tired little 
 sigh. 
 
 "There is a note from him at your place. I 
 think he has gone out of town. John told me he 
 took him to the three ten train." 
 
 "H-m!" mused the doctor. "Where is Ruth?" 
 he looked up to ask. 
 
 "Ruth went to Boston at noon. At least so 
 Bertha tells me." Bertha was the maid. "She 
 did not say good-by to me. I thought possibly she 
 had to you!" 
 
 Her husband shook his head, perplexed and 
 troubled. 
 
 "Dear Uncle Phil," ran Larry's message. 
 
 "Ruth has gone to Boston. She left a letter for 
 me saying good-by and asking me to say good-by 
 to the rest of you for her. Said she would write 
 as soon as she had an address and that no one was 
 to worry about her. She would be quite all right 
 and thought it was best not to bother us by telling 
 us about her plans until she was settled." 
 
 "Of course I am going after her. I don't know 
 where she is but I'll find her. I've got to, especially 
 as I was the one who drove her away. I broke my 
 promise to you. I did make love to her and asked 
 
 311
 
 312 WILD WINGS 
 
 her to marry me the night Granny died. She said 
 she would and then of course I said she couldn't 
 and we've not seen each other alone since so I don't 
 know what she thinks now. I don't know anything 
 except that I'm half crazy." 
 
 "I know it is horribly selfish to go off and leave 
 you like this when you need me ^specially. Please 
 forgive me. I'll be back as soon as I can or send 
 Ruth or we'll both come. And don't worry.. I'm 
 not going to do anything rash or wrong or anything 1 
 that will hurt you or Ruth. I am sorry about the 
 other night. I didn't mean to smash up like that." 
 
 The doctor handed the letter over to his wife. 
 
 "Why didn't he wait until he had her address? 
 How can he possibly find her in a city like Boston 
 with not the slightest thing to go on?" 
 
 Doctor Holiday smiled wearily. 
 
 "Wait! Do you see Larry waiting when Ruth 
 is out of his sight? My dear, don't you know 
 Larry is the maddest of the three when he gets 
 under way?" 
 
 "The maddest and the finest. Don't worry, Phil. 
 He is all right. He won't do anything rash just as 
 he tells you." 
 
 "You can't trust a man in love, especially a young 
 idiot who waited a full quarter century to get the 
 disease for the first time. But you are right. I'd 
 trust him anywhere, more rather than less because 
 of that confession of his. I've wondered that he 
 didn't break his promise long before this. He is 
 only human and his restraint has been pretty nearly 
 super-human. I don't believe he would have 
 smashed up now as he calls it if his nerves hadn't 
 been strained about to the limit by taking all the 
 responsibility for Granny at the end. It was 
 terrible for the poor lad." 
 
 "It was terrible for you too, Phil. Larry isn't 
 the only one who has suffered. I do wish those
 
 THE PEDIGREE OF PEARLS 313 
 
 foolish youngsters could have waited a little and 
 not thrown a new anxiety on you just now. But I 
 suppose we can't blame them under the cir- 
 cumstances. Isn't it strange, dear? Except for 
 the children sleeping up in the nursery you and I 
 are absolutely alone for the first time since I came 
 to the House on the Hill." 
 
 He nodded a little sadly. His father was gone 
 long since and now Granny too. And Ned's chil- 
 dren were all grown up, would perhaps none of 
 them ever come again in the old way. Their wings 
 were strong enough now to make strange flights. 
 "We've filled your life rather full, Margery 
 mine," he said. "I hope there are easier days 
 ahead." 
 
 "I don't want any happier ones," said Margery 
 as she slipped her hand into his. 
 
 The next few days were a perfect nightmare to 
 Larry. Naturally he found no trace of Ruth, did 
 not know indeed under what name she had chosen 
 to go. The city had swallowed her up and the 
 saddest part of it was she had wanted to be swal- 
 lowed, to get away from himself. She had gone 
 for his sake he knew, because he had told her he 
 could endure things no longer. She had taken him 
 at his word and vanished utterly. For all her 
 gentleness and docility Ruth had tremendous for- 
 titude. She had taken this hard, rash step alone in 
 the dark for love's sake, just as she was ready that 
 unforgettable night to take that rasher step with 
 him to marriage or something less than marriage 
 had he permitted it. She would have preferred to 
 marry him, not to bother with abstractions of right 
 and wrong, to take happiness as it offered but since 
 he would not have it so she had lost herself. 
 
 Despair, remorse, anxiety, loneliness held him 
 in thrall while he roamed the streets of the old city, 
 almost hopeless now of finding her but still dog-
 
 314 WILD WINGS 
 
 gedly persistent in his search. Another man under 
 such a strain of mind and body would have gone oil 
 a stupendous thought drowning carouse. Larry 
 Holiday had no such refuge in his misery. He 
 took it straight without recourse to anaesthetic of 
 any sort. And on the fourth day when he had 
 been about to give up in defeat and go home to the 
 Hill to wait for word of Ruth a crack of light 
 dawned. 
 
 Chancing to be strolling absent mindedly across 
 the Gardens he ran into a college classmate of his, 
 one Gary Eldridge, who shook his hand with crush- 
 ing grip and announced that it was a funny thing 
 Larry's bobbing up like that because he had been 
 hearing the latter's name pretty consecutively all 
 the previous afternoon on the lips of the daintiest 
 little blonde beauty it had been his luck to behold 
 in many a moon, a regular Greuze girl in fact, eyes 
 and all. 
 
 Naturally there was no escape for Eldridge after 
 that. Larry Holiday grabbed him firmly and 
 demanded to know if he had seen Ruth Annersley 
 and if he had and knew where she was to tell him 
 everything quick. It was important. 
 
 Considering Larry Holiday's haggard face and 
 tense voice Eldridge admitted the importance and 
 spun his yarn. No, he did not know where Ruth 
 Annersley was nor if the Greuze girl was Ruth 
 Annersley at all. He did know the person he meant 
 was in the possession of the famous Farringdou 
 pearls, a fact immensely interesting to Fitch and 
 Larrabee, the jewelers in whose employ he was. 
 
 "Your Ruth Annersley or Farringdon or whoever 
 she is brought the pearls in to our place yesterday 
 to have them appraised. You can bet we sat up 
 and took notice. We didn't know they had left 
 Australia but here they were right under our noses 
 absolutely unmistakable, one of the finest sets of
 
 THE PEDIGREE OF PEARLS 315 
 
 matched pearls in the world. You Holidays are 
 so hanged smart. I wonder it didn't occur to you 
 to bring 'em to us anyway. We're the boys that 
 can tell you who's who in the lapidary world. 
 Pearls have pedigrees, my dear fellow, quite as 
 faithfully recorded as those of prize pigs." 
 
 Larry thumped his cranium disgustedly. It did 
 seem ridiculous now that the very simple expedient 
 of going to the master jewelers for information had 
 not struck any of them. But it hadn't and that 
 was the end of it. He made Eldridge sit down in 
 the Gardens then and there however to tell him all 
 he knew about the pearls but first and most impor- 
 tant did the other have any idea where the owner 
 of the pearls was? He had none. The girl was 
 coming in again in a few days to hear the result of 
 a cable they had sent to Australia where the pearls 
 had been the last Larrabee and Fitch knew. She 
 had left no address. Eldridge rather thought she 
 hadn't cared to be found. Larry bit his lip at that 
 and groaned inwardly. He too was afraid it was 
 only too true, and it was all his fault. 
 
 This was the story of the pearls as his friend 
 briefly outlined it for Larry Holiday's benefit. The 
 Farringdon pearls had originally belonged to a 
 Lady Jane Farringdon of Farringdon Court, Eng- 
 land. They had been the gift of a rejected lover 
 who had gone to Africa to drown his disappointment 
 and had died there after having sent the pearls 
 home to the woman he had loved fruitlessly and 
 who was by this time the wife of another man, her 
 distant cousin Sir James Farringdon. At her 
 death Lady Jane had given the pearls to her oldest 
 son for his bride when he should have one. He 
 too had died however before he had attained to the 
 bride. The pearls went to his younger brother 
 Roderick a sheep raiser in Australia who had 
 amassed a fortune and discarded the title. The
 
 316 WILD WINGS 
 
 sheep raiser married an Australian girl and gave 
 her the pearls. They had two children, a girl and 
 a boy. Roderick was since deceased. Possibly his 
 wife also was dead. They had cabled to find out 
 details. But it looked as if the little blonde lady 
 who possessed the; pearls although she did not 
 know where she got them was in all probability the 
 daughter of Eoderick Farringdon, the granddaugh- 
 ter of the famous beauty, Lady Jane. She was 
 probably also a great heiress.. The sheep raiser and 
 his father-in-law had both been reported to be 
 wallowing in money. "Oh boy!" Eldridge had 
 ended significantly. 
 
 "But if Ruth is a person of so much importance 
 why did they let her travel so far alone with those 
 valuable pearls in her possession? Why haven't 
 they looked her up? I suppose she told you about 
 the wreck and the rest of it?" 
 
 "She did, sang the praises of the family of 
 Holiday in a thousand keys. Your advertisements 
 were all on the Annersley track you see and they 
 would all be out on the Farringdon one. The 
 paths didn't happen to cross I suppose." 
 
 "You don't know anything about Geoffrey 
 Annersley do you?" Larry asked anxiously. 
 
 "Not a thing. We are jewelers not detectives 
 or clairvoyants. It is only the pearls we are up on 
 and we've evidently slipped a cog on them. We 
 should have known when they came to the States 
 but we didn't." 
 
 "I'll cable the American consul at Australia my- 
 self. It's the first real clue we have had the rest 
 has been working in the dark. The first thing 
 -hough is to find Ruth." And Larry Holiday looked 
 so very determined and capable of doing any- 
 thing he set out to do that Gary Eldridge grinned a 
 little. 
 
 "Wonderful what falling in love will do for a
 
 THE PEDIGREE OF PEARLS 317 
 
 chap," he reflected. "Used to think old Larry was 
 rather a slow poke but he seems to have developed 
 into some whirlwind. Don't wonder considering 1 
 what a little peach the girl is. Hope the good Lord 
 has seen fit to recall Geoffrey Annersley to his 
 heaven if he really did marry her." 
 
 Aloud he promised to telephone Larry the mo- 
 ment the owner of the pearls crossed the threshold 
 of Larrabee and Fitch and to hold her by main 
 force if necessary until Larry could get there. In 
 the meantime he suggested that she had seem- 
 ed awfully interested in the Australia part of the 
 story and it was very possible she had gone to 
 the 
 
 "Library." Larry took the words out of his 
 mouth and bolted without any formality of fare- 
 well into the nearest subway entrance. 
 
 His friend gazed after him. 
 
 "And this is Larry Holiday who used to flee if 
 a skirt fluttered in his direction," he murmured. 
 "Ah well, it takes us differently. But it gets us 
 all sooner or later." 
 
 Larry's luck had turned at last. In the reading 
 room of the Public Library he discovered a familiar 
 blonde head bent over a book. He strode to the 
 secluded corner where she sat "reading up" on 
 Australia. 
 
 "Ruth !" Larry tried to speak quietly though 
 he felt like raising the echoes of the sacred scholarly 
 precincts. 
 
 The reader looked up startled, wondering. Her 
 face lit with quick delight. 
 
 "Larry, oh Larry, I'm finding myself," she whis- 
 pered breathlessly. 
 
 "I'm glad but I'm gladder that I'm finding 
 yourself. Come on outside sweetheart. I want to 
 shout. I can't whisper and I won't. I'll get us 
 both put out if you won't come peaceably."
 
 318 WILD WINGS 
 
 "I'll come," said Ruth meekly. 
 
 Outside in the corridor she raised blue eyes to 
 gray ones. 
 
 "I didn't mean you to find me yet," she sighed. 
 
 "So I should judge. I didn't think a mite of a 
 fairy girl like you could be so cruel. Some day 
 I'll exact full penance for all you've made me suffer 
 but just now we'll waive that and go over to the 
 Plaza and have a high tea and talk. But first I'm 
 going to kiss you. I don't care if people are look- 
 ing. All Boston can look if it likes. I'm going 
 to do it." 
 
 But it was only a scrub woman and not all 
 Boston who witnessed that kiss, and she paid no 
 attention to the performance. Even had she seen 
 it is hardly probable that she would have been 
 vastly startled at the sight. She was a very old 
 woman and more than likely she had seen such 
 sights before. Perhaps she had even been kissed 
 /by a man herself, once upon a time. We hope so. 
 
 The next day Larry and Ruth came home to the 
 Hill, radiantly happy and full of their strange 
 adventures. Ruth was wearing an immensely be- 
 coming new dark blue velvet suit, squirrel furs and 
 a new hat which to Margery's shrewd feminine eyes 
 betrayed a cost all out of proportion to its minute- 
 ness. She was looking exquisitely lovely in her 
 new finery. Scant wonder Larry could not keep 
 his eyes off of her. Margery and Philip were some- 
 thing in the same state. 
 
 "On the strength of my being an heiress maybe 
 Larry thought I might afford some new clothes," 
 Ruth confessed. "Of course he paid for them 
 temporarily," she had added with a charming blush 
 and a side long, deprecating glance at Doctor 
 Holiday, senior. She did not want him to dis- 
 approve of her for letting Larry buy her pretty 
 clothes nor blame Larry for doing it.
 
 THE PEDIGREE OF PEARLS 319 
 
 But he only laughed and remarked that he would 
 have gone shopping with her himself if he had any 
 idea the results would be so satisfactory. 
 
 It was only when he was alone with Margery 
 that he shook his head. 
 
 "Those crazy children behave as if everything 
 were quite all right and as if they could run right 
 out any minute and get married. She doesn't even 
 wear her ring any more and they both appear to 
 think the fact it presumably represents can be 
 disposed of as summarily." 
 
 "Let them alone," advised his wife. "They are 
 all right. It won't do them a bit of harm to let 
 themselves go a bit. Larry does his worshiping 
 with his eyes and maybe with his tongue when they 
 are alone. I don't blame him. She is a perfect 
 darling. And it is much better for him not to 
 pretend he doesn't care when we all know he does 
 tremendously. It was crushing it all back that 
 made him so miserable and smash up as he wrote 
 you. I don't believe he smashed very irretrievably 
 anyway. He is too much of a Holiday." 
 
 The doctor smiled a little grimly. 
 
 "You honor us, my dear. Even Holidays are 
 men !" 
 
 "Thank heaven," said Margery.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 THE FIERY FURNACE 
 
 A few days after the return of Larry and Ruth 
 to the Hill Doctor Holiday found among his mail 
 an official looking document bearing the seal of 
 the college which Ted attended and which was also 
 his own and Larry's alma mater. He opened it 
 carelessly supposing it to be an alumni appeal of 
 some sort but as his eyes ran down the typed sheet 
 his face grew grave and his lips set in a tight line. 
 The communication was from the president and 
 informed its recipient that his nephew Edward 
 Holiday was expelled from the college on the 
 confessed charge of gambling. 
 
 "We are particularly sorry to be obliged to take 
 this action," wrote the president, "inasmuch as 
 Edward has shown recently a marked improvement 
 both in class-room work and general conduct which 
 has gone far to eradicate the unfortunate impres- 
 sion made by the lawlessness of his earlier career. 
 But we cannot overlook so flagrant an offense and 
 are regretfully forced to make an example of the 
 offender. As you know gambling is strictly against 
 the rules of the institution and your nephew played 
 deliberately for high stakes as he admits and made 
 a considererable sum of money three hundred 
 dollars to be precise which he disposed of imme- 
 diately for what purpose he refuses to tell. Again 
 regretting," et cetera, et cetera, the letter closed. 
 
 But there was also a hand written postcript and 
 an enclosure. 
 
 The postcript ran as follows: 
 
 320
 
 THE FIERY FURNACE 321 
 
 "As a personal friend and not as the president 
 of the college I am sending on the enclosed which 
 may or may not be of importance. A young girl, 
 Madeline Taylor by name, of Florence, Massa- 
 chusetts, who has until recently been employed in 
 Berry's flower shop, was found dead this morning 
 with the gas jet fully turned on, the inference being 
 clearly suicide. A short time ago a servant from 
 the lodging house where the dead girl resided came 
 to me with a letter addressed to your nephew. It 
 seems Miss Taylor had given the girl the letter to 
 mail the previous evening and had indeed made a 
 considerable point of its being mailed. Neverthe- 
 less the girl had forgotten to do so and the next 
 day was too frightened to do it fearing the thing 
 might have some connection with the suicide. She 
 meant to give it to Ted in person but finding him 
 out decided at the last moment to deliver it to me 
 instead. I am sending the letter to you, as I re- 
 ceived it, unopened, and have not and shall not 
 mention the incident to any one else. I should 
 prefer and am sure that you will also wish that 
 your nephew's name shall not be associated in any 
 way with the dead girl's. Frankly I don't believe 
 the thing contains any dynamite whatever but I 
 would rather you handled the thing instead of my- 
 self. 
 
 "Believe me, my dear Holiday, I am heartily 
 sick and sorry over the whole matter of Ted's ex- 
 pulsion. If we had not had his own word for it I 
 should not have believed him guilty. Even now 
 I have a feeling that there was more behind the 
 thing than we got, something perhaps more to his 
 credit than he was willing to tell." 
 
 Philip Holiday picked up the enclosed letter 
 addressed to Ted and looked at it as dubiously as 
 if indeed it might have contained dynamite. The 
 scrawling handwriting was painfully familiar.
 
 322 WILD WINGS 
 
 And the mention of Florence as the dead girl's 
 home was disagreeably corroborating evidence. 
 What indeed was behind it all? 
 
 Steeling his will he tore open the sealed envelope. 
 Save for a folded slip of paper it was quite empty. 
 The folded slip was a check for three hundred 
 dollars made payable to Madeline Taylor and 
 signed with Ted Holiday's name. 
 
 Here was dynamite and to spare for Doctor 
 Holiday. Beside the uneasy questions this devel- 
 opment conjured the catastrophe of the boy's ex- 
 pulsion took second place. And yet he forced him- 
 self not to judge until he had heard Ted's own 
 story. What was love for if it could not find faith 
 in time of need? 
 
 He said nothing to any one, even his wife, of the 
 president's letter and that disconcerting check 
 which evidently represented the results of the boy's 
 law breaking. All day he looked for a letter from 
 Ted himself and hoped against hope that he would 
 appear in person. His anxiety grew as he heard 
 nothing. What had become of the boy? Where 
 had he betaken himself with his shame and 
 trouble? How grave was his trouble? It was 
 a bad day for Philip Holiday and a worse 
 night. 
 
 But the morning brought a letter from his 
 nephew, mailed ominously enough from a railway 
 post office in northern Vermont. The doctor tore it 
 open with hands that trembled a little. One thing 
 at least he was certain of. However bad the story 
 the lad had to tell it would be the truth. He could 
 count on that. 
 
 "Dear Uncle Phil '' it ran. "By the time you 
 get this I shall be over the border and enlisted, I 
 hope, with the Canadians. I am horribly sorry to 
 knife you like this and go off without saying good-by 
 and leaving such a mess behind but truly it is the
 
 THE FIERY FURNACE 323 
 
 best thing I could do for the rest of you as well as 
 myself. 
 
 "They will write you from college and tell you 
 I am fired for gambling. But they won't tell you 
 the whole story because they don't know it. I 
 couldn't tell them. It concerned somebody else be- 
 sides myself. But you have a right to know every- 
 thing and I am going to tell it to you and there 
 won't be anything shaved off or tacked on to save 
 my face either. It will be straight stuff on my 
 honor as a Holiday which means as much to me as 
 it does to you and Larry whether you believe it or 
 not." 
 
 Then followed a straightforward account of 
 events from the first ill-judged pick-up on the train 
 and the all but fatal joy ride to the equally ill- 
 judged kisses in Cousin Emma's garden. 
 
 "I hate like the mischief to put such things down 
 on paper," wrote the boy, "but I said I'd tell the 
 whole thing and I will, even if it does come out 
 hard, so you will know it isn't any worse than it 
 is. It is bad enough I'll admit, I hadn't any bus- 
 iness to make fool love to her when I really didn't 
 care a picayune. And I hadn't any business to be 
 there in Holyoke at all when you thought I was at 
 Hal's. I did go to Hal's but I only stayed two 
 days. The rest of the time I was with Madeline 
 and knew I was going to be when I left the Hill. 
 That part can't look any worse to you than it does 
 to me. It was a low-down trick to play on you 
 when you had been so white about the car and 
 everything. But I did it and I can't undo it. I 
 can only say I am sorry. I did try afterward to 
 make up a little bit by keeping my word about the 
 studying. Maybe you'll let that count a little on 
 the other side of the ledger. Lord knows I need 
 anything I can get there. It is little enough, more 
 shame to me!"
 
 324 WILD WINGS 
 
 Then followed the events of the immediately 
 preceding months from Madeline Taylor's arrival 
 in the college town on to the stunning revelation 
 of old Doctor Hendricks' letter. 
 
 "You don't know how the thing made me feel. 
 I couldn't help feeling more or less responsible. 
 For after all I did start the thing and though 
 Madeline was always too good a sport to blame 
 me I knew and I am sure she knew that she 
 wouldn't have taken up with Hubbard if I hadn't 
 left her in the lurch just when she had gotten to 
 care a whole lot too much for me. Besides I 
 couldn't help thinking what it would have been 
 like if Tony had been caught in a trap like that. 
 It didn't seem to me I could stand off and let her 
 go to smash alone though I could see Doc Hendricks 
 had common sense on his side when he ordered me 
 to keep out of the whole business. 
 
 "I had all this on my mind when I came home 
 that last time when Granny was dying. I had it 
 lodged in my head that it was up to me to 
 straighten things out by marrying Madeline myself 
 though I hated the idea like death and destruction 
 and I knew it would about kill the rest of you. 
 I wrote and asked her to marry me that night after 
 Granny went. She wouldn't do it. It wasn't 
 because she didn't love me either. I guess it was 
 rather because she did that she wouldn't. She 
 wouldn't pull me down in the quick sands with her. 
 Whatever you may think of what she was and did 
 you will have to admit that she was magnificent 
 about this. She might have saved herself at my 
 expense and she wouldn't. Remember that, Uncle 
 Phil, and don't judge her about the rest." 
 
 Doctor Holiday ceased reading a moment and 
 gazed into the fire. By the measure of his full 
 realization of what such a marriage would have 
 meant to his young nephew he paid homage to the
 
 THE FIERY FURNACE 325 
 
 girl in her fine courage in refusing to take advan- 
 tage of a chivalrous boy's impulsive generosity 
 even though it left her the terrible alternative which 
 later she had taken. And he thought with a tender 
 little smile that there was something also rather 
 magnificent about a lad who would offer himself 
 thus voluntarily and knowingly a living sacrifice 
 for "dear Honor's sake." He went back to the 
 letter. 
 
 "But I still felt I had to do something to help 
 though she wouldn't accept the way I first offered. 
 I knew she needed money badly as she wasn't able 
 to work and I wanted to give her some of mine. 
 I knew I had plenty or would have next spring 
 whe(n I came of age. But I was sure you wouldn't 
 let me have any of it now without knowing why and 
 Larry wouldn't lend me any either, sight unseen. 
 I wouldn't have blamed either of you for refusing. 
 I haven't deserved to be taken on trust. 
 
 "The only other way I knew of to get money 
 quick was to play for it. I have fool's luck always 
 at cards. Last year I played a lot for money. 
 Larry knew and rowed me like the devil for it last 
 spring. No wonder. He knew how Dad hated it. 
 So did I. I'd heard him rave on the subject often 
 enough. But I did it just the same as I did a good 
 many other things I am not very proud to remem- 
 ber now. But I haven't done it this year at least 
 only a few times. Once I played when I'd sent 
 Madeline all the money I had for her traveling 
 expenses and once or twice beside I did it on my 
 own account because I was so darned sick of toeing 
 a chalk mark I had to go on a tangent or bust. I 
 am not excusing it. I am not excusing anything. 
 I am just telling the truth. 
 
 "Anyhow the other night I played again in good 
 earnest. There were quite a number of fellows in 
 the game and we all got a bit excited and plunged
 
 326 WILD WINGS 
 
 more than we meant to especially myself and Ned 
 Delaney who was out to get me if he could. He 
 hates me like the seven year itch anyway because 
 I caught him cheating at cards once and said so 
 right out in meeting. I had absolutely incred- 
 ible luck. I guess the devil or the angels were on 
 my side. I swept everything, made about three 
 hundred dollars in all. The fellows paid up and I 
 banked the stuff and mailed Madeline a check for 
 the whole amount the first thing. I don't know 
 what would have happened if I had lost instead of 
 winning. I didn't think about that. A true 
 gambler never does I reckon. 
 
 "But I want to say right here and now, Uncle 
 Phil, that I am through with the business. The 
 other night sickened me of gambling for good and 
 all. Even Dad couldn't have hated it any more 
 than I do this minute. It is rotten for a man, kills 
 his nerves and his morals and his common sense. 
 I'm done. I'll never make another penny that way 
 as long as I live. But I'm not sorry I did it this 
 once no matter how hard I'm paying for it. If I 
 had it to do over again I'd do precisely the same 
 thing. I wonder if you can understand that, Uncle 
 Phil, or whether you'll think I'm just plain un- 
 regenerate. 
 
 "I thought then I was finished with the business 
 but as a matter of fact I was just starting on it. 
 Somebody turned state's evidence. I imagine it 
 was Delaney though I don't know. Anyhow some- 
 body wrote the president an anonymous letter 
 telling him there was a lot of gambling going on 
 and I was one of the worst offenders, and thought- 
 fully suggested the old boy should ask me how 
 much I made the other night and what I did with 
 it. Of course that finished me off. I was called 
 before the board and put through a holy inquisition. 
 Gee ! They piled up not only the gambling business
 
 THE FIERY FURNACE 327 
 
 but all the other things I'd done and left undone 
 for two years and a half and dumped the whole 
 avalanche on my head at once. Whew! It was 
 fierce. I am not saying I didn't deserve it. I did, 
 if not for this particular thing for a million other 
 times when I've gone scot-free. 
 
 "They tried to squeeze out of me who the other 
 men involved were but I wouldn't tell. I could 
 have had a neat little come back on Delaney if I 
 had chosen but I don't play the game that way and 
 I reckon he knew it and banked on my holding my 
 tongue. I'd rather stand alone and take what was 
 coming to me and I got it too good and plenty. 
 They tried to make me tell what I did with the 
 money. That riled me. It was none of their bus- 
 iness and I told 'em so. Anyway I couldn't have 
 told even if it would have done me any good on 
 Madeline's account. I wouldn't drag her into it. 
 
 "Finally they dismissed me and said they would 
 let me know later what they would do about my 
 case. But there wasn't any doubt in my mind what 
 they were going to do nor in theirs either, I'll bet. 
 I was damned. They had to fire me couldn't help 
 it when I was caught with the goods under their 
 very noses. I think a good many of them wished 
 I hadn't been caught, that they could have let me 
 off some way, particularly Prof. Hathaway. He 
 put out his hand and patted my shoulder when I 
 went out and I knew he was mighty sorry. He has 
 been awfully decent to me always especially since 
 I have been playing round with his daughter Elsie 
 this fall and I guess it made him feel bad to have 
 me turn out such a black sheep. I wished I could 
 tell him the whole story but I couldn't. I just had 
 to let him think it was as bad as it looked. 
 
 "I had hardly gotten back into the Frat house 
 when I was called to the telephone. It was Mad- 
 eline. She thanked me for sending her the money
 
 328 WILD WINGS 
 
 but said she was sending the check back as she 
 didn't need it, had found a way out of her dif- 
 ficulties. She was going on a long, long journey 
 in fact, and wouldn't see me again. Said she 
 wanted to say good-by and wish me all kinds of 
 luck and thank me for what she was pleased to 
 call my goodness to her. And then she hung up 
 before I could ask any questions or get it through 
 my head what she meant by her long, long journey. 
 My brain wasn't working very lively after what 
 I'd been through over there at the bbard meeting 
 anyway and I was too wrapped up in my own 
 troubles to bother much about hers at the moment, 
 selfish brute that I am. 
 
 "But the next morning I understood all right. 
 She had found her way out and no mistake, just 
 turned on the gas and let herself go. She was dead 
 when they found her. I don't blame her, Uncle 
 Phil. It was too hard for her. She couldn't go 
 through with it. Life had been too hard for her 
 from the beginning. She never had half a chance. 
 And in the end we killed her between us, her pious 
 old psalm singing hypocrite of a grandfather, the 
 rotter who ruined her, and myself, the prince of 
 fools. 
 
 "I went to see her with the old Doc. And, Uncle 
 Phil, she was beautiful. Not even Granny looked 
 more peaceful and happy than she did lying there 
 dead with the little smile on her lips as if she were 
 having a pleasant dream. But the scar was there 
 on her forehead the scar I put there. I've got a 
 scar of my own too. It doesn't show on the surface 
 but it is there for all that and always will be. I 
 shan't talk about it but I'll never forget as long 
 as I live that part of the debt she paid was mine. 
 It is mea culpa for me always so far as she is 
 concerned. 
 
 "Her grandfather arrived while I was there. If
 
 THE FIERY FURNACE 329 
 
 ever there was a man broken, mind and body and 
 spirit he was. I couldn't help feeling sorry for 
 him. Of the two I would much rather have been 
 Madeline lying there dead than that poor old chap 
 living with her death on his conscience. 
 
 "Later I got my official notice from the board. I 
 was fired. I wanted to get out of college. I'm 
 out for better or worse. Uncle Phil, don't think 
 I don't care. I know how terribly you are going 
 to be hurt and that it will be just about the finish 
 of poor old Larry. I am not very proud of it my- 
 self being catapulted out in disgrace where the 
 rest of you left trailing clouds of glory. It isn't 
 only what I have done just now. It is all the things 
 I have done and haven't done before that has 
 smashed me in the end my fool attitude of have a 
 good time and damn the expense. I didn't pay at 
 the time. I am paying now compound interest 
 accumulated. Worst of it is the rest of you will 
 have to pay with me. You told me once we couldn't 
 live to ourselves alone. I didn't understand then. 
 I do now. I am guilty but you have to suffer with 
 me for my mistakes. It is that that hurts worst 
 of all. 
 
 "You have been wonderful to me always, had 
 oceans of patience when I disappointed you and 
 hurt you and worried you over and over again. 
 And now here is this last, worst thing of all to 
 forgive. Can you do it, Uncle Phil? Please try. 
 And please don't worry about me, nor let the others. 
 I'll come through all right. And if I don't I am 
 not afraid of death. I have found out there are 
 lots of worse things in the world. I haven't any 
 pipe dreams about coming out a hero of any sort 
 but I do mean to come out the kind of a man you 
 won't be ashamed of and to try my darnedest to 
 live up a little bit to the Holiday specifications. 
 Again, dear Uncle Phil, please forgive me if you
 
 330 WILD WINGS 
 
 can and write as soon as I can send an address." 
 Then a brief postcript. "The check Madeline 
 sent back never got to me. If it is forwarded to 
 the Hill please send it or rather its equivalent to 
 the president. I wouldn't touch the money with a 
 ten foot pole. I never wanted it for myself but 
 only for Madeline and she is beyond needing any- 
 thing any of us can give her now."
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 THE MOVING FINGER CONTINUES TO WRITE 
 
 HAVING read and reread the boy's letter Doctor 
 Holiday sat long with it in his hand staring into 
 the fire. Poor Teddy for whom life had hitherto 
 been one grand and glorious festival ! He was get- 
 ting the other, the seamy side of things, at last 
 with a vengeance. Knowing with the sure intui- 
 tion of love how deeply the boy was suffering and 
 how sincerely he repented his blunders the doctor 
 felt far more compassion than condemnation for 
 his nephew. The fineness and the folly of the thing 
 were so inextricably confused that there was little 
 use trying to separate the two even if he had cared 
 to judge the lad which he did not, being content 
 with the boy's own judgment of himself. Bad as the 
 gambling business was and deeply as he regretted 
 the expulsion from college the doctor could not help 
 seeing that there was some extenuation for Ted's 
 conduct, that he had in the main kept faith with 
 himself, paid generously, far more than he owed, 
 and traveling through the fiery furnace had some- 
 how managed to come out unscathed, his soul intact. 
 After all could one ask much more? 
 
 It was considerably harder for Larry to accept 
 the situation philosophically than it was for the 
 senior doctor's more tolerant and mature mind. 
 Larry loved Ted as he loved no one else in the 
 world not perhaps even excepting Ruth. But he 
 loved the Holiday name too with a fine, high pride 
 
 331
 
 332 WILD WINGS 
 
 and it was a bitter dose to swallow to have his 
 younger brother "catapulted in disgrace," as Ted 
 himself put it, out of the college which he himself 
 so loved and honored. He was inclined to resent 
 what looked in retrospect as entirely unnecessary 
 and uncalled for generosity on Ted's part. 
 
 "Nobody but Ted would ever have thought of 
 doing such a fool thing," he groaned. "Why didn't 
 he pull out in the first place as Hendricks wanted 
 him to? He would have been entirely justified." 
 
 But the older man smiled and shook his head. 
 
 "Some people could have done it, not Ted," he 
 said. "Ted isn't built that way. He never deserted 
 anybody in trouble in his life. I don't believe he 
 ever will. We can't expect him to have behaved 
 differently in this one affair just because we would 
 have liked it better so. I am not sure but we 
 would be wrong and he right in any case." 
 
 "Maybe. But it is a horrible mess. I can't get 
 over the injustice of the poor kid's paying so hard 
 when he was just trying to do the decent, hard, 
 right thing." 
 
 " You have it less straight than Ted has, Larry. 
 He knows he is paying not for what he did and 
 thought right but for what he did and knew was 
 wrong. You can't feel worse than I do about it. 
 I would give anything I have to save Ted from the 
 torture he is going through, has been going through 
 alone for days. But I would rather he learned his 
 lesson thoroughly now, suffering more than he 
 deserves than have him suffer too little and fall 
 worse next time. No matter how badly we feel 
 for him I think it is up to us not to try to dilute 
 his penitence and to leave a generous share of the 
 blame where he puts it himself on his own 
 shoulders." 
 
 "I suppose you are right, Uncle Phil," sighed 
 Larry. "You usually are. But it's like having a
 
 MOVING FINGER CONTINUES TO WRITE 333 
 
 piece taken right out of me to have him go off like 
 that. And the Canadians are the very devil of 
 fighters. Always in the thick of things." 
 
 "That is where Ted would want to be, Larry. 
 Let us not cross that bridge until we have to. As 
 he says himself there are worse things than death 
 anyway." 
 
 "I know. Marrying the girl would have been 
 worse. She was rather magnificent, wasn't she, 
 just as he says, not saving herself when she might 
 have at his expense?" 
 
 "I think she was. I am almost glad the poor 
 child is where she can suffer no more at the hands 
 of men." 
 
 The next day came a wire from Ted announcing 
 his acceptance in the Canadian army and giving his 
 address in the training camp'. 
 
 The doctor answered at once, writing a long, 
 cheerful letter full of home news especially the in- 
 teresting developments in Ruth's romantic story. 
 It was only at the end that he referred to the big 
 thing that had to be faced between them. 
 
 "I am not going to say a word that will add in 
 any way to the burden you are already carrying, 
 Teddy, my lad. You know how sadly disappointed 
 we all are in your having to leave college this way 
 but I understand and sympathize fully with your 
 reasons for doing what you did. Even though I 
 can't approve of the thing itself. I haven't a single 
 reproach to offer. You have had a harsh lesson. 
 Learn it so well that you will never bring yourself 
 or the rest of us to such pain and shame again. 
 Keep your scar. I should be sorry to think you 
 were so callous that you could pass through an 
 experience like that without carrying off an in- 
 delible mark from it. But it isn't going to ruin 
 your life. On the contrary it is going to make a 
 man of you, is doing that already if I may judge
 
 334 WILD WINGS 
 
 from the spirit of your letter which goes far to 
 atone for the rest. The forgiveness is yours always, 
 son, seventy times seven if need be. Never doubt 
 it. We shall miss you very much. I wonder if 
 you know how dear to us you are, Teddy lad. But 
 we aren't going to borrow trouble of the future. 
 We shall say instead God speed. May he watch 
 over you wherever you are and bring you safe back 
 to us in His good time!" 
 
 And Ted reading the letter later in the Canadian 
 training camp was not ashamed of the tears that 
 came stinging up in his eyes. He was woefully 
 homesick, wanted the home people, especially Uncle 
 Phil desperately. But the message from the Hill 
 brought strength and comfort as well as heart ache. 
 
 "Dear Uncle Phil," he thought. "I will make it 
 up to him somehow. I will. He shan't ever have 
 to be ashamed of me again." 
 
 And so Ted Holiday girded on manhood along 
 with his khaki and his Sam Browne belt and started 
 bravely up out of the pit which his own willful 
 folly had dug for him. 
 
 Tony was not told the full story of her brother's 
 fiasco. She only knew that he had left college for 
 some reason or other and had taken French leave 
 for the Canadian training camp. She was relieved 
 to discover that even in Larry's stern eyes the 
 escapade, whatever it was, had not apparently been 
 a very damaging one and accepted thankfully her 
 uncle's assurance that there was nothing at all to 
 worry about and that Ted was no doubt very much 
 better off where he was than if he had stayed in 
 college. 
 
 As for the going to war part small blame had 
 she for Ted in that. She knew well it was precisely 
 what she would have done herself in his case and 
 teemed with pride in her bonny, reckless, beloved 
 soldier brother.
 
 MOVING FINGER CONTINUES TO WRITE 335 
 
 She had small time to think much about any- 
 body's affairs beside her own just now. Any day 
 now might come the word that little Cecilia had 
 gone and that Tony Holiday would take her place 
 on the Broadway stage as a re'al star if only for 
 a brief space of twinkling. 
 
 She saw very little even of Alan. He was 
 tremendously busy and seemed, oddly enough, to be 
 drawing a little away from her, to be less jealously 
 exacting of her time and attention. It was not 
 that he cared le'ss, rather more, Tony thought. His 
 strange, tragic eyes rested hungrily upon her when- 
 ever they were together and it seemed as if he would 
 drink deep of her youth and loveliness and joy, a 
 draught deep enough to last a long, long time, 
 through days of parching thirst to follow. He was 
 very gentle, very quiet, very loveable, very tender. 
 His stormy mood seemed to have passed over leav- 
 ing a great weariness in* its wake. 
 
 A very passion of creation was upon him. See- 
 ing the canvases that flowered into beauty beneath 
 his hand Tony felt very small and humble, 
 knew that by comparison with her lover's genius 
 her own facile gifts were but as a firefly's glow to 
 the light of a flaming torch. He was of the masters. 
 She saw that and was proud and glad and awed by 
 the fact. But she saw also that the artist was 
 consuming himself by the very fire of his own genius 
 and the knowledge troubled her though she saw 
 no way to check or prevent the holocaust if such 
 it was. 
 
 Sometimes she was afraid. She knew that she 
 would never be happy in the every day way with 
 Alan. Happiness did not grow in his sunless 
 garden. Married to him she would enter dark 
 forests which were not her natural environment. 
 But it did not matter. She loved him. She came 
 always back to that. She was his, would always
 
 336 WILD WINGS 
 
 be his no matter what happened. She was bound 
 by the past, caught in its meshes forever. 
 
 And then suddenly a new turn of the wheel took 
 place. Word came just before Christmas that Dick 
 Carson was very ilj, dying perhaps down in Mexico, 
 stricken with a malarial fever. 
 
 A few moments after Tony received this stunning 
 news Alan Massey's card was brought to her. She 
 went down to the reception room, gave him a limp 
 cold little hand in greeting and asked if he minded 
 going out with her. She had to talk with him. 
 She couldn't talk here. 
 
 Alan did not mind. A little later they were 
 walking riverward toward a brilliant orange sky, 
 against which the Soldiers' and Sailors' Monument 
 loomed gray and majestic. It was bitter cold. A 
 stinging wind lashed the girl's skirts around her 
 and bit into her cheeks. But somehow she wel- 
 comed the physical discomfort. It matched her 
 mood. 
 
 Then the story came out. Dick was sick, very 
 sick, going to die maybe and she, Tony Holiday 
 couldn't stand it. 
 
 Alan listened in tense silence. So Dick Carson 
 might be going to be so unexpectedly obliging as to 
 die after all. If he had known how to pray he 
 would have done it, beseeched whatever gods there 
 were to let the thing come to an end at last, offered 
 any bribe within his power if they would set him 
 free from his bondage by disposing of his cousin. 
 
 But there beside him clinging to his arm was 
 Tony Holiday aquiver with grief for this same 
 cousin. He saw that there were tears on her 
 cheeks, tears that the icy wind turned instantly to 
 frosted silver. And suddenly a new power was 
 invoked the power of love. 
 
 "Tony, darling, don't cry," he beseeched. "I 
 can't stand it. He he won't die."
 
 MOVING FINGER CONTINUES TO WRITE 337 
 
 And then and there a miracle took place. Alan 
 Massey who had never prayed in his life was pray- 
 ing to some God, somewhere to save John Massey 
 for Tony because she loved him and his dying would 
 hurt her. Tony must not be hurt. Any God could 
 see that. It must not be permitted. 
 
 Tony put up her hand and brushed away the 
 frosted silver drops. 
 
 "No, he isn't going to die. I'm not going to let 
 him. I'm going to Mexico to save him." 
 
 Alan stopped short, pulling her to a halt beside 
 him. 
 
 "Tony, you can't," he gasped, too astonished for 
 a moment even to be angry. 
 
 "I can and I am goingf to," she defied him. 
 
 "But my dear, I tell you, you can't. It would 
 be madness. Your uncle wouldn't let you. I won't 
 let you." 
 
 "You can't stop me. Nobody can stop me. I'm 
 going. Dick shan't die alone. He shan't." 
 
 "Tony, do you love him?" 
 
 "I don't know. I don't want to talk about love 
 your kind. I do love him one way with all my 
 heart. I wish it were the way I love you. I'd go 
 down and marry him if I did. Maybe I'll marry 
 him anyway. I would in a minute if it would 
 save him." 
 
 "Tony!" Alan's face was dead white, his green 
 eyes savage. "You promised to stick to me through 
 everything. Where is your Holiday honor that you 
 can talk like that about marrying another man?" 
 Maddened, he branished his words like whips, 
 caring little whether they hurt or not. 
 
 "I can't help it, Alan. I am sorry if I am hurt- 
 ing you. But I can't think about anybody but 
 Dick just now." 
 
 "Forgive me, sweetheart. I know you didn't 
 mean it, what you said about marrying him and
 
 338 WILD WINGS 
 
 you didn't mean it about going to Mexico. You 
 know you can't. It is no place for a woman like 
 you." 
 
 "If Dick is there dying, it is the place for me. 
 I love you, Alan. But there are some things that 
 go even deeper, things that have their very roots 
 in me, the things that belong to the Hill. And 
 Dick is a very big part of them, sometimes I think 
 he is the biggest part of all. I have to go to him. 
 Please don't try to stop me. It will only make us 
 both unhappy if you try." 
 
 A bitter blast struck their faces with the force of 
 a blow. Tony shivered. 
 
 "Let's go back. I'm cold so dreadfully cold," 
 she moaned clinging to his arm. 
 
 They turned in silence. There was nothing to 
 say. The sunset glory had faded now. Only a 
 pale, cold mauve tint was left where the flame had 
 blazed. A star or two had come out. The river 
 flowed sinister black, showing white humps of foam 
 here and there. 
 
 At the Hostelry Jean Lambert met them in the 
 hall. 
 
 "Tony, where have you been? We have been 
 trying everywhere to locate you. Cecilia died this 
 afternoon. You have to take Miss Clay's place to- 
 night." 
 
 Tony's face went white. She leaned against the 
 wall trembling. 
 
 "I forgot I forgot about the play. I can't go 
 to Mexico. Oh, what shall I do? What shall I 
 do?"
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 DWELLERS IN DREAMS 
 
 THE last curtain had gone down on the "End of 
 the Rainbow" and Tony Holiday had made an un- 
 deniable hit, caught the popular fancy by her young 
 charm and vivid personality and fresh talents to 
 such a degree that for the moment at least even its 
 idol of many seasons, Carol Clay, was forgotten. 
 The new arriving star filled the whole firmament. 
 Broadway was ready to worship at a new shrine. 
 
 But Broadway did not know that there were two 
 Tony Holidays that night, the happy Tony who 
 had taken its fickle, composite heart by storm and 
 the other Tony half distracted by grief and trapped 
 bewilderment. Tony had willed to exile that 
 second self before she stepped out behind the foot 
 lights. She knew if she did not she never could 
 play Madge as Madge had the right to be played. 
 For her own sake, for Max Hempel's sake because 
 he believed in her, for Carol Clay's sake because 
 Tony loved her, she meant to forget everything but 
 Madge for those few hours. Later she would 
 remember that Dick was dying in Mexico, that she 
 had hurt Alan cruelly that afternoon, that she had 
 a sad and vexed problem to solve to which there 
 seemed no solution. These things must wait. And 
 they had waited but they came crowding back upon 
 her the moment the play was over and she saw 
 Alan waiting for her in the little room off the 
 wings. 
 
 339
 
 340 WILD WINGS 
 
 He rose to meet her and oblivious of curious eyes 
 about them drew her into his arms and kissed her. 
 And Tony utterly miserable in a daze of conflicting 
 emotions nestled in his embrace unresisting for a 
 second, not caring any more than Alan himself 
 what any one saw or thought upon seeing. 
 
 "You were wonderful, belovedest," he whispered. 
 "I never saw them go madder over anybody, not 
 even Carol herself." 
 
 Tony glowed all over at his praise and begged 
 that they might drive a little in the park before 
 they went home. She had to think. She couldn't 
 think in the Hostelry. It stifled her. Nothing 
 loath Alan acquiesced, hailed a cajb and gave the 
 necessary orders. For a moment they rode in 
 silence Tony relaxing for the first time in many 
 hours in the comfort of her lover's presence, his 
 arm around her. Things were hard, terribly hard 
 but you could not feel utterly disconsolate when 
 the man you loved best in all the world was there 
 right beside you looking at you with eyes that told 
 you how much you were beloved in return. 
 
 "Tony, dear, I am going to surprise you," he said 
 suddenly breaking the silence. "I have decided to 
 go to Mexico." 
 
 "To go to Mexico! Alan! Why?" 
 
 Tony drew away from her companion to study 
 his face, with amazement on her own. 
 
 "To find Carson and look after him. Why else?" 
 
 "But your exhibition? You can't go away now, 
 Alan, even if I would let you go to Dick that way." 
 
 "Oh, yes I can. The arrangements are all made. 
 Van Slyke can handle the last stages of the thing 
 far better than I can. I loathe hanging round and 
 hearing the fools rant about my stuff and wonder 
 what the devil I meant by this or that or if I didn't 
 mean anything. I am infinitely better off three 
 thousand miles away."
 
 DWELLERS IN DREAMS 341 
 
 "But even so I don't want to hurt you or act 
 as if I didn't appreciate what you are offering to 
 do but you hate Dick. I don't see how you could 
 help him." 
 
 "I don't hate him any more, Tony. At least I 
 don't think I do. At any rate whether I do or don't 
 won't make the slightest bit of difference. I 
 shall look after him as well as your uncle or your 
 brothers would better perhaps because I know 
 Mexico well and how to get things done down 
 there. I know how to get things done in most 
 places." 
 
 "Oh, I know. I have often thought you must 
 have magic at your command the way people fly to 
 do your bidding. It is startling but it is awfully 
 convenient." 
 
 "Money magic mostly," he retorted grimly. 
 "Partly, not mostly. You are a born potentate. 
 You must have been a sultan or a pashaw or some- 
 thing in some previous incarnation. I don't care 
 what you are if you will find Dick and see that he 
 gets well. Alan, don't you think couldn't I 
 wouldn't it be better if I went too?" 
 
 There was a sudden gleam in Alan's eyes. The 
 hour was his. He could take advantage of the 
 situation, of the girl's anxiety for his cousin, her 
 love for himself while it was at high tide as it was 
 at this over stimulated hour of excitement. He 
 could marry her. And once the rite was spoken 
 not John Massey not all Holiday Hill combined 
 could take her from him. She would be his and 
 his alone to the end. Tony was ripe for madness 
 to-night, overwrought, ready to take any wild leap 
 in the dark with him. He could make her his. He 
 felt the intoxicating truth quiver in the touch of 
 her hand, read it in her eager, dark eyes lifted to 
 his for his answer. 
 Alan Massey was unused to putting away tempta-
 
 342 WILD WINGS 
 
 tion but this, perhaps the biggest and blackest that 
 had ever assailed him he put by. 
 
 "No, dear I'll go alone," he said. "You will just 
 have to trust me, Tony. I swear I'll do everything 
 in the world that can be done for Carson. Let us 
 have just one dance though. I should like it to 
 remember in Mexico." 
 
 Tony hesitated. It was very late. Thre Hostelry 
 would ill approve of her going anywhere to dance 
 at such an hour. It ill approved of Alan Massey 
 any way. Still 
 
 "I am going to-morrow. It is our last chance," 
 he pleaded. "Just one dance, carissima. It may 
 have to last a long, long time." 
 
 And Tony yielded. After all they could not treat 
 this night as if it were like all the other nights in 
 the calendar. They had the right to their one more 
 hour of happiness before Alan went away. They 
 had the right to this one last dance. 
 
 The one dance turned into many before they 
 were through. It seemed to both as if they dared 
 not stop lest somehow love and happiness should 
 stop too with the end of the music. They danced 
 on and on "divinely" as Alan had once called it. 
 Tony thought the rest of his prophecy was fulfilled- 
 at last, that they also loved each other divinely, 
 as no man or woman had ever loved since time 
 began. 
 
 But at last this too had to come to an end as 
 perfect moments must in this finite world and Alan 
 and Tony went out of the brilliantly lighted res- 
 taurant into white whirls of snow. For a storm 
 had started while they had been inside and was 
 now well in progress. All too soon the cab depos- 
 ited them at the Hostelry. In the dimly lit hall 
 Alan drew the girl into his arms and kissed her 
 passionately then suddenly almost flung her from 
 him, muttered a curt good-by and before Tony
 
 DWELLERS IN DREAMS 343 
 
 hardly realized he was going, was gone, swallowed 
 up in the night and storm. Alone Tony put her 
 hands over her hot cheeks. So this was love. It 
 was terrible, but oh it was wonderful too. 
 
 Soberly after a moment she went to change the 
 damning OUT opposite her name in the hall bulletin 
 just as the clock struck the shocking hour of three. 
 But lo there was no damning OUT visible, only a 
 meek and proper IN after her name. For all the 
 bulletin proclaimed Antoinette Holiday might have 
 been for hours wrapt in innocent slumber instead 
 of speeding away the wee' sma' hours in a public 
 restaurant in the arms of a lover at whom Madame 
 Grundy and her allies looked awry. Somebody had 
 tampered with the thing to save Tony a reprimand 
 or worse. But who? Jean? No, certainly not 
 Jean. Jean's conscience was as inelastic as a yard 
 stick. Whoever had committed the charitable act 
 of mendacity it couldn't have been Jean. 
 
 But when Tony opened her own door and switched 
 on the light there was Jean curled up asleep in the 
 big arm chair. The sudden flare of light roused 
 the sleeper and she sat up blinking. 
 
 "Wherever have you been, Tony? I have been 
 worried to death about you. I've been home from 
 the theater* for hours. I couldn't think what had 
 happened to you." 
 
 "I am sorry you worried. You needn't have. 
 I was with Alan, of course." 
 
 "Tony, people say dreadful things about Mr. 
 Massey. Aren't you ever afraid of him yourself?" 
 Jean surveyed the younger girl with troubled eyes. 
 
 Tony flung off her cloak impatiently. 
 
 "Of course I am not afraid. People don't know 
 him when they say such things about him. You 
 needn't ever worry, Jean. I am safer with Alan 
 than with any one else in the world. I'd know that 
 to-night if I never knew it before. We were danc-
 
 344 WILD WINGS 
 
 ing. I knew it was late but I didn't care. I 
 wouldn't have missed those dances if they had told 
 me I had to pack my trunk and leave to-morrow." 
 Thus spoke the rebel always ready to fly out like 
 a Jack-in-the box from under the lid in Tony 
 Holiday. 
 
 "They won't," said Jean in a queer, compressed 
 little voice. 
 
 "Jean! Was it you that fixed that bulletin?" 
 
 "Yes, it was. I know it wasn't a nice thing to do 
 but I didn't want them to scold you just now when 
 you were so worried about Dick and everything. 
 I thought you would be in most any minute any 
 way and I waited up myself to tell you how I loved 
 the play and how proud I was of you. Then when 
 you didn't come for so long I got really scared 
 and then I fell asleep and " 
 
 Tony came over and stopped the older girl's 
 words with a kiss. 
 
 "You are a sweet peach, Jean Lambert, and I 
 am awfully grateful to you for straining your 
 conscience like that for my sake and awfully sorry 
 I worried you. I am afraid I always do worry 
 good, sensible, proper people. I'm made that way, 
 mad north north west like Hamlet," she added 
 whimsically. "Maybe we Holidays are all mad that 
 much, excepting Uncle Phil of course. He's all 
 that keeps the rest of us on the track of sanity at 
 all. But Alan is madder still. Jean, he is going 
 to Mexico to take care of Dick." 
 
 "Mr. Massey is going to Mexico to take care of 
 Dick !" Jean stared. "Why, Tony I thought- 
 
 "Naturally. So did I. Who wouldn't think him 
 the last person in the world to do a thing like that? 
 But he is going and it is his idea not mine. 
 I wanted to go too but he wouldn't let me," she 
 added. 
 
 Jean gasped.
 
 DWELLERS IN DREAMS 345 
 
 "Tony ! You would have married him when your 
 uncle when everybody doesn't want you to?" 
 
 To Jean Lambert's well ordered, carefully fenced 
 in mind such wild mental leaps as Tony Holiday's 
 were almost too much to contemplate. But worse 
 was to come. 
 
 "Married him ! Oh, I don't know. I didn't think 
 about that. I would just have gone with him. 
 There wouldn't have been time to get a license. 
 Of course I couldn't though on account of the 
 play." 
 
 Jean gasped again. If it hadn't been for the 
 play this astounding young person before her would 
 have gone gallivanting off with one man to whom 
 she was not married to the bedside, thousands of 
 miles away, of another man to whom she was also 
 not married. Such simplicity of mental processes 
 surpassed any complexity Jean Lambert could 
 possibly conceive. 
 
 "Alan wouldn't let me," repeated the astounding 
 Tony. "I suppose it is better so. By to-morrow 
 I will probably agree with him. When the wind is 
 southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw too. 
 But the wind isn't southerly to-night. It wasn't 
 when I was dancing nor afterward," she added 
 with a flaming color in her cheeks remembering 
 that moment in the Hostelry hall when wisdom had 
 mattered very little to her in comparison with love. 
 "Oh, Jean, what if something dreadful should 
 happen to him down there! I can't let him go. 
 I can't. But Dick mustn't die alone either. Oh, 
 what shall I do? What shall I do?" 
 
 And suddenly Tony threw herself face down on 
 the bed sobbing great, heart rending sobs, but 
 whether she was crying for Dick or Alan or her- 
 self or all three Jean was unable to decipher. 
 Perhaps Tony did not know herself. 
 
 The next morning when Tony awoke Alan had
 
 346 WILD WINGS 
 
 already left for his long journey, but a great box 
 full of roses told her she had been his last thought. 
 One by one she lifted them out of the box great, 
 gorgeous, blood red beauties, royal, Tony thought, 
 like the royal lover who had sent them. The only 
 message with the flowers was a bit of verse, a poem 
 of Tagore's whom Alan loved and had taught Tony 
 to love too. 
 
 You are the evening cloud floating in the sky of 
 
 my dreams. 
 
 I paint you and fashion you with my love longings. 
 You are my own, my own, Dweller in my endless 
 
 dreams ! 
 
 Your feet are rosy-red with the glow of my heart's 
 
 desire, Gleaner of my sunset songs ! 
 Your lips are bitter-sweet with the taste of my wine 
 
 of pain. 
 You are my own, my own, Dweller in my lonesome 
 
 dreams ! 
 
 With the shadow of my passion have I darkened 
 your eyes, Haunter of the depth of my gaze ! 
 
 I have caught you and wrapt you, my love, in the 
 net of my music. 
 
 You are my own, my own, Dweller in my deathless 
 dreams ! 
 
 As she read the exquisite lines Antoinette Holiday 
 knew it was all true. The poet might have written 
 his poem for her and Alan. Her lips were indeed 
 bitter-sweet with the taste of his wine of pain, her 
 eyes were darkened by his shadows. He had caught 
 her and wrapt her in the net of his love, which was 
 a kind of music in itself a music one danced to. 
 She was his, dweller in his dreams as he was always 
 to dwell in hers. It was fate.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 WAITING FOR THE END OF THE STORY 
 
 AT home on the Hill Ruth's affairs developed 
 slowly. It was in time ascertained from Australia 
 that the Farringdon pearls had come to America 
 in the possession of Miss Farringdon who was 
 named Elinor Ruth, daughter of Roderick and 
 Esther Farringdon, both deceased. What had 
 become of her and her pearls no one knew. Grave 
 fears had been entertained as to the girl's safety 
 because of her prolonged silence and the utter 
 failure of all the advertising for her which had 
 gone on in English and American papers. She 
 had come to America to join an aunt, one Mrs. 
 Robert Wright, widow of a New York broker, but 
 it had been later ascertained that Mrs. Wright had 
 left for England before her niece could have reached 
 her and had subsequently died having caught a 
 fever while engaged in nursing in a military hos- 
 pital. Roderick Farringdon, the brother of Elinor 
 Ruth, an aviator in His Majesty's service, was 
 reported missing, believed to be dead or in a Ger- 
 man prison somewhere. The lawyers in charge of 
 the huge business interests of the two young Far- 
 ringdons were in grave distress because of their 
 inability to 1'ocate either of the owners and begged 
 that if Doctor Laurence Holiday knew anything of 
 the whereabouts of Miss Farringdon that he would 
 communicate without delay with them. 
 
 So far so good. Granted that Ruth was pre- 
 347
 
 348 WILD WINGS 
 
 sumably Elinor Ruth Farringdon of Australia. 
 Was she or was she not married? There had been 
 no opportunity in the cables to make inquiry about 
 one Geoffrey Annersley though Larry had put that 
 important question first in his letter to the consul 
 which as yet had received no answer. The lawyers 
 stated that when Miss Farringdon had left Austra- 
 lia she was not married but unsubstantiated rumors 
 had reached them from San Francisco hinting at 
 her possible marriage there. 
 
 All this failed to stir Ruth's dormant memory 
 in any degree. There was nothing to do but wait 
 until further information should be forthcoming. 
 
 Not unnaturally these facts had a somewhat 
 different effect upon the two individuals most 
 concerned. Ruth was frankly elated over the w r hole 
 thing and found it by no means impossible to believe 
 that she was a princess in disguise though she had 
 played Cinderella contentedly enough. 
 
 On the strength of her presumable princessship 
 she had gone on another excursion to Boston carry- 
 ing the Lambert twins with her this time and had 
 returned laden with all manner of feminine frip- 
 peries. She had an exquisite taste and made un- 
 erringly for the softest and finest of fabrics, the 
 hats with an "air," the dresses that were the 
 simplest, the most ravishing and it must be ad- 
 mitted also the most extravagant. If she remem- 
 bered nothing else Ruth remembered how to spend 
 royally. 
 
 She had consulted the senior doctor before mak- 
 ing the splendid plunge. She did not want to have 
 Larry buy her anything more and she didn't want 
 Doctor Philip and Margery to think her stark mad 
 to go behaving like a princess before the princess 
 purse was actually in her hands. But she had to 
 have pretty things, a lot of them, had to have them 
 quick. Did the doctor mind very much advancing
 
 WAITING FOR THE END OF THE STORY 349 
 
 her some money? He could keep her rings as 
 security. 
 
 He had laughed indulgently and declared as the 
 rings and the pearls too for that matter were in 
 his possession in the safe deposit box he should 
 worry. He also told her to go ahead and be as 
 "princessy" as she liked. He would take the risk. 
 Whereupon he placed a generous sum of money at 
 her account in a Boston bank and sent her away 
 with his blessing and an amused smile at the fem- 
 ininity of females. And Ruth had gone and played 
 princess to her heart's content. But there was 
 little enough of heart's content in any of it for 
 poor Larry. Day by day it seemed to him he could 
 see his fairy girl slipping away from him. Ruth 
 was a great lady and heiress. Who w r as Larry 
 Holiday to take advantage of the fact that circum- 
 stances had almost thrown her into his willing 
 arms? 
 
 Moreover the information afforded as to .Rod- 
 erick Farringdon had put a new idea into his 
 head. Roderick was reported "missing." Was it 
 not possible that Geoffrey Annersley might be in 
 the same category? Missing men sometimes stayed 
 missing in war time but sometimes also they re- 
 turned as from the dead from enemy prisons or long 
 illnesses. What if this should be the case with 
 the man who was presumably Ruth's husband? 
 Certainly it put out of the question, if there ever 
 had been a question in Larry's mind, his own right 
 to marry the girl he loved until they knew ab- 
 solutely that the way was clear. 
 
 Considering these things it was not strange that 
 the new year found Larry Holiday in heavy mood, 
 morose, silent, curt and unresponsive even to his 
 uncle, inclined at times to snap even at his beloved 
 little Goldilocks whose shining new happiness ex- 
 asperated him because he could not share it. Of
 
 350 WILD WINGS 
 
 course he repented in sack cloth and ashes after- 
 ward, but repentance did not prevent other offenses 
 and altogether the young doctor was ill to live 
 with during those harrassed January days. 
 
 It was not only Ruth. Larry could not take 
 Ted's going with the quiet fortitude with w r hich his 
 uncle met it. Those early w r eeks of nineteen hun- 
 dred and seventeen were black ones for many. The 
 grim Moloch War demanded more and ever more 
 victims. Thousands of gay, brave, high spirited 
 lads like Ted were mown down daily by shrapnel 
 and machine gun or sent twisted and writhing to 
 still more hideous death in the unspeakable hor- 
 ror of noxious gases. It w r as all so unnecessary 
 so senseless. Larry Holiday whose life was ded- 
 icated to the healing and saving of men's bodies 
 hated with bitter hate this opposing force w r hich 
 was all for destruction and which held the groaning 
 world in its relentless grip. It would not have 
 been so bad he thought if the Moloch would have 
 been content to take merely the old, the life weary, 
 the diseased, the vile. Not so. It demanded the 
 young, the strong, the clean and gallant hearted, 
 took their bodies, maimed and tortured them, killed 
 them sooner or later, hurled them undiscriminat- 
 ingly into the bottomless pit of death. 
 
 To Larry it all came back to Ted. Ted w r as the 
 embodiment, the symbol of the rest. He was the 
 young, the strong, the clean and gallant hearted 
 the youth of the world, a vain sacrifice to the cruel 
 blindness of a so called civilization which would 
 not learn the futility of war and all the ways of 
 war. 
 
 So while Ruth bought pretty clothes and basked 
 in happy anticipations which for her took the place 
 of memories, poor Larry walked in dark places and 
 saw no single ray of light. 
 
 One afternoon he was summoned to the telephone
 
 WAITING FOR THE END OF THE STORY 351 
 
 to receive the word that there was a telegram for 
 him at the office. It was Dunbury's informal habit 
 to telephone messages of this sort to the recipient 
 instead of delivering them in person. Larry took 
 the repeated word in silence. A question evidently 
 followed from the other end. 
 
 "Yes, I got it," Larry snapped back and threw 
 the receiver back in place with vicious energy. His 
 uncle who had happened to be near looked up to 
 ask a question but the young doctor was already 
 out of the room leaving only the slam of the door 
 in his. wake. A few moments later the older man 
 saw the younger start off down the Hill in the car 
 at a speed which was not unlike Ted's at his worst 
 before the smash on the Florence road. Evidently 
 Larry was on the war path. Why? 
 
 The afternoon wore on. Larry did not return. 
 His uncle began to be seriously disturbed. A pa- 
 tient with whom the junior doctor had had an 
 appointment came and w r aited and finally went 
 away somewhat indignant in spite of all efforts to 
 soothe her not unnatural wrath. Worse and worse ! 
 Larry never failed his appointments, met every 
 obligation invariably as punctiliously as if for pro- 
 fessional purposes he was operated by clock work. 
 
 At supper time Phil Lambert dropped in with 
 the wire which had already been reported to Larry 
 and which the company with the same informality 
 already mentioned had asked him to deliver. 
 Doctor Holiday was tempted to read it but re- 
 frained. Surely the boy would be home soon. 
 
 The evening meal was rather a silent one. Ruth 
 was wearing a charming dark blue velvet gown 
 which Larry especially liked. The doctor guessed 
 that she had dressed particularly for her lover and 
 was sadly disappointed when he failed to put in 
 his appearance. She drooped perceptibly and her 
 blue eyes were wistful.
 
 352 WILD WINGS 
 
 An hour later when the three, Margery, her hus- 
 band, and Ruth, were sitting quietly engaged in 
 reading in the living room they heard the sound of 
 the returning car. All three were distinctly con- 
 scious of an involuntary breath of relief which 
 permeated the room. Nobody had said a word but 
 every one of them had been filled with foreboding. 
 
 Presently Larry entered with the yellow envelope 
 in his hand. He was pale and very tired looking 
 but obviously entirely in command of himself what- 
 ever had been the case earlier in the day. He 
 crossed the room to where his uncle sat and handed 
 him the telegram. 
 
 "Please read it aloud," he said. "It it concerns 
 all of us." 
 
 The older doctor complied with the request. 
 
 Arrive Duribury January ISmine forty A.M. So 
 ran the brief though pregnant message. It was 
 signed Captain Geoffrey Annersley. 
 
 The color went out of Ruth's face as she heard 
 the name. She put her hands over her eyes and 
 uttered a little moan. Then abruptly she dropped 
 her hands, the color came surging back into her 
 cheeks and she ran to Larry, fairly throwing her- 
 self into his arms. 
 
 "I don't want to see him. Don't let him come. 
 I hate him. I don't want to be Elinor Farringdon. 
 I want to be just Ruth Ruth Holiday," she whis- 
 pered the last in Larry's ear, her head on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 Larry kissed her for the first time before the 
 others, then meeting his uncle's grave eyes he put 
 her gently from him and walked over to the door. 
 On the threshold he turned and faced them all. 
 
 "Uncle Phil Aunt Margery, help Ruth. I 
 can't." And the door closed upon him. 
 
 Philip and Margery did their best to obey his 
 parting injunction but it was not an easy task.
 
 WAITING FOR THE END OF THE STORY 353 
 
 Ruth was possessed by a very panic of dread of 
 Geoffrey Annersley and an even more difficult to 
 deal with flood of love for Larry Holiday. 
 
 "I don't w r ant anybody but Larry/' she wailed 
 over and over. "It is Larry I love. I don't love 
 Geoffrey Annersley. I won't let him be my hus- 
 band. I don't want anybody but Larry." 
 
 In vain they tried to comfort her, entreat her to 
 wait until to-morrow before she gave up. Perhaps 
 Geoffrey Annersley wasn't her husband. Perhaps 
 everything was quite all-right. She must try to 
 have patience and not let herself get sick worrying 
 in advance. 
 
 "He is my husband," she suddenly announced 
 with startling conviction. "I remember his putting 
 the ring on my finger. I remember his saying 
 'You've got to wear it. It is the only thing to do. 
 You must.' I remember what he looks like 
 almost. He is tall and he has a scar on his cheek 
 here." She patted her own face feverishly 
 to show the spot. "He made me wear the ring 
 and I didn't want to. I didn't want to. Oh, 
 don't let me remember. Don't let me," she im- 
 plored. 
 
 At this point the doctor took things in his own 
 hands. The child was obviously beginning to 
 remember. The shock of the man's coming had 
 snapped something in her brain. They must not 
 let things come back too disastrously fast. He 
 packed her off to bed with a stiff dose of nerve 
 quieting medicine. Margery sat with her arms 
 tight around the forlorn little sufferer and pres- 
 ently the dreary sobbing ceased and the girl drifted 
 off to exhausted sleep, nature's kindest panacea for 
 all human ills. 
 
 Meanwhile the doctor sought out Larry. He 
 found him in the office apparently completely ab- 
 sorbed in the perusal of a medical magazine. He
 
 354 WILD WINGS 
 
 looked up quickly as the older man entered and 
 answered the question in his eyes giving assurance 
 .that Ruth was quite all right, would soon be asleep 
 if she was not already. He made no mention of 
 that disconcerting flash of memory. Sufficient un- 
 to the day was the trouble thereof. 
 
 He came over and laid a kindly, encouraging 
 hand on the boy's shoulder. 
 
 "Keep up heart a little longer," he said. "By to- 
 morrow you will know where you stand and 
 that will be something, no matter which way it 
 turns." 
 
 "I should say it would," groaned Larry. "I'm 
 sick of being in a labyrinth. Even the worst can't 
 be much worse than not knowing. You don't know 
 how tough it has been, Uncle Phil.'' 
 
 "I can make a fairly good guess at it, my boy. 
 I've seen and understood more than you realize 
 perhaps. You have put up a magnificent fight, 
 son. And you are the boy who once told me he 
 was a coward." 
 
 "I am afraid I still am, Uncle Phil, sometimes." 
 
 "We all are, Larry, cowards in our hearts, but 
 that does not matter so long as the yellow streak 
 doesn't get into our acts. You have not let that 
 happen I think." 
 
 Larry was silent. He was remembering that 
 night when Ruth had come to him. He wasn't 
 very proud of the memory. He wondered if his 
 uncle guessed how near the yellow streak had come 
 to the surface on that occasion. 
 
 "I don't deserve as much credit as you are giving 
 me," he said humbly. "There have been times at 
 least one time " He broke off. 
 
 "You would have been less than a man if there 
 had not been, Larry. I understand all that. But 
 on the whole you know and I know that you have 
 a clean slate to show. Don't let yourself get
 
 WAITING FOR THE END OF THE STORY 355 
 
 morbid worrying about things you might have done 
 and didn't. They don't worry me. They needn't 
 worry you. Forget it." 
 
 "Uncle Phil ! You are great the way you 
 always clear away the fogs. But my clean slate 
 is a great deal thanks to you. I don't know where 
 I would have landed if you hadn't held me back, 
 not so much by what you said as what you are. 
 Ted isn't the only one who has learned to appreciate 
 what a pillar of strength we all have in you. How- 
 ever this comes out I shan't forget what you did 
 for me,- are doing all the time." 
 
 "Thank you, Larry. It is good to hear things 
 like that though I think you underestimate your 
 own strength. I am thankful if I have helped in 
 any degree. I have felt futile enough. We all 
 have. At any rate the strain is about over. The 
 telegram must have been a knock down blow though. 
 Where were you this afternoon?" 
 
 "I don't know. I just drove like the devil- 
 anywhere. Did you worry? I am sorry. Good 
 Lord! I cut my appointment with Mrs. Blake, 
 didn't I? I never thought of it until this minute. 
 Gee! I am worse than Ted. Used to think I had 
 some balance but evidently I am a plain nut. I'm 
 disgusted with myself and I should think you would 
 be more disgusted with me." The boy looked up 
 at his uncle with eyes that were full of shamed 
 compunction. 
 
 But the latter smiled back consolingly. 
 
 "Don't worry. There are worse things in the 
 world than cutting an appointment for good and 
 sufficient reasons. You will get back your balance 
 when things get normal again. I have no 
 complaint to make anyway. You have kept up the 
 professional end splendidly until now. What you 
 need is a good long vacation and I am going to 
 pack you off on one at the earliest opportunity.
 
 356 WILD WINGS 
 
 Do you want me to meet Captain Annersley for 
 you to-morrow?" he switched off to ask. 
 
 Larry shook his head. 
 
 "No, I'll meet him myself, thank you. It is my 
 job. I am not going to flunk it. If he is Ruth's 
 husband I am going to be the first to shake hands 
 with him."
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 i 
 
 IN WHICH TWO MASSEYS MEET IN MEXICO 
 
 AND while things were moving toward their crisis 
 for Larry and Ruth another drama was progressing 
 more or less swiftly to its conclusion down in Vera 
 Cruz. Alan Massey had found his cousin in a 
 wretched, vermin haunted shack, nursed in hap- 
 hazard fashion by a slovenly, ignorant half-breed 
 woman under the ostensible professional care of a 
 mercenary, incompetent, drunken Mexican doctor 
 who cared little enough whether the dog of an 
 American lived or died so long as he himself con- 
 tinued to get the generous checks from a certain 
 newspaper in New York City. The doctor held 
 the credulity of the men who mailed those checks in 
 fine contempt and proceeded to feather his nest 
 valiantly while his good luck continued, going on 
 many a glorious spree at the paper's expense while 
 Dick Carson went down every day deeper into the 
 valley of the shadow of death. 
 
 With the coming of Alan Massey however a new 
 era began. Alan was apt to leave transformation 
 of one sort or another in his wake. It was not 
 merely his money magic though he wielded that 
 magnificently as was his habit and predilection, 
 spent Mexican dollars with a superb disregard of 
 their value which won from the natives a respect 
 akin to awe and wrought miracles wherever the 
 golden flow touched. But there was more than 
 money magic to Alan Massey's performance in Vera 
 
 357
 
 358 WILD WINGS 
 
 Cruz. There was also the magic of his dominating, 
 magnetic personality. He was a born master and 
 every one high or low who crossed his path rec- 
 ognized his rightful ascendency and hastened to 
 obey his royal will. 
 
 His first step was to get the sick man transferred 
 from the filthy hovel in which he found him to clean, 
 comfortable quarters in an ancient adobe palace, 
 screened, airy, spacious. The second step was to 
 secure the services of two competent and high priced 
 nurses from Mexico City, one an American, the 
 other an English woman, both experienced, intrepid, 
 efficient. The third step taken simultaneously 
 with the other two was to dismiss the man who 
 masqueraded as a physician though he was nothing 
 in reality but a cheap charlatan fattening himself 
 at the expense of weakness and disease. The man 
 had been inclined to make trouble at first about 
 his unceremonious discharge. He had no mind to 
 lose without a protest such a convenient source of 
 unearned increment as those checks represented. 
 He had intended to get in many another good 
 carouse before the sick man died or got well as 
 nature willed. But a single interview with Alan 
 Massey sufficed to lay his objections to leaving the 
 case. In concise and forcible language couched in 
 perfect Spanish Alan had made it clear that if the 
 so-called doctor came near his victim again he 
 would be shot down like a dog and if Carson died 
 he would in any case be tried for man slaughter 
 and hanged on the spot. The last point had been 
 further punctuated by an expressive gesture on 
 the speaker's part, pointing to his own throat 
 accompanied by a significant little gurgling sound. 
 The gesture and the gurgle had been convincing. 
 The man surrendered the case in some haste. He 
 did not at all care for the style of conversation 
 indulged in by this tall, unsmiling, green-eyed man.
 
 TWO MASSEYS MEET IN MEXICO 359 
 
 Consequently he immediately evaporated to all 
 intents and purposes and was seen no more. The 
 new physician put in charge was a different breed 
 entirely, a man who had the authentic gift and 
 passion for healing which the born doctor always 
 possesses, be he Christian or heathen, gypsy herb 
 mixer or ten thousand dollar specialist. Alan 
 explained to this man precisely what was required 
 of him, explained in the same forcible, concise, 
 perfect Spanish that had banished the other so 
 completely. His job was to cure the sick man. 
 If he succeeded there would be a generous remunera- 
 tion. If* he failed through no fault of his there 
 would still be fair remuneration though nothing 
 like what would be his in case of complete recovery. 
 If he failed through negligence and here the ex- 
 pressive gesture and the gurgle were repeated . 
 The sentence had not needed completion. The 
 matter was sufficiently elucidated. The man was 
 a born healer as has been recorded but even if he 
 had not been he would still have felt obliged to 
 move heaven and earth so far as in him lay to cure 
 Dick Carson. Alan Massey's manner was persua- 
 sive. One did one's best to satisfy a person who 
 spoke such Spanish and made such ominous ges- 
 tures. One did as one was commanded. One dared 
 do no other. 
 
 As for the servants whom Alan rallied to his 
 standard they were slaves rather than servants. 
 They recognized in him their preordained master, 
 were wax to his hands, mats to his feet. They 
 obeyed his word as obsequiously, faithfully and un- 
 questioningly as if he could by a clap of his lordly 
 hands banish them to strange deaths. 
 
 They talked in low tones about him among them- 
 selves behind his back. This was no American 
 they said. No American could command as this 
 green-eyed one commanded. No American had such
 
 360 WILD WINGS 
 
 gift of tongues, such gestures, such picturesque and 
 varied and awesome oaths. No American carried 
 small bright flashing daggers such as he carried in 
 his inner pockets, nor did Americans talk glibly 
 as he talked of weird poisons, not every day drugs, 
 but marvelous, death dealing concoctions done up 
 in lustrous jewel-like capsules or diluted in spark- 
 ling, insidious gorgeous hued fluids. The man was 
 too wise altogether too wise to be an American. 
 He had traveled much, knew strange secrets. 
 They rather thought he knew black art. Certainly 
 he knew more of the arts of healing than the doctor 
 himself. There was nothing he did not know, the 
 green-eyed one. It was best to obey him. 
 
 And while Alan Massey's various arts operated 
 Dick Carson passed through a series of mental and 
 physical evolutions and came slowly back to con- 
 sciousness of what was going on. 
 
 At first he was too close to the hinterland to 
 know or care as to what was happening here, 
 though he did vaguely sense that he had left the 
 lower levels of Hell and was traversing a milder 
 purgatorial region. He did not question Alan's 
 presence or recognize him. Alan was at first 
 simply another of those distrusted foreigners whose 
 point of view and character he comprehended as 
 little as he did their jibbering tongues. 
 
 Gradually however this one man seemed to stand 
 out from the others and finally took upon himself 
 a name and an entity. By and by, Dick thought, 
 when he wasn't so infernally iired as he was just 
 now he would wonder why Alan Massey was here 
 and would try to recall why he had disliked him 
 so, some time a million years ago or so. He did 
 not dislike him now. He was too weak to dislike 
 anybody in any case but he was beginning to 
 connect Alan vaguely but surely with the superior 
 cleanliness and comfort and care with which he
 
 TWO MASSEYS MEET IN MEXICO 361 
 
 was now surrounded. He knew now that he had 
 been sick, very sick and that he was getting better, 
 knew that before long he would find himself ask- 
 ing questions. Even now his eyes followed Alan 
 Massey as the latter came and went with an ever 
 more insistent wonderment though he had not yet 
 the force of will or body to voice that pursuing 
 question as to why Alan Massey was here appar- 
 ently taking charge of his own slow return to 
 health and consciousness. 
 
 Meanwhile Alan wired Tony Holiday every day 
 as to his patient's condition though he wrote not 
 at all and said nothing in his wires of himself. 
 Letters from Tony were now beginning to arrive, 
 letters full of eager gratitude and love for Alan 
 and concern for Dick. 
 
 And one day Dick's mind got suddenly very clear. 
 He was alone with the nurse at the time, the sym- 
 pathetic American one whom he liked better and 
 was less afraid of than he was of the stolid, inexor- 
 able British lady. And he began to ask questions, 
 many questions and very definite ones. He knew 
 at last precisely what it was he wanted to 
 know. 
 
 He got a good deal of information though by no 
 means all he sought. He found out that he had 
 been taken desperately ill, that he had been sum- 
 marily removed from his lodging place because of 
 the owner's superstitious dread of contagion into 
 the miserable little thatch roofed hut in which he 
 had nearly died thanks to the mal-practice of the 
 rascally, drunken doctor and the ignorant half- 
 breed nurse. He learned how Alan Massey had 
 suddenly appeared and taken things in his own 
 hands, discovered that in a nutshell the fact was 
 he owed his life to the other man. But why? That 
 was what he had to find out from Alan Massey 
 himself.
 
 362 WILD WINGS 
 
 The next day when Alan came in and the nurse 
 went out he asked his question. 
 
 "That is easy," said Alan grimly. "I came on 
 Tony's account." 
 
 Dick winced. Of course that was it. Tony had 
 sent Massey. He was here as her emissary, nat- 
 urally, no doubt as her accepted lover. It was 
 kind. Tony was always kind but he wished she 
 had not done it. He did not want to have his life 
 saved by the man who was going to marry Tony 
 Holiday. He rather thought he did not want his 
 life saved anyway -by anybody. He wished they 
 hadn't done it. 
 
 "I I am much obliged to you and to Tony," 
 he said a little stiffly. "I fear it it was hardly 
 worth the effort." His eyes closed wearily. 
 
 "Tony didn't send me though," observed Alan 
 Massey as if he had read the other's thought. "I 
 sent myself." 
 
 Dick's eyes opened. 
 
 "That is odd if it is true," he said slowly. 
 
 Alan dropped into a chair near the bed. 
 
 "It is odd," he admitted. "But it happens to be 
 true. It came about simply enough. When Tony 
 heard you were sick she went crazy, swore she was 
 coming down here in spite of us all to take care 
 of you. Then Miss Clay's child died and she had 
 to go on the boards. You can imagine what it 
 meant to her the two things coming at once. She 
 played that night swept everything as you'd know 
 she would got 'em all at her feet." 
 
 Dick nodded, a faint flash of pleasure in his eyes. 
 Down and out as he was he could still be glad to 
 hear of Tony's triumph. 
 
 "She wanted to come to you," went on Alan. 
 "She let me come instead because she couldn't 
 I came for for her sake." 
 
 Dick nodded.
 
 TWO MASSEYS MEET IN MEXICO 363 
 
 "Naturally for her sake," he said. "I could 
 hardly have expected you to come for mine. I 
 would hardly have expected it in any case.'' 
 
 "I would hardly have expected it of myself," 
 acknowledged Alan with a wry smile. "But I've 
 had rather a jolly time at your expense. I've 
 always enjoyed working miracles and if you could 
 have seen yourself the way you were when I got 
 here you would think there was a -magic in it some- 
 how." 
 
 "I evidently owe you a great deal, Mr. Massey. 
 I am grateful or at least I presume I shall be later. 
 Just now I feel a little dumb." 
 
 "My dear fellow, nothing would please me better 
 than to have you continue dumb on that subject. 
 I did this thing as I've done most things in my 
 life to please myself. I don't want your thanks. 
 I would like a little of your liking though. You 
 and I -are likely to see quite a bit of each other 
 these next few weeks. Could you manage to forget 
 the past and call a kind of truce for a while? You 
 have a good deal to forgive me perhaps more than 
 you know. If you would be willing to let the little 
 I have done down here and mind you I don't 
 want to- magnify that part wipe off the slate 
 I should be glad. Could you manage it, Car- 
 son?" 
 
 "It looks as if it hardly could be magnified," 
 said Dick with sudden heartiness. "I spoke grudg- 
 ingly just now I am afraid. Please overlook it. 
 I am more than grateful for all you have done and 
 more than glad to be friends if you want it. I 
 don't hate you. How could. I when you have saved 
 my life and anyway I never hated you as you used 
 to hate me. I've often wondered why you did, 
 especially at first before you knew how much I 
 cared for Tony. And even that shouldn't have 
 made you hate me because you won."
 
 364 WILD WINGS 
 
 "Never mind why I hated you. I don't any 
 more. Will you shake hands with me, Carson, so 
 we can begin again?" 
 
 Dick pulled himself weakly up on the pillow. 
 Their hands met. 
 
 "Hang it, Massey," Dick said. "I am afraid I am 
 going to like you. I've heard you were hypnotic. 
 I believe on my soul you came down here to make 
 me like you? Did you?" 
 
 But Alan only smiled his ironic, noncommital 
 smile and remarked it was time for the invalid to 
 take a nap. He had had enough conversation for 
 the first attempt. 
 
 Dick soon drifted off to sleep but Alan Massey 
 prowled the streets of the Mexican city far into 
 the night, with tireless, driven feet. The demons 
 were after him again. 
 
 And far away in another city whose bright lights 
 glow all night Tony Holiday was still playing 
 Madge to packed houses, happy in her triumph but 
 with heart very pitiful for her beloved Miss Clay 
 whose sorrow and continued illness had made 
 possible the fruition of her own eager hopes. Tony 
 was sadly lonely without Alan, thought of him far 
 more often and with deeper affection even than 
 she had while she had him at her beck and call in 
 the city, loved him with a new kind of love for his 
 generous kindness to Dick. She made up her mind 
 that he had cleared the shield forever by this splen- 
 did act and saw no reason why she should keep him 
 any longer on probation. Surely she knew by this 
 time that he was a man even a Holiday might be 
 proud to marry. 
 
 She wrote this decision to her uncle and asked 
 to be relieved from her promise. 
 
 "I am sorry," she wrote, "if you cannot approve 
 but I cannot help it. I love him and I am going 
 to be engaged to him as soon as he comes back to
 
 TWO MASSEYS MEET IN MEXICO 365 
 
 New York if he wants it. I am afraid I would 
 have married him and gone to Mexico with him, 
 given up the play and broken my promise to you, if 
 he would have let me. It goes that far and deep 
 with me. 
 
 "People are crazy over his pictures. The exhibi- 
 tion came off last week and they say he is one of 
 the greatest living painters with a wonderful future 
 ahead of him. I am so proud and happy. He is 
 fine everyway now, has really sloughed off the past 
 just as he promised he would. So please, dear 
 Uncle Phil, forgive me if I do what you don't want 
 me to. -I have to marry him. In my heart I am 
 married to him already." 
 
 And this was the letter Philip Holiday found 
 at his place at breakfast on the morning of the day 
 Geoffrey Annersley was expected. He read it 
 gravely. Rash, loving, generous-hearted Tony. 
 Where was she going? Ah well, she was no longer 
 a child to be protected from the storm and stress 
 of life. She was a woman grown, woman enough 
 to love and to be loved greatly, to sacrifice and 
 suffer if need be for love's mighty sake. She must 
 go her way as Ted had gone his, as their father had 
 gone his before them. He could only pray that 
 she was right in her faith that for love of her Alan 
 Massey had been born anew. 
 
 His own deep affection for Ned's children seemed 
 at the moment a sadly powerless thing. He had 
 coveted the best things of life for them, happy, 
 normal ways of peace and gentle living. Yet here 
 was Ted at twenty already lived through an expe- 
 rience, tragic enough to leave its scarlet mark for 
 all the rest of his life and even now on the verge 
 of vohmtarity entering a terrific conflict from 
 which few returned alive and none came back un- 
 changed. Here was Tony taking upon herself the 
 thraldom of a love, which try as he would Philip
 
 366 WILD WINGS 
 
 Holiday could not see in any other light but as at 
 best a cataclysmic risk. And at this very hour Lar- 
 ry might be learning that the desire of his heart 
 was dust and ashes, his hope a vain thing, himself 
 an exile henceforth from the things that round out 
 a man's life, make it full and rich and satisfying. 
 And yet thinking of the three Philip Holiday 
 found one clear ray of comfort. With all their 
 vagaries, their rash impulsions, their willful blind- 
 ness, their recklessness, they had each run splen- 
 didly true to type. Not one of the three had failed 
 in the things that really count. He had faith that 
 none of them ever would. They might blunder 
 egregiously, suffer immeasurably, pay extrav- 
 agantly, but they would each keep that vital spirit 
 which they had in common, untarnished and un- 
 daunted, an unconquerable thing.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 GEOFFREY ANNERSLEY ARRIVES 
 
 THERE were few passengers alighting from the 
 south bound train from Canada. Larry Holiday 
 had no difficulty in picking out Geoffrey Annersley 
 among these, a tall young man, wearing the Brit- 
 ish uniform and supporting himself with a walk- 
 ing stick. His face was lean and bronzed and lined, 
 the face of a man who has seen things w r hich kill 
 youth and laughter and yet a serene face too 
 as if its owner had found that after all nothing 
 mattered very much if you looked it square in the 
 eye. 
 
 Larry went to the stranger at once. 
 
 "Captain Annersley?'' he asked. "I am Laurence 
 Holiday." 
 
 The captain set down his bag, leaned on his 
 stick, deliberately scrutinized the other man. 
 Larry returned the look frankly. They were of 
 nearly the same age but any one seeing them would 
 have set the Englishman as at least five years the 
 senior of the young doctor. Geoffrey Annersley 
 had been trained in a stern school. A man does 
 not wear a captain's bars and four wound stripes 
 for nothing. 
 
 Then the Englishman held out his hand with a 
 pleasant and unexpectedly boyish smile. 
 
 "So you are Larry," he said. "Your brother 
 sent me to you." 
 
 "Ted! You have seen him?" For a minute 
 Larry forgot who Geoffrey Annersley was, forgot 
 Ruth, forgot himself, remembered only Ted and 
 
 367
 
 368 WILD WINGS 
 
 gave his guest a heartier handshake than he had 
 willed for his "Kid" brother's sake. 
 
 "Yes, I was with him day before yesterday and 
 the night before that. He was looking jolly well 
 and sent all kinds of greetings to you all. See 
 here, Doctor Holiday, I have no end of things to 
 say to you. Can we go somewhere and talk?" 
 
 "My car is outside. You will come up to the 
 house will you not? We are all expecting you." 
 Larry tried hard to keep his voice quiet and 
 emotionless. Not for anything would he have had 
 this gallant soldier suspect how his knees were 
 trembling. 
 
 "Delighted," bowed the captain suavely and 
 permitted Larry to take his bag and lead the way 
 to the car. Nothing more was said until the two 
 men were seated and the car had left the station 
 yard. 
 
 "I am afraid I should have made my wire a bit 
 more explicit," observed the captain turning to 
 Larry. "My wife says I am too parsimonious with 
 my words in telegrams a British trait possibly." 
 He spoke deliberately and his keen eyes studied 
 his companion's face as he made the casual remark 
 which set Larry's brain reeling. "See here, Holi- 
 day, I'm a blunt brute. I don't know how to break 
 things gently to people. But I am here to tell 
 you if you care to know that Elinor Ruth Farring- 
 don is no more married than you are unless she 
 is married to you. That was her mother's wedding 
 ring. Lord, man, do you always drive a car like 
 this? I've been all but killed once this year and 
 I don't care to repeat the experiment." 
 
 Larry grinned, flushed, apologized and moderated 
 the speed of his motor. He wondered that he 
 could drive at all. He felt strangely light as if 
 he were stripped of his body and were nothing but 
 spirit.
 
 GEOFFREY ANNERSLEY ARRIVES 369 
 
 "Do you mind if we drive about a bit and talk 
 things over before I see Elinor Ruth, as you call 
 her? I'm funking that a little though I've been 
 trying ever since your brother told me the story to 
 get used to the idea of her being, well not quite 
 right, you know. But I can't stick it somehow." 
 
 "She is all right, perfectly normal every way 
 except that she had forgotten things." Larry's 
 voice was faintly indignant. He resented any- 
 body's implying that Euth was queer, unbalanced 
 in any way. She wasn't. She was absolutely 
 sane,, as sane as Captain Annersley himself, 
 considerably more sane than Larry Holiday could 
 take oath he was at this moment. 
 
 "Good heavens! Isn't that enough?" groaned 
 Annersley almost equally indignant. "You forget 
 or rather you don't know all she has forgotten. I 
 know. I was brought up with her. Her father 
 was my uncle and guardian. We played together, 
 had the same tutor, rode the same ponies, got into 
 the same jolly old scrapes. Why, Elinor's like my 
 own sister, man. I can't swallow her forgetting 
 me and her brother Eod and all the rest as easily 
 as you seem to do. It well, it's the limit as you 
 say in the states." The captain wiped his fore- 
 head on which great drops of perspiration stood 
 in spite of the January chill in the air. There was 
 agitation, suppressed vehemence in his tone. 
 
 "I suppose it is natural that you should feel 
 that way." Larry spoke thoughtfully as he turned 
 the car away from the Hill in response to his 
 guest's request that he be permitted to postpone 
 meeting Elinor Kuth Farringdon a little while. 
 "The remembering part hasn't bothered me so 
 much. Maybe I wasn't very keen on having her 
 remember. Maybe I was afraid she would remem- 
 ber too much," he added coloring a little. 
 
 The frown on his companion's stern young face
 
 370 WILD WINGS 
 
 melted at that. The frank, boyish smile appeared 
 again. He liked Larry Holiday none the less for 
 his lack of pretense. He understood all that. The 
 younger Holiday had taken pains to make things 
 perfectly clear to him. He knew precisely what 
 the young doctor was afraid of and why in case 
 Elinor Farringdon's memory returned. 
 
 "My uncle thinks and I think too that her mem- 
 ory will come back now that it has the external 
 stimulus to waken it," Larry continued. "I 
 shouldn't be surprised if seeing you would give the 
 necessary impetus. In fact I am counting on that 
 very thing happening, hoping for it with all my 
 might. That was one of the reasons I was glad 
 to have you come. Please believe that I should 
 have been glad even if your coming had made her 
 remember she was your wife. Of course her recov- 
 ery is the main thing. The rest is a side issue." 
 
 "A jolly important side issue I take it for her 
 and for you. I'm not a stranger, Doctor Holiday. 
 I am Elinor Ruth Farringdon's cousin, in her 
 brother's absence I represent her family and in 
 that capacity I would like to say before I am a 
 minute older that what you and the rest of you 
 Holidays have done for Elinor passes anything I 
 know of for sheer fineness and generosity. I'm not 
 a man of words. War would have knocked them out 
 of me if I had been but when I remember that you 
 not only saved Elinor's life but took care of her 
 afterward when she apparently hadn't a friend in 
 the world well, there isn't anything I can say but 
 thank you and tell you that if there is ever anything 
 I can do in return for you or yours you have only 
 to ask. Neither Elinor nor I can ever repay you. 
 It is the sort of thing that is unpayable." And 
 again the captain wiped his perspiring brow. He 
 was deenly moved and emotion went hard with his 
 Anglo-Saxon temperament
 
 GEOFFREY ANNERSLEY ARRIVES 371 
 
 "We did nothing but what anybody would have 
 been glad to do. If there are any thanks coming 
 they are chiefly due to my uncle and his wife. But 
 we don't any of us want thanks. We love Ruth. 
 Please forget the rest. We would rather you 
 would." 
 
 The captain nodded quick approval. He had been 
 told Americans were boasters, given to Big-Itis. 
 But either people got the Americans wrong or these 
 Holidays were an exception to the general run. He 
 remembered that other young Holiday whom he 
 had met rather intimately in the Canadian camp. 
 There- had been no side there either. His modesty 
 had been one of his chief charms. And here was the 
 brother quietly putting aside credit for a course of 
 conduct which was simply immense in its quixotic 
 generosity. He liked these Holidays. There was 
 something rather magnificent about their simpli- 
 city something almost British he thought. 
 
 "That is all very well," he made answer. tf l 
 won't talk about it if you prefer but you will pardon 
 me if I don't forget that you saved my cousin's life 
 and looked after her when she was in a desperately 
 unhappy situation and her own people seemed to 
 have utterly deserted her. And I consider my run- 
 ning into your brother at camp one of the sheerest 
 pieces of good luck I've had these many days on all 
 counts." 
 
 "How did it happen?" asked Larry. 
 
 "I was doing some recruiting work in the vicinity 
 and they asked me to say a few words to the lads in 
 training. I did. Your brother was there and lost 
 no time in getting in touch with me when he heard 
 who I was. And jolly pleased I was to hear his 
 story all of it." 
 
 The speaker smiled at his companion. 
 
 "I mean that, Larry Holiday. Elinor and I were 
 kid sweethearts. We used to swear we were going
 
 372 WILD WINGS 
 
 to get married when we grew up. That was when 
 she was eight and I a man of twelve or so. I gave 
 her the locket which made some of the trouble as a 
 sort of hostage for the future. We called her Ruth 
 in those days. It was her own fancy to change it to 
 Elinor later. She thought it more grown up and 
 dignified I remember. Then I went back to Eng- 
 land to school. I didn't see her again until we were 
 both grown up and then I married her best friend 
 with her blessing and approval. But that is 
 another story. Just now I am trying to tell you 
 that I am ready to congratulate my cousin with all 
 my heart if it happens that you want to marry her 
 as your brother seems to think." 
 
 "There is no doubt about what I want,"said Larry 
 grimly. "Whether it is what she wants is another 
 matter. We haven't been exactly in a position to 
 discuss marriage." 
 
 "I understand. I'm beastly sorry to have been 
 such an infernal dog in the manger unwittingly. 
 The only thing I can do to make, up is to give my 
 blessing and wish you best of luck in your wooing. 
 Shall we shake on it, Larry Holiday, and on the 
 friendship I hope you and I are going to have?" 
 And with a cordial man to man grip there was 
 cemented a friendship which was to last as long as 
 they both lived. 
 
 To relate briefly the links of the story some of 
 which Larry Holiday now heard as the car sped over 
 the smooth, frost hardened roads which the open 
 winter had left unusually snowless and clean. 
 Geoffrey Annersley had been going his careless, 
 happy go lucky way as an Oxford undergraduate 
 when the sudden firing of a far off shot had startled 
 the world and made 'war the one inevitable fact. 
 The young man had enlisted promptly and had been 
 in practically continuous service of one sort or 
 another ever since. He had gone through desperate
 
 GEOFFREY ANNERSLEY ARRIVES 373 
 
 fighting, been four times wounded, and was now at 
 last definitely eliminated from active service by a 
 semi-paralyzed leg, the result of his last visit to 
 "Blighty." He had been invalided the previous 
 spring and had been sent to Australia on a recruit- 
 ing mission. Here he had renewed his acquaintance 
 with his cousins whom he had not seen for years 
 and promptly fell in love with and married pretty 
 Nancy Hallinger, his cousin Elinor's chum. 
 
 The speedy wooing accomplished as well as the 
 recruiting job which was dispatched equally expedi- 
 tiously and thoroughly Geoffrey prepared to return 
 to France to get in some more good work against the 
 Huns while his wife planned to enter Red Cross 
 service as a nurse for which she had been in train- 
 ing for some time. Roderick had entered the 
 Australian air service and was already in Flanders 
 where he had the reputation of being one of the 
 youngest and most reckless aviators flying which 
 was saying considerable. 
 
 It was imperative that some arrangement be made 
 for Elinor who obviously could not be left alone in 
 Sydney. It was decided in family conclave that 
 she should go to America and accept the often 
 proffered hospitality of her aunt for a time at least. 
 A cable to this effect had been dispatched to Mrs. 
 Wright which as later appeared never reached that 
 lady as she was already on her way to England and 
 died there shortly after. 
 
 Geoffrey had been exceedingly reluctant to have 
 his young cousin take the long journey alone though 
 she had laughed at his fears and his wife had abetted 
 her in her disregard of possible disastrous con- 
 sequences, telling him that women no longer 
 required wrapping in tissue paper. The war had 
 changed all that. 
 
 At his insistence however Ruth had finally 
 consented to wear her mother's wedding ring as a
 
 374 WILD WINGS 
 
 sort of shadowy protection. He had an idea that 
 the small gold band, being presumptive evidence of 
 an existing male guardian somewhere in the offing 
 might serve to keep away the ill intentioned or over 
 bold from his lovely little heiress cousin about 
 whom he worried to no small degree. 
 
 They had gone their separate ways, he to the 
 fierce fighting of May, nineteen hundred and sixteen, 
 she to her long journey and subsequent strange 
 adventures. At first no one had thought it un- 
 natural that they heard nothing from Elinor. 
 Letters went easily astray those days. Geoffrey 
 was weeks without news even from his wife and 
 poor Roderick was by this time beyond communica- 
 tion of any kind, his name labeled with that 
 saddest of all tags missing. It was not until 
 Geoffrey was out of commission with that last worst 
 knock out, lying insensible, more dead than alive 
 in a hospital "somewhere in France" that the others 
 began to realize that Elinor had vanished utterly 
 from the ken of all -who knew her. Some one who 
 knew her by sight had chanced to see her in Cal- 
 ifornia and had noted the wedding ring, hence the 
 "unsubstantiated rumor" of her marriage in San 
 Francisco, a rumor which Nancy half frantic over 
 her husband's desperate illness was the only person 
 who was in a position to explain. 
 
 When Geoffrey came slowly back to the land of 
 the living it was to learn that his cousin Roderick 
 was still reported missing and that Elinor was 
 even more sadly and mysteriously vanished from 
 the face of the earth in spite of all effort to discover 
 her fate. It had been a tragic coming back for the 
 sick man. But an Englishman is hard to down 
 and gradually he got back health and a degree of 
 hope and happiness. There would be no more 
 fighting for him but the War Department assured 
 him there were plenty of other ways in which he
 
 GEOFFREY ANNERSLEY ARRIVES 375 
 
 could serve the cause and he had readily placed 
 himself at their disposal for the recruiting work in 
 which he had already demonstrated his power to 
 success in Australia. 
 
 Which brings us to the Canadian training camp 
 and Ted Holiday. Captain Annersley had been 
 asked as he had told Larry to speak to the boys. 
 He had done so, given a little straight talk of what 
 lay ahead of them and what they were fighting for, 
 bade them get in a few extra licks for him since 
 he was out of it for good, done for, "crocked." In 
 conclusion he had begged them give the Huns hell. 
 It was* all he asked of them and from the look of 
 them he jolly well knew they would do it. 
 
 While he was speaking he was aware all the time 
 of a tall, blue-eyed youth who stood leaning against 
 a post with a kind of nonchalant grace. The boy's 
 pose had been indolent but his eyes had been wide 
 awake, earnest, responsive. Little by little the 
 captain found himself talking directly to the lad. 
 What he was saying might be over the heads of 
 some of them but not this chap's. He got you as 
 the Americans say. He had the vision, would go 
 wherever the speaker could take him. One saw 
 that. 
 
 Afterwards the boy had sought out the recruiter 
 to ask if by any chance he knew a girl named Elinor 
 Ruth Farringdon. It had been rather a tremen- 
 dous moment for both of them. Each had plenty to 
 say that the other wanted to hear. But the full 
 story had to wait. Corporal Holiday couldn't run 
 around loose even talking to a distinguished British 
 officer. There would have to be special dispensa- 
 tion for that and special dispensations take time 
 in an army world. It would be forthcoming how- 
 ever to-morrow. 
 
 In the meantime Geoffrey Annersley had heard 
 enough to want to know a great deal more and
 
 376 WILD WINGS 
 
 thought he might as well make some inquiries on 
 his own. He wanted to find out who these Amer- 
 ican Holidays were, one of whom had apparently 
 saved his cousin Elinor's life and all of whom had, 
 one concluded, been amazingly kind to her though 
 the blue-eyed boy had gracefully made light of that 
 side of the thing in the brief synopsis of events he 
 had had time to give to the Englishman. The 
 captain had taken a fancy to the narrator and was 
 not averse to beginning his investigation as to the 
 Holiday family with the young corporal himself. 
 
 Accordingly he tackled the boy's commanding 
 officer, a young colonel with whom he chanced to be 
 dining. The colonel was willing to talk and 
 Geoffrey Annersley discovered that young Holiday 
 was rather by way of being a top-notcher. He had 
 enlisted as a private only a short time ago but had 
 been shot speediljy into his 1 corporalslup. Time 
 pressed. Officers were needed. The boy was 
 officer stuff. He wouldn't stay a corporal. If all 
 went well he would go over as a sergeant. 
 
 "We put him through though, just at first handled 
 him rather nasty," the colonel admitted with a 
 reminiscent twinkle. "We do put the Americans 
 through somehow, though it isn't that w T e have any 
 grudge against 'em. We haven't. We like 'em 
 most of 'em and we have to admit it's rather decent 
 of them to be here at all when they don't have to. 
 All the same we give 'em an extra twist of the 
 discipline crank Dm general principles just to see 
 what they are made of. We found out mighty 
 quick with this youngster 1 . He took it all and 
 came back for more with a 'sir,' and a salute and a 
 devilish debonair, you-can't-down-me kind of grin 
 that would have disarmed a Turk." 
 
 "He doesn't look precisely meek to me," Annersley 
 had said remembering the answering flash he had 
 caught in those blue eyes when he was begging the
 
 GEOFFREY ANNERSLEY ARRIVES 377 
 
 boys to get in an extra lick against the Huns for 
 his sake. 
 
 "Meek nothing! He has more spirit than any 
 cub we've had to get into shape this many a moon. 
 It isn't that. It is just that he has the right idea, 
 had it from the start however he came by it. You 
 know what it is., captain. It is obedience, first, last 
 and all the time, the will to be willed. A soldier's 
 job is to do what he is told whether he likes it or 
 not,wh.ether it is his job or not, whether it makes 
 sense or not, whether he gets his orders from a man 
 he looks up to and respects or whether he gets them 
 from a low down cur that he knows perfectly well 
 isn't fit to black his boots none of that makes any 
 difference. It is up to him to do what he is told 
 and he does it without a kick if he's wise. Young 
 Holiday is wise. He'd had his medicine sometime. 
 One sees that. I don't know why he dropped down 
 on us like a shooting star the way he did, some 
 college fiasco I understand. He doesn't talk about 
 himself or his affairs though he is a frank outspoken 
 youngster in other ways. But there was a look 
 in his eyes when he came to us that most boys of 
 twenty don't have, thank the Lord ! And it is that 
 look or what is behind it that has made him ace 
 high here. That boy struck bottom somewhere and 
 struck it hard. I'll bet my best belt on that." 
 
 This interested Geoffrey Annersley. He thought 
 he understood what the colonel meant. There was 
 something in Ted Holiday's eyes which betrayed 
 that he had already been under fire somehow. He 
 had seen it himself. 
 
 "He is as smart as they make 'em," went on the 
 colonel. "Quick as a flash to think and to see and 
 to act, never loses his head. And he's a wonder 
 with the men, jollies 'em along when they are grous- 
 ing or homesick, sets 'em grinning from ear to ear 
 when they are down-hearted, has a pat on the
 
 378 WILD WINGS 
 
 shoulder for this one and a jeer for that one. Old 
 and young they are all crazy about him. They'd 
 go anywhere he led. I tell you he's the stuff that 
 will take 'em over the top and make the. boches feel 
 cold in the pit of their fat tumtums when they see 
 him coming. Lord, but the uselessne^s of it though ! 
 He'll get killed. His kind always does. They are 
 always in front. They are made that way. Can't 
 help it. Sometimes they do come through though." 
 The colonel flashed a quick admiring glance at his 
 guest who had also been the kind that was always 
 in front and yet had somehow by the grace of some- 
 thing come through in spite of the hazards he had 
 run and the deaths he had all but died. "You are 
 a living witness to that little fact," he added. 
 "Lord love us! It's all in the game anyway and 
 a man can die but once." 
 
 The next day Corporal Holiday was given a brief 
 leave of absence from camp at the request of the 
 distinguished British officer. Together the two 
 went over the strange story of Elinor Ruth 
 Parringdon and the Holidays' connection with the 
 later chapters thereof. They decided not to write 
 to the Hill as Annersley was planning to go to 
 Boston next day whence he was to return soon to 
 England his mission accomplished, and could easily 
 stop over in Dunbury on his way and set things 
 right in person, perhaps even by his personal 
 presence renew Buth's memory of things she had 
 forgotten. 
 
 All through the pleasant dinner hour Ted kept 
 wishing he could get the captain to talking about 
 himself and his battle experiences and had no idea 
 at all that he himself was being shrewdly studied 
 as they talked. "Good breeding, good blood- 
 quality," the captain summed up. "If he is a fair 
 sample of young America then young America is 
 a bit of all right." And if he is a fair sample of
 
 GEOFFREY ANNERSLEY ARRIVES 379 
 
 the Holiday family then Elinor had indeed fallen 
 into the best of hands. Praise be! He wondered 
 more than once what the young corporal's own 
 story was, what was the nature of the fiasco which 
 had driven him into the Canadian training camp 
 and what was behind that unboyish look which 
 came now and then into his boyish eyes. 
 
 Later during the intimate evening over their 
 cigarettes both had their 'Curiosity gratified. 
 Captain Annersley was moved to relate some of 
 his hair breadth escapes and thrilling moments to 
 an alerf and hero worshiping listener. And later 
 still Ted too waxed autobiographical in response to 
 some clever baiting of which he was entirely un- 
 aware though he did wonder afterward how he had 
 happened to tell the thing he had kept most secret 
 to -an entire stranger. It was. an immense* relief to 
 the boy to talk it all out. It would never haunt 
 him again in quite the same way now he had once 
 broken the barriers of his reserve. Geoffrey 
 Annersley served his purpose for Ted as well as 
 Larry Holiday. 
 
 Annersley was immensely interested in the confes- 
 sion. It matched very well he thought with that 
 other story of a gallant yaung Holiday to whom his 
 cousin Elinor owed so much in more than one way. 
 They were a queer lot these Holidays. They had 
 the courage of their convictions and tilted at wind- 
 mills right valiantly it seemed. 
 
 And then he fell to talking straight talk to Ted 
 Holiday, saying things that only a man who has 
 lived deeply can say with any effect. He urged the 
 boy not to worry about that smash of his. It was 
 past history, over and done with. He must lo'ok 
 ahead not back and be thankful he had come out 
 as well as he had. 
 
 "There is just -one other thing I want to say," he 
 added. "You think you have had your lesson.
 
 380 WILD WINGS 
 
 Maybe it is enough but you'll find it a jolly lot 
 easier to slip up over there than it is at home. You 
 lose your sense of values when there is death and 
 damnation going all around you, get to feeling you 
 have a right to take anything that comes your way 
 to even it up. Anyway I felt that way until I met 
 the girl I wanted to marry. Then the rest looked 
 almighty different. I've given Nancy the best I 
 had to give but it wasn't good enough. She deserved 
 more than I could give her. That is plain speaking, 
 Holiday. Men say war excuses justify anything. 
 It doesn't do anything of the sort. Some day you 
 will be wanting to marry a girl yourself. Don't 
 let anything happen in this next year over there 
 that you will regret for a life-time. That is a 
 queer preachment and I'm a jolly rotten preacher. 
 B'ut somehow I felt I had to say it. You can re- 
 member it or forget it as you like." 
 
 Ted lit another cigarette, looked up straight into 
 Geoffrey Anner'sley's war lined face. 
 
 "Thank you," he said. "I think I'll remember 
 it. Anyway I appreciate your saying it to me that 
 way." 
 
 The subject dropped then, went back to war and 
 how men feel on the edge of death, of the unimpor- 
 tance of death anyway.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 THE PAST AND FUTURE MEET 
 
 LARRY knocked at Ruth's door. It opened and 
 a wan and pathetically drooping little figure stood 
 before him. Ever since she had been awake Ruth 
 had been haunted by that unwelcome bit of memory 
 illumination which had come the night before. No 
 wonder she drooped and scarcely dared to lift her 
 eyes to her lover's face. But in a moment he had 
 her in his arms, a performance which banished the 
 droop and brought a lovely color back into the pale 
 cheeks. 
 
 "Larry, oh Larry, is it all right? I'm not his 
 wife? He didn't marry me?" 
 
 Larry kissed her. 
 
 "He didn't marry you. Nobody's going to marry 
 you but me. No, I didn't mean to say that now. 
 Forget it, sweetheart. You are free, and if you 
 want to say so I'll let you go. If you don't want " 
 
 "But I do want," she interrupted. "I want Larry 
 Holiday and he is all I want. Why won't you ever, 
 ever believe I love you? I do, more than anything 
 in the world." 
 
 "You darling ! Will you marry me? I shouldn't 
 have asked you that other time. I hadn't the right. 
 But I have now. Will you, Ruth? I want you so. 
 And I've waited so long." 
 
 "Listen to me, Larry Holiday." Ruth held up a 
 small warning forefinger. "I'll marry you if you 
 will promise never, never" to be cross to me again. 
 I have shed quarts of tears because you were so 
 
 381
 
 382 WILD WINGS 
 
 unkind and faithless. I ought to make you do 
 some terrible penance for thinking the money or 
 anything but you mattered to me. Not even the 
 wedding ring mattered. I told you so but still you 
 wouldn't believe." 
 
 Larry shook his head remorsefully. 
 
 "Rub it in, sweetheart, if you must. I deserve 
 it. But don't you think I have had purgatory 
 enough because I didn't dare believe to punish me 
 for anything? As for the rest I know I've been 
 behaving like a brute. I've a devil of a disposition 
 and I've been half crazy anyway. Not that that is 
 any excuse. But I'll behave myself in the future. 
 Honest I will, Kuthie. All you have to do is to lift 
 this small finger of yours " He indicated the 
 digit by a loverly kiss "and I'll be as meek and 
 lowly as as an ash can," he finished prosaically. 
 
 Ruth's happy laughter rang out at this and she 
 put up her lips for a kiss. 
 
 "I'll remember," she said. "You're not a brute, 
 Larry. You're a darling and I love you oh 
 immensely and I'll marry you just as quick as ever 
 I can and we'll be so, happy you won't ever re- 
 member you have a disposition." 
 
 Another interim occurred, an interim occupied by 
 things which are nobody's business and which any- 
 body who has ever been in love can supply ad lib. 
 by exercise of memory and imagination. Then 
 hand in hand the two. went down to where Geoffrey 
 Annersley waited to bring back the past to Elinor 
 Parringdon. 
 
 "Does he know me?" queried Ruth as they 
 descended. 
 
 "He surely does. He knows all there is to know 
 about you, Miss Elinor Ruth Farringdon. He 
 ought to. He is your cousin and he married your 
 best friend, Nan 
 
 "Wait!" cried Ruth excitedly, "it's coming
 
 THE PAST AND FUTURE MEET 383 
 
 back. He married Nancy Hollinger and she gave 
 me some San Francisco addresses of some friends 
 of hers just before I sailed. They were in that 
 envelope. I threw away the addresses when I left 
 San Francisco and tucked my tickets into it. Why, 
 Larry, I'm remembering really remembering," 
 she stopped short on the stairs to exclaim in a 
 startled incredulous tone. 
 
 "Of course you are remembering, sweetheart," 
 echoed Larry happily. "Come on down and re- 
 member the rest with Annersley's help. He is 
 some cousin. You'd better be prepared to be hor- 
 ribly ptoud of him. He is a captain and wears 
 all kinds of honorable and distinguished dingle 
 dangles and decorations as well as a romantic limp 
 and a magnificent gash on his cheek which he evi- 
 dently didn't get shaving." 
 
 Larry jested because he knew Kuth was growing 
 nervous. He could feel her tremble against his 
 arm. He was more than a little anxious as to the 
 outcome of the thing itself. The shock and the 
 strain of meeting Geoffrey Annersley were going to 
 be rather an ordeal he knew. 
 
 They entered the living room and paused on 
 the threshold, Larry's arm still around the girl. 
 Doctor Holiday and the captain both rose. The 
 latter limped gallantly toward Ruth who stared 
 at him an instant and then flung herself away from 
 Larry into the other man's arms. 
 
 "Geoff! Geoff!" she cried. 
 
 For a moment nothing more was said then Ruth 
 drew herself away. 
 
 "Geoffrey Annersley, why did you ever, ever 
 make me wear that horrid ring?" she demanded 
 reproachfully. "Larry and I could have married 
 each other months ago if you hadn't. It was the 
 silliest idea anyway and it's all your fault every- 
 thing."
 
 384 WILD WINGS 
 
 He laughed at that, a big whole-souled hearty 
 laugh that came from the depths of him. 
 
 "That sounds natural," he said. "Every scrape 
 you ever enticed me into as a kid was always my 
 fault somehow. Are you real, Elinor? I can't 
 help thinking I am seeing a ghost. Do you really 
 remember me?" anxiously. 
 
 "Of course I remember you. Listen, Geoff. 
 Listen hard." 
 
 And unexpectedly Ruth pursed her pretty lips 
 and whistled a merry, lilting bar of melody. 
 
 "By Jove!" exulted the captain. "That does 
 sound like old times." 
 
 "Don't tell me I dofl't remember," she flashed 
 back happy and excited beyond measure at play- 
 ing this new remembering game. "That was our 
 special call, yours and Rod's and mine. Oh Rod !" 
 And at that all the joy went out of the eager, 
 flushed face. She went back into her cousin's 
 arms again, sobbing in heart breaking fashion. The 
 turning tide of memory had brought back wreck- 
 age of grief as well as joy. In Geoffrey Anner- 
 sley's arms Ruth mourned her brother's loss for the 
 first time. Larry sent his uncle a quick look and 
 went out of the room. The older doctor followed. 
 Ruth and her cousin were left alone to pick up 
 the dropped threads of the past. 
 
 They all met again at luncheon however, Ruth 
 rosy cheeked, excited and red-eyed but on the 
 whole none the worse for her journey back into 
 the land of forgotten things. As Larry had hoped 
 the external stimulus of actually seeing and hear- 
 ing somebody out of that other life was enough to 
 start the train. What she did not yet remember 
 Geoffrey supplied and little by little the past took 
 on shape and substance and Elinor Ruth Farring- 
 don became once more a normal human being 
 with a past as well as a present which was dazz-
 
 THE PAST AND FUTURE MEET 385 
 
 lingly delightful, save for the one dark blur of her 
 dear Rod's unknown fate. 
 
 In the course of the conversation at table Geof- 
 frey addressed his cousin as Elinor and was 
 promptly informed that she wasn't Elinor and was 
 Kuth and that he was to call her by that name 
 or run the risk of being disapproved of very 
 heartily. 
 
 He laughed, amused at this. 
 
 "Now I know you are real," he said. "It is ex- 
 actly the tone you used when you issued the con- 
 trary command and by Jove almost the same words 
 except for the reversed titles. 'Don't call me Ruth, 
 Geoff/ " he mimicked. " *I am not going to be 
 Ruth any more. I am going to be Elinor. It is 
 a much prettier name.' ' 
 
 "Well, I don't think so now," retorted Ruth. 
 "I've changed my mind again. I think Ruth is the 
 nicest name there is because well " She blushed 
 adorably and looked across the table at the young 
 doctor, "because Larry likes it," she completed half 
 defiantly. 
 
 "Is that meant to be an official publishing of the 
 bans?" teased her cousin when the laugh that 
 Ruth's naive confession had raised subsided leav- 
 ing Larry as well as Ruth a little hot of cheek. 
 
 "If you want to call it that," said Ruth. "Larry, 
 I think you might say something, not leave me 
 everything to do myself. Tell them we are engaged 
 and are going to be married " 
 
 "To-morrow," put in Larry suddenly pushing 
 back his chair and going over to stand behind 
 Ruth, a hand on either shoulder, facing the others 
 gallantly if obviously also embarrassedly over her 
 shyly bent blonde head. 
 
 The blonde head went up at that, and was 
 shaken very decidedly. 
 
 "No indeed. That isn't right at all," she ob-
 
 386 WILD WINGS 
 
 jected. "Don't listen to him anybody. It isn't 
 going to be tomorrow. I've got to have a wed- 
 ding dress and it takes at least a week to dream a 
 wedding dress when it is the only time you ever 
 intend to be married. I have all the other things 
 everything I need down to the last hair pin and 
 powder puff. That's why I went to Boston. I 
 knew I was going to want pretty clothes quick. I 
 told Doctor Holiday so." She sent a charming, 
 half merry, half deprecating smile at the older doc- 
 tor who smiled back. 
 
 "She most assuredly did," he corroborated. "I 
 never suspected it was part of a deep laid plot 
 however. I thought it was just femininity cropping 
 out after a dull season. How was I to know it 
 was because you were planning to run off with 
 my assistant that you w T anted all the gay plum- 
 age?" he teased. 
 
 Kuth made a dainty little grimace at that. 
 
 "That isn't a fair way to put it," she declared. 
 "If I had been planning to run away with Larry or 
 he with me we) would have done it months ago, 
 plumage or no plumage. I wanted to but he 
 wouldn't anyway," she confessed. "I like this way 
 much, much better though. I don't want to be 
 married anywhere except right here in the heart 
 of the House on the Hill." 
 
 She slipped out of her chair and away from 
 Larry's hands at that and went over to where Doc- 
 tor Philip sat. 
 
 "May we?" she asked like a child asking per- 
 mission to run out and play. 
 
 "It is what we all want more than anything in 
 the world, dear child," he said. "You belong with 
 Larry in our hearts as well as in the heart of 
 the House. You know that, don't you?" 
 
 "I know you are the dearest man that ever was, 
 not even excepting Larry. And I am going to kiss
 
 THE PAST AND FUTURE MEET 387 
 
 you, Uncle Phil, so there. I can call you that now, 
 can't I? I've always wanted to." And fitting 
 the deed to the word Euth bent over and gave 
 Doctor Philip a fluttering little butterfly kiss. 
 
 They rose from the table at that and Ruth was 
 bidden go off to her room and get a long rest 
 after her too exciting morning. Larry soberly re- 
 paired to the office and received patients and pre- 
 scribed gravely for them just as if his inner self 
 were not executing wild fandangoes of joy. Per- 
 haps hi patients did get a few waves of his hap- 
 piness however for there was not one of them who 
 did not leave the office with greater hope and 
 strength and courage than he brought there. 
 
 "The young doctor's getting to be a lot like his 
 uncle," one of them said to his wife later. "Just 
 the very touch of his hand made me feel better 
 today, sort of toned up as if I had had an elec- 
 trical treatment. Queer how human beings can 
 shoot sparks sometimes." 
 
 Not so queer. Larry Holiday had) just been 
 himself electrified by love and joy. No wonder he 
 had new power that day and was a better healer 
 than he had ever been before, 
 
 In the living room Doctor Philip and Captain 
 Annersley held converse. The captain expressed 
 his opinion that Ruth should go at once to Aus- 
 tralia, 
 
 "If her bfother is dead as we have every reason 
 to fear, Elinor Kuth is the sole owner of an 
 immense amount of property. The lawyers are 
 about crazy trying to keep things going without 
 either Roderick or Ruth. They have been begging 
 me to come out and take charge of things for 
 months but I haven't been able to see my way 
 clear owing to one thing or another. Somebody 
 will have to go at once and of course it should be 
 Ruth."
 
 388 WILD WINGS 
 
 "How would it do for her and Laurence both to 
 go?" 
 
 "Magnificent. I was hoping you would think 
 that was a feasible project. They will be glad to 
 have a man to represent the family. My cousin 
 knows nothing about the business end of the thing. 
 She has always approached it exclusively from the 
 spending side. Do you think your nephew would 
 care to settle there?" 
 
 "Possibly," said the Doctor. "That will devel- 
 op later. They will have to work that out for 
 themselves. I am rather sorry he is going to 
 . marry a girl with so much money but I suppose 
 it cannot be helped." 
 
 "Some people wouldn't look at it that way, 
 'Doctor Holiday," grinned the captain. "But I 
 am prepared to accept the fact that you Holidays 
 are in a class by yourselves. We have always been 
 afraid that Elinor would be a victim of some 
 miserable fortune hunter. I can't tell you what 
 a relief it is to have her marry a man like your 
 nephew. I am only sorry he had to go through 
 such a punishing period of suspense waiting for 
 his happiness. Since there wasn't really the slight- 
 est obstacle I rather wish he had cut his scruples 
 and married her long ago." 
 
 "I don't agreed with you, Captain Annersley. 
 They are neither of them worse off for waiting 
 and being absolutely sure that this is what they 
 both want. If he had taken the risk and married 
 her when he knew he hadn't the full right to do 
 it he would have been miserable and made her more 
 so. Larry is an odd chap. There is a morbid 
 streak in him. He wouldn't have forgiven him- 
 self if he had done it. And losing his own self- 
 respect would have been the worst thing that 
 could have happened to him. No amount of ac- 
 tual legality could have made up for starting out
 
 THE PAST AND FUTURE MEET 389 
 
 on a spiritually illegal basis. We Holidays have 
 to keep on moderately good terms with ourselves 
 to be happy," he added with a quiet smile. 
 
 "I suppose you are right," admitted the English- 
 man. "Anyway the thing is straight and clear 
 now. He has earned every bit of happiness that is 
 coming to him and I hope it is going to be a great 
 deal. My own sense of indebtness for all you Hol- 
 idays have done fon Ruth is enormous. I wish 
 there were some way of making adequate returns 
 for it all. But it is too big to be repaid. I may 
 be able to keep an eye on your other nephew when 
 he gets over. I certainly should like to. I don't 
 know w y hen I've taken such a fancy to a lad. 
 My word he is a ripping sort." 
 
 "Ted?" Doctor Holiday smiled a little. "Well, 
 yes, I suppose he is what you Britishers call rip- 
 ping. It has 'been rather ripping in another sense 
 being his guardian sometimes." 
 
 "I judge so by his own account of himself. You 
 mustn't let that smash of his worry you. He'll 
 find something over there that will be worth a 
 hundred times what any college can give him, 
 and as for the rest half the lads of mettle in the 
 world come to earth with a jolt over a girl sooner 
 or later and they don't all rise up out of the dust 
 as clean as he did by a long shot."' 
 
 "So he told you about that affair? You must 
 have gotten under his skin rather surprisingly 
 Ted doesn't talk much about himself and I fancy 
 he hasn't talked about that thing at all to any 
 one. It went deep." 
 
 "I know. He shows that in a -hundred ways. 
 But it hasn't crushed him or made him reckless. 
 It simply steadied him and I infer he needed some 
 steadying*" 
 
 Doctor Holiday nodded assent to that and asked 
 if he thought the boy was doing well up there.
 
 390 WILD WINGS 
 
 "Not a doubt of it," said the Englishman heartily. 
 And he added a brief synopsis of the things that 
 the colonel had said in regard to his youngest cor- 
 poral. 
 
 "That is rather astonishing," remarked Doctor 
 Holiday. "Obedience hasn't ever been one of Ted's 
 strong points. In fact he has been a rebel al- 
 ways." 
 
 "Most boys are until they perceive that there is 
 sense instead of tyranny in law. Your nephew has 
 had that knocked into him rather hard and he is 
 all the better for it tough as it was in the process. 
 He is making good up there. He will make good 
 over seas. He is a born leader a better leader of 
 men than his brother would be though maybe Larry 
 is finer stuff. I don't know." 
 
 "They are very different but I like to think they 
 are both rather fine stuff. Maybe that is my par- 
 tial view but I am a bit proud of them both, Ted 
 as well as Larry." 
 
 "You have every -reason," approved the captain 
 heartily. "I have seen a good many splendid lads 
 in the last four years and these two measure up in 
 a way which is an eye opener to me In my stupid 
 insular prejudice maybe I had fallen to thinking 
 that the particular quality that marks them both 
 was a distinctly British affair. Apparently you 
 can breed it in America too. I'm glad to see it and 
 to own it. And may I say one other thing, Doctor 
 Holiday? I have the D. S. C. and a lot of other 
 junk like that but I'd surrender every bit- of it 
 this minute gladly if I thought that I would ever 
 have a son that would worship me the way those 
 lads of yours worship you. It is an honor any 
 man might well covet."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 ALAN MASSEY LOSES HIMSELF 
 
 WHILE Ruth and Larry steered their storm tossed 
 craft of love into smooth haven at last ; while Ted 
 came into his own in the Canadian training camp 
 and Tony played Broadway to her heart's content, 
 the two Masseys dow T n in Mexico drifted into a 
 strange pact of friendship. 
 
 Had there been no other ministrations offered 
 save those of creature comfort alone Dick would 
 have had cause to be immensely grateful to Alan 
 Massey. To good food, good nursing and material 
 comfort the young man reacted quickly for he was a 
 healthy young animal and had no bad habits to 
 militate against recovery. 
 
 But there was more than creature comfort in 
 Alan's service. Without the latter's presence lone- 
 liness, homesickness and heartache would have 
 gnawed at the younger man retarding his physi- 
 cal gains. With Alan Massey life even on a sick 
 bed took on fascinating colors like a prism in sun- 
 light. 
 
 For the sick lad's delectation Alan spun long 
 thrilling tales, many of them based on personal 
 experience in his wide travels in many lands. He 
 was a magnificent raconteur and Dick propped up 
 among his pillows drank it all in, listening like 
 another Desdemona to strange moving accidents 
 of fire and flood which his scribbling soul recog- 
 nized as superb copy. 
 
 391
 
 392 WILD WINGS 
 
 Often too Alan read from books, called in the 
 masters of the pen to set the listener's eager mind 
 atravel through wondrous, unexplored worlds. 
 Best of all perhaps were the twilight hours when 
 Alan quoted long passages of poetry from memory, 
 lending to the magic of the poet's art his own 
 magic of voice and intonation. These were won- 
 derful moments to Dick, moments he was never to 
 forget. He drank deep of the soul vintage which 
 the other man offered him out of the abundance 
 of his experience as a life long pilgrim in the ser- 
 vice of beauty. 
 
 It was a curious relation this growing friend- 
 ship between the two men. In some respects they 
 were as master and pupil, in others were as man 
 and man, friend and friend, almost brother and 
 brother. When Alan Massey gave at all he gave 
 magnificently without stint or reservation. He 
 did now. And when he willed to conquer he sel- 
 dom if ever failed. He did not now. He won, 
 won first his cousin's liking, respect, and gratitude 
 and finally his loyal friendship and something else 
 that was akin to reverence. 
 
 Tony Holiday's name was seldom mentioned be- 
 tween the two. Perhaps they feard that with the 
 name of the girl they both loved there might 
 return also the old antagonistic forces which had 
 already wrought too much havoc. Both sincerely 
 desired peace and amity and therefore the woman 
 who held both their hearts in her keeping was al- 
 most banished from the talk of the sick room though 
 she was far from forgotten' by either. 
 
 So things went on. In time Dick was judged 
 by the physician well enough to take the long jour- 
 ney back to New York. Alan secured the tickets, 
 made all the arrangements, permitting Dick not 
 so much as the lifting of. a finger in his own behalf. 
 And just then came Tony Holiday's letter to Alan
 
 ALAN MASSEY LOSES HIMSELF 393 
 
 telling him she was his whenever he wanted her 
 since he had cleared the shield forever in her eyes 
 by what he had done for Dick. She trusted him, 
 knew he would not ask her to marry him unless he 
 was quite free morally and every other way to ask 
 her. She wanted him, could not be surer of his 
 love or her own if she waited a dozen years. He 
 meant more to her than her work, more than her 
 beloved freedom more even than Holiday Hill it- 
 self although she felt that she was not so much 
 deserting the Hill as bringing Alan to it. The 
 others would learn to love him too. They must, 
 because she loved him so much." But even if they 
 did not she had made her choice. She belonged to 
 him first of all. 
 
 "But think, dear," she finished. "Think well 
 before you take. me. Don't come to me at all unless 
 you can come free, with nothing on your soul that 
 is going to prevent your being happy with me. I 
 shall ask no questions if you come. I trust you 
 to decide right for us both because you love me in 
 the high way as well as all the other ways." 
 
 Alan took this letter of Tony's out into the night, 
 walked with it through flaming valleys of hell. 
 She was his. Of her own free will she had given 
 herself to him, placed him higher in her heart at 
 last than even her sacred Hill. And yet after all 
 the Hill stood between them, in the challenge she 
 flung at him. She was his to take if he could 
 come free. She left the decision to him. She 
 trusted him. 
 
 Good God ! Why should he hesitate to take what 
 she was. willing to give? He had atoned, saved his 
 cousin's life, lived decently, honorably as he had 
 promised, kept faith with Tony herself when he 
 might perhaps have won her on baser terms than 
 he had made himself keep to because he loved her 
 as she said "in the high way as well as all the other
 
 394 WILD WINGS 
 
 ways." He would contrive some way of giving 
 his cousin back the money. He did not want it. 
 He only wanted Tony and her love. Why in the 
 name of all the devils should he who had sinned all 
 his life, head up and eyes open, balk at this one 
 sin, the negative sin of mere silence, when it would 
 give him what he wanted more than all the world? 
 What was he afraid of? The answer he would 
 not let himself discover. He was afraid of Tony 
 Holiday's clear eyes but he was more afraid of 
 something else his own soul which somehow Tony 
 had created by loving and believing in him. 
 
 All the next day, the day before they were to 
 leave on the northern journey, Alan behaved as if 
 all the devils of hell which he had invoked were 
 with him. The old mocking bitterness of tongue 
 was back, an even more savage light than Dick re- 
 membered that night of their quarrel was in his 
 green eyes. The man was suddenly acidulated as 
 if he had over night suffered a chemical transforma- 
 tion which had affected both mind and body. A 
 wild beast tortured, evil, ready to pounce, looked 
 out of his drawn, white face. 
 
 Dick wondered greatly what had caused the 
 strange reaction and seeing the other was suffer- 
 ing tremendously for some reason or other unex- 
 plained and perhaps inexplicable was profoundly 
 sorry. His friendship for the man who had saved 
 his life was altogether too strong and deep to be 
 shaken by this temporary lapse into brutality which 
 he had known all along was there although held mi- 
 raculously in abeyance these many weeks. The 
 man was a genius, with all the temperamental fluc- 
 tuations of mood which are comprehensible and 
 forgivable in a genius. Dick did not begrudge 
 the other any relief he might find in his debauch 
 of ill humor, was more than willing he should 
 work it off on his humble self if it could do any
 
 ALAN MASSEY LOSES HIMSELF 395 
 
 good though he would be immensely relieved when 
 the old friendly Alan came back. 
 
 Twilight descended. Dick turned from the mir- 
 ror after a critical survey of his own lean, fever 
 parched, yellow countenance. 
 
 "Lord! I look like a peanut," he commenced 
 disgustedly. "I say, Massey, when we get back to 
 New York I think I should choke anybody if I 
 were you who dared to say we looked alike. One 
 must draw the line somewhere at what constitutes 
 a permissible insult." He grinned whimsically at 
 his own expense, turned back to the mirror. "Upon 
 my word, though, I believe it is true. We do look 
 alike. I never saw it until this minute. Funny 
 things resemblances." 
 
 "This isn't so funny," drawled Alan. "We had 
 the same great grandfather." 
 
 Dick whirled about staring at the other man as 
 if he thought him suddenly gone mad. 
 
 "What! What do you know about my great- 
 grandfather? Do you know wh'o I am?" 
 
 "I do. You are John Massey, old John's grand- 
 son, the chap I told you once was dead and decently 
 buried. I hoped it was true at the time but it 
 wasn't a w r eek before I knew it was a lie. I found 
 out John Massey was alive and that he was going 
 under the name of Dick Carson. Do you wonder 
 I hated you?" 
 
 Dick sat down, his face white. He looked and 
 was- utterly dazed. 
 
 "I don't understand," he said. "Do you mind ex- 
 plaining? It it is a little hard to get all at 
 once." 
 
 And then Alan Massey told the story that no 
 living being save himself knew. He spared him- 
 self nothing, apologized for nothing, expressed no 
 regret, asked for no palliation of judgment, for- 
 giveness or even understanding. Quietly, appar-
 
 396 WILD WINGS 
 
 ently without emotion, he gave back to the other 
 man the birthright he had robbed him of by his sel- 
 fish and dishonorable connivance with a wicked old 
 man now beyond the power of any vengeance or 
 penalty. Dick Carson was no longer nameless but 
 as he listened tensely to his cousin's revelations he 
 almost found it in his heart to wish he- were. It was 
 too terrible to have won his name at such a cost. 
 As he listened, watching Alan's eyes burn in the 
 dusk in strange contrast to his cool, liquid, studi- 
 ously tranquil voice, Dick remembered a line Alan 
 himself had read him only the other day, "Hell, 
 the shadow of a soul on fire," the Persian phrased 
 it. Watching, Dick Carson saw before him a sad- 
 der thing, a soul which had once been on fire and 
 was now but gray ashes. The flame had blazed up, 
 scorched and blackened its path. It was over now, 
 burnt out. At thirty-three Alan Massey was 
 through, had lived his life, had given up. The 
 younger man saw this with a pang which had 
 no reactive thought of self, only compassion for 
 the other. 
 
 "That is all, I think," said Alan at last. "I have 
 all the proofs of your indentity with me. I never 
 could destroy them somehow though I have meant 
 to over and over again. On the same principle I 
 suppose that the sinning monk sears the sign of the 
 cross on his breast though he makes no outward 
 confession to the world and means to make none. 
 I never meant to make mine. I don't know why I 
 am doing it now. Or rather I do. I couldn't 
 marry Tony with this thing between us. I tried to 
 think I could, that I'd made up to you by saving 
 your life, that I was free to take my happiness with 
 her because I loved her and she loved me. And 
 she does love me. She wrote me yesterday she 
 would marry me whenever I wished. I could have 
 had her. But I couldn't take her that way. I
 
 ALAN MASSEY LOSES HIMSELF 397 
 
 couldn't have made her happy. She would have 
 read the thing in my soul. She is too clean and 
 honest and true herself not to feel the presence of 
 the other thing when it came near her. I have 
 tried to tell myself love was enough, that it would 
 make up to her for the rest. It isn't enough. You 
 can't build life or happiness except on the quarry 
 stuff they keep on Holiday Hill, right, honor, de- 
 cency. You know that. Tony forgave my past. I 
 believe she is generous enough to forgive even this 
 and go on with me. But I shan't ask her. I won't 
 let her. I I've given her up with the rest." 
 
 The speaker came over to where Dick sat, silent, 
 stunned. 
 
 "Enough of that. I have no wish to appeal to 
 you in any way. The next move is yours. You 
 can act as you please. You can brand me as a 
 criminal if you choose. It is what I am, guilty in 
 the eyes of the law as well as in my own eyes and 
 yours. I am not pleading innocence. I am plead- 
 ing unqualified, guilt. Understand that clearly. 
 I knew what I was doing when I did it. I have 
 known ever since. I've never been blind to the 
 rottenness of the thing. At first I did it for the 
 money because I was afraid of poverty and honest 
 work. And then I went on with it for Tony, be- 
 cause I loved her and wouldn't give her up to you. 
 Now I've given up the last ditch. The name is 
 yours and the money is yours and if you can win 
 Tony she is yours. I'm out of the race for good 
 and all. But we have to settle just how the thing 
 is going to be done. And that is for you to say." 
 
 "I wish I needn't do anything about it," said 
 Dick slowly after a moment. "I don't want the 
 money. I am almost afraid of it. It seems accursed 
 somehow considering what it did to you. Even the 
 name I don't seem to care so much about just now 
 thought I have wanted a name as I have never
 
 398 WILD WINGS 
 
 wanted anything else in the world except Tony. It 
 was mostly for her I wanted it. See here, Alan, 
 why can't w r e make a compromise? You say Rob- 
 erts wrote two letters and you have both. Why 
 can't we destroy the one and send the other to the 
 lawyers, the one that lets you out? It is nobody's 
 business but ours. We can say that the letter has 
 just fallen into your hands with the other proof that 
 I am the John Massey that was stolen. That 
 would straighten the thing out for you. I've no 
 desire to brand you in any way. Why should I af- 
 ter all I owe you? You have made up a million 
 times by saving my life and by the way you have 
 given the thing over now. Anyway one doesn't 
 exact payment from one's friends. And you are 
 my friend, Alan. You offered me friendship. I 
 took it was proud to take it. I am proud now, 
 prouder than ever." 
 
 And rising Dick Carson who was no longer Dick 
 Carson but .John Massey held out his hand to the 
 man who had wronged him so bitterly. The para- 
 quet in the corner jibbered harshly. Thunder 
 rumbled heavily outside. An eerily vivid flash of 
 lightning dispelled for a moment the gloom of the 
 dusk as the two men clasped hands. 
 
 "John Massey!" Alan's voice with its deep cello 
 quality was vibrant with emotion. "You don't 
 know what that means to me. Men have called me 
 many things but few have ever called me friend 
 except in lip service for what they thought they 
 could get out of it. And from you well, I can only 
 say, I thank you." 
 
 "We are the only Masseys. I We ought to stand 
 together," said Dick simply. 
 
 Alan smiled though the room was too dark for 
 Dick to see. 
 
 "We can't stand together. I have forfeited the
 
 ALAN MASSEY LOSES HIMSELF 399 
 
 right. You chose the high road long ago and I 
 chose the other. We have both to abide by our 
 choices. We can't change those things at will. 
 Spare me the public revelation if you care to. I 
 shall be glad for Tony's sake. For myself it doesn't 
 matter much. I don't expect to cross your path or 
 hers again. I am going to lose myself. Maybe 
 some day you will win her. She will be worth the 
 winning. But don't hurry her if you want to 
 win. She will have to get over me first and that 
 will take time." 
 
 "She will never get over you, Alan. I know 
 her. Things go deep with her. They do with all 
 the Holidays. You shan't lose yourself. There 
 is no need of it. Tony loves you. You must 
 stay and make her happy. You can now you are 
 free. She need never know the worst of this any 
 more than the rest of the world need know. We 
 can divide the money. It is the only way I am 
 willing to have any of it." 
 
 Alan shook his head. 
 
 "We can divide nothing, not the money and not 
 Tony's love. I told you I was giving it all up. 
 You cannot stop me. No man has ever stopped me 
 from doing what I willed to do. I have a letter 
 or two to write now and so I'll leave you. I am 
 glad you don't hate me, John Massey. Shall we 
 shake hands once' more and then good-night?" 
 
 Their hands met again. A sharp glare of 
 lightning lit the room with ominous brilliancy for 
 a moment. The paraquet screamed raucously. 
 And then the door closed on Alan Massey. 
 
 An hour later a servant brought word to Dick 
 that an American was below waiting to speak to 
 him. He descended with the card in his hand. 
 The name was unfamiliar, Arthur Hallock of Chi- 
 cago, mining engineer.
 
 400 WILD WINGS 
 
 The stranger stood in the hall waiting while 
 Dick came down the stairs. He was obviously ill 
 at ease. 
 
 "I am Hallock," announced the visitor. "You 
 are Richard Carson?" 
 
 Dick nodded. Already the name was beginning 
 to sound strange on his ears. In one hour he had 
 gotten oddly accustomed to knowing that he was 
 John Massey. And no longer needed Tony's name, 
 dear as it was. 
 
 "I am sorry to be the bearer of ill news, Mr. 
 Carson," the stranger proceeded. "You have a 
 friend named Alan Massey living here with you?" 
 
 Again Dick nodded. He was apprehensive at 
 the mention of Alan's name. 
 
 "There was a riot down there." The speaker 
 pointed down the street. "A fuss over an Amer- 
 ican flag some dirty German dog had spit at. It 
 didn't take long to start a life sized row. We are 
 all spoiling for a chance to stick a few of the 
 pigs ourselves whether we're technically at war 
 or not. A lot of us collected, your friend Massey 
 among the rest. I remember particularly when he 
 joined the mob because he was so much taller than 
 the rest of us and came strolling in as if he was 
 going to an afternoon tea instead of getting into 
 an international mess with nearly all the con- 
 tracting parties drunk and disorderly. There was 
 a good deal of excitement and confusion. I don't 
 believe anybody knows just what happened but a 
 drunken Mexican drew a dagger somewhere in 
 the mix up and let it fly indiscriminate like. We 
 all scattered like mischief when we saw the thing 
 flash. Nobody cares much for that kind of play- 
 thing at close range. But Massey didn't move. 
 It got him, clean in the heart. He couldn't have 
 suffered a second. It was all over in a breath.
 
 ALAN MASSEY LOSES HIMSELF 401 
 
 He fell and the mob made itself scarce. Another 
 fellow and I were the first to get to him but there 
 wasn't anything to do but look in his pockets and 
 find out who he was. We found his name on a 
 card with this address and your name scribbled on 
 it in pencil. I say, Mr. Carson, I am horribly 
 sorry/' suddenly perceiving Dick's white face. 
 "You care a lot, don't you?" 
 
 "I care a lot," said Dick woodenly. "He was 
 my cousin and my best friend." 
 
 "I am sorry," repeated the young engineer. 
 "Mr. Carson, there is something else I feel as if 
 I had to say though I shan't say it to any one else. 
 Massey might have dodged with the rest of us. 
 He saw it coming just as we did. He waited 
 for it and I saw him smile as it came a queer 
 smile at that. Maybe I'm mistaken but I have a 
 hunch he wanted that dagger to find him. That 
 was why he smiled." 
 
 "I think you are entirely right, Mr. Hallock," 
 said Dick. "I haven't any doubt but that was why 
 he smiled. He would smile just that way. Where 
 where is he?" Dick brushed his hands across 
 his eyes as he asked the question. He had never 
 felt so desolate, so utterly alone in his life. 
 
 "They are bringing him here. Shall I stay? Can 
 I help anyway?" 
 
 Dick shook his head sadly. 
 
 "Thank you. I don't think there is anything 
 any one can do. I I wish there was." 
 
 A little later Alan Massey's dead body lay in 
 austere dignity in the house in which he had 
 saved his cousin's life and given him back his 
 name and fortune together with the right to win 
 the girl he himself had loved so well. The smile 
 was still on his face and a strange serenity of ex- 
 pression was there too. He slept well at last. He
 
 402 WILD WINGS 
 
 had lost himself as he had proclaimed his intent 
 to do and in losing had found himself. One could 
 not look upon that calm white sculptured face with- 
 out feeling that. Alan Massey had died a victor 
 undaunted, a master of fate to the end.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 THE SONG IN THE NIGHT 
 
 TONY HOLIDAY sat in the dressing room waiting 
 her cue to go on the stage;. It was only a re- 
 hearsal however.- Miss Clay was back now and 
 Tony was once more the humble understudy though 
 with a heart full of happy knowledge of what it 
 is like to be a real actress- with a doting public 
 at her feet. 
 
 While she waited she picked up a newspaper 
 and carelessly scanned its pages. Suddenly to 
 the amazement and consternation of the other girl 
 who was dressing in the same room she uttered 
 a sharp little cry and for the first time in her 
 healthy young life slid to the floor in a merci- 
 ful faint. Her frightened companion called for 
 help instantly and it was only a moment before 
 Tony's brown eyes opened and she pulled herself 
 up from the couch where they had laid her. But 
 she would not speak or tell them what had hap- 
 pened and it was only when they had gotten her 
 off in a cab with a motherly, big hearted woman 
 who played shrew's and villainess' parts always on 
 the stage but was the one person of the whole cast 
 to whom every one turned in time of trouble that 
 the rest searched the paper for the clew to the 
 thing which had made Tony look like death itself. 
 It was not far ta seek. Tony looked like death 
 because Alan Massey was dead. 
 
 They all knew Alan Massey and knew that he 
 and Tony Holiday were intimate friends, per- 
 
 403
 
 404 WILD WINGS 
 
 haps even betrothed. More than one of them had 
 seen and remembered how he had kissed her before 
 them all on the night of Tony's first Broadway 
 triumph and some of them had wondered why he 
 had not been seen since with her. So he had been 
 in Mexico and now he was dead, his heart pierced 
 by a Mexican dagger. And Tony Tony of the 
 gay tongue and the quick laughter had the dag- 
 ger gone into her heart too? It looked so. The 
 "End of the Rainbow" cast felt very sad and sober 
 that day. They loved Tony and just now she was 
 not an actress to them but a girl who had loved 
 a man, a man who was dead. 
 
 Jean Lambert telegraphed at once for Doctor 
 Holiday to come to Tony who was in a bad way. 
 She wouldn't talk. She wouldn't eat. She did not 
 sleep. She did not cry. Jean thought if she cried 
 her grief would not have been so pitiful to behold. 
 It was the stony, white 1 silence of her that was in- 
 tolerable to witness. 
 
 In her uncle's arms Tony's terrible calm gave 
 way and she sobbed herself to utter weariness and 
 finally to sleep. But even to him she would not 
 talk much about Alan. He had not known Alan. 
 He had never understood never would under- 
 stand now how wonderful, how lovable, how splen- 
 did her lover had been. For several days she was 
 kept in bed and the doctor hardly left her. It was 
 a hard time for him as well as his stricken niece. 
 Even their love for each other did not serve to 
 lighten the pain to any great extent. It was not 
 the same sorrow they had. Doctor Holiday was 
 suffering because his little girl suffered. Tony was 
 suffering because s"he loved Alan Massey who would 
 never come to her again. Neither could entirely 
 share the grief of the other. Alan Massey was 
 between them still. 
 
 Finally Dick came and was able to give what
 
 THE SONG IN THE NIGHT 405 
 
 Doctor Philip could not. He could sing Alan's 
 praises, tell her how wonderful he had been, how 
 generous and kind. He could share her grief as 
 no one else could because he had learned to love 
 Alan Massey almost as well as she did herself. 
 
 Dick talked freely of Alan, told her of the strange 
 discovery which they had made that he and Alan 
 were cousins and that he himself was John Mas- 
 sey, the kidnapped baby whom he had been so 
 sorry for when he had looked up the Massey story 
 at the time of the old man's death. Dick was 
 not an apt liar but he lied gallantly now for Alan's 
 sake and for Tony's. He told her that it was 
 only since Alan had been in Mexico that he had 
 known who his cousin was and had immediately 
 possessed the other of the facts and turned over 
 to him the proofs of his identity as John Massey. 
 
 It was a good lie, well conceived and well de- 
 livered but the liar had not reckoned on that fatal 
 Holiday gift of intuition. Tony listened to the 
 story, shut her eyes and thought hard for a mom- 
 ent. Then she opened her eyes again and looked 
 straight at Dick. 
 
 "That is not the truth," she said. "Alan knew 
 before he went to Mexico. He knew long before. 
 That was the other ghost the one he could not 
 lay. Don't lie to me. I know." 
 
 And then yielding to her command Dick began 
 again and told her the truth, serving Alan's mem- 
 ory well by the relation. One thing only he kept 
 back. After all he had no proof that the young 
 engineer had been right in his conjecture that Alan 
 had wanted the dagger to find him. There was no 
 need of hurting Tony with that. 
 
 "Dick I can't call you John yet. I can't even 
 think about you to-night though I am so thank- 
 ful to have you back safe and well. I can't be glad 
 yet for you. I can't remember any one but Alan.,
 
 406 WILD WINGS 
 
 You will forgive me, I know. But tell me. It 
 was a terrible thing he did to you. Do you for- 
 give him really?" The girl's deep shadowed eyes 
 searched the young man's face, challenging him 
 to speak the truth and only that. 
 
 He met the challenge willingly. He had noth- 
 ing to conceal here. Tony might read him through 
 and through and she would find in him neither 
 hate nor rancor, nor condemnation. 
 
 "Of course I forgive him, Tony. He did a ter- 
 rible thing to me you say. He did a much more 
 terrible thing to himself. And he made up for 
 everything over and over by what he did for 
 me in Mexico. He might have let me die. I should 
 have died if he had not come. There is no doubt 
 in the world of that. He could not have done more 
 if he had been my own brother. He meant me to 
 like him. He did more. He made ,me love him. 
 He was my friend. We parted as friends with 
 a handshake which was his good-by though I didn't 
 know it." 
 
 It was a fatal speech. Too late Dick realized 
 it as he saw Tony's face. 
 
 "Dick, he meant to let himself get killed. I've 
 thought so all along and now I know you think 
 so too." 
 
 "I didn't mean to let that out. Maybe I am 
 mistaken. We shall never know. But I believe 
 he was not sorry to let the dagger get him. He 
 had given up everything else. It wasn't so hard 
 for him to give up the one thing more the thing 
 he didn't want anyway life. Life wasn't much 
 to him after he gave you up, Tony. His love was 
 the biggest thing about him. I love you myself 
 but I am not ashamed to say that his love was a 
 bigger thing than mine every way, finer, more 
 magnificent, the love of a genius whereas mine is
 
 THE SONG IN THE NIGHT 407 
 
 just the love of an every day man. It was love 
 that saved him." 
 
 "Dick, do you believe that the real Alan is 
 dust nothing but dust down in a grave?" de- 
 manded Tony suddenly. 
 
 "No, Tony, I don't. I can't. The essence of 
 what was best in him is alive somewhere. I know 
 it. It must be. His love for you for all beauty 
 they couldn't die, dear. They were big enough 
 to be immortal." 
 
 "And his dancing," sighed Tony. "His dancing 
 couldn't die. It had a soul." 
 
 If she had not been sure already that Alan had 
 meant to go out of her life even if he had not meant 
 to go to his death when he left New York she would 
 have been convinced a little later. Alan^s Japanese 
 servant brought two gifts to her from his honor- 
 able master according to his honorable master's 
 orders should he not return from his journey. His 
 honorable master being unfortunately dead his un- 
 worthy servant laid the gifts at Mees Holiday's 
 honorable feet. Whereupon the bearer had de- 
 parted as quietly as death itself might come. 
 
 One of the gifts was a picture, a painting which 
 Tony had seen, and which was she thought 
 the most beautiful of all his beautiful creations. 
 Its sheer loveliness would have hurt her even if 
 it had had no other significance and it did have 
 a very real message. 
 
 At first sight the whole scene seemed enveloped 
 in translucent, silver mist. As one looked more 
 closely however there was revealed the figure of a 
 man, black clad in pilgrim guise, kneeling on the 
 verge of a precipitous cliff which rose out of a 
 seemingly bottomless abyss of terrific blackness. 
 Though in posture of prayer the pilgrim's head 
 was lifted and his face wore an expression of rapt
 
 408 WILD WINGS 
 
 adoration. Above a film of fog in the heavens 
 stretched a clear space of deep blue black sky in 
 which hung a single luminous star. From the 
 star a line of golden light of unearthly radiance 
 descended and finding 1 its way to the uplifted 
 transfigured face of the kneeling pilgrim ended 
 there. 
 
 Tony Holiday understood, got the message as 
 clearly as if Alan himself stood beside her to in- 
 terpret it. She knew that he was telling her 
 through the picture that she had saved his soul, kept 
 him out of the abyss, that to the end she was 
 what he had so often called her his star. 
 
 With tear blinded eyes she turned from the can- 
 vas to the little silver box which the servant had 
 placed in her hands together with a sealed en- 
 velope. In the box was a gorgeous, unset ruby, the 
 gem of Alan's collection as Tony well knew having 
 worshiped often at its shrine. It lay there now 
 against the austere purity of its white satin back- 
 ground the symbol of imperishable passion. 
 
 Reverently Tony closed the little box and opened 
 the sealed envelope dreading yet longing to know 
 its contents. Alan had sent her no word of fare- 
 well, had not written to her that night before he 
 went out into the storm to meet his death, had 
 made no response to the letter she herself had 
 written offering herself and her love and faith for 
 his taking. At first these things had hurt her. 
 But these gifts of his were beginning to make 
 her understand his silence. Selfish and spectac- 
 ular all his life at his death Alan Massey had been 
 surpassingly generous and simple. He had chosen 
 to bequeath his love to her not as an obsession and 
 a bondage but as an elemental thing like light 
 and air. 
 
 The message in the envelope was in its way as 
 impersonal as the ruby had -been but Tony found
 
 THE SONG IN THE NIGHT 409 
 
 it more hauntingly personal than she had ever 
 found his most impassioned love letter. Once more 
 the words were couched in the symbol tongue 
 of the poet in India in only two sentences, but 
 sentences so poignant that they stamped them- 
 selves forever on Tony Holiday's mind as they 
 stood out from the paper in Alan's beautiful, strik- 
 ing handwriting. 
 
 "When the lighted lamp is brought into the room 
 
 I shall go. 
 And then perhaps you will listen to the night, and 
 
 hear my song when I am silent. ' ' 
 
 The lines were dated on that unforgettable night 
 when Tony had played Broadway and danced her 
 last dance with her royal lover. So he had known 
 even then that he was giving her up. Realizing this 
 Tony realized as she never had before the high 
 quality of his love. She could guess a little of 
 what that night had meant to him, how passion- 
 ately he must have desired to win through to the 
 full fruition of his love before he gave her up for 
 all the rest of time. And she herself had been mad 
 that night Tony remembered. Ah well! He had 
 been strong for them both. And now their love 
 would always stay upon the high levels, never 
 descend to the ways of earth. There would never 
 be anything to regret, though Tony loving her 
 lover's memory as she did that moment was not so 
 sure but she regretted that most of all. 
 
 Yet tragic as Alan's death was and bitterly and 
 sincerely as she mourned his 4oss Tony could 
 see that he had after all chosen the happiest way 
 out for himself as well as for her and his cousin. 
 It was not hard to forgive a dead lover with a 
 generous act of renunciation his last deed. It 
 would have been far less easy to forgive a living
 
 410 WILD WINGS 
 
 lover with such a stain upon his life. Even though 
 he tried to wash it away by his surrender and she 
 by her forgiveness the stain would have remained 
 ineradicable. There would always have been a 
 barrier between them for- all his effort and her 
 own. 
 
 And his love would ill have borne denial or 
 frustration. Without her he would have gone 
 down into- dark pits if he had gone on living. 
 Perhaps he had known and feared this himself, 
 willing to prevent it at any cost. Perhaps he had 
 known that so long as he lived she, Tony, would 
 never have been entirely her own again. His 
 bondage would have been upon her even if he 
 never saw her again. Perhaps he had elected death 
 most of all for this reason, had loved her well 
 enough to set her free. He had told her- once 
 that love was twofold, a force of destruction and 
 damnation but also a force of purification and sal- 
 vation. Alan had loved her greatly, perhaps in 
 the end his love had taken him in his own words 
 "to the gate of Heaven." Tony did not know but 
 she thought if there really was a God he would 
 understand and forgive the soul of Alan Massey 
 for that last splendid sacrifice of his in the name 
 of love. 
 
 And whatever happened Tony Holiday knew that 
 she would bear forever the mark of Alan Massey's 
 stormy, strange, and in the end all-beautiful love. 
 Perhaps some day the lighted lamp might be 
 bnought in. She did not know, would not attempt 
 to prophesy about that. She did not know that 
 she would always listen to the night for Alan Mas- 
 sey's sake and hear his song though he was silent 
 forever. 
 
 The next day Richard Carson officially disap- 
 peared from the world and John Massey appeared 
 in his place. The papers made- rather a striking
 
 THE SONG IN THE NIGHT 411 
 
 story of his romantic history and its startling de- 
 nouement which had come they said through the 
 death bed confessions of the man Roberts which 
 had only just reached the older Massey's hands, 
 strangely enough on the eve of his own tragic 
 death, which was again related to make the tale 
 a little more of a thriller. That was all the world 
 knew, was ever to know for the Holidays and 
 John Massey kept the dead man's secret well. 
 
 And the grass grew green on Alan Massey's 
 grave. The sun and dew and rain laid tender 
 fingers upon it and great crimson and gold hearted 
 roses strewed their fragrant petals upon it year 
 by year. The stars he had loved so well shone down 
 upon the lonely spot where his body slept quiet at 
 last after the torment of his brief and stormy life. 
 But otherwise, as John Massey and Tony Holi- 
 day believed, his undefeated spirit fared on splen- 
 didly in its divine quest of beauty.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 IN WHICH THE TALE ENDS IN THE HOUSE ON THE 
 HILL 
 
 THE winter had at last decided to recapture its 
 forsaken role of the Snow King. For two days and 
 as many nights the air had been one swirl of snow 
 which shut out earth and sky. But on the third 
 morning the Hill woke to a dazzling world of cloud- 
 less blue and trackless white. A resplendent bride- 
 like day it was and fitly so for before sundown the 
 old House on the Hill was. to know another bride. 
 Elinor Ruth Farringdon's affairs required her 
 immediate attention in Australia and she was leav- 
 ing to-night for that far away island which was 
 again now dear to her heart as the home of her 
 happy childhood, the memory of which had now all 
 returned after months of strange obliteration. 
 But she would not go as Elinor Ruth Farringdon. 
 That name was to be shed as absolutely as her recol- 
 le'ction of it had once been shed. She would go as 
 Mrs. Laurence Holiday with a real wedding ring 
 all her own and a real husband also all her own 
 by her side. 
 
 There w r ere to be no guests outside the family 
 except for the Lamberts, Carlotta and Dick- 
 John Massey, as they were now trying to learn to 
 call him. The wedding was to be very quiet not 
 only because of Granny but because they were all 
 very pitiful of Tony's still fresh grief, the more so 
 because she bore it so bravely and quietly, anxious 
 lest she cast any shadow upon the happiness of the 
 
 412
 
 TALE ENDS IN THE HOUSE ON THE HILL 413 
 
 others, especially that of Larry and Ruth. In any 
 case a quiet wedding would have been the choice of 
 the two who were most concerned. They wanted 
 only their near and dear about them when they 
 took upon themselves the rites which were to unite 
 them for the rest of their two lives. 
 
 Aside from Tony's sorrow the only two regrets 
 which marred the household joy that bride white 
 day were Ted's absence and imminent departure 
 for France and that other even soberer remem- 
 brance of that other gallant young soldier, Kuth's 
 brother Roderick of whom no news had come, 
 though Ruth insisted that Rod wasn't dead, that he 
 would came back just as her vivid memory of him 
 had returned. 
 
 And it happened that her faith was rewarded 
 and on the very day of days when one drop more 
 of happiness made the cup fairly spill over. Larry 
 was summoned to the telephone just as he had been 
 once before on a certain memorable occasion to be 
 told that a cabled message awaited him. The mes- 
 sage was from Geoffrey Annersley and bore besides 
 his love. and congratulations the wonderful news 
 that Roderick Fariingdon had escaped from a Ger- 
 man prison camp and was safe in England. 
 
 Ruth shed many happy tears over this best of 
 all bridal gifts, "not enough to dim the shining 
 blue of her eyes but enough to give them a lovely, 
 misty tenderness which made her sweeter than ever 
 Larry thought, and who should have magic eyes 
 if not a bridegroom? 
 
 A little later came Carlotta and Dick, the latter 
 well and strong again but thin and pale and rather 
 sober. Tony loved him for grieving for Alan as she 
 knew he did. He too had known and loved the 
 dead man and understood him perhaps better than 
 she had herself. For after all no man and woman 
 can ever fully understand each other especially if
 
 414 WILD WINGS 
 
 they are in love. So many faint nuances of doubt 
 and fear and pride and passion and jealousy are 
 forever drifting between lovers obscuring clarity 
 of vision. 
 
 Carlotta was prettier than ever with a new sweet- 
 ness and womanliness which her love had wrought 
 in her during the year. People who had known her 
 mother said she was growing daily more like Rose 
 though always before they had traced a greater re- 
 semblance to the other side of the house, to her Aunt 
 Lottie particularly. She and Philip were to be 
 married in the spring. "When the orioles come" 
 Carlotta had said remembering her father's story 
 of that other brief mating. 
 
 Tony and Carlotta slipped away from the others 
 to talk by themselves. Carlotta too had known 
 and liked Alan and to all such Tony clung just 
 now. 
 
 "He was so different at the end," she said to her 
 friend. "I wish you could have known him that 
 way so dear and gentle and wonderful. He 
 kept his promise everyway, lived absolutely straight 
 and clean and fine." 
 
 "He did it for you, Tony. He never could have 
 done it for himself. He wouldn't have thought it 
 worth while. Don't tell me if you don't want to 
 but I have guessed a good many things since I knew 
 about Dick and I have wondered if he wasn't 
 rather glad to get killed." 
 
 "Yes, Dick thinks and I think too that he let the 
 dagger find him. I have always called him my 
 royal lover. His death was the most royal part 
 of all." 
 
 Carlotta was silent. She hoped that somewhere 
 Alan was finding the happiness he seemed always 
 to have missed on earth. Then seeing her friend's 
 lovely eyes with the heavy shadow in them where 
 there had been only sunshine before her heart re-
 
 TALE ENDS IN THE HOUSE ON THE HILL 415 
 
 belled. Poor Tony! Why must she suffer like 
 this? She was so young. Was life really over for 
 her? For Carlotta in her own happiness life 
 and love were synonymous terms. Something of 
 what was in her mind she said to her friend. 
 
 "I don't know," confessed Tony. "It is too soon 
 to tell. Just now Alan fills every nook and cranny 
 of me. I can't think of any other man or imagine 
 myself loving anybody else as I loved him. But I 
 am a very much alive person. I don't believe I 
 shall give myself to death forever. Alan himself 
 wouldn't want it so. A part of me will always be 
 his but there are other margins of me that Alan 
 never touched and these maybe I shall give to some 
 one else when the time comes." 
 
 "Does that mean Dick John Massey?" 
 
 "Maybe. Maybe not. I have told him not to 
 speak of love for a long, long time. We must both 
 be free. He is going to France as a war corre- 
 spondent next week." 
 
 "Don't you hate to have him go?" 
 
 "Yes, I do. But I can't be selfish enough to 
 keep him hanging round me forever on the slim 
 chance that some time I shall be willing to marry 
 him. He is too fine to be treated like that. He 
 wants to go overseas unless I will marry him now 
 and I can't do that. It is better that we should 
 be apart for a while. As for me I have my work 
 and I am going to plunge into it as deep and hard 
 as I can. I am not going to be unhappy. You 
 can't be unhappy when you love your work as I 
 love mine. Don't be sorry for me, Carlotta. I 
 am not sorry for myself. Even if I never loved 
 again and never was loved I should still have had 
 enough for a life time. It is more than many 
 women have, more than I deserve." 
 
 The bride white day wore on to twilight and as 
 the clock struck the hour of five Ruth Farringdon
 
 416 WILD WINGS 
 
 came down the broad oak staircase clad in the 
 shining splendor of the bridal gown she had 
 "dreamed," wearing her grandmother's pearls and 
 the lace veil which Larry's lovely mother had worn 
 as Ned Holiday's bride long and long ago. At 
 the foot of the stairs Larry waited and took her 
 hand. Eric and Hester flanking the living room 
 door pushed aside the curtains for the two who still 
 hand in hand walked past the children into the 
 room where the others were assembled. Gravely 
 and brimming with importance the guard of honor 
 followed, the latter bearing the bride's bouquet, the 
 former squeezing the wedding ring in his small 
 fist. Kuth took her place beside the senior doc- 
 tor. The minister opened his mouth to proceed 
 with the ceremony, shut it again with a little 
 gasp. 
 
 For suddenly the curtains were swept aside 
 again, this time with a breezier and less stately 
 sweep and Ted Holiday in uniform and sergeant's 
 regalia plunged into the room, a thinner, browner, 
 taller Ted, with a new kind of dignity about him 
 but withal the same blue-eyed lad w r ith the old 
 heart warming smile, still always Teddy the be- 
 loved. 
 
 "Don't mind me," he announced. "Please go on." 
 And he slipped into a place beside Tony drawing 
 her hand in his with a warm pressure as he did 
 so. 
 
 They went on. Laurence LaRue Holiday and 
 Elinor Ruth Farringdon were made man and wife 
 till death did them part. The old clock on the 
 mantel which had looked down on these two on a 
 less happy occasion looked on still, ticking away 
 calmly, telling no tales and asking no questions. 
 What was a marriage more or less to time? 
 
 The ceremony over it was the newly arrived 
 sergeant rather than the bride and groom who was
 
 TALE ENDS IN THE HOUSE ON THE HILL 417 
 
 the center of attraction and none were better 
 pleased than Larry and Ruth to have it so. 
 
 It was a flying visit on Ted's part. He had 
 managed to secure a last minute leave just 
 before sailing from Montreal at which place he 
 had to report the day after to-morrow. 
 
 "So let's eat, drink, and be merry," he finished his 
 explanation gayly. "But first, please, Larry, may I 
 kiss the bride?" 
 
 "Go to it," laughed his brother. "I'm so hanged 
 glad to see you Kid, I've half a mind to kiss you 
 myself." . 
 
 Needing no further urging Ted availed himself 
 of the proffered privilege and kissed the bride, not 
 once but three times, once on each rosy cheek, 
 and last full on her pretty mouth itself. 
 
 "There !" he announced standing off to survey her, 
 both her hands still in his possession. "I've al- 
 ways wanted to do that and now I've done it. I 
 feel better." 
 
 Everybody laughed at that not because what he 
 said was so very amusing as because their hearts 
 were so full of joy to have the irrepressible young- 
 est Holiday at home again after the long anxious 
 weeks of his absence. 
 
 Under cover of the laugh he whispered in Ruth's 
 ear, "Gee! But I'm glad you are all right again, 
 sweetness. And your Geoffrey Annersley is some 
 peach of a cousin, I'm telling you, though I'm 
 confoundedly glad he decided he was married to 
 somebody else and left the coast clear for Larry." 
 
 He squeezed her hand again, a pressure which 
 meant more than his words as Ruth knew and then 
 he turned to Larry. The hands of the two 
 brothers met and each looked into the other's face, 
 for once unashamed of the emotion that mastered 
 them. Characteristically Ted was the first to re- 
 cover speech.
 
 418 WILD WINGS 
 
 "Larry, dear old chap, I wish I could tell you 
 how happy I am that it has come out so ripping 
 right for you and Ruth. You deserve all the luck 
 and love in the world. I only wish mother and 
 dad could be here now. Maybe they are. I believe 
 they must know somehow. Dad seems awfully 
 close to me lately especially since I've been in this 
 war business." Then seeing Larry's face shadow 
 he added, "And you mustn't worry about me, old 
 man. I am going to come through and it is all 
 right anyway whatever happens. You know your- 
 self death isn't so much not such a horrible cala- 
 mity as we talk as if it were." 
 
 "I know. But it is horribly hard to reconcile 
 myself to your going. I can't seem to make up 
 my mind to accept it especially as you needn't have 
 gone." 
 
 "Don't let that part bother you. The old U. S. 
 A. will be in it herself before you know it and then 
 I'd have gone anyway. Nothing would have kept 
 me. What is the odds? I am glad to be getting in 
 on the front row myself. I am going to be all 
 right I tell you. Going to have a bully time and 
 when we have the Germans jolly well licked I'm 
 coming home and find me as pretty a wife as Ruth 
 if there is one to be found in America and marry 
 her quick as lightning." 
 
 Larry smiled at that. It was so like Ted it was 
 good to hear. And irrationally enough he found 
 himself more than a little reassured and comforted 
 because the other lad declared he was going to be 
 all right and have a bully time and come back safe 
 when the job was done. 
 
 "And I say, Larry." Ted's voice was soberer 
 now. "I have always wanted to tell you how I 
 appreciated your standing by me so magnificently 
 in that horrible mess of mine. I wouldn't have 
 blamed you if you had felt like throwing me over
 
 TALE ENDS IN THE HOUSE ON THE HILL 419 
 
 for life after my being such a tarnation idiot and 
 disgracing the family like that. I'll never forget 
 how white you and Uncle Phil both were about it 
 every way and maybe you won't believe it but 
 'there'll never be anything like that again. There 
 are some things I'm through with at least if I'm 
 not I'm even more of a fool than I think I am." 
 
 "Don't, Ted. I haven't been such a model of 
 virtue and wisdom that I can afford to sit in judg- 
 ment on you. I've learned a few things myself 
 this year and I am not so cock sure in my views 
 as I was^by a long shot. Anyway you have more 
 than made up by what you have done since and 
 what you are going to do over there. Let's forget 
 the rest and just remember that we are both Holi- 
 days, and it is up to both of us to measure up to 
 Dad and Uncle Phil, far as we can." 
 
 "Some stunt, what?" Thus Ted flippantly mixed 
 his familiar American and newly acquired Brit- 
 ish vernacular. "You are dead right, Larry. I 
 am afraid I'm doomed to land some nine miles or 
 so below the mark but I'm going to make a stab at 
 it anyway." 
 
 Later there was a gala dinner party, an occa- 
 sion almost as gay as that Round Table banquet 
 over eight years ago had been when Dick Carson 
 had been formally inducted into the order and 
 Doctor Holiday had announced that he w r as going 
 to marry Miss Margery. And as before there was 
 laughter and gay talk and teasing, affectionate 
 jest and prophecy mingled with the toasting. 
 
 There were toasts to the reigning bride and groom, 
 Larry and Ruth, to the coming bride and groom 
 Philip and Carlotta, to Tony, the understudy that 
 was, the star that was to be; to Dick Carson that 
 had been, John Massey that was, foreign correspond- 
 ent, and future famous author. There was a par- 
 ticularly stirring toast to Sergeant Ted who would
 
 420 WILD WINGS 
 
 some day be returning to his native shore at least a 
 captain if not a major with all kinds of adventures 
 and honors to his credit. Everybody smiled gal- 
 lantly over this toast. Not one of them would let 
 a shadow of grief or dread for Teddy the beloved 
 cloud this one happy home evening of his before 
 he left the Hill perhaps forever. The Holidays 
 were like that. 
 
 And then Larry on his feet raised his hand for 
 silence. 
 
 "Last and best of all," he said, "I give you the 
 Head of the House of Holiday the best friend and 
 the finest man I know Uncle Phil !" 
 
 Larry smiled down at his uncle as he spoke but 
 there was deep feeling in his fine gray eyes. Bet- 
 ter than any one else he knew how much of his 
 present happiness he owed to that good friend 
 and fine man Philip Holiday. 
 
 The whole table rose to this toast except the doc- 
 tor, even to the small Eric and Hester who had no 
 idea what it was all about but found it all very 
 exciting and delightful and beautifully grown up. 
 As they drank the toast Ted's free hand rested 
 with affectionate pressure on his uncle's and 
 Tony on the other side set down her glass and 
 squeezed his hand instead. They too were trying 
 to tell him that what Larry had spoken in his own 
 behalf was true for them also. They wanted to have 
 him know how much he meant to them and how 
 much they wanted to do and be for his dear sake. 
 
 Perhaps Philip Holiday won his order of dis- 
 tinguished service then and there. At any rate 
 with his own children and Ned's around him, with 
 the wife of his heart smiling down at him from 
 across the table with proud, happy, tear wet eyes, 
 the Head of the House of Holiday was content. 
 
 THE END
 
 t8x&&a8aoaam&c8& 
 
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 and evokes many a sympathetic chuckle. It fairly 
 bubbles over with exuberant cheerfulness, and is sure 
 to inject a good share of its unlimited store of "What's 
 good for the world " into every one who is lucky enough 
 to read it. 
 
 Furthermore, the peculiar magnetism of the char- 
 acters is such that the reader cannot believe they are 
 merely book creatures, and, we wager they are not. 
 Virginia Dale, the heroine, is a Good Samaritan, Miss 
 Sunshine, and Glad Heart all of these and yet the 
 most natural young person imaginable, and as she pro- 
 gresses in her mission of " brightening up the corner " 
 she builds for her own future one of the most beautiful 
 characters fiction has ever claimed. 
 
 The story is essentially a " character " story, but 
 this does not detract from the plot what it just seems to 
 get in the natural course of things, for, as a venerable 
 reader once aptly remarked : " When story folk act 
 natural, we ain't goin' to forgit 'em."
 
 THE PRINCESS NAIDA 
 
 By Brewer Corcoran 
 
 Author of " The Road to Le Reve," etc. 
 
 Cloth decorative, I2mo, illustrated by H. Weston Taylor, 
 $1.90 
 
 Adventure and romance are the keynotes of this new 
 novel by Brewer Corcoran adventure which will 
 stir the blood of every lover of fast-moving action and 
 culminative plot, and romance which will charm all 
 who have a tender spot for a lovably beautiful girl and 
 a regular " he " man. It is a tale of today, set amid 
 the mountains of Switzerland and the ugly rocks of 
 Bolshevism on which is wrecked the mythical princi- 
 pality of Nirgendsberg a story of a brave little 
 princess who puts unfaltering faith in American man- 
 hood and resourcefulness and finds a newer and a better 
 throne. Bill Hale is the sort of hero who would win any 
 girl's love a clever, capable chap with two fists and 
 a keen sense of humor. Whether he is matching wits 
 with suave Count Otto, romping with tiny Janos, fight- 
 ing for his life in the hunting lodge at Wolkensberg or 
 pleading for the love of his " princess who is all girl," 
 he is a man. The story of his fight for all that counts 
 in life is told with a rush and sweep of action which 
 will hold the reader breathless. The dialogue, like that 
 in Mr. Corcoran's other books, sparkles with humor, 
 but there is a certain pleasurable grimness in his method 
 of handling the Bolshevik which will strike an answer- 
 ing note in every true American heart today. 
 
 "A romance of vivid interest, a love story full of 
 youth and adventures that thrill. The dialogue is 
 unusually clever, the characters delightfully real, the 
 plot one that holds the reader's interest to the end." 
 New York Sun.
 
 A FLOWER OF MONTEREY: 
 
 A Romance of the Californias 
 i^t By Katherine B. Hamill 
 
 Cloth decorative, ismo, illustrated, $1.90 
 
 The wealth, beauty and sunshine of the Californias in 
 the days when Spain controlled our western coast and 
 England looked with covetous eyes, form the setting 
 for this beautiful and artistic romance by a new author. 
 Mrs. Hamill has recreated vividly the little Spanish 
 town where the mission bells rang silvery at dawn, where 
 scarlet uniforms flashed in the stately drill of an after- 
 noon dress parade and beautiful women wore lace 
 mantillas. Pajarita, the " Flower of Monterey," is an 
 American waif, cast up by the sea, who grows up among 
 the senors and senoritas, happy as the sunshine, but 
 with a healthy American disrespect for the Spanish 
 modes of life. Two men love her Don Jose, the 
 gobernador proprietaro of all the Californias, and a 
 young American sailor-adventurer, John Asterly. 
 
 John Asterly, the hero of A FLOWER OF MON- 
 TEREY, came to the Californias from Boston. He is 
 perhaps thirty years old, adventurous and impetuous. 
 At a dance on the beach at Monterey, shortly after his 
 arrival in the Californias, he meets Pajarita, "the 
 Flower of Monterey," and falls in love with the girl, 
 although she is promised to her benefactor, the Spanish 
 Governor. On the very night before her wedding, 
 Asterly tries to dissuade Pajarita from her marriage 
 with some one other than an American, and then the 
 romance, rivalry and adventure begin. The historical 
 setting of the story is correct and the romance unfolds 
 wi*h dash and symmetry.
 
 WILD WINGS 
 
 By Margaret R. Piper 
 
 Author of " Sylvia's Experiment," " The House on the 
 Hill," " Sylvia Arden Decides," etc. 
 
 Cloth decorative, i2mo, illustrated, $1.90 
 
 9 
 
 In this " story of youth for grown-ups," the vigorous, 
 happy Holiday youngsters who lived in the " House on 
 the Hill " develop into keen, lovable young people, 
 thoroughly worth knowing. To Tony, as brilliant and 
 beautiful as a girl can well be and still be human, comes 
 a successful theatrical career on Broadway, and a great 
 love, and Larry grows into the industrious, reliant 
 young doctor that one would expect him to be. 
 
 Few writers today display the ability which Miss 
 Piper does to " grow up " a large family of boys and 
 girls, each with an individuality well developed and 
 attractive, and her Holiday family holds a distinctive 
 place in American fiction for young people today. 
 
 As the charming characters work their way out of 
 problems which face all young people of buoyant spirits 
 and ambitions, WILD WINGS gives a definite message 
 as to the happiest relationship between old and young. 
 
 " There is a world of human nature and neighborhood 
 contentment in Margaret R. Piper's books of good 
 cheer. Her tales are well proportioned and subtly 
 strong in their literary aspects and quality." North 
 American, Philadelphia.
 
 Selections from 
 
 The Page Company's 
 
 List of Fiction 
 
 WORKS OF 
 
 ELEANOR H. PORTER 
 
 POLLYANNA: The GLAD Book (500,000) 
 
 Trade Mark Trade Mark 
 
 Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.90 
 
 Mr. Leigh Mitchell Hodges, The Optimist, in an editorial for 
 the Philadelphia North American, says: "And when, after 
 Pollyanna has gone away, you get her letter saying she is 
 going to take ' eight steps' tomorrow well, I don't know just 
 what you may do, but I know of one person who buried his 
 face in his hands and shook with the gladdest sort of sadness 
 and got down on his knees and thanked the Giver of all 
 gladness for Pollyanna." 
 
 POLLYANNA: The GLAD Book. MART PICKFORD EDITION 
 
 Trade Mark Trade Mark 
 
 Illustrated with thirty-two half-tone reproductions of scenes 
 from the motion picture production, and a jacket with a por- 
 trait of Mary Pickford in color. 
 
 Cloth decorative, 12mo, $2.25 
 
 While preparing " Pollyanna " for the screen, Miss Pickford 
 said enthusiastically that it was the best picture she 'had ever 
 made in her life, and the success of the picture on the screen 
 has amply justified her statement. Mary Pickford's interpre- 
 tation of the beloved little heroine as shown in the illustrations, 
 adds immeasurably to the intrinsic charm of this popular story. 
 
 POLLYANNA GROWS UP: The Second GLAD Book 
 
 Trade Mark (250,000) Trade Mark 
 
 Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.90 
 
 When the story of POLLYANNA told in The Glad Book was 
 ended, a great cry of regret for the vanishing " Glad Girl " 
 went up all over the country and other countries, too. Now 
 POLLYANNA appears again, just as sweet and joyous-hearted, 
 more grown up and more lovable. 
 
 " Take away frowns ! Put down the worries ! Stop fidgeting 
 and disagreeing and grumbling ! Cheer up, everybody ! POLLY- 
 ANNA has come back!" Christian Herald.
 
 THE PAGE C COMPANY'S 
 
 WORKS OF ELEANOR H. PORTER (Continued) 
 
 MISS BILLY (9srd thousand) 
 
 Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a 
 
 painting by G. Tyng, $1.90 
 
 " There is something altogether fascinating about ' Miss 
 
 Billy,' some inexplicable feminine characteristic that seems to 
 
 demand the individual attention of the reader from the moment 
 
 we open the book until we reluctantly turn the last page." 
 
 Boston Transcript. 
 
 MISS BILLY'S DECISION (ySth thousand) 
 
 Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a 
 painting by Henry W. Moore, $1.90 
 
 " The story is written in bright, clever style and has plenty 
 
 of action and humor. Miss Billy is nice to know and so are 
 
 her friends." New Haven Leader. 
 
 MISS BILLY MARRIED (86th thousand) 
 
 Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a 
 
 painting by W. Haskell Coffin, $1.90 
 
 " Although Pollyanna is the only copyrighted glad girl, Miss 
 
 Billy is just as glad as the younger figure and radiates just 
 
 as much gladness. She disseminates joy so naturally that we 
 
 wonder why all girls are not like her." Boston Transcript. 
 
 SIX STAR RANCH (45th thousand) 
 
 Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated by R. Farrington Elwell, 
 
 $1.90 
 
 " ' Six Star Ranch ' bears all the charm of the author's genius 
 and is about a little girl down in Texas who practices the 
 ' Pollyanna Philosophy ' with irresistible success. The book is 
 one of the kindliest things, if not the best, that the author of 
 the Pollyanna books has done. It is a welcome addition to the 
 fast-growing family of Glad Books." Howard Russell Bangs 
 in the Boston Post. 
 
 CROSS CURRENTS 
 
 Cloth decorative, illustrated, $1.50 
 
 "To one who enjoys a story of life as it is to-day, with its 
 
 sorrows as well as its triumphs, this volume is sure to appeal." 
 
 Book News Monthly. 
 
 THE TURN OF THE TIDE 
 
 Cloth decorative, illustrated, $1.50 
 
 " A very beautiful book showing the influence that went to 
 the development of the life of a dear little girl into a true and 
 good woman." Herald and Presbyter, Cincinnati, Ohio.
 
 LIST OF FICTION 
 
 NOVELS BY 
 
 ELIOT HARLOW ROBINSON 
 
 A book which has established its author in the front rank of 
 American novelists. 
 
 SMILES, A ROSE OF THE CUMBERLANDS (26th 
 thousand) 
 
 Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.90 
 
 Smiles is a girl who has already made many friends and 
 is destined to make many more. Her real name is Rose, but 
 the rough folk of the Cumberlands preferred their own way 
 of addressing her, for her smile was so bright and winning 
 that no other name suited her so well. 
 
 " This is the best book I have ever illustrated for any pub- 
 lisher. I Rave tried to make the pictures all that you hoped 
 for them." H. Weston Taylor. 
 
 E. J. Anderson, former managing Editor of the Boston 
 Advertiser and Record, is enthusiastic over the story and says: 
 
 " I have read ' Smiles ' in one reading. After starting it I 
 could not put it down. Never in my life have I read a book 
 like this that thrilled me half as much, and never have I seen 
 a more masterful piece of writing." 
 
 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE : A Romance of Lorraine 
 
 Illustrated with reproductions of sketches made by the 
 author, and with a portrait of " The Maid of Mirabelle," 
 from a painting by Neale Ordayne, on the cover. 
 Cloth decorative, 12mo, $1.90 
 
 A story of human and heart interest. The " Maid," Joan, is 
 a personality just as real and lovable as was Smiles. 
 
 " The spirit of all the book is the bubbling, the irrepressibly 
 indomitable, cheerful faith of the people, at their very best, 
 against the grave Quakerism from the United States standing 
 out grimly but faithfully. The tale is simply, but strongly 
 told." Montreal Family Herald and Weekly Star. 
 
 MAN PROPOSES; Or, The Romance of John Alden 
 Shaw 
 
 Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.90 
 
 " This is first of all a charming romance, distinguished by a 
 fine sentiment of loyalty to an ideal, by physical courage, in- 
 domitable resolution to carry to success an altruistic under- 
 taking, a splendid woman's devotion, and by a vein of spon- 
 taneous, sparkling humor that offsets its more serious phases." 
 Springfield Republican.
 
 THE PAGE COMPANY'S 
 
 THE ROMANCES OF 
 
 L. M. MONTGOMERY 
 
 Each one volume, cloth decorative, 12mo, $1.90 
 ANNE OF GREEN GABLES (355th thousand) 
 
 Illustrated by M. A. and W. A. J. Claus. 
 
 " In ' Anne of Green Gables ' you will find the dearest and 
 
 most moving and delightful child since the immortal Alice." 
 
 Mark Twain in a letter to Francis Wilson. 
 
 " I take it as a great test of the worth of the book that while 
 the young people are rummaging all over the house looking for 
 Anne, the head of the family has carried her off to read on his 
 way to town." BUss Carman. 
 
 ANNE OF AVONLEA (255th thousand) 
 
 Illustrated by George Gibbs. 
 
 " Here we have a book as human as ' David Harum,' a 
 heroine who outcharms a dozen princesses of fiction, and re- 
 minds you of some sweet girl you know, or knew back in the 
 days when the world was young." San Francisco Bulletin. 
 
 CHRONICLES OF AVONLEA (43d thousand) 
 
 Illustrated by George Gibbs. 
 
 " The author shows a wonderful knowledge of humanity, 
 great insight and warmheartedness in the manner in which 
 some of the scenes are treated, and the sympathetic way the 
 gentle peculiarities of the characters are brought out." 
 Baltimore Sun. 
 
 ANNE OF THE ISLAND (6sth thousand) 
 
 Illustrated by H. Weston Taylor. 
 
 " It has been well worth while to watch the growing up of 
 Anne, and the privilege of being on intimate terms with her 
 throughout the process has been properly valued. The once 
 little girl of Green Gables should have a permanent fictional 
 place of high yet tender esteem." New York Herald. 
 
 FURTHER CHRONICLES OF AVONLEA (20th thou- 
 sand). Illustrated by John Goss. 
 Nathan Haskell Dole compares Avonlea to Longfellow's 
 
 Grand Pre and says, " There is something in these continued 
 
 chronicles of Avonlea like" the delicate art which has made 
 
 Cranford a classic." 
 
 " The reader has dipped into but one or two stories when he 
 
 realizes that the author is the most natural story teller of the 
 
 day." Salt Lake City Citizen.
 
 LIST OF FICTION 
 
 WORKS OF L. M. MONTGOMERY (Continued) 
 
 ANNE OF GREEN GABLES: The Mary Miles Minter 
 Edition 
 
 Illustrated with twenty-four half-tone reproductions of 
 scenes from the motion picture production, and a jacket in 
 colors with Miss Minter's portrait. 
 
 Cloth decorative, 12mo, $2.25 
 
 "You pass from tears to laughter as the story unfolds, and 
 
 there is never a moment's hesitation in admitting that Anne 
 
 has completely won your heart." Joe Mitchell Chappie, 
 
 Editor, The National Magazine. 
 
 " Mary Miles Minter's ' Anne ' on ,ihe screen is worthy of 
 Mark Twain's definition of her as the 'dearest and most moving 
 and delightful child since the immortal " Alice." ' " Cam- 
 bridge Tribune. 
 
 KILMENY OF THE ORCHARD (52d thousand) 
 
 Illustrated by George Gibbs. Cloth decorative, 12mo, $1.90 
 " A purely idyllic love story full of tender sentiment, red- 
 olent with the perfume of rose leaves and breathing of apple 
 blossoms and the sweet clover of twilight meadow-lands." 
 San Francisco Bulletin. 
 
 " A story born in the heart of Arcadia and brimful of the 
 sweet and simple life of the primitive environment." Boston 
 Herald. 
 
 THE STORY GIRL (46th thousand) 
 
 Illustrated by George Gibbs. Cloth decorative, 12mo, $1.90 
 " It will be read and, we venture to predict, reread many 
 times, for there is a freshness and sweetness about it which will 
 help to lift the load of care, to cheer the weary and to make 
 brighter still the life of the carefree and the happy." 
 Toronto, Can., Globe. 
 
 " ' The Story Girl ' is of decidedly unusual conception and 
 interest, and will rival the author's earlier books in popularity." 
 . Chicago Western Trade Journal. 
 
 THE GOLDEN ROAD (28th thousand) 
 
 Illustrated by George Gibbs. Cloth decorative, 12mo, $1.90 
 In which it is proven that " Life was a rose-lipped comrade 
 with purple flowers dripping from her fingers." 
 
 " It is a simple, tender tale, touched to higher notes, now 
 and then, by delicate hints of romance, tragedy and pathos. 
 Any true-hearted human being might read this book with en- 
 joyment, no matter what his or her age, social status, or 
 economic place." Chicago Record-Herald.
 
 THE PAGE COMPANY'S 
 
 NOVELS BY 
 
 ISLA MAY MULLINS 
 
 Each, one volume, cloth decorative, Kmo, illustrated, $1.75 
 
 THE BLOSSOM SHOP: A Story of the South 
 
 " Frankly and wholly romance is this book, and lovable as 
 is a fairy tale properly told." Chicago Inter-Ocean. 
 
 ANNE OF THE BLOSSOM SHOP: Or, the Growing 
 Up of Anne Carter 
 
 "A charming portrayal of the attractive life of the South, 
 refreshing as a breeze that blows through a pine forest." 
 Albany Times-Union. 
 
 ANNE'S WEDDING 
 
 " Presents a picture of home life that is most appealing in 
 love and affection." Every Evening, Wilmington, Del. 
 
 THE MT. BLOSSOM GIRLS 
 
 " In the writing of the book the author is at her best as a 
 story teller. It is a fitting climax to the series." Reader. 
 
 TWEEDIE: The Story of a True Heart 
 
 " The story itself is full of charm and one enters right into 
 the very life of Tweedie and feels as if he had indeed been 
 lifted into an atmosphere of unselfishness, enthusiasm and 
 buoyant optimism." Boston Ideas. 
 
 NOVELS BY 
 
 DAISY RHODES CAMPBELL 
 
 THE FIDDLING GIRL 
 
 Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.65 
 
 " A thoroughly enjoyable tale, written in a delightful vein of 
 sympathetic comprehension." Boston Herald. 
 
 THE PROVING OF VIRGINIA 
 
 Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.65 
 
 " A book which contributes so much of freshness, enthusiasm, 
 
 and healthy life to offset the usual offerings of modern fiction, 
 
 deserves all the praise which can be showered upon it." 
 
 Kindergarten Review. 
 
 THE VIOLIN LADY 
 
 Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.65 
 
 " The author's style remains simple and direct, as in her pre- 
 ceding books." Boston Transcript.
 
 LIST OF FICTION 
 
 DETECTIVE STORIES BY 
 
 GEORGE BARTON 
 
 Each one volume, cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.75 
 
 THE PEMBROKE MASON AFFAIR 
 
 " Not until the end will the reader ever surmise how Mason 
 was murdered. An absorbing and thrilling story." Cleveland 
 Topics. 
 
 THE MYSTERY OF THE RED FLAME 
 
 " An admirable story an engaging story of love, mystery 
 and adventure." The Philadelphia Inquirer. 
 
 THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF BROMLEY 
 BARNES 
 
 " It would be difficult to find a collection of more interesting 
 tales of mystery so well told. The author is crisp, incisive 
 and inspiring. The book is the best of its kind in recent years 
 and adds to the author's already high reputation." New 
 York Tribune. 
 
 THE AMBASSADOR'S TRUNK 
 
 " Mr. Barton is in the front rank of the writers of mystery 
 stories, and this is one of his best." Pittsburgh Chronicle. 
 
 "The book is of the good red-blood type, with few dull lines 
 and stirring action and episodes in almost every page." 
 Montreal Herald. 
 
 BUSINESS NOVELS BY 
 
 HAROLD WHITEHEAD 
 
 Professor of Sales Relations, The College of Business 
 Administration, Boston University 
 
 Each one volume, cloth, 12mo, illustrated, $1.75 
 
 DAWSON BLACK, RETAIL MERCHANT 
 
 " Contains much that it would profit a young merchant to 
 know and its fictional interest makes a strong appeal." New 
 York Tribune. 
 
 THE BUSINESS CAREER OF PETER FLINT 
 
 " Peter Flint is certainly a marvel. . . . His career reveals 
 a most remarkable metamorphosis from incapacity, stubborn- 
 ness, and what seemed a chronic inclination to fall down on 
 every job which he undertook, to an amazing exposition of 
 business capacity and skill." Boston Transcript.
 
 THE PAGE COMPANY'S 
 
 NOVELS BY 
 
 MARGARET R. PIPER 
 
 SYLVIA'S EXPERIMENT: The Cheerful Book 
 
 Trade Mark 
 
 Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color $1.75 
 " An atmosphere of good spirits pervades the book ; the 
 
 humor that now and then flashes across the page is entirely 
 
 natural." Boston Post. 
 
 SYLVIA OF THE HILL TOP: The Second Cheerful 
 
 Book Trade Mark 
 
 Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color |1.75 
 
 " There is a world of human nature and neighborhood con- 
 tentment and quaint quiet humor in Margaret R. Piper's second 
 book of good cheer." Philadelphia North American. 
 
 " Sylvia proves practically that she is a messenger of j oy to 
 humanity." The Post Express, Rochester, N. Y. 
 
 SYLVIA ARDEN DECIDES: The Third Cheerful 
 Book Tradc Mark 
 
 Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color $1.75 
 
 " Its ease of style, its rapidity, its interest from page to page, 
 are admirable; and it shows that inimitable power the story- 
 teller's gift of verisimilitude. Its sureness and clearness are 
 excellent, and its portraiture clear and pleasing." The Reader. 
 
 FICTION FOR YOUNGER READERS BY 
 
 MARGARET R. PIPER 
 
 THE HOUSE ON THE HILL 
 
 By MABGAEET R. PIPER. 
 
 Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.75 
 
 " ' The House on the Hill ' presents higher ideals of service 
 and life for boys and girls, and the charming characters 
 worked their way out of problems which face all young people 
 of buoyant spirits and ambition." Buffalo News. 
 
 " The story is a delightful one, with all kinds of interesting 
 adventures and characters." Sunday Leader. 
 
 THE PRINCESS AND THE CLAN 
 
 By MARGARET R. PIPER. 
 
 Cloth decorative, illustrated by John Goss $1.75 
 
 " This is a delightful story for young and old, wholesome 
 and uplifting. The chief charm of the story lies in its sim- 
 plicity." Philadelphia North American.
 
 LIST OF FICTION 
 
 NOVELS BY 
 
 MARY ELLEN CHASE 
 
 THE GIRL FROM THE BIG HORN COUNTRY 
 
 Cloth, 12mo, illustrated by E. Farrington Elwell, $1.75 
 
 " ' The Girl from the Big Horn Country ' tells how Virginia 
 Hunter, a bright, breezy, frank-hearted ' girl of the Golden 
 West ' conies out of the Big Horn country of Wyoming to the 
 old Bay State. Then things begin, when Virginia who feels 
 the joyous, exhilarating call of the Big Horn wilderness and 
 the outdoor life attempts to become acclimated and adopt 
 good old New England ' ways.' " Critic. 
 
 VIRGINIA, OF ELK CREEK VALLEY 
 
 Cloth, 12mo, illustrated by E. Farrington Elwell, $1.75 
 
 " This sfory is fascinating, alive with constantly new and 
 
 fresh interests and every reader will enjoy the novel for its 
 
 freshness, its novelty and its inspiring glimpses of life with 
 
 nature." The Editor. 
 
 NOVELS BY 
 
 OTHER AUTHORS 
 
 THE GOLDEN DOG. A Romance of Quebec 
 
 By WILLIAM KIRBY. (45th thousand.) 
 
 Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated by J. W. Kennedy, $1.90 
 
 " A powerful romance of love, intrigue and adventure in the 
 
 times of Louis XV and Madame de Pompadour." Boston 
 
 Herald. 
 
 SHE STANDS ALONE 
 
 Being the story of Pilate's wife. 
 
 By MARK ASHTOK. 
 
 Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.75 
 
 Few novels of the present day can stand comparison with 
 this remarkable book, which must be ranked in modern litera- 
 ture dealing with the early Christian era as only second to 
 "Ben Hur." 
 
 THE ROAD TO LE REVE 
 
 By BREWER CORCORAN. 
 
 Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated by H. Weston Taylor, $1.90 
 
 " A romance of vivid interest, a love story full of youth, the 
 
 great outdoors and adventures that thrill. The dialogue is 
 
 unusually clever, the characters delightfully real, the plot one 
 
 that holds the reader's interest to the end." New York Sun.
 
 10 THE PAGE COMPANY'S 
 
 THE FAMOUS SEA STORIES OF 
 
 HERMAN MELVILLE 
 
 MOBY DICK; Or, The White Whale 
 TYPEE. A Real Romance of the South Sea 
 
 OMOO. A Narrative of Adventures in the South 
 Seas; a sequel to TYPEE 
 
 WHITE JACKET; Or, The World on a Man-of-War 
 Each one volume, cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated $1.90 
 
 \ The recent centenary of Herman Melville created renewed 
 interest in his famous sea stories. 
 
 " Melville wove human element and natural setting into re- 
 citals which aroused the enthusiasm of critics and sent a thrill 
 of delight through the reading public when first published, and 
 which both for form and matter have ever since held rank as 
 classics in the literature of travel." Boston Herald. 
 
 DETECTIVE STORIES BY 
 
 ARTHUR MORRISON 
 
 Each one volume, cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.75 
 
 THE GREEN DIAMOND 
 
 " A clever, ingenious story, with j ust the right combination 
 of detective skill and mystery and with a touch of Oriental 
 mysticism." Kansas City Star. 
 
 THE RED TRIANGLE 
 
 " The reader who has a grain of imagination may be defied 
 to lay this book down, once he has begun it, until the last word 
 has been reached." Boston Journal. 
 
 " It is a splendid story of the kind that cannot fail to in- 
 terest." Detroit Journal. 
 
 THE CHRONICLES OF MARTIN HEWITT 
 
 " The story is told in a forceful, straightforward style, which 
 gives it impressive realism." Boston Herald. 
 
 " The story is well-written, unique, quite out of the usual 
 order, and a vein of mystery running through it that is most 
 captivating." Christian Intelligencer.
 
 LIST OF FICTION 11 
 
 HISTORICAL ROMANCES OF 
 
 NATHAN GALLIZIER 
 
 THE LEOPARD PRINCE 
 
 Cloth decorative, large 12mo, illustrated in color, $2.00 
 
 " With a vividness that is electrifying and a mastery of 
 
 emotion that thrills, Mr. Gallizier has written this story of 
 
 Italy a romance of Venice in the fourteenth century." 
 
 The Lookout, Cincinnati, Ohio. 
 
 UNDER THE WITCHES' MOON 
 
 Cloth decorative, large 12mo, illustrated in color, $2.00 
 
 " A highly colored romance of mediaeval Italy with a most 
 interesting background." New York World. 
 
 THE CRIMSON GONDOLA 
 
 Cloth decorative, large 12mo, illustrated in color, $2.00 
 
 " Mr. Gallizier is unusually strong in the use of description, 
 and conveys vividly the gorgeous decadence and luxury of the 
 sybaritic city." Los Angeles Sunday Times. 
 
 THE HILL OF VENUS 
 
 Cloth decorative, large 12mo, illustrated in color, $2.00 
 
 This is a vivid and powerful romance of the thirteenth cen- 
 tury in the times of the great Ghibelline wars. 
 
 " It is vibrant with action and overflowing with human emo- 
 tions throughout. " Wilmington Every Evening. 
 
 THE COURT OF LUCIFER 
 
 Cloth decorative, large 12mo, illustrated in color, $2.00 
 
 " The book is breathless reading, as much for the adventures, 
 
 the pageants, the midnight excursions of the minor characters, 
 
 as for the love story of the prince and Donna Lucrezia." 
 
 . Boston Transcript. 
 
 THE SORCERESS OF ROME 
 
 Cloth decorative, large 12mo, illustrated in color, $2.00 
 
 " A splendid bit of old Roman mosaic, or a gorgeous piece of 
 
 tapestry. Otto is a striking and pathetic figure. Description 
 
 of the city, the gorgeous ceremonials of the court and the revels 
 
 are a series of wonderful pictures." Cincinnati Enquirer. 
 
 CASTEL DEL MONTE 
 
 Cloth decorative, large 12mo, illustrated, $2.00 
 
 " There is color ; there is sumptuous word-painting in these 
 pages; the action is terrific at times; vividness and life are in 
 every part; and brilliant descriptions entertain the reader and 
 give a singular fascination to the tale." Grand Rapids 
 Herald.
 
 12 THE PAGE COMPANY'S 
 
 WORKS OF 
 
 GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO 
 
 Signer d'Annunzio is known throughout the world as a poet 
 and a dramatist, but above all as a novelist, for it is in his 
 novels that he is at his best. In poetic thought and graceful 
 expression he has few equals among the writers of the day. 
 
 He is engaged on a most ambitious work nothing less than 
 the writing of nine novels which cover the whole field of human 
 sentiment. This work he has divided into three trilogies, and 
 five of the nine books have been published. It is to be re- 
 gretted that other labors have interrupted the completion of 
 the series. 
 
 "This book is realistic. Some say that it is brutally so. 
 But the realism is that of Flaubert, and not of Zola. There 
 is no plain speaking for the sake of plain speaking. Every 
 detail is justified in the fact that it illuminates either the 
 motives or the actions of the man and woman who here stand 
 revealed. It is deadly true. The author holds the mirror up 
 to nature, and the reader, as he sees his own experiences dupli- 
 cated in passage after passage, has something of the same 
 sensation as all of us know on the first reading of George 
 Meredith's ' Egoist.' Reading these pages is like being out in 
 the country on a dark night in a storm. Suddenly a flash of 
 lightning comes and every detail of your surroundings is 
 revealed." Review of " The Triumph of Death " in the New 
 York Evening Sun. 
 
 The volumes published are as follows. Each 1 vol., library 
 12mo, cloth, $1.75 
 
 
 
 THE ROMANCES OF THE ROSE 
 
 THE CHILD OF PLEASURE (It PIACERE) 
 
 THE INTRUDER (L'INNOCENTE) 
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH (It TRIONFO DELLA MORTE) 
 
 < 
 
 THE ROMANCES OF THE LILY 
 
 THE MAIDENS OF THE ROCKS (L E VERGINI DELLE 
 ROCCE) 
 
 ^ 
 
 THE ROMANCES OF THE POMEGRANATE 
 THE FLAME OF LIFE (!L Fuoco)
 
 LIST OF FICTION 13 
 
 WORKS OF 
 
 CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS 
 
 HAUNTERS OF THE SILENCES 
 
 Cloth decorative, with many drawings by Charles Livingston 
 Bull, four of which are in full color. $3.00 
 
 The stories in Mr. Roberts's new collection are the strongest 
 and best he has ever written. 
 
 He has largely taken for his subjects those animals rarely 
 met with in books, whose lives are spent " In the Silences," 
 where they are the supreme rulers. 
 
 " As a writer about animals, Mr. Roberts occupies an envi- 
 able place. He is the most literary, as well as the most imag- 
 inative and vivid of all the nature writers." Brooklyn Eagle. 
 
 RED FOX 
 
 THE STORY OP His ADVENTUROUS CAREER IN THE RINOWAAK 
 WILDS, AND OF His FINAL TRIUMPH OVER THE ENEMIES OF 
 His KIND. With fifty illustrations, including frontispiece in 
 color and cover design by Charles Livingston Bull. 
 Square quarto, cloth decorative $3.00 
 
 " True in substance, but fascinating as fiction. It will inter- 
 est old and young, city-bound and free-footed, those who know 
 animals and those who do not." Chicago Record-Herald. 
 
 THE KINDRED OF THE WILD 
 
 A BOOK OF ANIMAL LIFE. With fifty-one full-page plates 
 
 and many decorations from drawings by Charles Livingston 
 
 Bull. 
 
 Square quarto, cloth decorative $3.00 
 
 " Is in many ways the most brilliant collection of animal 
 
 stories that has appeared; well named and well done." John 
 
 Burroughs. 
 
 THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAILS 
 
 A companion volume to " The Kindred of the Wild." With 
 forty-eight full-page plates and many decorations from 
 drawings by Charles Livingston Bull. 
 
 Square quarto, cloth decorative $3.00 
 
 " These stories are exquisite in their refinement, and yet 
 robust in their appreciation of some of the rougher phases of 
 woodcraft. Among the many writers about .animals, Mr. Rob- 
 erts occupies an enviable place." The Outlook.
 
 14 THE PAGE COMPANY'S 
 
 WORKS OF CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS (Continued) 
 THE HOUSE IN THE WATER 
 
 With thirty full-page illustrations. 
 
 Library 12rao, cloth decorative, $3.00 
 
 " This is a book full of delight. An additional charm lies in 
 Mr. Bull's faithful and graphic illustrations, which in fashion 
 all their own tell the story." Literary Digest. 
 
 BARBARA LADD 
 
 Library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, $1.90 
 
 " A very fine novel. We unhesitatingly pronounce it ... 
 one of the books that stamp themselves at once upon the imag- 
 ination." Literary World, Boston. 
 
 THE PRISONER OF MADEMOISELLE 
 
 Library 12mo, cloth decorative, $1.90 
 
 " This is the kind of a story that makes one grow younger, 
 more innbcent, more light-hearted. Its literary quality is im- 
 peccable. It is not every day that such a heroine blossoms into 
 even temporary existence." Chicago Record-Herald. 
 
 THE HEART OF THE ANCIENT WOOD 
 
 Library 12mo, decorative cover, illustrated, $1.90 
 
 " One of the most fascinating novels of recent days." 
 Boston Journal. 
 
 " A classic twentieth-century romance." New York Com- 
 mercial Advertiser. 
 
 THE FORGE IN THE FOREST 
 
 Being the Narrative of the Acadian Ranger, Jean de Mer, 
 Seigneur de Briart, and how he crossed the Bla,ck Abbe, and 
 of his adventures in a strange fellowship. 
 Library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, $1.90 
 
 A story of pure love and heroic adventure. 
 
 BY THE MARSHES OF MINAS 
 
 Library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, $1.75 
 
 Most of these romances are in the author's lighter and more 
 
 playful vein; each is a unit of absorbing interest and exquisite 
 
 workmanship. 
 
 A SISTER TO EVANGELINE 
 
 Being the Story of Yvonne de Lamourie, and how she went 
 into exile with the villagers of Grand Pre. 
 Library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, $1.75 
 
 Swift action, fresh atmosphere, wholesome purity, deep pas- 
 sion, and searching analysis characterize this strong novel.
 
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