FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
BY IRVIN S. COBB 
 
 FICTION 
 
 FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 THOSE TIMES AND THESE 
 
 LOCAL COLOR 
 
 OLD JUDGE PRIEST 
 
 BACK HOME 
 
 THE ESCAPE OF MR. TRIMM 
 
 WIT AND HUMOR 
 
 THE LIFE OF THE PARTY 
 EATING IN Two OR THREE LAN 
 GUAGES 
 FIBBLE, D. D. 
 
 "SPEAKING OF OPERATIONS " 
 
 EUROPE REVISED 
 ROUGHING IT DE LUXE 
 COBB S BILL OF FARE 
 COBB S ANATOMY 
 
 MISCELLANY 
 
 THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE 
 THE GLORY OF THE COMING 
 PATHS OF GLORY 
 "SPEAKING OF PRUSSIANS " 
 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 NEW YORK 
 
FROM PLACE 
 TO PLACE 
 
 BY 
 
 IRVIN S. COBB 
 
 AUTHOR OF "OLD JUDGE PRIEST," 
 "SPEAKING OF OPERATIONS," ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 
COPYRIGHT. 1920, 
 BT GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1918, 1919, BT THE CUBTIS PUBLISHING COMPAH 
 COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY THE FRANK A. MDNSEY Co. 
 
 COPYHIGHT, 1918, BY THE RED BOOK COBPOBATIOB 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
 
TO 
 CHARLES R. FLINT, ESQ. 
 
 62748 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I THE GALLOWSMITH 11 
 
 II THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE 55 
 
 III BOTS WILL BE BOYS 96 
 
 IV THE LUCK PIECE 156 
 
 V QUALITY FOLKS 206 
 
 VI JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 259 
 
 VII WHEN AUGUST THE SECOND WRS APRIL THE FIRST . 802 
 
 VIII HOODWINKED 332 
 
 IX THE BULL CALLED EMILY . 382 
 
 [vii] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
CHAPTER I j ; 
 THE GALLOWSMITH 
 
 THIS man that I have it in mind to write 
 about was, at the time of which I write, 
 an elderly man, getting well along 
 toward sixty-five. He was tall and 
 slightly stooped, with long arms, and big, 
 gnarled, competent-looking hands, which 
 smelled of yellow laundry soap, and had huge, 
 tarnished nails on the fingers. He had mild, 
 pale eyes, a light blue as to colour, with heavy 
 sacs under them, and whitish whiskers, spindly 
 and thin, like some sort of second-growth, 
 which were so cut as to enclose his lower face 
 in a nappy fringe, extending from ear to ear 
 under his chin. He suffered from a chronic 
 heart affection, and this gave to his skin a pro 
 nounced and unhealthy pallor. He was neat 
 and prim in his personal habits, kind to dumb 
 animals, and tolerant of small children. He 
 was inclined to be miserly; certainly in money 
 matters he was most prudent and saving. He 
 had the air about him of being lonely. His 
 name was Tobias Dramm. In the town where 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 he lived he was commonly known as Uncle 
 Tobe Dramm. By profession he was a public 
 hangman. You might call him a gallowsmith. 
 He hanged men for hire. 
 
 So x&r as the available records show, this 
 Tobias Dramm was the only man of his calling 
 OQ t^iis . Continent. In himself he constituted 
 a specialty and a monopoly. The fact that 
 he had no competition did not make him care 
 less in the pursuit of his calling. On the con 
 trary, it made him precise and painstaking. 
 As one occupying a unique position, he realized 
 that he had a reputation to sustain, and capably 
 he sustained it. In the Western Hemisphere 
 he was, in the trade he followed, the nearest 
 modern approach to the paid executioners of 
 olden times in France who went, each of them, 
 by the name of the city or province wherein 
 he was stationed, to do torturing and maiming 
 and killing in the gracious name of the king. 
 
 A generous government, committed to a 
 belief in the efficacy of capital punishment, 
 paid Tobias Dramm at the rate of seventy-five 
 dollars a head for hanging offenders convicted 
 of the hanging crime, which was murder. He 
 averaged about four hangings every three 
 months or, say, about nine hundred dollars 
 a year all clear money. 
 
 The manner of Mr. Dramm s having entered 
 
 upon the practise of this somewhat grisly 
 
 trade makes in itself a little tale. He was a 
 
 lifelong citizen of the town of Chickaloosa, 
 
 [12] 
 
THE GALLOWS MITH 
 
 down in the Southwest, where there stood a 
 State penitentiary, and where, during the 
 period of which I am speaking, the Federal 
 authorities sent for confinement and punish 
 ment the criminal sweepings of half a score 
 of States and Territories. This was before the 
 government put up prisons of its own, and 
 while still it parcelled out its human liabilities 
 among State-owned institutions, paying so 
 much apiece for their keep. When the gov 
 ernment first began shipping a share of its 
 felons to Chickaloosa, there came along, in one 
 clanking caravan of ..shackled malefactors, a 
 half-breed, part MexicaiTand the rest of him 
 Indian, who had robbed a territorial post- 
 office and incidentally murdered the post 
 master thereof. Wherefore this half-breed was 
 under sentence to expiate his greater misdeed 
 on a given date, between the hours of sunrise 
 and sunset, and after a duly prescribed manner, 
 namely: by being hanged by the neck until he 
 was dead. 
 
 At once a difficulty and a complication arose. 
 The warden of the penitentiary at Chickaloosa 
 was perfectly agreeable to the idea of keeping 
 and caring for those felonious wards of the 
 government who were put in his custody to 
 serve terms of imprisonment, holding that 
 such disciplinary measures fell within the scope 
 of his sworn duty. But when it came to the 
 issue of hanging any one of them, he drew 
 the line most firmly. As he pointed out, he 
 
 [13] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 was not a government agent. He derived his 
 authority and drew his salary not from Wash 
 ington, D. C., but from a State capital several 
 hundreds of miles removed from Washington. 
 Moreover, he was a zealous believer in the 
 principle of State sovereignty. As a soldier 
 of the late Southern Confederacy, he had 
 fought four years to establish that doctrine. 
 Conceded, that the cause for which he fought 
 had been defeated; nevertheless his views upon 
 the subject remained fixed and permanent. 
 He had plenty of disagreeable jobs to do with 
 out stringing up bad men for Uncle Sam; such 
 was the attitude the warden took. The sheriff 
 of the county of which Chickaloosa was the 
 county-seat, likewise refused to have a hand 
 in the impending affair, holding it and per 
 haps very properly to be no direct concern 
 of his, either officially or personally. 
 
 Now the government very much wanted the 
 hybrid hanged. The government had been put 
 to considerable trouble and no small expense 
 to catch him and try him and convict him and 
 transport him to the place where he was at 
 present confined. Day and date for the execu 
 tion of the law s judgment having been fixed, 
 a scandal and possibly a legal tangle would 
 ensue were there delay in the premises. It 
 was reported that a full pardon had been offered 
 to a long-term convict on condition that he 
 carry out the court s mandate upon the body 
 of the condemned mongrel, and that he had 
 
 [14] 
 
THE GALLOWS MITH 
 
 refused, even though the price were freedom 
 for himself. 
 
 In this serious emergency, a volunteer in the 
 person of Tobias Dramm came forward. Until 
 then he had been an inconspicuous unit in the 
 life of the community. He was a live-stock 
 dealer on a small scale, making his head 
 quarters at one of the town livery stables. 
 He was a person of steady habits, with a repu 
 tation for sobriety and frugality among his 
 neighbours. The government, so to speak, 
 jumped at the chance. Without delay, his 
 offer was accepted. There was no prolonged 
 haggling over terms, either. He himself fixed 
 the cost of the job at seventy-five dollars; this 
 figure to include supervision of the erection 
 of the gallows, testing of the apparatus, and the 
 actual operation itself. 
 
 So, on the appointed day, at a certain hour, 
 to wit, a quarter past six o clock in the morn 
 ing, just outside the prison walls, and in the 
 presence of the proper and ordained number 
 of witnesses, Uncle Tobe, with a grave, un 
 troubled face, and hands which neither fumbled 
 nor trembled, tied up the doomed felon and 
 hooded his head in a black-cloth bag, and fitted 
 a noose about his neck. The drop fell at 
 eighteen minutes past the hour. Fourteen 
 minutes later, following brief tests of heart and 
 pulse, the two attending physicians agreed 
 that the half-breed was quite satisfactorily 
 defunct. They likewise coincided in the opinion 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 that the hanging had been conducted with 
 neatness, and with swiftness, and with the least 
 possible amount of physical suffering for the 
 deceased. One of the doctors went so far as to 
 congratulate Mr. Dramm upon the tidiness 
 of his handicraft. He told him that in all his 
 experience he had never seen a hanging pass 
 off more smoothly, and that for an amateur, 
 Dramm had done splendidly. To this com 
 pliment Uncle Tobe replied, in his quiet and 
 drawling mode of speech, that he had studied 
 the whole thing out in advance. 
 
 "Ef I should keep on with this way of makin 
 a livin I don t low ever to let no slip-ups 
 occur," he added with simple directness. There 
 was no suggestion of the morbid in his voice or 
 manner as he said this, but instead merely a 
 deep personal satisfaction. 
 
 Others present, having been made sick and 
 faint by the shock of seeing a human being 
 summarily jerked into the hereafter, went 
 away hurriedly without saying anything at all. 
 But afterward thinking it over when they 
 were more composed, they decided among 
 themselves that Uncle Tobe had carried it off 
 with an assurance and a skill which qualified 
 him most aptly for future undertakings along 
 the same line; that he was a born hangman, if 
 ever there was one. 
 
 This was the common verdict. So, there 
 after, by a tacit understanding, the ex-cattle- 
 buyer became the regular government hang- 
 [16] 
 
THE GALLOWS MITH 
 
 man. He had no official title nor any warrant 
 in writing for the place he filled. He worked 
 by the piece, as one might say, and not by the 
 week or month. Some years he hanged more 
 men than in other years, but the average per 
 annum was about twelve. He had been hang 
 ing them now for going on ten years. 
 
 It was as though he had been designed and 
 created for the work. He hanged villainous 
 men singly, sometimes by pairs, and rarely in 
 groups of threes, always without a fumble or a 
 hitch. Once, on a single morning, he hanged an 
 even half-dozen, these being the chief fruitage 
 of a busy term of the Federal court down in the 
 Indian country where the combination of a 
 crowded docket, an energetic young district 
 attorney with political ambitions, and a 
 businesslike presiding judge had produced what 
 all unprejudiced and fair-minded persons agreed 
 were marvellous results, highly beneficial to the 
 moral atmosphere of the territory and calculated 
 to make potential evil-doers stop and think. 
 Four of the six had been members of an especially 
 desperate gang of train and bank robbers. 
 The remaining two had forfeited their right to 
 keep on living by slaying deputy marshals. 
 Each, with malice aforethought and with his 
 own hands, had actually killed some one or had 
 aided and abetted in killing some one. 
 
 This sextuple hanging made a lot of talk, 
 naturally. The size of it alone commanded 
 the popular interest. Besides, the personnel of 
 [17] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 the group of villains was such as to lend an 
 aspect of picturesqueness to the final proceed 
 ings. The sextet included a full-blooded 
 Cherokee; a consumptive ex-dentist out of 
 Kansas, who from killing nerves in teeth had 
 progressed to killing men in cold premeditation; 
 a lank West Virginia mountaineer whose family 
 name was the name of a clan prominent in one 
 of the long-drawn-out hill-feuds of his native 
 State; a plain bad man, whose chief claim to 
 distinction was that he hailed originally from 
 the Bowery in New York City; and one, the 
 worst of them all, who was said to be the son 
 of a pastor in a New England town. One by 
 one, unerringly and swiftly, Uncle Tobe 
 launched them through his scaffold floor to get 
 whatever deserts await those who violate the 
 laws of God and man by the violent shedding 
 of innocent blood. When the sixth and last 
 gunman came out of the prison proper into the 
 prison enclosure it was the former dentist, and 
 being set, as the phrase runs, upon dying game, 
 he wore a twisted grin upon his bleached face 
 there were six black boxes under the platform, 
 five of them occupied, with their lids all in 
 place, and one of them yet empty and open. 
 In the act of mounting the steps the condemned 
 craned his head sidewise, and at the sight of 
 those coffins stretching along six in a row on the 
 gravelled courtyard, he made a cheap and sorry 
 gibe. But when he stood beneath the cross- 
 arm to be pinioned, his legs played him traitor. 
 
THE GALLOWSMITH 
 
 Those craven knees of his gave way under him, 
 so that trusties had to hold the weakening 
 ruffian upright while the executioner snugged 
 the halter about his throat. 
 
 On this occasion Uncle Tobe elucidated the 
 creed and the code of his profession for a reporter 
 who had come all the way down from St. Louis 
 to report the big hanging for his paper. Having 
 covered the hanging at length, the reporter 
 stayed over one more day at the Palace Hotel 
 in Chickaloosa to do a special article, which 
 would be in part a character sketch and in 
 part a straight interview, on the subject of the 
 hangman. The article made a full page spread 
 in the Sunday edition of the young man s paper, 
 and thereby a reputation, which until this time 
 had been more or less local, was given what 
 approximated a national notoriety. Through 
 a somewhat general reprinting of what the young 
 man had written, and what his paper had 
 published, the country at large eventually 
 became acquainted with an ethical view-point 
 which was already fairly familiar to nearly every 
 resident in and about Chickaloosa. Reading 
 the narrative, one living at a distance got an 
 accurate picture of a personality elevated above 
 the commonplace solely by the role which its 
 owner filled; a picture of an old man thoroughly 
 sincere and thoroughly conscientious; a man 
 dull, earnest, and capable to his limits; a man 
 who was neither morbid nor imaginative, but 
 filled with rather a stupid gravity; a man 
 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 canny about the pennies and affectionately 
 inclined toward the dollars; a man honestly 
 imbued with the idea that he was a public 
 servant performing a necessary public service; 
 a man without nerves, but in all other essentials 
 a small-town man with a small-town mind; in 
 short, saw Uncle Tobe as he really was. The 
 reporter did something else which marked him 
 as a craftsman. Without stating the fact in 
 words, he nevertheless contrived to create in 
 the lines which he wrote an atmosphere of self- 
 defence enveloping the old man or perhaps the 
 better phrase would be self -extenuation. The 
 reader was made to perceive that Dramm, being 
 cognizant and mildly resentful of the attitude 
 in which his own little world held him, by reason 
 of the fatal work of his hands, sought after a 
 semiapologetic fashion to offer a plea in abate 
 ment of public judgment, to set up a weight of 
 moral evidence in his own behalf, and behind 
 this in turn, and showing through it, might 
 be sensed the shy pride of a shy man for labour 
 undertaken with good motives and creditably 
 performed. With no more than a pardonable 
 broadening and exaggeration of the other s mode 
 of speech, the reporter succeeded likewise in 
 reproducing not only the language, but the 
 wistful intent of what Uncle Tobe said to him. 
 From this interview I propose now to quote 
 to the extent of a few paragraphs. This is 
 Uncle Tobe addressing the visiting corre 
 spondent: 
 
 [20] 
 
THE GALLOWS MITH 
 
 "It stands to reason don t it? that these 
 here sinful men have got to be hung, an that 
 somebody has got to hang em. The Good 
 Book says an eye fur an eye an a tooth fur a 
 tooth an a life fur a life. That s perzactly 
 whut it says, an I m one whut believes the 
 Bible frum kiver to kiver. These here boys 
 that they bring in here have broke the law of 
 Gawd an the law of the land, an they jest 
 natchelly got to pay fur their devilment. 
 That s so, ain t it? Well, then, that bein so, I 
 step forward an do the job. Ef they was free 
 men, walkin around like you an me, I wouldn t 
 lay the weight of my little finger on em to 
 harm a single hair in their haids. Ef they 
 hadn t done nothin ag in the law, I d be the 
 last one to do em a hurt. I wisht you could 
 make that p int plain in the piece you aim to 
 write, so s folks would understand jest how I 
 feel so s they d understand that I don t bear 
 no gredge ag inst any livin creature. 
 
 "Ef the job was left to some greenhawn he d 
 mebbe botch it up an make them boys suffer 
 more n there s any call fur. Sech things have 
 happened, a plenty times before now ez you 
 yourself doubtless know full well. But I don t 
 botch it up. I ain t braggin none whilst I m 
 sayin this to you; I m jest tellin you. I kin 
 take an oath that I ain t never botched up one 
 of these jobs yit, not frum the very fust. The 
 warden or Dr. Slattery, the prison physician, or 
 anybody round this town that knows the full 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 circumstances kin tell you the same, ef you ast 
 em. You see, son, I ain t never nervoused up 
 like some men would be in my place. I m al 
 ways jest ez ca m like ez whut you are this 
 minute. The way I look at it, I m jest a chosen 
 instrument of the law. I regard it ez a trust 
 that I m called on to perform, on account of 
 me havin a natchel knack in that special 
 direction. Some men have gifts fur one thing 
 an some men have gifts fur another thing. 
 It would seem this is the perticular thing 
 hangin men that I ve . got a gift fur. So, 
 sech bein the case, I don t worry none about it 
 beforehand, nor I don t worry none after it s 
 all over with, neither. With me handlin the 
 details the whole thing is over an done with 
 accordin to the law an the statutes an the 
 jedgment of the high court in less time than 
 some people would take fussin round, gittin 
 ready. The way I look at it, it s a mercy an a 
 blessin to all concerned to have somebody in 
 charge that knows how to hang a man. 
 
 "Why, it s come to sech a pass that when 
 there s a hangin comin off anywhere in this 
 part of the country they send fur me to be 
 present ez a kind of an expert. I ve been to 
 hangin s all over this State, an down into 
 Louisiana, an wunst over into Texas in order 
 to give the sheriffs the benefit of my experience 
 an my advice. I make it a rule not never to 
 take no money fur doin sech ez that only my 
 travelin expenses an my tavern bills; that s 
 
 " [22] 
 
THE GALLOWSMITH 
 
 all I ever charge em. But here in Chickaloosa 
 the conditions is different, an the gover mint 
 pays me seventy-five dollars a hangin . I figger 
 that it s wuth it, too. The Bible says the 
 labourer is worthy of his hire. I try to be worthy 
 of the hire I git. I certainly aim to earn it 
 an I reckin I do earn it, takin everything into 
 consideration the responsibility an all. Ef 
 there s any folks that think I earn my money 
 easy seventy-five dollars fur whut looks like 
 jest a few minutes work I d like fur em to 
 stop an think ef they d consider themselves 
 qualified to hang ez many men ez I have 
 without never botchin up a single job." 
 
 That was his chief boast, if boasting it might 
 be called that he never botched the job. It is 
 the common history of common hangmen, so 
 I ve been told, that they come after a while to be 
 possessed of the devils of cruelty, and to take 
 pleasure in the exercise of their most grim 
 calling. If this be true, then surely Uncle 
 Tobe was to all outward appearances an 
 exception to the rule. Never by word or look 
 or act was he caught gloating over his victims; 
 always he exhibited a merciful swiftness in the 
 dread preliminaries and in the act of execution 
 itself. At the outset he had shown deftness. 
 With frequent practise he grew defter still. He 
 contrived various devices for expediting the 
 proceeding. For instance, after prolonged ex- 
 
 periments, conducted in privacy, he evolved a 
 _ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 harnesslike arrangement of leather belts and 
 straps, made all in one piece, and fitted with 
 buckles and snaffles. With this, in a mar 
 vellously brief space, he could bind his man at 
 elbows and wrists, at knees and ankles, so that 
 in less time almost than it would take to describe 
 the process, the latter stood upon the trap, as a 
 shape deprived of motion, fully caparisoned for 
 the end. He fitted the inner side of the cross- 
 piece of the gallows with pegs upon which the 
 rope rested, entirely out of sight of him upon 
 whom it was presently to be used, until the 
 moment when Uncle Tobe, stretching a long arm 
 upward, brought it down, all reeved and 
 ready. He hit upon the expedient of slickening 
 the noose parts with yellow bar soap so that it 
 would run smoothly in the loop and tighten 
 smartly, without undue tugging. He might 
 have used grease or lard, but soap was tidier, 
 and Uncle Tobe, as has been set forth, was a tidy 
 man. 
 
 After the first few hangings his system began 
 to follow a regular routine. From somewhere 
 to the west or southwest of Chickaloosa the 
 deputy marshals would bring in a man con 
 signed to die. The prison people, taking their 
 charge over from them, would house him in a 
 cell of a row of cells made doubly tight and 
 doubly strong for such as he; in due season the 
 warden would notify Uncle Tobe of the date 
 fixed for the inflicting of the penalty. Four 
 or five days preceding the day, Uncle Tobe 
 
THE GALLOWSMITH 
 
 would pay a visit to the prison, timing his 
 arrival so that he reached there just before the 
 exercise hour for the inmates of a certain cell- 
 tier. Being admitted, he would climb sundry 
 flights of narrow iron stairs and pause just 
 outside a crisscrossed door of iron slats while 
 a turnkey, entering that door and locking it 
 behind him, would open a smaller door set flat 
 in the wall of damp-looking grey stones and 
 invite the man caged up inside to come forth 
 for his daily walk. Then, while the captive 
 paced the length and breadth of the narrow 
 corridor back and across, to and fro, up and 
 down, with the futile restlessness of a cat 
 animal in a zoo, his feet clumping on the flagged 
 flooring, and the watchful turnkey standing by, 
 Uncle Tobe, having flattened his lean form in a 
 niche behind the outer lattice, with an appraising 
 eye would consider the shifting figure through a 
 convenient cranny of the wattled metal strips. 
 He took care to keep himself well back out of 
 view, but since he stood in shadow while the 
 one he marked so keenly moved in a flood of 
 daylight filtering down through a skylight in 
 the ceiling of the cell block, the chances were 
 the prisoner could not have made out the in 
 distinct form of the stranger anyhow. Five 
 or ten minutes of such scrutiny of his man was 
 all Uncle Tobe ever desired. In his earlier 
 days before he took up this present employ 
 ment, he had been an adept at guessing the 
 hoof-weight of the beeves and swine in which 
 ~ [25] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 he dealt. That early experience stood him in 
 good stead now; he took no credit to himself 
 for his accuracy in estimating the bulk of a 
 living human being. 
 
 Downstairs, on the way out of the place, if 
 by chance he encountered the warden in his 
 office, the warden, in all likelihood, would say: 
 "Well, how about it this time, Uncle Tobe?" 
 
 And Uncle Tobe would make some such 
 answer as this: 
 
 "Well, suh, accordin to my reckonin this 
 here one will heft about a hundred an sixty- 
 five pound, ez he stands now. How s he takin 
 it, warden?" 
 
 "Oh, so-so." 
 
 "He looks to me like he was broodin a right 
 smart," the expert might say. "I jedge he 
 ain t relishin his vittles much, neither. Likely 
 he ll worry three or four pound more off n his 
 bones twixt now an Friday mornin . He 
 oughter run about one hund ed an sixty or 
 mebbe one-sixty-one by then." 
 
 "How much drop do you allow to give him?" 
 
 "Don t worry about that, suh," would be 
 the answer given with a contemplative squint 
 of the placid, pale eye. "I reckin my cal 
 culations won t be very fur out of the way, ef 
 any." 
 
 They never were, either. 
 
 On, the day before the day, he would be a 
 busy man, what with superintending the fitting 
 together and setting up of the painted lumber 
 [26] 
 
THE GALLOWS MITH 
 
 pieces upon which to-morrow s capital tragedy 
 would be played; and, when this was done to 
 his liking, trying the drop to see that the 
 boards had not warped, and trying the rope for 
 possible flaws in its fabric or weave, and proving 
 to his own satisfaction that the mechanism of 
 the wooden lever which operated to spring the 
 trap worked with an instantaneous smoothness. 
 To every detail he gave a painstaking super 
 vision, guarding against all possible contin 
 gencies. Regarding the trustworthiness of the 
 rope he was especially careful. When this 
 particular hanging was concluded, the scaffold 
 would be taken apart and stored away for 
 subsequent use, but for each hanging the gov 
 ernment furnished a brand new rope, especially 
 made at a factory in New Orleans at a cost of 
 eight dollars. The spectators generally cut the 
 rope up into short lengths after it had fulfilled 
 its ordained purpose, and carried the pieces 
 away for souvenirs. So always there was a 
 new rope provided, and its dependability must 
 be ascertained by prolonged and exhaustive 
 tests before Uncle Tobe would approve of it. 
 Seeing him at his task, with his coat and waist 
 coat off, his sleeves rolled back, and his intent 
 mien, one realised why, as a hangman, he had 
 been a success. He left absolutely nothing to 
 chance. When he was through with his ex 
 perimenting, the possibility of an exhibition of 
 the proneness of inanimate objects to misbehave 
 in emergencies had been reduced to a minimum. 
 [27] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 Before daylight next morning Uncle Tobe, 
 dressed in sober black, like a country under 
 taker, and with his mid-Victorian whiskers all 
 cleansed and combed, would present himself 
 at his post of duty. He would linger in the 
 background, an unobtrusive bystander, until 
 the condemned sinner had gone through the 
 mockery of eating his last breakfast; and, still 
 making himself inconspicuous during the march 
 to the gallows, would trail at the very tail of 
 the line, while the short, straggling procession 
 was winding out through gas-lit murky hall 
 ways into the pale dawn-light slanting over 
 the walls of the gravel-paved, high-fenced 
 compound built against the outer side of the 
 prison close. He would wait on, always hold 
 ing himself discreetly aloof from the middle 
 breadth of the picture, until the officiating 
 clergyman had done with his sacred offices; 
 would wait until the white-faced wretch on 
 whose account the government was making 
 all this pother and taking all this trouble, had 
 mumbled his farewell words this side of eternity ; 
 would continue to wait, very patiently, indeed, 
 until the warden nodded to him. Then, with 
 his trussing harness tucked under his arm, and 
 the black cap neatly folded and bestowed in a 
 handy side-pocket of his coat, Uncle Tobe would 
 advance forward, and laying a kindly, almost a 
 paternal hand upon the shoulder of the man 
 who must die, would steer him to a certain 
 spot in the centre of the platform, just beneath 
 [28] 
 
THE GALLOW SMITH 
 
 a heavy cross-beam. There would follow a 
 quick shifting of the big, gnarled hands over 
 the unresisting body of the doomed man, and 
 almost instantly, so it seemed to those who 
 watched, all was in order: the arms of the 
 murderer drawn rearward and pressed in close 
 against his ribs by a broad girth encircling his 
 trunk at the elbows, his wrists caught together 
 in buckled leather cuffs behind his back; his 
 knees and his ankles fast in leathern loops 
 which joined to the rest of the apparatus by 
 means of a transverse strap drawn tautly 
 down the length of his legs, at the back; the 
 black-cloth head-bag with its peaked crown in 
 place; the noose fitted; the hobbled and hooded 
 shape perhaps swaying a trifle this way and 
 that; and Uncle Tobe on his tiptoes stepping 
 swiftly over to a tilted wooden lever which pro 
 jected out and upward through the planked 
 floor, like the handle of a steering oar. 
 
 It was at this point that the timorous-hearted 
 among the witnesses turned their heads away. 
 Those who were more resolute or as the case 
 might be, more morbid and who continued 
 to look, were made aware of a freak of physics 
 which in accord, I suppose, with the laws of 
 horizontals and parallels decrees that a man 
 cut off short from life by quick and violent 
 means and fallen prone upon the earth, seems to 
 shrink up within himself and to grow shorter 
 in body and in sprawling limb, whereas one 
 
 hanged with a rope by the neck has the sem- 
 
 _____ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 blance of stretching out to unseemly and un- 
 human lengths all the while that he dangles. 
 
 Having repossessed himself of his leather 
 cinches, Uncle Tobe would presently depart for 
 his home, stopping en route at the Chickaloosa 
 National Bank to deposit the greater part of 
 the seventy-five dollars which the warden, as 
 representative of a satisfied Federal govern 
 ment, had paid him, cash down on the spot. 
 To his credit in the bank the old man had a 
 considerable sum, all earned after this mode, 
 and all drawing interest at the legal rate. On 
 his arrival at his home, Mr. Dramm would 
 first of all have his breakfast. This over, he 
 would open the second drawer of an old black- 
 walnut bureau, and from under a carefully 
 folded pile of spare undergarments would with 
 draw a small, cheap book, bound in imitation 
 red leather, and bearing the word "Accounts" 
 in faded script upon the cover. On a clean, 
 blue-lined page of the book, in a cramped 
 handwriting, he would write in ink, the name, 
 age, height, an d weight of the man he had just 
 despatched out of life; also the hour and min 
 ute when the drop fell, the time elapsing before 
 the surgeons pronounced the man dead; the 
 disposition which had been made of the body, 
 and any other data which seemed to him per 
 tinent to the record. Invariably he concluded 
 the entry thus: "Neck was broke by the fall. 
 Everything passed off smooth." From his 
 
 
 
THE GALLOWS JVTITH 
 
 first time of service he had never failed to 
 make such notations following a hanging, he 
 being in this, as in all things, methodical 
 and exact. 
 
 The rest of the day, in all probabilities, would 
 be given to small devices of his own. If the 
 season suited he might work in his little truck 
 garden at the back of the house, or if it were 
 the fall of the year he might go rabbit hunting; 
 then again he might go for a walk. When the 
 evening paper came Chickaloosa had two 
 papers, a morning paper and an evening paper 
 he would read through the account given of 
 the event at the prison, and would pencil any 
 material errors which had crept into the 
 reporter s story, and then he would clip out 
 the article and file it away with a sheaf of 
 similar clippings in the same bureau drawer 
 where he kept his account-book and his under 
 clothing. This done he would eat his supper, 
 afterward washing and wiping the supper 
 dishes and, presently bedtime for him having 
 arrived, he would go to bed and sleep very 
 soundly and very peacefully all night. Some 
 times his heart trouble brought on smothering 
 spells which woke him up. He rarely had 
 dreams, and never any dreams unpleasantly 
 associated with his avocation. Probably never 
 was there a man blessed with less of an imagina 
 tion than this same Tobias Dramm. It seemed 
 almost providential, considering the calling he 
 
 followed, that he altogether lacked the faculty 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 of introspection, so that neither his memory nor 
 his conscience ever troubled him. 
 
 Thus far I have made no mention of his 
 household, and for the very good reason that 
 he had none. In his youth he had not married. 
 The forked tongue of town slander had it that 
 he was too stingy to support a wife, and on top 
 of that expense, to run the risk of having 
 children to rear. He had no close kindred 
 excepting a distant cousin or two in Chickaloosa. 
 He kept no servant, and for this there was a 
 double cause. First, his parsimonious in 
 stincts; second, the fact that for love or money 
 no negro would minister to him, and in this 
 community negroes were the only household 
 servants to be had. Among the darkies there 
 was current a belief that at dead of night he 
 dug up the bodies of those he had hanged and 
 peddled the cadavers to the "student doctors." 
 They said he was in active partnership with 
 the devil; they said the devil took over the 
 souls of his victims, paying therefor in red-hot 
 dollars, after the hangman was done with 
 their bodies. The belief of the negroes that 
 this unholy traffic existed amounted with them 
 to a profound conviction. They held Mr. 
 Dramm in an awesome and horrified veneration, 
 bowing to him most respectfully when they 
 met him, and then sidling off hurriedly. It 
 would have taken strong horses to drag any 
 black-skinned resident of Chickaloosa to the 
 portals of the little three-roomed frame cottage 
 
THE GALLOWS MITH 
 
 in the outskirts of the town which Uncle Tobe 
 tenanted. Therefore he lived by himself, doing 
 his own skimpy marketing and his own simple 
 housekeeping. Loneliness was a part of the 
 penalty he paid for following the calling of a 
 gallowsmith. 
 
 Among members of his own race he had no 
 close friends. For the most part the white 
 people did not exactly shun him, but, as the 
 saying goes in the Southwest, they let him be. 
 They were well content to enshrine him as a 
 local celebrity, and ready enough to point him 
 out to visitors, but by an unwritten communal 
 law the line was drawn there. He was as one 
 set apart for certain necessary undertakings, 
 and yet denied the intimacy of his kind because 
 he performed them acceptably. If his aloof 
 and solitary state ever distressed him, at least 
 he gave no outward sign of it, but went his 
 uncomplaining way, bearing himself with a 
 homely, silent dignity, and enveloped in those 
 invisible garments of superstition which local 
 prejudice and local ignorance had conjured up. 
 
 Ready as he was when occasion suited, to 
 justify his avocation in the terms of that same 
 explanation which he had given to the young 
 reporter from St. Louis that time, and greatly 
 though he may have craved to gain the good-will 
 of his fellow citizens, he was never known 
 openly to rebel against his lot. The nearest he 
 ever came to doing this was once when he met 
 upon the street a woman of his acquaintance 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 who had suffered a recent bereavement in the 
 death of her only daughter. He approached 
 her, offering awkward condolences, and at once 
 was moved to a further expression of his 
 sympathy for her in her great loss by trying to 
 shake her hand. At the touch of his fingers 
 to hers the woman, already in a mood of grief 
 bordering on hysteria, shrank back screaming 
 out that his hand smelled of the soap with which 
 he coated his gallows-nooses. She ran away 
 from him, crying out as she ran, that he was 
 accursed; that he was marked with that awful 
 smell and could not rid himself of it. To those 
 who had witnessed this scene the hangman, 
 with rather an injured and bewildered air, made 
 explanation. The poor woman, he said, was 
 wrong; although in a way of speaking she was 
 right, too. He did, indeed, use the same yellow 
 bar soap for washing his hands that he used 
 for anointing his ropes. It was a good soap, 
 and cheap; he had used the same brand 
 regularly for years in cleansing his hands. 
 Since it answered the first purpose so well, what 
 possible harm could there be in slicking the 
 noose of the rope with it when he was called 
 upon to conduct one of his jobs over up at the 
 prison? Apparently he was at a loss to fathom 
 the looks they cast at him when he had finished 
 with this statement and had asked this question. 
 He began a protest, but broke off quickly and 
 went away shaking his head as though puzzled 
 that ordinarily sane folks should be so squeamish 
 
 [34] 
 
THE GALLOWSMITH 
 
 and so unreasonable. But he kept on using 
 the^soap as before. 
 
 Until now this narrative has been largely 
 preamble. The real story follows. It concerns 
 itself with the birth of an imagination. 
 
 In his day Uncle Tobe hanged all sorts and 
 conditions of men men who kept on vainly 
 hoping against hope for an eleventh-hour 
 reprieve long after the last chance of reprieve 
 had vanished, and who on the gallows begged 
 piteously for five minutes, for two minutes, for 
 one minute more of precious grace; negroes gone 
 drunk on religious exhortation who died in a 
 frenzy, sure of salvation, and shouting out 
 halleluiahs; Indians upborne and stayed by a 
 racial stoicism; Chinamen casting stolid, slant- 
 eyed glances over the rim of the void before 
 them and filled with the calmness of the fatalist 
 who believes that whatever is to be, is to be; 
 white men upon whom at the last, when all 
 prospect of intervention was gone, a mental 
 numbness mercifully descended with the result 
 that they came to the rope s embrace like men 
 in a walking coma, with glazed, unseeing eyes, 
 and dragging feet; other white men who 
 summoned up a mockery of bravado and 
 uttered poor jests from between lips drawn back 
 in defiant sneering as they gave themselves over 
 to the hangman, so that only Uncle Tobe, 
 feeling their flesh crawling under their grave- 
 clothes as he tied them up, knew a hideous 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 terror berode their bodies. At length, in the 
 tenth year of his career as a paid executioner he 
 was called upon to visit his professional atten 
 tions upon a man different from any of those 
 who had gone down the same dread chute. 
 
 The man in question was a train-bandit 
 popularly known as the Lone-Hand Kid, 
 because always he conducted his nefarious 
 operations without confederates. He was a 
 squat, dark ruffian, as malignant as a moccasin 
 snake, and as dangerous as one. He was filthy 
 in speech and vile in habit, being in his person 
 most unpicturesque and most unwholesome, 
 and altogether seemed a creature more viper 
 than he was man. The sheriffs of two border 
 States and the officials of a contiguous reserva 
 tion sought for him many times, long and 
 diligently, before a posse overcame him in the 
 hills by over-powering odds and took him 
 alive at the cost of two of its members killed 
 outright and a third badly crippled. So soon 
 as surgeons plugged up the holes in his hide 
 which members of the vengeful posse shot into 
 him after they had him surrounded and before 
 his ammunition gave out, he was brought to 
 bar to answer for the unprovoked murder of a 
 postal clerk on a transcontinental limited. No 
 time was wasted in hurrying his trial through 
 to its conclusion; it was felt that there was 
 crying need to make an example of this red- 
 handed desperado. Having been convicted 
 with commendable celerity, the Lone-Hand Kid 
 [36] 
 
THE GALLOWSMITH 
 
 was transferred to Chickaloosa and strongly 
 confined there against the day of Uncle Tobe s 
 ministrations upon him. 
 
 From the very hour that the prosecution was 
 started, the Lone-Hand Kid, whose real name 
 was the prosaic name of Smith, objected 
 strongly to this procedure which in certain 
 circles is known as "railroading." He insisted 
 that he was being legally expedited out of life 
 on his record and not on the evidence. There 
 were plenty of killings for any one of which he 
 might have been tried and very probably found 
 guilty, but he reckoned it a profound injustice 
 that he should be indicted, tried, and con 
 demned for a killing he had not committed. 
 By his code he would not have rebelled strongly 
 against being punished for the evil things he 
 himself had done; he did dislike, though, 
 being hanged for something some rival hold-up 
 man had done. Such was his contention, and 
 he reiterated it with a persistence which went 
 far toward convincing some people that after 
 all there might be something in what he said, 
 although among honest men there was no 
 doubt whatsoever that the world would be a 
 sweeter and a healthier place to live in with 
 the Lone-Hand Kid entirely translated out 
 of it. 
 
 Having been dealt with, as he viewed the 
 
 matter, most unfairly, the condemned killer 
 
 sullenly refused to make submission to his 
 
 appointed destiny. On the car journey up to 
 
 [37] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 Chickaloosa, although still weak from his 
 wounds and securely ironed besides, he made 
 two separate efforts to assault his guards. In 
 his cell, a few days later, he attacked a turnkey 
 in pure wantonness seemingly, since even with 
 the turnkey eliminated, there still was no 
 earthly prospect for him to escape from the 
 steel strong-box which enclosed him. That 
 was what it truly was, too, a strong-box, for 
 the storing of many living pledges held as 
 surety for the peace and good order of the 
 land. Of all these human collaterals who were 
 penned up there with him, he, for the time 
 being, was most precious in the eyes of the 
 law. Therefore the law took no chance of 
 losing him, and this he must have known 
 when he maimed his keeper. 
 
 After this outbreak he was treated as a 
 vicious wild beast, which, undoubtedly, was 
 exactly what he was. He was chained by his 
 ankles to his bed, and his food was shoved in 
 to him through the bars by a man who kept 
 himself at all times well out of reach of the 
 tethered prisoner. Having been rendered help 
 less, he swore then that when finally they un 
 barred his cell door and sought to fetch him 
 forth to garb him for his journey to the gallows, 
 he would fight them with his teeth and his 
 bare hands for so long as he had left an ounce 
 of strength with which to fight. Bodily force 
 would then be the only argument remaining 
 to him by means of which he might express his 
 [38] 
 
THE GALLOWS MITH 
 
 protest, and he told all who cared to listen 
 that most certainly he meant to invoke it. 
 
 There was a code of decorum which governed 
 the hangings at Chickaloosa, and the resident 
 authorities dreaded mightily the prospect of 
 having it profaned by spiteful and unmannerly 
 behaviour on the part of the Lone-Hand Kid. 
 There was said to be in all the world just one 
 living creature for whom the rebellious captive 
 entertained love and respect, and this person 
 was his half-sister. With the good name of 
 his prison at heart, the warden put up the 
 money that paid her fare from her home down 
 in the Indian Territory. Two days before the 
 execution she arrived, a slab-sided, shabby 
 drudge of a woman. Having first been primed 
 and prompted for her part, she was sent to him, 
 and in his cell she wept over the fettered 
 prisoner, and with him she pleaded until he 
 promised her, reluctantly, he would make no 
 physical struggle on being led out to die. 
 
 He kept his word, too; but it was to develop 
 that the pledge of non-resistance, making his 
 body passive to the will of his jailers, did not, 
 according to the Lone-Hand Kid s sense of 
 honour, include the muscles of his tongue. His 
 hour came at sunup of a clear, crisp, October 
 morning, when a rime of frost made a silver 
 carpet upon the boarded floor of the scaffold, 
 and in the east the heavens glowed an 
 irate red, like the reflections of a distant 
 bale-fire. From his cell door before the head 
 ~ [157" "" 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 warder summoned him forth, he drove away 
 with terrible oaths the clergyman who had come 
 to offer him religious consolation. At day 
 light, when the first beams of young sunlight 
 were stealing in at the slitted windows to 
 streak the whitewashed wall behind him with 
 a barred pattern of red, like brush strokes of 
 fresh paint, he ate his last breakfast with foul 
 words between bites, and outside, a little later, 
 in the shadow of the crosstree from which 
 shortly he would dangle in the article of death, 
 a stark offence before the sight of mortal eyes, 
 he halted and stood reviling all who had a hand 
 in furthering and compassing his condemnation. 
 Profaning the name of his Maker with every 
 breath, he cursed the President of the United 
 States who had declined to reprieve him, the 
 justices of the high court who had denied his 
 appeal from the verdict of the lower, the judge 
 who had tried him, the district attorney who 
 had prosecuted him, the grand jurors who 
 had indicted him, the petit jurors who had 
 voted to convict him, the witnesses who had 
 testified against him, the posse men who had 
 trapped him, consigning them all and singly 
 to everlasting damnation. Before this pouring 
 flood of blasphemy the minister, who had 
 followed him up the gallows steps in the vain 
 hope that when the end came some faint sign 
 of contrition might be vouchsafed by this poor 
 lost soul, hid his face in his hands as though 
 fearing an offended Deity would send a bolt 
 [40] 
 
THE GALLOWS MITH 
 
 from on high to blast all who had been witnesses 
 to such impiety and such impenitence. 
 
 The indignant warden moved to cut short 
 this lamentable spectacle. He signed with his 
 hand for Uncle Tobe to make haste, and Uncle 
 Tobe, obeying, stepped forward from where he 
 had been waiting in the rear rank of the shocked 
 spectators. Upon him the defiant ruffian 
 turned the forces of his sulfurous hate, full- 
 gush. First over one shoulder and then over 
 the other as the executioner worked with swift 
 fingers to bind him into a rigid parcel of a 
 man, he uttered what was both a dreadful 
 threat and a yet more dreadful promise. 
 
 "I ain t blamin these other folks here," he 
 proclaimed. "Some of em are here because 
 it s their duty to be here, an* ef these others 
 kin git pleasure out of seein a man croaked 
 that ain t afeared of bein croaked, they re 
 welcome to enjoy the free show, so fur ez I m 
 concerned. But you you stingy, white- 
 whiskered old snake! you re doin this fur 
 the little piece of dirty money that s in it fur 
 you. 
 
 "Listen to me, you dog: I know I m headin 
 straight fur hell, an I ain t skeered to go, 
 neither. But I ain t goin to stay there. I m 
 comin back fur you! I m comin back this 
 very night to git you an take your old, withered, 
 black soul back down to hell with me. No 
 need fur you to try to hide. Wharever you 
 hide I ll seek you out. You can t git away 
 
 __ ._ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 frum me. You kin lock your door an you kin 
 lock your winder, an* you kin hide your head 
 under the bedclothes, but I ll find you whar- 
 ever you are, remember that! An you re goin 
 back down there with me! 
 
 "Now go ahead an hang me I m all set fur 
 it ef you are!" 
 
 Through this harangue Uncle Tobe worked 
 on, outwardly composed. Whatever his inner 
 most emotions may have been, his expression 
 gave no hint that the mouthings of the Lone- 
 Hand Kid had sunk in. He drew the peaked 
 black sack down across the swollen face, hiding 
 the glaring eyes and the lips that snarled. He 
 brought the rope forward over the cloaked head 
 and drew the noose in tautly, with the knot 
 adjusted to fit snugly just under the left ear, 
 so that the hood took on the semblance of a 
 well-filled, inverted bag with its puckered end 
 fluting out in the effect of a dark ruff upon the 
 hunched shoulders of its wearer. Stepping back, 
 he gripped the handle of the lever-bar, and 
 with all his strength jerked it toward him. A 
 square in the floor opened as the trap was 
 flapped back upon its hinges, and through the 
 opening the haltered form shot straight down 
 ward to bring up with a great jerk, and after 
 that to dangle like a plumb-bob on a string. 
 Under the quick strain the gallows-arm creaked 
 and whined; in the silence which followed the 
 hangman was heard to exhale his breath in a 
 vast puff of relief. His hand went up to his 
 
THE GALLOWSMITH 
 
 forehead to wipe beads of sweat which for all 
 that the morning was cool almost to coldness, 
 had suddenly popped out through his skin. 
 He for one was mighty glad the thing was done, 
 and, as he in this moment figured, well done. 
 
 But for once and once only as those saw who 
 had the hardihood to look, Uncle Tobe had 
 botched up a job. Perhaps it was because of 
 his great haste to make an end of a scandalous 
 scene; perhaps because the tirade of the bound 
 malefactor had discomfited him and made his 
 fingers fumble this one time at their familiar 
 task. Whatever the cause, it was plainly 
 enough to be seen that the heavy knot had not 
 cracked the Lone-Hand Kid s spine. The 
 noose, as was ascertained later, had caught on 
 the edge of the broad jawbone, and the man, 
 instead of dying instantly, was strangling to 
 death by degrees and with much struggling. 
 
 In the next half minute a thing even more 
 grievous befell. The broad strap which girthed 
 the murderer s trunk just above the bend of 
 the elbows, held fast, but the rest of the harness, 
 having been improperly snaffled on, loosened and 
 fell away from the twitching limbs so that as 
 the elongated body twisted to and fro in half 
 circles, the lower arms winnowed the air in 
 foreshortened and contorted flappings, and 
 the freed legs drew up and down convulsively. 
 
 Very naturally, Uncle Tobe was chagrined; 
 perhaps he had hidden within him emotions 
 deeper than those bred of a personal mortifica- 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 tion. At any rate, after a quick, distressed 
 glance through the trap at the writhing shape 
 of agony below, he turned his eyes from it 
 and looked steadfastly at the high wall facing 
 him. It chanced to be the western wall, which 
 was bathed in a ruddy glare where the shafts 
 of the upcoming sun, lifting over the panels at 
 the opposite side of the fenced enclosure, began 
 to fall diagonally upon the whitewashed sur 
 face just across. And now, against that glow 
 ing plane of background opposite him, there 
 appeared as he looked the slanted shadow of a 
 swaying rope framed in at right and at left by 
 two broader, deeper lines which were the 
 shadows marking the timber uprights that 
 supported the scaffold at its nearer corners; 
 and also there appeared, midway between the 
 framing shadows, down at the lower end of the 
 slender line of the cord, an exaggerated, wrig 
 gling manifestation like the reflection of a huge 
 and misshapen jumping- jack, which first would 
 lengthen itself grotesquely, and then abruptly 
 would shorten up, as the tremors running 
 through the dying man s frame altered the sil 
 houette cast by the oblique sunbeams; and 
 along with this stencilled vision, as a part of 
 it, occurred shifting shadow movements of two 
 legs dancing busily on nothing, and of two fore 
 shortened arms, flapping up and down. It was 
 no pretty picture to look upon, yet Uncle Tobe, 
 plucking with a tremulous hand at the ends 
 of his beard, continued to stare at the appari- 
 [44] " 
 
THE GALLOWSMITH 
 
 tion, daunted and fascinated. To him it must 
 have seemed as though the Lone-Hand Kid, 
 with a malignant pertinacity which lingered on 
 in him after by rights the last breath should 
 have been squeezed out of his wretched carcass, 
 was painting upon those tall planks the picture 
 and the presentiment of his farewell threat. 
 
 Nearly half an hour passed before the sur 
 geons consented that the body should be taken 
 down and boxed. His harness which had 
 failed him having been returned to its owner, 
 he made it up into a compact bundle and col 
 lected his regular fee and went away very 
 quietly. Ordinarily, following his habitual rou 
 tine, he would have gone across town to his 
 little house; would have washed his hands with 
 a bar of the yellow laundry soap; would have 
 cooked and eaten his breakfast, and then, 
 after tidying up the kitchen, would have made 
 the customary entry in his red-backed account- 
 book. But this morning he seemed to have 
 no appetite, and besides, he felt an unaccount 
 able distaste for his home, with its silence and 
 its emptiness. Somehow he much preferred 
 the open air, with the skies over him and wide 
 reaches of space about him; which was doubly 
 strange, seeing that he was no lover of nature, 
 but always theretofore had accepted sky and 
 grass and trees as matters of course things as 
 inevitable and commonplace as the weathers 
 and the winds. 
 
 [*] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 Throughout the day and until well on toward 
 night he was beset by a curious, uncommon 
 restlessness which made it hard for him to 
 linger long in any one spot. He idled about 
 the streets of the town; twice he wandered 
 aimlessly miles out along roads beyond the 
 town. All the while, without cessation, there 
 was a tugging and nagging at his nerve-ends, a 
 constant inward irritation which laid a hold 
 on his thoughts, twitching them off into un 
 pleasant channels. It kept him from centring 
 his interest upon the casual things about him; 
 inevitably it turned his mind back to inner 
 contemplations. The sensation was mental 
 largely, but it seemed so nearly akin to the 
 physical that to himself Uncle Tobe diagnosed 
 it as the after-result of a wrench for his weak 
 heart. You see, never before having ex 
 perienced the reactions of a suddenly quickened 
 imagination, he, naturally, was at a loss to 
 account for it on any other ground. 
 
 Also he was weighted down by an intense 
 depression that his clean record of ten years 
 should have been marred by a mishap; this 
 regret, constantly recurring in his thoughts, 
 served to make him unduly sensitive. He had 
 a feeling that people stared hard at him as 
 they passed and, after he had gone by, that 
 they turned to stare at him some more. Under 
 this scrutiny he gave no sign of displeasure, 
 but inwardly he resented it. Of course these 
 folks had heard of what had happened up at 
 
THE GALLOWS MITH 
 
 the prison, and no doubt among themselves 
 would be commenting upon the tragedy and 
 gossiping about it. Well, any man was liable 
 to make a slip once; nobody was perfect. It 
 would never happen again; he was sure of that 
 much. 
 
 All day he mooned about, a brooding, uneasy 
 figure, speaking to scarcely any one at all, but 
 followed wherever he went by curious eyes. 
 It was late in the afternoon before it occurred 
 to him that he had eaten nothing all day, and 
 that he had failed to deposit the money he had 
 earned that morning. It would be too late 
 now to get into the bank; the bank, which 
 opened early, closed at three o clock. To 
 morrow would do as well. Although he had no 
 zest for food despite his fast, he figured maybe 
 it was the long abstinence which was filling his 
 head with such flighty notions, so he entered a 
 small, smelly lunch-room near the railroad 
 station, and made a pretense of eating an order 
 of ham and eggs. He tried not to notice that 
 the black waiter who served him shrank away 
 from his proximity, shying off like a breechy 
 colt, from the table where Uncle Tobe sat, 
 whenever his business brought him into that 
 part of the place. What difference did a fool 
 darky s fears make, anyway? 
 
 Dusk impended when he found himself 
 approaching his three-room house, looming up 
 as a black oblong, where it stood aloof from its 
 
 neighbours, with vacant lands about it. The 
 _ _ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 house faced north and south. On the nearer 
 edge of the unfenced common, which extended 
 up to it on the eastern side, he noted as he drew 
 close that somebody perhaps a boy, or more 
 probably a group of boys had made a bonfire 
 of fallen autumn leaves and brushwood. Going 
 away as evening came, they had left their 
 bonfire to burn itself out. The smouldering 
 pile was almost under his bedroom window. 
 He regretted rather that the boys had gone; 
 an urgent longing for human companionship 
 of some sort, however remote a yearning he 
 had never before felt with such acuteness 
 was upon him. Tormented, as he still was, by 
 strange vagaries, he had almost to force him 
 self to unlock the front door and cross the 
 threshold into the gloomy interior of his cot 
 tage. But before entering, and while he yet 
 wrestled with a vague desire to retrace his 
 steps and go back down the street, he stooped 
 and picked up his copy of the afternoon paper 
 which the carrier, with true carrierlike accuracy, 
 had flung upon the narrow front porch. 
 
 Inside the house, the floor gave off sharp 
 little sounds, the warped floor squeaking and 
 wheezing under the weight of his tread. Sub 
 consciously, this irritated him; a lot of causes 
 were combining to harass him, it seemed; there 
 was a general conspiracy on the part of objects 
 animate and inanimate to make him well, 
 suspicious. And Uncle Tobe was not given to 
 nervousness, which made it worse. He was 
 [48] 
 
THE GALLOWS MITH 
 
 ashamed of himself that he should be in such 
 state. Glancing about him in a furtive, al 
 most in an apprehensive way, he crossed the 
 front room to the middle room, which was his 
 bed chamber, the kitchen being the room at 
 the rear. In the middle room he lit a coal-oil 
 lamp which stood upon a small centre table. 
 Alongside the table he opened out the paper 
 and glanced at a caption running half-way 
 across the top of the front page; then, fretfully 
 he crumpled up the printed sheet in his hand 
 and let it fall upon the floor. He had no desire 
 to read the account of his one failure. Why 
 should the editor dwell at such length and with 
 so prodigal a display of black head-line type 
 upon this one bungled job when every other job 
 of all the jobs that had gone before, had been 
 successful in every detail? Let s see, now, how 
 many men had he hanged with precision and 
 with speed and with never an accident to mar 
 the proceedings? A long, martialed array of 
 names came trooping into his brain, and along 
 with the names the memories of the faces of all 
 those dead men to whom the names had 
 belonged. The faces began to pass before him 
 in a mental procession. This wouldn t do. 
 Since there were no such things as ghosts or 
 haunts; since, as all sensible men agreed, the 
 dead never came back from the grave, it was a 
 foolish thing for him to be creating those un 
 pleasant images in his mind. He shook his 
 head to clear it of recollections which were the 
 - ~- ~ [49] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 better forgotten. He shook it again and 
 again. 
 
 He would get to bed; a good night s rest 
 would make him feel better and more natural. 
 It was an excellent idea this idea of sleep. 
 So he raised the bottommost half of the curtain- 
 less side window for air, drew down the shade 
 by the string suspended from its lower cross 
 breadth, until the lower edge of the shade 
 came even with the window sash, and un 
 dressed himself to his undergarments. He was 
 about to blow out the light when he remem 
 bered he had left the money that was the price 
 of his morning s work in his trousers which 
 hung, neatly folded, across the back of a chair 
 by the centre table. He was in the act of 
 withdrawing the bills from the bottom of one 
 of the trouser-pockets when right at his feet 
 there was a quick, queer sound of rustling. 
 As he glared down, startled, out from under 
 the crumpled newspaper came timorously creep 
 ing a half-grown, sickly looking rat, minus its 
 tail, having lost its tail in a trap, perhaps, or 
 possibly in a battle with other rats. 
 
 At best a rat is no pleasant bedroom com 
 panion, and besides, Uncle Tobe had been 
 seriously annoyed. He kicked out with one 
 of his bare feet, taking the rat squarely in its 
 side as it scurried for its hole in the wainscoting. 
 He hurt it badly. It landed with a thump 
 ten feet away and sprawled out on the floor 
 kicking and squealing feebly. Holding the 
 [ 50 ] 
 
THE GALLOWSMITH 
 
 wad of bills in his left hand, with his right 
 Uncle Tobe deftly plucked up the crushed 
 vermin by the loose fold of skin at the nape 
 of its neck, and with a quick flirt of his arm 
 tossed it sidewise from him to cast it out of 
 the half-opened window. He returned to the 
 table and bent over and blew down the lamp 
 chimney, and in the darkness felt his way 
 across the room to his bed. He stretched 
 himself full length upon it, drew the cotton 
 comforter up to cover him, and shoved the 
 money under the pillow. 
 
 His fingers were relaxing their grip on the 
 bills when he saw something something which 
 instantly turned him stiff and rigid and deathly 
 cold all over, leaving him without will-power 
 or strength to move his head or shift his gaze. 
 Over the white, plastered wall alongside his 
 bed an unearthly red glow sprang up, turning 
 a deeper, angrier red as it spread and widened. 
 Against this background next stood out two 
 perpendicular masses like the broad shadows 
 of uprights like the supporting uprights of a 
 gallows, say and in the squared space of 
 brightness thus marked off, depending midway 
 from the shadow crossing it at right angles at 
 the top, appeared a filmy, fine line, which 
 undoubtedly was the shadow of a cord, and at 
 the end of the cord dangled a veritable jumping- 
 jack of a silhouette, turning and writhing and 
 jerking, with a shape which in one breath 
 grotesquely lengthened and in the next shrank 
 
 _____ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 up to half its former dimensions, which kicked 
 out with indistinct movements of its lower 
 extremities, which flapped with foreshortened 
 strokes of the shadowy upper limbs, which 
 altogether so contorted itself as to form the 
 likeness of a thing all out of perspective, all 
 out of proportion, and all most horribly remi 
 niscent. 
 
 A heart with valves already weakened by a 
 chronic affection can stand just so many shocks 
 in a given time and no more. 
 
 A short time later in this same night, at about 
 eight-forty-five o clock, to be exact, a man who 
 lived on the opposite side of the unfenced com 
 mon gave the alarm of fire over the telephone. 
 The Chickaloosa fire engine and hose reels came 
 at once, and with the machines numerous 
 citizens. 
 
 In a way of speaking, it turned out to be a 
 false alarm. A bonfire of leaves and brush, 
 abandoned at dusk by the boys who kindled it, 
 had, after smouldering a while, sprung up briskly 
 and, flaming high, was now scorching the clap- 
 boarded side of the Dramm house. 
 
 There was no need for the firemen to un 
 couple a line of hose from the reel. While two 
 of them made shift to get retorts of a patent 
 extinguisher from the truck, two more, won 
 dering why Uncle Tobe, even if in bed and 
 asleep at so early an hour, had not been aroused 
 
THE GALLOWS MITH 
 
 by the noise of the crowd s coming, knocked 
 at his front door. There being nojresponse 
 from within at once, they suspected something 
 must be amiss. With heaves of their shoulders 
 they forced the door off its hinges, and entering 
 in company, they groped their passage through 
 the empty front room into the bedroom behind 
 it, which was lighted after a fashion by the 
 reflection from the mounting flames without. 
 
 The tenant was in bed; he lay on his side with 
 his face turned to the wall; he made no answer 
 to their hails. When they bent over him they 
 knew why. No need to touch him, then, with 
 that look on his face and that stare out of his 
 popped eyes. He was dead, all right enough; 
 but plainly had not been dead long; not more 
 than a few minutes, apparently. One of his 
 hands was shoved up under his pillow with the 
 fingers touching a small roll containing seven 
 ten-dollar bills and one five-dollar bill; the 
 other hand still gripped a fold of the coverlet as 
 though the fatal stroke had come upon the old 
 man as he lifted the bedclothing to draw it up 
 over his face. These incidental facts were 
 noted down later after the coroner had been 
 called to take charge; they were the subject of 
 considerable comment next day when the 
 inquest took place. The coroner was of the 
 opinion that the old man had been killed by a 
 heart seizure, and that he had died on the 
 instant the attack came. 
 
 However, this speculation had no part in the 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 thoughts of the two startled firemen at the 
 moment of the finding of the body. What 
 most interested them, next only to the dis 
 covery of the presence of the dead man there 
 in the same room with them, was a queer com 
 bination of shadows which played up and down 
 against the wall beyond the bed, it being 
 plainly visible in the glare of the small con 
 flagration just outside. 
 
 With one accord they turned about, and 
 then they saw the cause of the phenomenon, 
 and realised that it was not very much of a 
 phenomenon after all, although unusual enough 
 to constitute a rather curious circumstance. 
 A crippled, tailless rat had somehow entangled 
 its neck in a loop at the end of the dangling 
 cord of the half -drawn shade at the side window 
 on the opposite side of the room and, being too 
 weak to wriggle free, was still hanging there, 
 jerking and kicking, midway of the window 
 opening. The glow of the pile of burning 
 leaves and brush behind and beyond it, brought 
 out its black outlines with remarkable clearness. 
 
 The patterned shadow upon the wall, though, 
 disappeared in the same instant that the men 
 outside began spraying their chemical com 
 pound from the two extinguishers upon the 
 ambitious bonfire to douse it out, and one of 
 the firemen slapped the rat down to the floor 
 and killed it with a stamp of his foot. 
 
 [54] 
 
CHAPTER II 
 THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE* 
 
 SOME people said Congressman Mallard 
 had gone mad. These were his friends 
 striving out of the goodness of their 
 hearts to put the best face on what at 
 best was a lamentable situation. Some said 
 he was a traitor to his country. These were 
 his enemies, personal, political and journal 
 istic. Some called him a patriot who put 
 humanity above nationality, a new John the 
 Baptist come out of the wilderness to preach 
 a sobering doctrine of world-peace to a world 
 made drunk on war. And these were his fol 
 lowers. Of the first his friends there were 
 not many left. Of the second group there were 
 millions that multiplied themselves. Of the 
 third there had been at the outset but a tim 
 orous and furtive few, and they mostly men 
 and women who spoke English, if they spoke it 
 at all, with the halting speech and the twisted 
 idiom that betrayed their foreign birth; being 
 persons who found it entirely consistent to 
 
 * Originally printed separately. 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 applaud the preachment of planetic disarma 
 ment out of one side of their mouths, and out of 
 the other side of their mouths to pray for the 
 success at arms of the War Lord whose hand 
 had shoved the universe over the rim of the 
 chasm. But each passing day now saw them 
 increasing in number and in audacity. Tak 
 ing courage to themselves from the courage of 
 their apostle, these, his disciples, were be 
 ginning to shout from the housetops what 
 once they had only dared whisper beneath 
 the eaves. Disloyalty no longer smouldered; 
 it was blazing up. It crackled, and threw 
 off firebrands. 
 
 Of all those who sat in judgment upon the 
 acts and the utterances of the man and this 
 classification would include every articulate 
 creature in the United States who was old 
 enough to be reasonable or unreasonable 
 only a handful had the right diagnosis for the 
 case. Here and there were to be found men 
 who knew he was neither crazed nor inspired; 
 and quite rightly they put no credence in the 
 charge that he had sold himself for pieces of 
 silver to the enemy of his own nation. They 
 knew what ailed the Honourable Jason Mallard 
 that he was a victim of a strangulated am 
 bition, of an egotistic hernia. He was hopelessly 
 ruptured in his vanity. All his life he had 
 lived on love of notoriety, and by that same 
 perverted passion he was being eaten up. 
 Once he had diligently besought the confidence 
 [56] 
 
THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE 
 
 and the affections of a majority of his fellow 
 citizens ; now he seemed bent upon consolidating 
 their hate for him into a common flood and 
 laving himself in it. Well, if such was his wish 
 he was having it; there was no denying that. 
 
 In the prime of his life, before he was fifty, 
 it had seemed that almost for the asking the 
 presidency might have been his. He had been 
 born right, as the saying goes, and bred right, 
 to make suitable presidential timber. He 
 came of fine clean blends of blood. His father 
 had been a descendant of Norman-English folk 
 who settled in Maryland before the Revolution; 
 the family name had originally been Maillard, 
 afterward corrupted into Mallard. His moth 
 er s people were Scotch-Irish immigrants of 
 the types that carved out their homesteads 
 with axes on the spiny haunches of the Cum- 
 berlands. In the Civil War his father had 
 fought for the Union, in a regiment of bor 
 derers; two of his uncles had been partisan 
 rangers on the side of the Confederacy. If 
 he was a trifle young to be of that generation 
 of public men who were born in unchinked log 
 cabins of the wilderness or prairie-sod shanties, 
 at least he was to enjoy the subsequent political 
 advantage of having come into the world in a 
 two-room house of unpainted pine slabs on the 
 sloped withers of a mountain in East Tennessee. 
 As a child he had been taken by his parents to 
 one of the states which are called pivotal states. 
 
 There be had grown up farm boy first, teacher 
 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 of a district school, self-taught lawyer, county 
 attorney, state legislator, governor, congress 
 man for five terms, a floor leader of his party 
 so that by ancestry and environment, by the 
 ethics of political expediency and political 
 geography, by his own record and by the 
 traditions of the time, he was formed to make 
 an acceptable presidential aspirant. 
 
 In person he was most admirably adapted 
 for the role of statesman. He had a figure 
 fit to set off a toga, a brow that might have 
 worn a crown with dignity. As an orator 
 he had no equal in Congress or, for that matter, 
 out of it. He was a burning mountain of 
 eloquence, a veritable human Vesuvius from 
 whom, at will, flowed rhetoric or invective, 
 satire or sentiment, as lava might flow from 
 a living volcano. His mind spawned sonorous 
 phrases as a roe shad spawns eggs. He was in 
 all outward regards a shape of a man to catch 
 the eye, with a voice to cajole the senses as 
 with music of bugles, and an oratory to inspire. 
 Moreover, the destiny which shaped his ends 
 had mercifully denied him that which is a 
 boon to common men but a curse to public 
 men. Jason Mallard was without a sense of 
 humour. He never laughed at others; he 
 never laughed at himself. Certain of our 
 public leaders have before now fallen into the 
 woful error of doing one or both of these things. 
 Wherefore they were forever after called hu 
 mourists and ruined. When they said any- 
 
 __ 
 
THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE 
 
 thing serious their friends took it humorously, 
 and when they said anything humorously their 
 enemies took it seriously. But Congressman 
 Mallard was safe enough there. 
 
 Being what he was a handsome bundle of 
 selfishness, coated over with a fine gloss of 
 seeming humility, a creature whose every 
 instinct was richly mulched in self-conceit 
 and yet one who simulated a deep devotion for 
 mankind at large he couldn t make either 
 of these mistakes. 
 
 Upon a time the presidential nomination of 
 his party the dominant party, too had been 
 almost within his grasp. That made his losing 
 it all the more bitter. Thereafter he became an 
 obstructionist, a fighter outside of the lines of 
 his own party and not within the lines of the 
 opposing party, a leader of the elements of 
 national discontent and national discord, a 
 mouthpiece for all those who would tear down 
 the pillars of the temple because they dislike 
 its present tenants. Once he had courted 
 popularity; presently this coming after his 
 re-election to a sixth term he went out of his 
 way to win unpopularity. His invectives ate 
 in like corrosives, his metaphors bit like adders. 
 Always he had been like a sponge to sop up 
 adulation; now he was to prove that when it 
 came to withstanding denunciation his hide was 
 the hide of a rhino. 
 
 The war came along, and after more than 
 two years of it came our entry into it. For the 
 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 most part, in the national capital and out of 
 it, artificial lines of partisan division were wiped 
 out under a tidal wave of patriotism. So far 
 as the generality of Americans were concerned, 
 they for the time being were neither Demo 
 crats nor Republicans; neither were they 
 Socialists nor Independents nor Prohibitionists. 
 For the duration of the war they were Ameri 
 cans, actuated by a common purpose and 
 stirred by a common danger. Afterward they 
 might be, politically speaking, whatever they 
 chose to be, but for the time being they were 
 just Americans. Into this unique condition 
 Jason Mallard projected himself, an upstanding 
 reef of opposition to break the fine continuity 
 of a mighty ground swell of national unity and 
 national harmony. 
 
 Brilliant, formidable, resourceful, seemingly 
 invulnerable, armoured in apparent disdain 
 for the contempt and the indignation of the 
 masses of the citizenship, he fought against 
 and voted against the breaking off of diplo 
 matic relations with Germany; fought against 
 the draft, fought against the war appropria 
 tions, fought against the plans for a bigger 
 navy, the plans for a great army; fought the 
 first Liberty Loan and the second; and the 
 third he fought against a declaration of war 
 with Austria-Hungary. And, so far as the 
 members of Congress were concerned, he fought 
 practically single-handed. 
 
 His vote cast in opposition to the will of 
 [60] 
 
THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE 
 
 the majority meant nothing; his voice raised 
 in opposition meant much. For very soon 
 the avowed pacifists and the secret protag 
 onists of Kultur, the blood-eyed anarchists 
 and the lily-livered dissenters, the conscien 
 tious objectors and the conscienceless I. W. 
 W. group, saw in him a buttress upon which 
 to stay their cause. The lone wolf wasn t 
 a lone wolf any longer he had a pack to 
 rally about him, yelping approval of his every 
 word. Day by day he grew stronger and day 
 by day the sinister elements behind him grew 
 bolder, echoing his challenges against the 
 Government and against the war. With prac 
 tically every newspaper in America, big and 
 little, fighting him; with every influential 
 magazine fighting him; with the leaders of the 
 Administration fighting him he nevertheless 
 loomed on the national sky line as a great 
 sinister figure of defiance and rebellion. 
 
 Deft word chandlers of the magazines and 
 the daily press coined terms of opprobrium 
 for him. He was the King of the Copperheads, 
 the Junior Benedict Arnold, the Modern Judas, 
 the Second Aaron Burr; these things and a 
 hundred others they called him; and he laughed 
 at hard names and in reply coined singularly 
 apt and cruel synonyms for the more con 
 spicuous of his critics. The oldest active 
 editor in the country and the most famous 
 called upon the body of which he was a member 
 
 to impeach him for acts of disloyalty, tending 
 _ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 to give aid and comfort to the common enemy. 
 The great president of a great university sug 
 gested as a proper remedy for what seemed to 
 ail this man Mallard that he be shot against a 
 brick wall some fine morning at sunrise. At a 
 monstrous mass meeting held in the chief 
 city of Mallard s home state, a mass meeting 
 presided over by the governor of that state, 
 resolutions were unanimously adopted calling 
 upon him to resign his commission as a repre 
 sentative. His answer to all three was a 
 speech which, as translated, was shortly there 
 after printed in pamphlet form by the Berlin 
 Lokal Anzeiger and circulated among the Ger 
 man soldiers at the Front. 
 
 For you see Congressman Mallard felt 
 safe, and Congressman Mallard was safe. 
 His defense was the right of free speech; his 
 weapon, the argument that he stood for peace 
 through all the world, for arbitration and dis 
 armament among all the peoples of the world. 
 
 It was on the evening of a day in January 
 of the year of grace, 1918, that young Dray ton, 
 Washington correspondent for the New York 
 Epoch, sat in the office of his bureau on the 
 second floor of the Hibbett Building, revising 
 his account of a scene he had witnessed that 
 afternoon from the press gallery of the House. 
 He had instructions from his managing editor 
 to cover the story at length. At ten o clock 
 he had finished what would make two columns 
 in type and was polishing off his opening para- 
 
 _ __ . 
 
THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE 
 
 graphs before putting the manuscript on the 
 wire when the door of his room opened and a 
 man came in a shabby, tremulous figure. 
 The comer was Quinlan. 
 
 Quinlan was forty years old and looked fifty. 
 Before whisky got him Quinlan had been a 
 great newspaper man. Now that his habits 
 made it impossible for him to hold a steady 
 job he was become a sort of news tipster. 
 Occasionally also he did small lobbying of a 
 sort; his acquaintance with public men and 
 his intimate knowledge of Washington official 
 dom served him in both these precarious fields 
 of endeavour. The liquor hedrank whenever 
 and wherever he could get it had bloated his 
 face out of all wholesome contour and had 
 given to his stomach a chronic distention, but 
 had depleted his frame and shrunken his 
 limbs so that physically he was that common 
 enough type of the hopeless alcoholic a meagre 
 rack of a man burdened amidships by an un 
 healthy and dropsical plumpness. 
 
 At times when he was not completely sod 
 den when he had in him just enough whisky 
 to stimulate his soaked brain, and yet not 
 enough of it to make him maudlin he dis 
 played flashes of a one-time brilliancy which 
 by contrast with his usual state made the 
 ruinous thing he had done to himself seem all 
 the more pitiable. 
 
 Drayton of the Epoch was one of the news- 
 paper men upon whom he sponged. Always 
 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 preserving the fiction that he was borrowing 
 because of temporary necessity, he got small 
 sums of money out of Drayton from time to 
 time, and in exchange gave the younger man 
 bits of helpful information. It was not so 
 much news that he furnished Drayton as it was 
 insight into causes working behind political 
 and diplomatic events. He came in now 
 without knocking and stood looking at Drayton 
 with an ingratiating flicker in his dulled eyes. 
 
 "Hello, Quinlan!" said Drayton. "What s 
 on your mind to-night?" 
 
 "Nothing, until you get done there," said 
 Quinlan, letting himself lop down into a 
 chair across the desk from Drayton. "Go 
 ahead and get through. I ve got nowhere 
 to come but in, and nowhere to go but out." 
 
 "I m just putting the final touches on my 
 story of Congressman Mallard s speech," said 
 Drayton. "Want to read my introduction?" 
 
 Privately Drayton was rather pleased with 
 the job and craved approval for his craftsman 
 ship from a man who still knew good writing 
 when he saw it, even though he could no longer 
 write it. 
 
 "No, thank you," said Quinlan. "All I 
 ever want to read about that man is his 
 obituary." 
 
 "You said it!" agreed Drayton. "It s what 
 most of the decent people in this country are 
 thinking, I guess, even if they haven t begun 
 saying it out loud yet. It strikes me the 
 
THE THUNDERS OF SI.L ENCE 
 
 American people are a mighty patient lot 
 putting up with that demagogue. That was a 
 rotten thing that happened up on the hill to-day, 
 Quinlan a damnable thing. Here was Mal 
 lard making the best speech in the worst cause 
 that ever I heard, and getting away with it too. 
 And there was Richland trying to answer him 
 and in comparison making a spectacle of him 
 self Richland with all the right and all the 
 decency on his side and yet showing up like 
 a perfect dub alongside Mallard, because he 
 hasn t got one-tenth of Mallard s ability as a 
 speaker or one-tenth of Mallard s personal fire 
 or stage presence or magnetism or whatever 
 it is that makes Mallard so plausible and so 
 dangerous." 
 
 "That s all true enough, no doubt," said 
 Quinlan; "and since it is true why don t the 
 newspapers put Mallard out of business?" 
 
 "Why don t the newspapers put him out 
 of business!" echoed Drayton. "Why, good 
 Lord, man, isn t that what they ve all been 
 trying to do for the last six months? They 
 call him every name in the calendar, and it 
 all rolls off him like water off a duck s back. 
 He seems to get nourishment out of abuse 
 that would kill any other man. He thrives 
 on it, if I m any judge. I believe a hiss is 
 music to his ears and a curse is a hushaby, 
 lullaby song. Put him out of business? Why 
 say, doesn t nearly every editorial writer in the 
 country jump on him every day, and don t all 
 ~ [65] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 the paragraphers gibe at him, and don t all the 
 cartoonists lampoon him, and don t all of us 
 who write news from down here in Washington 
 give him the worst of it in our despatches? 
 . . . And what s the result? Mallard takes 
 on flesh and every red-mouthed agitator in the 
 country and every mushy-brained peace fanatic 
 and every secret German sympathiser trails 
 at his heels, repeating what he says. I d like 
 to know what the press of America hasn t done 
 to put him out of business! 
 
 "There never was a time, I guess, when the 
 reputable press of this country was so united 
 in its campaign to kill off a man as it is now in 
 its campaign to kill off Mallard. No paper 
 gives him countenance, except some of these 
 foreign-language rags and these dirty little 
 disloyal sheets; and until here just lately even 
 they didn t dare to come out in the open and 
 applaud him. Anyway, who reads them as 
 compared with those who read the real news 
 papers and the real magazines? Nobody! And 
 yet he gets stronger every day. He s a national 
 menace that s what he is." 
 
 "You said it again, son," said Quinlan. 
 "Six months ago he was a national nuisance 
 and now he s a national menace; and who s 
 responsible or, rather, what s responsible 
 for him being a national menace? Well, I m 
 going to tell you; but first I m going to tell you 
 something about Mallard. I ve known him 
 for twelve years, more or less ever since he 
 [66] 
 
THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE 
 
 came here to Washington in his long frock coat 
 that didn t fit him and his big black slouch 
 hat and his white string tie and in all the rest 
 of the regalia of the counterfeit who s trying to 
 fool people into believing he s part tribune and 
 part peasant." 
 
 "You wouldn t call Mallard a counterfeit, 
 would you? a man with the gifts he s got," 
 broke in Drayton. "I ve heard him called 
 everything else nearly in the English language, 
 but you re the first man that ever called him a 
 counterfeit, to my knowledge!" 
 
 "Counterfeit? Why, he s as bogus as a 
 pewter dime," said Quinlan. "I tell you I 
 know the man. Because you don t know him 
 he s got you fooled the same as he s got so 
 many other people fooled. Because he looks 
 like a steel engraving of Henry Clay you think 
 he is a Henry Clay, I suppose anyhow, a lot 
 of other people do; but I m telling you his 
 resemblance to Henry Clay is all on the out 
 side it doesn t strike in any farther than the 
 hair roots. He calls himself a self-made man. 
 Well, he s not; he s self-assembled, that s all. 
 He s made up of standardised and inter 
 changeable parts. He s compounded of some 
 thing borrowed from every political mounte 
 bank who s pulled that old bunk about being 
 a friend of the great common people and got 
 ten away with it during the last fifty years. 
 He s not a real genius. He s a synthetic 
 genius. 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 "There are just two things about Mallard 
 that are not spurious two things that make 
 up the real essence and tissue of him: One is 
 his genius as a speaker and the other is his 
 vanity; and the bigger of these, you take it 
 from me, is his vanity. That s the thing he 
 feeds on vanity. It s the breath in his 
 nostrils, it s the savour and the salt on his daily 
 bread. He lives on publicity, on notoriety, 
 And yet you, a newspaper man, sit here won 
 dering how the newspapers could kill him, 
 and never guessing the real answer." 
 
 "Well, what is the answer then?" demanded 
 Dray ton. 
 
 "Wait, I m coming to that. The press is 
 always prating about the power of the press, 
 always nagging about pitiless publicity being 
 potent to destroy an evil thing or a bad man, 
 and all that sort of rot. And yet every day 
 the newspapers give the lie to their own boast 
 ings. It s true, Drayton, that up to a certain 
 point the newspapers can make a man by print 
 ing favourable things about him. By that 
 same token they imagine they can tear him 
 down by printing unfavourable things about 
 him. They think they can, but they can t. 
 Let them get together in a campaign of vitu 
 peration against a man, and at once they set 
 everybody to talking about him. Then let 
 them carry their campaign just over a psy 
 chological dividing line, and right away they 
 begin, against their wills, to manufacture sen- 
 [68] 
 
THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE 
 
 timent for him. The reactions of printer s 
 ink are stronger somehow than its original 
 actions its chemical processes acquire added 
 strength in the back kick. What has saved 
 many a rotten criminal in this country from 
 getting his just deserts? It wasn t the fact 
 that the newspapers were all for him. It was 
 the fact that all the newspapers were against 
 him. The under dog may be ever so bad a 
 dog, but only let enough of us start kicking him 
 all together, and what s the result? Sympathy 
 for him that s what. Calling Unclean, un 
 clean! after a leper never yet made people 
 shun him. It only makes them crowd up 
 closer to see his sores. I ll bet if the facts were 
 known that was true two thousand years ago. 
 Certainly it s true to-day, and human nature 
 doesn t change. 
 
 "But the newspapers have one weapon 
 they ve never yet used; at least as a unit 
 they ve never used it. It s the strongest 
 weapon they ve got, and the cheapest, and the 
 most terrible, and yet they let it lie in its 
 scabbard and rust. With that weapon they 
 could destroy any human being of the type of 
 Jason Mallard in one-twentieth of the time 
 it takes them to build up public opinion for 
 or against him. And yet they can t see it 
 or won t see that it s there, all forged and 
 ready to their hands." 
 
 "And that weapon is what?" asked Drayton. 
 
 "Silence. Absolute, utter silence. Silence 
 [69] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 is the loudest thing in the world. It thunders 
 louder than the thunder. And it s the dead 
 liest. What drives men mad who are put in 
 solitary confinement? The darkness? The 
 solitude? Well, they help. But it s silence 
 that does the trick silence that roars in their 
 ears until it cracks their ear-drums and curdles 
 their brains. 
 
 "Mallard is a national peril, we ll concede. 
 Very well then, he should be destroyed. And 
 the surest, quickest, best way for the news 
 papers to destroy him is to wall him up in 
 silence, to put a vacuum bell of silence down 
 over him, to lock him up in silence, to bury him 
 alive in silence. And that s a simpler thing 
 than it sounds. They have, all of them, only 
 to do one little thing just quit printing his 
 
 name." 
 
 "But they can t quit printing his name, 
 Quinlan!" exclaimed Drayton. "Mallard s 
 news; he s the biggest figure in the news that 
 there is to-day in this country." 
 
 "That s the same foolish argument that 
 the average newspaper man would make," 
 said Quinlan scornfully. "Mallard is news 
 because the newspapers make news of him 
 and for no other reason. Let them quit, and 
 he isn t news any more he s a nonentity, he s 
 nothing at all, he s null and he s void. So far 
 as public opinion goes he will cease to exist, 
 and a thing that has ceased to exist is no longer 
 news once you ve printed the funeral notice. 
 [70] 
 
THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE 
 
 Every popular thing, every conspicuous thing 
 in the world is born of notoriety and fed on 
 notoriety newspaper notoriety. Notoriety is 
 as essential to the object of notoriety itself as 
 it is in fashioning the sentiments of those who 
 read about it. And there s just one place 
 where you ean get wholesale, nation-wide 
 notoriety to-day out of the jaws of a printing 
 press. 
 
 "We call baseball our national pastime 
 granted! But let the newspapers, all of them, 
 during one month of this coming spring, quit 
 printing a word about baseball, and you d see 
 the parks closed up and the weeds growing 
 on the base lines and the turnstiles rusting 
 solid. You remember those deluded ladies 
 who almost did the cause of suffrage some 
 damage last year by picketing the White House 
 and bothering the President when he was busy 
 with the biggest job that any man had tackled 
 in this country since Abe Lincoln? Remember 
 how they raised such a hullabaloo when they 
 were sent to the workhouse? Well, suppose 
 the newspapers, instead of giving them front 
 page headlines and columns of space every 
 day, had refused to print a line about them or 
 even so much as to mention their names. Do 
 you believe they would have stuck to the job 
 week after week as they did stick to it? I tell 
 you they d have quit cold inside of forty-eight 
 hours. 
 
 "Son, your average latter-day martyr en- 
 
 _ - 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 dures his captivity with fortitude because 
 he knows the world, through thg papers, is 
 going to hear the pleasant clar.king of his 
 chains. Otherwise he d burst f -om his cell 
 with a disappointed yell and go out of the 
 martyr business instanter. He may not fear 
 the gallows or the stake or the pillory, but 
 he certainly does love his press/ notices. He 
 may or may not keep the faitK, but you can 
 bet he always keeps a scrapbook. Silence 
 that s the thing he fears more than hang 
 man s nooses or firing squads. 
 
 "And that s the cure for your friend, 
 Jason Mallard, Esquire. Let the press of 
 this country put the curse of silence on him 
 and he s done for. Silence will kill off his 
 cause and kill off his following and kill him 
 off. It will kill him politically and figura 
 tively. I m not sure, knowing the man as 
 I do, but what it will kill him actually. En 
 tomb him in silence and he ll be a body of 
 death and corruption in two weeks. Just 
 let the newspapers and the magazines provide 
 the grave, and the corpse will provide itself." 
 
 Drayton felt himself catching the fever of 
 Quinlan s fire. He broke in eagerly. 
 
 "But, Quinlan, how could it be done?" 
 he asked. "How could you get concerted 
 action for a thing that s so revolutionary, so 
 unprecedented, so " 
 
 "This happens to be one time in the history 
 of the United States when you could get it," 
 
THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE 
 
 said the inebriate. "You could get it because 
 the press is practically united today in favour 
 of real Americanism. Let some man like your 
 editor-in-chief, Fred Core, or like Carlos Seers 
 of the Era, or Manuel Oxus of the Period, or 
 Malcolm Flint of the A. P. call a private meet 
 ing in New York of the biggest individual 
 publishers of daily papers and the leading 
 magazine publishers and the heads of all the 
 press associations and news syndicates, from 
 the big fellows clear down to the shops that 
 sell boiler plate to the country weeklies with 
 patent insides. Through their concerted in 
 fluence that crowd could put the thing over 
 in twenty-four hours. They could line up 
 the Authors League, line up the defence 
 societies, line up the national advertisers, 
 line up organised labour in the printing trades 
 line up everybody and everything worth while. 
 Oh, it could be done make no mistake about 
 that. Call it a boycott; call it coercion, mob 
 law, lynch law, anything you please it s 
 justifiable. And there d be no way out for 
 Mallard. He couldn t bring an injunction suit 
 to make a newspaper publisher print his name. 
 He couldn t buy advertising space to tell about 
 himself if nobody would sell it to him. There s 
 only one thing he could do and if I m any 
 judge he d do it, sooner or later." 
 
 Young Dray ton stood up. His eyes were 
 blazing. 
 
 "Do you know what I m going to do, 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 Quinlan?" he asked. "I m going to run up 
 to New York on the midnight train. If I 
 can t get a berth on a sleeper I ll sit up in a 
 day coach. I m going to rout Fred Core 
 out of bed before breakfast time in the morning 
 and put this thing up to him just as you ve 
 put it up to me here to-night. If I can make 
 him see it as you ve made me see it, he ll get 
 busy. If he doesn t see it, there s no harm 
 done. But in any event it s your idea, and I ll 
 see to it that you re not cheated out of the credit 
 for it." 
 
 The dipsomaniac shook his head. The flame 
 of inspiration had died out in Quinlan; he was 
 a dead crater again a drunkard quivering for 
 the lack of stimulant. 
 
 "Never mind the credit, son. What was it 
 wise old Omar said Take the cash and let the 
 credit go ? something like that anyhow. You 
 run along up to New York and kindle the fires. 
 But before you start I wish you d loan me about 
 two dollars. Some of these days when my 
 luck changes I ll pay it all back. I m keeping 
 track of what I owe you. Or say, Dray ton 
 make it five dollars, won t you, if you can 
 spare it?" 
 
 Beforehand there was no announcement of 
 the purpose to be accomplished. The men in 
 charge of the plan and the men directly under 
 them, whom they privily commissioned to 
 carry out their intent, were all of them sworn 
 [74] 
 
THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE 
 
 to secrecy. And all of them kept the pledge. 
 On a Monday Congressman Mallard s name 
 appeared in practically every daily paper in 
 America, for it was on that evening that he was 
 to address a mass meeting at a hall on the Lower 
 West Side of New York a meeting ostensibly 
 to be held under the auspices of a so-called 
 society for world peace. But sometime during 
 Monday every publisher of every newspaper 
 and periodical, or every trade paper, every 
 religious paper, every farm paper in America, 
 received a telegram from a certain address in 
 New York. This telegram was marked Con 
 fidential. It was signed by a formidable list of 
 names. It was signed by three of the most 
 distinguished editors in America; by the heads 
 of all the important news-gathering and news- 
 distributing agencies; by the responsible heads 
 of the leading feature syndicates; by the presi 
 dents of the two principal telegraph companies; 
 by the presidents of the biggest advertising 
 agencies; by a former President of the United 
 States; by a great Catholic dignitary; by a 
 great Protestant evangelist, and by the most 
 eloquent rabbi in America; by the head of the 
 largest banking house on this continent; by a 
 retired military officer of the highest rank; by 
 a national leader of organised labour; by the 
 presidents of four of the leading universities; 
 and finally by a man who, though a private 
 citizen, was popularly esteemed to be the 
 
 mouthpiece of the National Administration. 
 
 [75] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 While this blanket telegram was travelling 
 over the wires a certain magazine publisher 
 was stopping his presses to throw out a special 
 article for the writing of which he had paid 
 fifteen hundred dollars to the best satirical 
 essayist in the country; and another publisher 
 was countermanding the order he had given 
 to a distinguished caricaturist for a series of 
 cartoons all dealing with the same subject, and 
 was tearing up two of the cartoons which had 
 already been delivered and for which he already 
 had paid. He offered to pay for the cartoons 
 not yet drawn, but the artist declined to accept 
 further payment when he was told in confidence 
 the reason for the cancellation of the com 
 mission. 
 
 On a Monday morning Congressman Jason 
 Mallard s name was in every paper; his picture 
 
 was in many of them. On the day following 
 
 But I am getting ahead of my story. Monday 
 evening comes before Tuesday morning, and 
 first I should tell what befell on Monday 
 evening down on the Lower West Side. 
 
 That Monday afternoon Mallard came up 
 from Washington; only his secretary came with 
 him. Three men the owner of a publication 
 lately suppressed by the Post Office Department 
 for seditious utterances, a former clergyman 
 whose attitude in the present crisis had cost 
 him his pulpit, and a former college professor 
 of avowedly anarchistic tendencies met him 
 at the Pennsylvania Station. Of the three only 
 [76] 
 
THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE 
 
 the clergyman had a name which bespoke 
 Anglo-Saxon ancestry. These three men ac 
 companied him to the home of the editor, where 
 they dined together; and when the dinner was 
 ended an automobile bore the party through a 
 heavy snowstorm to the hall where Mallard 
 was to speak. 
 
 That is to say, it bore the party to within a 
 block and a half of the hall. It could get no 
 nearer than that by reason of the fact that the 
 narrow street from house line on one side to 
 house line on the other was jammed with men 
 and women, thousands of them, who, coming 
 too late to secure admission to the hall the 
 hall was crowded as early as seven o clock had 
 stayed on, outside, content to see their champion 
 and to cheer him since they might not hear 
 him. They were half frozen. The snow in 
 which they stood had soaked their shoes and 
 chilled their feet; there were holes in the shoes 
 which some of them wore. The snow stuck to 
 their hats and clung on their shoulders, making 
 streaks there like fleecy epaulets done in the 
 colour of peace, which also is the colour of 
 cowardice and surrender. There was a cold 
 wind which made them all shiver and set the 
 teeth of many of them to chattering; but they 
 had waited. 
 
 A squad of twenty-odd policemen aligned 
 in a triangular formation about Mallard and 
 his sponsors and, with Captain Bull Hargis 
 of the Traffic Squad as its massive apex, this 
 
 "" ~ " [77] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 human ploughshare literally slugged a path 
 through the mob to the side entrance of the 
 hall. By sheer force the living wedge made a 
 furrow in the multitude a furrow that in 
 stantly closed in behind it as it pressed forward. 
 Undoubtedly the policemen saved Congressman 
 Mallard from being crushed and buffeted down 
 under the caressing hands of those who strove 
 with his bodyguard to touch him, to embrace 
 him, to clasp his hand. Foreign-born women, 
 whose sons were in the draft, sought to kiss 
 the hem of his garments when he passed them 
 by, and as they stooped they were bowled over 
 by the uniformed burlies and some of them 
 were trampled. Disregarding the buffeting 
 blows of the policemen s gloved fists, men, 
 old, young and middle-aged, flung themselves 
 against the escorts, crying out greetings. Above 
 the hysterical yelling rose shrill cries of pain, 
 curses, shrieks. Guttural sounds of cheering 
 in snatchy fragments were mingled with terms 
 of approval and of endearment and of affection 
 uttered in English, in German, in Russian, in 
 Yiddish and in Finnish. 
 
 Afterward Captain Bull Hargis said that 
 never in his recollection of New York crowds 
 had there been a crowd so hard to contend 
 against or one so difficult to penetrate; he 
 said this between gasps for breath while 
 nursing a badly sprained thumb. The men 
 under him agreed with him. The thing 
 overpassed anything in their professional ex- 
 [78] 
 
THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE 
 
 periences. Several of them were veterans of 
 the force too. 
 
 It was a dramatic entrance which Congress 
 man Mallard made before his audience within 
 the hall, packed as the hall was, with its air 
 all hot and sticky with the animal heat of 
 thousands of closely bestowed human bodies. 
 Hardly could it have been a more dramatic 
 entrance. From somewhere in the back he 
 suddenly came out upon the stage. He was 
 bareheaded and bare-throated. Outside in 
 that living whirlpool his soft black hat had 
 been plucked from his head and was gone. 
 His collar, tie and all, had been torn from about 
 his neck, and the same rudely affectionate hand 
 that wrested the collar away had ripped his 
 linen shirt open so that the white flesh of his 
 chest showed through the gap of the tear. His 
 great disorderly mop of bright red hair stood 
 erect on his scalp like an oriflamme. His over 
 coat was half on and half off his back. 
 
 At sight of him the place rose at him, howling 
 out its devotion. He flung off his overcoat, 
 letting it fall upon the floor, and he , strode 
 forward almost to the trough of the footlights; 
 and then for a space he stood there on the 
 rounded apron of the platform, staring out into 
 the troubled, tossing pool of contorted faces 
 and tossing arms below him and about him. 
 Demagogue he may have been; demigod he 
 looked in that, his moment of supreme triumph, 
 biding his time to play upon the passions and 
 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 the prejudices of this multitude as a master 
 organist would play upon the pipes of an organ. 
 Here was clay, plastic to his supple fingers 
 here in this seething conglomerate of half- 
 baked intellectuals, of emotional rebels against 
 constituted authority, of alien enemies, of mal 
 contents and malingerers, of parlour anarchists 
 from the studios of Bohemianism and authentic 
 anarchists from the slums. 
 
 Ten blaring, exultant minutes passed before 
 the ex-clergyman, who acted as chairman, 
 could secure a measure of comparative quiet. 
 At length there came a lull in the panting 
 tumult. Then the chair made an announce 
 ment which brought forth in fuller volume 
 than ever a responsive roar of approval. He 
 announced that on the following night and on 
 the night after, Congressman Mallard would 
 speak at Madison Square Garden, under the 
 largest roof on Manhattan Island. The com 
 mittee in charge had been emboldened by the 
 size of this present outpouring to engage the 
 garden; the money to pay the rent for those 
 two nights had already been subscribed; ad 
 mission would be free; all would be welcome 
 to come and quoting the chairman "to hear 
 the truth about the war into which the Gov 
 ernment, at the bidding of the capitalistic 
 classes, had plunged the people of the nation." 
 Then in ten words he introduced the speaker, 
 and as the speaker raised his arms above his 
 head invoking quiet, there fell, magically, a 
 
 ~ " [80] 
 
THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE 
 
 quick, deep, breathless hush upon the palpi 
 tant gathering. 
 
 "And this" he began without preamble 
 in that great resonant voice of his, that was 
 like a blast of a trumpet "and this, my 
 countrymen, is the answer which the plain 
 people of this great city make to a corrupted 
 and misguided press that would crucify any 
 man who dares defy it." 
 
 He spoke for more than an hour, and when 
 he was done his hearers were as madmen and 
 madwomen. And yet so skilfully had he 
 phrased his utterances, so craftily had he 
 injected the hot poison, so deftly had he avoided 
 counselling outright disobedience to the law, 
 that sundry secret-service men who had been 
 detailed to attend the meeting and to arrest 
 the speaker, United States representative 
 though he be, in case he preached a single 
 sentence of what might be interpreted as open 
 treason, were completely circumvented. 
 
 It is said that on this night Congressman 
 Mallard made the best speech he ever made 
 in his whole life. But as to that we cannot 
 be sure, and for this reason: 
 
 On Monday morning, as has twice been 
 stated in this account, Congressman Mallard s 
 name was in every paper, nearly, in America. 
 On Tuesday morning not a line concerning 
 him or concerning his speech or the remarkable 
 demonstration of the night before not a line 
 of news, not a line of editorial comment, not a 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 paragraph appeared in any newspaper printed 
 in the English language on this continent. 
 The silent war had started. 
 
 Tuesday evening at eight-fifteen Congress 
 man Mallard came to Madison Square Garden, 
 accompanied by the honour guard of his spon 
 sors. The police department, taking warning 
 by what had happened on Monday night down 
 on the West Side, had sent the police reserves 
 of four precincts six hundred uniformed men, 
 under an inspector and three captains to 
 handle the expected congestion inside and out 
 side the building. These six hundred men had 
 little to do after they formed into lines and 
 lanes except to twiddle their night sticks and 
 to stamp their chilled feet. 
 
 For a strange thing befell. Thousands had 
 participated in the affair of the night before. 
 By word of mouth these thousands most surely 
 must have spread the word among many times 
 their own number of sympathetic individuals. 
 And yet this was the strange part by actual 
 count less than fifteen hundred persons, ex 
 clusive of the policemen, who were there 
 because their duty sent them there, attended 
 Tuesday night s meeting. To be exact there 
 were fourteen hundred and seventy-five of 
 them. In the vast oval of the interior they 
 made a ridiculously small clump set midway 
 of the arena, directly in front of the platform 
 that had been put up. All about them were 
 wide reaches of seating space empty. The 
 
 [82] " 
 
THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE 
 
 place was a huge vaulted cavern, cheerless as 
 a cave, full of cold drafts and strange echoes. 
 Congressman Mallard spoke less than an hour, 
 and this time he did not make the speech of 
 his life. 
 
 Wednesday night thirty policemen were on 
 duty at Madison Square Garden, Acting 
 Captain O Hara of the West Thirtieth Street 
 Station being in command. Over the tele 
 phone to headquarters O Hara, at eight-thirty, 
 reported that his tally accounted for two 
 hundred and eighty-one persons present. Con 
 gressman Mallard, he stated, had not arrived 
 yet, but was momentarily expected. 
 
 At eight-forty-five O Hara telephoned again. 
 Congressman Mallard had just sent word that 
 he was ill and would not be able to speak. 
 This message had been brought by Professor 
 Rascovertus, the former college professor, who 
 had come in a cab and had made the bare 
 announcement to those on hand and then had 
 driven away. The assembled two hundred 
 and eighty-one had heard the statement in 
 silence and forthwith had departed in a quiet 
 and orderly manner. O Hara asked permission 
 to send his men back to the station house. 
 
 Congressman Mallard returned to Washing 
 ton on the midnight train, his secretary ac 
 companying him. Outwardly he did not bear 
 himself like a sick man, but on his handsome 
 face was a look which the secretary had never 
 before seen on his employer s face. It was 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 the look of a man who asks himself a question 
 over and over again. 
 
 On Thursday, in conspicuous type, black 
 faced and double-leaded, there appeared on the 
 front page and again at the top of the editorial 
 column of every daily paper, morning and 
 evening, in the United States, and in every 
 weekly and every monthly paper whose date 
 of publication chanced to be Thursday, the 
 following paragraph: 
 
 "There is a name which the press of America 
 no longer prints. Let every true American, 
 in public or in private, cease hereafter from 
 uttering that name." 
 
 Invariably the caption over this paragraph 
 was the one word: 
 
 SILENCE! 
 
 One week later, to the day, the wife of one 
 of the richest men in America died of acute 
 pneumonia at her home in Chicago. Practically 
 all the daily papers in America carried notices 
 of this lady s death; the wealth of her husband 
 and her own prominence in social and philan 
 thropic affairs justified this. At greater or at 
 less length it was variously set forth that she 
 was the niece of a former ambassador to the 
 Court of St. James; that she was the national 
 head of a great patriotic organisation; that she 
 was said to have dispensed upward of fifty 
 thousand dollars a year in charities; that she 
 
 [84] 
 
THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE 
 
 was born in such and such a year at such and 
 such a place; that she left, besides a husband, 
 three children and one grandchild; and so forth 
 and so on. 
 
 But not a single paper in the United States 
 stated that she was the only sister of Con 
 gressman Jason Mallard. 
 
 The remainder of this account must nec 
 essarily be in the nature of a description of 
 episodes occurring at intervals during a period 
 of about six weeks; these episodes, though 
 separated by lapses of time, are nevertheless 
 related. 
 
 Three days after the burial of his sister Con 
 gressman Mallard took part in a debate on a 
 matter of war-tax legislation upon the floor of 
 the House. As usual he voiced the sentiments 
 of a minority of one, his vote being the only 
 vote cast in the negative on the passage of the 
 measure. His speech was quite brief. To 
 his colleagues, listening in dead silence without 
 sign of dissent or approval, it seemed exceed 
 ingly brief, seeing that nearly always before 
 Mallard, when he spoke at all upon any ques 
 tion, spoke at length. While he spoke the men 
 in the press gallery took no notes, and when he 
 had finished and was leaving the chamber it 
 was noted that the venerable Congressman 
 Boulder, a man of nearly eighty, drew himself 
 well into his seat, as though he feared Mallard 
 in passing along the aisle might brush against 
 him. 
 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 The only publication in America that carried 
 a transcript of Congressman Mallard s remarks 
 on this occasion was the Congressional Record. 
 
 At the next day s session Congressman 
 Mallard s seat was vacant; the next day like 
 wise, and the next it was vacant. It was 
 rumoured that he had left Washington, his 
 exact whereabouts being unknown. However, 
 no one in Washington, so far as was known, in 
 speaking of his disappearance, mentioned him 
 by name. One man addressing another would 
 merely say that he understood a certain person 
 had left town or that he understood a certain 
 person was still missing from town; the second 
 man in all likelihood would merely nod under- 
 standingly and then by tacit agreement the 
 subject would be changed. 
 
 Just outside one of the lunch rooms in the 
 Union Station at St. Louis late one night 
 in the latter part of January an altercation 
 occurred between two men. One was a tall, 
 distinguished-looking man of middle age. The 
 other was a railroad employe a sweeper and 
 cleaner. 
 
 It seemed that the tall man, coming out 
 of the lunch room, and carrying a travelling 
 bag and a cane, stumbled over the broom 
 which the sweeper was using on the floor just 
 beyond the doorway. The traveller, who 
 appeared to have but poor control over his 
 temper, or rather no control at all over it, 
 [86] 
 
THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE 
 
 accused the station hand of carelessness and 
 cursed him. The station hand made an 
 indignant and impertinent denial. At that the 
 other flung down his bag, swung aloft his heavy 
 walking stick and struck the sweeper across 
 the head with force sufficient to lay open the 
 victim s scalp in a two-inch gash, which bled 
 freely. 
 
 For once a policeman was on the spot when 
 trouble occurred. This particular policeman 
 was passing through the train shed and he 
 saw the blow delivered. He ran up and, to be 
 on the safe side, put both men under technical 
 arrest. The sweeper, who had been bowled 
 over by the clout he had got, made a charge of 
 unprovoked assault against the stranger; the 
 latter expressed a blasphemous regret that he 
 had not succeeded in cracking the sweeper s 
 skull. He appeared to be in a highly nervous, 
 highly irritable state. At any rate such was 
 the interpretation which the patrolman put 
 upon his aggressive prisoner s behaviour. 
 
 Walking between the pair to prevent further 
 hostilities the policeman took both men into the 
 station master s office, his intention being to 
 telephone from there for a patrol wagon. The 
 night station master accompanied them. Inside 
 the room, while the station master was binding 
 up the wound in the sweeper s forehead with a 
 pocket handkerchief, it occurred to the police 
 man that in the flurry of excitement he had not 
 found out the name of the tall and still excited 
 [87] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 belligerent. The sweeper he already knew. 
 He asked the tall man for his name and business. 
 
 "My name," said the prisoner, "is Jason C. 
 Mallard. I am a member of Congress." 
 
 The station master forgot to make the knot 
 in the bandage he was tying about the sweeper s 
 head. The sweeper forgot the pain of his new 
 headache and the blood which trickled down 
 his face and fell upon the front of his overalls. 
 As though governed by the same set of wires 
 these two swung about, and with the officer 
 they stared at the stranger. And as they 
 stared, recognition came into the eyes of all 
 three, and they marvelled that before now 
 none of them had discerned the identity of the 
 owner of that splendid tousled head of hair and 
 those clean-cut features, now swollen and red 
 with an unreasonable choler. The policeman 
 was the first to get his shocked and jostled 
 senses back, and the first to speak. He proved 
 himself a quick-witted person that night, this 
 policeman did; and perhaps this helps to explain 
 why his superior, the head of the St. Louis 
 police department, on the very next day 
 promoted him to be a sergeant. 
 
 But when he spoke it was not to Mallard but 
 to the sweeper. 
 
 "Look here, Mel Harris," he said; "you call 
 yourself a purty good Amurican, don t you?" 
 
 "You bet your life I do!" was the answer. 
 "Ain t I got a boy in camp soldierin ?" 
 
 "Well, I got two there myself," said the 
 "" [88] " 
 
THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE 
 
 policeman; "but that ain t the question now. 
 I see you ve got a kind of a little bruised place 
 there on your head. Now then, as a good 
 Amurican tryin to do your duty to your 
 country at all times, I want you to tell me how 
 you come by that there bruise. Did somebody 
 mebbe hit you, or as a matter of fact ain t it 
 the truth that you jest slipped on a piece of 
 banana peelin or something of that nature, 
 and fell up against the door jamb of that lunch 
 room out yonder?" 
 
 For a moment the sweeper stared at his 
 interrogator, dazed. Then a grin of appre 
 ciation bisected his homely red-streaked face. 
 
 "Why, it was an accident, officer," he 
 answered. "I slipped down and hit my own 
 self a wallop, jest like you said. Anyway, it 
 don t amount to nothin ." 
 
 "You seen what happened, didn t you?" 
 went on the policeman, addressing the station 
 master. " It was a pure accident, wasn t it? " 
 
 "That s what it was a pure accident," 
 stated the statoin master. 
 
 "Then, to your knowledge, there wasn t 
 no row of any sort occurring round here to 
 night?" went on the policeman. 
 
 "Not that I heard of." 
 
 "Well, if there had a-been you d a-heard of 
 it, wouldn t you?" 
 
 "Sure I would!" 
 
 "That s good," said the policeman. He 
 jabbed a gloved thumb toward the two 
 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 witnesses. "Then, see here, Harris! Bern 
 as it was an accident pure and simple and 
 your own fault besides, nobody no out 
 sider couldn t a-had nothin to do with your 
 gettin hurt, could he?" 
 
 "Not a thing in the world," replied Harris. 
 
 "Not a thing in the world," echoed the 
 station master. 
 
 "And you ain t got any charge to make 
 against anybody for what was due to your 
 own personal awkwardness, have you?" sug 
 gested the blue-coated prompter. 
 
 "Certainly I ain t!" disclaimed Harris 
 almost indignantly. 
 
 Mallard broke in: "You can t do this you 
 men," he declared hoarsely. "I struck that 
 man and I m glad I did strike him damn 
 him! I wish I d killed him. I m willing to 
 take the consequences. I demand that you 
 make a report of this case to your superior 
 officer." 
 
 As though he had not heard him as though 
 he did not know a fourth person was present 
 the policeman, looking right past Mallard 
 with a levelled, steady, contemptuous gaze, 
 addressed the other two. His tone was quite 
 casual, and yet somehow he managed to freight 
 his words with a scorn too heavy to be expressed 
 in mere words : 
 
 "Boys," he said, "it seems-like to me the air 
 in this room is so kind of foul that it ain t 
 fitten for good Amuricans to be breathin it. 
 [90] 
 
THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE 
 
 So I m goin to open up this here door and see 
 if it don t purify itself of its own accord." 
 
 He stepped back and swung the door wide 
 open; then stepped over and joined the station 
 master and the sweeper. And there together 
 they all three stood without a word from any one 
 of them as the fourth man, with his face deadly 
 white now where before it had been a passionate 
 red, and his head lolling on his breast, though 
 he strove to hold it rigidly erect, passed silently 
 out of the little office. Through the opened 
 door the trio with their eyes followed him while 
 he crossed the concrete floor of the concourse 
 and passed through a gate. They continued to 
 watch until he had disappeared in the murk, 
 going toward where a row of parked sleepers 
 stood at the far end of the train shed. 
 
 Yet another policeman is to figure in this 
 recital of events. This policeman s name is 
 Caleb Waggoner and this Caleb Waggoner 
 was and still is the night marshal in a small 
 town in Iowa on the Missouri River. He is 
 one-half the police force of the town, the other 
 half being a constable who does duty in the 
 daytime. Waggoner suffers from an affection 
 which in a large community might prevent him 
 from holding such a job as the one he does hold. 
 He has an impediment of the speech which at 
 all times causes him to stammer badly. When 
 he is excited it is only by a tremendous mental 
 and physical effort and after repeated en- 
 [91] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 deavours that he can form the words at all. 
 In other regards he is a first-rate officer, sober, 
 trustworthy and kindly. 
 
 On the night of the eighteenth of February, 
 at about half past eleven o clock, Marshal 
 Waggoner was completing his regular before- 
 midnight round of the business district. The 
 weather was nasty, with a raw wet wind blowing 
 and half-melted slush underfoot. In his tour 
 he had encountered not a single person. That 
 dead dumb quiet which falls upon a sleeping 
 town on a winter s night was all about him. 
 But as he turned out of Main Street, which is 
 the principal thoroughfare, into Sycamore 
 Street, a short byway running down between 
 scattered buildings and vacant lots to the 
 river bank a short block away, he saw a 
 man standing at the side door of the Eagle 
 House, the town s second-best hotel. A gas 
 lamp flaring raggedly above the doorway 
 brought out the figure with distinctness. The 
 man was not moving he was just standing 
 there, with the collar of a heavy overcoat 
 turned up about his throat and a soft black 
 hat with a wide brim drawn well down upon 
 his head. 
 
 Drawing nearer, Waggoner, who by name or 
 by sight knew every resident of the town, made 
 up his mind that the loiterer was a stranger. 
 Now a stranger abroad at such an hour and 
 apparently with no business to mind would at 
 once be mentally catalogued by the vigilant 
 
 
 
THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE 
 
 night marshal as a suspicious person. So 
 when he had come close up to the other, padding 
 noiselessly in his heavy rubber boots, the officer 
 halted and from a distance of six feet or so 
 stared steadfastly at the suspect. The suspect 
 returned the look. 
 
 What Waggoner saw was a thin, haggard 
 face covered to the upper bulge of the jaw 
 bones with a disfiguring growth of reddish 
 whiskers and inclosed at the temples by shaggy, 
 unkempt strands of red hair which protruded 
 from beneath the black hat. Evidently the 
 man had not been shaved for weeks; certainly 
 his hair needed trimming and combing. But 
 what at the moment impressed Waggoner more 
 even than the general unkemptness of the 
 stranger s aspect was the look out of his eyes. 
 They were widespread eyes and bloodshot as 
 though from lack of sleep, and they glared into 
 Waggoner s with a peculiar, strained, heark 
 ening expression. There was agony in them 
 misery unutterable. 
 
 Thrusting his head forward then, the stranger 
 cried out, and his voice, which in his first words 
 was deep and musical, suddenly, before he had 
 uttered a full sentence, turned to a sharp, half- 
 hysterical falsetto: 
 
 "Why don t you say something to me, man?" 
 he cried at the startled Waggoner. "For God s 
 sake, why don t you speak to me? Even if 
 you do know me, why don t you speak? Why 
 don t you call me by my name? I can t stand 
 T93] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 it I can t stand it any longer, I tell you. 
 You ve got to speak." 
 
 Astounded, Waggoner strove to answer. 
 But, because he was startled and a bit ap 
 prehensive as well, his throat locked down on 
 his faulty vocal cords. His face moved and 
 his lips twisted convulsively, but no sound 
 issued from his mouth. 
 
 The stranger, glaring into Waggoner s face 
 with those two goggling eyes of his, which were 
 all eyeballs, threw up both arms at full length 
 and gave a great gagging outcry. 
 
 "It s come!" he shrieked; "it s come! The 
 silence has done it at last. It deafens me I m 
 deaf ! I can t hear you ! I can t hear you ! " 
 
 He turned and ran south toward the river 
 and Waggoner, recovering himself, ran after 
 him full bent. It was a strangely silent 
 race these two ran through the empty little 
 street, for in the half-melted snow their feet 
 made no sounds at all. Waggoner, for obvious 
 reasons, could utter no words; the other man 
 did not. 
 
 A scant ten feet in the lead the fugitive 
 reached the high clay bank of the river. With 
 out a backward glance at his pursuer, without 
 checking his speed, he went off and over the 
 edge and down out of sight into the darkness. 
 Even at the end of the twenty -foot plunge the 
 body in striking made almost no sound at all, 
 for, as Waggoner afterward figured, it must have 
 struck against a mass of shore ice, then instantly 
 
THE THUNDERS OF SILENCE 
 
 to slide off, with scarcely a splash, into the 
 roiled yellow waters beyond. 
 
 The policeman checked his own speed barely 
 in time to save himself from following over the 
 brink. He crouched on the verge of the frozen 
 clay bluff, peering downward into the blackness 
 and the quiet. He saw nothing and he heard 
 nothing except his own laboured breathing. 
 
 The body was never recovered. But at 
 daylight a black soft hat was found on a half- 
 rotted ice floe, where it had lodged close up 
 against the bank. A name was stamped in the 
 sweatband, and by this the identity of the 
 suicide was established as that of Congressman 
 Jason Mallard. 
 
 [95] 
 
CHAPTER III 
 BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 WHEN Judge Priest, on this par 
 ticular morning, came puffing 
 into his chambers at the court 
 house, looking, with his broad 
 beam and in his costume of flappy, loose white 
 ducks, a good deal like an old-fashioned full- 
 rigger with all sails set, his black shadow, Jeff 
 Poindexter, had already finished the job of 
 putting the quarters to rights for the day. 
 The cedar water bucket had been properly 
 replenished ; the upper flange of a fifteen-cent 
 chunk of ice protruded above the rim of the 
 bucket; and alongside, on the appointed nail, 
 hung the gourd dipper that the master always 
 used. The floor had been swept, except, of 
 course, in the corners and underneath things; 
 there were evidences, in streaky scrolls of fine 
 grit particles upon various flat surfaces, that a 
 dusting brush had been more or less sparingly 
 employed. A spray of trumpet flowers, plucked 
 from the vine that grew outside the window, 
 had been draped over the framed steel engrav- 
 
 " 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 ing of President Davis and his Cabinet upon 
 the wall; and on the top of the big square desk 
 in the middle of the room, where a small section 
 of cleared green-blotter space formed an oasis 
 in a dry and arid desert of cluttered law journals 
 and dusty documents, the morning s mail 
 rested in a little heap. 
 
 Having placed his old cotton umbrella in a 
 corner, having removed his coat and hung it 
 upon a peg behind the hall door, and having 
 seen to it that a palm-leaf fan was in arm s 
 reach should he require it, the Judge, in his 
 billowy white shirt, sat down at his desk and 
 gave his attention to his letters. There was 
 an invitation from the Hylan B. Gracey Camp 
 of Confederate Veterans of Eddyburg, asking 
 him to deliver the chief oration at the annual 
 reunion, to be held at Mineral Springs on the 
 twelfth day of the following month; an official 
 notice from the clerk of the Court of Appeals 
 concerning the affirmation of a judgment that 
 had been handed down by Judge Priest at the 
 preceding term of his own court; a bill for five 
 pounds of a special brand of smoking tobacco; 
 a notice of a lodge meeting altogether quite 
 a sizable batch of mail. 
 
 At the bottom of the pile he came upon a 
 long envelope addressed to him by his title, 
 instead of by his name, and bearing on its 
 upper right-hand corner several foreign-looking 
 stamps; they were British stamps, he saw, on 
 closer examination. 
 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 To the best of his recollection it had been a 
 good long time since Judge Priest had had a 
 communication by post from overseas. He 
 adjusted his steel-bowed spectacles, ripped the 
 wrapper with care and shook out the contents. 
 There appeared to be several inclosures; in 
 fact, there were several a sheaf of printed 
 forms, a document with seals attached, and a 
 letter that covered two sheets of paper with 
 typewritten lines. To the letter the recipient 
 gave consideration first. Before he reached 
 the end of the opening paragraph he uttered a 
 profound grunt of surprise; his reading of the 
 rest was frequently punctuated by small 
 exclamations, his face meantime puckering up 
 in interested lines. At the conclusion, when 
 he came to the signature, he indulged himself 
 in a soft low whistle. He read the letter all 
 through again, and after that he examined the 
 forms and the document which had accom 
 panied it. 
 
 Chuckling under his breath, he wriggled 
 himself free from the snug embrace of his 
 chair arms and waddled out of his own office and 
 down the long bare empty hall to the office of 
 Sheriff Giles Birdsong. Within, that com 
 petent functionary, Deputy Sheriff Breck 
 Quarles, sat at ease in his shirt sleeves, engaged, 
 with the smaller blade of his pocketknife, in 
 performing upon his finger nails an operation 
 that combined the fine deftness of the manicure 
 with the less delicate art of the farrier. At the 
 " ~ [98] 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 sight of the Judge in the open doorway he 
 hastily withdrew from a tabletop, where they 
 rested, a pair of long thin legs, and rose. 
 
 "Mornin , Breck," said Judge Priest to the 
 other s salutation. "No, thank you, son, I 
 won t come in; but I ve got a little job fur you. 
 I wisht, ef you ain t too busy, that you d step 
 down the street and see ef you can t find Peep 
 O Day fur me and fetch him back here with 
 you. It won t take you long, will it?" 
 
 "No, suh not very." Mr. Quarles reached 
 for his hat and snuggled his shoulder holster 
 back inside his unbuttoned waistcoat. "He ll 
 most likely be down round Gafford s stable. 
 Whut s Old Peep been doin , Judge gettin 
 himself in contempt of court or somethin ?" 
 He grinned, asking the question with the air 
 of one making a little joke. 
 
 "No," vouchsafed the Judge; "he ain t 
 done nothin . But he s about to have somethin 
 of a highly onusual nature done to him. You 
 jest tell him I m wishful to see him right 
 away that ll be sufficient, I reckin." 
 
 Without making further explanation, Judge 
 Priest returned to his chambers and for the 
 third time read the letter from foreign parts. 
 Court was not in session, and the hour was 
 early and the weather was hot; nobody inter 
 rupted him. Perhaps fifteen minutes passed. 
 Mr. Quarles poked his head in at the door. 
 
 "I found him, suh," the deputy stated. 
 
 "He s outside here in the hall." 
 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 "Much obliged to you, son," said Judge 
 Priest. "Send him on in, will you, please?" 
 
 The head was withdrawn; its owner lingered 
 out of sight of His Honour, but within earshot. 
 It was hard to figure the presiding judge of 
 the First Judicial District of the state of 
 Kentucky as having business with Peep O Day; 
 and, though Mr. Quarles was no eavesdropper, 
 still he felt a pardonable curiosity in what 
 soever might transpire. As he feigned an 
 absorbed interest in a tax notice, which was 
 pasted on a blackboard just outside the office 
 door, there entered the presence of the Judge 
 a man who seemingly was but a few years 
 younger than the Judge himself a man who 
 looked to be somewhere between sixty -five and 
 seventy. There is a look that you may have 
 seen in the eyes of ownerless but well-inten 
 tioned dogs dogs that, expecting kicks as 
 their daily portion, are humbly grateful for 
 kind words and stray bones; dogs that are 
 fairly yearning to be adopted by somebody 
 by anybody being prepared to give to such a 
 benefactor a most faithful doglike devotion 
 in return. 
 
 This look, which is fairly common among 
 masterless and homeless dogs, is rare among 
 humans; still, once in a while you do find it 
 there too. The man who now timidly shuffled 
 himself across the threshold of Judge Priest s 
 office had such a look out of his eyes. He had 
 a long, simple face, partly inclosed in grey 
 [100] 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 whiskers. Four dollars would have been a 
 sufficient price to pay for the garments he 
 stood in, including the wrecked hat he held in 
 his hands and the broken, misshaped shoes on 
 his feet. A purchaser who gave more than 
 four dollars for the whole in its present state of 
 decrepitude would have been but a poor hand 
 at bargaining. 
 
 The man who wore this outfit coughed in an 
 embarrassed fashion and halted, fumbling his 
 ruinous hat in his hands. 
 
 "Howdy do?" said Judge Priest heartily, 
 "Come in!" ; 
 
 The other diffidently advanced himself a 
 yard or two. 
 
 "Excuse me, suh," he said apologetically; 
 "but this here Breck Quarles he come after me 
 and he said ez how you wanted to see me. 
 Twas him ez brung me here, suh." 
 
 Faintly underlying the drawl of the speaker 
 was just a suspicion a mere trace, as you 
 might say of a labial softness that belongs 
 solely and exclusively to the children, and in a 
 diminishing degree to the grandchildren, of 
 native-born sons and daughters of a certain 
 small green isle in the sea. It was not so much 
 a suggestion of a brogue as it was the suggestion 
 of the ghost of a brogue; a brogue almost 
 extinguished, almost obliterated, and yet per 
 sisting through the generations South of Ire 
 land struggling beneath south of Mason and 
 Dixon s Line. 
 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 "Yes," said the Judge; "that s right. I do 
 want to see you." The tone was one that he 
 might employ in addressing a bashful child. 
 "Set down there and make yourself at home." 
 
 The newcomer obeyed to the extent of perch 
 ing himself on the extreme forward edge of a 
 chair. His feet shuffled uneasily where they 
 were drawn up against the cross rung of the 
 chair. 
 
 The Judge reared well back, studying his 
 visitor p^er the tops of his glasses with rather a 
 quizzical look. In one hand he balanced the 
 large envelope which had come to him that 
 morning/ 
 
 "Seems to me I heared somewheres, years 
 back, that your regular Christian name was 
 Paul is that right?" he asked. 
 
 "Shorely is, suh," assented the ragged man, 
 surprised and plainly grateful that one holding 
 a supremely high position in the community 
 should vouchsafe to remember a fact relating 
 to so inconsequent an atom as himself. "But 
 I ain t heared it fur so long I come mighty 
 nigh furgittin it sometimes, myself. You see, 
 Judge Priest, when I wasn t nothin but jest a 
 shaver folks started in to callin me Peep 
 on account of my last name bein O Day, I 
 reckin. They been callin me so ever since. 
 Fust off, twas Little Peep, and then jest plain 
 Peep; and now it s got to be Old Peep. But 
 my real entitled name is Paul, jest like you 
 said, Judge Paul Felix O Day." 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 "Uh-huh! And wasn t your father s name 
 Philip and your mother s name Katherine 
 Dwyer O Day?" 
 
 "To the best of my recollection that s partly 
 so, too, suh. They both of em up and died 
 when I was a baby, long before I could remem 
 ber anything a-tall. But they always told me 
 my paw s name was Phil, or Philip. Only 
 my maw s name wasn t Kath Kath wasn t 
 whut you jest now called it, Judge. It was 
 plain Kate." 
 
 "Kate or Katherine it makes no great 
 difference," explained Judge Priest. "Ireckin 
 the record is straight this fur. And now think 
 hard and see ef you kin ever remember hearin 
 of an uncle named Daniel O Day your father s 
 brother." 
 
 The answer was a shake of the tousled 
 head. 
 
 "I don t know nothin about my people. I 
 only jest know they come over from some place 
 with a funny name in the Old Country before 
 I was born. The onliest kin I ever had over 
 here was that there no- count triflin nephew of 
 mine Perce Dwyer him that uster hang 
 round this town. I reckin you call him to 
 mind, Judge?" 
 
 The old Judge nodded before continuing: 
 
 "All the same, I reckin there ain t no manner 
 of doubt but whut you had an uncle of the 
 name of Daniel. All the evidences would 
 seem to p int that way. Accordin to the 
 "~~"~ "" [103] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 proofs, this here Uncle Daniel of yours lived 
 in a little town called Kilmare, in Ireland." 
 He glanced at one of the papers that lay on 
 his desktop; then added in a casual tone: 
 "Tell me, Peep, whut are you doin now fur a 
 livin ?" 
 
 The object of this examination grinned a 
 faint grin of extenuation. 
 
 "Well, suh, I m knockin about, doin the 
 best I kin which ain t much. I help out 
 round Gafford s liver stable, and Pete Gafford 
 he lets me sleep in a little room behind the feed 
 room, and his wife she gives me my vittles. 
 Oncet in a while I git a chancet to do odd jobs 
 fur folks round town cuttin weeds and 
 splittin stove wood and packin in coal, and 
 sech ez that." 
 
 "Not much money in it, is there?" 
 
 "No, suh; not much. Folks is more prone 
 to offer me old clothes than they are to pay me 
 in cash. Still, I manage to git along. I don t 
 live very fancy; but, then, I don t starve, and 
 that s more n some kin say." 
 
 "Peep, whut was the most money you ever 
 had in your life at one time?" 
 
 Peep scratched with a freckled hand at his 
 thatch of faded whitish hair to stimulate 
 recollection. 
 
 "I reckin not more n six bits at any one time, 
 suh. Seems like I ve sorter got the knack of 
 livin without money." 
 
 "Well, Peep, sech bein the case, whut would 
 [104] 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 you say ef I was to tell you that you re a rich 
 man?" 
 
 The answer came slowly. 
 
 "I reckin, suh, ef it didn t sound disrespect 
 ful, I d say you was prankin with me makin 
 fun of me, suh." 
 
 Judge Priest bent forward in his chair. 
 
 "I m not prankin with you. It s my 
 pleasant duty to inform you that at this 
 moment you are the rightful owner of eight 
 thousand pounds." 
 
 "Pounds of whut, Judge?" The tone ex 
 pressed a heavy incredulity. 
 
 "Why, pounds in money." 
 
 Outside, in the hall, with one ear held con 
 veniently near the crack in the door, Deputy 
 Sheriff Quarles gave a violent start; and then, 
 at once, was torn between a desire to stay and 
 hear more and an urge to hurry forth and 
 spread the unbelievable tidings. After the 
 briefest of struggles the latter inclination won; 
 this news was too marvellously good to keep; 
 surely a harbinger and a herald was needed to 
 spread it broadcast. 
 
 Mr. Quarles tiptoed rapidly down the hall. 
 When he reached the sidewalk the volunteer 
 bearer of a miraculous tale fairly ran. As for 
 the man who sat facing the Judge, he merely 
 stared in a dull bewilderment. 
 
 "Judge," he said at length, "eight thousand 
 pounds of money oughter make a powerful big 
 
 pile, oughten it?" 
 
 __ _ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 "It wouldn t weigh quite that much ef you 
 put it on the scales," explained His Honour 
 painstakingly. "I mean pounds sterlin 
 English money. Near ez I kin figger offhand, 
 it comes in our money to somewheres between 
 thirty-five and forty thousand dollars nearer 
 forty than thirty -five. And it s all yours, 
 Peep every red cent of it." 
 
 "Excuse me, suh, and not meanin to con 
 tradict you, or nothin like that; but I reckin 
 there must be some mistake. Why, Judge, I 
 don t scursely know anybody that s ez wealthy 
 ez all that, let alone anybody that d give me 
 sech a lot of money." 
 
 "Listen, Peep: This here letter I m holdin 
 in my hand came to me by to-day s mail jest a 
 little spell ago. It s frum Ireland frum the 
 town of Kilmare, where your people came 
 frum. It was sent to me by a firm of barristers 
 in that town lawyers we d call em. In this 
 letter they ask me to find you and to tell you 
 whut s happened. It seems, frum whut they 
 write, that your uncle, by name Daniel O Day, 
 died not very long ago without issue that is to 
 say, without leavin any children of his own, 
 and without makin any will. 
 
 "It appears he had eight thousand pounds 
 saved up. Ever since he died those lawyers 
 and some other folks over there in Ireland 
 have been tryin to find out who that money 
 should go to. They learnt in some way that 
 your father and your mother settled in this 
 [ 106 ] 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 town a mighty long time ago, and that they 
 died here and left one son, which is you. All 
 the rest of the family over there in Ireland 
 have already died out, it seems; that natchelly 
 makes you the next of kin and the heir at law, 
 which means that all your uncle s money 
 comes direct to you. 
 
 "So, Peep, you re a wealthy man in your 
 own name. That s the news I had to tell you. 
 Allow me to congratulate you on your good 
 fortune." 
 
 The beneficiary rose to his feet, seeming not 
 to see the hand the old Judge had extended 
 across the desktop toward him. On his face, 
 of a sudden, was a queer, eager look. It was as 
 though he foresaw the coming true of long- 
 cherished and heretofore unattainable visions. 
 
 "Have you got it here, suh?" 
 
 He glanced about him as though expecting 
 to see a bulky bundle. Judge Priest smiled. 
 
 "Oh, no; they didn t send it along with the 
 letter that wouldn t be regular. There s quite 
 a lot of things to be done fust. There ll be 
 some proofs to be got up and sworn to before a 
 man called a British consul; and likely there ll 
 be a lot of papers that you ll have to sign; and 
 then all the papers and the proofs and things 
 will be sent acrost the ocean. And, after some 
 fees are paid out over there why, then you ll 
 git your inheritance." 
 
 The rapt look faded from the strained face, 
 leaving it downcast. "I m af eared, then, I 
 " [107] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 won t be able to claim that there money," he 
 said forlornly. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because I don t know how to sign my own 
 name. Raised the way I was, I never got no 
 book learnin . I can t neither read nor write." 
 
 Compassion shadowed the Judge s chubby 
 face; and compassion was in his voice as he 
 made answer: 
 
 "You don t need to worry about that part 
 of it. You can make your mark just a cross 
 mark on the paper, with witnesses present 
 like this." 
 
 He took up a pen, dipped it in the ink-well 
 and illustrated his meaning. 
 
 "Yes, suh; I m glad it kin be done thataway. 
 I always wisht I knowed how to read big print 
 and spell my own name out. I ast a feller 
 oncet to write my name out fur me in plain 
 letters on a piece of paper. I was aimin* to 
 learn to copy it off; but I showed it to one of 
 the hands at the liver stable and he busted 
 out laughin . And then I come to find out 
 this here feller had tricked me fur to make 
 game of me. He hadn t wrote my name out 
 a-tall he d wrote some dirty words instid. 
 So after that I give up tryin to educate myself. 
 That was several years back and I ain t tried 
 sence. Now I reckin I m too old to learn. 
 ... I wonder, suh I wonder ef it ll be very 
 long before that there money gits here and I 
 
 begin to have the spendin of it?" 
 
 [108] " 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 "Makin plans already?" 
 
 "Yes, suh," O Day answered truthfully; "I 
 am." He was silent for a moment, his eyes 
 on the floor; then timidly he advanced the 
 thought that had come to him: "I reckin, suh, 
 it wouldn t be no more n fair and proper ef I 
 divided my money with you to pay you back 
 fur all this trouble you re fixin to take on my 
 account. Would would half of it be enough? 
 The other half oughter last me fur whut uses 
 I ll make of it." 
 
 "I know you mean well and I m much 
 obliged to you fur your offer," stated Judge 
 Priest, smiling a little; "but , it wouldn t be 
 fittin or proper fur me to tech a cent of your 
 money. There ll be some court dues and some 
 lawyers fees, and sech, to pay over there in 
 Ireland; but after that s settled up everything 
 comes direct to you. It s goin to be a pleasure 
 to me to help you arrange these here details 
 that you don t understand a pleasure and not 
 a burden." 
 
 He considered the figure before him. 
 
 "Now here s another thing, Peep: I judge it s 
 hardly fittin fur a man of substance to go on 
 livin the way you ve had to live durin your 
 life. Ef you don t mind my offerin you a little 
 advice I would suggest that you go right down 
 to Felsburg Brothers when you leave here and 
 git yourself fitted out with some suitable 
 clothin . And you d better go to Max Bieder- 
 man s, too, and order a better pair of shoes fur 
 [109] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 yourself than them you ve got on. Tell em I 
 sent you and that I guarantee the payment of 
 your bills. Though I reckin that ll hardly be 
 necessary when the news of your good luck 
 gits noised round I misdoubt whether there s 
 any firm in our entire city that wouldn t be glad 
 to have you on their books fur a stiddy cus 
 tomer. 
 
 "And, also, ef I was you I d arrange to git me 
 regular board and lodgin s somewheres round 
 town. You see, Peep, comin into a property 
 entails consider ble many responsibilities right 
 frum the start." 
 
 "Yes, suh," assented the legatee obediently. 
 "I ll do jest ez you say, Judge Priest, about the 
 clothes and the shoes, and all that; but but, ef 
 you don t mind, I d like to go on livin at Gaf- 
 ford s. Pete Gafford s been mighty good to me 
 him and his wife both; and I wouldn t like fur 
 em to think I was gittin stuck up jest because 
 I ve had this here streak of luck come to me. 
 Mebbe, seein ez how things has changed with 
 me, they d be willin to take me in fur a table 
 boarder at their house; but I shorely would 
 hate to give up livin in that there little room 
 behind the feed room at the liver stable. I 
 don t know ez I could ever find any place that 
 would seem ez homelike to me ez whut it is." 
 
 "Suit yourself about that," said Judge Priest 
 heartily. "I don t know but whut you ve got 
 the proper notion about it after all." 
 
 "Yes, suh. Them Gaffords have been purty 
 [no] 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 nigh the only real true friends I ever had that 
 I could count on." He hesitated a moment. 
 "I reckin I reckin, suh, it ll be a right smart 
 while, won t it, before that money gits here 
 frum all the way acrost the ocean?" 
 
 "Why, yes; I imagine it will. Was you 
 figurin on investin a little of it now?" 
 
 "Yes, suh; I was." 
 
 "About how much did you think of spendin 
 fur a beginnin ?" 
 
 O Day squinted his eyes, his lips moving in 
 silent calculation. 
 
 "Well, suh," he said at length, "I could use ez 
 much ez a silver dollar. But, of course, 
 sence " 
 
 "That sounds kind of moderate to me," 
 broke in Judge Priest. He shoved a pudgy 
 hand into a pocket of his white trousers. "I 
 reckin this detail kin be arranged. Here, 
 Peep" he extended his hand "here s your 
 dollar." Then, as the other drew back, stam 
 mering a refusal, he hastily added: "No, no, no; 
 go ahead and take it it s yours. I m jest 
 advancin it to you out of whut ll be comin to 
 you shortly. 
 
 "I ll tell you whut: Until sech time ez you 
 are in position to draw on your own funds you 
 jest drap in here to see me when you re in need 
 of cash, and I ll try to let you have whut you 
 require in reason. I ll keep a proper reckinin* 
 of whut you git and you kin pay me back ez 
 soon ez your inheritance is put into your hands. 
 
 _ __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 "One thing more," he added as the heir, 
 having thanked him, was making his grateful 
 adieu at the threshold: "Now that you re 
 wealthy, or about to be so, I kind of imagine 
 quite a passel of fellers will suddenly discover 
 themselves strangely and affectionately drawed 
 toward you. You re liable to find out you ve 
 always had more true and devoted friends in 
 this community than whut you ever imagined 
 to be the case before. 
 
 "Now friendship is a mighty fine thing, 
 takin it by and large; but it kin be overdone. 
 It s barely possible that some of this here new 
 crop of your well-wishers and admirers will be 
 makin little business propositions to you 
 desirin to have you go partners with em in 
 business, or to sell you desirable pieces of real 
 estate; or even to let you loan em various sums 
 of money. I wouldn t be surprised but whut 
 a number of sech chances will be comin your 
 way durin the next few days, and frum then on. 
 Ef sech should be the case I would suggest to 
 you that, before committin yourself to any 
 body or anything, you tell em that I m sort of 
 actin as your unofficial adviser in money 
 matters, and that they should come to me and 
 outline their little schemes in person. Do you 
 git my general drift?" 
 
 "Yes, suh," said Peep. "I won t furgit; 
 and thank you ag in, Judge, specially fur lettin 
 me have this dollar ahead of time." 
 
 He shambled out with the coin in his hand; 
 
 [112] 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 and on his face was again the look of one who 
 sees before him the immediate fulfillment of a 
 delectable dream. 
 
 With lines of sympathy and amusement 
 crisscrossing at the outer corners of his eyelids, 
 Judge Priest, rising and stepping to his door, 
 watched the retreating figure of the town s 
 newest and strangest capitalist disappear down 
 the wide front steps of the courthouse. 
 
 Presently he went back to his chair and sat 
 down, tugging at his short chin beard. 
 
 "I wonder, now," said he, meditatively 
 addressing the emptiness of the room, "I 
 wonder whut a man sixty-odd-year old is goin 
 to do with the fust whole dollar he ever had in 
 his life!" 
 
 It was characteristic of our circuit judge that 
 he should have voiced his curiosity aloud. 
 Talking to himself when he was alone was one 
 of his habits. Also, it was characteristic of 
 him that he had refrained from betraying his 
 inquisitiveness to his late caller. Similar mo 
 tives of delicacy had kept him from following 
 the other man to watch the sequence. 
 
 However, at secondhand, the details very 
 shortly reached him. They were brought by no 
 less a person than Deputy Sheriff Quarles, who, 
 some twenty minutes or possibly half an hour 
 later, obtruded himself upon Judge Priest s 
 presence. 
 
 "Judge," began Mr. Quarles, "you d never 
 in the world guess whut Old Peep O Day done 
 [US] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 with the first piece of money he got his hands 
 on out of that there forty thousand pounds of 
 silver dollars he s come into frum his uncle s 
 estate." 
 
 The old man slanted a keen glance in Mr. 
 Quarles direction. 
 
 "Tell me, son," he asked softly, "how did 
 you come to hear the glad tidin s so promptly?" 
 
 "Me?" said Mr. Quarles innocently. "Why, 
 Judge Priest, the word is all over this part of 
 town by this time. Why, I reckin twenty-five 
 or fifty people must a been watchin Old Peep 
 to see how he was goin to act when he come out 
 of this courthouse." 
 
 "Well, well, well!" murmured the Judge 
 blandly. "Good news travels almost ez fast 
 sometimes ez whut bad news does don t it, 
 now? Well, son, I give up the riddle. Tell 
 me jest whut our elderly friend did do with 
 the first installment of his inheritance." 
 
 "Well, suh, he turned south here at the gate 
 and went down the street, a-lookin neither to 
 the right nor the left. He looked to me like a man 
 in a trance, almost. He keeps right on through 
 Legal Row till he comes to Franklin Street, 
 and then he goes up Franklin to B. Weil & Son s 
 confectionary store; and there he turns in. 
 I happened to be folio win long behind him, 
 with a few others with several others, in fact 
 and we-all sort of slowed up in pas sin and 
 looked in at the door; and that s how I come to 
 be in a position to see whut happened. 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 "Old Peep, lie marches in jest like I m tellin 
 it to you, suh; and Mr. B. Weil comes to wait 
 on him, and he starts in buy in . He buys his- 
 self a five-cent bag of gumdrops; and a five- 
 cent bag of jelly beans; and a ten-cent bag of 
 mixed candies kisses and candy mottoes, and 
 sech ez them, you know; and a sack of fresh 
 roasted peanuts a big sack, it was, fifteen- 
 cent size; and two prize boxes; and some 
 gingersnaps ten cents worth; and a coconut; 
 and half a dozen red bananas; and half a 
 dozen more of the plain yaller ones. Alto 
 gether I figger he spent a even dollar; in fact, 
 I seen him hand Mr. Weil a dollar, and I 
 didn t see him gittin no change back out of it. 
 
 "Then he comes on out of the store, with 
 all these things stuck in his pockets and stacked 
 up in his arms till he looks sort of like some 
 new kind of a summertime Santy Klaws; 
 and he sets down on a goods box at the edge 
 of the pavement, with his feet in the gutter, 
 and starts in eatin all them things. 
 
 "First, he takes a bite off a yaller banana 
 and then off a red banana, and then a mouthful 
 of peanuts; and then maybe some mixed 
 candies not sayin a word to nobody, but 
 jest natchelly eatin his fool head off. A 
 young chap that s clerkin in Bagby s grocery, 
 next door, steps up to him and speaks to him, 
 meanin , I suppose, to ast him is it true he s 
 wealthy. And Old Peep says to him, Please 
 don t come botherin* me now, sonny I m 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 busy ketchin up, 5 he says; and keeps right 
 on a-munchin and a-chewin like all possessed. 
 
 "That ain t all of it, neither, Judge not by 
 a long shot it ain t! Purty soon Old Peep 
 looks round him at the little crowd that s 
 gathered. He didn t seem to pay no heed to 
 the grown-up people standin there; but he 
 sees a couple of boys about ten years old in 
 the crowd, and he beckons to them to come 
 to him, and he makes room fur them alongside 
 him on the box and divides up his knick-knacks 
 with them. 
 
 "When I left there to come on back here he 
 had no less n six kids squatted round him, 
 includin one little nigger boy; and between 
 em all they d jest finished up the last of the 
 bananas and peanuts and the candy and the 
 gingersnaps, and was fixin to take turns 
 drinkin the milk out of the coconut. I 
 s pose they ve got it all cracked out of the 
 shell and et up by now the coconut, I mean. 
 Judge, you oughter stepped down into Franklin 
 Street and taken a look at the picture whilst 
 there was still time. You never seen sech a 
 funny sight in all your days, I ll bet!" 
 
 "I reckin twould be too late to be startin 
 now," said Judge Priest. "I m right sorry I 
 missed it. ... Busy ketchin up, huh? Yes; 
 I reckin he is. ... Tell me, son, whut did 
 you make out of the way Peep O Day acted?" 
 
 "Why, suh," stated Mr. Quarles, "to my 
 mind, Judge, there ain t no manner of doubt 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 but whut prosperity has went to his head and 
 turned it. He acted to me like a plum dis 
 tracted idiot. A grown man with forty thou 
 sand pounds of solid money settin on the side 
 of a gutter eatin jimcracks with a passel of 
 dirty little boys! Kin you figure it out any 
 other way, Judge except that his mind is 
 gone?" 
 
 "I don t set myself up to be a specialist in 
 mental disorders, son," said Judge Priest 
 softly; "but, sence you ask me the question, I 
 should say, speakin offhand, that it looks to 
 me more ez ef the heart was the organ that was 
 mainly affected. And possibly" he added 
 this last with a dry little smile "and possibly, 
 by now, the stomach also." 
 
 Whether or not Mr. Quarles was correct 
 in his psychopathic diagnosis, he certainly had 
 been right when he told Judge Priest that the 
 word was already all over the business district. 
 It had spread fast and was still spreading; it 
 spread to beat the wireless, travelling as it 
 did by that mouth-to-ear method of com 
 munication which is so amazingly swift and 
 generally as tremendously incorrect. Persons 
 who could not credit the tale at all, neverthe 
 less lost no time in giving to it a yet wider 
 circulation; so that, as though borne on the 
 wind, it moved in every direction, like ripples 
 on a pond; and with each time of retelling the 
 
 size of the legacy grew. 
 
 [717] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 The Daily Evening News, appearing on the 
 streets at 5 P. M., confirmed the tale; though 
 by its account the fortune was reduced to a 
 sum far below the gorgeously exaggerated 
 estimates of most of the earlier narrators. 
 Between breakfast and supper-time Peep 
 O Day s position in the common estimation of 
 his fellow citizens underwent a radical and 
 revolutionary change. He ceased auto 
 matically, as it were to be a town character; 
 he became, by universal consent, a town 
 notable, whose every act and every word 
 would thereafter be subjected to close scrutiny 
 and closer analysis. 
 
 The next morning the nation at large had 
 opportunity to know of the great good fortune 
 that had befallen Paul Felix O Day, for the 
 story had been wired to the city papers by 
 the local correspondents of the same; and the 
 press associations had picked up a stickful of 
 the story and sped it broadcast over leased 
 wires. Many who until that day had never 
 heard of the fortunate man, or, indeed, of the 
 place where he lived, at once manifested a 
 concern in his well-being. 
 
 Certain firms of investment brokers in New 
 York and Chicago promptly added a new 
 name to what vulgarly they called their 
 "sucker" lists. Dealers in mining stocks, in 
 oil stocks, in all kinds of attractive stocks, 
 showed interest; in circular form samples of 
 the most optimistic and alluring literature the 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 world has ever known were consigned to the 
 post, addressed to Mr. P. F. O Day, such-and- 
 such a town, such-and-such a state, care of 
 general delivery. 
 
 Various lonesome ladies in various lone 
 some places lost no time in sitting themselves 
 down and inditing congratulatory letters; object 
 matrimony. Some of these were single ladies; 
 others had been widowed, either by death or 
 request. Various other persons of both sexes, 
 residing here, there and elsewhere in our 
 country, suddenly remembered that they, too, 
 were descended from the O Days of Ireland, 
 and wrote on forthwith to claim proud and 
 fond relationship with the particular O Day 
 who had come into money. 
 
 It was a remarkable circumstance, which 
 instantly developed, that one man should 
 have so many distant cousins scattered over 
 the Union, and a thing equally noteworthy 
 that practically all these kinspeople, through 
 no fault of their own, should at the present 
 moment be in such straitened circumstances 
 and in such dire need of temporary assistance 
 of a financial nature. Ticker and printer s 
 ink, operating in conjunction, certainly did 
 their work mighty well; even so, several days 
 were to elapse before the news reached one 
 who, of all those who read it, had most cause 
 to feel a profound personal sensation in the 
 intelligence. 
 
 This delay, however, was nowise to be 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 blamed upon the tardiness of the newspapers; 
 it was occasioned by the fact that the person 
 referred to was for the moment well out of 
 touch with the active currents of world affairs, 
 he being confined in a workhouse at Evansville, 
 Indiana. 
 
 As soon as he had rallied from the shock this 
 individual set about making plans to put him 
 self in direct touch with the inheritor. He 
 had ample time in which to frame and shape his 
 campaign, inasmuch as there remained for him 
 yet to serve nearly eight long and painfully 
 tedious weeks of a three-months vagrancy 
 sentence. Unlike most of those now mani 
 festing their interest, he did not write a letter; 
 but he dreamed dreams that made him forget 
 the annoyances of a ball and chain fast on his 
 ankle and piles of stubborn stones to be cracked 
 up into fine bits with a heavy hammer. 
 
 We are getting ahead of our narrative, 
 though days ahead of it. The chronological 
 sequence of events properly dates from the 
 morning following the morning when Peep 
 O Day, having been abruptly translated from 
 the masses of the penniless to the classes of the 
 wealthy, had forthwith embarked upon the 
 gastronomic orgy so graphically detailed by 
 Deputy Sheriff Quarles. 
 
 On that next day more eyes probably than 
 had been trained in Peep O Day s direction in 
 all the unremarked and unremarkable days of 
 
 his life put together were focused upon him. 
 
 __ 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 
 Persons who theretofore had regarded his 
 existence if indeed they gave it a thought 
 as one of the utterly trivial and inconsequential 
 incidents of the cosmic scheme, were moved to 
 speak to him, to clasp his hand, and, in nu 
 merous instances, to express a hearty satisfaction 
 over his altered circumstances. To all these, 
 whether they were moved by mere neighbourly 
 good will, or perchance were inspired by 
 impulses of selfishness, the old man exhibited 
 a mien of aloofness and embarrassment. 
 
 This diffidence or this suspicion or this 
 whatever it was protected him from those 
 who might entertain covetous and ulterior 
 designs upon his inheritance even better than 
 though he had been brusque and rude; while 
 those who sought to question him regarding 
 his plans for the future drew from him only 
 mumbled and evasive replies, which left them 
 as deeply in the dark as they had been before. 
 Altogether, in his intercourse with adults he 
 appeared shy and very ill at ease. 
 
 It was noted, though, that early in the fore 
 noon he attached to him perhaps half a dozen 
 urchins, of whom the oldest could scarcely 
 have been more than twelve or thirteen years 
 of age; and that these youngsters remained 
 his companions throughout the day. Likewise 
 the events of that day were such as to confirm a 
 majority of the observers in practically the 
 same belief that had been voiced by Mr. 
 Quarles namely, that whatever scanty brains 
 
 . __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 Peep O Day might have ever had were now 
 completely ruined by the stroke of luck that 
 had befallen him. 
 
 In fairness to all to O Day and to the town 
 critics who sat in judgment upon his behaviour 
 it should be stated that his conduct at the very 
 outset was not entirely devoid of evidences of 
 sanity. With his troupe of ragged juveniles 
 trailing behind him, he first visited Felsburg 
 Brothers Emporium to exchange his old and 
 disreputable costume for a wardrobe that, in 
 accordance with Judge Priest s recommen 
 dation, he had ordered on the afternoon pre 
 vious, and which had since been undergoing 
 certain necessary alterations. 
 
 With his meagre frame incased in new black 
 woollens, and wearing, as an incongruous added 
 touch, the most brilliant of neckties, a necktie 
 of the shade of a pomegranate blossom, he 
 presently issued from Felsburg Brothers and 
 entered M. Biederman s shoe store, two doors 
 below. Here Mr. Biederman fitted him with 
 shoes, and in addition noted down a further 
 order, which the purchaser did not give until 
 after he had conferred earnestly with the mem 
 bers of his youthful entourage. 
 
 Those watching this scene from a distance 
 saw and perhaps marvelled at the sight 
 that already, between these small boys, on the 
 one part, and this old man, on the other, a 
 perfect understanding appeared to have been 
 
 established. 
 
 __ 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 After leaving Biederman s, and tagged by 
 his small escorts, O Day went straight to the 
 courthouse and, upon knocking at the door, 
 was admitted to Judge Priest s private cham 
 bers, the boys meantime waiting outside in the 
 hall. When he came forth he showed them 
 something he held in his hand and told them 
 something; whereupon all of them burst into 
 excited and joyous whoops. 
 
 It was at that point that O Day, by the 
 common verdict of most grown-up onlookers, 
 began to betray the vagaries of a disordered 
 intellect. Not that his reason had not been 
 under suspicion already, as a result of his 
 freakish excess in the matter of B. Weil & 
 Son s wares on the preceding day; but the 
 relapse that now followed, as nearly everybody 
 agreed, was even more pronounced, even more 
 symptomatic than the earlier attack of aber 
 ration. 
 
 In brief, this was what happened: To begin 
 with, Mr. Virgil Overall, who dealt in lands and 
 houses and sold insurance of all the commoner 
 varieties on the side, had stalked O Day to this 
 point and was lying in wait for him as he came 
 out of the courthouse into the Public Square, 
 being anxious to describe to him some especially 
 desirable bargains, in both improved and un 
 improved realty; also, Mr. Overall was pre 
 pared to book him for life, accident and health 
 policies on the spot. 
 
 So pleased was Mr. Overall at having dis- 
 
 _____ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 tanced his professional rivals in the hunt that 
 he dribbled at the mouth. But the warmth 
 of his disappointment and indignation dried 
 up the salivary founts instantly when the 
 prospective patron declined to listen to him 
 at all and, breaking free from Mr. Overall s 
 detaining clasp, hurried on into Legal Row, 
 with his small convoys trotting along ahead and 
 alongside him. 
 
 At the door of the Blue Goose Saloon and 
 Short Order Restaurant its proprietor, by 
 name Link Iserman, was lurking, as it were, in 
 ambush. He hailed the approaching O Day 
 most cordially; he inquired in a warm voice 
 regarding O Day s health; and then, with a 
 rare burst of generosity, he invited, nay urged, 
 O Day to step inside and have something on 
 the house wines, ales, liquors or cigars; it was 
 all one to Mr. Iserman. The other merely 
 shook his head and, without a word of thanks 
 for the offer, passed on as though bent upon 
 an important mission. 
 
 Mark how the proofs were accumulating: 
 The man had disdained the company of men of 
 approximately his own age or thereabout; he 
 had refused an opportunity to partake of 
 refreshment suitable to his years; and now he 
 stepped into the Bon Ton toy store and bought 
 for cash most inconceivable of acquisitions! 
 a little wagon that was painted bright red and 
 bore on its sides, in curlicued letters, the name 
 
 Comet. 
 
 __ 
 

 BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 His next stop was made at Bishop & Bryan s 
 grocery, where, with the aid of his youthful 
 compatriots, he first discriminatingly selected, 
 and then purchased on credit, and finally 
 loaded into the wagon, such purchases as a 
 dozen bottles of soda pop, assorted flavours; 
 cheese, crackers soda and animal; sponge 
 cakes with weather-proof pink icing on them; 
 fruits of the season; cove oysters; a bottle of 
 pepper sauce; and a quantity of the extra large 
 sized bright green cucumber pickles known to 
 the trade as the Fancy Jumbo Brand, Prime 
 Selected. 
 
 Presently the astounding spectacle was pre 
 sented of two small boys, with string bridles 
 on their arms, drawing the wagon through our 
 town and out of it into the country, with Peep 
 O Day in the role of teamster walking along 
 side the laden wagon. He was holding the 
 lines in his hands and shouting orders at his 
 team, who showed a colty inclination to shy 
 at objects, to kick up their heels without pro 
 vocation, and at intervals to try to run away. 
 Eight or ten small boys for by now the troupe 
 had grown in number and in volume of noise 
 trailed along, keeping step with their elderly 
 patron and advising him shrilly regarding the 
 management of his refractory span. 
 
 As it turned out, the destination of this pre 
 posterous procession was Bradshaw s Grove, 
 where the entire party spent the day picnicking 
 in the woods and, as reported by several 
 [.125] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 1 
 
 reliable witnesses, playing games. It was not 
 so strange that holidaying boys should play 
 games; the amazing feature of the performance 
 was that Peep O Day, a man old enough to be 
 grandfather to any of them, played with them, 
 being by turns an Indian chief, a robber baron, 
 and the driver of a stagecoach attacked by 
 Wild Western desperadoes. 
 
 When he returned to town at dusk, drawing 
 his little red wagon behind him, his new suit 
 was rumpled into many wrinkles and marked 
 by du st and grass stains ; his flame-coloured tie 
 was twisted under one ear; his new straw hat 
 was mashed quite out of shape; and in his eyes 
 was a light that sundry citizens, on meeting 
 him, could only interpret to be a spark struck 
 from inner fires of madness. 
 
 Days that came after this, on through the 
 midsummer, were, with variations, but repe 
 titions of the day I have just described. Each 
 morning Peep O Day would go to either the 
 courthouse or Judge Priest s home to turn over 
 to the Judge the unopened mail which had been 
 delivered to him at Gafford s stables; then he 
 would secure from the Judge a loan of money 
 against his inheritance. Generally the amount 
 of his daily borrowing was a dollar; rarely was 
 it so much as two dollars; and only once was it 
 more than two dollars. 
 
 By nightfall the sum would have been ex 
 pended upon perfectly useless and absolutely 
 childish devices. It might be that he would 
 [126] 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 buy toy pistols and paper caps for himself and 
 his following of urchins; or that his whim would 
 lead him to expend all the money in tin flutes. 
 In one case the group he so incongruously 
 headed would be for that one day a gang of 
 make-believe banditti; in another, they would 
 constitute themselves a fife-and-drum corps 
 with barreltops for the drums and would 
 march through the streets, where scandalised 
 adults stood in their tracks to watch them go by, 
 they all the while making weird sounds, which 
 with them passed for music. 
 
 Or again, the available cash resources would 
 be invested in provender; and then there would 
 be an outing in the woods. Under Peep O Day s 
 captaincy his chosen band of youngsters picked 
 dewberries; they went swimming together in 
 Guthrie s Gravel Pit, out by the old Fair 
 Grounds, where his spare naked shanks con 
 trasted strongly with their plump freckled legs 
 as all of them splashed through the shallows, 
 making for deep water. Under his leadership 
 they stole watermelons from Mr. Dick Bell s 
 patch, afterward eating their spoils in thickets 
 of grapevines along the banks of Perkins Creek. 
 
 It was felt that mental befuddlement and 
 mortal folly could reach no greater heights 
 or no lower depths than on a certain hour of 
 a certain day, along toward the end of August, 
 when O Day came forth from his quarters in 
 Gafford s stables, wearing a pair of boots that 
 M. Biederman s establishment had turned out 
 [127] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 to his order and his measure not such boots 
 as a sensible man might be expected to wear, 
 but boots that were exaggerated and monstrous 
 counterfeits of the red-topped, scroll-fronted, 
 brass-toed, stub-heeled, squeaky-soled bootees 
 that small boys of an earlier generation pos 
 sessed. 
 
 Very proudly and seemingly unconscious 
 of or, at least, oblivious to the derisive remarks 
 that the appearance of these new belongings 
 drew from many persons, the owner went 
 clumping about in them, with the rumply legs 
 of his trousers tucked down in them, and 
 ballooning up and out over the tops in folds 
 which overlapped from his knee joints halfway 
 down his attenuated calves. 
 
 As Deputy Sheriff Quarles said, the com 
 bination was a sight fit to make a horse laugh. 
 It may be that small boys have a lesser sense 
 of humour than horses have, for certainly the 
 boys who were the old man s invariable shadows 
 did not laugh at him, or at his boots either. 
 
 Between the whiskered senior and his small 
 comrades there existed a freemasonry that 
 made them all sense a thing beyond the ken of 
 most of their elders. Perhaps this was because 
 the elders, being blind in their superior wisdom, 
 saw neither this thing nor the communion that 
 flourished. They saw only the farcical joke. 
 But His Honour, Judge Priest, to cite a con 
 spicuous exception, seemed not to see the 
 lamentable comedy of it. 
 [128] 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 Indeed, it seemed to some almost as if Judge 
 Priest were aiding and abetting the befogged 
 O Day in his demented enterprises, his peculiar 
 excursions and his weird purchases. If he did 
 not actually encourage him in these constant 
 exhibitions of witlessness, certainly there were 
 no evidences available to show that he sought 
 to dissuade O Day from his strange course. 
 
 At the end of a fortnight one citizen, in 
 whom patience had ceased to be a virtue and 
 to whose nature long-continued silence on any 
 public topic was intolerable, felt it his duty to 
 speak to the Judge upon the subject. This 
 gentleman his name was S. P. Escott held, 
 with others, that, for the good name of the 
 community, steps should be taken to abate the 
 infantile, futile activities of the besotted legatee. 
 
 Afterward Mr. Escott, giving a partial 
 account of the conversation with Judge Priest 
 to certain of his friends, showed unfeigned 
 annoyance at the outcome. 
 
 "I claim that old man s not fittin to be 
 runnin a court any longer," he stated bitterly. 
 "He s too old and peevish that s whut ails 
 him! Fur one, I m certainly not never goin 
 to vote fur him again. Why, it s gettin to be 
 ez much ez a man s life is worth to stop that 
 there spiteful old crank on the street and put a 
 civil question to him that s whut s the mat 
 ter!" 
 
 "What happened, S. P.?" inquired someone. 
 
 "Why, here s whut happened!" exclaimed 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 the aggrieved Mr. Escott. "I hadn t any 
 more than started in to tell him the whole town 
 was talkin about the way that daffy Old Peep 
 O Day was carryin on, and that somethin 
 had oughter be done about it, and didn t he 
 think it was beholdin 5 on him ez circuit judge 
 to do somethin right away, sech ez havin 
 O Day tuck up and tried fur a lunatic, and 
 that I fur one was ready and willin to testify 
 to the crazy things I d seen done with my own 
 eyes when he cut in on me and jest ez good 
 ez told me to my own face that ef I d quit 
 tendin to other people s business I d mebbe 
 have more business of my own to tend to. 
 
 "Think of that, gentlemen! A circuit judge 
 bemeanin a citizen and a taxpayer" he 
 checked himself slightly "anyhow, a citizen, 
 thataway! It shows he can t be rational his 
 own self. Personally I claim Old Priest is 
 f ailin mentally he must be ! And ef anybody 
 kin be found to run against him at the next 
 election you gentlemen jest watch and see who 
 gits my vote!" 
 
 Having uttered this threat with deep and 
 significant emphasis Mr. Escott, still muttering, 
 turned and entered the front gate of his board 
 ing house. It was not exactly his boarding 
 house; his wife ran it. But Mr. Escott lived 
 there and voted from there. 
 
 But the apogee of Peep O Day s carnival 
 of weird vagaries of deportment came at the 
 end of two months two months in which 
 [130] 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 each day the man furnished cumulative and 
 piled-up material for derisive and jocular com 
 ment on the part of a very considerable pro 
 portion of his fellow townsmen. 
 
 Three occurrences of a widely dissimilar 
 nature, yet all closely interrelated to the main 
 issue, marked the climax of the man s new role 
 in his new career. The first of these was the 
 arrival of his legacy; the second was a one-ring 
 circus; and the third and last was a nephew. 
 
 In the form of certain bills of exchange the 
 estate left by the late Daniel O Day, of the 
 town of Kilmare, in the island of Ireland, was 
 on a certain afternoon delivered over into 
 Judge Priest s hands, and by him, in turn, 
 handed to the rightful owner, after which 
 sundry indebtednesses, representing the total 
 of the old Judge s day-to-day cash advances 
 to O Day, were liquidated. 
 
 The ceremony of deducting this sum took 
 place at the Planters Bank, whither the two 
 had journeyed in company from the courthouse. 
 Having, with the aid of the paying teller, 
 instructed O Day in the technical details 
 requisite to the drawing of personal checks, 
 Judge Priest went home and had his bag 
 packed, and left for Reelfoot Lake to spend a 
 week fishing. As a consequence he missed the 
 remaining two events, following immediately 
 thereafter. 
 
 The circus was no great shakes of a circus; 
 
 no grand, glittering, gorgeous, glorious pageant 
 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 of education and entertainment, travelling on 
 its own special trains; no vast tented city of 
 world s wonders and world s champions, 
 heralded for weeks and weeks in advance of 
 its coming by dead walls emblazoned with the 
 finest examples of the lithographer s art, and 
 by half-page advertisements in the Daily 
 Evening News. On the contrary, it was a 
 shabby little wagon show, which, coming over 
 land on short notice, rolled into town under 
 horse power, and set up its ragged and dusty 
 canvases on the vacant lot across from Yeiser s 
 drug store. 
 
 Compared with the street parade of any 
 of its great and famous rivals, the street parade 
 of this circus was a meagre and disappointing 
 thing. Why, there was only one elephant, a 
 dwarfish and debilitated-looking creature, worn 
 mangy and slick on its various angles, like the 
 cover of an old-fashioned haircloth trunk; and 
 obviously most of the closed cages were weather- 
 beaten stake wagons in disguise. Nevertheless, 
 there was a sizable turnout of people for the 
 afternoon performance. After all, a circus 
 was a circus. 
 
 Moreover, this particular circus was marked 
 at the afternoon performance by happenings 
 of a nature most decidedly unusual. At one 
 o clock the doors were opened: at one-ten the 
 eyes of the proprietor were made glad and his 
 heart was uplifted within him by the sight of a 
 strange procession, drawing nearer and nearer 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 across the scuffed turf of the common, and 
 heading in the direction of the red ticket wagon. 
 
 At the head of the procession marched Peep 
 O Day only, of course, the proprietor didn t 
 know it was Peep O Day a queer figure in his 
 rumpled black clothes and his red-topped 
 brass-toed boots, and with one hand holding 
 fast to the string of a captive toy balloon. 
 Behind him, in an uneven jostling formation, 
 followed many small boys and some small 
 girls. A census of the ranks would have 
 developed that here were included practically 
 all the juvenile white population who otherwise, 
 through a lack of funds, would have been 
 denied the opportunity to patronise this circus 
 or, in fact, any circus. 
 
 Each member of the joyous company was 
 likewise the bearer of a toy balloon red, yellow, 
 blue, green or purple, as the case might be. 
 Over the line of heads the taut rubbery globes 
 rode on their tethers, nodding and twisting like 
 so many big iridescent bubbles; and half a 
 block away, at the edge of the lot, a balloon 
 vender, whose entire stock had been disposed 
 of in one splendid transaction, now stood, 
 empty-handed but full-pocketed, marvelling at 
 the stroke of luck that enabled him to take an 
 afternoon off and rest his voice. 
 
 Out of a seemingly bottomless exchequer 
 Peep O Day bought tickets of admission for all. 
 But this was only the beginning. Once inside 
 the tent he procured accommodations in the 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 reserved-seat section for himself and those who 
 accompanied him. From such superior points 
 of vantage the whole crew of them witnessed 
 the performance, from the thrilling grand entry, 
 with spangled ladies and gentlemen riding two 
 by two on broad-backed steeds, to the tumbling 
 bout introducing the full strength of the com 
 pany, which came at the end. 
 
 They munched fresh-roasted peanuts and 
 balls of sugar-coated pop corn, slightly rancid, 
 until they munched no longer with zest but 
 merely mechanically. They drank pink lemon 
 ade to an extent that threatened absolute 
 depletion of the fluid contents of both barrels 
 in the refreshment stand out in the menagerie 
 tent. They whooped their unbridled approval 
 when the wild Indian chief, after shooting down 
 a stuffed coon with a bow and arrow from some 
 where up near the top of the centre pole while 
 balancing himself jauntily erect upon the 
 haunches of a coursing white charger, sud 
 denly flung off his feathered headdress, his 
 wig and his fringed leather garments, and 
 revealed himself in pink fleshings as the prin 
 cipal bareback rider. 
 
 They screamed in a chorus of delight when 
 the funny old clown, who had been forcibly 
 deprived of three tin flutes in rapid succession, 
 now produced yet a fourth from the seemingly 
 inexhaustible depths of his baggy white pants 
 a flute with a string and a bent pin affixed to 
 it and, secretly hooking the pin in the tail of 
 
BOYS WILL BE BO Y S 
 
 the cross ringmaster s coat, was thereafter 
 enabled to toot sharp shrill blasts at frequent 
 intervals, much to the chagrin of the ring 
 master, who seemed utterly unable to discover 
 the whereabouts of the instrument dangling 
 behind him. 
 
 But no one among them whooped louder or 
 laughed longer than their elderly and be- 
 whiskered friend, who sat among them, paying 
 the bills. As his guests they stayed for the 
 concert; and, following this, they patronised the 
 side show in a body. They had been almost 
 the first upon the scene; assuredly they were 
 the last of the audience to quit it. 
 
 Indeed, before they trailed their confrere 
 away from the spot the sun was nearly down; 
 and at scores of supper tables all over town the 
 tale of poor old Peep O Day s latest exhibition 
 of freakishness was being retailed, with elabora 
 tions, to interested auditors. Estimates of 
 the sum probably expended by him in this 
 crowning extravagance ranged well up into the 
 hundreds of dollars. 
 
 As for the object of these speculations, he 
 was destined not to eat any supper at all that 
 night. Something happened that so upset 
 him as to make him forget the meal altogether. 
 It began to happen when he reached the modest 
 home of P. Gafford, adjoining the Gafford 
 stables, on Locust Street, and found sitting 
 on the lowermost step of the porch a young 
 
 man of untidy and unshaven aspect, who 
 
 __ _ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 hailed him affectionately as Uncle Paul, and 
 who showed deep annoyance and acute distress 
 upon being rebuffed with chill words. 
 
 It is possible that the strain of serving a 
 three-months sentence, on the technical charge 
 of vagrancy, in a workhouse somewhere in 
 Indiana, had affected the young man s nerves. 
 His ankle bones still ached where the ball and 
 chain had been hitched ; on his palms the blisters 
 induced by the uncongenial use of a sledge 
 hammer on a rock pile had hardly as yet turned 
 to calluses. So it is only fair to presume that 
 his nervous system felt the stress of his recent 
 confining experiences. 
 
 Almost tearfully he pleaded with Peep O Day 
 to remember the ties of blood that bound them; 
 repeatedly he pointed out that he was the only 
 known kinsman of the other in all the world, 
 and, therefore, had more reason than any other 
 living being to expect kindness and generosity 
 at his uncle s hands. He spoke socialistically 
 of the advisability of an equal division; failing 
 to make any impression here he mentioned 
 the subject of a loan at first hopefully, but 
 finally despairingly. 
 
 When he was done Peep O Day, in a per 
 fectly colourless and unsympathetic voice, bade 
 him good-by not good night but good -by! 
 And, going inside the house, he closed the door 
 behind him, leaving his newly returned relative 
 outside and quite alone. 
 
 At this the young man uttered violent Ian- 
 [ 136 ] 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 guage; but, since there was nobody present to 
 hear him, it is likely he found small satisfaction 
 in his profanity, rich though it may have been 
 in metaphor and variety. So presently he 
 betook himself off, going straight to the office 
 in Legal Row of H. B. Sublette, attorney at law. 
 
 From the circumstance that he found Mr. 
 Sublette in, though it was long past that gentle 
 man s office hours, and, moreover, found Mr. 
 Sublette waiting in an expectant and attentive 
 attitude, it might have been adduced by one 
 skilled in the trick of putting two and two 
 together that the pair of them had reached a 
 prior understanding sometime during the day; 
 and that the visit of the young man to the 
 Gafford home and his speeches there had all 
 been parts of a scheme planned out at a prior 
 conference. 
 
 Be this as it may, as soon as Mr. Sublette 
 had heard his caller s version of the meeting 
 upon the porch he lost no time in taking certain 
 legal steps. That very night, on behalf of his 
 client, denominated in the documents as Perci- 
 val Dwyer, Esquire, he prepared a petition 
 addressed to the circuit judge of the district, 
 setting forth that, inasmuch as Paul Felix 
 O Day had by divers acts shown himself to be 
 of unsound mind, now, therefore, came his 
 nephew and next of kin praying that a com 
 mittee or curator be appointed to take over the 
 estate of the said Paul Felix O Day, and ad- 
 minister the same in accordance with the orders 
 
 T_ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 of the court until such time as the said Paul 
 Felix O Day should recover his reason, or should 
 pass from this life, and so forth and so on; not 
 to mention whereases in great number and 
 aforesaids abounding throughout the text in 
 the utmost profusion. 
 
 On the following morning the papers were 
 filed with Circuit Clerk Milam. That vigilant 
 barrister, Mr. Sublette, brought them in person 
 to the courthouse before nine o clock, he having 
 the interests of his client at heart and perhaps 
 also visions of a large contingent fee in his 
 mind. No retainer had been paid. The state 
 of Mr. Dwyer s finances or, rather, the 
 absence of any finances had precluded the 
 performance of that customary detail; but to 
 Mr. Subletted experienced mind the prospects 
 of future increment seemed large. 
 
 Accordingly he was all for prompt action. 
 Formally he said he wished to go on record as 
 demanding for his principal a speedy hearing 
 of the issue, with a view to preventing the 
 defendant named in the pleadings from dis 
 sipating any more of the estate lately be 
 queathed to him and now fully in his possession 
 or words to that effect. 
 
 Mr. Milam felt justified in getting into com 
 munication with Judge Priest over the long 
 distance phone; and the Judge, cutting short 
 his vacation and leaving uncaught vast numbers 
 of bass and perch in Reelfoot Lake, came home, 
 arriving late that night. 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 Next morning, having issued divers orders 
 in connection with the impending litigation, 
 he sent a messenger to find Peep O Day and 
 to direct O Day to come to the courthouse for 
 a personal interview. 
 
 Shortly thereafter a scene that had occurred 
 some two months earlier, with His Honour s 
 private chamber for a setting, was substantially 
 duplicated: There was the same cast of two, 
 the same stage properties, the same atmosphere 
 of untidy tidiness. And, as before, the dia 
 logue was in Judge Priest s hands. He led 
 and his fellow character followed his leads. 
 
 "Peep," he was saying, "you understand, 
 don t you, that this here fragrant nephew of 
 yours that s turned up from nowheres in 
 particular is fixin to git ready to try to prove 
 that you are feeble-minded? And, on top of 
 that, that he s goin to ask that a committee be 
 app inted fur you in other words, that some 
 body or other shall be named by the court, 
 meanin me, to take charge of your property 
 and control the spendin of it frum now on?" 
 
 "Yes, suh," stated O Day. "Pete Gafford 
 he set down with me and made hit all clear to 
 me, yestiddy evenin , after they d done served 
 the papers on me." 
 
 "All right, then. Now I m goin to fix the 
 hearin fur to-morrow mornin at ten. The 
 other side is askin fur a quick decision; and I 
 rather figger they re entitled to it. Is that 
 agreeable to you?" 
 
 " 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 "Whutever you say, Judge." 
 
 "Well, have you retained a lawyer to repre 
 sent your interests in court? That s the main 
 question that I sent fur you to ast you." 
 
 "Do I need a lawyer, Judge?" 
 
 "Well, there have been times when I regarded 
 lawyers ez bein superfluous," stated Judge 
 Priest dryly. "Still, in most cases litigants do 
 have em round when the case is bein heard." 
 
 "I don t know ez I need any lawyer to he p 
 me say whut I ve got to say," said O Day. 
 "Judge, you ain t never ast me no questions 
 about the way I ve been carryin on sence I 
 come into this here money; but I reckin mebbe 
 this is ez good a time ez any to tell you jest why 
 I ve been actin the way I ve done. You see, 
 suh " 
 
 "Hold on!" broke in Judge Priest. "Up 
 till now, ez my friend, it would a been per 
 fectly proper fur you to give me your confi 
 dences ef you were minded so to do; but now I 
 reckin you d better not. You see, I m the 
 judge that s got to decide whether you are a 
 responsible person whether you re mentally 
 capable of handlin your own financial affairs, 
 or whether you ain t. So you d better wait 
 and make your statement in your own behalf 
 to me whilst I m settin on the bench. I ll see 
 that you git an opportunity to do so and I ll 
 listen to it; and I ll give it all the consideration 
 it s deservin of. 
 
 "And, on second thought, p raps it would 
 [140] " 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 only be a waste of time and money fur you to 
 go hirin a lawyer specially to represent you. 
 Under the law it s my duty, in sech a case ez 
 this here one is, to app int a member of the bar 
 to serve durin the proceedings ez your guardian 
 ad lit em. 
 
 "You don t need to be startled," he added as 
 O Day flinched at the sound in his ears of these 
 strange and fearsome words. "A guardian 
 ad litem is simply a lawyer that tends to your 
 affairs till the case is settled one way or the 
 other. Ef you had a dozen lawyers I d have 
 to app int him jest the same. So you don t 
 need to worry about that part of it. 
 
 "That s all. You kin go now ef you want 
 to. Only, ef I was you, I wouldn t draw out 
 any more money frum the bank twixt now and 
 the time when I make my decision." 
 
 All things considered, it was an unusual 
 assemblage that Judge Priest regarded over 
 the top rims of his glasses as he sat facing it in 
 his broad armchair, with the flat top of the 
 bench intervening between him and the gath 
 ering. Not often, even in the case of exciting 
 murder trials, had the old courtroom held a 
 larger crowd; certainly never had it held so 
 many boys. Boys, and boys exclusively, filled 
 the ba("k rows of benches downstairs. More 
 boys packed the narrow shelf -like balcony that 
 spanned the chamber across its far end 
 mainly small boys, barefooted, sunburned, 
 
 i 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 freckled-faced, shock-headed boys. And, for 
 boys, they were strangely silent and strangely 
 attentive. 
 
 The petitioner sat with his counsel, Mr. 
 Sublette. The petitioner had been newly 
 shaved, and from some mysterious source had 
 been equipped with a neat wardrobe. Plainly 
 he was endeavouring to wear a look of virtue, 
 which was a difficult undertaking, as you 
 would understand had you known the pe 
 titioner. 
 
 The defending party to the action was seated 
 across the room, touching elbows with old 
 Colonel Farrell, dean of the local bar and its 
 most florid orator. 
 
 "The court will designate Col. Horatio 
 Farrell as guardian ad litem for the defendant 
 during these proceedings," Judge Priest had 
 stated a few minutes earlier, using the formal 
 and grammatical language he reserved ex 
 clusively for his courtroom. 
 
 At once old Colonel Farrell had hitched his 
 chair up alongside O Day; had asked him 
 several questions in a tone inaudible to those 
 about them; had listened to the whispered 
 answers of O Day; and then had nodded his 
 huge curly white dome of a head, as though 
 amply satisfied with the responses. 
 
 Let us skip the preliminaries. True, they 
 seemed to interest the audience; here, though, 
 they would be tedious reading. Likewise, in 
 touching upon the opening and outlining 
 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 address of Attorney-at-Law Sublette let us, 
 for the sake of time and space, be very much 
 briefer than Mr. Sublette was. For our present 
 purposes, I deem it sufficient to say that in all 
 his professional career Mr. Sublette was never 
 more eloquent, never more forceful, never more 
 vehement in his allegations, and never more 
 convinced as he himself stated, not once but 
 repeatedly of his ability to prove the facts he 
 alleged by competent and unbiased testimony. 
 These facts, he pointed out, were common 
 knowledge in the community; nevertheless, he 
 stood prepared to buttress them with the evi 
 dence of reputable witnesses, given under oath. 
 
 Mr. Sublette, having unwound at length, 
 now wound up. He sat down, perspiring freely 
 and through the perspiration radiating confi 
 dence in his contentions, confidence in the 
 result and, most of all, unbounded confidence 
 in Mr. Sublette. 
 
 Now Colonel Farrell was standing up to 
 address the court. Under the cloak of a 
 theatrical presence and a large orotund manner, 
 and behind a Ciceronian command of sonorous 
 language, the colonel carried concealed a shrewd 
 old brain. It was as though a skilled marks 
 man lurked in ambush amid a tangle of luxu 
 riant foliage. In this particular instance, more 
 over, it is barely possible that the colonel was 
 acting on a cue, privily conveyed to, him before 
 the court opened. 
 
 "May it please Your Honour," he began, 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 "I have just conferred with the defendant here; 
 and, acting in the capacity of his guardian ad 
 litem, I have advised him to waive an opening 
 address by counsel. Indeed, the defendant 
 has no counsel. Furthermore, the defendant, 
 also acting upon my advice, will present no 
 witnesses in his own behalf. But, with Your 
 Honour s permission, the defendant will now 
 make a personal statement; and thereafter he 
 will rest content, leaving the final arbitrament 
 of the issue to Your Honour s discretion." 
 
 "I object!" exclaimed Mr. Sublette briskly. 
 
 "On what grounds does the learned counsel 
 object?" inquired Judge Priest. 
 
 "On the grounds that, since the mental 
 competence of this man is concerned since it 
 is our contention that he is patently and 
 plainly a victim of senility, an individual pre 
 maturely in his dotage any utterances by him 
 will be of no value whatsoever in aiding the 
 conscience and intelligence of the court to arrive 
 at a fair and just conclusion regarding the 
 defendant s mental condition." 
 
 Mr. Sublette excelled in the use of big words; 
 there was no doubt about that. 
 
 "The objection is overruled," said Judge 
 Priest. He nodded in the direction of O Day 
 and Colonel Farrell. "The court will hear the 
 defendant. He is not to be interrupted while 
 making his statement. The defendant may 
 proceed." 
 
 Without further urging, O Day stood up, 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 a tall, slab-sided rack of a man, with his long 
 arms dangling at his sides, half facing Judge 
 Priest and half facing his nephew and his 
 nephew s lawyer. Without hesitation he began 
 to speak. And this was what he said: 
 
 "There s mebbe some here ez knows about 
 how I was raised and fetched up. My paw 
 and my maw died when I was jest only a baby; 
 so I was brung up out here at the old county 
 porehouse ez a pauper. I can t remember the 
 time when I didn t have to work for my board 
 and keep, and work hard. While other boys 
 was goin to school and play in hooky, and 
 goin in washin in the creek, and playin games, 
 and all sech ez that, I had to work. I never 
 done no playin round in my whole life not 
 till here jest recently, anyway. 
 
 "But I always craved to play round some. 
 I didn t never say nothin about it to nobody 
 after I growed up, cause I figgered it out they 
 wouldn t understand and mebbe d laugh at me; 
 but all these years, ever sence I left that there 
 porehouse, I ve had a hankerin here inside of 
 me" he lifted one hand and touched his 
 breast "I ve had a hankerin to be a boy and 
 to do all the things a boy does; to do the things 
 I was chiselled out of doin whilst I was of a 
 suitable age to be doin em. I call to mind 
 that I uster dream in my sleep about doin em; 
 but the dream never come true not till jest 
 here lately. It didn t have no chancet to come 
 true not till then. 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 "So, when this money come to me so sudden 
 and unbeknownstlike I said to myself that I 
 was goin to make that there dream come true; 
 and I started out fur to do it. And I done it! 
 And I reckin that s the cause of my bein here 
 to-day, accused of bein feeble-minded. But, 
 even so, I don t regret it none. Ef it was all 
 to do over ag in I d do it jest the very same way. 
 
 "Why, I never knowed whut it was, till here 
 two months or so ago, to have my fill of bananas 
 and candy and gingersnaps, and all sech 
 knickknacks ez them. All my life I ve been 
 cravin secretly to own a pair of red-topped 
 boots with brass toes on em, like I used to see 
 other boys wearin in the wintertime when I 
 was out yonder at that porehouse wearin an 
 old pair of somebody else s cast-off shoes 
 mebbe a man s shoes, with rags wropped round 
 my feet to keep the snow frum comin through 
 the cracks in em, and to keep em frum slippin 
 right spang off my feet. I got three toes 
 frostbit oncet durin a cold spell, wearin them 
 kind of shoes. But here the other week I 
 found myself able to buy me some red-top 
 boots with brass toes on em. So I had em 
 made to order and I m wearin em now. I 
 wear em reg lar even ef it is summertime. I 
 take a heap of pleasure out of em. And, also, 
 all my life long I ve been wantin to go to a 
 circus. But not till three days ago I didn t 
 never git no chancet to go to one. 
 
 "That gentleman yonder Mister Sublette 
 [146] 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 he lowed jest now that I was leadin a lot of 
 little boys in this here town into bad habits. 
 He said that I was learnin em nobody knowed 
 whut devilment. And he spoke of my havin 
 egged em on to steal watermelons frum Mister 
 Bell s watermelon patch out here three miles 
 frum town, on the Marshallville gravel road. 
 You-all heared whut he jest now said about 
 that. 
 
 "I don t mean no offence and I beg his 
 pardon fur contradictin him right out before 
 everybody here in the big courthouse; but, 
 mister, you re wrong. I don t lead these here 
 boys astray that I ve been runnin round with. 
 They re mighty nice clean boys, all of em. 
 Some of em are mighty near ez pore ez whut 
 I uster be; but there ain t no real harm in any 
 of em. We git along together fine me and 
 them. And, without no preachin , nor nothin 
 like that, I ve done my best these weeks we ve 
 been frolickin and projectin round together to 
 keep em frum growin up to do mean things. 
 
 "I use chawin tobacco myself; but I ve tole 
 em, I don t know how many times, that ef 
 they chaw it ll stunt em in their growth. 
 And I ve got several of em that was 
 smokin cigarettes on the sly to promise me 
 they d quit. So I don t figger ez I ve done 
 them boys any real harm by goin round with 
 em. And I believe ef you was to ast em 
 they d all tell you the same, suh. 
 
 "Now about them watermelons: Sence this 
 
 _____ .... - 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 gentleman has brung them watermelons up, 
 I m goin to tell you-all the truth about that 
 too." 
 
 He cast a quick, furtive look, almost a guilty 
 look, over his shoulder toward the rear of the 
 courtroom before he went on: 
 
 "Them watermelons wasn t really stole at 
 all. I seen Mister Dick Bell beforehand and 
 arranged with him to pay him in full fur whut- 
 ever damage mout be done. But, you see, I 
 knowed watermelons tasted sweeter to a boy 
 ef he thought he d hooked em out of a patch; 
 so I never let on to my little pardners yonder 
 that I d the same ez paid Mister Bell in advance 
 fur the melons we took out of his patch and 
 et in the woods. They ve all been thinkin up 
 till now that we really hooked them water 
 melons. But ef that was wrong I m sorry fur 
 it. 
 
 "Mister Sublette, you jest now said that I 
 was fritterin away my property on vain 
 foolishment. Them was the words you used 
 * fritterin and vain foolishment. Mebbe 
 you re right, suh, about the fritterin part; but 
 ef spendin money in a certain way gives a 
 man ez much pleasure ez it s give me these last 
 two months, and ef the money is his n by 
 rights, I figger it can t be so very foolish; 
 though it may pear so to some. 
 
 "Excusin these here clothes I ve got on and 
 these here boots, which ain t paid fur yet, but 
 are charged up to me on Felsburg Brothers 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 books and Mister M. Biederman s books, I 
 didn t spend only a dollar a day, or mebbe 
 two dollars, and once three dollars in a single 
 day out of whut was comin to me. The Judge 
 here, he let me have that out of his own pocket; 
 and I paid him back. And that was all I did 
 spend till here three days ago when that there 
 circus come to town. I reckin I did spend a 
 right smart then. 
 
 "My money had come frum the old country 
 only the day before; so I went to the bank and 
 they writ out one of them pieces of paper which 
 is called a check, and I signed it with my 
 mark; and they give me the money I wanted 
 an even two hundred dollars. And part of that 
 there money I used to pay fur circus tickets 
 fur all the little boys and little girls I could find 
 in this town that couldn t a got to the circus 
 no other way. Some of em are settin back 
 there behind you-all now some of the boys, 
 I mean; I don t see none of the little girls. 
 
 "There was several of em told me at the 
 time they hadn t never seen a circus not in 
 their whole lives! Fur that matter, I hadn t, 
 neither; but I didn t want no pore child in this 
 town to grow up to be ez old ez I am without 
 havin been to at least one circus. So I taken 
 em all in and paid all the bills; and when night 
 come there wasn t but bout nine dollars left 
 out of the whole two hundred that I d started 
 out with in the mornin . But I don t begredge 
 spendin it. It looks to me like it was money 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 well invested. They all seemed to enjoy it; 
 and I know I done so. 
 
 "There may be bigger circuses n whut that 
 one was; but I don t see how a circus could a 
 been any better than this here one I m tellin 
 about, ef it was ten times ez big. I don t regret 
 the investment and I don t aim to lie about it 
 now. Mister Sublette, I d do the same thing 
 over ag in ef the chance should come, lawsuit 
 or no lawsuit. Ef you should win this here 
 case mebbe I wouldn t have no second 
 chance. 
 
 "Ef some gentleman is app inted ez a com 
 mittee to handle my money it s likely he 
 wouldn t look at the thing the same way I do; 
 and it s likely he wouldn t let me have so much 
 money all in one lump to spend takin a passel 
 of little shavers that ain t no kin to me to the 
 circus and to the side show, besides lettin em 
 stay fur the grand concert or after-show, and 
 all. But I done it once; and I ve got it to 
 remember about and think about in my own 
 mind ez long ez I live. 
 
 "I m bout finished now. There s jest one 
 thing more I d like to say, and that is this: 
 Mister Sublette he said a minute ago that I 
 was in my second childhood. Meanin no 
 offence, suh, but you was wrong there too. 
 The way I look at it, a man can t be in his 
 second childhood without he s had his first 
 childhood; and I was cheated plum out of 
 mine. I m more n sixty years old, ez near ez 
 [150] 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 I kin figger; but I m tryin to be a boy before 
 it s too late." 
 
 He paused a moment and looked round him. 
 
 "The way I look at it, Judge Priest, suh, 
 and you-all, every man that grows up, no mat 
 ter how old he may git to be, is entitled to a 
 been a boy oncet in his lifetime. I I reckin 
 that s all." 
 
 He sat down and dropped his eyes upon the 
 floor, as though ashamed that his temerity 
 should have carried him so far. There was a 
 strange little hush filling the courtroom. It 
 was Judge Priest who broke it. 
 
 "The court," he said, "has by the words 
 just spoken by this man been sufficiently 
 advised as to the sanity of the man himself. 
 The court cares to hear nothing more from 
 either side on this subject. The petition is 
 dismissed." 
 
 Very probably these last words may have 
 been as so much Greek to the juvenile mem 
 bers of the audience; possibly, though, they 
 were made aware of the meaning of them by 
 the look upon the face of Nephew Percival 
 Dwyer and the look upon the face of Nephew 
 Percival Dwyer s attorney. At any rate, His 
 Honour hardly had uttered the last syllable of 
 his decision before, from the rear of the court 
 room and from the gallery above, there arose a 
 shrill, vehement, sincere sound of yelling 
 exultant, triumphant and deafening. It con- 
 tinued for upward of a minute before the small 
 [151] 
 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 disturbers remembered where they were and 
 reduced themselves to a state of comparative 
 quiet. 
 
 For reasons best known to himself, Judge 
 Priest, who ordinarily stickled for order and 
 decorum in his courtroom, made no effort to 
 quell the outburst or to have it quelled not 
 even when a considerable number of the adults 
 present joined in it, having first cleared their 
 throats of a slight huskiness that had come 
 upon them, severally and generally. 
 
 Presently the Judge rapped for quiet and 
 got it. It was apparent that he had more to 
 say; and all there hearkened to hear what it 
 might be. 
 
 "I have just this to add," quoth His Honour: 
 "It is the official judgment of this court that 
 the late defendant, being entirely sane, is com 
 petent to manage his own affairs after his 
 preferences. 
 
 "And it is the private opinion of this court 
 that not only is the late defendant sane but 
 that he is the sanest man in this entire ju 
 risdiction. Mister Clerk, court stands ad 
 journed." 
 
 Coming down the three short steps from the 
 raised platform of the bench, Judge Priest 
 beckoned to Sheriff Giles Birdsong, who, at 
 the tail of the departing crowd, was shepherding 
 its last exuberant members through the door 
 way. 
 
 "Giles," said Judge Priest in an undertone. 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 when the worthy sheriff had drawn near, "the 
 circuit clerk tells me there s an indictment fur 
 malicious mischief ag in this here Perce Dwyer 
 knockin round amongst the records some- 
 wheres an indictment the grand jury returned 
 several sessions back, but which was never 
 pressed, owin to the sudden departure frum 
 our midst of the person in question. 
 
 "I wonder ef it would be too much trouble 
 fur you to sort of drap a hint in the ear of the 
 young man or his lawyer that the said indict 
 ment is apt to be revived, and that the said 
 Dwyer is liable to be tuck into custody by you 
 and lodged in the county jail sometime during 
 the ensuin forty-eight hours without he 
 should see his way clear durin the meantime 
 to get clean out of this city, county and state! 
 Would it?" 
 
 "Trouble? No, suh! It won t be no trouble 
 to me," said Mr. Birdsong promptly. "Why, 
 it ll be more of a pleasure, Judge." 
 
 And so it was. 
 
 Except for one small added and purely inci 
 dental circumstance, our narrative is ended. 
 That same afternoon Judge Priest sat on the 
 front porch of his old white house out on Clay 
 Street, waiting for Jeff Poindexter to summon 
 him to supper. Peep O Day opened the front 
 gate and came up the gravelled walk between 
 the twin rows of silver-leaf poplars. The 
 Judge, rising to greet his visitor, met him at the 
 top step. 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 "Come in," bade the Judge heartily, "and 
 set down a spell and rest your face and hands." 
 
 "No, suh; much obliged, but I ain t got only 
 a minute to stay," said O Day. "I jest come 
 out here, suh, to thank you fur whut you done 
 to-day on my account in the big courthouse, 
 and and to make you a little kind of a 
 present." 
 
 "It s all right to thank me," said Judge 
 Priest; "but I couldn t accept any reward fur 
 renderin a decision in accordance with the 
 plain facts." 
 
 " Tain t no gift of money, or nothin like 
 that," O Day hastened to explain. "Really, 
 suh, it don t amount to nothin at all, scursely. 
 But a little while ago I happened to be in Mr. 
 B. Weil & Son s store, doin a little tradin , and 
 I run acrost a new kind of knickknack, which it 
 seemed like to me it was about the best thing 
 I ever tasted in my whole life. So, on the 
 chancet, suh, that you might have a sweet 
 tooth, too, I taken the liberty of bringin you a 
 sack of em and and and here they are, suh; 
 three flavors strawberry, lemon and vanilly." 
 
 Suddenly overcome with confusion, he dis 
 lodged a large-sized paper bag from his side 
 coat pocket and thrust it into Judge Priest s 
 hands; then, backing away, he turned and 
 clumped down the graveled path in great and 
 embarrassed haste. 
 
 Judge Priest opened the bag and peered 
 
 down into it. It contained a sticky, sugary 
 
 " [154] " 
 
BOYS WILL BE BOYS 
 
 dozen of flattened confections, each moulded 
 round a short length of wooden splinter. These 
 sirupy articles, which have since come into quite 
 general use, are known, I believe, as all-day 
 suckers. 
 
 When Judge Priest looked up again, Peep 
 O Day was outside the gate, clumping down the 
 uneven sidewalk of Clay Street with long 
 strides of his booted legs. Half a dozen small 
 boys, who, it was evident, had remained hidden 
 during the ceremony of presentation, now 
 mysteriously appeared and were accompanying 
 the departing donor, half trotting to keep up 
 with him. 
 
 [155] 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 UNTIL now Trencher to give him 
 the name by which of all the names 
 he used he best was known had 
 kept his temper in hobbles, no matter 
 what or how great the provocation. As one 
 whose mode of livelihood was trick and device 
 outside the law it had behooved him ever to 
 restrain himself from violent outbreaks, to 
 school and curb and tame his natural tendencies 
 as a horsebreaker might gentle a spirited colt. 
 A man who held his disposition always under 
 control could think faster than any man who 
 permitted his passions to jangle his nerves. 
 Besides, he had the class contempt of the high- 
 grade confidence man the same being the 
 aristocrat of the underworld for the crude 
 and violent and therefore doubly dangerous 
 codes of the stick-up, who is a highwayman; 
 and the prowler, who is a burglar; and the yegg, 
 who is a safe blower of sorts. 
 
 Until now Trencher had held fast by the 
 self-imposed rules of his self-imposed discipline, 
 [156] 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 and so doing had lived well and lived safe. It 
 was an unfortunate thing all round that this 
 little rat of a Sonntag had crossed him at an 
 hour when he was profoundly irritated by the 
 collapse of their elaborately planned and ex 
 pensive scheme to divest that Cheyenne cattle 
 man of his bank roll at the wire game. And it 
 was a doubly unfortunate thing for Sonntag 
 seeing that Sonntag had just been shot three 
 times with his own automatic and was now 
 dead or should be. 
 
 It was like Sonntag and most utterly unlike 
 Trencher to whine over spilt milk and seek 
 to shift the blame for the failure of their plot 
 to any pair of shoulders rather than his own 
 thin pair. And to the very life it was like 
 Sonntag that at the climax of the quarrel he 
 should have made a gun play. As Trencher 
 now realised, it had been his mistake in the 
 first place that he took Sonntag on for a partner 
 in the thwarted operation; but it had been 
 Sonntag s great, fatal mistake that he had 
 drawn a weapon against a man who could 
 think faster and act faster in emergencies than 
 Sonntag ever had been able to do. Having 
 drawn it Sonntag should have used it. But 
 having drawn it he had hesitated for a space 
 not to be measured in computable time and 
 that delay had been his undoing. 
 
 The gun-pulling episode had taken place in 
 Thirty-ninth Street, between Sixth Avenue 
 and Broadway, but nearer Broadway than 
 [157] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 Sixth Avenue, at a moment when that block 
 of Thirty-ninth Street was as near empty as 
 ever it gets to be. The meeting in the dark 
 ened place, just where the portico at the side 
 entrance of the old Jollity Theatre, extending 
 out across the sidewalk, made a patch of 
 obscurity in the half -lit street, had been a meet 
 ing by chance so far as Trencher was con 
 cerned. He had not been looking for Sonntag; 
 hadn t wanted to see Sonntag. Whether Sonn 
 tag had been seeking him was something which 
 nobody probably would ever know this side 
 the hereafter. 
 
 To the best of Trencher s belief there had 
 been but one possible eyewitness to the actual 
 shooting. Out of the tail of his eye, just before 
 he and Sonntag came to grips, he had caught a 
 glimpse of this surmisable third party. He had 
 sensed rather than seen that an elderly bearded 
 man, perhaps the watchman of the closed 
 theatre, passed along the sidewalk, going east. 
 It was Trencher s impression that the man had 
 gone on by without halting. However, on that 
 point he could not be sure. What the onlooker 
 had seen if indeed there were an onlooker 
 could have been only this : Two men, one fairly 
 tall and dressed in a sprightly fashion, one short 
 and dark, engaged in a vehement but whispered 
 quarrel there in the cloaking shadow close up 
 to the locked double doors of the Jollity; a 
 sudden hostile move on the part of the slighter 
 man, backing away and reaching for his flank; a 
 
 [158] 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 quick forward jump by the taller man to close 
 with the other; a short sharp struggle as the 
 pair of them fought for possession of the revol 
 ver which the dark man had jerked from his 
 flank pocket; then the tall man, victorious, 
 shoving his antagonist clear of him and stepping 
 back a pace; and on top of this the three sharp 
 reports and the three little spurts of fire bridg 
 ing the short gap between the sundered enemies 
 like darting red hyphens to punctuate the 
 enacted tragedy. 
 
 Now the tall man, the one conspicuously 
 dressed, had been Trencher. The shooting 
 accomplished he stood where he was only long 
 enough to see Sonntag fold up and sink down 
 in a slumped shape in the doorway. He had 
 seen men, mortally stricken, who folded up in 
 that very same way; therefore he appraised 
 Sonntag as one already dead, or at least as one 
 who would die very speedily. 
 
 As he stepped out across the sidewalk into 
 the roadway he let the automatic fall along 
 side the curb. The instant he had done this 
 the heat of his hate departed from him leaving 
 him cool and clear-minded and alert. It was 
 as though the hot fumes of rage had all evapo 
 rated from his brain in the same twentieth part 
 of a second that he had spent in discarding the 
 weapon. For the reason that he was again 
 entirely himself, resourceful and steady, he did 
 not fall into the error of running away. To 
 run away in this instant was to invite pursuit. 
 [159] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 Instead he walked to the middle of the street, 
 halted and looked about him the picture of a 
 citizen who had been startled by the sound of 
 shots. This artifice, he felt sure, served to dis 
 arm possible suspicion on the part of any one 
 of the persons who came hurrying up from east 
 and west and from the north, across the street. 
 Two or three of these first arrivals almost 
 brushed him as they lunged past, drawing in 
 toward the spot where Sonntag s doubled-up 
 body made a darker blot in the darkened 
 parallelogram beneath the portico. 
 
 Trencher had been in close places before 
 now close places when something smacking 
 of violence had occurred and he knew or felt 
 he knew what next would happen to give him 
 the precious grace of seconds and perhaps of 
 minutes. Those who came foremost upon the 
 scene would, through caution, hesitate for a 
 brief space of time before venturing close up to 
 where the hunched shape lay. Then having 
 circled and drawn in about the victim of the 
 shooting they would for another brief period 
 huddle together, asking excited and pointless 
 questions of one another, some of them perhaps 
 bending down and touching the victim to see 
 whether he lived, some of them looking round 
 for a policeman, some of them doing nothing at 
 all except confusedly to get in the way of 
 everybody else. This would be true of ninety- 
 nine average individuals out of an average 
 hundred of city population. But the hun- 
 [160] 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 dredth man would keep his wits about him, 
 seeking for the cause of the thing rather than 
 concerning himself with the accomplished effect. 
 For the moment it was this hundredth man 
 Trencher would have to fear. Nevertheless, 
 it would never do for him to show undue haste. 
 Bearing himself in the matter of a disinterested 
 citizen who had business that was not to be 
 interfered with by street brawls, he turned 
 away from the south, toward which he had been 
 looking, shrugged his shoulders, and moving 
 briskly, but without any seeming great haste, 
 he made for the revolving door at the Thirty- 
 ninth Street entrance to Wallinger s Hotel, 
 diagonally across from the Jollity. With one 
 hand on a panel of the door he stopped again 
 and looked back. j 
 
 Already, so soon, a crowd was gathering over 
 the way a little crowd which at once in 
 evitably would become a dense jostling crowd. 
 A policeman, not to be mistaken even at a dis 
 tance of seventy feet or more for anyone but a 
 policeman, had turned the corner out of Broad 
 way and was running down the opposite pave 
 ment. The policeman s arrival was to be 
 expected; it would be his business to arrive at 
 the earliest possible moment, and having 
 arrived to lead the man hunt that would 
 follow. What Trencher, peering over his 
 shoulder, sought for, was the hundredth man 
 the man who, ignoring the lesser fact of a 
 dead ^body, would strive first off to catch 
 
 "" " [161] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 up the trail of whosoever had done this 
 thing. 
 
 Trencher thought he made him out. There 
 was to be seen an elderly man, roughly dressed, 
 possibly the same man whose proximity Tren 
 cher had felt rather than observed just before 
 Sonntag made the gun play, and this man was 
 half-squatted out on the asphalt with his back 
 to where the rest circled and swirled about the 
 body. Moreover, this person was staring 
 directly in Trencher s direction. As Trencher 
 passed within the revolving door he saw the 
 man pivot on his heels and start at an angle 
 toward the policeman just as the policeman was 
 swallowed up in the rings of figures converging 
 into the theatre doorway. 
 
 If the policeman were of a common-enough 
 type of policeman that is to say, if he were 
 the sort of policeman who would waste time 
 examining Sonntag s body for signs of life and 
 then waste more time asking questions of those 
 who had preceded him to the place, and yet 
 more time peering about for the weapon that 
 had been used; or if, in the excitement with 
 everybody shouting together, the one man who 
 possibly had a real notion concerning the 
 proper description of the vanished slayer found 
 difficulty in securing the policeman s atten 
 tion why then, in any one of these cases, or 
 better still, in all of them, Trencher had a 
 chance. With a definite and intelligently 
 guided pursuit starting forthwith he would be 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 lost. But with three minutes, or two even, of 
 delay vouchsafed him before the alarm took 
 shape and purpose he might make it. 
 
 Accepting the latter contingency as the 
 assured one he formed a plan instantaneously. 
 Indeed, it sprang full-formed into his mind as 
 the door swung round behind him. It added 
 to the immediate difficulties of his present situa 
 tion that he was most notably marked by his 
 garb. He had the dramatic sense well devel 
 oped, as any man must have who succeeds at 
 his calling. When Trencher played a part he 
 dressed the part. In the staging of the plot 
 for the undoing of the Cheyenne cattleman his 
 had been the role of the sporting ex-telegraph 
 operator, who could get "flashes" on the result 
 of horse races before the names of the winners 
 came over an imaginary tapped wire to the 
 make-believe pool room where the gull was 
 stripped; and he had been at some pains and 
 expense to procure a wardrobe befitting the 
 character. 
 
 The worst of it was that he now wore the 
 make-up the short fawn-coloured overcoat 
 with its big showy buttons of smoked pearl, the 
 brown derby hat with its striking black band, 
 and the pair of light-tan spats. Stripped of 
 these things he would be merely a person in a 
 costume in nowise to be distinguished from the 
 costumes of any number of other men in the 
 Broadway district. But for the moment there 
 was neither opportunity nor time to get rid 
 [163] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 of all of them without attracting the attention 
 that would be fatal to his prospects. Men 
 who have nothing to hide do not remove spats 
 in a hotel lobby, nor do they go about public 
 places bareheaded in the nighttime. Now he 
 could do but one thing to alter his appearance. 
 
 Midway of the cross hall which he had entered 
 and which opened into the main lobby he 
 slowed his gait long enough to undo the over 
 coat and slip out of it. The top button caught 
 fast in its buttonhole, the coat being new and 
 its buttonholes being stiff. He gave a sharp 
 tug at the rebellious cloth, and the button, 
 which probably had been insecurely sewed on in 
 the first place, came away from its thread 
 fastenings and lodged in the fingers of his right 
 hand. Mechanically he dropped it into a side 
 pocket of the overcoat and a moment later, 
 with the garment turned inside out so that only 
 its silk lining showed, and held under his arm, 
 he had come out of the sideway and was in the 
 lobby proper. 
 
 He was prepared mentally to find signs of an 
 alarm here to encounter persons hurrying 
 toward the Thirty-ninth Street side of the 
 building. But nothing of the sort was afoot. 
 A darky orchestra was playing a jazz tune very 
 loudly in the cafe at the left of the Broadway 
 entrance, so it was not only possible but very 
 likely that the sounds of the shots had not 
 been heard inside the hotel at all. Certainly 
 his eye, sweeping the place, discovered no evi- 
 [164] 
 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 dences of any unusual stir. Perhaps half a 
 dozen individuals were traversing the tiled 
 floor, but none of them in any seeming hurry. 
 
 With no suggestion of agitation about him 
 anywhere and with nothing furtive or stealthy 
 in his movements, Trencher boldly passed the 
 corner of the desk, crossed the lobby, went 
 along the front of the news stand, where a 
 young woman stood among her wares, and 
 through another set of revolving doors came 
 out upon Broadway. It was that one hour of 
 the night a quarter of eleven o clock, while 
 the last acts are still going on and before the 
 theatres give up their audiences when Broad 
 way s sidewalks are not absolutely overflowing 
 with jostling, pouring currents of people. 
 Numbers were abroad, for numbers always are 
 abroad in this part of the town, be the time of 
 day or of night what it may, but there was no 
 congestion. This was as it should be; it suited 
 this man s purposes exactly. 
 
 He issued forth, and a few rods north of the 
 corner saw the person for whom he was seeking; 
 at least he saw a most likely candidate a 
 ragged darky, in a district where ragged darkies 
 unless they be beggars are not often seen, who 
 with his hands in his pockets and his coat collar 
 turned up was staring into the window of a 
 small clothing shop two doors above the 
 narrow-fronted hotel. Trencher made for him. 
 Remember, all this from the moment of the 
 
 shooting until now had taken much less time 
 
 _ __ . 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 than has been required for me to describe it in 
 sequence or for you to read about it. 
 
 He tapped the darky on the arm. 
 
 "Boy," he said sharply, "want to pick up 
 some easy money quick?" 
 
 "Yas, suh, I does!" The negro s eyes shone. 
 
 "Listen then: I ve got to catch a train 
 sooner than I expected. My bag s packed and 
 waiting for me up here at my boarding house 
 in West Forty-fifth Street Number 374 is the 
 address just west of Broadway tall brown- 
 stone house with a high stoop. Get me? The 
 bag s downstairs in the hall. The hall boy a 
 coloured fellow named Fred is watching it for 
 me. If I go in a cab I may not get to the station 
 in time. If you go after it for me at a run I may 
 catch my train. See? Here s a dollar down in 
 advance. Tell Fred Mr. Thompson sent you 
 that s me, Thompson. He ll give it to you 
 I told him I d send for it. I ll be waiting right 
 here. If you get back with it in seven minutes 
 I ll give you another dollar and if you get 
 back inside of seven minutes I ll make it two 
 dollars more. Got the number in your mind?" 
 
 "Yas, suh three seventy-fo Wes Forty-fift , 
 you said." 
 
 "Correct. Now run like the very devil up 
 Broadway to Forty-fifth and turn west!" 
 
 "Boss," cried the darky, "Ise gone!" 
 
 He was, too. His splay feet in their broken 
 shoes fairly spurned the sidewalk as he darted 
 northward, boring his way through the lanes of 
 [166] 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 pedestrians, knocking people aside out of their 
 stride and followed as he went by a wake of 
 curses and grunts and curious glances. On a 
 street where nearly everyone trots but few 
 gallop, the sight of a running man catches the 
 popular interest instantly, the common theory 
 being that the runner has done something wrong 
 and is trying to get away, else he would not run. 
 The instant the negro turned his back on 
 him, Trencher slid inside the recessed entrance 
 of the clothing store and flattened himself 
 against its door. If chance had timed the 
 occurrence just right he would win the reprieve 
 that he required for what he meant next to 
 undertake. And sure enough, as it turned out, 
 chance had so timed it. 
 
 For just as he pressed his bulk into the recess 
 the man hunt manifested itself. Bursting 
 headlong out of the front of Wallinger s Hotel 
 came a policeman doubtlessly the one already 
 seen by Trencher and just behind the police 
 man a roughly dressed bearded man, and with 
 these two, at their heels, a jostling impetuous 
 swarm of other men, to be joined instantly by 
 yet more men, who had run round the corner 
 of the hotel from Thirty -ninth Street, instead of 
 passing through its lobby. For the veriest 
 fraction of time they all slowed down, casting 
 about them with their eyes for a trail to follow. 
 
 Trencher, looking slantwise to the south, 
 could see them plainly. The foremost members 
 
 " [167] 
 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 of the hesitating and uncertain group were not 
 sixty feet from him. He forgot to breathe. 
 
 Then, all together, half a dozen pointing 
 arms were flung out to the north. 
 
 "There he goes, officer, runnin ! See im 
 yonder? See im?" 
 
 With a forward surge and a great clatter of 
 feet the hunt was renewed. Past Trencher s 
 refuge, with never a look this way or that, the 
 policeman, the bearded man, all the rest of 
 them, went pelting along the sidewalk, giving 
 tongue like beagles. He could have put forth 
 his hand and touched some of them as they 
 sped by him. Numbers of foot travellers joined 
 in the tail of the chase. Those who did not 
 join it faced about to watch. Knowing that 
 for a bit he would practically be free of the 
 danger of close scrutiny, Trencher stepped out 
 upon the sidewalk and looking north caught a 
 glimpse of a bent fleeing figure scuttling up 
 Broadway a block and a half beyond. 
 
 By this trick he had broken the trail and sent 
 the pack off on a wrong scent. So far so good. 
 He figured the outlook after this fashion: Set 
 upon earning the double fee promised him the 
 deluded darky, as he could tell, was still going 
 at top speed, unconscious of any pursuit. If 
 he continued to maintain his gait, if none 
 tripped him, the probabilities were he would 
 be round the corner in Forty -fifth Street, trying 
 to find a mythical boarding house and a mythi- 
 cal hall boy named Fred, before the foremost 
 [168] 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 of the runners behind overtook and seized him. 
 Then would follow shouts, yells, a babble of 
 accusations, denials of all wrongful intent by 
 the frightened captive and explanations by 
 him to the policeman of his reason for running 
 so hard. 
 
 Following on this the chase would double 
 back on its tracks, and at once policemen in 
 numbers, along with volunteers, would be comb 
 ing the district for the real fugitive. Still, 
 barring the unforeseen, a few minutes must in 
 tervene before this neighbourhood search would 
 be getting under way; and meanwhile the real 
 fugitive, calmly enough, was moving along in 
 the rear of the rearmost of those who ran with 
 out knowing why they ran. He did not go far 
 though he dared not go far. Any second the 
 darky might be tackled and thrown by some 
 one on ahead, and besides there might be indi 
 viduals close at hand who had not joined in 
 the hue and cry, but who in some way had 
 learned that the man so badly wanted wore 
 such-and-such distinguishing garments. 
 
 It was because of this latter contingency that 
 Trencher had not tried to slip back into Thirty- 
 ninth Street. That had been his first impulse, 
 but he discarded the thought as it came to him. 
 His mind peopled the vicinity immediately 
 south and east of him with potential enemies. 
 To the north alone, in the wake of the chase, 
 could he count upon a hope of transient security, 
 
 and that would last only for so long as the negro 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 kept going. He could not get away from the 
 spot yet. And still it would be the height of 
 recklessness for him, dressed as he was, to linger 
 there. Temporarily he must bide where he 
 was, and in this swarming, bright-as-day place 
 he must find a hiding place from which he could 
 see without being seen, spy without being spied 
 upon or suspected for what he was. Even as 
 he calculated these obstacles he figured a 
 possible way out of the double-ended dilemma, 
 or at any rate he figured his next step toward 
 safety from detection for the moment, and, 
 with continued luck, toward ultimate escape 
 from a perilous spot where now no measure of 
 immunity could be either long-lived or de 
 pendable. 
 
 I have said he did not go far to reach sanc 
 tuary. To be exact he did not go the length of 
 the block between Thirty -ninth and Fortieth. 
 He went only as far as the Clarenden, newest 
 and smartest, and, for the time being, most 
 popular of typical Broadway cafes, standing 
 three buildings north of the clothing shop, or a 
 total distance from it, let us say, of ninety 
 feet. It was while he traversed those ninety 
 feet that Trencher summed up the contingencies 
 that hedged him in and reached his conclusion. 
 
 In front of the Clarenden against the curbing 
 stood a short line of waiting motor vehicles. 
 With one exception they were taxicabs. At 
 the lower end of the queue, though, was a vast 
 gaudy limousine, a bright blue in body colour, 
 [170] 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 with heavy trimmings of brass and it was 
 empty. The chauffeur, muffled in furs, sat in 
 his place under the overhang of the peaked 
 roof, with the glass slide at his right hand 
 lowered and his head poked out as he peered up 
 Broadway; but the car itself, Trencher saw, 
 contained no occupant. 
 
 Trencher, drawing up alongside the limousine, 
 was searching vainly for a monogram, a crest 
 or a name on its varnished flank while he 
 spoke. 
 
 "Driver," he said sharply, "whose car is 
 this?" 
 
 "Mr. O Gavin s," the chauffeur answered 
 without turning to look at the person asking 
 the question. 
 
 Trencher played a blind lead and yet not 
 such a very blind lead either. Big as New York 
 was there was likely to be but one O Gavin in 
 it who would have a car such as this one 
 anchored in front of the Clarenden and that 
 would be the noted bookmaker. Trencher 
 played his card. 
 
 "Jerome O Gavin s, eh?" he inquired casually 
 as though stating a foregone conclusion. 
 
 "Yes, sir; it s his car." And now the driver 
 twisted his body and half-faced Trencher. 
 "Say, boss, what s all the row about yonder?" 
 
 "Crowd chasing a pickpocket, I imagine," 
 said Trencher indifferently. Then putting a 
 touch of impatience in his voice: "Where is 
 
 Q Gavin inside?" 
 
 [171] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 "Yes, sir! Said he d be ready to go uptown 
 at eleven. Must be near that now. * 
 
 "Pretty near it. I was to meet him here at 
 eleven myself and I thought I recognised his car." 
 
 "You ll find him in the grill, I guess, sir," 
 said the driver, putting into the remark the 
 tone of deference due to someone who was a 
 friend of his employer s. "I understood him 
 to say he had an appointment with some gentle 
 man there. Was it you?" 
 
 "No, but I know who the gentleman is," 
 said Trencher. "The other man s not such a 
 very good friend of mine that s why I d rather 
 wait outside for Jerome than to go in there." 
 He made a feint at looking at his watch. 
 "Hum, ten minutes more. Tell you what I 
 think I ll do, driver: I think I ll just hop inside 
 the car until O Gavin comes out better than 
 loafing on the sidewalk, eh?" 
 
 "Just as you say. Make yourself com 
 fortable, sir. Shall I switch on the lights?" 
 
 "No, never mind the lights, thank you." 
 Trencher was already taking shelter within the 
 limousine, making himself small on the wide 
 back seat and hauling a thick rug up over his 
 lap. Under the rug one knee was bent upward 
 and the fingers of one hand were swiftly undoing 
 the buttons of one fawn-coloured spat. If the 
 chauffeur had chanced to glance back he would 
 have seen nothing unusual going on. The 
 chauffeur, though, never glanced back. He 
 was staring dead ahead again. 
 [172] 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 "Say, boss, they ve caught the pickpocket 
 if that s what he was," he cried out excitedly. 
 "They re bringing him back." 
 
 "Glad they nailed him," answered Trencher 
 through the glass that was between them. 
 He had one spat off and was now unfastening 
 its mate. 
 
 "It looks like a nigger," added the chauffeur, 
 supplying a fresh bulletin as the captive was 
 dragged nearer. "It is a nigger! Had his 
 nerve with him, trying to pull off a trick in this 
 part of town." 
 
 Through the right-hand side window Tren 
 cher peered out as the mass moved by in 
 front a panting policeman with his one 
 hand gripped fast in the collar of Trencher s 
 late messenger, and all about the pair and 
 behind them a jostling, curious crowd of men 
 and women. 
 
 "De gen l man dat sent me fur his bag is 
 right down yere, I keeps tellin you," Trencher 
 heard the scared darky babbling as he was 
 yanked past Trencher s refuge. 
 
 "All right then, show him to me, that s all," 
 the officer was saying impatiently. 
 
 The chauffeur twisted about in his place, 
 following the spectacle with his eyes. But 
 Trencher had quit looking that way and was 
 looking another way. The centre of excite 
 ment had been moved again instead of being 
 north of him it was now approximately ninety 
 feet south, and he, thanks to the shift, was once 
 173 ~ " " " 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 more behind it. Peering through the glass he 
 watched the entrance to the Clarenden. 
 
 There he saw what he wanted to see a tall 
 man in a wide-brimmed soft dark hat and a 
 long dark topcoat going up the short flight of 
 steps that led from the pavement into the 
 building. Trencher wadded the spats together 
 and rammed them down out of sight between 
 the back cushion and the under cushion of the 
 car seat, and with his overcoat inside out on his 
 left arm he opened the door and stepped out of 
 the car. This retreat had served his purpose 
 admirably; it was time to abandon it. 
 
 "Changed my mind," he said in explanation. 
 "If O Gavin doesn t hurry up we ll be late for 
 an engagement we ve got uptown. I m going 
 in after him." 
 
 "Yes; all right, sir," assented the chauffeur 
 with his attention very much elsewhere. 
 
 In long steps Trencher crossed the sidewalk 
 and ran up the steps so briskly that he passed 
 through the door at the top of the short flight 
 directly behind and almost touching the tall 
 man in the dark hat and black coat. His heart 
 beat fast; he was risking everything practically 
 on the possibilities of what this other man 
 meant to do. 
 
 The other man did exactly what Trencher 
 was hoping he would do. He turned left and 
 made for the Clarenden s famous Chinese 
 lounging room, which in turn opened into the 
 main restaurant. Trencher slipped nimbly by 
 """" [174] 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 his quarry and so beat him to where two young 
 women in glorified uniforms of serving maids 
 were stationed to receive wraps outside the 
 checking booth; a third girl was inside the 
 booth, her job being to take over checked 
 articles from her sister helpers. 
 
 It befell therefore that Trencher surrendered 
 his brown derby and his short tan coat, received 
 a pasteboard check in exchange for them and 
 saw them passed in over a flat shelf to be put 
 on a hook, before the other man had been 
 similarly served. When the other, now re 
 vealed as wearing a dinner jacket, came through 
 the Orientalised passageway into the lounge, 
 Trencher was quite ready for him. In his 
 life Trencher had never picked a pocket, but 
 as one thoroughly versed in the professionalism 
 of the crime world, in which he was a dis 
 tinguished figure, he knew how the trick, 
 which is the highest phase of the art of the 
 pickpocket, is achieved. 
 
 The thing was most neatly and most naturally 
 accomplished. As the man in the dinner coat 
 came just opposite him Trencher, swinging 
 inward as though to avoid collision with the 
 end of an upholstered couch, bumped into 
 him, breast to breast. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he said in contrite 
 tones for his seeming awkwardness, and as he 
 said it two darting fingers and the thumb of his 
 right hand found and invaded the little slit of 
 the stranger s waistcoat pocket, whisking out 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 the check which the stranger had but a moment 
 before, with Trencher watching, deposited there. 
 
 "Granted no harm done," said the man 
 who had been jostled, and passed on leaving 
 Trencher still uttering apologetic sounds. 
 Palming the precious pasteboard, which meant 
 so much to him, Trencher stood where he was 
 until he saw the unsuspecting victim pass on 
 through into the cafe and join two other men, 
 who got up from a table in the far corner near 
 one of the front windows to greet him. 
 
 Trencher followed leisurely to where a captain 
 of waiters stood guard at the opening in the 
 dividing partition between the lounge and the 
 restaurant. Before him at his approach this 
 functionary bowed. 
 
 "Alone, sir?" he inquired obsequiously. 
 
 "Yes and no," replied Trencher; "I m alone 
 now but I ll be back in half an hour with three 
 others. I want to engage a table for four not 
 too close to the orchestra." He slipped a dollar 
 bill into the captain s hand. 
 
 "Very good, sir. What name, sir?" 
 
 "Tracy is the name," said Trencher. 
 
 "Quite so, sir." 
 
 The captain turned to serve a party of men 
 and women, and Trencher fell back. He idled 
 back through the Chinese room, vigilant to note 
 whether any of the persons scattered about it 
 were regarding him with more than a casual 
 interest or, more important still, whether any 
 there present knew him personally. 
 " [176] 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 Reassured on this point he stepped out of the 
 room and along with a quarter for a tip tendered 
 to one of the maids the check he had just pil 
 fered, meanwhile studying her face closely for 
 any signs that she recalled him as one who had 
 dealt with her within the space of a minute or 
 so. But nothing in her looks betrayed recog 
 nition or curiosity as she bestirred herself to 
 reclaim the articles for which the check was a 
 voucher of ownership, and to help him into 
 them. 
 
 Ten seconds later Trencher, a personality 
 transformed, stood quite at his ease on the top 
 step of the flight outside the entrance to the 
 Clarenden looking into Broadway. The long 
 dark overcoat which he now wore, a common 
 place roomy garment, fitted him as though it 
 had been his own. With its collar turned up 
 about his cheeks it helped admirably to disguise 
 him. The soft black hat was a trifle large for 
 his head. So much the better it came well 
 down over his face. 
 
 The huge illuminated hands of a clock set in 
 the middle of a winking, blinking electric sign 
 a few blocks north, at the triangular gore where 
 Seventh Avenue crosses Broadway, told him 
 the time six minutes of eleven. To Trencher 
 it seemed almost that hours must have passed 
 since he shot down Sonntag, and yet here was 
 proof that not more than ten minutes or at 
 the most, twelve had elapsed. Well, he had 
 worked fast and with results gratifying. The 
 
 * " ~ [177] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 spats that might have betrayed him were safely 
 hidden in one place yonder between the seat 
 cushions of O Gavin s car, which stood where 
 he had left it, not thirty feet distant. His tell 
 tale overcoat and his derby hat were safely 
 bestowed in the cafe check room behind him 
 awaiting a claimant who meant never to return. 
 Even if they should be found and identified as 
 having been worn by the slayer of Sonntag, 
 their presence there, he figured, would but serve 
 to confuse the man hunt. Broadway s living 
 tides flowed by, its component atoms seemingly 
 ignorant of the fact that just round the corner 
 below a man had been done to death. Only 
 at the intersection of Thirty -ninth Street was 
 there evidence, in the quick movement of 
 pedestrians out of Broadway into the cross 
 street, that something unusual served to draw 
 foot passengers off their course. 
 
 In front of the clothing shop three doors 
 south of him no special congestion of traffic 
 revealed itself; no scrouging knot of citizens 
 was to be seen, and by that Trencher reasoned 
 that the negro had been taken elsewhere by his 
 captors very probably to where the body 
 would still be lying, hunched up in the shadow 
 before the Jollity s side doors. From the 
 original starting point the hunt doubtlessly was 
 now reorganising. One thing was certain it 
 had not eddied back this far. The men of the 
 law would be working on a confused basis yet 
 awhile, anyhow. And Trencher meant to 
 [178] 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 twistify the clews still further, for all that he 
 felt safe enough already. For the first time a 
 sense of security exhilarated him. Almost it 
 was a sense of exultation. 
 
 He descended the steps and went straight 
 to the nearest of the rank of parked taxicabs. 
 Its driver was nowhere in sight. A carriage 
 starter for the cafe, in gorgeous livery, under 
 stood without being told what the tall muffled- 
 up gentleman desired and blew a shrill blast on a 
 whistle. At that the truant driver appeared, 
 coming at a trot from down the street. 
 
 " Scuse me, mister," he said as he mounted 
 to his seat at the wheel. "Been a shootin 
 down the street. Guy got croaked, they say, 
 and they can t find the guy that croaked um." 
 
 "Never mind the shooting," said Trencher as 
 he climbed into the cab, whose door the starter 
 had opened for him. 
 
 "Whereto, gent?" 
 
 "Harty s Palm Garden," said Trencher, 
 naming a restaurant a mile and a half away, 
 straight up Broadway. His main thought now 
 was to get entirely out of this part of town. 
 
 Riding along uptown Trencher explored the 
 pockets of the pilfered overcoat. The search 
 produced a pair of heavy gloves, a wadded 
 handkerchief, two cigars, a box of matches, 
 and, last of all, a triangular brass token in 
 scribed with a number and a firm name. With 
 out the imprint of the name Trencher would 
 have recognised it, from its shape alone. It 
 [179] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 had come from the check room in the upper-tier 
 waiting room of the Grand Central Station. 
 Discovery of it gave him a new idea an idea 
 involving no added risk but having in it added 
 possibilities for insuring the ultimate success 
 of his get-away. In any event there could be 
 neither harm nor enhanced danger in putting it 
 into execution. 
 
 Therefore, when he had emerged from the 
 cab at Harty s and had paid the fare and had 
 seen the driver swing his vehicle about and start 
 off back downtown, he walked across Columbus 
 Circle to the west curve of it, climbed into 
 another taxicab and was driven by way of 
 Fifty-ninth Street and Fifth Avenue to the 
 Grand Central. Here at the establishment 
 of the luggage-checking concessionaire on the 
 upper level of the big terminal he tendered the 
 brass token to a drowsy-eyed attendant, 
 receiving in exchange a brown-leather suit case 
 with letters stenciled on one end of it, like this: 
 
 M. K. P. 
 STAMFORD, CONN. 
 
 Waving aside a red-capped negro porter, 
 Trencher, carrying the spoil of his latest coup, 
 departed via one of the Vanderbilt Avenue 
 exits. Diagonally across the avenue was a 
 small drug store still open for business at this 
 hour, as the bright lights within proved. Above 
 its door showed the small blue sign that marked 
 [180] 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 it as containing a telephone pay booth. For 
 Trencher s purposes a closed booth in a small 
 mercantile establishment was infinitely to be 
 preferred to the public exchange in the ter 
 minal less chance that the call could be traced 
 back to its source, less chance, too, that some 
 inquisitive operator, trying to kill time during 
 a dull hour, might listen in on the wire, and so 
 doing overhear things not meant for her ears. 
 He crossed over and entered the drug store. 
 
 Except for a sleepy clerk at the rear there 
 was no one visible within the place. Trencher 
 crowded his bulk into the booth, dropped the 
 requisite coin in the slot and very promptly 
 got back the answering hail from a certain 
 number that he had called a number at a 
 place in the lower fringe of the old Tenderloin. 
 
 "Is that the Three Deuces? " asked Trencher. 
 Then: "Who s speaking you, Monty? . . . 
 Know who this is, at this end? . . . Yes, 
 that s right. Say, is the Kid there Kid 
 Dineen? . . . Good! Call him to the phone, 
 will you, Monty? And tell him to hurry it s 
 devilish important." 
 
 A short pause followed and when Trencher 
 spoke again he had dropped his voice to a cau 
 tious half-whisper, vibrant and tense with 
 urgency. Also now he employed some of the 
 argot of the underworld: 
 
 "Hello, Kid, hello! Recognise my voice, 
 don t you? . . . Good! Now listen: I m in a 
 jam. . . . What? . . . Never mind what it 
 
 [181] ~ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 is; you ll know when you see the papers in the 
 morning if you don t know sooner. I ve got 
 to lam, and lam quick. Right now I ve got the 
 bulls stalled off good and proper, but I can t 
 tell how long they ll stay stalled off. Get me? 
 So I don t want to be showing my map round 
 any ticket windows. So here s what I want 
 you to do. Get some coin off of Monty, if you 
 haven t got enough on you. Then you beat it 
 over to the Pennsylvania Station and buy me 
 a ticket for Pittsburgh and a section in the 
 sleeper on the train that leaves round one- 
 twenty-five to-night. Then go over on Ninth 
 
 Avenue to Silver s place What? . . . Yes; 
 
 sure, that s the place. Wait for me there in 
 the little room upstairs over the bar, on the 
 second floor. They ve got to make a bluff of 
 closing up at one, but you know how to get up 
 into the room, don t you? . . . Good! Wait 
 for me till I show up, or if I get there first I ll 
 wait for you. I ought to show inside of an 
 hour from now maybe in less time than that 
 if things keep on breaking right. Then I ll get 
 the ducats off of you and beat it across through 
 the Hudson Tube to the Manhattan Transfer 
 and grab the rattler over there in Jersey when 
 she comes along from this side. That ll be all. 
 Now hustle!" 
 
 From the drug store he went, carrying the 
 brown suit case with him, round into Forty- 
 second Street. He had taken a mental note 
 of the initials on the bag, but to make sure he 
 [182] 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 was right he looked at them again before he 
 entered the big Bellhaven Hotel by its Forty - 
 second-Street door. At sight of him a bell boy 
 ran across the lobby and took from him his 
 burden. The boy followed him, a pace in the 
 rear, to the desk, where a spruce young gentle 
 man awaited their coming. " Can I get a room 
 with bath for the night a quiet inside room 
 where I ll be able to sleep as late as I please in 
 the morning?" inquired Trencher. 
 
 "Certainly, sir." The room clerk appraised 
 Trencher with a practiced eye. "Something 
 for about four dollars?" 
 
 f "That ll do very well/ agreed Trencher, 
 taking the pen which the clerk had dipped in 
 ink and handed over to him. 
 
 Bearing in mind the letters and the address 
 on the suit case, Trencher registered as M. K. 
 Potter, Stamford, Conn. Meanwhile the clerk 
 had taken a key from a rack containing a vast 
 number of similar keys. 
 
 "I won t leave a call and I don t want to be 
 disturbed," warned Trencher. 
 
 "Very well, sir. Front! Show the gentle 
 man to 1734." Five minutes later Trencher, 
 in an inner room on the seventeenth floor, with 
 the door locked on the inside, had sprung the 
 catch of the brown suit case and was spreading 
 its contents out upon the bed, smiling his satis 
 faction as he did so. Plainly fortune was favour 
 ing him at each new turning. 
 
 For here was a somewhat rumpled black suit 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 and along with it a blue-striped shirt, showing 
 slight signs of recent wear, a turndown collar 
 that was barely soiled, and a plain black four- 
 in-hand tie. Trencher went through the pock 
 ets of the suit, finding several letters addressed 
 to Marcus K. Parker at an address in Broad 
 Street, down in the financial district. Sewn in 
 the lining of the inner breast pocket of the coat 
 was a tailor s label also bearing the same name. 
 At the sight Trencher grinned. He had not 
 missed it very far. He had registered as 
 Potter, whereas now he knew that the proper 
 owner of the suit case must be named 
 Parker. 
 
 Parker, he figured, belonged to the race of 
 commuters; evidently he lived in Stamford 
 and did business in New York. Accepting this 
 as the correct hypothesis the rest of the riddle 
 was easy to read. Mr. Parker, coming to town 
 that morning, had brought with him his dinner 
 rig in a suit case. 
 
 Somewhere, probably at his office, he had 
 changed from his everyday garb to the clothes 
 he brought with him, then he had packed his 
 street clothes into the bag and brought it up 
 town with him and checked it at the Grand 
 Central, intending after keeping his evening 
 engagements to reclaim the baggage before 
 catching a late train for Stamford. 
 
 Fine! Results from Trencher s standpoint 
 could hardly have been more pleasing. Exult- 
 ing inwardly over the present development and 
 "" [184,] 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 working fast, he stripped off his clothing down 
 to his shoes and his undergarments first, 
 though, emptying his own pockets of the 
 money they contained, both bills and silver, 
 and of sundry personal belongings, such as a 
 small pocketknife, a fountain pen, a condensed 
 railway guide and the slip of pasteboard that 
 represented the hat and coat left behind at the 
 Clarenden. Then he put on the things that 
 had come out of the Stamford man s bag the 
 shirt, the collar and the tie, and finally the 
 outer garments, incidentally taking care to 
 restore to Parker s coat pocket all of Parker s 
 letters. 
 
 This done he studied himself in the glass of 
 the chiffonier and was deeply pleased. Mir 
 rored there he saw a different man from the one 
 who had rented the room. When he quit this 
 hotel, as presently he meant to do, he would 
 not be Trencher, the notorious confidence man 
 who had shot a fellow crook, nor yet would he 
 be the Thompson who had sent a darky for a 
 bag, nor the Tracy who had picked a guest s 
 pocket at a fashionable restaurant, nor yet the 
 Potter who had engaged a room with bath for a 
 night. From overcoat and hat to shoes and 
 undergarments he would be Mr. Marcus K. 
 Parker, a thoroughly respectable gentleman, 
 residing in the godly town of Stamford and 
 engaged in reputable mercantile pursuits in 
 Broad Street with opened mail in his pocket 
 
 to prove it. 
 
 [185] 
 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 The rest would be simplicity. He had merely 
 to slip out of the hotel, carrying the key to 1734 
 with him. Certainly it would be as late as 
 noon the following day before chambermaid or 
 clerk tried to rouse the supposed occupant of 
 the empty room. In all likelihood it would be 
 later than noon. He would have at least twelve 
 hours start, even though the authorities were 
 nimble- witted enough to join up the smaller 
 mystery of an abandoned suit case belonging 
 to one man and an abandoned outfit of clothing 
 belonging to another, with the greater and 
 seemingly unconnected mystery of the vanish 
 ment of the suspect in the Sonntag homicide 
 case. Long before this potential eventuality 
 could by any chance develop, he meant, under 
 another name and in another disguise, to be 
 hidden away at a quiet boarding house that he 
 knew of in a certain obscure factory town on a 
 certain trolley line leading out from Pittsburgh. 
 
 Now to clear out. He bestowed in various 
 pockets his money, his knife, his pen and his 
 railway guide, not one of these having upon it 
 any identifying marks; he pouched his small 
 change and his roll of bills. Nothing remained 
 to be disposed of or accounted for save the 
 pasteboard square that represented the coat and 
 hat left behind at the Clarenden. When this 
 had been torn into fine and indistinguishable 
 bits and when as a final precaution the frag 
 ments had been tossed out of the window, the 
 last possible evidence to link the pseudo Parker 
 [186] 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 with the real Trencher in this night s trans 
 actions would be gone. 
 
 He had the slip in his hands and his fingers 
 were in the act of twisting it in halves when the 
 thought that something had been overlooked 
 something vitally important came to him; 
 and he paused to cogitate. What had been 
 forgotten? What had he overlooked? What 
 had he left undone that should have been done? 
 Then suddenly appreciation of the thing missing 
 came to him and in a quick panic of appre 
 hension he felt through all the pockets of 
 Parker s suit and through the pockets of his 
 own garments, where he had flung them down 
 on the bed, alongside the rifled suit case. 
 
 His luck piece was gone that was it! The 
 old silver trade dollar, worn thin and smooth 
 by years of handling and with the hole drilled 
 through the centre of it that was what was 
 gone his token, his talisman, his charm 
 against evil fortune. He had carried it for 
 years, ever since he had turned crook, and for 
 nothing in this world would he have parted 
 from it. 
 
 In a mounting flurry of superstitious terror 
 he searched the pockets again, with fingers that 
 shook this man who had lost faith in human 
 beings, who had no hope and no fear for the 
 hereafter, who had felt no stabs of regret or 
 repentance for having killed a man, whose 
 thoughts had never known remorse for any 
 misdeed of his. The second hunt and the 
 [187] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 third and the fourth were fruitless as his first 
 one had been; Trencher s luck piece was gone. 
 
 Those wise men, the alienists, say that all 
 of us are insane on certain subjects, however 
 sane we may be upon other subjects. Certainly 
 in the mental composition of every one of us is 
 some quirk, some vagary, some dear senseless 
 delusion, avowed or private. As for Trencher, 
 the one crotchet in his cool brain centred about 
 that worthless trade dollar. With it in his 
 possession he had counted himself a winner, 
 always. Without it he felt himself to be a 
 creature predestined and foreordained to dis 
 aster. 
 
 To it he gave all the credit for the fact that 
 he had never served a prison sentence. But 
 once, and once only, had he parted com 
 pany with it, even temporarily. That was the 
 time when Murtha, that crafty old Central- 
 Office hand, had picked him up on general 
 principles, had taken him to headquarters, and 
 first stripping him of all the belongings on his 
 person, had carried him to the Bertillon Bureau, 
 and then and there, without shadow of legal 
 right, since Trencher was neither formally 
 accused of nor formally indicted for any offence 
 and had no previous record of convictions, 
 had forced him to undergo the ordeals, ethically 
 so repugnant to the instincts of the professional 
 thief, of being measured and finger-printed and 
 photographed, side face and full face. He had 
 cursed and protested and pleaded when Murtha 
 "" [188] 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 confiscated the luck piece; he had rejoiced 
 when Murtha, seeing no harm in the thing, 
 had restored it to him before lodging him in a 
 cell under the all-embracing technical charge of 
 being a suspicious person. Because he had so 
 speedily got it back, Trencher had gone free 
 again with the loss of but two days of liberty 
 or anyway, so Trencher firmly believed. But 
 because it had left his custody for no more than 
 an hour his pictures were now in the Gallery, 
 and Murtha had learned the secret of Trencher s 
 one temperamental weakness, one fetish. 
 
 And now at this time, of all times it was 
 gone again. But where had it gone? Where 
 could it have gone? Mentally he reconstructed 
 all his acts, all his movements since he had risen 
 that morning and dressed and then the solu 
 tion came to him, and with the solution com 
 plete remembrance. He had slipped it into 
 the right-hand pocket of the new tan-coloured 
 topcoat to impregnate the garment with good 
 luck and to enhance the prospects for a suc 
 cessful working-out of the scheme to despoil 
 the Wyoming cattleman; a,nd he had left it 
 there. And now here he was up on the seven 
 teenth floor of the Bellhaven Hotel and the 
 fawn-coloured coat with the luck piece in one 
 of its pockets dangled on a hook in the cloak 
 booth of the Clarenden cafe, less than a block 
 away from the spot where he had shot Sonntag. 
 
 He marvelled that without his talisman he 
 had escaped arrest up to now; it was incon- 
 [189] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 ceivable that lie had won his way thus far. 
 But then the answer to that was, of course, 
 that he had retained the pasteboard square 
 that stood for possession of the coat itself, 
 He gave thanks to the unclean spirits of his 
 superstition that apprehension of his loss had 
 come to him before he destroyed the slip. Had 
 he gone ahead and torn it up he would now 
 count himself as doomed. But he hadn t torn 
 it up. There it lay on the white coverlet of 
 the bed. 
 
 He must make a try to recover his luck piece; 
 no other course occurred to him. Trying 
 would be beset with hazards, accumulated and 
 thickening. He must venture back into the 
 dangerous territory; must dare deadfalls and 
 pitfalls; must run the chance of possible traps 
 and probable nets. By now the police might 
 have definitely ascertained who it was that 
 killed Sonntag; or lacking the name of the 
 slayer they might have secured a reasonably 
 complete description of him; might have spread 
 the general alarm for a man of such and such a 
 height and such and such a weight, with such a 
 nose and such eyes and such hair and all the 
 rest of it. It might be that the Clarenden was 
 being watched, along with the other public 
 resorts in the immediate vicinity of where the 
 homicide had been committed. It might even 
 be that back in the Clarenden he would en 
 counter the real Parker face to face. Suppose 
 Parker had finished his supper and had dis- 
 [190] 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 covered his loss losses rather and had made 
 a complaint to the management; and suppose 
 as a result of Parker s indignation that members 
 of the uniformed force had been called in to 
 adjudicate the wrangle; suppose through sheer 
 coincidence Parker should see Trencher and 
 should recognise the garments that Trencher 
 wore as his own. Suppose any one of a half 
 dozen things. Nevertheless, he meant to go 
 back. He would take certain precautions 
 for all the need of haste, he must take them 
 but he would go back. 
 
 He put the pink check into his waistcoat 
 pocket, switched out the room light, locked 
 the door of the room on the outside, took the 
 key with him and went down in an elevator, 
 taking care to avoid using the same elevator 
 that shortly before brought him up to this 
 floor level. Presently he was outside the hotel, 
 hurrying afoot on his return to Broadway. 
 On the way he pitched the key into an areaway. 
 
 Turning out of Forty-second Street into 
 Broadway and thence going south to a point 
 just below the intersection with Fortieth Street, 
 he approached the Clarenden from the opposite 
 side of Broadway. There was motive in this. 
 One coming across from the opposite side and 
 looking upward at a diagonal slant could see 
 through the windows along the front side of the 
 Clarenden with some prospect of making out 
 the faces of such diners as sat at tables near the 
 
 windows. Straining his eyes as he crossed 
 
 . 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 over, Trencher thought he recognised his man. 
 He was almost sure he made out the outlined 
 head and shoulders of Parker sitting at a corner 
 table alongside the last window in the row. 
 He trusted he was right and trusted still more 
 fervently that Parker would bide where he was 
 for three or four minutes longer. 
 
 Tucking his head well down inside his up 
 turned collar and giving the brim of his hat a 
 tug to bring it still farther forward over his 
 eyes, he took a long breath, like a man pre 
 paring for a dive in cold water, and went up 
 the flight of stairs from the sidewalk into the 
 building. No one inside made as if to halt 
 him; no one so far as he could tell gave him in 
 passing even an impersonal look. There was 
 a wash room, as Trencher knew, at the back 
 end of the ornate hall which separated the 
 Chinese lounge and the main cafe on one side, 
 from the private dining rooms and tea rooms 
 on the other. That wash room was his present 
 destination. 
 
 He reached it without mishap, to find it 
 deserted except for a boy in buttons. To the 
 boy he surrendered hat and overcoat, and then 
 in the midst of a feint at hitching up his shirt 
 cuffs, as though meaning to wash his hands, 
 he snapped his fingers impatiently. 
 
 "I forgot something," he said for the boy s 
 benefit; "left it in the cafe. Say, kid, watch 
 my hat and coat, will you? I ll be back in a 
 minute." 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 "Yes, sir," promised the youth. "I ll take 
 good care of em." 
 
 Bareheaded as he now was and lacking the 
 overcoat, Trencher realised the chief elements 
 of his disguise were missing ; still there had been 
 for him no other course to follow than this 
 risky one. He could not claim ownership of 
 one coat and one hat while wearing another 
 coat and another hat that was certain. As 
 he neared his goal he noted that both the maids 
 on the outside of the booth were for the instant 
 engaged in helping the members of a group of 
 men and women on with their outdoor wraps. 
 So much the better for him. He headed 
 straight for the third girl of the force, the one 
 whose station was within the open-fronted 
 booth. In front of her on the flat shelf inter 
 vening between them he laid down the num 
 bered pink slip, which in the scheme of his 
 hopes and fears stood for so much. 
 
 "Never mind my hat, miss," he said, making 
 his tone casual; "I m not through with my 
 supper yet. But just let me have my coat for 
 one minute, will you, please? I want to get 
 something out of one of the pockets to show to 
 a friend." 
 
 There was nothing unusual, nothing uncon 
 ventional about the request. The girl glanced 
 at the figures on the check, then stepped back 
 into her cuddy, seeking among rows of burdened 
 hooks for whatsoever articles would be on the 
 hook bearing corresponding figures. To Tren- 
 [193] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 cher, dreading the advent of the Stamford 
 man out of the Chinese room alongside him 
 and yet not daring to turn his head to look, it 
 seemed she was a very long time finding the 
 hook. In reality the time she took was to be 
 gauged by seconds rather than by minutes. 
 
 "Is this the garment you desired, sir?" 
 Speaking with an affected English drawl and 
 with neither curiosity nor interest in her face, 
 the girl laid across her counter the tan-coloured 
 overcoat, one of its big smoked-pearl buttons 
 glinting dimly iridescent in the light as she 
 spread it out. 
 
 "That s it, thank you. Just one moment 
 and I ll give it back to you." 
 
 Trencher strove to throttle and succeeded 
 fairly well in throttling the eager note in his 
 voice as he took up the coat by its collar in his 
 left hand. 
 
 The fingers trembled in spite of him as he 
 thrust his right hand into the right-hand pocket. 
 Twitching and groping they closed on what was 
 hidden there a slick, cool, round, flat, thin 
 object, trade-dollar size. At the touch of the 
 thing he sought and for all, too, that he stood 
 in such perilous case, Trencher s heart jumped 
 with relief and gratification. No need for him 
 to look to make sure that he had his luck piece. 
 He knew it by its feel and its heft and its size; 
 besides the tip of one finger, sliding over its 
 smooth rimless surface, had found in the centre 
 of it the depression of the worn hole, and the 
 
 .____ 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 sensitive nerves had flashed the news to his 
 brain. He slid it into a trousers pocket and 
 passed the coat back to the girl; and almost 
 before she had restored it to its appointed 
 hook, Trencher had regained the shelter 
 of the wash room and was repossessing him 
 self of the slouch hat and the long black 
 overcoat. 
 
 Back once more to the street he made the 
 journey safely, nothing happening on the way 
 out into the November night to alarm him. 
 The winking, blinking electrically jewelled clock 
 in the sign up the street told him it was just 
 five minutes past midnight. He headed north, 
 but for a few rods only. At Fortieth Street he 
 turned west for a short block and at Seventh 
 Avenue he hailed a south-bound trolley car. 
 But before boarding the car he cast a quick 
 backward scrutiny along the route he had 
 come. Cabs moved to and fro, shuttle fashion, 
 but seemingly no pedestrians were following 
 behind him. 
 
 He was not particularly fearful of being 
 pursued. Since he had cleared out from the 
 Clarenden without mishap it was scarcely to 
 be figured that anyone would or could now be 
 shadowing him. He felt quite secure again 
 as secure as he had felt while in the locked room 
 in the Bellhaven, because now he had in his 
 custody that which gave him, in double and 
 triple measure, the sense of assurance. One 
 hand was thrust deep into his trousers pocket, 
 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 where it caressed and fondled the flat per 
 forated disk that was there. It pleased him 
 to feel the thing grow warmer under his fingers, 
 guaranteeing him against mischance. He did 
 not so much as twist his head to glance out of 
 the car window as the car passed Thirty -ninth 
 Street. 
 
 At Thirtieth Street he got off the car and 
 walked west to Silver s place. Ninth Avenue 
 was almost empty and, as compared with 
 Broadway, lay in deep shadows. The lights 
 of the bar, filtering through the filmed glass in 
 one window of Silver s, made a yellowish blur 
 in what was otherwise a row of blank, dead 
 house fronts. Above the saloon the squatty 
 three-story building was all dark, and from this 
 circumstance Trencher felt sure he had come 
 to the rendezvous before the Kid arrived. 
 Alongside the saloon door he felt his way into 
 a narrow entryway that was as black as a coal 
 bunker and went up a flight of wooden steps to 
 the second floor. At the head of the steps he 
 fumbled with his hand until he found a door 
 knob. As he knew, this door would not be 
 locked except from the inside; unless it con 
 tained occupants it was never locked. He 
 knew, too, what furniture it contained one 
 table and three or four chairs. Steering a 
 careful course to avoid bumping into the table, 
 which, as he recalled, should be in the middle 
 of the floor, he found the opposite wall and, 
 after a moment s search with his hands, a single 
 [196] 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 electric bulb set in a wall bracket. He flipped 
 on the light. 
 
 "That s right," said a voice behind him. 
 "Now that you ve got your mitts up, keep em 
 up!" 
 
 As regards the position of his hands Trencher 
 obeyed. He turned his head though, and over 
 his shoulder he looked into the middle-aged 
 face of Murtha, of the Central Office. Murtha s 
 right hand was in his coat pocket andjTrencher 
 knew that Murtha had him covered through 
 the cloth of the coat. 
 
 "Hello, Murtha," said Trencher steadily 
 enough, "what s the idea?" 
 
 "The idea is for you to stand right where 
 you are without making any breaks until I 
 get through frisking you," said Murtha. 
 
 On noiseless feet he stepped across the floor, 
 Trencher s back being still to him, and one of 
 his hands, the left one, with deft movements 
 shifted about over Trencher s trunk, searching 
 for a weapon. 
 
 "Got no gat on you, eh?" said Murtha. 
 "Well, that s good. Now then, bring your 
 hands down slow, and keep em close together. 
 That s it slow. I m taking no chances, under 
 stand, and you d better not take any either." 
 
 Again Trencher obeyed. Still standing be 
 hind him Murtha slipped his arms about 
 Trencher s middle and found first one of 
 Trencher s wrists and then the other. There 
 was a subdued clicking of steel mechanisms. 
 [ 397 ] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 "Now then," said Murtha, falling back a 
 pace or two, "I guess you can turn round if 
 you want to." 
 
 Trencher turned round. He glanced at his 
 hands, held in enforced companionship by the 
 short chain of the handcuffs, and then steadily 
 at his captor. 
 
 "Why so fussy, Murtha?" he asked in a 
 slightly contemptuous tone. " You never heard 
 of me starting any rough stuff when there was a 
 pinch coming off, did you?" 
 
 "That s true," said the detective; "but when 
 a gun s just bumped off one guy he s liable to 
 get the habit of bumping off other guys. Even 
 a swell gun like you is. So that s why I ve 
 been just a trifle particular." 
 
 "You re crazy, man! Who says I bumped 
 anybody off?" 
 
 "I do, for one," replied Murtha cheerfully. 
 "Still that s neither here nor there, unless you 
 feel like telling me all about what came off over 
 in Thirty -ninth Street to-night. 
 
 "You ve always been a safety player so far 
 as I know and I m curious to know what made 
 you start in using a cannon on folks all of a 
 sudden. At that, I might guess knowing 
 Sonntag like I did." 
 
 "I don t know what you re talking 
 about," parried Trencher. "I tell you 
 you ve got me wrong. You can t frame me 
 for something I didn t do. If somebody 
 fixed Sonntag it wasn t me. I haven t seen 
 [198] 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 him since yesterday. I m giving it to you 
 straight." 
 
 "Oh well, we won t argue that now," said 
 Murtha affably. In his manner was something 
 suggestive of the cat that has caught the king 
 of the rats. A tremendous satisfaction radiated 
 from him. "You can stall some people, son, 
 but you can t stall me. I ve got you and I ve 
 got the goods on you that s sufficient. But 
 before you and me glide down out of here 
 together and start for the front office I d like 
 to talk a little with you. Set down, why don t 
 you, and make yourself comfortable?" He 
 indicated a chair. 
 
 Trencher took the chair and Murtha, after 
 springing a catch which he found on the inner 
 side of the door, sat down in another. 
 
 "I ve got to hand it to you, Trencher," went 
 on the detective admiringly. "You sure do 
 work swift. You didn t lose much time climb 
 ing into that outfit you re wearing. How did 
 you get into it so quick? And, putting one 
 thing with another, I judge you made a good 
 fast get-away too. Say, listen, Trencher, you 
 might as well come clean with me. I ll say 
 this for Sonntag he s been overdue for a 
 croaking this long time. If I ve got to spare 
 anybody out of my life I guess it might as well 
 be him that s how I stand. He belonged to 
 the Better-Dead Club to start with, Sonntag 
 did. If it was self-defence and you can prove 
 it, I ve got no kick coming. All I want is the 
 [199] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 credit for nailing you all by my lonesome. Why 
 not slip me the whole tale now, and get it off 
 your chest? You don t crave for any of this 
 here third-degree stuff down at headquarters, 
 and neither do I. Why not spill it to me now 
 and save trouble all round?" 
 
 His tone was persuasive, wheedling, half 
 friendly. Trencher merely shook his head, 
 forcing a derisive grin to his lips. 
 
 "Can the bull, Murtha," he said. "You 
 haven t got a thing on me and you know it." 
 
 "Is that so? Well, just to play the game 
 fair, suppose I tell you some of the things 
 I ve got on you some of them. But before 
 I start I m going to tell you that your big 
 mistake was in coming back to where you d 
 left that nice new yellow overcoat of yours. 
 Interested, eh?" he said, reading the expression 
 that came into Trencher s face in spite of 
 Trencher s efforts. "All right then, I ll go on. 
 You had a good prospect of getting out of town 
 before daylight, but you chucked your chance 
 when you came back to the Clarenden a little 
 while ago. But at that I was expecting you; 
 in fact, I don t mind telling you that I was 
 standing behind some curtains not fifteen feet 
 from that check room when you showed up. I 
 could have grabbed you then, of course, but 
 just between you and me I didn t want to run 
 the risk of having to split the credit fifty-fifty 
 with any bull, in harness or out of it, that might 
 come butting in. The neighbourhood was lousy 
 [200] 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 with cops and plain-clothes men hunting for 
 whoever it was that bumped off Sonntag; 
 they re still there, I guess, hunting without 
 knowing who it is they re looking for, and 
 without having a very good description of you, 
 either. I was the only fellow that had the 
 right dope, and that came about more by acci 
 dent than anything else. So I took a chance, 
 myself. I let you get away and then I trailed 
 you in a taxi. 
 
 "All the time you was on that street car I 
 was riding along right behind you, and I came 
 up these steps here not ten feet behind you. I 
 wanted you all for myself and I ve got you all 
 by myself." 
 
 "You don t hate yourself, exactly, do you?" 
 said Trencher. "Well, without admitting any 
 thing because there s nothing to admit I d 
 like to know, if you don t mind, how you dope 
 it out that I had anything to do with Sonntag s 
 being killed that is if you re not lying about 
 him being killed?" 
 
 "I don t mind," said Murtha blithely. "It 
 makes quite a tale, but I can boil it down. I 
 wasn t on duty to-night by rights this was a 
 night off for me. I had a date at the Clarenden 
 at eleven-thirty to eat a bite with a brother-in- 
 law of mine and a couple of friends of his a 
 fellow named Simons and a fellow named 
 Parker, from Stamford. 
 
 "I judge it s Parker s benny and dicer you re 
 
 wearing now. __ 
 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 " Well, anyhow, on my way to the Clarenden 
 about an hour or so ago I butt right into the 
 middle of all the hell that s being raised over 
 this shooting in Thirty-ninth Street. One of 
 the precinct plain-clothes men that s working 
 on the case tells me a tall guy in a brown derby 
 hat and a short yellow overcoat is supposed to 
 have pulled off the job. That didn t mean 
 anything to me, and even if it had I wouldn t 
 have figured you out as having been mixed up 
 in it. Anyway, it s no lookout of mine. So I 
 goes into the Clarenden and has a rarebit and a 
 bottle of beer with my brother-in-law and the 
 others. 
 
 "About half -past eleven we all start to go, 
 and then this party, Parker, can t find his coat 
 check. He s sure he stuck it in his vest pocket 
 when he blew in, but it ain t there. We look 
 for it on the floor but it s not there, either. 
 Then all of a sudden Parker remembers that a 
 man in a brown derby, with a coat turned inside 
 out over his arm, who seemed to be in a hurry 
 about something, came into the Clarenden along 
 with him, and that a minute later in that 
 Chinese room the same fellow butts into him. 
 That gives me an idea, but I don t tell Parker 
 what s on my mind. I sends the head waiter for 
 the house detective, and when the house detec 
 tive comes I show him my badge, and on the 
 strength of that he lets me and Parker go into 
 the cloak room. Parker s hoping to find his 
 own coat and I m pretending to help him look 
 [ 202 ] " " "~ 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 for it, but what I m really looking for is a 
 brown derby hat and a short yellow coat and 
 sure enough I find em. But Parker can t find 
 his duds at all; and so in putting two and two 
 together it s easy for me to figure how the 
 switch was made. I dope it out that the fellow 
 who lifted Parker s check and traded his duds 
 for Parker s is the same fellow who fixed Sonn- 
 tag s clock. Also I ve got a pretty good line 
 on who that party is; in fact I practically as 
 good as know who it is. 
 
 "So I sends Parker and the others back to 
 the table to smoke a cigar and stick round 
 awhile, and I hang round the door keeping out 
 of sight behind them draperies where I can 
 watch the check room. Because, you see, 
 Trencher, I knew you were the guy and I knew 
 you d come back if you could get back." 
 
 He paused as though expecting a question, 
 but Trencher stayed silent and Murtha kept on. 
 
 "And now I m going to tell you how I come 
 to know you was the right party. You remem 
 ber that time about two years ago when I ran 
 you in as a suspect and down at headquarters 
 you bellyached so loud because I took a bum 
 old coin off of you? Well, when I went through 
 that yellow overcoat and found your luck piece, 
 as you call it, in the right-hand pocket, I felt 
 morally sure, knowing you like I did, that as 
 soon as you missed it you d be coming back to 
 try to find it. And sure enough you did come 
 
 back. Simple, ain t it? 
 
 f 203 ] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 "The only miscalculation I made was in 
 figuring that when you found it gone from the 
 pocket you d hang round making a hunt for it 
 on the floor or something. You didn t though. 
 I guess maybe you lost your nerve when you 
 found it wasn t in that coat pocket. Is that 
 right?" 
 
 "But I did find it!" exclaimed Trencher, 
 fairly jostled out of his pose by these last words 
 from his gloating captor. "I ve got it now!" 
 
 Murtha s hand stole into his trousers pocket 
 and fondled something there. 
 
 "What ll you bet you ve got it now?" he 
 demanded gleefully. "What ll you bet?" 
 
 "I ll bet my lifethat s all," answered 
 Trencher. "Here, I ll show you!" 
 
 He stood up. Because his wrists were 
 chained he had to twist his body sidewise before 
 he could slip one hand into his own trousers 
 pocket. 
 
 He groped in its depths and then brought 
 forth something and held it out in his palm. 
 
 The poor light of the single electric bulb 
 glinted upon an object which threw off dulled 
 translucent tints of bluish-green not a trade 
 dollar, but a big overcoat button the size of a 
 trade dollar a flat, smooth, rimless disk of 
 smoked pearl with a tiny depression in the 
 middle where the thread holes went through. 
 For a little space of time both of them with 
 their heads bent forward contemplated it. 
 
 Then with a flirt of his manacled hands 
 " [204] 
 
THE LUCK PIECE 
 
 Trencher flung it away from him, and with a 
 sickly pallor of fright and surrender stealing 
 up under the skin of his cheeks he stared at the 
 detective. 
 
 "You win, Murtha," he said dully. " What s 
 the use bucking the game after your luck is 
 gone? Come on, let s go down-town. Yes, I 
 bumped off Sonntag." 
 
 [205] 
 
CHAPTER V 
 QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 IN OUR town formerly there were any 
 number of negro children named for 
 Caucasian friends of their parents. Some 
 bore for their names the names of old 
 masters of the slavery time, masters who had 
 been kindly and gracious and whose memories 
 thereby were affectionately perpetuated; these 
 were mainly of a generation now growing into 
 middle age. Others I am speaking still of the 
 namesakes, not of the original bearers of the 
 names had been christened with intent to do 
 honour to indulgent and well-remembered em 
 ployers of post-bellum days. Thus it might 
 befall, for example, that Wadsworth Junius 
 Courtney, Esquire, would be a prominent 
 advocate practicing at the local bar and that 
 Wadsworth Junius Courtney Jones, of colour, 
 would be his janitor and sweep out his office 
 for him. Yet others had been named after 
 white children and soon after for the reason 
 that the white children had been given first 
 names having a fine, full, sonorous sound or else 
 
 a fascinatingly novel sound. 
 
 [206] " 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 Of these last there were instances amounting 
 in the aggregate to a small host. 
 
 I seem to remember, for example, that once a 
 pink girl-mite came into the world by way of a 
 bedroom in a large white house on Tilghman 
 Avenue and was at the baptismal font sen 
 tenced for life to bear the Christian name of 
 Rowena Hildegarde. 
 
 Or is Rowena Hildegarde a Christian name? 
 
 At any rate, within twelve months time, 
 there were to be found in more crowded and less 
 affluent quarters of our thriving little city four 
 more Rowena Hildegardes, of tender years, or 
 rather, tender months two black ones, one 
 chrome-yellow one, and one sepia-brown one. 
 
 But so far as the available records show there 
 was but one white child in our town who bore 
 for its name, bestowed upon it with due knowl 
 edge of the fact and with deliberate intent, the 
 name of a person of undoubted African descent. 
 However, at this stage to reveal the circum 
 stances governing this phenomenon would be 
 to run ahead of our tale and to precipitate its 
 climax before the groundwork were laid for its 
 premise. Most stories should start at the 
 beginning. This one must. 
 
 From round the left-hand corner of the house 
 came with a sudden blare the sound of melody 
 words and music growing steadily louder as 
 the unseen singer drew nearer. The music 
 was a lusty, deep-volumed camp-meeting air, 
 [207] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 with long-drawn quavers and cadences in it. 
 The words were as follows: 
 
 Had a lovin 9 mother, 
 
 Been climbin 9 up de hill so long; 
 
 She been hopin git to heaben in due time 
 
 Befo 9 dem heaben do s close! 
 
 And then the chorus, voicing first a passionate 
 entreaty, then rising in the final bars to a great 
 exultant shout: 
 
 Den chain dot lion down, Good Lawd! 
 Den chain dot lion down! 
 
 Oh, please! 
 
 Good Lawd, done chained dot lion down! 
 Done chained dot deadly lion down! 
 
 Glor-e-e-e! 
 
 The singer, still singing, issued into view, limp 
 ing slightly a wizen woman, coal-black and 
 old, with a white cloth bound about her head, 
 turban fashion, and a man s battered straw hat 
 resting jauntily upon the knotted kerchief. 
 Her calico frock was voluminous, unshapely 
 and starch-clean. Her under lip was shoved 
 forward as though permanently twisted into 
 a spout-shape by the task of holding something 
 against the gums of her lower front teeth, and 
 from one side of her mouth protruded a bit of 
 wood with the slivered bark on it. One versed 
 in the science of forestry might have recognised 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 the little stub of switch as a peach-tree switch; 
 one bred of the soil would have known its pur 
 pose. Neither puckered-out lip nor peach-tree 
 twig seemed to interfere in the least with her 
 singing. She flung the song out past them 
 over the lip, round the twig. 
 
 With her head thrown away back, her hands 
 resting on her bony hips, and her feet clunking 
 inside a pair of boys shoes too large for her, 
 she, crossed the lawn at an angle. In all things 
 about her in her gait, despite its limp, in her 
 pose, her figure there was something masterful, 
 something dominating, something tremendously 
 proud. Considering her sparseness of bulk she 
 had a most astoundingly big strong voice, and 
 in the voice as in the strut was arrogant pride. 
 
 She crossed the yard and let herself out of a 
 side gate opening upon an empty side street 
 and went out of sight and ultimately out of 
 hearing down the side street in the hot sunshine 
 of the late afternoon. But before she was out 
 of hearing she had made it plain that not only 
 a loving mother and a loving father, but like 
 wise a loving brother and a loving sister, a loving 
 nephew and a loving uncle, a loving grand 
 mother and divers other loving relatives had 
 all been engaged in the hill-climbing pilgrimage 
 along a lion-guarded path. 
 
 The hush that succeeded her departure was 
 a profound hush; indeed, by comparison with 
 the clamorous outburst that had gone before 
 it seemed almost ghastly. Not even the 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 shrieks of the caucusing blue jays that might 
 now be heard in the oak trees upon the lawn, 
 where they were holding one of their excited 
 powwows, served to destroy the illusion that a 
 dead quiet had descended upon a spot lately 
 racked by loud sounds. The well-dressed 
 young man who had been listening with the air 
 of one intent on catching and memorising the 
 air, settled back in the hammock in which he 
 was stretched behind the thick screen of vines 
 that covered the wide front porch of the house. 
 
 "The estimable Aunt Charlotte appears to be 
 in excellent voice and spirits to-day," he said 
 with a wry smile. "I don t know that I ever 
 heard her when her top notes carried farther 
 than they did just now." 
 
 The slender black-haired girl who sat along 
 side him in a porch chair winced. 
 
 "It s perfectly awful I know it," she 
 lamented. "I suppose if Mildred and I have 
 asked her once not to carry on like that here 
 at the front of the house we ve asked her a 
 hundred times. It s bad enough to have her 
 whooping like a wild Indian in the kitchen. 
 But it never seems to do any good." 
 
 "Why don t you try getting rid of her alto 
 gether as a remedy?" suggested the young man. 
 
 "Get rid of Aunt Sharley! Why, Harvey- 
 why, Mr. Winslow, I mean we couldn t do 
 that! Why, Aunt Sharley has always been 
 in our family ! Why, she s just like one of us 
 
 just like our own flesh and blood! Why, 
 
 __ _.. 
 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 she used to belong to my Grandmother Helm 
 before the war " 
 
 "I see," he said dryly, breaking in on her. 
 "She used to belong to your grandmother, and 
 now you belong to her. The plan of ownership 
 has merely been reversed, that s all. Tell me, 
 Miss Emmy Lou, how does it feel to be a 
 human chattel, with no prospect of emanci 
 pation?" Then catching the hurt look on her 
 flushed face he dropped his raillery and has 
 tened to make amends. "Well, never mind. 
 You re the sweetest slave girl I ever met I 
 guess you re the sweetest one that ever lived. 
 Besides, she s gone probably won t be back 
 for half an hour or so. Don t hitch your chair 
 away from me I ve got something very 
 important that I want to tell you in confi 
 dence. It concerns you and somebody else. 
 It concerns me and somebody else and yet only 
 two persons are concerned in it." 
 
 He was wrong about the time, however, 
 truthful as he may have been in asserting his 
 desire to deal confidentially with important 
 topics. Inside of ten minutes, which to him 
 seemed no more than a minute, seeing that he 
 was in love and time always speeds fast for a 
 lover with his sweetheart, the old black woman 
 came hurrying back up the side street, and 
 turned in at the side gate and retraversed the 
 lawn to the back of the old house, giving the 
 vine-screened porch a swift searching look as 
 she hobbled past its corner. 
 
 _ fiTTj 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 Her curiosity, if so this scrutiny was to be 
 interpreted, carried her further. In a minute 
 or two she suddenly poked her head out through 
 the open front door. She had removed her 
 damaged straw headgear, but still wore her 
 kerchief. Hastily and guiltily the young man 
 released his hold upon a slim white hand which 
 somehow had found its way inside his own. 
 The sharp eyes of the old negress snapped. 
 She gave a grunt as she withdrew her head. It 
 was speedily to develop, though, that she had 
 not entirely betaken herself away. Almost 
 immediately there came to the ears of the 
 couple the creak-creak of a rocking-chair just 
 inside the hall, but out of view from their end 
 of the porch. 
 
 "Make the old beldam go away, won t you?" 
 whispered the man, 
 
 "I ll try," she whispered back rather ner 
 vously. Then, raising her voice, she called out 
 in slightly strained, somewhat artificial voice, 
 which to the understanding of the annoyed 
 young man in the hammock appeared to have 
 almost a suggestion of apprehension in it: 
 
 "Is is that you, Aunt Sharley?" 
 
 The answer was little more than a grunt. 
 
 "Well, Aunt Sharley, hadn t you better be 
 seeing about supper?" 
 
 "Num mine bout supper. Ise tendin to de 
 supper. Ise bound de supper ll be ready fo 
 you two chillens is ready fur to eat it." 
 
 Within, the chair continued to creak steadily. 
 [212] 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 The girl spread out her hands with a gesture 
 of helplessness. 
 
 "You see how it is/ she explained under her 
 breath. "Auntie is so set in her ways!" 
 
 "And she s so set in that rocking-chair too," 
 he retorted grimly. Saying what he said next, 
 he continued to whisper, but in his whisper was 
 a suggestion of the proprietorial tone. Also 
 for the first time in his life he addressed her 
 without the prefix of Miss before her name. 
 This affair plainly was progressing rapidly, 
 despite the handicaps of a withered black 
 duenna in the immediate offing. 
 
 "Emmy Lou," he said, "please try again. 
 Go in there yourself and speak to her. Be firm 
 with her for once. Make her get away from 
 that door. She makes me nervous. Don t be 
 afraid of the old nuisance. This is your house, 
 isn t it yours and your sister s? Well, then, 
 I thought Southerners knew how to handle 
 darkies. If you can handle this one, suppose 
 you give me a small proof of the fact right 
 now!" 
 
 Reluctantly, as though knowing beforehand 
 what the outcome would be, Emmy Lou stood 
 up, revealing herself as a straight dainty figure 
 in white. She entered the door. Outside in 
 the hammock Harvey strained his ears to hear 
 the dialogue. His sweetheart s voice came to 
 him only in a series of murmurs, but for him 
 there was no difficulty about distinguishing the 
 replies, for the replies were pitched in a strident, 
 [213] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 belligerent key which carried almost to the 
 yard fence. From them he was able to guess 
 with the utmost accuracy just what arguments 
 against the presence of the negress the girl was 
 making. This, then, was what he heard: 
 
 " . . . Now, Mizz Emmy Lou, you mout 
 jes ez well hush up an save yore breath. You 
 knows an I knows, even ef he don t know it, 
 dat tain t proper fur no young man to be 
 cotein a young lady right out on a front po ch 
 widout no chaperoner bein clost by. Quality 
 folks don t do sech ez dat. Dat s why I taken 
 my feet in my hand an come hurryin back 
 yere f um dat grocery sto where I d done went 
 to git a bottle of lemon extractors. I seen yore 
 sister settin in dat Mistah B. Weil s candy sto , 
 drinkin ice-cream sody wid a passel of young 
 folks, an by dat I realise I d done lef you lone 
 in dis house wid a young man dat s a stranger 
 yere, an so I come right back. And yere I is, 
 honey, and yere I stays. . . . Whut s dat you 
 sayin ? DegenTmanobjec s? He do, do he?" 
 The far-carrying voice rose shrilly and scorn 
 fully. "Well, let him! Dat s his privilege. 
 Jes let him keep on objectin long ez he s a 
 mind to. Tain t gwine fluence me none. . . . 
 I don t keer none ef he do heah me. Mebbe it 
 mout do him some good ef he do heah me. 
 Hit ll do him good, too, ef he heed me, I lay to 
 dat. Mebbe he ain t been raised de way we 
 is down yere. Ef so, dat s his misfortune." 
 The voice changed. "Whut would yore pore 
 [214] 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 daid mother say ef she knowed I wuz neglectin 
 my plain duty to you two lone chillen? Think 
 I gwine run ary chancet of havin you two gals 
 talked about by all de low-down pore w ite 
 trash scandalisers in dis town? Well, I ain t, 
 an dat s flat. No, sir-ree, honey! You mout 
 jes ez well run long back out dere on dat front 
 po ch, ca se I m tellin you I ain t gwine stir 
 nary inch f um whar I is twell yore sister git 
 back yere." 
 
 Beaten and discomfited, with one hand up to 
 a burning cheek, Emmy Lou returned to her 
 young man. On his face was a queer smile. 
 
 "Did did you hear what she said?" she 
 asked, bending over him. 
 
 "Not being deaf I couldn t well help hearing. 
 I imagine the people next door heard it, too, 
 and are no doubt now enjoying the joke of it." 
 
 "Oh, I know she s impossible," admitted 
 Emmy Lou, repeating her lament of a little 
 while before, but taking care even in her morti 
 fication to keep her voice discreetly down. 
 "There s no use trying to do anything with her. 
 We ve tried and tried and tried, but she just will 
 have her way. She doesn t seem to understand 
 that we ve grown up Mildred and I. She 
 still wants to boss us just as she did when we 
 were children. And she grows more crotchety 
 and more exacting every day." 
 
 "And I poor benighted Yank that I am 
 came down here filled with a great and burning 
 sympathy for the down-trodden African." 
 [215] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 Harvey said this as though speaking to 
 himself. 
 
 The girl forgot her annoyance in her in 
 stinct to come to the defence of her black 
 mentor. 
 
 "Oh, but she has been like a mother to us! 
 After mamma died I don t know what we should 
 have done two girls left alone in this old 
 house if it hadn t been for Aunt Sharley. 
 She petted us, she protected us, she nursed us 
 when we were sick. Why, Harvey, she couldn t 
 have been more loyal or more devoted or more 
 self-sacrificing than she has been through all 
 these years while we were growing up. I know 
 she loves us with every drop of blood in her 
 veins. I know she d work her fingers to the 
 bone for us that she d die in her tracks fighting 
 for us. We try to remember the debt of grati 
 tude we owe her now that she s getting old and 
 fussy and unreasonable and all crippled with 
 rheumatism." 
 
 She paused, and then, womanlike, she added 
 a qualifying clause: "But I must admit she s 
 terribly aggravating at times. It s almost 
 unbearable to have her playing the noisy old 
 tyrant day in and day out. I get awfully out 
 of patience with her." 
 
 Over on Franklin Street the town clock 
 struck. 
 
 "Six o clock," said Harvey. Reluctantly he 
 stirred and sat up in the hammock and reached 
 
 for his hat. 
 
 [216] 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 "I could be induced, you know, if sufficiently 
 pressed, to stay on for supper," he hinted. For 
 one Northern born, young Mr. Harvey Winslow 
 was fast learning the hospitable customs of the 
 town of his recent adoption. 
 
 "I d love to have you stay," stated Emmy 
 Lou, "but but" she glanced over her shoul 
 der toward the open door "but I m afraid of 
 Auntie. She might say she wasn t prepared to 
 entertain a visitor not fixed fur company* is 
 the way she would put it. You see, she regards 
 you as a person of great importance. That s 
 why she s putting on so many airs now. If it 
 was one of the home boys that I ve known 
 always that was here with me she wouldn t 
 mind it a bit. But with you it s different, and 
 she s on her dignity riding her high horse. 
 You aren t very much disappointed, are you? 
 Besides, you re coming to supper to-morrow 
 night. She ll fuss over you then, I know, and 
 be on tiptoe to see that everything is just 
 exactly right. I think Auntie likes you." 
 
 "Curious way she has of showing it then," 
 said Harvey. "I guess I still have a good deal 
 to learn about the quaint and interesting tribal 
 customs of this country. Even so, my educa 
 tion is progressing by leaps and bounds I can 
 see that." 
 
 After further remarks delivered in a confi 
 dential undertone, the purport of which is none 
 of our business, young Mr. Winslow took his 
 
 departure from the Dabney homestead. Simul- 
 
 ___.. 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 taneously the vigilant warder abandoned her 
 post in the front hall and returned to her special 
 domain at the back of the house. Left alone, 
 the girl sat on the porch with her troubled face 
 cupped in her hands and a furrow of perplexity 
 spoiling her smooth white brow. Presently the 
 gate latch clicked and her sister, a year and a 
 half her junior, came up the walk. With half 
 an eye anyone would have known them for 
 sisters. They looked alike, which is another 
 way of saying both of them were pretty and 
 slim and quick in their movements. 
 
 "Hello, sis," said Mildred by way of greeting. 
 She dropped into a chair, smoothing down the 
 front of her white middy blouse and fanning 
 her flushed face with the broad ends of her 
 sailor tie. Then observing her sister s despon 
 dent attitude: "What are you in the dumps 
 about? Has that new beau of yours turned out 
 a disappointment? Or what?" 
 
 In a passionate little burst Emmy Lou s 
 simmering indignation boiled up and over 
 flowed. 
 
 "Oh, it s Aunt Sharley again! Honestly, 
 Mil, she was absolutely unbearable this evening. 
 It was bad enough to have her go stalking across 
 the lawn with that old snuff stick of hers stuck 
 in the corner of her mouth, and singing that 
 terrible song of hers at the very top of her lungs 
 and wearing that scandalous old straw hat 
 stuck up on her topknot that was bad enough, 
 goodness knows! I don t know what sort of 
 [218] " 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 people Har Mr. Winslow thinks we must be! 
 But that was only the beginning." 
 
 Followed a recapitulation of the greater 
 grievance against the absent offender. Before 
 Emmy Lou was done baring the burden of her 
 complaint Mildred s lips had tightened in 
 angered sympathy. 
 
 "It must have been just perfectly awfully 
 horrible, Em," she said with a characteristic 
 prodigality of adjectives when the other had 
 finished her recital. "You just ought to give 
 Aunt Sharley a piece of your mind about the 
 way she behaves. And the worst of it is she 
 gets worse all the time. Don t you think 
 you re the only one she picks on. Why, don t 
 you remember, Em, how just here only the 
 other day she jumped on me because I went on 
 the moonlight excursion aboard the Sophie K. 
 Foster with Sidney Baumann? told me right 
 to my face I ought to be spanked and put to 
 bed for daring to run round with codfish 
 aristocracy the very words she used. What 
 right has she, I want to know, to be criticising 
 Sidney Baumann s people? I m sure he s as 
 nice a boy as there is in this whole town; seems 
 to me he deserves all the more credit for work 
 ing his way up among the old families the way 
 he has. I don t care if his father was a nobody 
 in this town when he first came here. 
 
 "Quality folks quality folks! She s always 
 preaching about our being quality folks and 
 about it being wrong for us to demean our- 
 
 ~ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 selves by going with anybody who isn t quality 
 folks until I m sick and tired of the words. 
 She has quality folks on the brain! Does she 
 think we are still babies? You re nearly 
 twenty-three and I m past twenty-one. We 
 
 have our own lives to live. Why should we 
 b e so " 
 
 She broke off at the sound of a limping foot 
 step in the hall. 
 
 "Supper s ready," announced Aunt Sharley 
 briefly. "You chillen come right in an eat it 
 whilst it s hot." 
 
 Strangely quiet, the two sisters followed the 
 old negress back to the dining room. Aunt 
 Sharley, who had prepared the meal, now 
 waited upon them. She was glumly silent 
 herself, but occasionally she broke, or rather 
 she punctuated, the silence with little sniffs of 
 displeasure. Only once did she speak, and 
 this was at the end of the supper, when 
 she had served them with blackberries and 
 cream. 
 
 "Seem lak de cat done got ever body s tongue 
 round dis place to-night!" she snapped, address 
 ing the blank wall above the older girl s head. 
 "Well, tain t no use fur nobody to be poutin 
 an sullin . Tain t gwine do em no good. 
 Tain t gwine budge me nary hair s brea th frum 
 whut I considers to be my plain duty. Ef 
 folkses don t lak it so much de wuss fur dem, 
 present company not excepted. Dat s my say 
 
 an I done said it!" 
 
 [220] 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 And out of the room she marched with her 
 head held defiantly high. 
 
 That night there were callers. At the 
 Dabney home there nearly always were callers 
 of an evening, for the two sisters were by way 
 of being what small-town society writers call 
 reigning belles. Once, when they had first 
 returned from finishing school the year before, 
 a neighbouring lady, meeting Aunt Sharley on 
 the street, had been moved to ask whether the 
 girls had many beaus, and Aunt Sharley, with 
 a boastful flirt of her under lip which made her 
 side face look something like the profile of a 
 withered but vainglorious dromedary, had 
 answered back: 
 
 "Beaus? Huh! Dem chillens is got beaus 
 frum ever state!" Which was a slight over 
 stretching of the real facts, but a perfectly 
 pardonable and proper exaggeration in Aunt 
 Charlotte s estimation. At home she might 
 make herself a common scold, might be pes 
 tiferously officious and more than pestiferously 
 noisy. Abroad her worshipful pride in, and 
 her affection for, the pair she had reared shone 
 through her old black face as though a lamp 
 of many candle power burned within her. She 
 might chide them at will, and she did, holding 
 this to be her prerogative and her right, but 
 whosoever spoke slightingly of either of them in 
 her presence, be the speaker black or white, had 
 Aunt Charlotte to fight right there on the spot; 
 she was as ready with her fists and her teeth to 
 [221] ~" "" 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 assert the right of her white wards to immunity 
 from criticism as she was with her tongue 
 lashings. 
 
 These things were all taken into consideration 
 when Emmy Lou and Mildred came that night 
 to balance the account for and against the old 
 woman so many, many deeds of thoughtful- 
 ness, of kindness, of tenderness on the credit 
 side; so many flagrant faults, so many short 
 comings of temper and behaviour on the debit 
 page. The last caller had gone. Aunt Sharley, 
 after making the rounds of the house to see to 
 door boltings and window latchings, had 
 hobbled upstairs to her own sleeping quarters 
 over the kitchen wing, and in the elder sister s 
 room, with the lights turned low, the two of 
 them sat in their nightgowns on the side of 
 Emmy Lou s bed and tried the case of Spinster 
 Charlotte Helm, coloured, in the scales of their 
 own youthful judgments. Without exactly 
 being able to express the situation in words, 
 both realised that a condition which verged 
 upon the intolerable was fast approaching its 
 climax. 
 
 Along with the impatience of youth and the 
 thought of many grievances they had within 
 them a natural instinct for fairness; a legacy 
 perhaps from a father who had been just and a 
 mother who had been mercifully kind and 
 gentle. First one would play the part of 
 devil s advocate, the while the other defended 
 the accused, and then at the remembrance of 
 [222 ] 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 some one of a long record of things done or 
 said by Aunt Sharley those attitudes would 
 be reversed. 
 
 There were times when both condemned the 
 defendant, their hair braids bobbing in em 
 phasis of the intensity of their feelings; times 
 when together they conjured up recollections 
 of the everlasting debt that they owed her for 
 her manifold goodnesses, her countless sacrifices 
 on behalf of them. The average Northerner, 
 of whatsoever social status, would have been 
 hard put to it either to comprehend the true 
 inwardness of the relationship that existed 
 between these girls of one race and this old 
 woman of another or to figure how there could 
 i>e but one outcome. The average Southerner 
 would have been able at once to sense the senti 
 ments and the prejudices underlying the dilem 
 ma that now confronted the orphaned pair, 
 and to sympathise with them, and with the 
 old negress too. 
 
 To begin with, there were the fine things to 
 be said for Aunt Charlotte; the arguments in her 
 behalf a splendid long golden list of them 
 stretching back to their babyhood and beyond, 
 binding them with ties stronger almost than 
 blood ties to this faithful, loving, cantankerous, 
 crotchety old soul. Aunt Charlotte had been 
 born in servitude, the possession of their 
 mother s mother. She had been their mother s 
 handmaiden before their mother s marriage. 
 Afterward she had been their own nurse, 
 [ 223 ] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 cradling them in babyhood on her black breast, 
 spoiling them, training them, ruling them, 
 overruling them, too, coddling them when they 
 were good, nursing them when they were ailing, 
 scolding them and punishing them when they 
 misbehaved. 
 
 After their father s death their mother, then 
 an invalid, had advised as frequently with 
 Aunt Sharley regarding the rearing of the two 
 daughters as with the guardians who had been 
 named in her husband s will and with as 
 satisfactory results. Before his death their 
 father had urged his wife to counsel with Aunt 
 Sharley in all domestic emergencies. Dying, 
 he had signified his affectionate regard for the 
 black woman by leaving her a little cottage with 
 its two acres of domain near the railroad tracks. 
 Regardless though of the fact that she was now 
 a landed proprietor and thereby exalted before 
 the eyes of her own race, Aunt Sharley had 
 elected to go right on living beneath the Dabney 
 roof. In the latter years of Mrs. Dabney s life 
 she had been to all intents a copartner in the 
 running of the house, and after that sweet lady s 
 death she had been its manager in all regards. 
 In the simple economies of the house she had 
 indeed been all things for these past few years 
 housekeeper, cook, housemaid, even seamstress, 
 for in addition to being a poetess with a cook- 
 stove she was a wizard with a needle. 
 
 As they looked back now, casting up the 
 tally of the remembered years, neither Emmy 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 Lou nor Mildred could recall an event in all 
 their lives in which the half-savage, half- 
 childish, altogether shrewd and competent 
 negress had not figured after some fashion or 
 other: as foster parent, as unofficial but none 
 the less capable guardian, as confidante, as 
 overseer, as dictator, as tirewoman who never 
 tired of well-doing, as arbiter of big things and 
 little all these roles, and more, too, she had 
 played to them, not once, but a thousand times. 
 It was Aunt Sharley who had dressed them 
 for their first real party not a play-party, as 
 the saying went down our way, but a regular 
 dancing party, corresponding to a debut in some 
 more ostentatious and less favoured commu 
 nities. It was Aunt Sharley who had skimped 
 and scrimped to make the available funds cover 
 the necessary expenses of the little household 
 in those two or three lean years succeeding 
 their mother s death, when dubious invest 
 ments, which afterward turned out to be good 
 ones, had chiseled a good half off their income 
 from the estate. It was Aunt Sharley who, 
 when the question of going away to boarding 
 school rose, had joined by invitation in the 
 conference on ways and means with the girls 
 guardians, Judge Priest and Doctor Lake, 
 and had cast her vote and her voice in favour 
 of the same old-fashioned seminary that their 
 mother in her girlhood had attended. The 
 sisters themselves had rather favoured an 
 Eastern establishment as being more fashion- 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 able and smarter, but the old woman stood 
 fast in her advocacy of the other school. What 
 had been good enough for her beloved mistress 
 was good enough for her mistress daughters, 
 she insisted; and, anyhow, hadn t the quality 
 folks always gone there? Promptly Doctor 
 Lake and Judge Priest sided with her; and so 
 she had her way about this important matter, 
 as she had it about pretty much everything 
 else. 
 
 It was Aunt Sharley who had indignantly 
 and jealously vetoed the suggestion that a 
 mulatto sewing woman, famed locally for her 
 skill, should be hired to assist in preparing the 
 wardrobes that Emmy Lou and Mildred must 
 take with them. It was Aunt Sharley who, 
 when her day s duties were over, had sat up 
 night after night until all hours, straining her 
 eyes as she plied needle and scissors, basting 
 and hemming until she herself was satisfied 
 that her chillen s clothes would be as ample and 
 as ornate as the clothes which any two girls 
 at the boarding school possibly could be ex 
 pected to have. It was Aunt Sharley who 
 packed their trunks for them, who kissed them 
 good-by at the station, all three of them being 
 in tears, and who, when the train had vanished 
 down the tracks to the southward, had gone 
 back to the empty house, there to abide until 
 they came home to her again. They had 
 promised to write to her every week and 
 they had, too, except when they were too busy 
 [ 226] 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 or when they forgot it. Finally, it was Aunt 
 Sharley who never let them forget that their 
 grandfather had been a governor of the state, 
 that their father had been a colonel in the Con 
 federacy, and that they were qualified "to hole 
 up they haids wid de fines in de land." 
 
 When they came to this phase of the recapi 
 tulation there sprang into the minds of both of 
 them a recollection of that time years and 
 years in the past when Aunt Sharley, accom 
 panying them on a Sunday-school picnic in the 
 capacity of nursemaid, had marred the fes 
 tivities by violently snatching Mildred out of a 
 circle playing King Willyum was King James 
 Son just as the child was about to be kissed by a 
 knickerbockered admirer who failed to measure 
 up to Aunt Sharley s jealous requirements 
 touching on quality folks; and, following this, 
 had engaged in a fight with the disappointed 
 little boy s coloured attendant, who resented 
 this slur upon the social standing of her small 
 charge. Aunt Sharley had come off victor in 
 the bout, but the picnic had been spoiled for at 
 least three youngsters. So much for Aunt 
 Sharley s virtues for her loyalty, her devotion, 
 her unremitting faithfulness, her championship 
 of their destinies, her stewardship over all their 
 affairs. Now to turn the shield round and con 
 sider its darker side: 
 
 Aunt Sharley was hardly a fit candidate for 
 canonisation yet. Either it was too early for 
 that or it was too late. She was unreasonable, 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 she was crotchety, she was contentious, she 
 was incredibly intolerant of the opinions of 
 others, and she was incredibly hardheaded. 
 She had always been masterful and arrogant; 
 now more and more each day she was becoming 
 a shrew and a tyrant and a wrangler. She was 
 frightfully noisy; she clarioned her hallelujah 
 hymns at the top of her voice, regardless of 
 what company might be in the house. She 
 dipped snuff openly before friends of the girls 
 and new acquaintances alike. She refused 
 point-blank to wear a cap and apron when 
 serving meals. She was forever quarrelling 
 with the neighbours servants, with delivery 
 boys, with marketmen and storekeepers. By 
 sheer obstinacy she defeated all their plans for 
 hiring a second servant, declaring that if they 
 dared bring another darky on the place she 
 would take pleasure in scalding the interloper 
 with a kettle of boiling water. She sat in self- 
 imposed judgment upon their admirers, ruth 
 lessly rejecting those courtiers who did not 
 measure up to her arbitrary standards for 
 appraising the local aristocracy; and toward 
 such of the young squires as fell under the ban 
 of her disfavour she deported herself in such 
 fashion as to leave in their minds no doubt 
 whatsoever regarding her hostility. In public 
 she praised her wards ; in private she alternately 
 scolded and petted them. She was getting 
 more feeble, now that age and infirmities were 
 coming upon her, wherefore the house showed 
 " [228 ] ~ " 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 the lack of proper care. They were afraid of 
 her, though they loved her with all their hearts 
 and knew she loved them to the exclusion of 
 every living person; they were apprehensive 
 always of her frequent and unrestrained out 
 breaks of temper. She shamed them and she 
 humiliated them and she curbed them in per 
 fectly natural impulses impulses that to them 
 seemed perfectly proper also. 
 
 Small enough were these faults when set up 
 alongside the tally of her goodnesses ; moreover, 
 neither of the two rebels against her authority 
 was lacking in gratitude. But it is the small 
 things that are most annoying usually, and, 
 besides, the faults of the old woman were things 
 now of daily occurrence and recurrence, which 
 chafed their nerves and fretted them, whereas 
 the passage of time was lessening the senti 
 mental value of her earlier labours and sacrifices 
 in their behalf. 
 
 And here was another thing: While they had 
 been getting older Aunt Sharley had been 
 getting old; they had grown up, overnight, as 
 it were, and she could not be made to compre 
 hend the fact. In their case the eternal conflict 
 between youth and crabbed age was merely 
 being repeated with the addition in this par 
 ticular instance of unusual complications. 
 
 For an hour or more the perplexed pair 
 threshed away, striving to winnow the chaff 
 from the pure grain in Aunt Sharley s nature, 
 and the upshot was that Emmy Lou had a 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 headache and Mildred had a little spell of 
 crying, and they agreed that never had there 
 been such a paradox of part saint and part 
 sinner, part black ogre and part black angel, as 
 their Auntie was, created into a troubled world, 
 and that something should be done to remedy 
 the evil, provided it could be done without 
 grievously hurting the old woman s feelings; 
 but just what this something which should be 
 done might be neither of them could decide, 
 and so they went to bed and to sleep. 
 
 And the next day was another day exactly 
 similar in its petty annoyances to the day 
 before. 
 
 But a day was to come before the summer 
 ended when a way out was found. The person 
 who found the way out or thought he did 
 was Mr. Harvey Winslow, the hero or villain 
 of the hammock episode previously described 
 in this narrative. He did not venture, though, 
 to suggest a definite course of action until after 
 a certain moonlit, fragrant night, when two 
 happy young people agreed that thereafter 
 these twain should be one. 
 
 Mildred knew already what was impending 
 in the romance of Emmy Lou. So perhaps did 
 Aunt Sharley. Her rheumatism had not affect 
 ed her eyesight and she had all her faculties. 
 All the same, it was to Aunt Sharley that 
 Emmy Lou went next morning to tell of the 
 choice she had made. There was no one whose 
 consent had actually to be obtained. Both 
 [ 230 ] 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 the girls were of age; as their own master they 
 enjoyed the use and control of their cosy little 
 inheritance. Except for an aunt who lived 
 in New Orleans and some cousins scattered over 
 the West, they were without kindred. The 
 Dabneys had been an old family, but not a 
 large one. Nevertheless, in obedience to a 
 feeling that told her Aunt Sharley should be 
 the first, next only to her sister, to share with 
 her the happiness that had come into her life, 
 Emmy Lou sought out the old woman before 
 breakfast time. 
 
 Seemingly Aunt Sharley approved. For if 
 at the moment she mumbled out a complaint 
 about chillens too young to know their own 
 minds being prone to fly off with the first young 
 w ite genTman that came along frum nobody 
 knowed whar, still there was nothing begrudged 
 or forced about the vocal jubilations with which 
 she made the house ring during the succeeding 
 week. At prayer meeting on Wednesday night 
 at Zion Coloured Baptist Church and at lodge 
 meeting on Friday night she bore herself with 
 an air of triumphant haughtiness which sorely 
 irked her fellow members. It was agreed 
 privily that Sis Charlotte Helm got mo and 
 mo bigotty, and not alone that, but mo* and 
 mo uppety, ever day she lived. 
 
 If young Mr. Winslow had been, indirectly, 
 
 the cause for her pridef ul deportment before her 
 
 own colour, it was likewise Mr. Winslow who 
 
 shortly was to be the instrument for humbling 
 
 [231] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 her into the dust. Now this same Mr. Winslow, 
 it should be stated, was a masterful young man. 
 Only an abiding sense of humour kept him 
 sometimes from being domineering. Along 
 with divers other qualities it had taken master 
 fulness for him at twenty-nine to be superin 
 tendent of our street-railway system, now 
 owned and operated by Northern capitalists. 
 Likewise it had taken masterfulness for him to 
 distance the field of Emmy Lou s local ad 
 mirers within the space of five short months 
 after he procured his transfer to our town 
 from another town where his company likewise 
 had traction interests. He showed the same 
 trait in the stand he presently took with 
 regard to the future status of Aunt Sharley 
 in the household of which he was to become a 
 member and of which he meant to be the head. 
 
 For moral support which she very seriously 
 felt she needed Emmy Lou took her sister 
 with her on the afternoon when she invaded the 
 kitchen to break the news to Aunt Sharley. 
 The girls came upon the old woman in one of 
 her busiest moments. She was elbows deep 
 in a white mass which in due time would be 
 come a batch of the hot biscuits of perfection. 
 "Auntie," began Emmy Lou in a voice which 
 she tried to make matter-of-fact, "we ve I ve 
 something I want to say to you." 
 
 "Ise lissenin , chile," stated the old woman 
 shortly. 
 
 "It s this way, Auntie: We think I mean 
 " [232] 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 we re afraid that you re getting along so in 
 life getting so old that we " 
 
 "Who say Ise gittin ole?" demanded Aunt 
 Sharley, and she jerked her hands out of the 
 dough she was kneading. 
 
 "We both think so I mean we all think so," 
 corrected Emmy Lou. 
 
 "Who do you mean by we all? Does you 
 mean dat young Mistah Winslow, Esquire, 
 late of de North?" Her blazing eyes darted 
 from the face of one sister to the face of the 
 other, reading their looks. "Uh-huh!" she 
 snorted. "I mout a knowed he d be de ver 
 one to come puttin sech notions ez dem in you 
 chillens haids. Well, ma am, an whut, pray, 
 do he want?" Her words fairly dripped with 
 sarcasm. 
 
 "He thinks in fact we all three do that 
 because you are getting along in years you 
 know you are, Auntie and because your 
 rheumatism bothers you so much at times 
 that that well, perhaps that we should make 
 a change in the running of the house. So 
 so " She hesitated, then broke off alto 
 gether, anxious though she was to make an end 
 to what she foresaw must be a painful scene for 
 all three of them. Poor Emmy Lou was finding 
 this job which she had nerved herself to carry 
 through a desperately hard job. And Aunt 
 Sharley s attitude was not making it any easier 
 for her either. 
 
 " So whut?" snapped Aunt Sharley; then 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 answered herself: "An so de wind blow frum 
 dat quarter, do hit? De young genTman ain t 
 j ined de fambly yit an already he s settin 
 hisse f to run it. All right den. Go on, chile 
 quit mumblin up yore words an please go on 
 an tell me whut you got to say! But ef you s 
 fixin to bring up de subjec of my lettin ary 
 one of dese yere young flighty -haided, flibberti- 
 gibbeted, free-issue nigger gals come to work 
 on dis place, you mout ez well save yore breath 
 now an yereafter, ca se so long ez Ise able to 
 drag one foot behine t other I p intedly does 
 aim to manage dis yere kitchen." 
 
 "It isn t that exactly," blurted out Emmy 
 Lou. "You see, Auntie," she went on des 
 perately, "we ve decided, Harvey and I, that 
 after our marriage we ll live here. We couldn t 
 leave Mildred alone, and until she gets married 
 this is going to be home for us all. And so 
 we re afraid with one more coming into the 
 household and everything that the added 
 work is going to be too heavy for you to under 
 take. So we ve decided that that perhaps it 
 would be better all round if you if we if 
 you " 
 
 "Go on, chile; say it, whutever it is." 
 
 " that perhaps it would be better if you 
 
 left here altogether and went to live in that nice 
 little house that papa left you in his will." 
 
 Perhaps they did not see the stricken look 
 that came into the eyes of the old negress or 
 else she hid the look behind the fit of rage that 
 [234] 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 instantly possessed her. Perhaps they mistook 
 the grey pallor that overspread the old face, 
 turning it to an ashen colour, for the hue of 
 temper. 
 
 "Do it all mean, den, dat after all dese yeahs 
 you s tryin to git shet of me tryin to t row 
 me aside lak an 5 ole worn-out broom? Well, 
 I ain t gwine go!" Her voice soared shrilly to 
 match the heights of her tantrum. 
 
 "Your wages will go on just the same 
 Harvey insists on that as much as we do," 
 Emmy Lou essayed. "Don t you see, Auntie, 
 that your life will be easier? You will have 
 your own little home and your own little garden. 
 You can come to see us come every day if you 
 want to. We ll come to see you. Things be 
 tween us will go on almost exactly the same as 
 they do now. You know how much we love 
 you Mildred and I. You know we are trying 
 to think of your comfort, don t you?" 
 
 "Of course you do, Aunt Sharley," Mildred 
 put in. "It isn t as if you were going clear out 
 of our lives or we out of yours. You ll be ever 
 so much happier." 
 
 "Well, I jes ain t gwine go nary step." The 
 defiant voice had become a passionate shriek. 
 "Think Ise gwine leave yere an go live in dat 
 little house down dere by dem noisy tracks 
 whar all dem odds an ends of pore w ite trash 
 lives dem scourin s an sweepin s whut come 
 yere to wuk in de new cotton mill! Think Ise 
 gwine be corntent to wuk in a gyarden whilst 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 I knows Ise needed right yere to run dis place 
 de way which it should be run! Think Ise 
 gwine set quiet whilst Ise pulled up by de roots 
 an transported way frum de house whar Ise 
 spend purty nigh de whole of my endurin life! 
 Well, I won t go I won t never go! I won t 
 go ca se I jes can t!" And then, to the 
 intense distress of the girls, Aunt Sharley 
 slumped into a chair, threw her floury hands 
 over her face and with the big tears trickling 
 out between her fingers she moaned over and 
 over again between her gulping breaths: 
 
 "Oh, dat I should live to see de day w en my 
 own chillens wants to drive me away frum em! 
 Oh, dat I should live to see dis day ! " 
 
 Neither of them had ever seen Aunt Sharley 
 weep like thisshaken as she was with great 
 sobs, her head bowed almost to her knees, her 
 bared arms quivering in a very palsy. They 
 tried to comfort her, tried to put their arms 
 about her, both of them crying too. At the 
 touch of their arms stealing about her hunched 
 shoulders she straightened, showing a spark of 
 the spirit with which they were more familiar. 
 She wrenched her body free of them and pointed 
 a tremulous finger at the door. The two sisters 
 stole out, feeling terribly guilty and thoroughly 
 miserable. 
 
 It was not the Aunt Sharley they knew who 
 
 waited upon them that dusk at supper. Rather 
 
 it was her ghost a ghost with a black mask of 
 
 tragedy for a face, with eyes swollen and red- 
 
 [236] 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 dened, with lips which shook in occasional 
 spasms of pain, though their owner strove to 
 keep them firm. With their own faces tear- 
 streaked and with lumps in their throats the 
 girls kept their heads averted, as though they 
 had been caught doing something very wrong, 
 and made poor pretense of eating the dishes 
 that the old woman placed before them. Such 
 glances as they stole at her were sidelong 
 covert glances, but they marked plainly enough 
 how her shoulders drooped and how she dragged 
 herself about the table. 
 
 Within a space of time to be measured by 
 hours and almost by minutes she seemed to 
 have aged years. 
 
 It was a mute meal and a most unhappy one 
 for the sisters. More than once Aunt Sharley 
 seemed on the point of saying something, but 
 she, too, held her tongue until they had risen up 
 from their places. From within the passage 
 way leading to the rear porch she spoke then 
 across the threshold of the door at the back end 
 of the dining room. 
 
 "You, nur nobody else, can t turn me out of 
 dis house," she warned them, and in her words 
 was the dead weight of finality. "An ef you 
 does, I ain t gwine leave de premises. Ise 
 gwine camp right dere on de sidewalk an dere 
 I means to stay twell de policemens teks me up 
 fur a vagrom. De shame of it won t be no 
 greater fur me n tis fur you. Dat s all!" 
 And with that she was gone before they could 
 [237] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 answer, if indeed they had any answer to 
 make. 
 
 It was the next day that the Daily Evening 
 News announced the engagement and the date 
 of the marriage, which would follow within four 
 weeks. Congratulations in number were be 
 stowed upon Emmy Lou; they came by tele 
 phone and in letters from former schoolmates, 
 but mainly they came by word of mouth from 
 townspeople who trooped in to say the things 
 which people always say on such occasions 
 such things, for example, as that young Mr. 
 Winslow should count himself a lucky man 
 and that Emmy Lou would make a lovely 
 bride; that he should be the proudest young 
 man in the Union and she the happiest girl in 
 the state, and all the rest of it. Under this 
 outpouring of kindly words from kindly folk 
 the recipient was radiant enough to all appear 
 ances, which was a tribute to her powers as an 
 actress. Beneath the streams of her happiness 
 coursed sombre undercurrents of distress and 
 perplexity, roiling the waters of her joy and 
 her pride. 
 
 For nearly a week, with no outsider becoming 
 privy to the facts, she endured a situation 
 which daily was marked by harassing ex 
 periences and which hourly became more 
 intolerable. Then, in despair, seeing no way 
 out at all, she went to a certain old white house 
 out on Clay Street to confide in one to whom 
 many another had turned, seeking counsel in 
 [238] 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 the time of trouble. She went to see Judge 
 William Pitman Priest, and she went alone, 
 telling no one, not even Mildred, of the errand 
 upon which she was bound. 
 
 The wide front porch was empty where the 
 old Judge spent most of his leisure hours when 
 the weather suited, and knowing as she did the 
 custom of the house, and being, for a fact, 
 almost as much at home beneath its roof as 
 beneath her own, Emmy Lou, without knock 
 ing, walked into the hall and turning to the 
 right entered the big sitting room. Its lone 
 occupant sat up with a jerk, wiping the drowsi 
 ness out of his eyes with the back of his hand. 
 He had been taking a cat nap on his ancient 
 sofa; his long white back hair was tousled up 
 comically behind his bald pink brow. 
 
 "Why, hello, honey!" he said heartily, 
 rising to his feet and bowing with a quaint 
 ceremonial gesture that contrasted with and 
 yet somehow matched the homeliness of his 
 greeting. "You slipped in so quiet on them 
 dainty little feet of yours I never heared 
 you comin a-tall." He took her small hands 
 in his broad pudgy ones, holding her off at 
 arm s length. "And don t you look purty! 
 Mighty nigh any woman looks cool and sweet 
 when she s got on white fixin s, but when a girl 
 like you puts em on well, child, there ain t 
 no use talkin , you shorely are a sight to cure 
 sore eyes. And you git to favour your sweet 
 
 mother more and more every day you live. 
 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 I can t pay you no higher compliment than 
 that. Set down in that cheer yonder, where 
 I kin look at you whilst we visit." 
 
 "I d rather sit here by you, sir, on the sofa, 
 if you don t mind," she said. 
 
 "Suit yourself, honey." 
 
 She settled herself upon the sofa and he let 
 his bulky frame down alongside her, taking one 
 of her hands into his. Her free hand played 
 with one of the big buttons on the front of her 
 starched linen skirt and she looked, not at him, 
 but at the shining disk of pearl, as he said: 
 
 "Well, Emmy Lou, whut brings you way 
 out here to my house in the heat of the day?" 
 
 She turned her face full upon him then and 
 he saw the brooding in her eyes and gave her 
 hand a sympathetic little squeeze. 
 
 "Judge," she told him, "you went to so 
 much trouble on my account and Mildred s 
 when we were still minors that I hate to come 
 now worrying you with my affairs. But some 
 how I felt that you were the one for me to turn 
 to." 
 
 "Emmy Lou," he said very gravely, "your 
 father was one of the best men that ever lived 
 and one of the best friends ever I had on this 
 earth. And no dearer woman than your mother 
 ever drawed the breath of life. It was a mighty 
 proud day fur me and fur Lew Lake when he 
 named us two as the guardians of his children, 
 and it was a pleasure to both of us to help look 
 to your interests after he was took from us. 
 [240] 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 Why, when your mother went too, I d a liked 
 the best in the world to have adopted you two 
 children outright." He chuckled a soft little 
 chuckle. "I reckin I would have made the 
 effort, too, only it seemed like that old nigger 
 woman of yours appeared to have prior rights 
 in the matter, and knowin her disposition I 
 was kind of skeered to advance the suggestion." 
 
 "It was about Aunt Sharley that I came to 
 see you to-day, Judge Priest." 
 
 "That so? I had a visit from her here the 
 other day." 
 
 "What other day?" she asked, startled. 
 
 "Oh, it must have been a matter of three 
 weeks ago fully. Shall I tell you whut she 
 come to see me about? You ll laugh when 
 you hear it. It tickled me right smartly at the 
 time. She wanted to know what I knew about 
 this here young Mr. Winslow yes, that was it. 
 She said all the visible signs p inted to a serious 
 affair twixt you two young people, and she 
 said before it went any further she wanted to 
 know ef he was the kind of a young man to be 
 gittin hisself engaged to a member of the 
 Dabney family, and she wanted to know ef his 
 folks were the real quality folks and not this 
 here codfish aristocracy: That was the very 
 term she used * codfish aristocracy. Well, I 
 was able to reasshore her. You see, honey, 
 I d took it on myself to do a little inquirin 
 round about Mr. Winslow on my own respon- 
 sibility not that I wanted to be pry in into 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 your business and not because I aimed to be 
 try in to come between you and the young man 
 ef I wasn t altogether satisfied with the accounts 
 I got of him, but because I loved you and 
 wanted to make sure in my own mind that Tom 
 Dabney s child wasn t makin the wrong 
 choice. You understand, don t you? You 
 see, ez fur back ez a month and a half ago, or 
 mebbe even further back than that, I was kind 
 of given to understand that you and this young 
 man were gittin deeply interested in each 
 other." 
 
 "Why, how could you?" inquired Emmy 
 Lou. "We weren t even engaged then. Who 
 could have circulated such a report about us?" 
 
 "The very first time I seen you two young 
 folks walkin up Franklin Street together you 
 both were circulatin it," he said, chuckling 
 again. "You may not a knowed it, but you 
 were. I may be gittin old, but my eyesight 
 ain t entirely failed up on me yit I could read 
 the signs when I was still half a block away 
 frum you. It was right after that that I 
 started my own little private investigation. 
 So you see I was qualified to reasshore Aunt 
 Sharley. I told her all the available informa 
 tion on the subject proved the young gentleman 
 in question was not only a mighty clever, up- 
 standin , manly young feller, but that where he 
 hailed from he belonged to the quality folks, 
 which really was the p int she seemed most 
 anxious about. That s whut I told her, and I 
 [242] """" 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 was monstrous glad to be able to tell her. A 
 stranger might have thought it was pure impu 
 dence on her part, but of course we both know, 
 you and me, whut was in the back part of her 
 old kinky head. And when I d got done 
 tellin her she went down the street from here 
 with her head throwed away back, singin till 
 you could a heard her half a mile off, I reckin." 
 
 "I never guessed it. She never told me she d 
 been to see you. And you didn t tell me, either, 
 when you came the other night to wish me joy, 
 Judge." 
 
 "I kind of Jiggered she wanted the matter 
 treated confidential," explained Judge Priest. 
 "So I respected whut I took to be her wishes in 
 the matter. But wasn t it fur all the world jest 
 like that old black woman?" 
 
 "Yes, it was just like her," agreed Emmy 
 Lou, her face shadowed with deepening dis 
 tress. "And because it was just like her and 
 because I know now better than ever before 
 how much she really loves me, those things 
 make it all the harder to tell you what I came 
 here to tell you make it all the harder for me 
 to decide what I should do and to ask your 
 advice before I do decide." 
 
 "Oh, I reckin it can t be so serious ez all 
 that," said Judge Priest comfortingly. "Be 
 twixt us we oughter be able to find a way out 
 of the difficulty, whutever it is. S pose, honey, 
 you start in at the beginnin and give me all the 
 
 facts in the matter that s worryin you." 
 
 [243] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 She started then and, though her voice broke 
 several times, she kept on until she came to 
 the end of her tragic little recital. To Emmy 
 Lou it was very tragic indeed. 
 
 "So you see, Judge Priest, just how it is," 
 she stated at the conclusion. "From both 
 sides I am catching the brunt of the whole 
 thing. Aunt Sharley won t budge an inch 
 from the attitude she s taken, and neither will 
 Harvey budge an inch. He says she must go; 
 she tells me every day she won t go. This has 
 been going on for a week now and I m almost 
 distracted. At what should be the happiest 
 time in a girl s life I m being made terribly 
 unhappy. Why, it breaks my heart every 
 tune I look at her. I know how much we owe 
 her I know I can never hope to repay her for 
 all she has done for me and my sister. 
 
 "But oh, Judge, I do want to be the right 
 kind of wife to Harvey. All my life long I 
 mean to obey him and to look up to him; I 
 don t want to begin now by disobeying him 
 by going counter to his wishes. And I can 
 understand his position too. To him she s 
 just an unreasonable, meddlesome, officious, 
 contrary old negro woman who would insist 
 on running the household of which he should 
 be the head. She would too. 
 
 "It isn t that he feels unkindly toward her 
 he s too good and too generous for that. Why, 
 it was Harvey who suggested that wages should 
 go on just the same after she leaves us he has 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 even offered to double them if it will make her 
 any better satisfied with the move. I m sure, 
 though, it can t be the question of money that 
 figures with her. She never tells anyone about 
 her own private affairs, but after all these years 
 she must have a nice little sum saved up. I 
 can t remember when she spent anything on 
 herself she was always so thrifty about money. 
 At least she was careful about our expenditures, 
 and of course she must have been about her 
 own. So it can t be that. Harvey puts it 
 down to plain stubbornness. He says after 
 the first wrench of the separation is over she 
 ought to be happier, when she s taking things 
 easy in her own little house, than she is now, 
 trying to do all the work in our house. He 
 says he wants several servants in our home a 
 butler, and a maid to wait on me and Mildred, 
 and a housemaid and a cook. He says we 
 can t have them if we keep Aunt Sharley. And 
 we can t, either she d drive them off the place. 
 No darky could get along with her a week. 
 Oh, I just don t know what to do ! " 
 
 "And whut does Aunt Sharley say?" asked 
 the Judge. 
 
 "I told you. Sometimes she says she won t 
 go and sometimes she says she can t go. But 
 she won t tell why she can t just keeps on 
 declaring up and down that she can t. She 
 makes a different excuse or she gives a different 
 reason every morning; she seems to spend her 
 nights thinking them up. Sometimes I think 
 . [245] ~ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 she is keeping something back from me that 
 she isn t telling me the real cause for her refusal 
 to accept the situation and make the best of it. 
 You know how secretive our coloured people can 
 be sometimes." 
 
 "All the time, you mean," amended the 
 old man. "Northerners never seem to be able 
 to git it through their heads that a darky kin be 
 loud-mouthed and close-mouthed at the same 
 time. Now you take that black boy Jeff of 
 mine. Jeff knows more about me my habits, 
 my likes and my dislikes, my private business 
 and my private thoughts and all than I know 
 myself. And I know jest egsactly ez much 
 about his real self whut he thinks and whut 
 he does behind my back ez he wants me to 
 know, no more and no less. I judge it s much 
 the same way with your Aunt Sharley, and with 
 all the rest of their race too. We understand 
 how to live with em, but that ain t sayin we 
 understand how they live." 
 
 He looked steadfastly at his late ward. 
 
 "Honey, when you come to cast up the 
 account you do owe a lot to that old nigger 
 woman, don t you? you and your sister both. 
 Mebbe you owe even more than you think you 
 do. There ain t many left like her in this new 
 generation of darkies that s growed up she 
 belongs to a species that s mighty nigh extinct, 
 ez you might say. Us Southern people are 
 powerfully given, some of us, to tellin whut 
 we ve done fur the black race and we have 
 [ 246 ] 
 
QUALITY 
 
 FOLKS 
 
 done a lot, I ll admit but sometimes I think 
 we re prone to furgit some of the things they ve 
 done fur us. Hold on, honey," he added 
 hastily, seeing that she was about to speak in 
 her own defence. "I ain t takin issue with 
 you aginst you nor yit aginst the young man 
 you re fixin to marry. After all, you ve got 
 your own lives to live. I was jest sort of 
 studyin out loud not offerin an argument 
 in opposition." 
 
 Still looking straight at her he asked a ques 
 tion: 
 
 "Tell me one thing, Emmy Lou, jest to 
 satisfy my curiosity and before we go any 
 further with this here bothersome affair that s 
 makin you unhappy. It seems like to me I 
 heared somewheres that you first met this 
 young man of yours whilst you and little 
 Mildred were off at Knollwood Seminary 
 finishin your educations. Is that so or ain t 
 it?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, that s true," she answered. "You 
 see, when we first went to Knollwood, Harvey 
 had just been sent South to take a place in the 
 office of the trolley road at Knollwood. 
 
 "His people were interested in the line; he 
 was assistant to the general manager then. I 
 met him there. And he he was interested in 
 me, I suppose, and afterward, when he had 
 worked his way up and had been promoted to 
 the super in tendency, his company bought our 
 line in, too, and he induced them to transfer 
 
 [247] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 him here I mean to say he was transferred 
 here. So that s how it all happened." 
 
 "I see," he said musingly. "You met him 
 down there and he got interested interested 
 was the word you used, wasn t it, honey? and 
 then after a spell when you had left there he 
 followed you here or rather it jest so hap 
 pened by a coincidence that he was sent here. 
 Well, I don t know ez I blame him for being 
 interested, I mean. It strikes me that in 
 addition to bein an enterprisin young man 
 he s also got excellent taste and fine discrimina 
 tion. He ought to go quite a ways in the 
 world whut with coincidences favourin him 
 and everything." 
 
 The whimsical note died out of his voice. 
 His tone became serious. 
 
 "Child," he said gently, "whut would you 
 say and whut s even more important, whut 
 would you do ef I was to tell you that ef it 
 hadn t a-been fur old Aunt Sharley this great 
 thing that s come into your life probably never 
 would have come into it? What ef I was to tell 
 you that if it hadn t a-been fur her you never 
 would have knowed Mr. Harvey Winslow in the 
 first place and natchelly wouldn t be engaged 
 to marry him now?" 
 
 "Why, Judge Priest, how could that be?" 
 Her widened eyes betokened a blank incredulity. 
 
 "Emmy Lou," he answered slowly, "in tellin 
 you whut I m about to tell you I m breakin a 
 solemn pledge, and that s a thing I ain t much 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 given to doin . But this time I figger the 
 circumstances justify me. Now listen: You 
 remember, don t you, that in the first year or 
 two following after the time your mother left 
 us, the estate was sort of snarled up? Well, it 
 was worse snarled up than you two children 
 had any idea of. Two or three of the heaviest 
 investments your father made in the later 
 years of his life weren t turnin out very well. 
 The taxes on em amounted to mighty nigh ez 
 much ez whut the income frum em did. We 
 didn t aim to pester you two girls with all the 
 details, so we sort of kept em to ourselves and 
 done the best we could. You lived simple and 
 there was enough to take care of you and to 
 keep up your home, and we knowed we could 
 depend on Aunt Sharley to manage careful. 
 Really, she knowed more about the true con 
 dition of things than you did. Still, even so, 
 you no doubt got an inklin sometimes of how 
 things stood with regards to your finances." 
 She nodded, saying nothing, and he went on: 
 "Well, jest about that time, one day in the 
 early part of the summer I had a visit frum 
 Aunt Sharley. She come to me in my office 
 down at the courthouse, and I sent Jeff to 
 fetch Lew Lake, and we both set down there 
 together with that old nigger woman, and she 
 told us whut she had to say. She told us that you 
 children had growed up with the idea that you d 
 go off to boardin school somewheres after you 
 
 were done with our local schools, and that you 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 were beginnin to talk about goin and that it 
 was high time fur you to be gittin ready to go, 
 and, in brief, she wanted to know whut about 
 it? We told her jest how things stood that 
 under the terms of your father s will practically 
 everything you owned was entailed held in 
 trust by us until both of the heirs had come 
 of age. We told her that, with your consent or 
 without it, we didn t have the power to sell 
 off any part of the estate, and so, that bein 
 the case, the necessary money to send you off 
 to school jest natchelly couldn t be provided 
 noways, and that, since there was jest barely 
 enough money comin in to run the home and, 
 by stintin , to care fur you and Mildred, any 
 outside and special expense comin on top of 
 the regular expenses couldn t possibly be con 
 sidered or, in other words, that you two 
 couldn t hope to go to boardin school. 
 
 "I reckin you kin guess fur yourself whut 
 that old woman done then. She flared up and 
 showed all her teeth. She said that the quality 
 always sent their daughters off to boardin 
 school to give em the final polish that made 
 fine ladies of em. She said her Ole Miss 
 meanin your grandmother had gone to Knoll- 
 wood and that your mother had gone there, 
 and that you two girls were goin there, too, 
 whether or no. We tried to explain to her that 
 some of the finest young ladies in the land and 
 some of the best-born ones never had the advan- 
 tages of a college education, but she said she 
 
gUALITY FOLKS 
 
 didn t keer whut people somewheres else might 
 do that the daughters of her kind of quality 
 folks went to college and that you two were 
 goin , so that all through your lives you could 
 hold up your heads with the finest in the land. 
 You never seen anybody so set and determined 
 about a thing ez that old woman was. We 
 tried explainin to her and we tried arguin 
 with her, and Lew Lake tried losin his temper 
 with her, him bein somewhat hot-headed, but 
 nothin we could say seemed to have any effect 
 on her at all. She jest set there with her old 
 skinny arms folded on her breast like a major- 
 general, and that old under lip of hers stuck out 
 and her neck bowed, sayin over and over agin 
 that you girls were goin to that boardin school 
 same ez the Dabneys and the Helms had always 
 done. So finally we throwed up our hands and 
 told her we were at the end of our rope and she d 
 kindly have to show us the way to bring it all 
 about. 
 
 "And then she up and showed us. You 
 remember the night me and Lew Lake come 
 up to your house to talk over the matter of your 
 college education and I told you to call Aunt 
 Sharley into the conference you remember 
 that, don t you? And you remember she come 
 out strong in favour of Knollwood and that 
 after a while we seemed to give in? Well, child, 
 I ve got a little confession to make to you now 
 along with a bigger one later on : That was all a 
 little piece of by-play that had been planned out 
 ""--- [251] " 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 in advance. We knowed beforehand that 
 Aunt Sharley was goin to favour Knoll wood 
 and that we were goin to fall into line with her 
 notions about it at the end. She d already 
 licked us to a standstill there in my office, and 
 we were jest try in to save our faces. 
 
 "So you went to college and you both stayed 
 there two full years. And I mout ez well tell 
 you right now that the principal reason why 
 you had so many purty fixin s to wear whilst 
 you was away and why you had ez much pin 
 money to spend ez any other two girls there 
 was because that old woman lived on less n it 
 would take, seemin ly, to keep a bird alive, 
 savin every cent she could scrape up, and 
 bringin it to me to be sent on to you ez part of 
 your allowance." 
 
 "But I don t understand yet," cried out 
 Emmy Lou. "Why, Judge, Aunt Sharley 
 just can write her own name. We had to 
 print out the words in the letters we wrote her 
 so that she could read them. I don t under 
 stand how the poor good old ignorant soul 
 could figure out where the money which paid 
 for our schooling could be found when both you 
 and Doctor Lake " 
 
 "I m comin to that part now," he told her. 
 "Honey, you were right when you guessed that 
 Aunt Sharley has been holdin somethin back 
 frum you durin this past week; but she s been 
 tellin you the truth too in a way of speakin . 
 She ain t got any money saved up or at least 
 " [252] " 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 ef she s got any at all it ain t ez much ez you 
 imagine. Whut she s got laid by kin only 
 represent the savin s of four or five years, not of 
 a whole lifetime. And when she said to you 
 that she couldn t leave you to go to live in that 
 little house that your father left her in his will 
 she wasn t speakin a lie. She can t go there 
 to live because it ain t hers she don t own it 
 any more. Over five years ago she sold it 
 outright, and she took the price she got fur it 
 and to that price she added whut she d saved 
 up ez the fruits of a life-time of toil spent in 
 your service and the service of your people 
 before you, and that was the money her 
 money, every cent of it which paid fur your 
 two years at college. Now you know." 
 
 For a long half minute she stared at him, her 
 face whitening and the great tears beginning 
 to run down her cheeks. They ran faster and 
 faster. She gave a great sob and then she 
 threw her arms about the old Judge s neck and 
 buried her face on his shoulder. 
 
 "Oh, I never dreamed it! I never dreamed 
 it ! I never had a suspicion ! And I ve been so 
 cruel to her, so heartless! Oh, Judge Priest, 
 why did you and Doctor Lake ever let her do it? 
 Why did you let her make that sacrifice?" 
 
 He patted her shoulder gently. 
 
 "Well, honey, we did try at first to discourage 
 
 her from the notion, but we mighty soon seen it 
 
 wasn t any use to try, and a little later on, 
 
 comin to think it over, we decided mebbe we 
 
 [253] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 didn t want to try any more. There re some 
 impulses in this world too noble to be interfered 
 with or hampered or thwarted, and some sacri 
 fices so fine that none of us should try to spoil 
 em by settin up ourselves and our own wills 
 in the road. That s how I felt. That s how 
 Lew Lake felt. That s how we both felt. And 
 anyhow she kept p intin out that she wouldn 
 never need that there little house, because so 
 long ez she lived she d have a home with you 
 two girls. That s whut she said, anyway." 
 
 "But why weren t we allowed to know before 
 now? Why didn t we know Mildred and I 
 ten days ago, so that she might have been 
 spared the cruel thing I ve done? Why didn t 
 she come out and tell us when we went to her 
 and I told her she must get off the place? Why 
 didn t you tell me, Judge, before now why 
 didn t you give me a hint before now?" 
 
 "Honey, I couldn t. I was under a solemn 
 promise not to tell a promise that I ve jest 
 now broken. On the whole I think I m glad I 
 did break it. . . . Lemme see ef I kin remem 
 ber in her own words whut she said to us? 
 GenTmens, she says, dem chillens is of de 
 quality an entitled to hole up they haids wid 
 de fines in de land. I don t want never to 
 have dem demeaned by lettin dem know or by 
 lettin ary other pusson know dat an old black 
 nigger woman furnished de money to help mek 
 fine young ladies of em. So long ez I live, 
 
 she says, *dey ain t never to beah it frum my 
 
 __ 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 lips an you must both gimme yore word dat 
 dey don t never heah it frum yourn. Wen I 
 dies, an not befo den, dey may know de truth. 
 De day dey lays me in de coffin you kin tell em 
 both de secret but not befo ! she says. 
 
 "So you see, child, we were under a pledge, 
 and till to-day I ve kept that pledge. Nobody 
 knows about the sale of that little piece of 
 property except Aunt Sharley and Lew Lake 
 and me and the man who bought it and the man 
 who recorded the deed that I drew up. Even 
 the man who bought it never learned the real 
 name of the previous owner, and the matter of 
 the recordin was never made public. Whut s 
 the good of my bein the circuit judge of this 
 district without I ve got influence enough with 
 the county clerk to see that a small real-estate 
 transaction kin be kept frum pryin eyes? So 
 you see only five people knowed anything a-tall 
 about that sale, and only three of them knowed 
 the true facts, and now I ve told you, and so 
 that makes four that are sharin the secret. 
 . . . Don t carry on so, honey. Tain t ez 
 ef you d done somethin that couldn t be 
 mended. You ve got all your life to make it 
 up to her. And besides, you were in ignorance 
 until jest now. . . . Now, Emmy Lou, I 
 ain t goin to advise you; but I certainly would 
 like to hear frum your own lips whut you do 
 aim to do?" 
 
 She raised her head and through the brim 
 ming tears her eyes shone like twin stars. 
 " [255] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 "What am I going to do?" she echoed. 
 "Judge, you just said nobody knew except four 
 of us. Well, everybody is going to know 
 everybody in this town is going to know, be 
 cause I m going to tell them. I ll be a prouder 
 and a happier girl when they do know, all of 
 them, than I ve ever been in my whole life. 
 And I warn you that neither you nor Aunt 
 Sharley nor any other person alive can keep me 
 from telling them. I m going to glory in telling 
 the world the story of it." 
 
 "Lord bless your spunky little soul, honey, 
 I ain t goin to try to hender you frum tellin ," 
 said Judge Priest. "Anyhow, I expect to be 
 kept busy durin the next few days keepin out of 
 that old nigger woman s way. ... So that s 
 the very first thing you aim to do?" 
 
 "No, it isn t, either," she exclaimed, catch 
 ing the drift of his meaning. "That is going 
 to be the second thing I do. But the first 
 thing I am going to do is to go straight back 
 home as fast as I can walk and get down on my 
 knees before Aunt Sharley and beg her forgive 
 ness for being so unjust and so unkind." 
 
 "Oh, I reckin that won t hardly be neces 
 sary," said Judge Priest. "I kind of figger 
 that ef you ll jest have a little cryin bee with 
 her that ll answer every purpose. Jest put 
 your young arms round her old neck and cry a 
 spell with her. It s been my observation that, 
 black or white, cryin together seems to bring a 
 heap of comfort to the members of your sex." 
 [256] 
 
QUALITY FOLKS 
 
 "I think perhaps I shall try that," she agreed, 
 smiling in spite of herself; and her smile was like 
 sunshine in the midst of a shower. "I ll begin 
 by kissing her right smack on the mouth like 
 this." And she kissed the Judge squarely on 
 his. 
 
 "Judge Priest," she stated, "this town is due 
 for more than one surprise. Do you know 
 who s going to be the matron of honour at my 
 wedding three weeks from now? I ll give you 
 just one guess." 
 
 He glanced up at her quizzically. 
 
 "Whut do you s pose the young man is goin 
 to have to say about that?" he asked. 
 
 "If he doesn t like it he can find some other 
 girl to marry him," she said. 
 
 "Oh, I kind of imagine he ll listen to reason 
 especially comin frum you," said Judge Priest. 
 "He will ef he s the kind of young man that s 
 worthy to marry Tom Dabney s daughter." 
 
 It is possible that some of the bridegroom s 
 kinspeople, coming down from the North for 
 the wedding, were shocked to find a wizen, 
 coal-black woman, who was lame of one leg, 
 not only taking part in the ceremony, filling a 
 place next in importance to that of the con 
 tracting pair and the maid of honour, but 
 apparently in active and undisputed charge of 
 the principal details. However, being well- 
 bred persons, they did not betray their astonish- 
 ment by word, look or deed. Perhaps they 
 
 [257] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 figured it as one of the customs of the country 
 that an old shrill-voiced negress, smelling of 
 snuff and black silk, should play so prominent 
 a r61e in the event itself and in the reception 
 that followed. 
 
 However, all that is ancient history now. 
 What I have to add is a commingling of past 
 local history and present local history. As I 
 said at the outset, there were formerly any 
 number of black children in our town who bore 
 the names of white friends and white patrons, 
 but to my knowledge there was never but one 
 white child named for a black person. The 
 child thus distinguished was a girl child, the 
 first-born of Mr. and Mrs. Harvey Winslow. 
 Her full name was Charlotte Helm Winslow, 
 but nearly everybody called her Little Sharley. 
 She is still called so, I believe, though growing 
 now into quite a sizable young person. 
 
 [258] 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 SOMEBODY said once that facts are 
 stubborn things, which is a lie. Facts 
 are almost the most flexible things 
 known to man. The historian appre 
 ciates the truth of this just as the fictionist 
 recognises and is governed by the opposite of it, 
 each according to his lights. In recording the 
 actual, the authentic, the definite, your chron 
 icler may set down in all soberness things which 
 are utterly inconceivable; may set them down 
 because they have happened. But he who 
 deals with the fanciful must be infinitely more 
 conventional in his treatment of the proba 
 bilities and the possibilities, else the critics will 
 say he has let his imagination run away with 
 him. They ll tell him to put ice on his brow 
 and advise sending his creative faculty to the 
 restcure. 
 
 Jules Verne was a teller of most mad tales 
 which he conjured up out of his head. The 
 Brothers Wright and Edison and Holland, the 
 submarine man, worked out their notions with 
 .. [259] ~ ~ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 monkey wrenches and screw drivers and things, 
 thereby accomplishing verities far surpassing 
 the limit where common sense threw up a 
 barrier across the pathway of Verne s genius. 
 H. G. Wells never dreamed a dream of a world 
 war to equal the one which William Hohen- 
 zollern loosed by ordering a flunky in uniform 
 to transmit certain dispatches back yonder in 
 the last week of July and the first week of 
 August, 1914. 
 
 So always it has gone. So always, beyond 
 peradventure, it must continue to go. 
 
 If in his first act the playwright has his prin 
 cipal characters assembled in a hotel lobby 
 in Chicago and in Act II has them all bumping 
 into one another quite by chance in a dugout 
 in Flanders, the reviewers sternly will chide 
 him for violating Rule 1 of the book of dramatic 
 plausibilities, and quite right they will be too. 
 But when the identical event comes to pass in 
 real life as before now it has we merely say 
 that, after all, it s a small world now, isn t it? 
 And so saying, pass along to the next prepos 
 terous occurrence that has just occurred. In 
 fiction coincidence has its metes and bounds 
 beyond which it dare not step. In human 
 affairs it has none. 
 
 Speaking of coincidences, that brings me 
 round to the matter of a certain sergeant and a 
 certain private in our American Expeditionary 
 Force which is a case that is a case in point of 
 what I have just been saying upon this subject. 
 [260] 
 
JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 If Old Man Coincidence had not butted into 
 the picture when he did and where he did and 
 so frequently as he did, there would be for 
 me no tale to tell touching on these two, the 
 sergeant and the private. But he did. And 
 I shall. 
 
 To begin at the remote beginning, there once 
 upon a time was a fight in front of the public 
 school in Henry Street over on the East Side, 
 in which encounter one Pasquale Gallino licked 
 the Semitic stuffings out of a fellow-pupil of 
 his by name Hyman Ginsburg. To be ex 
 plicit about it, he made the Ginsburg boy s 
 somewhat prominent nose to bleed extensively 
 and swelled up Hy man s ear until for days 
 thereafter Hyman s head, viewed fore or aft, 
 had rather a lop-sided appearance, what with 
 one ear being so much thicker than its mate. 
 The object of this mishandlement was as good as 
 whipped before he started by reason of the 
 longer reach and quicker fist play of his squat 
 and swarthy opponent. Nevertheless, facing 
 inevitable and painful defeat, he acquitted him 
 self with proper credit and courage. 
 
 Bearing his honourable wounds, Master 
 Ginsburg went home from battle to a tenement 
 in Allen Street, there to be licked again for 
 having been licked before; or, speaking with 
 exactitude, for having been in a fight, his father 
 being one who held by the theory that diplo 
 macy ever should find the way out to peace 
 when blows threatened to follow on disputation. 
 [261] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 With view, therefore, to proving his profound 
 distaste for physical violence in any form he 
 employed it freely upon the body of his son, 
 using to that end a strap. Scarred in new places, 
 the victim of two beatings in one day went 
 weeping and supperless to bed. 
 
 Now this fight in Henry Street took place 
 some sixteen years ago, and in sixteen years a 
 great deal of water runs under the bridges pro 
 vided for that purpose and for other purposes. 
 Two separate currents of the water that flowed 
 caught up Hyman Ginsburg and Pasquale 
 Gallino and carried them along differing chan 
 nels toward differing destinies. While Hyman 
 was in the grammar grades, a brag pupil, 
 Pasquale was in the Protectory, a branded 
 incorrigible. While Hyman was attending high 
 school, Pasquale was attending reform school. 
 When Hyman, a man grown, was taking his 
 examinations with the idea of getting on the 
 police force, Pasquale was constructing an alibi 
 with the idea of staying out of Sing Sing. One 
 achieved his present ambition that was Hy 
 man. 
 
 The next period of their respective develop 
 ments found this pair in a fair way each to 
 achieve a definite niche in his chosen profession. 
 Patrolman Hyman Ginsburg, after walking 
 post for some months, had been taken out of 
 uniform and put into civilian garb as a plain- 
 clothes man on the Headquarters staff. Here 
 he was making good. Having intelligence and 
 [262] ~" """" 
 
JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 energy and the racial persistence which is as 
 much a part of his breed as their hands and 
 their feet are, he was looked upon in the de 
 partment as a detective with a future ahead of 
 him. 
 
 As for him who had once been Pasquale 
 Gallino, he now occupied a position of promi 
 nence amid congenial surroundings while fol 
 lowing after equally congenial pursuits. There 
 was a gang. Despite the fact that it was such 
 a new gang, this gang before the eyes of law and 
 order stood high upon a pinnacle of evil emi 
 nence, overtopping such old-established gangs 
 as the Gas House and the Gophers, the Skinned 
 Rabbits and the Pearl Button Kid s. Taking 
 title from the current name of its chieftain, it 
 was popularly known as the Stretchy Gorman 
 gang. Its headquarters was a boozing den of 
 exceeding ill repute on the lower West Side. 
 Its chief specialties were loft robberies and dock 
 robberies. Its favourite side lines were election 
 frauds and so-called strike-breaking jobs. The 
 main amusement of its members was hoodlum- 
 ism in its broader and more general phases. 
 Its shield and its buckler was political influence 
 of a sort; its keenest sword was its audacious 
 young captain. You might call it a general- 
 purposes gang. Contemporary gangsters spoke 
 of it with respect and admiration. For a thing 
 so young it gave great promise. 
 
 A day came, though, when the protection 
 under which the Stretchy Gormans had 
 [263] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 flourished ceased to protect. It is not known, 
 nor yet is it written, what the reason for this 
 was. Perhaps there was a breaking off of the 
 friendly relations theretofore existing between 
 one of the down-town district leaders and one 
 of the powers name deleted higher up. Per 
 haps the newspapers had scolded too shrilly, 
 demanding the house-cleaning of a neighbour 
 hood which had become a bad smell in the 
 sensitive nostrils of honest taxpayers and valued 
 advertisers. Certainly burglaries in the whole 
 sale silk district had occurred so numerously as 
 to constitute a public scandal. 
 
 Then, besides, there was the incident of the 
 night watchman of a North River freight pier, 
 a worthy enough person though a non voter and 
 therefore of small account from the viewpoint 
 of ward politics, who stood up in single-handed 
 defence of his employer s premises and goods 
 against odds of at least four to one. Swinging 
 a cold chisel, someone chipped a bit of bone out 
 of the watchman s skull as expeditiously and 
 almost as neatly as a visiting Englishman chips 
 the poll of his breakfast egg; so that forever 
 after the victim nursed an achesome and slightly 
 addled brain. Then there were other things. 
 
 Be the cause what it may, it certainly is the 
 fact that on a pleasant autumnal afternoon 
 Inspector Krogan summoned to his presence 
 two members of the Central Office staff and 
 told them to go get Stretchy Gorman. Stretchy 
 was to be gone after and got on the blanket 
 [264] 
 
JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 charge the rubber blanket charge, as one 
 might say, since it is so elastic and covers such 
 a multitude of sins of being a suspicious 
 character. 
 
 Now Stretchy Gorman had no character to 
 speak of; so therein the accusation appeared 
 faulty. But equally was it true as Holy Gospel 
 that he was suspicious of nearly everybody on 
 earth and that nearly everybody on earth had 
 reasons to be suspicious of him. So, balancing 
 one word against the other, the garment might 
 be said to fit him. At any rate, it was plain 
 the supreme potentates had decreed for him 
 that he was to wear it. 
 
 One of the detectives detailed to this assign 
 ment was Hyman Ginsburg. His partner on 
 the job was a somewhat older man named 
 Casane. These two frequently worked to 
 gether. Pulling in double harness they made 
 a dependable team. Both had wit and shrewd 
 ness. By sight, Casane knew the individual 
 they were deputed to take; Ginsburg, to his 
 knowledge, had never seen him. 
 
 Across his roll-top desk the inspector, speak 
 ing as follows, according to the mode of the 
 fellowcraft, gave them their instructions: 
 
 "You ll likely be findin this here party at the 
 Stuffed Owl. That s his regular hang-out. 
 My information is that he s usually there 
 regular this time of the day. I ve just had 
 word that he went in there fifteen minutes ago; 
 it s likely he ll be stayin a while. 
 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 "Now, if he s in there don t you two go and 
 send for him to come outside to you; nothin 
 like that. See? You go right in after him and 
 nail him right in front of his own pals. Under 
 stand? I want him and his bunch and the 
 reporters all to know that this here alleged drag 
 of his that the newspapers ve been beefin so 
 loud about is all bogus. And then you fetch 
 him here to me and I ll do the rest. Don t 
 make no gun play nor nothin of that nature 
 without you have to, but at the same time 
 and nevertheless don t take no foolish chances. 
 This party may act up rough and then again 
 he may not. Get me? My guess is he won t. 
 Still and notwithstandin , don t leave no 
 openin s. Now get goin ." 
 
 Sure enough it was at the sign of the Stuffed 
 Owl, down in a basement bat cave of a place and 
 in the dusk of the evening, that they found their 
 man. To Ginsburg s curious eyes he revealed 
 himself as a short, swart person with enormously 
 broad shoulders and with a chimpanzee s arm 
 reach. Look at those arms of his and one 
 knew why he was called Stretchy. How he 
 had acquired his last name of Gorman was only 
 to be guessed at. It was fair to assume, though, 
 he had got it by processes of self -adoption no 
 unusual thing in a city where overnight a 
 Finkelstein turns into a Fogarty and he who at 
 the going down of the sun was Antonio Bacci- 
 galuppi has at the upcoming of the same become 
 Joseph Brown. One thing, though, was sure 
 [266] 
 
JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 as rain : This particular Gorman had never been 
 a Gorman born. 
 
 Not the blackest of the "Black Irish," not 
 the most brunette of brunette Welshmen ever 
 had a skin of that peculiar brownish pallor, like 
 clear water in a cypress swamp, or eyes like the 
 slitted pair looking out obliquely from this 
 man s head. 
 
 Taking their cue of action from their su 
 perior s words, Casane and Ginsburg, having 
 come down the short flight of steps leading 
 from the sidewalk, went directly across the 
 barroom to where their man sat at a small table 
 with two others, presumably both of his fol 
 lowing, for his companions. 
 
 The manner of the intruders was casual 
 enough; casual and yet marked by a business 
 like air. They knew that at this moment they 
 were not especially attractive risks for an acci 
 dent insurance company. The very sawdust 
 on the floor stank of villainy; the brass bar rail 
 might have been a rigid length of poison snake; 
 the spittoons were small sinks of corruption. 
 Moreover, they had been commissioned to take 
 a monarch off his throne before the eyes of his 
 courtiers, and history records that this ever was 
 a proceeding fraught with peril. 
 
 Still they went straight toward him. Before 
 they spoke a word almost before they were 
 well inside the street door he must have 
 recognised them as Headquarters men. Being 
 what he was, he instantly would have appraised 
 [267] " 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 them for what they were had the meeting 
 taken place in the dead vast and middle of 
 Sahara s sandy wastes. Even the seasoned 
 urbanite who is law-abiding and who has no 
 cause to fear the thief-taker can pick out a 
 detective halfway up the block. 
 
 Besides, in the same instant that they 
 descended from the street level, the barkeeper 
 with his tongue had made a small clucking 
 sound, thrice repeated, and with all four 
 fingers of his right hand had gripped the left 
 lapel of his unbuttoned waistcoat. Thereat 
 there had been a general raising of heads all 
 over the place. Since the days of Jonathan 
 Wild and even before that since the days when 
 the Romany Rye came out of the East into 
 England the signal of the collar has been the 
 sign of the collar, which means the cop. 
 
 The man they sought eyed them contempt 
 uously from under the down-tilted visor of his 
 cap as they approached him. His arms were 
 folded upon the table top and for the moment 
 he kept them so. 
 
 "Evening," said Casane civilly, pausing along 
 side him. " Call yourself Gorman, don t you? " 
 
 "I ve been known to answer to that name," 
 he answered back in the curious flat tone that 
 is affected by some of his sort and is natural 
 with the rest of them. " Wot of it? " 
 
 "There s somebody wants to have a talk 
 with you up at the front office that s all," 
 
 said Casane. 
 
 [268] "" 
 
JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 "It s a pinch then, huh?" The gangster put 
 his open hands against the edge of the table 
 as though for a rearward spring. 
 
 "I m tellin you all we know ourselves," 
 countered Casane. His voice was conciliatory 
 soothing almost. But Ginsburg had edged 
 round past Casane, ready at the next warning 
 move to take the gang leader on the flank with 
 a quick forward rush, and inside their overcoats 
 the shapes of both the officers had tensed. 
 
 "Call it a pinch if you want to," went on 
 Casane. "I d call it more of an invitation 
 just to take a little walk with us two and then 
 have a chat with somebody else. Unless you 
 or some of your friends here feel like startin 
 something there ll be no rough stuff that s 
 orders. We re askin you to go along first. 
 How about it?" 
 
 "Oh, I ll go I ll go! There s nobody got 
 anything on me. And nobody s goin to get 
 anything on me neither." 
 
 He stood up and with a quick movement 
 jerked back the skirts of his coat, holding them 
 aloft so that his hip pockets and his waistband 
 showed. 
 
 "Take notice!" he cried, invoking as wit 
 nesses all present. "Take notice that I m 
 carryin no gat ! So don t you bulls try f ramin 
 me under the Sullivan Law for havin a gat on 
 me. There s half a dozen here knows I ain t 
 heeled and kin swear to it case of a frame-up. 
 
 Now go ahead and frisk me!" 
 
 [269] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 "That ll be all right we could easy take 
 your word for it," said Casane, still maintaining 
 his placating pose. Nevertheless he signed to 
 Ginsburg and the latter moved a step nearer 
 their man and his practiced fingers ran swiftly 
 over the unresisting form, feeling beneath the 
 arms, down the flanks, about the belt line and 
 even at the back of the neck for a suspicious 
 hard bulge inside the garments, finally giving 
 the side coat pockets a perfunctory slap. 
 
 "Unless you make it necessary, we won t be 
 callin for the wagon," Casane stated. "Just 
 the three of us ll take a little stroll, like I m 
 telling you just stroll out and take the air 
 up to Headquarters." 
 
 He slipped into position on one side of the 
 gangster, Ginsburg on the other. Over his 
 shoulder the man thus placed between them 
 looked round to where his two underlings still 
 sat at the table, both silent as the rest of 
 the company were, but both plainly prepared 
 for any contingencies; both ready to follow 
 their* chief s lead in whatsoever course, peace 
 able or violent, he might next elect to follow. 
 
 "Here you, Louie," he bade one of them, 
 "jump to the telephone and notify a certain 
 party to have me mouthpiece at Headquarters 
 by the time I kin get there with these two dicks. 
 Tell him the cops ve got nothin on me, but I 
 wants me mouthpiece there just the same 
 case of a tie." 
 
 Until now the preliminaries had been carried 
 ~ [270] 
 
JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 on with a due regard for the unwritten but 
 rigid code of underworld etiquette. From 
 neither side had there issued a single unethical 
 word. The detectives had been punctilious 
 to avoid ruffling the sensibilities of any and all. 
 All the same, the prisoner chose of a sudden to 
 turn nasty. It was at once manifest that he 
 aimed to give offence without giving provoca 
 tion or real excuse for reprisals on the part of 
 the invaders. He spat side wise across Casane s 
 front and as he took the first step forward he 
 brought the foot down upon one of Ginsburg s 
 feet, grinding his heel sharply into the toes 
 beneath. Ginsburg winced at the pain but did 
 not speak; he had not spoken at all up until 
 now, leaving it to Casane as the elder man to 
 conduct the preliminaries. 
 
 "Why don t you say something, you Jew!" 
 taunted the prisoner. "Don t you even know 
 enough to excuse yourself when you stick your 
 fat feet in people s way?" 
 
 "That ll be all right," said Ginsburg crisply. 
 It was his business to avoid the issue of a clash. 
 "And it ll be all right your calling me a Jew. 
 I am a Jew and I m proud of it. And I m 
 wearing the same name I started out with too." 
 
 "Is that so?" 
 
 Except in the inspired pages of fiction city 
 thugs are singularly barren of power to deliver 
 really snappy, really witty retorts. 
 
 "Is that so, Jew?" He stared at Ginsburg 
 
 and a derisive grin opened a gap in his broad 
 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 dark face. "Oh, be chee! We ain t strangers 
 you and me ain t! We ve met before 
 when we was kids. Down in Henry Street, 
 it was. I put me mark on you oncet, and if I 
 ever feel like it I ll do it again sometime." 
 
 Like a match under shavings the words 
 kindled half-forgotten memories in the young 
 detective s brain and now for his part 
 recognition came flashing back out of the past. 
 
 "I thought so," he said, choosing to ignore the 
 gangster and addressing Casane. "I thought 
 from the first Gorman wasn t his right name. 
 I ve forgotten what his right name is, but it s 
 nothing that sounds like Gorman. He s a wop. 
 I went to the same school with him over on the 
 East Side a good many years ago." 
 
 "Don t forget to tell him how the wop licked 
 the Jew," broke in the prisoner. "Remember 
 how the scrap started?" 
 
 He spat again and this time he did not miss. 
 Ginsburg put up his gloved hand and wiped 
 clean a face that with passion had turned a 
 mottle of red-and- white blotches. His voice 
 shook from the strain of his effort to control 
 himself. 
 
 "I ll get you for that," he said quietly. 
 "And I ll get you good. The day 11 come 
 when I ll walk you in broad daylight up to the 
 big chief, and I ll have the goods on you too." 
 
 "Forget it," jeered the ruffian triumphantly. 
 Before the eyes of his satellites he had by his 
 standards acquitted himself right creditably. 
 " [272] 
 
JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 "You got notliin on me now, Jew, and you 
 never will have. Well, come on, you bulls, 
 let s be goin along. I wouldn t want the 
 neither one of you for steady company. One 
 of you is too polite and the other n too meek 
 for my tastes." 
 
 The man who was called Stretchy Gorman 
 spoke a prophetic word when he said the 
 police had nothing on him. Since they had 
 nothing on him, he was let go after forty-eight 
 hours of detention; but that is not saying they 
 did not intend, if they could and in such 
 cases they usually can to get something on 
 him. 
 
 No man in the department had better reason 
 to crave that consummation than Hyman Gins- 
 burg had. With him the hope of achieving 
 revenge became practically an obsession. It 
 rode in his thoughts. Any hour, in a cam 
 paign to harry the gangster to desperation by 
 means of methods that are common enough 
 inside the department, he might have invoked 
 competent and willing assistance, for the word 
 had filtered down from on high, where the seats 
 of the mighty are, that those mysterious forces 
 aloft would look complacently upon the eternal 
 undoing of the Stretchy Gormans and their 
 titular leader, no matter how accomplished. 
 
 But this notion did not match in with the 
 colour of Ginsburg s desires. Single-handed, he 
 meant to do the trick. Most probably then 
 [273] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 the credit would be all his; assuredly the satis 
 faction would. When he considered this pros 
 pect his mind ran back along old grooves to the 
 humiliating beating he had suffered in front of 
 the Henry Street school so long before and of a 
 most painful strapping that followed; these 
 being coupled always with a later memory scar 
 of a grievous insult endured in the line of duty 
 and all the more hateful because it had been 
 endured. 
 
 Once Ginsburg had read a book out of a 
 public library a book which mentally he called 
 Less Miserables. Through the pages of that 
 book there had walked a detective whom Gins- 
 burg in his mind knew by the name of Jawbert. 
 Now he recalled how this Jawbert spent his 
 life tracking down an offender who was the 
 main hero of the book. He told himself that 
 in the matter of Stretchy Gorman he would be 
 as another Jawbert. 
 
 By way of a beginning he took advantage of 
 leisure hours to trace out the criminal history 
 of his destined victim. In the gallery he found 
 numbered and classified photographs; in the 
 Bertillon bureau, finger prints; and in the 
 records, what else he lacked of information 
 as an urchin, so many years spent in the pro 
 tectory; as a youth, so many years in the re 
 formatory; as a man, a year on Blackwell s 
 Island for a misdemeanour and a three-year 
 term at Sing Sing for a felony; also he dug up 
 the entry of an indictment yet standing on 
 
JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 which trial had never been held for lack of 
 proof to convict; finally a long list of arrests for 
 this and that and the other thing, unproved. 
 From under a succession of aliases he uncovered 
 Gorman s real name. 
 
 But a sequence of events delayed his fuller 
 assumption of the role of Jawbert. He was 
 sent to Rio de Janeiro to bring back an abscon- 
 der of note. Six months he worked on the 
 famous Gonzales child-stealing mystery. He 
 made two trips out to the Pacific Coast in con 
 nection with the Chappy Morgan wire-tapping 
 cases. Few of the routine jobs about the 
 detective bureau fell to him. He was too good 
 for routine and his superiors recognised the 
 fact and were governed thereby. 
 
 By the rules of tradition, Ginsburg as a 
 successful detective should have been either an 
 Irishman or of Irish descent. But in the second 
 biggest police force in the world, wherein twenty 
 per cent of the personnel wear names that 
 betoken Jewish, Slavic or Latin forebears, 
 tradition these Jtimes suffers many a body 
 wallop. 
 
 On a night in early April, Ginsburg, coming 
 across from New Jersey, landed off a ferryboat 
 at Christopher Street. He had gone across the 
 river to gather up a loose end of the evidence 
 accumulating against Chappy Morgan, king 
 of the wireless wire-tappers. It was nearly 
 midnight when he emerged from the ferryhouse. 
 In sight was no surface car; so he set out afoot 
 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 to walk across town to where he lived on the 
 East Side. 
 
 Going through a side street in a district 
 which mainly is given over to the establish 
 ments of textile jobbers, he observed, half a 
 block away, a fire escape that bore strange 
 fruit. The front line of a stretch of tallish 
 buildings stood out in relief against the back 
 ground of a wet moon and showed him, high 
 up on the iron ladder which flighted down the 
 face of one house of the row, two dark clumps, 
 one placed just above the other. 
 
 Ginsburg slipped into a protecting ledge of 
 shadow close up against the buildings and edged 
 along nearer. The clumps resolved into the 
 figures of men. One the uppermost shape of 
 a man was receiving from some unseen sources 
 flat burdens that came down over the roof 
 coping and passing them along to the accom 
 plice below. The latter in turn stacked them 
 upon the grilled floor of the fire balcony that 
 projected out into space at the level of the 
 fourth floor, the building being five floors in 
 height. By chance Ginsburg had happened 
 upon a loft-robbing enterprise. 
 
 He shifted his revolver from his hip pocket to 
 the side pocket of his overcoat and crept closer, 
 planning for the pair so intently engaged over 
 head a surprise when they should descend with 
 their loot. There was no time now to seek 
 out the patrolman on the post; the job must be 
 
 all his. 
 
 [276] 
 
JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 Two doors from the building that had been 
 entered he crept noiselessly down into a base 
 ment and squatted behind an ash barrel. It 
 was inky black in there; so inkily black he 
 never suspected that the recess held another 
 tenant. Your well-organised loft-robbing mob 
 carries along a lookout who in case of discovery 
 gives warning; in case of attack, repels the 
 attack, and in case of pursuit acts as rear guard. 
 In Stretchy Gorman s operations Stretchy acted 
 as his own lookout, and a highly competent one 
 he was, too, with a preference for lurking in 
 area ways while his lieutenants carried forward 
 the more arduous but less responsible shares of 
 the undertaking. 
 
 In the darkness behind Ginsburg where he 
 crouched a long gorilla s arm of an arm reached 
 outward and downward, describing an arc. 
 You might call it the long arm of coincidence 
 and be making no mistake either. At the end 
 of the arm was a fist and in the fist a length of 
 gas pipe wrapped in rags. This gas pipe de 
 scended upon the back of Ginsburg s skull, 
 crushing through the derby hat he wore. And 
 the next thing Ginsburg knew he was in St. 
 Vincent s Hospital with a splitting headache 
 and the United States Government had gone 
 to war against the German Empire. 
 
 Ginsburg did not volunteer. The parent 
 who once had wielded the disciplinary strap- 
 end so painstakingly had long since rejoined 
 his bearded ancestors, but there was a depen- 
 [277] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 dent mother to be cared for and a whole covey 
 of younger brothers and sisters to be shepherded 
 through school and into sustaining employ 
 ment. So he waited for the draft, and when 
 the draft took him and his number came out 
 in the drawing, as it very soon did, he waived 
 his exemptions and went to training camp 
 wearing an old suit of clothes and an easy pair 
 of shoes. Presently he found himself trans 
 ferred to a volunteer outfit one of the very few 
 draft men who were to serve with that outfit. 
 
 In camp the discipline he had acquired and 
 the drilling he had done in his prentice days on 
 the force stood him in good stead. Hard work 
 trimmed off of him the layers of tissue he had 
 begun to take on; plain solid food finished the 
 job of unlarding his frame. Shortly he was 
 Corporal Ginsburg a trim upstanding cor 
 poral. Then he became Sergeant Ginsburg and 
 soon after this was Second Sergeant Ginsburg of 
 B Company of a regiment still somewhat 
 sketchy and ragged in its make-up, but with 
 promise of good stuff to emerge from the mass 
 of its material. When his regiment and his 
 division went overseas, First Sergeant Ginsburg 
 went along too. 
 
 The division had started out by being a 
 national guard division; almost exclusively its 
 rank and file had been city men rich men s 
 sons from uptown, poor men s sons with jaw- 
 breaking names from the tenements. At the 
 beginning the acting major general in command 
 [278] 
 
JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 had been fond of boasting that he had repre 
 sentatives of thirty-two nations and practi 
 tioners of fifty -four creeds and cults in his outfit. 
 Before very long he might truthfully expand 
 both these figures. 
 
 To stopper the holes made by the wear and 
 tear of intensive training, the attritions of sick 
 ness and of transfers, the losses by death and by 
 wounding as suffered in the first small spells of 
 campaigning, replacements came up from the 
 depots, enriching the local colour of the division 
 with new types and strange accents. Southern 
 mountaineers, Western ranch hands and farm 
 boys from the Middle States came along to find 
 mates among Syrians, Jews, Italians, Arme 
 nians and Greeks. Cotton Belt, Corn Belt, 
 Wheat Belt and Timber Belt contributed. 
 Born feudists became snipers, counter jumpers 
 became fencibles, yokels became drillmasters, 
 sweat-shop hands became sharpshooters, aliens 
 became Americans, an ex- janitor Austrian- 
 born became a captain, a rabble became an 
 organised unit; the division became a tempered 
 mettlesome lance springy, sharp and depend 
 able. 
 
 This miracle so often repeated itself in our 
 new army that it ceased to be miraculous and 
 became commonplace. During its enactment 
 we as a nation accepted it with calmness, almost 
 with indifference. I expect our grandchildren 
 will marvel at it and among them will be some 
 who will write large, fat books about it. 
 
FROM PLACE; TO PLACE 
 
 On that great day when a new definition for 
 the German equivalent of the English word 
 "impregnable" was furnished by men who went 
 up to battle swearfully or prayerfully, as the 
 case might be, a-swearing and a-praying as they 
 went in more tongues than were babbled at 
 Babel Tower; in other words, on the day when 
 the never-to-be-broken Hindenburg line was 
 broken through and through, a battalion of one 
 of the infantry regiments of this same polyglot 
 division formed a little individual ground swell 
 in the first wave of attack. 
 
 That chill and gloomy hour when condemned 
 men and milkmen rise up from where they lie, 
 when sick folk die in their beds and the drowsy 
 birds begin to chirp themselves awake found 
 the men of this particular battalion in shallow 
 front-line trenches on the farther edge of a 
 birch thicket. There they crouched, awaiting 
 the word. The flat cold taste of before sunup 
 was clammy in their throats; the smell of the 
 fading nighttime was in their nostrils. 
 
 And in the heart of every man of them that 
 man over and over again asked himself a ques 
 tion. He asked himself whether his will 
 power which meant his soul was going to be 
 strong enough to drag his reluctant body along 
 with it into what impended. You see, with a 
 very few exceptions none of this outfit had been 
 beyond the wires before. They had been under 
 fire, some of them fire of gas shells and of shrap- 
 nel and of high explosives in dugouts or in rear 
 [280] 
 
JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 positions or as they passed along roads lying 
 under gun range of the enemy. But this 
 matter would be different; this experience would 
 widely differ from any they had undergone. 
 This meant going out into the open to walk up 
 against machine-gun fire and small-arm fire. 
 So each one asked himself the question. 
 
 Take a thousand fighting men. For purposes 
 of argument let us say that when the test of 
 fighting comes five men out of that thousand 
 cannot readjust their nerves to the prospect of 
 a violent end by powder and ball from unseen 
 sources. Under other circumstances any one 
 of the five might face a peril greater than that 
 which now confronts him. Conceivably he 
 might flop into a swollen river to save a drown 
 ing puppy; might dive into a burning building 
 after some stranger s pet tabby cat. But this 
 prospect which lies before him of ambling across 
 a field with death singing about his ears, is a 
 thing which tears with clawing fingers at the 
 tuggs and toggles of his imagination until his 
 flesh revolts to the point where it refuses the 
 dare. It is such a man that courts-martial 
 and the world at large miscall by the hateful 
 name of coward. 
 
 Out of the remaining nine hundred and 
 ninety-five are five more as we allow who 
 have so little of perception, who are so stolid, 
 so dull of wit and apprehension that they go 
 into battle unmoved, unshaken, unthinking. 
 This leaves nine hundred and ninety who are 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 afraid sorely and terribly afraid. They are 
 afraid of being killed, afraid of being crippled, 
 afraid of venturing out where killings and 
 cripplings are carried on as branches of a highly 
 specialised business. 
 
 But at the last they find that they fear just 
 one thing more than they fear death and dis 
 memberment; and that this one supremest 
 thing is the fear that those about them may 
 discover how terribly afraid they are. It is this 
 greater fear, overriding all those lesser terrors, 
 that makes over ordinary men into leaders of 
 forlorn hopes, into holders of last ditches, into 
 bearers of heroic blazons, into sleepers under 
 memorial shafts erected by the citizens of a 
 proud, a grateful and a sorrowing country. 
 A sense of self-respect is a terrific responsi 
 bility. 
 
 Under this double stress, torn in advance 
 of the actual undertaking by primitive emotions 
 pulling in opposite directions, men bear them 
 selves after curious but common fashions. To 
 a psychologist twenty men chosen at random 
 from the members of the battalion, waiting 
 there in the edge of the birch thicket for their 
 striking hour to come, would have offered 
 twenty contrasting subjects for study. 
 
 Here was a man all deathly white, who spoke 
 never a word, but who retched with sharp 
 painful sounds and kept his free hand gripped 
 into his cramping belly. That dread of being 
 hit in the bowels which so many men have at 
 [ 282 ] 
 
JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 moments like this was making him physically 
 sick. 
 
 Here again was a man who made jokes about 
 cold feet and yellow streaks and the chances of 
 death and the like and laughed at his own jokes. 
 But there was a quiver of barely checked hys 
 teria in his laughing and his eyes shone like the 
 eyes of a man in a fever and the sweat kept 
 popping out in little beads on his face. 
 
 Here again was a man who swore constantly 
 in a monotonous undertone. Always I am 
 reading where a man of my race under strain 
 or provocation coins new and apt and pictur 
 esque oaths ; but myself, I have never seen such 
 a man. I should have seen him, too, if he 
 really existed anywhere except in books, seeing 
 that as a boy I knew many steamboat mates 
 on Southern waters and afterward met socially 
 many and divers mule drivers and horse 
 wranglers in the great West. 
 
 But it has been my observation that in the 
 matter of oaths the Anglo-Saxon tongue is 
 strangely lacking in variety and spice. There 
 are a few stand-by oaths three or four nouns, 
 two or three adjectives, one double- join ted 
 adjective and these invariably are employed 
 over and over again. The which was un 
 deniably true in this particular instance. This 
 man who swore so steadily merely repeated, 
 times without number and presumably with 
 reference to the Germans, the unprettiest and 
 at the same time the most familiar name of 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 compounded opprobrium that our deficient 
 language yields. 
 
 For the fiftieth time in half as many minutes, 
 a captain his name was Captain Griswold 
 and he was the captain of B Company con 
 sulted the luminous face of his wrist watch 
 where he stooped behind shelter. He spoke 
 then, and his voice was plainly to be heard 
 under the whistle and whoop of the shells 
 passing over his head from the supporting 
 batteries behind with intent to fall in the sup 
 posed defences of the enemy in front. Great 
 sounds would have been lost in that crashing 
 tumult; by one of the paradoxes of battle 
 lesser sounds were easily audible. 
 
 "All right," said Captain Griswold, "it s 
 time! If some damn fool hasn t gummed 
 things up the creeping barrage should be 
 starting out yonder and everything is set. 
 Come on, men let s go!" 
 
 They went, each still behaving according to 
 his own mode. The man with the gripes who 
 retched was still retching as he heaved himself 
 up over the parapet; the man who had laughed 
 was still laughing; the man who had sworn was 
 mechanically continuing to repeat that naughty 
 pet name of his for the Fritzies. Nobody, 
 though, called on anybody else to defend the 
 glory of the flag; nobody invited anybody to 
 remember the Lusitania; nobody spoke a single 
 one of the fine speeches which the bushelmen of 
 fiction at home were even then thinking up to 
 
JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 put into the mouths of men moving into 
 battle. 
 
 Indeed, not in any visible regard was the 
 scene marked by drama. Merely some mud 
 died men burdened with ironmongery and 
 bumpy with gas masks and ammunition packs 
 climbed laboriously out of a slit in the wet 
 earth and in squads single filing, one man 
 behind the next as directly as might be 
 stepped along through a pale, sad, slightly 
 misty light at rather a deliberate pace, to 
 traverse a barb-wired meadowland which rose 
 before them at a gentle incline. There was no 
 firing of guns, no waving of swords. There 
 were no swords to wave. There was no enemy 
 in sight and no evidence as yet that they had 
 been sighted by any enemy. As a matter of 
 fact, none of them neither those who fell nor 
 those who lived saw on that day a single 
 living individual recognisable as a German. 
 
 A sense of enormous isolation encompassed 
 them. They seemed to be all alone in a corner 
 of the world that was peopled by diabolical 
 sounds, but not by humans. They had a 
 feeling that because of an error in the plans 
 they had been sent forward without supports; 
 that they a puny handful were to be sacri 
 ficed under the haunches of the Hindenburg 
 line while all those thousands of others who 
 should have been their companions upon this 
 adventure bided safely behind, held back by 
 the countermand which through some hideous 
 _ .. _- [285] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 blunder had failed to reach them in time. 
 But they went on. Orders were to go on and 
 order, plus discipline, plus the individual s 
 sense of responsibility, plus that fear of his 
 that his mates may know how fearful of other 
 things he is make it possible for armies to 
 be armies instead of mobs and for battles to be 
 won. 
 
 They went on until they came to an invisible 
 line drawn lengthwise across the broad way of 
 the weed field, and here men began to drop 
 down. Mainly those stricken slid gently for 
 ward to lie on their stomachs. Only here and 
 there was there a man who spun about to fall 
 face upward. Those who were wounded, but 
 not overthrown, would generally sit down quite 
 gently and quite deliberately, with puzzled 
 looks in their eyes. Since still there was neither 
 sign nor sight of the well-hidden enemy the 
 thought took root in the minds of the men as 
 yet unscathed that, advancing too fast, they 
 had been caught in the drop curtain of their 
 own barrage. 
 
 Sergeant Hyman Ginsburg, going along at 
 the head of his squad, got this notion quite well 
 fixed in his mind. Then, though, he saw 
 smoke jets issuing from bushes and trees on 
 ahead of him where the ridges of the slope 
 sharpened up acutely into a sort of natural 
 barrier like a wall; and likewise for the first 
 time he now heard the tat-tat-tat of machine 
 guns, sounding like the hammers of pneumatic 
 ~ [286] 
 
JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 riveters rapidly operated. To him it seemed a 
 proper course that his squad should take such 
 cover as the lay of the land afforded and fire 
 back toward the machine guns. But since the 
 instructions, so far as he knew them, called for 
 a steady advance up to within a few rods of the 
 enemy s supposed position and then a quick 
 rush forward, he gave no such command to his 
 squad. 
 
 Suddenly he became aware that off to the 
 right the forward movement of the battalion 
 was checking up. Then, all in an instant, 
 men on both sides were falling back. He and 
 his squad were enveloped in a reverse move 
 ment. It seemed too bad that the battalion 
 should be driven in after suffering these casual 
 ties and without having dealt a blow in return 
 for the punishment it had undergone. But 
 what did it matter if, after all, they were being 
 sacrificed vainly as the result of a hideous mis 
 take at divisional headquarters? Better to 
 save what was left. 
 
 So far as he could tell, nobody gave the word 
 to retire. He found himself going back at the 
 tail of his squad where before he had been its 
 head. Subconsciously he was surprised to 
 observe that the copse from which they had 
 emerged but a minute or two earlier, as he had 
 imagined, was a considerable distance away 
 from them, now that they had set their faces 
 toward it. It did not seem possible that they 
 could have left it so far behind them. Yet 
 [287] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 returning to it the men did not perceptibly hurry 
 their steps. They retreated without evidences 
 of disorder almost reluctantly as though by 
 this very slowness of movement to signify 
 their disgust for the supposed fiasco that had 
 enveloped them, causing them, to waste lives 
 in an ill-timed and futile endeavour. 
 
 Ginsburg reentered the covert of birches 
 with a sense of gratitude for its protection 
 and let himself down into the trench. He 
 faced about, peering over its rim, and saw 
 that his captain Captain Griswold was just 
 behind him, returning all alone and looking 
 back over his shoulder constantly. 
 
 Captain Griswold was perhaps twenty yards 
 from the thicket when he clasped both hands 
 to the pit of his stomach and slipped down flat 
 in the trampled herbage. In that same moment 
 Ginsburg saw how many invisible darting 
 objects, which must of course be machine-gun 
 bullets, were mowing the weed stems about the 
 spot where the captain had gone down. Bits 
 of turf flew up in showers as the leaden blasts, 
 spraying down from the top of the ridge, bored 
 into the earth. 
 
 Well, somebody would have to bring the 
 captain in out of that. He laid his rifle against 
 the wall of the trench and climbed out again 
 into plain view. So far as he knew he was 
 going as a solitary volunteer upon this errand. 
 He put one arm across his face, like a man 
 fending off rain drops, and ran bent forward. 
 [288 ] 
 
JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 The captain, when he reached him, was lying 
 upon his side with his face turned away from 
 Ginsburg and his shrapnel helmet half on and 
 half off his head. Ginsburg stooped, putting 
 his hands under the pits of the captain s arms, 
 and gave a heave. The burden of the body 
 came against him as so much dead heft; a 
 weight limp and unresponsive, the trunk sag 
 ging, the limbs loose and unguided. 
 
 Ginsburg felt a hard buffet in his right side. 
 It wasn t a blow exactly; it was more like a 
 clout from a heavily -shod blunt-ended brogan. 
 His last registered impression as he collapsed 
 on top of the captain was that someone, 
 hurrying up to aid him, had stumbled and 
 driven a booted toe into his ribs. Thereafter 
 for a space events in so far as Ginsburg s mind 
 recorded them were hazy, with gaps between 
 of complete forgetfulness. He felt no pain to 
 speak of, but busybodies kept bothering him. 
 It drowsily annoyed him to be dragged about, 
 to be lifted up and to be put down again, to be 
 pawed over by unseen, dimly comprehended 
 hands, to be ridden in a careening, bumping 
 vehicle for what seemed to him hours and 
 hours. Finally, when he was striving to re 
 organise his faculties for the utterance of a 
 protest, someone put something over his nose 
 and he went sound asleep. 
 
 Ensued then a measureless period when he 
 slept and dreamed strange jumbled dreams. 
 He awakened, clear enough in his thoughts, 
 " " ~~ " [289] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 but beset with a queer giddiness and a weakness, 
 in a hospital sixteen miles from where the mix- 
 up had started, though he didn t know about 
 that of course until subsequent inquiry enabled 
 him to piece together a number of fragmentary 
 recollections. For the present he was content 
 to realise that he lay on a comfortable cot under 
 a tight roof and that he had his full complement 
 of arms and legs and could move them, though 
 when he moved the right leg the ankle hurt him. 
 Also he had a queer squeezed-in sensation amid 
 ships as though broad straps had been buckled 
 tightly about his trunk. 
 
 Upon top of these discoveries came another. 
 Sitting up in the next-hand cot to his on the 
 right was a member of his own company, one 
 Paul Dempsey, now rather elaborately ban 
 daged as to his head and shoulders, but seem 
 ingly otherwise in customary good order and 
 spirits. 
 
 "Hello, Dempsey," he said. 
 
 "Hello, sarge," answered back Dempsey. 
 "How you feelin by now all right?" 
 
 "Guess so. My ankle is sprained or some 
 thing and my side feels sort of funny." 
 
 "I shouldn t wonder," said Dempsey. "I 
 got a dippy kind of feelin inside my own head 
 piece piece of shell casin come and beaned 
 me. It don t amount to much, though; just 
 enough to get me a wound stripe. You re the 
 lucky guy, sarge. Maybe it s so you won t 
 
 have to go back and prob ly I will." 
 
 [290] 
 
JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 The speaker sighed and grinned and then 
 confessed to a great perception which many 
 before him had known and which many were 
 to know afterward, but which some less frank 
 than he have sought to conceal. 
 
 "I ll go back of course if they need me 
 and if I have to but I d just as lief not. You 
 kin take it from me, I ve had plenty of this 
 gettin all-shot-up business. Oncet is enough 
 for First-Class Private Dempsey. 
 
 "Say," he went on, "looks like you and me 
 are goin partners a lot here lately. I get mine 
 right after you get yours. We ride back here 
 together in the same tin Lizzie you and me 
 do and now here we are side by each again. 
 Well, there s a lot of the fellows we won t 
 neither of us see no more. But their lives 
 wasn t wasted, at that. I betcher there s a 
 lot of German bein spoke in hell these last two 
 or three days. 
 
 "Oh, you ain t heard the big news, have you? 
 Bein off your dip and out of commission like 
 you was. Well, we busted old Mister Hinden- 
 burg s line in about nine places and now it 
 looks like maybe we ll eat Thanksgivin dinner 
 in Berlin or Hoboken one." 
 
 Dempsey went on and every word that he 
 uttered was news how the seemingly pre 
 mature advance of the battalion had not been a 
 mistake at all; how the only slip was that the 
 battalion walked into a whole cote of unsus- 
 pected machine-gun nests, but how the second 
 [291] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 battalion going up and round the shore of the 
 hill to the left had taken the boche on the 
 flank and cleaned him out of his pretty little 
 ambuscade; how there were tidings of great 
 cheer filtering back from all along the line 
 and so forth and so on. Ginsburg broke in 
 on him: 
 
 "How s Captain Griswold?" 
 
 "Oh, the cap was as good as dead when this 
 here guy, Goodman, fetched him in on his 
 back after he d went out after you fell and 
 fetched you back in first. I seen the whole 
 thing myself it was right after that that I 
 got beaned. One good scout, the cap was. 
 And there ain t nothin wrong with this Good 
 man, neither; you kin take it from me." 
 
 "Goodman?" Ginsburg pondered. The 
 name was a strange one. "Say, was it this 
 Goodman that kicked me in the ribs while I 
 was try in to pick up the captain?" 
 
 "Kicked you nothin ! You got a machine- 
 gun bullet glancin on your short ribs and acrost 
 your chest right under the skin that was 
 what put you down and out. And then just 
 as Goodman fetched you in acrost over the top 
 here come another lot of machine-gun bullets, 
 and one of em drilled you through the ankle 
 and another one of them bored Goodman clean 
 through the shoulder; but that didn t keep him 
 from goin right back out there, shot up like 
 he was, after the captain. Quick as a cat that 
 guy was and strong as a bull. Naw, Goodman 
 
 [292] 
 
JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 he never kicked you that was a little chunk 
 of lead kicked you." 
 
 "But I didn t feel any pain like a bullet," 
 protested Ginsburg. "It was more like a hard 
 wallop with a club or a boot." 
 
 "Say, that s a funny thing too," said Demp- 
 sey. "You re always readin about the sharp 
 dartin pain a bullet makes, and yet nearly 
 everybody that gets hit comes out of his trance 
 ready to swear a mule muster kicked him or 
 somethin . I guess that sharp-dartin -pain 
 stuff runs for Sweeney; the guys that write 
 about it oughter get shot up themselves oncet. 
 Then they d know." 
 
 "This Goodman, now?" queried Ginsburg, 
 trying to chamber many impressions at once. 
 "I don t seem to place him. He wasn t in B 
 Company?" 
 
 "Naw! He s out of D Company. He s 
 a new guy. He s out of a bunch of replace 
 ments that come up for D Company only the 
 day before yistiddy. Well, for a green hand he 
 certainly handled himself like one old-timer." 
 
 Dempsey, aged nineteen, spoke as the grizzled 
 veteran of many campaigns might have spoken. 
 
 "Yes, sir! He certainly snatched you out 
 of a damn bad hole in jig time." 
 
 "I d like to have a look at him," said Gins 
 burg. "And my old mother back home would, 
 too, I know." 
 
 "Your mother ll have to wait, but you kin 
 have your wish," said Dempsey gleefully. He 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 had been saving his biggest piece of news for 
 the last. "If you ve got anything to ask him 
 just ask him. He s layin there right over 
 there on the other side of you. We all three of 
 us rode down here together in the same amb - 
 lance load." 
 
 Ginsburg turned his head. Above the blan 
 ket that covered the figure of his cot neighbour 
 on the right he looked into the face of the man 
 who had saved him looked into it and recog 
 nised it. That dark skin, clear though, with a 
 transparent pallor to it like brown stump water 
 in a swamp, and those black eyes between the 
 slitted lids could belong to but one person on 
 earth. If the other had overheard what just 
 had passed between Ginsburg and Dempsey he 
 gave no sign. He considered Ginsburg steadily, 
 with a cool, hostile stare in his eyes. 
 
 "Much obliged, buddy," said Ginsburg. 
 Something already had told him that here 
 revealed was a secret not to be shared with a 
 third party. 
 
 "Don t mention it," answered his late 
 rescuer shortly. He drew a fold of the blanket 
 up across his face with the gesture of one craving 
 solitude or sleep. 
 
 "Huh!" quoth Dempsey. "Not what I d 
 call a talkative guy." 
 
 This shortcoming could not be laid at his own 
 
 door. He talked steadily on. After a while, 
 
 though, a reaction of weariness began to blunt 
 
 Dempsey s sprightly vivacity. His talk trailed 
 
 "~ [294] 
 
JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 off into grunts and he slept the sleep of a hurt 
 tired-out boy. 
 
 Satisfied that Dempsey no longer was to be 
 considered in the role of a possible eavesdropper, 
 Ginsburg nevertheless spoke cautiously as again 
 he turned his face toward the motionless figure 
 stretched alongside him on his left. 
 
 "Listening?" he began. 
 
 "Yes," gruffly. 
 
 "When did you begin calling yourself Good 
 man?" 
 
 "That s my business." 
 
 "No, it s not. Something has happened 
 that gives me the right to know. Forget that 
 I used to be on the cops. I m asking you now 
 as one soldier to another : When did you begin 
 calling yourself Goodman?" 
 
 "About a year ago when I first got into the 
 
 service." 
 
 "How did you get in?" 
 "Enlisted." 
 
 "Where? New York?" 
 "No. Cleveland." 
 
 "What made you enlist?" 
 
 "Say, wot s this thoid-degree stuff?" 
 
 "I told you just now that I figured I had a 
 right to know. When a man saves your life it 
 puts him under an obligation to you I mean 
 puts you under an obligation to him," he 
 corrected. 
 
 "Well, if you put it that way maybe it was 
 because I wanted to duck out of reach of you 
 
 " [295] "~ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 bulls. Maybe because I wanted to go straight 
 a while. Maybe because I wanted to show that 
 a bad guy could do somethin for his country. 
 Dope it out for yourself. That used to be your 
 game dopin things out wasn t it?" 
 
 "I m trying to, now. Tell me, does any 
 body know anybody in the Army, I mean 
 know who you are?" 
 
 "Nobody but you; and you might call it an 
 accident, the way you come to find out." 
 
 "Something like that. How s your record 
 since you joined up?" 
 
 "Clean as anybody s." 
 
 "And what s your idea about keeping on 
 going straight after the war is over and you 
 get out of service? 
 
 "Don t answer unless you feel like it; only 
 I ve got my own private reasons for wanting 
 to know." 
 
 "Well, I know a trade learnt it in stir, but 
 I know it. I m a steamfitter by trade, only I 
 ain t never worked much at it. Maybe when 
 I get back I d try workin at it steady if you 
 flatties would only keep off me back. Any 
 thing else you wanted to find out?" His tone 
 was sneering almost. "If there s not, I think 
 I ll try to take a nap." 
 
 "Not now but I d like to talk to you again 
 about some things when we re both rested up." 
 
 "Have it your own way. I can t get away 
 from you for a while not with this hole drilled 
 
 in me shoulder." ___ 
 
 [296] 
 
JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 However, Ginsburg did not have it his own 
 way. The wound in his leg gave threat of 
 trouble and at once he was shifted south to one 
 of the big base hospitals. An operation fol 
 lowed and after that a rather long, slow con 
 valescence. 
 
 In the same week of November that the 
 armistice was signed, Ginsburg, limping slightly, 
 went aboard a troopship bound for home. It 
 befell, therefore, that he spent the winter on 
 sick leave in New York. He had plenty of 
 spare time on his hands and some of it he 
 employed in business of a more or less private 
 nature. For example, he called on the district 
 attorney and a few days later went to Albany 
 and called upon the governor. A returned 
 soldier whose name has been often in the paper 
 and who wears on his uniform tunic two bits of 
 ribbon and on his sleeves service and wound 
 stripes is not kept waiting in anterooms these 
 times. He saw the governor just as he had 
 seen the district attorney promptly. In fact, 
 the governor felt it to be an honour to meet a 
 soldier who had been decorated for gallantry 
 in action and so expressed himself. Later he 
 called in the reporters and restated the fact; 
 but when one of the reporters inquired into the 
 reasons for Sergeant Ginsburg s visit at this 
 time the governor shook his head. 
 
 "The business between us was confidential," 
 he said smilingly. "But I might add that 
 
 Sergeant Ginsburg got what he came for. And 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 it wasn t a job either. I m afraid, though, 
 that you young gentlemen will have to wait a 
 while for the rest of the details. They ll come 
 out in time no doubt. But just for the present 
 a sort of surprise is being planned for someone 
 and while I m to be a party to it I don t feel at 
 liberty to tell about it yet." 
 
 Now it is a part of the business of news 
 paper men to put two and two together and get 
 four. Months later, recalling what the gov 
 ernor had said to the Albany correspondents, 
 divers city editors with the aid of their bright 
 young staff men did put two and two together 
 and they got a story. It was a peach of a bird 
 of a gem of a story that they got on the day a 
 transport nosed up the harbour bearing what 
 was left of one of the infantry regiments of the 
 praiseworthy Metropolitan Division. 
 
 Even in those days of regardless receptions 
 for home-arriving troops it did not often 
 happen that a secretary to the governor and 
 an assistant from the office of the district 
 attorney went down the bay on the same tug to 
 meet the same returning soldier and he a 
 private soldier at that. Each of these gentle 
 men had put on his long-tailed coat and his two- 
 quart hat for the gladsome occasion; each of 
 them carried a document for personal presenta 
 tion to this private soldier. 
 
 And the sum total of these documents was: 
 Firstly, to the full legal effect that a certain 
 ~ [298] 
 
JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 indictment of long standing was now by due 
 processes of law forever and eternally quashed; 
 and secondly, that the governor had seen fit to 
 remove all disabilities against a certain indi 
 vidual, thereby restoring the person named to 
 all the rights, boons, benefits and privileges of 
 citizenship; and thirdly, that in accordance 
 with a prior and privy design, now fully carried 
 out, the recipient of these documents had official 
 guaranty, stamped, sealed and delivered, that 
 when he set foot on the soil of these United 
 States he would do so without cloud upon his 
 title as a sovereign voter, without blemish on 
 his name and without fear of prosecution in his 
 heart. And the upshot of it all was that the 
 story was more than a peach; it was a pippin. 
 The rehabilitation of Private Pasquale Gallino, 
 sometime known as Stretchy Gorman, gangster, 
 and more latterly still as P. Goodman, U. S. A., 
 A. E. F., was celebrated to the extent of 
 I don t know how many gallons of printer s 
 ink. 
 
 Having landed in driblets and having been 
 reassembled in camp as a whole, the division 
 presently paraded, which made another story 
 deemed worthy of columns upon columns in 
 print. Our duty here, though, is not to under 
 take a description of that parade, for such was 
 competently done on that fine day when the 
 crowd that turned out was the largest crowd 
 which that city of crowds, New York, had seen 
 since the day when the crowding Dutchmen 
 [299] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 crowded the Indians off the shortly-to-be- 
 crowded island of Manhattan. 
 
 Those who followed the daily chronicles of 
 daily events saw then, through the eyes of gifted 
 scribes, how Fifth Avenue was turned into a 
 four-mile stretch of prancing, dancing glory; 
 and how the outpouring millions, in masses 
 fluid as water and in strength irresistible as a 
 flood, broke the police dams and made of 
 roadway and sidewalks one great, roaring, 
 human sluiceway; and how the khaki-clad 
 ranks marched upon a carpet of the flowers and 
 the fruit and the candy and the cigarettes and 
 the cigars and th confetti and the paper rib 
 bons that were thrown at them and about 
 them. These things are a tale told and retold. 
 For us the task is merely to narrate one small 
 incident which occurred in a side street hard by 
 Washington Square while the parade was 
 forming. 
 
 Where he stood marking time in the front 
 row of the honour men of his own regiment 
 there being forty-six of these honour men, all 
 bearing upon their proudly outbulged bosoms 
 bits of metal testifying to valorous deeds 
 First Sergeant Hyman Ginsburg, keeping eyes 
 front upon the broad back of the colonel who 
 would ride just in advance of the honour squad 
 and speaking out of the side of his mouth, 
 addressed a short, squat, dark man in private s 
 uniform almost directly behind him at the end 
 
 of the second file. 
 
 [300] 
 
JOHN J. COINCIDENCE 
 
 "Pal," he said, casting his voice over his 
 shoulder, "did you happen to read in the paper 
 this morning that the police commissioner 
 the new one, the one that was appointed while 
 we were in France would be in the reviewing 
 stand to-day?" 
 
 "No, I didn t read it; but wot of it?" 
 answered the person addressed. 
 
 "Nothing, only it reminded me of a promise 
 I made you that night down at the Stuffed Owl 
 when we met for the first time since we were 
 kids together. Remember that promise, don t 
 you?" 
 
 "Can t say I do." 
 
 "I told you that some day I d get you with 
 the goods on you and that I d lead you in broad 
 daylight up the street to the big chief. Well, 
 to-day, kid, I make good on that promise. 
 The big chief s waiting for us up yonder in the 
 reviewing stand along with the governor and 
 the mayor and the rest. And you ve got the 
 goods on you you re wearing them on your 
 chest. And I m about to lead you to him." 
 
 Whereupon old Mr. John J. Coincidence, 
 standing in the crowd, took out his fountain 
 pen and on his shirt cuff scored a fresh tally to 
 his own credit. 
 
 [301] 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 WHEN AUGUST THE SECOND WAS 
 APRIL THE FIRST 
 
 HOW Ethan A. Pratt, formerly of 
 South New Medford, in the State of 
 Vermont, came to be resident man 
 ager and storekeeper for the British 
 Great Eastern Company, Ltd., on Good Friday 
 Island, in the South Seas, is not our present 
 concern. Besides, the way of it makes too 
 long a tale for telling here. It is sufficient to 
 say he was. 
 
 Never having visited that wide, long, deep 
 and mainly liquid backside of the planet known 
 broadly as the South Seas but always intending 
 to do so, I must largely depend for my local 
 colour upon what Ethan Pratt wrote back home 
 to South New Medford; on that, plus what 
 returned travellers to those parts have from 
 time to time told me. So if in this small 
 chronicle those paragraphs which purport to be 
 of a descriptive nature appear incomplete to 
 readers personally acquainted with the spots 
 dealt with or with spots like them the fault, in 
 some degree at least, must rest upon the fact 
 [302] 
 
APRIL THE FIRST 
 
 that I have had my main dependence in the 
 preserved letters of one who was by no means a 
 sprightly correspondent, but on the contrary 
 was by way of being somewhat prosy, not to 
 say commonplace, on his literary side. 
 
 From the evidence extant one gathers that 
 for the four years of his life he spent on Good 
 Friday Island Ethan Pratt lived in the rear 
 room of a two-room house of frame standing on 
 a beach with a little village about it, a jungle 
 behind it, a river half -mooning it and a lagoon 
 before it. In the rear room he bedded and 
 baited himself. The more spacious front room 
 into which his housekeeping quarters opened 
 was a store of sorts where he retailed print 
 goods staple, tinned foods assorted and gim- 
 cracks various to his customers, these mostly 
 being natives. The building was crowned with 
 a tin roof and on top of the roof there perched a 
 round water tank, like a high hat on a head 
 much too large for it. The use of this tank was 
 to catch and store up rain water, which ran into 
 it from the sloping top of a larger and taller 
 structure standing partly alongside and partly 
 back of the lesser structure. The larger build 
 ing a shed it properly was; a sprawling wide- 
 eaved barracks of a shed was for the storing 
 of copra, the chief article for export produced 
 on Good Friday Island. 
 
 Copra, as all know or as all should know, 
 since it has come to be one of the most essential 
 vegetable products of the world, a thing needful 
 [ 303 ] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 in the manufacture of nearly every commercial 
 output in which fatty essences are required 
 is the dried meat of the nut of the coconut palm. 
 So rich is it in oils that soap makers to cite one 
 of the industries employing it scarce could do 
 without it; but like many of this earth s most 
 profitable and desirable yieldings it has its 
 unpretty aspects. For one thing it stinks most 
 abominably while it is being cured, and after it 
 has been cured it continues to stink, with a 
 lessened intensity. For another thing, the 
 all-pervading reek of the stuff gets into food 
 that is being prepared anywhere in its bulked 
 vicinity. 
 
 Out in front of the establishment over which 
 Ethan Pratt presided, where the sandy beach 
 met the waters, was a rickety little wharf like a 
 hyphen to link the grit with the salt. Down to 
 the outer tip of the wharf ran a narrow-gauge 
 track of rusted iron rails, and over the track on 
 occasion plied little straddlebug handcars. 
 Because the water offshore was shoal ships could 
 not come in very close but must lie well out in 
 the lagoon and their unloadings and their 
 reloadings were carried on by means of whale- 
 boats ferrying back and forth between ship side 
 and dock side with the push cars to facilitate 
 the freight movement at the land end of the 
 connection. This was a laborious and a vexa 
 tious proceeding, necessitating the handling 
 and rehandling of every bit of incoming or out 
 bound cargo several times. But then, steamers 
 [304] 
 
APRIL THE FIRST 
 
 did not come very often to Good Friday Island; 
 one came every two months about. 
 
 The expanse upon which Ethan Pratt looked 
 when he turned his eyes outward was of an 
 incredible whiteness. You would have thought 
 it to be the whitest, most blinding thing in the 
 world until you considered the road that skirted 
 it and some of the buildings that bordered it. 
 For the road was built of crushed coral, so 
 dazzlingly white that to look fixedly at it for 
 thirty seconds in bright weather was to make 
 the eyeballs ache; and the buildings referred 
 to were built of blocks of white coral like exag 
 gerated cubes of refined sugar. These build 
 ings were the chapels and churches Methodist, 
 Catholic, Seventh Day Adventist, English 
 Wesley an and American Mormon. When the 
 sun shone clear the water on beyond became a 
 shimmering blazing shield of white-hot metal; 
 and an hour of uninterrupted gazing upon it 
 would have turned an argus into a blinkard. 
 But other times early morning or evening or 
 when stormy weather impended the lagoon 
 became all a wonderful deep clear blue, the 
 colour of molten stained glass. One peering 
 then into its depths saw, far down below, mar 
 vellous sea gardens all fronded and ferny and 
 waving; and through the foliage of this fairy 
 land went darting schools and shoals of fish 
 queerly shaped and as brilliantly coloured as 
 tropical birds. 
 
 At the top of the beach, girdling it on its land 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 side, and stencilling themselves against the sky 
 line, ran a fringing of coconut palms. The 
 trunks were naked almost to the tops, where 
 the foliage revealed itself in flaring clumps of 
 green. Viewed separately a tree was sug 
 gestive of a great bird standing on one leg with 
 its head hidden under its wing, its rump up- 
 reared and its splayed tail feathers saluting the 
 skies. Viewed together they made a spectacle 
 for which nothing in the temperate zones, 
 animal or vegetable, offers a measurable com 
 parison. When the wind blew softly the trees 
 whispered among themselves. When the wind 
 blew hard and furiously, as often it did, or 
 when the trade breeze swelled to hurricane 
 speed, the coconuts in their long bearded husks 
 would be wrenched free and would come hurt 
 ling through the air like fletched cannon balls. 
 When one of them struck a tin roof there 
 resulted a terrific crashing sound fit to wake the 
 dead and to stun the living. 
 
 Living there Pratt s diet was mainly tinned 
 salmon, which tasted faintly of tin and strongly 
 of copra; and along with the salmon, crackers, 
 which in this climate were almost always 
 flabby with dampness and often were afflicted 
 with greenish mould. Salmon and crackers had 
 come to be his most dependable stand-bys in 
 the matter of provender. True the natives 
 brought him gifts of food dishes; dishes cooked 
 without salt and pleasing to the Polynesian 
 palate. Coming out upon his balcony of a 
 [306] 
 
APRIL THE FIRST 
 
 morning he would find swinging from a cross 
 beam a basket made of the green palm leaves 
 and containing a chicken or a fish prepared 
 according to the primitive native recipe, or per 
 haps a mess of wild greens baked on hot stones; 
 or maybe baked green bananas or taro or yams 
 or hard crusty halves of baked breadfruit. 
 
 To the white man yams and taro taste 
 mighty good at first, but eventually he sickens 
 of them. Pratt sickened sooner than some 
 white men had; and almost from the first the 
 mere sight and savour of a soft-fleshed baked 
 fish had made his gorge rise in revolt. So he 
 fell back upon staples of his own land and ate 
 salmon and crackers. 
 
 This island where he lived was an island of 
 smells and insects. Consider first the matter of 
 the prevalent smells : When the copra was curing 
 and the village green was studded with thou 
 sands of little cusps, each being brown without 
 and milk-white within, and each destined to 
 remain there until the heat had dried the nut 
 meats to the proper brownish tone, there rose 
 and spread upon the air a stench so thick and 
 so heavy as to be almost visible; a rancid, hot, 
 rottenish stench. Then, when the wind blew 
 off the seas it frequently brought with it the 
 taint of rotted fish. Sniffing this smell Ethan 
 Pratt would pray for a land breeze; but since he 
 hated perfumed smells almost as intensely as 
 he hated putrescent ones, a land breeze was 
 no treat to his nose either, for it came freighted 
 
 """ [ 307 ] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 with the sickish odour of the f rangipane and of a 
 plant the islanders call mosooi, overpowering 
 in their combined sweetness. 
 
 In his letters he complained much of these 
 smells and likewise much of the heat, but more 
 than of either he complained of the insects. 
 It would appear that the mosquitoes worked 
 on him in shifts. By day there came day mos 
 quitoes, creatures of the sunlight and matching 
 it in a way, seeing that they were big grey- 
 striped fellows with keen and strident voices. 
 By night there were small vicious mosquitoes, 
 in colour an appropriate black and in habit more 
 bloodthirsty than Uhlans. After dark the 
 flame of his kerosene lamp was to them as the 
 traditional light in the traditional casement is 
 to returning wanderers. It brought them in 
 millions, and with them tiny persistent gnats 
 and many small coffin-shaped beetles and hosts 
 of pulpy, unwholesome-looking moths of many 
 sizes and as many colours. Screens and double 
 screens at the window openings did not avail to 
 keep these visitors out. Somehow they found 
 a way in. The mosquitoes and the gnats 
 preyed upon him; the beetles and the moths 
 were lured by the flame to a violent end. To 
 save the wick from being clogged by their 
 burnt bodies he hooded the top of the lamp 
 with netting. This caused the lamp chimney 
 to smoke and foul itself with soot. To save his 
 shins from attack he wrapped his legs in news- 
 paper buskins. For his hands and his face and 
 " [308] 
 
APRIL THE FIRST 
 
 his neck and his ears he could devise no pro 
 tection. 
 
 To be encountered just outside the door were 
 huge flying cockroaches that clung in his hair or 
 buffeted him in the face as they blundered along 
 on purposeless flights. Still other insects, un 
 seen but none the less busy, added to the bur 
 den of his jeremiad. Borers riddled the pages of 
 his books; and the white ant, as greedy for 
 wood pulp as a paper baron, was constantly 
 sapping and mining the underpinnings of his 
 house. 
 
 Touching on the climate his tone was most 
 rebellious. By all accounts the weather was 
 rarely what one born in Vermont would regard 
 as seasonable weather. According to him its 
 outstanding characteristics were heat, moist- 
 ness and stickiness. If he took a nap in the 
 afternoon he rose from it as from a Turkish 
 bath. His hair was plastered to his head all 
 day with dampness; his forehead and his face 
 ran sweat; his wrists were as though they had 
 been parboiled and freshly withdrawn from 
 the water. Perspiration glued his garments to 
 his frame. His shoes behind the door turned a 
 leprous white from mildew and rotted to pieces 
 while yet they were new. 
 
 The forest, into which he sometimes ven 
 tured, was a place of dampness, deepness and 
 smells; a place of great trees, fat fungoids, 
 sprawling creepers, preposterous looking para- 
 sites, orchids, lianas; a place of things that 
 ~ ~" [ 309 ] " ~~~ "~ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 crawled and climbed and twined and clung. It 
 was filled with weird sounds the booming of 
 wild pigeons; a nagging, tapping sound as 
 though woodchoppers were at work far off in 
 its depths; and a constant insane chattering 
 sound, as though mad children, hidden all about 
 him, were laughing at him. Dusk brought 
 from their coverts the flying foxes, to utter 
 curious notes as they sailed through the gloam 
 ing, and occasionally sharp squeaks as of mortal 
 agony or intense gratification he couldn t 
 make up his mind which. After nightfall if he 
 flung a burning cigar stump out upon the sand 
 he could see it moving off in the darkness 
 apparently under its own motive power. But 
 the truth was that a land crab, with an unsolv- 
 able mania for playing the role of torchbearer, 
 would be scuttling away with the stub in one of 
 its claws. 
 
 The forest sheltered no dangerous beasts and 
 no venomous reptiles but in it were stinging 
 nettles the touch of which was like fire to a 
 sensitive white skin. Also, the waters of the 
 lagoon were free from man-eaters, but wading 
 close to shore one was almost sure to bark one s 
 shanks on the poisoned coral, making sores 
 that refused to heal. Against the river, which 
 flowed down out of the interior to the sea, Pratt 
 likewise bore a grudge, because it was in the 
 river that a brown woman washed his clothes 
 on the stones, returning them with the buttons 
 pounded off; but for every missing button there 
 [310] 
 
APRIL THE FIRST 
 
 was sure to be a bright yellow, semi-indelible 
 stain, where the laundress had spread the 
 garments to dry upon a wild berry bush. 
 
 Every two months the steamer came. Then 
 the white population of the station doubled and 
 trebled itself. Traders and storekeepers came 
 by canoe from outlying islands or from remote 
 stations on the farther side of his own island, 
 for Good Friday Island had but one port of 
 entry and this was it. Beachcombers who had 
 been adopted into villages in the interior saun 
 tered in over jungle trails. Many of them were 
 deserters from whalers or from naval vessels; 
 nearly all were handsome chaps in an animal 
 sort of way. 
 
 For this common sharing of a common come 
 liness among them there was a reason. In a 
 land where physical perfection literally is 
 worshipped, good-looking men, brawny and 
 broad, are surest of winning an asylum and 
 wives and tribal equality. To Pratt it seems 
 to have been a source of wonderment that 
 almost without exception they were blue-eyed 
 and light-haired; he could understand of course 
 why their skins, once fair and white, had 
 changed to the colour of well-tanned calfskin. 
 The sun beating upon their naked bodies had 
 done that. 
 
 There also would be present a party of over 
 seers and managers from a big German planta 
 tion on an adjacent island. The traders and 
 the Germans would appear in white ducks with 
 
 [311] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 white shoes smartly pipe-clayed, and white 
 straw hats. The beachcombers would be in 
 clean pyjama suits with bright-coloured neckties. 
 Ordinarily these latter went about bare-headed, 
 bare-legged and bare-bodied except for the lava- 
 lava made of fibre from the paper mulberry 
 tree and worn like a kilt about the Jiips; but 
 now, in white men s garments, they sought to 
 prove that they still were white men and civi 
 lised white men too. If the steamer were late, 
 as very often happened, some of the visitors 
 would take advantage of the wait to make 
 themselves roaring drunk on gin. 
 
 So much briefly, for the stage setting of 
 Ethan Pratt s environment; now for the per 
 sonality of the man: Of all the breeds and the 
 mixed breeds that have gravitated out of white 
 lands into these sea islands of darker-skinned 
 peoples, there surely was never a more in 
 congruous, more alien figure than this man pre 
 sented. For you should know that in all things 
 he was most typical of what is most typical in a 
 certain cross-section of New England life not 
 the coastwise New England of a seafaring, 
 far-ranging, adventurous race, but the New 
 England of long-settled remote interior districts. 
 He came of a farming stock and a storekeeping 
 stock, bred out of the loins of forbears made 
 hard by the task of chiselling a livelihood off 
 of flinty hillsides, made narrow by the pent-up 
 communal system of isolated life, made honest 
 and truthful by the influences behind them and 
 
 [812] 
 
APRIL THE FIRST 
 
 the examples before them of generations of 
 straight- walking, strait-laced, God-dreading 
 folk. 
 
 That form of moral dyspepsia known as the 
 Puritanical conscience was his by right of 
 inheritance. In his nature there was no flexi 
 bility, no instinct for harmonious adaptability 
 to any surroundings excepting those among 
 which he had been born and in which he in 
 tended to end his days. Temperamentally he 
 was of a fast colour. The leopard cannot 
 change the spots and neither could he change 
 his; nor did he will so to do. In short he was 
 what he was, just as God and prenatal reactions 
 had fashioned him, and so he would remain to 
 the end of the chapter. 
 
 For all the four years he had spent out there 
 the lure of the South Seas about which so 
 much has been written that it must be a verity 
 and not a popular myth had never laid hold 
 upon him. Its gorgeous physical beauty, its 
 languor, its voluptuous colour and abandon, its 
 prodigally glorious dawns and its velvety 
 nights held for him no value to be reckoned 
 as an offset against climatic discomforts; it left 
 him untouched. In it he never saw the wonder 
 land that Stevenson made so vivid to stay-at- 
 homes, nor felt for one instant the thrill that 
 inspired Jack London to fine rhapsodising. In 
 it he saw and he felt only the sense of an ever 
 lasting struggle against foreign elements and 
 
 hostile forces. 
 
 __._ __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 Among the missionaries he had acquaintances 
 but no friends. He despised the swaggering 
 beachcombers who had flung off the decencies 
 of civilisation along with the habiliments of 
 civilisation and who found a marrowy sweet 
 ness in the husks of the prodigal. Even more 
 he despised the hectoring Germans with their 
 flaming red and yellow beards, their thick- 
 lensed spectacles, their gross manners when 
 among their own kind and their brutishness 
 in all their dealings with the natives a brutish- 
 ness so universal among them that no Poly 
 nesian would work at any price for a German, 
 and every German had to depend for his plan 
 tation labour upon imported black boys from 
 the Solomons and from New Guinea, who 
 having once been trapped or, to use the trade 
 word, indented, were thereafter held in an 
 enforced servitude and paid with the bond 
 man s wage of bitter bread and bloody stripes. 
 
 He had never been able to get under the skin 
 of a native; indeed he had never tried. In all 
 the things that go to make up an understanding 
 of a fellow mortal s real nature they still were 
 to him as completely strangers as they had 
 been on the day he landed in this place. Set 
 down in the midst of a teeming fecundity he 
 nevertheless remained as truly a castaway as 
 though he had floated ashore on a bit of wreck 
 age. He could have been no more and no less 
 a maroon had the island which received him 
 been a desert island instead of a populous one. 
 
APRIL THE FIRST 
 
 When a chief paid him a formal visit, bringing 
 a gift of taro root and sitting for hours upon 
 his veranda, the grave courtesy of the ceremony, 
 in which a white man differently constituted 
 might have taken joy, merely bored him un 
 utterably. As for the native women, they had 
 as little of sex appeal for him as he had for 
 them which was saying a good deal now, 
 because he was short and of a meagre shape, 
 and the scorn of the Polynesian girl for a little 
 man is measureless. The girls of Good Friday 
 Island called him by a name which sounded 
 like "Pooh-pooh." 
 
 Among an English-speaking people it would 
 have been a hard-enough lot to be pooh-poohed 
 through life by every personable female one 
 met. Here the coupled syllables carried an 
 added sting of con temp tuousness. In the 
 language of the country they meant runty, 
 mean-figured, undersized. A graceful girl, her 
 naked limbs glistening with coconut oil, a 
 necklet of flowers about her throat and a 
 hibiscus bloom pasted to her cheek like a beauty 
 spot, meeting him in the road would give him a 
 derisive smile over her shoulder and with the 
 unconscious cruelty of primitive folk would 
 softly puff out "Pooh-pooh" through her pursed 
 lips as she passed him by. And it hurt. Cer 
 tain of the white residents called him Pooh-pooh 
 too, which hurt more deeply. 
 
 How he hated the whole thing the dampness 
 which mildewed his shoes and rusted out his 
 ~ [315] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 nettings; the day heat which kept him bathed 
 in clamminess; the pestiferous insects; the 
 forest with its voices like sobbings and hammer 
 ings and demoniac chatterings; the food he had 
 to eat; the company he had to keep; the chiefs 
 who bored him; the girls who derided him; the 
 beachcombers who nauseated him; the white 
 sands, the blue waters, the smells, the sounds, 
 the routine of existence with one day precisely 
 like another the whole thing of it. We may 
 picture him as a humid duck-legged little man, 
 most terribly homesick, most tremendously 
 lonely, most distressingly alien. We may go 
 further and picture him as a sort of combina 
 tion of Job with his afflictions, Robinson Crusoe 
 with no man Friday to cheer him in his solitude, 
 and Peter the Hermit with no dream of a 
 crusade to uplift him. In these four years his 
 hair had turned almost white, yet he was still 
 under forty. 
 
 To all about him, white people and brown 
 people alike, the coming of the steamer was an 
 event of supremest importance. For the 
 islanders it meant a short season of excitement, 
 most agreeable to their natures. For the whites 
 it meant a fleeting but none the less delectable 
 contact with the world outside, with lands 
 beyond, upon which all of them, for this reason 
 or that, had turned their backs, and to which 
 some of them dared never return. 
 
 In his case the world did not mean the world 
 at large but merely the small circumscribed 
 
APRIL THE FIRST 
 
 world of South New Medford, which was his 
 world. To him South New Medford compre 
 hended and summed up all that was really 
 worth while. He welcomed the steamer not 
 because it brought news of wars and rumours 
 of wars nor tales of great events on this con 
 tinent or in that archipelago, but because it 
 brought to him a sheaf of letters, all addressed 
 in the same prim handwriting and bearing the 
 same postmark; and a sheaf of copies of the 
 South New Medford Daily Republican. The 
 letters he read at once greedily, but with the 
 newspapers he had a different way. He 
 shucked them out of their wrappers, arranged 
 them in proper chronological order with those 
 bearing the later dates at the bottom and those 
 bearing the older dates upon the top of the 
 heap, then stacked them on a shelf in his living 
 room. And each morning he read a paper. 
 
 In the beginning of his sojourn on Good 
 Friday Island he had made a grievous mistake. 
 Following the arrival of the first steamer after 
 he took over his duties as resident manager for 
 the British Great Eastern he had indulged him 
 self in a perfect orgy of reading. He had read 
 all his Daily Republicans in two days time, 
 gorging himself on home news, on mention of 
 familiar names and on visions of familiar 
 scenes. Then had ensued sixty -odd days of 
 emptiness until the steamer brought another 
 batch of papers to him. 
 
 From that time on he read one paper a day 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 and one only. Reading it he lived the life of 
 the town and became one of its citizens; a 
 sharer at long distance in its joys, its sorrows 
 and its small thrills. But never now did he 
 read more than one paper in a single day; the 
 lesson of those two months had sunk in. No 
 temptation, howsoever strong the desire to 
 know hew the divorce trial of the H. K. Pea- 
 bodys turned out, the itch of yearning to learn 
 whether the body of the man found drowned in 
 Exeter Pond was identified proved potent 
 enough to pull him away from his rule. That 
 the news he read was anywhere from ten weeks 
 to four months old when it reached him did not 
 matter; in fact he very soon forgot that such 
 was the case. For two precious hours a day 
 he was translated back to the day and date 
 that the rumpled sheet in his hands carried on 
 its first page. Afterward he reverted quite 
 naturally and without conscious jar to the 
 proper time of the year as advertised by the 
 calendar. 
 
 His routine would be like this: He would 
 rise early, before the heat of the day was upon 
 Good Friday Island to make it steam and 
 sweat and give off smells. He would shave 
 himself and bathe and put on clean loose gar 
 ments, all white except where the stains of the 
 wild, yellow berries had blotched them. His 
 breakfast he prepared himself, afterward wash 
 ing the dishes. Then he would light his pipe 
 or his cigar and take from the shelf the upper- 
 _ [818] 
 
APRIL THE FIRST 
 
 most copy of the pile of Daily Republicans 
 there. With the love for tidiness and kempt- 
 ness that was a part of him he would smooth 
 out its creases, then sit down on his veranda to 
 read it. Immediately he became detached 
 from all his surroundings. By his concentra 
 tion he was isolated from and insulated against 
 all external influences. He was not in Good 
 Friday Island then; he was in South New 
 Medford. 
 
 Each morning he read his paper through 
 from the top line of the first column of the first 
 page to the bottom line of the last column of 
 the fourth, or last, page. He read it all 
 news matter, local items, clippings, advertise 
 ments, want notices, church notices, lodge 
 notices, patent insides of boiler plate, fashion 
 department, household hints, farm hints, re 
 print, Births, Weddings and Deaths; syndi 
 cate stuff, rural correspondence no line of its 
 contents did he skip. With his eyes shut he 
 could put his finger upon those advertisements 
 which ran without change and occupied set 
 places on this page or that; such, for instance, 
 as the two-column display of J. Wesley Paxon, 
 Livery Barn, Horses Kept and Baited, Vehicles 
 at all hours, Funeral Attendance a Specialty; 
 and the two-inch notice of the American Pan- 
 torium and Pressing Club, Membership $1.00 
 per Month, Garments Called For and Deliv 
 ered, Phone No. 41, M. Pincus, Prop. He 
 
 was like a miser with a loaf; no crumb, however 
 
 _ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 tiny, got away from him. To him there was 
 more of absorbing interest in the appearance 
 of the seventeen-year locust in Chittenden 
 County than in a Balkan outbreak; less of 
 interest in the failing state of health of the 
 Czar than in the prospects for the hay crop in 
 the Otter Creek valley. 
 
 When he had read on through to the last 
 ink-smudged line he would reread the accounts 
 of those matters which particularly attracted 
 him on their first reading. Then reluctantly 
 and still in his state of absorption, he would 
 put the paper aside and going inside to a small 
 desk would write his daily chapter in a bulky 
 letter, the whole to be posted on the next 
 steamer day. It was characteristic of the man 
 that in his letter writing he customarily dealt in 
 comment upon the minor affairs of South New 
 Medford as they had passed in review before 
 him in the printed columns, rather than in 
 observations regarding witnessed occurrences 
 in Good Friday Island. This writing stunt 
 done, his day was done. The rest was dulness. 
 Unutterable, grinding dulness the monotony 
 of dealing out wares to customers, of keeping 
 his accounts, of posting his records to date, of 
 performing his domestic chores. 
 
 From this dulness, though, the re was some 
 times an escape. To relieve the monotony of 
 his cheerless grind of duties and obligations 
 there came to him visions. And these visions, 
 we may be very sure, mainly were induced by 
 [ 320] 
 
APRIL THE FIRST 
 
 what he had that day read and that day written. 
 By virtue of a special con jury residing in these 
 waking dreams of his, the little man peering 
 nearsightedly at the shimmering white beach 
 saw instead of a beach the first heavy fall of 
 snow upon the withers of the Green Mountains; 
 saw not unchanging stretches of sand but a 
 blanket of purest fleece, frilled and flounced 
 and scrolled after the drift wind had billowed 
 it up in low places but otherwise smooth and 
 fair except where it had been rutted by sleigh 
 runners and packed by the snow-boltered hoofs 
 of bay Dobbins and sorrel Dollies, the get of 
 Morgan stock. 
 
 In the insane forest voices he heard the con 
 tented cacklings of fat hens scratching for 
 provender beneath the gnarled limbs of ancient 
 apple trees whose trunks all were so neatly 
 whitewashed up to the lowermost boughs. 
 Looking upon the settlement where he lived, 
 set as it was like a white-and-green jewel in a 
 ring of lush barbaric beauty, his fancy showed 
 him the vista of a spinsterish-looking Main 
 Street lined by dooryards having fences of 
 pointed painted pickets, and behind the pickets, 
 peonies and hollyhocks encroaching upon prim 
 flagged walks which led back to the white- 
 panelled doors of small houses buried almost to 
 their eaves in lilac bushes and golden glow. 
 
 The magic of it made all things to match in 
 with the image: Thus, for example, the tall 
 palms with their feather-duster tops, bending 
 
 " "" [821] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 seaward, turned into broad elms standing in 
 regular double rank, like Yankee militiamen on 
 a muster day. And night times, when through 
 his windows there came floating in the soft 
 vowelsome voices of native fishermen paddling 
 their canoes upon the lagoon and singing as 
 they paddled, he felt himself translated many 
 thousands of miles away to Wednesday evening 
 prayer meeting in a squat, brick church with a 
 wooden belfry rearing above its steep slated 
 roof. 
 
 But in this last conjuring-up of a beloved 
 scene there lay at the back of the trick more of 
 reminiscence than imagination, since the airs 
 the fishermen chanted were based, nearly all, 
 upon Christian songs that the earlier mission 
 aries had brought hither; the words might be 
 Polynesian but the cadence that carried the 
 words was likely to be the cadence of some 
 pioneer hymnster. 
 
 And ever and always the vision had a certain 
 delectable climax; a definite consummation 
 most devoutly wished for. For its final upshot 
 would be that Ethan Pratt would behold him 
 self growing old in the peaceful safe harbour of 
 South New Medford, anchored fast by his 
 heartstrings to a small white cottage, all fur 
 bished and plenished within, all flowers and 
 shrubs roundabout, with a kitchen garden at 
 its back, and on beyond an orchard of white 
 washed trees where buff cochins clucked beneath 
 the ripening fruit, and on beyond this in turn a 
 
APRIL THE FIRST 
 
 hay meadow stretching away toward rising 
 foothills. 
 
 He saw himself working in the flowers and 
 tilling the vegetable garden. He watched him 
 self quitting this haven to walk a sedate way to 
 worship of a Sunday morning. With his mind s 
 eye he followed his own course in a buggy along 
 a country road in the fall of the year when the 
 maples had turned and the goldenrod spread 
 its carpet of tawny glory across the fields. 
 And invariably his companion in these simple 
 homely comfortable employments was a little 
 woman who wore gold-rimmed glasses and 
 starchy print frocks. 
 
 Into the picture no third figure ever obtruded. 
 With her alone he conceived of himself as walk 
 ing side by side through all the remaining days 
 of his life. For this mousy methodical little 
 man had his great romance. Unsuspected 
 and undetected, inside the commonplace cover 
 of his body it burned with a clear and a steady 
 flame. It had burned there, never flickering, 
 never wavering, through all the days of his 
 faring into far and foreign parts. Since child 
 hood the two of them had been engaged. It 
 was she who wrote him the letters that came, a 
 fat sheaf of them, by every steamer; it was to 
 her that he wrote in reply. It was for the sake 
 of her and in the intention of making a home for 
 her that through four years he had endured this 
 imprisonment or this martyrdom or this what- 
 ever you may be pleased to call it, away off 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 here on the opposite side of the world from her. 
 She was saving and he was saving, both for a 
 common purpose. Back there at home it cost 
 her little to live, and out here it cost him less. 
 In fact, it cost him almost nothing. Ninety per 
 cent of his pay went into his share of the pool. 
 
 Within another year the requisite sum which 
 this pair of canny prudent souls had set as their 
 modest goal would be reached; and then he 
 could bid an everlasting farewell to these hated 
 islands and go sailing home home to South 
 New Medford and to Miss Hetty Stowe. And 
 then she would surrender the place she had held 
 for so long as the teacher of District School Num 
 ber Four, to become Mrs. Ethan Allen Pratt, 
 a wife honoured, a helpmate well-beloved. 
 
 So to him the coming of the steamer meant 
 more than an orgy of drunken beachcombers 
 and a bustle of life and activity upon the beach ; 
 it meant more than a thin-strained taste of 
 contact with a distant world of white men and 
 white men s ways; meant more, even, than 
 letters and papers. To him it was a renewal of 
 the nearing prospect of an eternal departure out 
 of these lands. By the steamer s movements 
 he marked off into spaced intervals the remain 
 ing period of his exile, he thought of the passage 
 of time not in terms of days or weeks but in 
 terms of two-month stretches. Six visits more 
 of the ship, or possibly seven, and this drear life 
 would come to an end and another life, the one 
 of his hopes and plans, would begin. 
 
APRIL THE FIRST 
 
 For its next time of coming the boat was due 
 on or about August the first. She failed to 
 come on the first, but on the second, early in 
 the morning, she came nosing into the lagoon. 
 In a canoe with a brown man to paddle him 
 Pratt put off for her. He was alongside by the 
 time her anchor chains had rattled out, and the 
 skipper with his own hands passed down to 
 him a mail bag. He brought it ashore and 
 from it took out his packet of letters and his 
 sheaf of Daily Republicans. These he carried 
 to his quarters. 
 
 First he read the letters, finding them many 
 fewer in number than was usual. By his pri 
 vate system of chronological accounting there 
 should have been one letter for every day from 
 the eighteenth of March well on into May. 
 But here were but a scant dozen instead of the 
 expected fifty-odd. On the other hand there 
 seemed to be a fairly complete file of the papers, 
 except that about ten or twelve of the earlier- 
 dated numbers were missing. By some freak- 
 ishness in the handling of the post at this port 
 or that a batch of the older papers and a larger 
 batch of the newer letters had failed of ultimate 
 delivery to the steamer; so he figured it. This 
 thing had happened before, causing a vexatious 
 break in his routine. Plainly it had happened 
 again. Well, away out here off the beat of 
 travel such upsettings must be endured. 
 
 He arranged the papers upon their proper 
 shelf and in their proper order; then, as was his 
 ~ [325] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 wont, he turned to the letters and read them one 
 by one. To another they might have seemed 
 stiff and precise in their language; almost for 
 mal, faintly breathing as they did the restrained 
 affections of a woman no longer young and 
 coming of a breed of women who almost from 
 the cradle are by precept and example taught 
 how to cloak the deeper and the more constant 
 emotions beneath the ice skim of a ladylike 
 reserve. But they satisfied their reader; they 
 were as they always had been and as they 
 always would be. His only complaint, men 
 tally registered, was that the last one should 
 bear the date of March twenty-ninth. 
 
 Having read them all he filed them away 
 in a safe place, then brought the topmost copy 
 of his just-received file of newspapers out 
 upon the veranda and sat himself down to 
 read it. 
 
 The first column always contained local 
 news. He read of the wand drill given by the 
 graduating class of the South New Medford 
 Girls High School; of a demonstration of 
 Wheat-Sweet Breakfast Food in the show 
 window of Cody s drug store; of a fire from 
 unknown causes in Lawyer Horace Bartlett s 
 offices upstairs over G. A. R. Hall, damage 
 eighty dollars; of the death of Aunt Priscilla 
 Lyon, aged ninety-two; of a bouncing, ten- 
 pound boy born to Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Purdy, 
 mother and child doing well all names familiar 
 to him. He came to the department devoted 
 
APRIL THE FIRST 
 
 to weddings. There was but one notice beneath 
 the single-line head; it made a single paragraph. 
 
 He read it and as he read the words of it 
 burned into his brain like a fiery acid. He read 
 it, and it ran like this : 
 
 "We are informed that a surprise marriage 
 took place this morning at Rutland. In that 
 city Miss Hetty Stowe, of near this place, was 
 united in the holy bonds of wedlock to Mr. 
 Gabriel Eno, of Vergennes. We did not get the 
 name of the officiating minister. The bride is 
 an estimable lady who for years past has taught 
 District School Number Four in the county. 
 We have not the pleasure of the happy bride 
 groom s acquaintance but assume he is in 
 every way worthy of the lady he has won for a 
 wife. Ye Editor extends congratulations to 
 the happy pair and will print further details 
 when secured." 
 
 He read it through again, to the last blurred 
 word. And as he reread a roaring and a crash 
 ing filled his ears. It was the castle of his hopes 
 crashing down in ruins. So this, then was why 
 the sequence of letters had been so abruptly 
 broken off. She had lacked the courage to tell 
 him of her faithlessness; she had chosen the 
 course of silence, leaving him to learn of the 
 treachery through other sources. It was cruelty 
 piled upon cruelty compounded. 
 
 For such a sorry ending he had cut four 
 years out of his life. For this reward of all his 
 constancy he had endured what bad been well- 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 nigh unendurable loneliness, homesickness, 
 isolation, discomfort. For this he had kept his 
 body clean and his soul clean where all about 
 him was sloth and slackness. He thought 
 backward upon that which he had undergone; 
 he thought forward upon the dreary purposeless 
 prospect that stretched unendingly before him. 
 Never now could he bring himself to go back 
 to the spot of his shattered dreams. And to 
 him that was the one place in all the world 
 worth going back to. 
 
 He put his face down upon his crossed arms, 
 and presently there began to escape from him 
 strangled sobs sounding most grotesquely like 
 some strange mimicry of the name the native 
 girls had for him "Pooh-pooh, pooh-pooh, 
 pooh-pooh," over and over again repeated. 
 Beyond his doorstep the life of the station 
 hummed and throbbed, quickened into joyous 
 activity by the coming of the steamer. He was 
 not conscious of it. That roaring still was in 
 his ears. 
 
 Now between his racking sobs he began to 
 pray aloud a broken prayer. He did not pray 
 for divine forgiveness of the thing he meant 
 to do. By the narrow tenets of his faith his 
 soul, through the deliberate act of his hands, 
 would go forth from the body, doomed to ever 
 lasting torment. It did not appear feasible to 
 him that God might understand. The God he 
 believed in was a stern God of punishments, 
 sitting in strict judgment upon mortal trans- 
 [ 328 ] 
 
APRIL THE FIRST 
 
 gressions. So he prayed not for mercy but for 
 strength to carry him through that which faced 
 him. 
 
 In a cupboard in the inner room was a single- 
 barreled, muzzle-loading fowling piece made at 
 Liege, in Belgium, many years before. His 
 predecessor in the station had left it behind him 
 and Pratt had succeeded to possession of it. 
 He knew how to load and fire and clean it. 
 Occasionally he had used it in shooting at wood 
 pigeons. He went inside and took it from its 
 place and charged it with black powder from 
 an old-fashioned metal powder flask and with 
 heavy shot from a worn shot pouch. For wad 
 ding he tore apart the front page of the upper 
 most copy of the file of Daily Republicans lying 
 upon the shelf where he had placed them less 
 than half an hour before. 
 
 He rammed the charge home, with wadding 
 between powder and shot, with more wadding 
 on top of the shot. He withdrew the ramrod 
 and cast it aside; he brought the hammer back 
 to full cock and fixed a cap upon the nipple. 
 He stood the gun upright upon the floor and 
 leaned forward, the muzzle against his upper 
 chest, the stock braced against the edge of a 
 crack in the planking. With the great toe of 
 his bare right foot he pressed the trigger. 
 
 Two natives, passing, heard the booming 
 
 report and ran in to see what had caused it. 
 
 They quickly ran out again and brought white 
 
 men. After the body had been moved from 
 
 _. [329] " ~ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 where it had fallen but before the scanty per 
 sonal belongings of the dead man had been 
 sealed up and before the store had been put 
 under lock and key, the white men made search 
 about the place for any farewell message, or 
 lacking that, any physical evidence that might 
 furnish a possible explanation for the cause of 
 the suicide. They found neither message nor 
 clew. In searching about one of them came 
 upon a tattered scrap of newspaper. Its burnt 
 edges and its general singed condition proved 
 that it had been used for wadding. The force 
 of the discharge had blown it out, almost intact, 
 to flutter off into a corner. 
 
 Moved by a curiosity natural under the cir 
 cumstances the finder deciphered the smudged 
 and blackened reading that he found upon the 
 two surfaces of the fragment. On one side 
 appeared part of an advertisement of a mer 
 chant tailor; on the other side he made out this, 
 which he read with a casual interest only : 
 
 "The Editor regrets exceedingly that in 
 yesterday s issue he was victimised and im 
 posed upon to the extent of printing an erron 
 eous and entirely incorrect item, for which 
 mistake we now hasten to make prompt correc 
 tion and due amends. Some person unknown, 
 taking advantage of the fact that yesterday 
 was April the first, or All Fools Day, telephoned 
 to our sanctum the information that Miss 
 Hetty Stowe, the well-known teacher, of near 
 here, had been married yesterday morning at 
 ~ [ 330 ] 
 
APRIL THE FIRST 
 
 Rutland to a Mr. Gabriel Eno, of Vergennes. 
 Accepting the report in good faith, this paper 
 printed it in good faith, as an item of news. 
 We now learn that the entire story was untrue, 
 being, not to mince words, a lie manufactured 
 out of the whole cloth. We learn that Miss 
 Stowe knows the gentleman whose name was 
 given as bridegroom but very slightly, having 
 met him but once, as we are now reliably in 
 formed. In fact, nothing could be farther 
 from her thoughts than marriage with the 
 gentleman in question, he being considerably 
 her junior in years. The cruelty of the hoax 
 thus perpetrated is increased by the fact that 
 for the past several days Miss Stowe has been 
 confined to the bed of illness, suffering from a 
 sudden and violent attack of fever, which 
 illness has naturally been enhanced by the 
 embarrassing position in which she has been 
 placed through the act of an anonymous prac 
 tical joker. Such jokes are entirely out of place 
 and cannot be too strongly reprehended. In 
 correcting this falsehood the Daily Republican 
 wishes to state that the perpetrator of the same 
 is deserving of severe " 
 
 Here the fragment was torn across. 
 
 To the tale there is no moral unless it be an 
 indirect moral to be derived from contempla 
 tion of a strange contradiction in our modern 
 life, to wit: That practical burglary is by law 
 sternly discouraged and practical joking is not. 
 
 [331] 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 HOODWINKED 
 
 SPY stories rather went out of fashion 
 when the armistice was signed. But 
 this one could not have been told before 
 now, because it happened after the 
 armies had quit fighting and while the Peace 
 Conference was busily engaged in belying its 
 first name. Also, in a strict manner of speak 
 ing, it is not a spy story at all. 
 
 So far as our purposes are concerned, it began 
 to happen on an afternoon at the end of the 
 month of March of this present year, when 
 J. J. Mullinix, of the Secret Service, called on 
 Miss Mildred Smith, the well-known interior 
 decorator, in her studio apartments on the top 
 floor of one of the best-looking apartment houses 
 in town. For Mullinix there was a short delay 
 downstairs because the doorman, sharp on the 
 lookout to bar pestersome intruders who might 
 annoy the tenants, could not at first make up 
 his mind about Mullinix. In this building 
 there was a rule against solicitors, canvassers, 
 collectors, pedlar men and beggar men; also 
 one against babies, but none against dogs 
 [332 ] 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 excepting dogs above a certain specified size, 
 which without further description should 
 identify our building as one standing in what is 
 miscalled the exclusive residential belt of Man 
 hattan Island. 
 
 The doorman could not make up his mind off 
 hand whether Mullinix was to be classified as a 
 well-dressed mendicant or an indifferently dressed 
 book agent; he was pretty sure, though, that 
 the stranger fell somewhere within the general 
 ban touching on dubious persons having dubious 
 intentions. This doubt on the part of the door 
 man was rather a compliment to Mullinix, con 
 sidering Mullinix s real calling. For Mullinix 
 resembled neither the detective of fiction nor 
 yet the detective of sober fact, which is exactly 
 what the latter usually is a most sober fact; 
 sober, indeed, often to the point of a serious 
 and dignified impressiveness. This man, 
 though, did not have the eagle-bird eye with 
 which the detective of fiction so of ten is favoured. 
 He did not have the low flattened arches 
 frontal or pedal which frequently distinguish 
 the bona-fide article, who comes from Headquar 
 ters with a badge under his left lapel and a cigar 
 under his right moustache to question the sus 
 pected hired girl. About him there was nothing 
 mysterious, nothing portentous, nothing inscru 
 table. He had a face which favourably would 
 have attracted a person taking orders for en 
 larging family portraits. He had the accom- 
 modating manner of one who is willing to go up 
 [ 333 ] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 when the magician asks for a committee out of 
 the audience to sit on the stage. 
 
 Not ten individuals alive knew of his con 
 nection with the Secret Service. Probably in 
 all his professional life not ten others out 
 siders had ever appraised him for what he 
 was. His finest asset was a gift of Nature 
 a sort of protective colouration which enabled 
 him to hide in the background of common- 
 placeness and do his work with an assurance 
 which would not have been possible had he 
 worn an air of assurance. In short and in fine, 
 Mullinix no more resembled the traditional 
 hawkshaw than Miss Mildred Smith resembled 
 the fashionable conception of a fashionable 
 artist. She never gestured with an up-turned 
 thumb; nor yet made a spy-glass of her cupped 
 hand through which to gaze upon a painting. 
 She had never worn a smock frock in her life. 
 
 The smartest of smart tailor-mades was none 
 too smart for her. Nothing was too smart for 
 her, who was so exquisitely fine and well-bred 
 a creature, She was wearing tailor-mades, with 
 a trig hat to match, when she opened the door 
 of her entry hall for Mullinix. 
 
 "Just going out, weren t you?" he asked as 
 they shook hands. 
 
 "No, just coming in," she said. "I had only 
 just come in when the hall man called me up 
 saying you were downstairs." 
 
 "I had trouble getting him to send up my 
 name at all," he said with a half smile on his 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 face. "He insisted on knowing all about me 
 and my business before he announced me. So I 
 told him everything nearly except the truth." 
 
 "I gathered from his tone he was a bit doubt 
 ful about you; but I was glad to get the word. 
 This is the third time you ve favoured me with 
 a visit and each of the other times something 
 highly exciting followed. Come in and let me 
 make you a cup of tea, won t you? Is it 
 business that brings you?" 
 
 "Yes," he said, "it s business." 
 
 They sat down in the big inner studio room; 
 on one side of the fireplace the short, slow- 
 speaking, colourless-looking man who knew the 
 inner blackness of so many whited sepulchres; 
 and on the other side, facing him from across 
 the tea table, this small patrician lady who, 
 having rich kinfolk and friends still richer and a 
 family tree deep-rooted in the most Knicker- 
 bockian stratum of the Manhattan social schist, 
 nevertheless chose to earn her own living; and 
 while earning it to find opportunity for service 
 to her Government in a confidential capacity. 
 Not all the volunteers who worked on difficult 
 espionage jobs through the wartime carried 
 cards from the Intelligence Department. 
 
 "Yes," he repeated, "it s business a bigger 
 piece of business and a harder one and probably 
 a more interesting one than the last thing you 
 helped on. If it weren t business I wouldn t 
 be coming here to-day, taking up your time. 
 I know how busy you are with your own affairs. * 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 "Oh, I m not busy," she said. "This is one 
 of my loafing days. Since lunch time I ve been 
 indulging in my favourite passion. I ve been 
 prowling through a secondhand bookstore over 
 on Lexington Avenue, picking up bargains. 
 There s the fruit of my shopping." 
 
 She indicated a pile of five or six nibbled- 
 looking volumes in dingy covers resting upon 
 one corner of the low mantelshelf. 
 
 "Works on interior decorating?" he guessed. 
 
 "Goodness, no! Decorating is my business; 
 this is my pleasure. The top one of the heap 
 the one bound in red is all about chess." 
 
 "Chess! Did anybody ever write a whole 
 book about chess?" 
 
 "I believe more books have been written on 
 chess than on any other individual subject in 
 the world, barring Masonry," she said. "And 
 the next one to it the yellow-bound one is a 
 book about old English games; not games of 
 chance, but games for holidays and parties. I 
 was glancing through it in my car on the way 
 here from the shop. It s most interesting. 
 Why, some of the games it tells about were 
 played in England before William the Con 
 queror landed; at least so the author claims. 
 Did you ever hear of a game called Shoe the 
 Wild Mare? It was very popular in Queen 
 Elizabeth s day. The book yonder says so." 
 
 "No, I never heard of it. From the name it 
 sounds as though it might be rather a rough 
 game for indoors," commented Mullinix. "For 
 ~" 1336] 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 a busy woman who s made such a big success at 
 her calling, I wonder how you find time to dig 
 into so many miscellaneous subjects." 
 
 "I don t call the time wasted," she said. 
 "For example, there s one book in that lot 
 dealing with mushroom culture. It seems 
 there s ever so much to know about mushrooms. 
 Besides, who knows but what some day I might 
 have a wealthy client who would want me to 
 design him a mushroom cellar, combining 
 practicability with the decorative. Then, you 
 see, I would have the knowledge at my finger 
 tips." She smiled at the conceit, busying her 
 self with the tea things. 
 
 "Well, I suppose I m a one-idea-at-a-time 
 sort of person," he said. 
 
 "No, you aren t! You only think you are," 
 she amended. "Just now I suppose you are all 
 so wrapped up in the business you mentioned 
 a moment ago that you can t think of anything 
 else." 
 
 "That s a fact," he confessed. "And yet 
 all my thinking doesn t seem to have got me 
 anywhere in particular." He paused to glance 
 about. "Where s your maid? Is she, by any 
 chance, where she could overhear us?" 
 
 "No, she s out. This is her afternoon off." 
 
 "Good! Then I ll start at the beginning and 
 tell you in as few words as possible the whole 
 thing. But before I do begin, let me ask you a 
 question. It may simplify matters. Anyhow 
 it has a bearing on my principal reason for 
 "~ [ 337 ] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 coming to see you to-day. Isn t Mrs. Howard 
 Hadley-Smith your cousin?" 
 
 "Only by marriage. Her husband was my 
 second cousin. He belonged to the branch of 
 the family that owns the hyphen and most of 
 the money. He died six or seven years ago. 
 He was not the most perfect creature in the 
 world, but Claire, his wife his widow, I 
 mean is a trump. She s one of the finest 
 women and one of the sanest in New York." 
 
 "I m glad to hear that. Because before 
 we re through with this job you see I m 
 assuming in advance that you are going to be 
 willing to help me on it I say, before we get 
 through it, providing of course we do get 
 through it, it may be necessary to take her into 
 our confidence. That is, if you are sure we 
 can trust absolutely to her discretion." 
 
 "We can. But please remember that I 
 don t know what the business is all about." 
 
 " I m coming to that. Oh, by the way, there 
 is one question more: To-morrow night your 
 cousin is giving a costume party or a fancy- 
 dress party of some sort or other, isn t she?" 
 
 "Yes; an All Fools Day party; not a very 
 large one though." 
 
 "And you will be going to it, won t you?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed! I m doing the decorating 
 and acting as sort of assistant director of the 
 affair. But what can my cousin and her April 
 Fools Day party and all that have to do with 
 
 the matter that brings you here?" 
 
 [338] 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 "A good deal, I hope. But I expect I had 
 better go back to the beginning and tell you the 
 tale in some sort of orderly way. Of course 
 I am telling it to you as one responsible repre 
 sentative of our Government to another." 
 
 "I understand. But go ahead, won t you? 
 My curiosity is increasing by the moment." 
 
 "Well then, here it is: Six days ago there 
 arrived from the conference at Versailles a high 
 army officer, acting for this occasion as a con 
 fidential messenger of the Administration. He 
 brought with him a certain communication a 
 single small sheet or strip of parchment paper 
 containing about twelve or fifteen typewritten 
 lines. But those few lines were about as im 
 portant and, under certain circumstances, as 
 dangerous a collection of typewritten lines as it 
 is possible to conceive of." 
 
 "Weren t they in code?" 
 
 "Naturally. But the signature was not. 
 The signature was in the handwriting of the 
 man let us say the personage who dictated 
 the wording of the dispatch. You would 
 know that handwriting if you saw it. Nearly 
 every man, woman and child in this country 
 who can read would know it and would recognise 
 it at a glance. Even between us, I take it that 
 there is no need of mentioning the name." 
 
 "No. Please go on. The thing has a thrill 
 ing sound already." 
 
 "That communication dealt directly with 
 
 perhaps the most important single issue now in 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 controversy at the Peace Conference a phase 
 of the Asiatic muddle. In fact, it was an out 
 line of the private agreement that has been 
 reached as between our envoys and the envoys 
 representing sundry friendly powers in regard 
 to this particular question. If it should fall 
 into the hands of a certain other power and be 
 translated the entire negotiation would be 
 jeopardised. Almost inevitably at least one 
 Oriental nation would withdraw from the con 
 ference. The future of the great thing for 
 which our own statesmen and the statesmen of 
 some of the countries provisionally leagued 
 together with us are working well, that result, 
 to put the thing mildly, would be jeopardised. 
 The very least that could happen would be that 
 four governments would be tremendously em 
 barrassed. 
 
 "Indeed it is hard offhand to calculate the 
 possibilities of disaster, but this much is quite 
 sure: Our enemy and Germany is as much our 
 enemy now as she was during active hostilities 
 would almost inevitably succeed in the ver^f 
 thing she has been plotting to bring about, 
 which is the sowing of discord among the Allies, 
 not to mention the increase of a racial distrust 
 and a racial antagonism which exist in certain 
 quarters, and, on top of all that, the widening 
 and deepening of a problem which already has 
 been sufficiently difficult and delicate." 
 
 "I see. Well?" 
 
 "Well, naturally everything possible was 
 [340] 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 done at Washington to safeguard a dispatch of 
 such tremendous importance. No copies of the 
 communication were made. The original was 
 put in a place where it was presumed to be 
 absolutely safe. But within forty-eight hours 
 it disappeared from the place where it had been 
 put." 
 
 "How did it disappear? Is that known?" 
 
 "It was stolen. A government clerk named 
 Westerfeltner, a man who held a place of trust 
 and confidence, was the man who stole it. For 
 it he was offered a sum of money which would 
 make him independent for life, and under the 
 temptation he weakened and he stole it. But 
 first he stole the key to the cipher, which would 
 mafee it possible for any-one having both the 
 key and the message to decode the message. 
 Once this is done the damage is done, for the 
 signature is ample proof of the validity of the 
 document. That is the one thing above all 
 others we are trying to prevent now." 
 
 "But why couldn t the thief have decoded 
 tie dispatch?" 
 
 "He might have, excepting for two things. 
 In the first place his principal, the man who 
 corrupted him to betray his honour and inci 
 dentally to betray his Government, would not 
 trust him to do this. The head plotter de 
 manded the original paper. In the second 
 place an interval of a day and a half elapsed 
 between the theft of the code and the theft of 
 the dispatch. Before the thief secured the dis- 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 patch the key had already passed out of his 
 possession." 
 
 "How do you know these things with such 
 certainty?" 
 
 "Because Westerfeltner has confessed. He 
 confessed to me at three o clock yesterday 
 morning after the thefts had practically been 
 traced to his door. He made a clean breast of 
 it all right enough. The high points of his con 
 fession have all been verified. I am sure that 
 he was honest with me. Fear and remorse 
 together made him honest. At present he is 
 well, let s call it sequestered. No outsider 
 knows he is now under arrest; or perhaps I 
 should say in custody. No interested party is 
 likely to feel concern regarding his whereabouts, 
 because so far as he was concerned the crooked 
 contract had been carried out and completed 
 before he actually fell under suspicion." 
 
 "Meaning by that, what?" 
 
 "Meaning just this: On the night he secured 
 possession of the key he handed it over to his 
 principal, who still has it unless he has destroyed 
 it. It is fair to assume that this other man, 
 being a co.de expert, already has memorised the 
 key so that he can read the dispatch almost 
 offhand. At least that is the assumption upon 
 which I am going." 
 
 "All this happened in Washington, I sup 
 pose?" 
 
 "Yes, in Washington. The original under- 
 standing was that as soon as possible after 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 stealing the dispatch Westerfeltner would turn 
 it over to the other man. But something we 
 don t know yet just what frightened the 
 master crook out of town. With the job only 
 partially accomplished he left Washington and 
 came to New York. But before leaving he gave 
 to Westerfeltner explicit instructions for the 
 delivery of the dispatch when he had suc 
 ceeded in getting his hands on it to a third 
 party, a special go-between, with whom Wester 
 feltner was to communicate by telephone. 
 
 "Late the next day Westerfeltner did suc 
 ceed in getting his hands on the document. 
 That same evening, in accordance with his 
 instructions, he called up from his house a 
 certain number. He had been told to call this 
 number exactly at eight o clock and to ask for 
 Mrs. Williams. Without delay he got Mrs, 
 Williams on the wire. Over the wire a woman s 
 voice told him to meet her at the McPherson 
 Statue in McPherson Square at eleven-fifteen 
 o clock that night. He was there at the 
 appointed hour, waiting. According to what 
 he tells me, almost precisely on the minute a 
 woman, wearing plain dark clothes and heavily 
 veiled, came walking along the path that leads 
 to the statue from Fifteenth Street. It was 
 dark there, anyhow, and for obvious reasons 
 both the conspirators kept themselves well 
 shielded in the shadows. 
 
 "As she came up and saw him waiting there, 
 she uttered the catchwords which made him 
 [843] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 know her for the right person. The words 
 were simple enough. She merely said to him 
 Did you go to the pawnshop? He answered 
 Yes, I went there and I got your keepsake. 
 Thank you, she answered, then give it to me. 
 Here it is, safe and sound, he replied and 
 passed to her the paper, which was wadded up, 
 he says, in a pellet about the size of a hazelnut. 
 
 "Up to this point the pair had been speaking 
 in accordance with a sort of memorised ritual, 
 each knowing from the instructions given to 
 both by their employer what the other would 
 say. But before they parted they exchanged a 
 few other words. Westerfeltner tells me that, 
 having his own safety in mind as well as a 
 natural anxiety for the safe delivery of the 
 paper to its real purchaser, he said to her: 
 I hope you understand that you should keep 
 this thing in your possession for every minute 
 of the time until you hand it over to our mutual 
 friend. 
 
 "As he recalls her answer, as nearly as 
 possible in the words she used, she said: Cer 
 tainly I do. It will be kept on my person where 
 I can put my hand on it, but where no one else 
 can see it and where no one else will ever sus 
 pect it of being. Then she asked him: Was 
 there anything else you wanted to say to 
 me? He told her there was nothing else and 
 she said good night to him and turned and 
 walked away in the direction from which she 
 had come. He waited a minute or so and then 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 walked off, leaving the square on the opposite 
 side the Vermont Avenue side. He went 
 directly home and went to bed. 
 
 "He is unmarried and lives alone, taking his 
 luncheons and dinners out, but preparing his 
 own breakfasts in his rooms. At three o clock 
 in the morning he was in bed and asleep when I 
 rang his doorbell. In his night clothes he got 
 up and let me in; and as soon as I was in I 
 accused him. As a matter of fact the double 
 theft had been discovered the evening before, 
 but unfortunately by then several hours had 
 elapsed from the time the dispatch was taken, 
 and already, as you know, the dispatch had 
 changed hands. 
 
 "Within an hour after the discovery of the 
 loss I had been set to work on the job. At 
 once suspicion fell upon three men, one after 
 the other. It didn t take very long to con 
 vince me that two of these men were innocent. 
 So these two having been eliminated by deduc 
 tive processes, I personally went after the third 
 man, who was this Westerfeltner. The moment 
 I walked in on him I was convinced from his 
 behaviour that I had made no mistake. So I 
 took a chance. I charged him point-blank with 
 being the thief. Almost immediately he weak 
 ened. His denials turned to admissions. As a 
 conspirator Westerfeltner is a lame duck. I 
 only wish I had started after him three or four 
 hours earlier than I did; if only I had done so 
 I m satisfied the paper would be back where it 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 belongs and no damage done. Well, anyhow, if 
 I am one to judge, he told me everything frankly 
 and held back nothing." 
 
 "Well, then, who is the woman in the case?" 
 
 "He didn t know. To his best knowledge he 
 had never seen her before that night. He is sure 
 that he had never heard her voice before. 
 Really, all he does know about her is that she is 
 a small, slender woman with rather quick, 
 decided movements and that her voice is that 
 of a refined person. He is sure she is a young 
 woman, but he can furnish no better description 
 of her than this. He claims he was very ner 
 vous at the time of their meeting. I figure he 
 was downright excited, filled as he was with 
 guilty apprehensions, and no doubt because of 
 his excitement he took less notice of her than 
 he otherwise might. Besides, you must remem 
 ber that the place of rendezvous was a fairly 
 dark spot on rather a dark night." 
 
 "He has absolutely no idea of his own, then, 
 as to the identity of Mrs. Williams?" 
 
 "He hasn t; but I have. The telephone 
 number which figures in the case is the number 
 of a pay station in an all-night drug store in 
 Washington. Westerfeltner freely gave me the 
 number. Both the proprietor of this drug 
 store and his clerk remember that night before 
 last, shortly before eight o clock, a rather small, 
 slight woman wearing a black street costume 
 with a dark veil over her face came into the 
 place and said she was expecting a telephone 
 [3*6] 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 call for Mrs. Williams. Within two or three 
 minutes the bell rang and the clerk answered 
 and somebody asked for Mrs. Williams. The 
 woman entered the booth, came out almost 
 immediately, and went away. All that the 
 drugstore man and his clerk remember about 
 her is that she was a young woman, plainly 
 dressed but well-groomed. The druggist is 
 positive she had dark hair; the clerk is inclined 
 to think her hair was a deep reddish-brown. 
 Neither of them saw her face; neither of them 
 remarked anything unusual about her. To them 
 she was merely a woman who came in to keep a 
 telephone engagement, and having kept it went 
 away again. So, having run into a blind alley 
 at that end of the case, I started in at the other 
 end of it to find the one lady to whom naturally 
 the chief conspirator would turn for help in the 
 situation that confronted him when he ran away 
 from Washington. And I found her both of 
 her in fact." 
 
 "Both of her! Then there are two women 
 involved?" 
 
 "No, only one; but which one of two suspects 
 she is I can t for the life of me decide. I know 
 who she is, and yet I don t know. I ll come to 
 that part of it in a minute or two. I haven t 
 told you the name of the head devil of the whole 
 intrigue yet, have I? You ve met him, I 
 imagine. At any rate you surely have heard of 
 him. 
 
 "You know him, or else you surely know of 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 him, as the Hon. Sidney Bertram Goldsborough* 
 of London, England, and Shanghai, China." 
 
 "Goodness gracious me!" In her astonish 
 ment Miss Smith had recourse to an essentially 
 feminine exclamation. "Why, that does bring 
 it close to home! Why, he is among the per 
 sons invited to my cousin s house to-morrow 
 night. I remember seeing his name on the 
 invitation list. That s why you asked me about 
 her party a while ago. My cousin met him 
 somewhere and liked him. I ve never seen 
 him, but I ve heard about him. A big mining 
 engineer, isn t he?" 
 
 "A big international crook, posing as a mining 
 engineer and ostensibly in this country to 
 finance some important Korean concessions 
 that s what he is. His real name is Geltmann. 
 Here s his pedigree in a nutshell : Born in Russia 
 of mixed German and Swiss parentage. Edu 
 cated in England, where he acquired his accent 
 and the monocle habit. Perfected himself in 
 scoundrelism in the competent finishing schools 
 of the Far East. Speaks half a dozen lan 
 guages, including Chinese and Japanese. Carries 
 gilt-edged credentials made in the Orient. 
 That, briefly, is your Hon. Mr. Sidney Bertram 
 Goldsborough, when you undress him. He was 
 officially suspected of being something other 
 than what he claimed to be, even before Wester- 
 feltner divulged his name. In fact, he fell 
 under suspicion shortly after he turned up in 
 Paris in January of this year, he having ob- 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 tained a passport for France on the strength of 
 his credentials and on the representation that 
 he wanted to go abroad to interest European 
 financiers in that high-sounding Korean devel 
 opment scheme of his which, by the way, is 
 purely imaginary. He hung about Paris for 
 three months. How he found out about the 
 document which the army officer was bringing 
 home, and how he found out that the officer in 
 order to save time would travel on a French 
 liner instead of on a transport, are details that 
 are yet to be cleared up by our people on the 
 other side. There has been no time yet of 
 course to take up the chase over there in Paris. 
 But obviously there must have been a leak 
 somewhere. Either some one abroad was in 
 collusion with him or perhaps indiscreetness 
 rather than guilty connivance was responsible 
 for his learning what he did learn. As to that, 
 I can t say. 
 
 "But the point remains that Geltmann 
 sailed on the same ship that brought the army 
 officer. Evidently he hoped to get possession 
 of the paper the officer carried on the way over. 
 Failing there, he tried other means. He fol 
 lowed the officer down to Washington, seduced 
 Westerfeltner by the promise of a fat bribe, and 
 then, just when his scheme was about to suc 
 ceed, became frightened and returned to New 
 York, trusting to a woman confederate to 
 deliver the paper to him here. And now he s 
 here, awaiting her arrival, and from all the 
 "~""~""- [349] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 evidence available he expects to get it from her 
 to-morrow night at your cousin s party." 
 
 "Then the woman is to be there too?" Miss 
 Smith s eyes were stretched wide. 
 
 "She certainly is." 
 
 "And who is she or, rather, who do you 
 think she is?" 
 
 "Miss Smith, prepare for a shock. Either 
 that woman is Mme. Josephine Ybanca, the 
 wife of the famous South American diplomat, or 
 else she is Miss Evelyn Ballister, sister of 
 United States Senator Hector Ballister. And 
 I am pretty sure that you must know both of 
 them." 
 
 "I do! I do! I know Miss Ballister fairly well, 
 and I have met Madame Ybanca twice once 
 here in New York, once at Washington. And 
 let me say now, that at first blush I do not find it 
 in my heart to suspect either of them of delib 
 erate wrongdoing. I don t think they are that 
 sort." 
 
 "I don t wonder you say that," answered 
 Mullinix. "Also I think I know you well 
 enough to feel sure that the fact that both of 
 them are to be guests of your cousin, Mrs. 
 Hadley-Smith, to-morrow night has no in 
 fluence upon you in forming your judgments of 
 these two young women." 
 
 "I know Miss Ballister has been invited and 
 has accepted. But I think you must be wrong 
 when you say Madame Ybanca is also ex- 
 pected." 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 "When was the last time you saw your 
 cousin?" 
 
 "The day before yesterday, I think it was, 
 but only for a few minutes." 
 
 "Well, yesterday she sent a telegram to 
 Madame Ybanea saying she understood Ma 
 dame Ybanca would be coming up from Washing 
 ton this week and asking her to waive formality 
 and come to the party." 
 
 "You say my cousin sent such a wire?" 
 
 "I read the telegram. Likewise I read 
 Madame Ybanca s reply, filed at half after six 
 o clock yesterday evening, accepting the invi 
 tation." 
 
 "But surely" and now there was mounting 
 incredulity and indignation in Miss Smith s 
 tone "but surely no one dares to assert that 
 my cousin is conniving at anything improper?" 
 
 "Certainly not! If I thought she was doing 
 anything wrong I would hardly be asking you 
 to help trap her, would I? Didn t I tell you 
 that we might even have to enlist your cousin s 
 co-operation? But I imagine, when you make 
 inquiry, as of course you will do at once, you ll 
 find that since you saw your cousin she has 
 seen Goldsborough, or Geltmann to give him 
 his real name and that he asked her to send 
 the wire to Madame Ybanca." 
 
 "That being assumed as correct, the weight 
 of the proof would seem to press upon the 
 madame rather than upon Miss Ballister, 
 wouldn t it?" 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 "Frankly I don t know. At times to-day, 
 coming up here on the train, I have thought 
 she must be the guilty one, and at times I have 
 felt sure that she was not. But this much I do 
 know: One of those two ladies is absolutely 
 innocent of any wrongdoing, and the other 
 one pardon my language is as guilty as hell. 
 But perhaps it is only fair to both that you 
 should suspend judgment altogether until I 
 have finished telling you the whole business, as 
 far as I know it. 
 
 "Let us go back a bit. Half an hour after I 
 had heard Westerfeltner s confession and fifteen 
 minutes after I had seen the druggist and his 
 clerk, the entire machinery of our branch of the 
 service had been set in motion to find out what 
 women in Washington were friends of Gelt- 
 mann. For Geltmann spent most of last fall in 
 Washington. Now while in Washington he 
 was noticeably attentive to just two women 
 Miss Ballister and Madame Ybanca. Now 
 mark a lengthening of the parallel: Both of 
 them are small women; both of them are slender; 
 both are young, and both of course have refined 
 voices. Neither speaks with any special 
 accent, for the madame, though married to a 
 Latin, is an American woman. She has black 
 hair, while Miss Ballister s hair is a golden 
 red-brown. So far, you see, the vague descrip 
 tion furnished by the three men who spoke to 
 the mythical Mrs. Williams might apply to 
 
 either." 
 
 [852] 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 "Then which of the two is supposed to have 
 been most attracted to Geltmann, as you call 
 him?" 
 
 Mullinix smiled a trifle. 
 
 "I was rather expecting that question would 
 come along about here," he said. "I only wish 
 I could tell you; it might simplify matters. 
 But so far as the available evidence points, 
 there is nothing to indicate that either of them 
 really cared for him or he for either of them. 
 The attentions which he paid them both, 
 impartially, were those which a man might pay 
 to any woman, whether she was married or 
 unmarried, without creating gossip. There is 
 no suggestion here of a dirty scandal. The 
 woman who is serving Geltmann s ends is doing 
 it, not for love of him and not even because she 
 is fascinated by him, but for money. She has 
 agreed to sell out her country, the land she was 
 born in, for hire. I m sure of that much." 
 
 "Then which of them is presumed to be in 
 pressing need of funds?" 
 
 "Again you score. I was expecting that 
 question too. As a matter of fact both of them 
 need money. Madame Ybanca belongs to a 
 bridge-playing set a group of men and women 
 who play for high stakes. She has been a 
 heavy loser and her husband, unlike many 
 politically prominent South Americans, is not 
 a fabulously wealthy man. I doubt whether 
 he would be called wealthy at all, either by the 
 standards of his own people or of ours. As for 
 ~ [353] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 Miss Ballister, I have reports which prove she 
 has no source of income except a modest allow 
 ance from her brother, the senator, who is in 
 moderate circumstances only; yet it is common 
 talk about Washington that she is extravagant 
 beyond her means. She owes considerable 
 sums to tradesmen for frocks and furs, millinery, 
 jewelry and the like. It is fair to assume that 
 she is harassed by her debts. On the other 
 hand, Madame Ybanca undoubtedly wants 
 funds with which to meet her losses at bridge. 
 So the presumption in this direction runs as 
 strongly against one as against the other." 
 
 "Well then, barring these slight clews 
 which to my way of thinking really aren t clews 
 at all and when you have eliminated the cir 
 cumstance of Goldsborough s having paid per 
 fectly proper attentions to both of them simul 
 taneously, what is there to justify the belief 
 that one or the other must be guilty?" 
 
 Miss Smith s voice still carried a suggestion 
 of scepticism. 
 
 "I m coming to that. Of course their posi 
 tions being what they are, neither I nor any 
 other Secret Service operative would dare 
 question either one or both of them. On a 
 mere hazard you caiihot go to the beautiful 
 young wife of the distinguished representative 
 of a friendly nation, and a woman besides of 
 irreproachable character, and accuse her of 
 being in the pay of an international crook. 
 You cannot do this any more than you could 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 attempt a similar liberty with regard to an 
 equally beautiful woman of equally good repute 
 who happens to be a prominent figure in the 
 most exclusive circles of this country and the 
 favourite sister of a leader on the Administration 
 side in the United States Senate. Of course 
 since the developments began to focus suspicion 
 upon them, they have been watched. Yester 
 day at church Miss Ballister s wrist bag was 
 picked. Along with things of no apparent 
 significance, it contained a note received by her 
 the day before from Goldsborough Geltmann 
 rather reminding her that they were to meet 
 to-morrow night at your cousin s party. Later 
 in the afternoon Madame Ybanca received a 
 telegram and sent an answer, as I have told 
 you; a telegram inviting her to the very same 
 party. Putting two and two together, I think 
 I see Geltmann s hand showing. Having put 
 two and two together, I came to New York to 
 get in touch with you and to enlist your help." 
 
 "But why me?" 
 
 "Why not you? I remembered that Mrs. 
 Hadley-Smith was related to you. I felt 
 pretty sure that you would be going to her 
 party. And I am morally sure that at the 
 party Geltmann means to meet his confederate 
 Miss Ballister or Madame Ybanca, as the 
 case may be and to receive from her the bit 
 of paper that means so much to him and to 
 those he is serving in the capacity of a paid 
 agent. It will be easy enough to do the thing 
 [355 ] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 there; whereas a meeting in any other place, 
 public or private, might be dangerous for both 
 of them. 
 
 "Miss Ballister will be coming over from 
 Washington to-morrow. She has a chair-car 
 reservation on the Pennsylvania train leaving 
 there at ten o clock in the morning. I don t 
 know what train Madame Ybanca will take, 
 but the news will be coming to me by wire 
 before she is aboard the train. Each one of 
 them is now being shadowed; each one of them 
 will be shadowed for every moment while she is 
 on her way and during her stay here; and of 
 course Geltmann cannot stir a step outside his 
 suite at the Hotel Atminster, on Fortieth Street, 
 without being under observation. He didn t 
 know it, but he was under observation when he 
 woke up yesterday morning. 
 
 "But I think these precautions are of mighty 
 little value; I do not expect any important 
 result from them. On the other hand, I am 
 convinced that the transfer of the dispatch will 
 be attempted under your cousin s roof. I do 
 not need to tell you why Geltmann should have 
 sought to insure the presence of both women 
 here at one time. He is smart enough; he 
 knows that in this case there is an added ele 
 ment of safety for him in numbers that it is 
 better to have both present. Then unwittingly 
 the innocent one will serve as a cover for the 
 guilty one. I think he figures that should dis- 
 covery of the theft come soon he not knowing 
 [ 356 I ~~~~ 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 it already has come then in such case there 
 will be a divided trail for us to follow, one end 
 pointing toward Miss Ballister and the other 
 toward the madame. Or, at least, so I diagnose 
 his mental processes. 
 
 "If I have diagnosed them correctly, the big 
 part of the job, Miss Smith, is now up to you. 
 We figure from what she told Westerfeltner 
 that the paper will be concealed on the person 
 of the woman we are after in her hair perhaps, 
 or in her bosom; possibly in that favourite 
 cache of a woman her stocking. At any 
 rate she will have it hidden about her; that 
 much we may count on for a certainty. And 
 so it must be your task to prevent that paper 
 from changing hands; better still, to get it into 
 your own possession before it possibly can come 
 under Geltmann s eyes even for a moment. 
 But there must be no scene, no violence used, 
 no scandal; above all things there must be no 
 publicity. Publicity is to be dreaded almost as 
 much as the actual transfer. 
 
 "For my part I can promise you this: I shall 
 be in the house of your cousin to-morrow night, 
 if you want me to be there. That detail we can 
 arrange through her; but naturally I must stay 
 out of sight. You must do your work prac 
 tically unaided. I guarantee though to insure 
 you plenty of time in which to do it. Geltmann 
 will not reach the party until later than he 
 expects. The gentleman will be delayed by 
 one or a number of annoying but seemingly 
 [857] ~ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 unavoidable accidents. Beyond these points 
 I have to confess myself helpless. After those 
 two women pass inside Mrs. Hadley-Smith s 
 front door the real job is in your hands. You 
 must find who has the paper and you must get 
 it away from its present custodian without 
 making threats, without using force in short, 
 without doing anything to rouse the suspicions 
 beforehand of the person we are after, or to 
 make the innocent woman aware that she is 
 under scrutiny. 
 
 "Above all, nothing must occur to make any 
 of the other guests realise that anything unusual 
 is afoot. For that would mean talk on the out 
 side, and talk on the outside means sensational 
 stories in the newspapers. You can make no 
 mistake, and yet for the life of me I cannot see 
 how you are going to guard against making 
 them. Everything depends on you, and that 
 everything means a very great deal to our 
 country. Yes, everything depends on you, 
 because I am at the end of my rope." 
 
 He finished and sat back in his chair, eyeing 
 her face. Her expression gave him no clew to 
 any conclusions she might have reached. 
 
 "I ll do my best," she said simply, "but I 
 must have full authority to do it in my own 
 way." 
 
 "Agreed. I m not asking anything else from 
 you." 
 
 In a study she rose and went to the mantel- 
 piece and took one book from the heap of books 
 " [358] 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 there. She opened it and glanced abstractedly 
 through the leaves as they flittered under her 
 fingers. 
 
 With her eyes on the page headings she said 
 to him : "I quarrel with one of your premises." 
 
 "Which one?" 
 
 "The one that the woman we want will have 
 the paper hidden in her hair or in her corsage or 
 possibly in her stocking." 
 
 "Well, I couldn t think of any other likely 
 place in which she might hide it. She wouldn t 
 have it in a pocket, would she? Women don t 
 have pockets in their party frocks, do they?" 
 
 Disregarding his questions she asked one 
 herself: 
 
 "You say it is a small strip of paper, and that 
 probably it is rolled up into a wad about the 
 size of a hazelnut?" 
 
 "It was rolled up so when Westerfeltner 
 parted from it that s all I can tell you. Why 
 do you ask that?" 
 
 "Oh, it doesn t particularly matter. I merely 
 was thinking of various possibilities and con 
 tingencies." 
 
 Apparently she now had found the place in 
 the book which, more or less mechanically, she 
 had been seeking. She turned down the upper 
 corner of a certain page for a marker and closed 
 the book. 
 
 "Well, in any event," she said, "I must get 
 to work. I think I shall begin by calling up my 
 cousin to tell her, among other things, that her 
 [859] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 party may have some rather unique features 
 that she had not included in her program. And 
 where can I reach you by telephone or by 
 messenger say, in an hour from now?" 
 
 A number of small things, seemingly in no 
 wise related to the main issue, occurred that 
 evening and on the following morning. In the 
 evening, for example, Mrs. Hadley-Smith re 
 vised the schedule of amusements she had 
 planned for her All Fools party, incorporating 
 some entirely new notions into the original 
 scheme. In the morning Miss Mildred Smith 
 visited the handkerchief counter of a leading 
 department store, where she made selections 
 and purchases from the stocks, going thence to 
 a shop dealing in harness and leather goods. 
 Here she gave a special commission for imme 
 diate execution. 
 
 Toward dusk of the evening of April first a 
 smallish unobtrusive-looking citizen procured 
 admittance to Mrs. Hadley-Smith s home, on 
 East Sixty-third Street just off Fifth Avenue. 
 With the air of a man having business on the 
 premises he walked through the front door 
 along with a group of helpers from the caterer s. 
 Once inside, he sent a name by the butler to 
 Mrs. Hadley-Smith, who apparently awaited 
 such word, for promptly she came downstairs 
 and personally escorted the man to a small 
 study at the back of the first floor; wherein, 
 having been left alone, he first locked the door 
 leading to the hall and drew the curtains of the 
 [360] 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 windows giving upon a rear courtyard, and pro 
 ceeded to make himself quite at home. 
 
 He ate a cold supper which he found spread 
 upon a table and after that he used the tele 
 phone rather extensively. This done, he lit a 
 cigar and stretched himself upon a sofa, smoking 
 away with the air of a man who has finished his 
 share cf a given undertaking and may take his 
 ease until the time arrives for renewed action 
 upon his part. Along toward nine-thirty 
 o clock, when he had smoked his third cigar, 
 there came a soft knock thrice repeated upon 
 the door, whereupon he rose and unlocked the 
 door, but without opening it to see who might 
 be outside he went back to his couch, lay down 
 and lit a fourth cigar. For the next little while 
 we may leave him there to his comfortable 
 solitude and his smoke haze. 
 
 Meanwhile the Hon. Sidney Bertram Golds- 
 borough, so called and so registered at the 
 Hotel Atminster, grew decidedly peevish over 
 the unaccountable failure of his order to arrive 
 from a theatrical costumer s, where he had 
 selected it some three days earlier. He was 
 morally sure it had been sent hours earlier by 
 special messenger from the costume shop. In 
 answer to his vexed inquiries the parcels depart 
 ment of the hotel was equally sure that no box 
 or package consigned to Mr. Goldsborough had 
 been received. Finally, after ten o clock, the 
 missing costume was brought to the gentleman s 
 door with a message of profound regret from 
 [ 361 ] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 the assistant manager, who expressed sorrow 
 that through the stupidity of some member or 
 members of his force a valued guest had been 
 inconvenienced. Hastily slipping into the cos 
 tume and putting a light overcoat on over it 
 Mr. Goldsborough started in a taxicab up 
 Fifth Avenue. But at Forty-eighth Street a 
 government mail van, issuing suddenly out of 
 the sideway, smashed squarely into the side of 
 the taxicab bearing him, with the result that 
 the taxi lost a wheel and Mr. Goldsborough 
 lost another half hour. 
 
 This second delay was due to the fact that 
 his presence upon the spot was required by a 
 plain-clothes man who took over the investiga 
 tion of the collision from the patrolman on the 
 post. To Mr. Goldsborough, inwardly fuming 
 but outwardly calm and indifferent, it seemed 
 that the plain-clothes person took an unreason 
 ably long time for his inquiries touching on 
 the accident. At length, with apologies for 
 detaining him, the headquarters man now 
 suddenly become accommodating where before 
 he had been officially exact and painstaking in 
 his inquisition into causes and circumstances 
 personally hailed another taxicab for Mr. 
 Goldsborough and sent him upon his way. 
 
 But, Mr. Goldsborough s chapter of petty 
 troubles was not yet ended ; for the driver of the 
 second taxi stupidly drove to the wrong address, 
 landing his fare at a house on West Sixty-third 
 
 Street, clear across Central Park and nearly 
 
 __ - 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 halfway across town from Mrs. Hadley-Smith s 
 home. So, what with first one thing and then 
 another, eleven o clock had come and gone 
 before the indignant passenger finally was set 
 down at his proper destination. 
 
 We go back to nine-thirty, which was the 
 hour set and appointed for inaugurating the 
 All Fools Day party. Nine-thirty being the 
 hour, very few of the prospective celebrants 
 arrived before ten. But by ten, or a little later, 
 most of them were assembled in the big twin 
 drawing-rooms on the first floor of the Hadley- 
 Smith establishment. These two rooms, with 
 the study behind them and the wide reception 
 hall that ran alongside them, took up the most 
 of the first-floor ground space of the town 
 house. As the first arrivals noted, they had 
 been stripped of furniture for dancing. One 
 room was quite empty, save for decorations; 
 the other contained only a table piled with 
 favours. Even the chairs had been removed, 
 leaving clear spaces along the walls. 
 
 It was not such a very large party as parties 
 go, for Mrs. Hadley-Smith had a reputation for 
 doing her entertaining on a small but an exceed 
 ingly smart scale. All told, there were not more 
 than fifty on hand and accounted for by ten 
 o clock. A good many had come in costume 
 as zanies, Pantaloons, witches, Pierrots, Col 
 umbines, clowns and simples. For those who 
 wore evening dress the hostess had provided a 
 store of dunce caps and dominos of gay colours. 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 Nearly everybody present already knew nearly 
 everybody else. There were only five or six 
 guests from out of town, and of these Mme. 
 Josephine Ybanca, wife of the great South 
 American diplomat, and Miss Evelyn Ballister, 
 sister of the distinguished Western states 
 man, were by odds the handsomest. Of women 
 there were more than men; there usually are 
 more women than men in evidence at such 
 affairs. 
 
 At about ten o clock, Mrs. Hadley-Smith 
 stood out on the floor under the arch connecting 
 but not exactly separating the joined rooms. 
 
 "Listen, please, everybody!" she called, and 
 the motley company, obeying the summons, 
 clustered about her. "The musicians won t 
 be here until midnight. After they have come 
 and after we ve had supper there will be danc 
 ing. But until midnight we are going to play 
 games old games, such as I m told they played 
 in England two hundred years ago on May Day 
 and on All Fools Day and on Halloween. 
 There ll be no servants about and no one to 
 bother us and we ll have these rooms to our 
 selves to do just as we please in." 
 
 A babble of politely enthusiastic exclama 
 tions rose. The good-looking widow could 
 always be depended upon to provide something 
 unusual when she entertained. 
 
 "I ve asked my cousin, Mildred, to take 
 charge of this part of our party," went on the 
 hostess. "She has been studying up on the 
 [364] 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 subject, I believe." She looked about her. 
 "Oh, Mildred, where are you?" 
 
 "Here," answered Miss Smith, emerging 
 from a corner, pretty Madame Ybanca coming 
 with her. "Madame Ybanca has on such mar 
 vellous, fascinating old jewelry to-night; I was 
 just admiring it. Are you ready to start? " 
 
 "Quite ready, if you are." 
 
 Crossing to the one table in sight Miss Smith 
 took the party-coloured cover from a big square 
 cardboard box. Seemingly the box was filled 
 to the top with black silk handkerchiefs; thick, 
 heavy black handkerchiefs they were. 
 
 "As a beginning," she announced, "we are 
 going to play a new kind of Blind Man s Buff. 
 That is to say, it may be new to us, though some 
 of our remote ancestors no doubt played it a 
 century or so back. In the game we played as 
 children one person was blindfolded and was 
 spun about three times and then had to lay 
 hands upon one of the others, all of whom were 
 duty bound to stand where they were, without 
 moving or speaking but you remember, I m 
 sure, all of you? In this version the rules are 
 different, as you ll see. 
 
 "First we ll draw lots to see who s going to 
 be It, as we used to say when we were kiddies. 
 Wait a minute though it will take too long to 
 choose from among so many. I think I ll save 
 time by finding a victim in this little crowd 
 here." And she indicated ten or twelve who 
 
 chanced to be clustered at her right. 
 
 [ 365 ] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 "You, Mr. Polk, and you, Miss Vane, and 
 you and you and you and, oh yes, I ll take in 
 Madame Ybanca too; she makes an even 
 dozen. I shan t include myself, because I 
 rather think I had better act as referee and 
 general factotum until you learn the game." 
 
 The chosen group faced her while the others 
 pressed up in anticipation. From a pocket in 
 her red-and-white clown s blouse Miss Smith 
 produced a sheaf of folded bits of tissue paper. 
 
 "One of these papers bears a number," she 
 went on, as she made a selection of twelve slips 
 from the handful. "All the others are blank. 
 I know which one is marked, but no one else 
 does. Now then, take a slip, each of you. The 
 person who draws the numbered slip is It." 
 
 In mock solemnity each of the selected twelve 
 in turn drew from between Miss Smith s fingers 
 a colored scrap. 
 
 "Mine s a blank," called out Miss Vane, 
 opening her bit of paper. 
 
 "Mine too." 
 
 "And mine." 
 
 "And mine is." 
 
 "Who has it, then?" 
 
 "I seem to have drawn the fatal number," 
 said Madame Ybanca, holding up her slip for 
 all to see the markings on it. 
 
 "So you have," agreed Miss Smith. "Now 
 
 then, everybody pick out a black handkerchief 
 
 from this box they re all exactly alike. Not 
 
 you, though, madame. I ll have to prepare 
 
 ~ ~ [366] 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 you for your r6le myself." So saying, she took 
 one of the handkerchiefs and folded it into a 
 long flat strip. 
 
 "Now, madame, please put your arms back 
 of you so! You see, I m going to tie your 
 hands behind your back." 
 
 "Oh, does everybody have to be tied?" de 
 manded Miss Vane. 
 
 "No, but everybody excepting the madame 
 must be blindfolded," stated Miss Smith. "I ll 
 explain in just one minute when I m done with 
 the madame here." With fast-moving fingers 
 she firmly drew the handkerchief about the 
 young matron s crossed wrists. Madame 
 Ybanca uttered a sharp little "Ouch!" 
 
 "Oh, I m so sorry," said Miss Smith. "Am 
 I binding you too tightly?" 
 
 "No, not that; but I think you are making 
 one of my bracelets press into my flesh. It s 
 such a thick cumbersome thing anyway." 
 
 "Shall I slip it farther up your arm?" asked 
 Miss Smith. 
 
 "No, take it off entirely, won t you, and keep 
 it for me? It fastens with a little clasp." 
 
 So Miss Smith undid the bracelet, which was 
 a band of curiously chased heavy gold, studded 
 with big bosses containing blue stones, and 
 dropped it into her handy blouse pocket. 
 
 Then swiftly she finished her task of knotting 
 the handkerchief ends and Madame Ybanca, 
 very securely bound, stood forth in the midst 
 of a laughing ring, making a pretty and appeal- 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 ing picture, her face slightly flushed by 
 embarrassment. 
 
 "One thing more for your adornment and 
 you ll be ready," promised Miss Smith. 
 
 Burrowing beneath the remaining handker 
 chiefs in the box she produced a collarlike device 
 of soft russet leather, all hung with fat silver 
 sleigh bells which, being loosely sewed to the 
 fabric by means of twisted wire threads, jingled 
 constantly and busily. The slightest move 
 ment set the wires to quivering like antennae 
 and the bells to making music. Miss Smith 
 lifted the leather circlet down over Madame 
 Ybanca s head so that it rested upon her 
 shoulders, looping across just below the base 
 of the throat. 
 
 "Take a step forward," she bade the madame, 
 and as the latter obeyed, all the bells tinkled 
 together with a constant merry clamour. 
 
 "Behold!" said Miss Smith. "The lady of 
 the bells is caparisoned for her part. Now 
 then, let each person blindfold his or her eyes 
 with the handkerchief you have; but take care 
 that you are well blinded. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Ballister, let me adjust your 
 handkerchief, won t you? I m afraid you 
 might disarrange that lovely hair ornament of 
 yours unless you have help. There! How s 
 that! Can you see anything at all? How 
 many fingers do I hold up?" 
 
 "Oh, I m utterly in the dark," said Miss 
 
 Ballister. "I can t see a thing." 
 
 [ 368 ] 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 "Are you all hooded?" called Miss Smith. 
 
 A chorus of assents went up. 
 
 "Good! Then listen a moment: It will be 
 Madame Ybanca s task to catch hold of some 
 one of you with her hands fastened as they are 
 behind her. It is your task to keep out of her 
 way; the bells are to warn you of her approach. 
 Whoever is caught takes her place and becomes 
 It. 
 
 Ready go!" 
 
 Standing a moment as though planning a 
 campaign Madame Ybanca made a quick dash 
 toward where the others were grouped the 
 thickest. But her bells betrayed her. From 
 before her they scattered and broke apart, 
 stumbling, groping with outstretched hands to 
 find the wall, jostling into one another, caroming 
 off again, whooping with laughter. Fast as 
 Madame Ybanca advanced, the rest all man 
 aged to evade her. She halted, laughing in 
 admission of the handicap upon her, when 
 before she had been so confident of a capture; 
 then, changing her tactics, she undertook to 
 stalk down some member of the blindfolded 
 flock by stealthy, gentle forward steps. But 
 softly though she might advance, the telltale 
 bells gave ample notice of her whereabouts, 
 and the troop fled. Moreover, even when she 
 succeeded as she soon did in herding some 
 one into a corner, the prospective victim, a man, 
 managed to slip past her out of danger, being 
 favoured by the fact that to grasp him with one 
 " [W] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 of her fettered hands she must turn entirely 
 about. So he was able to wriggle out of peril 
 and her clutching fingers closed only on empty 
 air. 
 
 "It s not so easy as it seemed," she con 
 fessed. 
 
 "Keep trying," counselled the referee, keep 
 ing pace with her. Miss Smith s eyes were 
 darting everywhere at once, watching the 
 hooded figures keenly, as though to detect any 
 who might seek to cheat by lifting his or her 
 mufflings. "You re sure to catch somebody 
 presently. They can t dodge you every time, 
 you know." 
 
 So Madame Ybanca tried again. Ahead of 
 her the fugitives stampeded, milling about in 
 uncertain circles, gliding past her along the 
 walls, fleeing from one room to the other and 
 back again singly, by pairs arid threes. They 
 touched her often, but by reason of her ham 
 pered state she never could touch, with her 
 hands, any of them in their flight. 
 
 As Mrs. Hadley-Smith, fleeing alone, came 
 through the doorway with both her arms out 
 stretched to fend off possible collisions, a sharp 
 low whisper spoken right alongside of her made 
 her halt. The whisperer was her cousin. 
 Unobserved by the madame and unheard by 
 any one else, Miss Smith spoke a word or two in 
 her cousin s ear. The next instant almost Mrs. 
 Hadley-Smith, apparently becoming confused 
 as to the direction from which the sounds of 
 "" [ 370 ] " " 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 bells approached, hesitated in indecision and 
 was fairly trapped by the pursuer. 
 
 "Who s caught? Who s caught?" cried sev 
 eral together. 
 
 "You re not supposed to know that makes 
 the fun all the better," cried Miss Smith. 
 "You may halt a bit to get your breath, but 
 nobody is to touch his or her blindfold." 
 
 "I m sure you took pity on me and let me tag 
 you," said Madame Ybanca in an undertone 
 to her victim as Miss Smith, deftly freeing the 
 younger woman s hands, proceeded to bind the 
 hostess wrists at her back. 
 
 "Not at all," replied Mrs. Hadley-Smith, 
 also under her breath. "I was stupid or awk 
 ward or perhaps both at once that s all." 
 
 A moment later when the collar of bells had 
 been shifted to the new wearer s shoulders, the 
 madame, covering up her own eyes, moved 
 away to join the ranks of the blindfolded. 
 
 Before taking up the chase Mrs. Hadley- 
 Smith cast a quick look toward her cousin and 
 the cousin replied with a nod and a significant 
 glance toward a certain quarter of the same 
 room in which they stood. Raising her eye 
 brows to show she understood the widow 
 moved toward the place that had been indi 
 cated. From her path the gaily clad figures 
 retreated, eddying and tacking in uncertain 
 flight away from the jingle of the bells. 
 
 Had any third person there had the use of his 
 or her eyes that person would have witnessed 
 [371] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 now a strange bit of byplay and given a fair 
 share of perception would have realised that 
 something more important than a petty triumph 
 in the playing of a game was afoot. Having 
 vision this third person would have seen how 
 Mrs. Hadley-Smith, disregarding easier chances 
 to make a capture, strove with all her power to 
 touch one particular chosen quarry; would 
 have seen how twice, by a quick twist of a 
 graceful young body, the hunted one eluded 
 those two tied hands outthrust to seize her; 
 how at the third time of trying the huntress 
 scored a victory and laid detaining hold upon a 
 fold of the fugitive s costume; and how at this 
 Miss Smith, so eagerly watching the chase, gave 
 a gesture of assent and satisfaction over a thing 
 accomplished, as she hurried toward the pair of 
 them to render her self-appointed service upon 
 the winner and the loser. 
 
 But having for the moment no eyes with 
 which to see, no third person there witnessed 
 these little interludes of stratagem and design, 
 though it was by no means hard for them to 
 sense that again a coup had been scored. What 
 they did not know was that the newest victim 
 was Evelyn Ballister. 
 
 "Oh, somebody else has been nabbed! 
 Goody! Goody! I m glad I got away," shouted 
 Miss Vane, who was by nature exuberant and 
 of a high spirit. "I wonder who it is now?" 
 She threw back her head, endeavouring to peep 
 out along her tilted nose. "I hope it s a man 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 this time. It s more exciting being pursued 
 by a man." 
 
 "Don t forget no one is to look," warned 
 Miss Smith as keeper of the rules. "It would 
 spoil the sport if you knew who ll be pursuing 
 you next." 
 
 Already she had stripped the blindfold from 
 about Miss Ballister s head and with a quick 
 jerk at the master knot had freed her cousin 
 from bondage. With flirting motions she 
 twisted the folded kerchief into a rope. Prac 
 tice in the work seemed to have given to her 
 added deftness and speed, for in no more time 
 than it takes to tell of it she had drawn Miss 
 Ballister s smooth arms round behind their 
 owner s back and was busied at the next step of 
 her offices. Almost it seemed the girl surren 
 dered reluctantly, as though she were loath to 
 go through with the role that had fallen to her 
 by penalty of being tagged. But if Miss Smith 
 felt unwillingness in the sudden rebellious tens 
 ing of the limbs she touched, the only response 
 on her part was an added quickness in her 
 fingers as she placed one veined wrist upon the 
 other and with double wraps made them snugly 
 fast. 
 
 "It hurts it pinches! You ve bound me 
 too tightly," murmured the prisoner, as in 
 voluntarily she strained against the pull of the 
 trussings. 
 
 "Oh, I m so sorry," whispered Miss Smith. 
 
 "I ll ease you in just a second." But despite 
 
 ___. __ __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 her promise she made no immediate move to do 
 so. Instead she concerned herself with lifting 
 the collaret of bells off over Mrs. Hadley- 
 Smith s head and bestowing it upon the rounded 
 shoulders of the girl. As she brought the jing 
 ling harness down in its place her hands lingered 
 for one fleeting space where a heavy, quaint, 
 old-fashioned gold locket an heirloom that 
 might have come down from a grandmother s 
 days was dangling from a gold chain that 
 encircled the girl s neck. Apparently she 
 caught a finger in the chain and before she 
 could free it she had given a sharp tug at the 
 chain, thereby lifting the locket from where it 
 rested against the white flesh of its wearer s 
 throat. 
 
 "I I m afraid I can t play," Miss Ballister 
 almost gasped out the words; then drawing in 
 her breath with a sharp catch: "This room 
 it s so warm. I feel a bit faint, really I do. 
 Please untie me. I shan t be able to go on." 
 Her voice, though pitched still in a low key, was 
 sharpened with a nervous entreaty. 
 
 "I will of course if you really do feel badly," 
 said Miss Smith. Then an inspiration seemed 
 to come to her. Her eyes sparkled. 
 
 "Oh," she said, "I ve a beautiful idea! 
 We ll play an April Fools joke on them. 
 We ll make them all think you still are here 
 and while they re dodging about trying to keep 
 away from you we ll slip away together and b 
 at the other end of the house." By a gestuiv 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 of one hand and with a finger of the other across 
 her lips to impress the need of secrecy, she 
 brought Mrs. Hadley-Smith into the little 
 conspiracy. 
 
 "Don t blindfold yourself, Claire," she whis 
 pered. "You must help Miss Ballister and me 
 to play a joke on the others. You are to keep 
 the bells rattling after we are gone. See? This 
 way." 
 
 With that she shifted the leathern loop from 
 about Miss Ballister s neck and replaced it over 
 Mrs. Hadley-Smith shead which bent forward to 
 receive it. Smiling in appreciation of the pro 
 posed hoax the widow took a step or two. 
 
 "Watch!" whispered Miss Smith in Miss 
 Ballister s ear. "See how well the trick works. 
 There what did I tell you?" 
 
 For instantly all the players, deceived by the 
 artifice, were falling back, huddling away from 
 the fancied danger zone as Mrs. Hadley-Smith 
 went toward them. In the same instant Miss 
 Smith silently had opened the nearest door and, 
 beckoning to Miss Ballister to follow her, was 
 tiptoeing softly out into the empty hall. The 
 door closed gently behind them. 
 
 Miss Ballister laughed a forced little laugh. 
 She turned, presenting her back to Miss Smith. 
 
 "Now untie me, please do." In her eager 
 ness to be free she panted out the words. 
 
 "Surely," agreed Miss Smith. "But I think 
 
 we should get entirely away, out of sight, before 
 
 the bells stop ringing and the hoax begins to 
 
 [75] " 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 dawn on them. There s a little study right 
 here at the end of the hall. Shall we go there 
 and hide from them? I ll relieve you of that 
 handkerchief then." 
 
 "Yes, yes; but quickly, please!" Miss 
 Ballister s note was insistent; you might call it 
 pleading, certainly it was agitated. "Being 
 tied this way gives one such a trapped sort of 
 feeling it s horrid, really it is. I ll never let 
 any one tie my hands again so long as I live. 
 It s enough to give one hysterics honestly it is. 
 
 "I understand. Come on, then." 
 
 With one hand slipped inside the curve of 
 the other s elbow Miss Smith hurried her to the 
 study door masked beneath the broad stairs, 
 and opening it, ushered her into the inner room. 
 
 It contained an occupant: a smallish man 
 with mild-looking gray eyes, who at their 
 entrance rose up from where he sat, staring 
 steadily at them. At sight of the unexpected 
 stranger Miss Ballister halted. She uttered a 
 shocked little exclamation and recoiled, pulling 
 away from her escort as though she meant to 
 flee back across the threshold. But her shoul 
 ders came against the solid panels. 
 
 The door so soon had been shut behind her, 
 cutting off retreat. 
 
 "Well?" said the stranger. 
 
 Miss Smith stood away from the shrinking 
 figure, leaving it quite alone. 
 
 "This is the woman/ she said, and suddenly 
 [376] ~ 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 her voice was accusing and hard. "The stolen 
 paper is in that necklace she is wearing round 
 her neck." 
 
 For proof of the truth of the charge Mullinix 
 had only to look into their captive s face. Her 
 first little fit of distress coming on her so sud 
 denly while she was being bound had made her 
 pale. Now her pallor was ghastly. Little 
 blemishes under the skin stood out in blotches 
 against its dead white, and out of the mask her 
 eyes glared in a dumb terror. She made no 
 outcry, but her lips, stiff with fright, twisted to 
 form words that would not come. Her shoul 
 ders heaved as futilely she strove to wrench 
 her arms free. Then quickly her head sank 
 forward and her knees began to bend under her. 
 
 "Mind she s going to faint!" warned Mulli 
 nix. 
 
 Both of them sprang forward and together 
 they eased the limp shape down upon the rug. 
 She lay there at their feet, a pitiable little 
 bundle. But there was no compassion, no 
 mercifulness in their faces as they looked down 
 at her. 
 
 Alongside the slumped form Miss Smith 
 knelt down and felt for the clasp of the slender 
 chain and undid it. She pressed the catch of 
 the locket and opened it, and from the small 
 receptacle revealed within, where a miniature 
 might once have been, she took forth a tightly 
 folded half sheet of yellow parchment paper, 
 [377] ~ "" 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 which had it been wadded into a ball would have 
 made a sphere about the size of the kernel of a 
 fair-sized filbert. 
 
 Mullinix grasped it eagerly, pressed it out 
 flat and took one glance at the familiar signa 
 ture, written below the close-set array of seem 
 ingly meaningless and unrelated letters. 
 
 "You win, young lady," he said, and there 
 was thanksgiving and congratulation in the 
 way he said it. "But how did you do it? 
 How was it done?" 
 
 She looked up from where she was casting off 
 the binding about the relaxed hands of the 
 unconscious culprit. 
 
 "It wasn t hard after the hints you gave 
 me. I made up my mind yesterday that the 
 paper would probably be hidden in a piece of 
 jewelry in a bracelet or under the setting of a 
 ring possibly; or in a hair ornament possibly; 
 and I followed that theory. Two tests that I 
 made convinced me that Madame Ybanca was 
 innocent; they quite eliminated Madame 
 Ybanca from the equation. So I centred my 
 efforts on this girl and she betrayed herself soon 
 enough." 
 
 "Betrayed herself, how?" 
 
 "An individual who has been temporarily 
 deprived of sight will involuntarily keep his or 
 her hands upon any precious object that is con 
 cealed about the person I suppose you know 
 that. And as I watched her after I had blind- 
 
 folded her " 
 
 [378] 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 "After you had what?" 
 
 "Blindfolded her. Oh, I kept my promise," 
 she added, reading the expression on his face. 
 "There was no force used, and no violence. 
 She suffered herself to be blindfolded indeed, 
 I did the blinding myself. Well, after she had 
 been blindfolded with a thick silk handkerchief 
 I watched her, and I saw that while with one 
 hand she groped her way about, she kept the 
 other hand constantly clutched upon this locket, 
 as though to make sure of the safety of some 
 thing there. So then I was sure; but I was 
 made doubly sure by her actions while I was 
 tying her hands behind her. And then, after I 
 had her tied and helpless, I could experiment 
 further and I did and again my experiment 
 convinced me I was on the right track." 
 
 "Yes but tying her hands didn t she resist 
 that?" 
 
 "No; you see, she let me tie her hands too. 
 It was a part of a game. They all played it." 
 
 "Some of the others were blinded, eh?" 
 
 "All of them were; every single one of them 
 was. They still are, I imagine, providing my 
 cousin is doing her part and I am sure she is. 
 There ll be no suspicion of the truth, even after 
 their eyes are unhooded. Claire has her ex 
 planations all ready. They ll miss this girl of 
 course and wonder what has become of her, 
 but the explanation provides for that: She was 
 taken with a sudden indisposition and slipped 
 away with me, not wishing to spoil the fun by 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 staying on after she began to feel badly. 
 That s the story they ll be told, and there s no 
 reason why they shouldn t accept it as valid 
 either. See! She s coming to." 
 
 "Then I ll get out and leave you to attend to 
 her. Keep her here in this room until she s 
 better, and then you may send her back to her 
 hotel. You might tell her that there is to be no 
 prosecution and no unpleasant notoriety for her 
 if only she keeps her mouth shut about all that s 
 happened. Probably she ll be only too glad to 
 do that, for I figure she has learned a lesson." 
 
 "You won t want to question her, then, after 
 she has been revived? " 
 
 "It s quite unnecessary. I have the other 
 ends of the case in my hands. And besides I 
 must go outside to meet our dear friend Gelt- 
 mann when he arrives. He should be driving 
 up to the housL pretty soon I had a telephone 
 message five minutes ago telling me to expect 
 him shortly. So I m going out to break some 
 sad news to him on the sidewalk. He doesn t 
 know it yet, but he s starting to-night on a long, 
 long trip; a trip that will take him clear out of 
 this country and he won t ever, ever be com 
 ing back. 
 
 "But I ll call on you to-morrow, if I may 
 after I ve seen to getting him off for the West. 
 I want to thank you again in behalf of the Ser 
 vice for the wonderful thing you ve done so 
 wonderfully well. And I want to hear more 
 from you about that game you played." 
 
HOODWINKED 
 
 "I ll do better than that," she promised: 
 "I ll let you read about it in a book an old 
 secondhand book, it is; you saw it yesterday. 
 Maybe I can convert you to reading old books; 
 they re often full of things that people in your 
 line should know." 
 
 "Lady," he said reverently, "you ve made a 
 true believer of me already." 
 
 [381] 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 THE BULL CALLED EMILY 
 
 "W* "IT T E were sitting at a corner table in 
 % /% / a certain small restaurant hard by 
 V V where Sixth Avenue s L structure, 
 like an overgrown straddlebug, wades 
 through the restless currents of Broadway at 
 a sharpened angle. The dish upon which we 
 principally dined was called on the menu 
 Chicken a la Marengo- We knew why. 
 Marengo, by all accounts, was a mighty tough 
 battle, and this particular chicken, we judged, 
 had never had any refining influences in its ill- 
 spent life. From its present defiant attitude 
 in a cooked form we figured it had pipped the 
 shell with a burglar s jimmy and joined the 
 Dominecker Kid s gang before it shed its pin- 
 feathers. There were two of us engaged in the 
 fruitless attack upon its sinewy tissues the 
 present writer and his old un-law-abiding friend, 
 Scandalous Doolan. 
 
 For a period of minutes Scandalous wrestled 
 with the thews of one of the embattled fowl s 
 knee-joints. After a struggle in which the 
 " ~ [382] 
 
THE BULL CALLED EMILY 
 
 honours stood practically even, he laid down his 
 knife and flirted a thumb toward a bottle of pep 
 pery sauce which stood on my side of the table. 
 
 "Hey, bo," he requested, "pass the liniment, 
 will you? This sea gull s got the rheumatism." 
 
 The purport of the remark, taken in con 
 nection with the gesture which accompanied it, 
 was plain enough to my understanding; but 
 for the nonce I could not classify the idiom in 
 which Scandalous couched his request. It 
 could not be Underworld jargon; it was too 
 direct and at the same time too picturesque. 
 Moreover, the Underworld, as a rule, concerns 
 itself only with altering such words and such 
 expressions as strictly figure in the business 
 affairs of its various crafts and pursuits. Nor 
 to me did it sound like the language of the 
 circus-lot, for in such case it probably would 
 have been more complex. So by process of 
 elimination I decided it was of the slang code of 
 the burlesque and vaudeville stage, with which, 
 as with the other two, Scandalous had a 
 thorough acquaintance. I felt sure, then, that 
 something had set his mind to working back 
 ward along the memory-grooves of some one or 
 another of his earlier experiences in the act- 
 producing line of endeavour, and that, with 
 proper pumping, a story might be forthcoming. 
 As it turned out, I was right. 
 
 "Where did you get that one, Scandalous?" 
 I asked craftily. "Your own coinage, or did 
 you borrow it from somebody else?" 
 
 [ 383 ] ~ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 He only grinned cryptically. After a bit he 
 hailed the attendant waiter, who because he 
 plainly suffered from fallen arches had already 
 been rechristened by Scandalous as Battling 
 Insteps. 
 
 "Say, Battling," he said, "take away the 
 emu; he s still the undefeated champion of the 
 ages. Tidy him up a little and serve him to 
 the next guy that feels like he needs exercise 
 more n he does nourishment. The gravy may 
 be mussed up a trifle, but the old ring-general 
 ain t lost an ounce. I fought him three rounds 
 and didn t put a bruise on him." 
 
 "Couldn t I bring you somethin else?" said 
 the waiter. "The Wiener Schnitzel with 
 noodles is very " 
 
 "Nix," said Scandalous; "if the cassowary 
 licked us, what chance would we stand against 
 the bison? That ll be all for the olio; I ll go 
 right into the after-show now. Slip me a dipper 
 of straight chicory and one of those Flor de 
 Boiled Dinners, and then you can break the 
 bad news to my pal here." By this I knew he 
 meant that he craved a cup of black coffee and 
 one of the domestic cigars to which he was 
 addicted, and that I could pay the check. 
 
 He turned to me: 
 
 "How re you goin to finish your turn?" he 
 asked. "They ve got mince pie here like 
 Mother Emma Goldman used to make. Only 
 you want to be careful it don t explode in your 
 
 hand." 
 
 [884] 
 
THE BULL CALLED EMILY 
 
 I shook my head. "I ll nibble at these," I 
 said, "until you get through." And I reached 
 for a little saucer of salted peanuts that lurked 
 in the shadow of the bowl containing the olives 
 and the celery. For this, you should know, 
 was a table d hote establishment, and no such 
 place is complete without its drowned olives 
 and its wilted celery. 
 
 "Speaking of peanuts," he said, "I don t 
 seem to care deeply for such. I lost my taste 
 for them dainties quite some time back." 
 
 "What was the occasion?" I prompted, for 
 I saw the light of reminiscence smouldering in his 
 eye. 
 
 "It wasn t no occasion," he said; "it was a 
 catastrophe. Did I ever happen to tell you 
 about the time I furnished the financial backing 
 for Windy Jordan and his educated bull, and 
 what happened when the blow-off came?" 
 
 I shook my head and in silence hearkened. 
 
 "It makes quite an earful," he continued. 
 " Business for gents in my profession was very 
 punk here on the Main Stem that season. By 
 reason of the dishonest police it was mighty 
 hard for an honest grafter to make a living. It 
 certainly was depressing to trim an Ezra for his 
 roll and then have to cut up the net proceeds 
 with so many central-office guys that you had 
 to go back and borrow car-fare from the sucker 
 to get home on. Besides, I was somewhat 
 lonely and low in my peace of mind on account 
 of my regular side-kick the Sweet Caps Kid 
 [385] ~" 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 being in the hospital. He d made the grievous 
 mistake of trying to sell a half-interest in the 
 Aquarium to a visiting Swede. Right in the 
 middle of the negotiations something came up 
 that made the Swede doubtful that all was not 
 well, and he betrayed his increasing misgivings 
 by hauling out a set of old-fashioned genuine 
 antique brass knucks and nicking up Sweet 
 Caps scalp to such an extent my unfortunate 
 companion had to spend three weeks on the 
 flat of his back in the casualty ward, with a 
 couple of doctors coming in every morning to 
 replace the divots. Pending his recovery, I 
 was sort of figuring on visiting Antioch, Gilead, 
 Zion and other religious towns up State with a 
 view of selling the haymakers some Bermuda 
 oats for their fall planting, when along came 
 Windy Jordan and broached a proposition. 
 
 "This here Windy Jordan was one of them 
 human draughts; hence the name. At all hours 
 there was a strong breeze blowing out of him in 
 the form of words. If he wasn t conversing, it 
 was a sign he had acute sore throat. But to 
 counteract that fault he was the sole proprietor 
 of the smartest and the largest bull on this side 
 of the ocean, which said bull answered to the 
 name of Emily." 
 
 "Did you say a bull?" I asked. 
 
 "Sure I said a bull. Why not? Ain t you 
 wise to what a bull is?" 
 
 "Certainly I am,but a bull named Emily " 
 
 "Listen, little one: To them that follow 
 
THE BULL CALLED EMILY 
 
 after tlie red wagon and the white top, all ele 
 phants is bulls, disregardless of genders, just 
 the same as all regular bulls is he-cows to refined 
 maiden ladies residin in New England and 
 points adjacent. Only, show-people ain t got 
 any false modesty that way. In the show- 
 business a bull is a bull, whether it s a lady-bull 
 or a gentleman-bull. So very properly this 
 here bull, being one of the most refined and 
 cultured members of her sex, answers to the 
 Christian name of Emily. 
 
 "Well, this Emily is not only the joy and the 
 pride of Windy Jordan s life, but she s his entire 
 available assets. Bull and bulline, she d been 
 with him from early childhood. In fact, Windy 
 was the only parent Emily ever knew, she hav 
 ing been left a helpless orphan on account of a 
 railroad wreck to the old Van Orten shows back 
 yonder in eighteen-eighty-something. So 
 Windy, he took her as a prattling infant in arms 
 when she didn t weigh an ounce over a ton and 
 a half, and he adopted her and educated her 
 and pampered her and treated her as a member 
 of his own famity, only better, until she repaid 
 him by becoming not only the largest bull in 
 the business but the most highly cultivated. 
 
 " Emily knew nearly everything there was to 
 know, and what she didn t know she suspected 
 very strongly. Likewise, as I came to find out 
 later, she was extremely grateful for small 
 favours and most affectionate by nature. To 
 be sure, being affectionate with a bull about the 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 size and general specifications of a furniture- 
 car had its drawbacks. She was liable to lean 
 up against you in a playful, kittenish kind of a 
 way, and cave in most of your ribs. It was 
 like having a violent flirtation with a landslide 
 to venture up clost to Emily when she was in one 
 of her tomboy moods. I ve know her to nudge 
 a friend with one of her front elbows and put 
 both his shoulder-blades out of socket. But 
 she never meant no harm by it, never. It was 
 just a little way she had. 
 
 "It seems like Windy and Emily were aiming 
 to join out that season with a tent-show, but 
 the deal fell through some way, and for the 
 past few weeks Windy had been infesting a 
 lodging-house for members of the profession 
 over here on East Eleventh Street, and Emily 
 had been in a livery barn down in Greenwich 
 Village, just naturally eating her old India- 
 rubber head off. Windy, having run low as to 
 coin, wasn t able to pay up Emily s back board, 
 and the liveryman was holding her for the bill. 
 
 "So, hearing some way that I m fairly well 
 upholstered with currency, he comes to me and 
 suggests that if I ll dig up what s necessary to 
 get Emily out of hock, he can snare a line of 
 bookings in vaudeville, and we ll all three go 
 out on the two-a-day together, him as trainer 
 and me as manager and Emily as the principal 
 attraction. The proceeds is to be cut up fifty- 
 fifty as between me and him. 
 
 "The notion don t sound like such a bad one. 
 
THE BULL CALLED E M I L Y 
 
 That was back in the days when refined vaude 
 ville was running very strongly to trained- 
 animal acts and leading ladies that had quit 
 leading but hadn t found out about it yet. 
 Nowadays them ex-queens of tragedy can go 
 into the movies and draw down so much money 
 that if they only get half as much as they say 
 they re getting, they re getting almost twice as 
 much as anybody would give em; but them 
 times, vaudeville was their one best bet. And 
 next to emotional actrines who could emosh 
 twicet daily for twenty minutes on a stretch, 
 without giving way anywhere, a good trained- 
 animal turn had the call. It might be a troupe 
 of educated Potomac shad or an educated ape 
 or a city-broke Gila monster or a talking horse 
 or what not. In our case twas Emily, the bull. 
 "First thing, we goes down to the livery- 
 stable where Emily is spending the Indian 
 summer and consuming half her weight in dry 
 provender every twenty-four hours. The pro 
 prietor of this here fodder-emporium is named 
 McGuire, and when I tells him I m there to 
 settle Emily s account in full, he carries on as 
 though entirely overcome by joyfulness not 
 that he s got any grudge against Emily, under 
 stand, but for other good and abundant suffi 
 ciencies. He states that so far as Emily s 
 personal conduct is concerned, during her 
 enforced sojourn in his midst, she s always 
 deported herself like a perfect lady. But she 
 takes up an awful lot of room, and one of the 
 -_ [389] ~~ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 hands is now on the verge of nervous prostra 
 tion from overexertions incurred in packing 
 hay to her, and it seems she s addicted to night 
 mares. She gets to dreaming that a mouse 
 nearly an inch and a half long is after her, 
 all bulls is terrible afraid, you know, that some 
 day a mouse is going to come along and eat 
 em, and when she has them kind of delusions, 
 she cries out in her sleep and tosses around and 
 maybe knocks down a couple of steel beams or 
 busts in a row of box-stalls or something trivial 
 like that. Then, right on top of them petty 
 annoyances, McGuire some days previous has 
 made the mistake of feeding Emily peanuts, 
 which peanuts, as he then finds out, is her 
 favourite tidbit. 
 
 " Gents, says McGuire to me and Windy 
 Jordan, I shore did make the error of my life 
 when I done that act of kindness. I merely 
 meant them peanuts as a special treat, but 
 Emily figures it out that they re the start of a 
 fixed habit, he says. Ever since then, if I 
 forget to bring her in her one five-cent bag of 
 peanuts per diem, per day, she calls personally 
 to inquire into the oversight. She waits very 
 patient and ladylike until about eleven o clock 
 in the morning, and if I ain t made good by 
 then, she just pulls up her leg hobble by the 
 roots and drops in on me to find out what s the 
 meaning of the delay. 
 
 " She ain t never rough nor overbearing, but 
 it interferes with trade for me to be sitting here 
 [390] 
 
THE BULL CALLED EMILY 
 
 in my office at the front of the stable talking 
 business with somebody, and all of a sudden 
 the front half of the largest East Indian elephant 
 in the world shoves three or four thousand 
 pounds of herself in at that side door and begins 
 waving her trunk around in the air, meanwhile 
 uttering fretful, complaining sounds. I ve lost 
 two or three customers that way, he says. 
 They get right up and go away sudden/ he 
 says, and they don t never come back no more, 
 not even for their hats and umbrellas. They 
 send for em. 
 
 " That ain t the worst of it, he says. Yes 
 terday, he says, I rented out my whole string 
 of coaches and teams for a burial turnout over 
 here on McDougal Street. Being as it s a big 
 occasion, I m driving the first carriage con 
 taining the sorrowing family of deceased. 
 Naturally, with a job like that on my hands, I 
 don t think about Emily at all; my mind s all 
 occupied up with making the affair pass off in a 
 tasty and pleasant fashion for all concerned. 
 Well, the cortege is just leaving the late resi 
 dence of the remainders, when around the corner 
 comes bulging Emily, followed at a suitable dis 
 tance by eight or nine thousand of the populace. 
 She s missed me, and she wants her peanuts, 
 and she s been trailing me; and now, by heck, 
 she s found me. 
 
 "Emily gives a loud, glad snort of recog 
 nition, wheels herself around and then falls in 
 alongside the front hack and gets ready to 
 [391] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 accompany us, all the time poking her snout 
 over at me and uttering plaintive remarks in 
 East Indian to me. Gents, he says, you can 
 see for yourselves, a thing like that, occurring 
 right at the beginning of a funeral procession, 
 is calculated to distract popular attention away 
 from the main attraction. Under the circum 
 stances I wouldn t blame no corpse on earth for 
 feeling jealous let alone a popular and promi 
 nent corpse like this here one was, a party that 
 had been a district leader at Tammany Hall in 
 his day, and after that the owner of the most 
 fashionable retail liquor store in the entire 
 neighbourhood, and who s now riding along with 
 solid silver handles up and down both sides, 
 and style just wrote all over him. Here, with 
 an utter disregard for expense, he s putting on 
 all this dog for his last public appearance, and 
 a strange elephant comes along and grabs the 
 show right away from him. 
 
 " The bereaved family don t care for it, 
 neither. I gathers as much from the remarks 
 they re making out of the windows of the coach. 
 But Emily just won t take a hint. She sticks 
 along until I stops the procession and goes in 
 a guinea fruitstore on the next block and buys 
 her a bag of peanuts. That s all she wants. 
 She takes it, and she leaves us and goes on back 
 to the stable. 
 
 "But, as the feller says, it practically ruined 
 the entire day for them berefts. I lost their 
 patronage right there and them a nice sickly 
 
THE BULL CALLED EMILY 
 
 family, too. A lot of the friends and relatives 
 also resented it; they were telling me so all the 
 way back from the cemet ry. There ain t no 
 real harm in Emily, and I ve got powerfully 
 attached to her, but taking one thing with 
 another, I ain t regretting none that you ve 
 come down all organised financially to take 
 her out of pawn. You have my best wishes, 
 and so has she. 
 
 "So we settles up the account to date, which 
 the same makes quite a nick in the bank-roll, 
 and then we goes back to the rear of the stable 
 where Emily is quartered, and she falls on 
 Windy s neck, mighty nigh dislocating it, and 
 he introduces me to Emily, and we shakes hands 
 together, I means trunks, and then Windy 
 unshackles her, and she follows us along just as 
 gentle as a kitten to them freight-yards over 
 on Tenth Avenue where her future travelling 
 home is waiting for her. It s a box-car, with 
 one end rigged up with bunks as a boudoir for 
 me and Windy, and the rest of it fitted out as a 
 private stateroom for Emily. 
 
 "From that time on, for quite a spell, we re 
 just the same as one big happy family, as we 
 goes a-jauntily touring from place to place. 
 
 "We re playin the Big Time, which means 
 week stands and no hard jumps. Emily s a 
 hit, a knock-out and a riot wherever she appears. 
 She knows it too, but success don t go to her 
 head, and she don t never get no attacks of this 
 
 here complaint which they calls temper rnent. 
 __ 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 I always figgered out that temper ment, when 
 a grand wopra singster has it, is just plain old 
 temper when it afflicts a bricklayer. I don t 
 know what form it would take if it should seize 
 on a bull, but Emily appears to be absolutely 
 immune. Give her a ton of hay and one sack 
 of peanuts a day, and she s just as placid as a 
 great gross of guinea pigs. Behind the scenes 
 she never makes no trouble, but chums with 
 the stage-hands and even sometimes with the 
 actors, thus proving that she ain t stuck up. 
 
 "When the time comes for Emily to do her 
 turn, she just goes ambling on behind Windy 
 and cuts up more didoes than any trick-mule 
 that ever lived. She smokes a pipe, and she 
 toots on a brass horn, and waits on table while 
 Windy pretends to eat, and stands on her head, 
 and plays baseball with him and so forth and 
 so on, for fifteen minutes, winding up by waving 
 the Amurikin flag over her head. But all this 
 time she s keeping one eye on me, where I m 
 standing in the wings with a sack of peanuts in 
 my pocket waiting for her to come off. Every 
 time she works over toward my side of the 
 stage, she makes little hoydenish remarks to me 
 in her native language. It ain t long until I 
 can make out everything she says. I ve been 
 pedling the bull too long not to be able to 
 understand it when spoke by a native. 
 
 "For upwards of two months things goes along 
 just beautiful. Then we strikes a town out in 
 Illinois where business ain t what it used to be, 
 
THE BULL CALLED EMILY 
 
 if indeed it ever was. Along about the middle 
 of the week the young feller that s doing the 
 press-work for the house comes to me and asks 
 me if I ain t got an idea in my system that might 
 make a good press-stunt. 
 
 "There s an inspiration comes to me and I 
 suggests to him that maybe he might go ahead 
 and make an announcement that following the 
 Saturday matinee, Emily the Pluperfect, Pon 
 derous, Pachydermical Performer, direct from 
 the court of the reigning Roger of Simla County, 
 India, will hold a reception on the stage to meet 
 her little friends, each and every one of whom 
 will be expected to bring her a bag of peanuts. 
 
 "That listens all right, says this lad, pro 
 viding she likes peanuts. 
 
 " Providing she likes em? I says. Son, 
 I says, if that bull ever has to take the cure for 
 the drug-habit, it ll be on account of peanuts. 
 If you don t think she likes peanuts, a dime will 
 win you a trip to the Holy Lands, I says. 
 Why, I says, Emily s middle name is Peanuts. 
 Offhand, I says, I don t know precisely how 
 many peanuts there are, I says, because if I 
 ever heard the exact figures, I ve forgot em, 
 but I d like to lay you a little eight to five that 
 Emily can chamber all the peanuts in the world 
 and then set down right where she happens 
 to be, to wait for next year s crop to come onto 
 the market. That s how much she cares for 
 peanuts, I says. 
 
 "Well, that convinces him, and he hurries 
 __ . , 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 off to write his little piece about Emily s peanut 
 reception. The next day, which is Friday, the 
 announcement is in both the papers. Saturday 
 after lunch when I strolls round to the show- 
 shop for the matinee, one glance around the 
 corner from the stage entrance proves to me 
 that our little social function is certainly start 
 ing out to be a success. The street in front is 
 lined on both sides with dagos with peanut- 
 stands, selling peanuts to the population as 
 fast as they can pass em out; and there s a long 
 line, mainly kids, at the box-office. I goes on 
 in and takes a flash at the front of the house 
 through the peephole in the curtain, and the 
 place is already jam full. If there s one kid 
 out there, there s a thousand, and every tiny 
 tot has got a sack of peanuts clutched in his or 
 her chubby fist, as the case may be. And say, 
 listen: there s a smell in the air like a prairie 
 fire running through a Georgia goober-king s 
 plantation. 
 
 "I goes back to where Emily is hitched, and 
 she s weaving to and fro on her legs and water 
 ing at the mouth until she just naturally can t 
 control her own riparian rights. She s done 
 smelt that smell too. 
 
 " Honey gal, I says to her, it shore looks 
 to me like you re due to get your fullupances of 
 the succulential ground-pea of the Sunny South 
 land this day. 
 
 "She s so grateful she tries to kiss me, but I 
 
 ducks. All through her turn she dribbles from 
 
 __ 
 
THE BULL CALLED EMILY 
 
 the chin like a defective fire-hydrant, and I can 
 tell that she ain t got her mind on her business. 
 She s too busy thinking about peanuts. When 
 she s got through and taken her bows, the 
 manager leaves the curtain up and Emily steps 
 back behind a rope that a couple of the hands 
 stretches acrosst the stage, with me standing on 
 one side of her and Windy on the other; and 
 then a couple more hands shoves a wooden 
 runway acrosst the orchestra rail down into one 
 of the side aisles; and then the house-manager 
 invites Emily s young friends to march up the 
 runway and crosst over from left to right, 
 handing out their freewill offerings to her as 
 they pass. 
 
 "During this pleasant scene, as the manager 
 explains, Emily s dauntless owner, the world- 
 famous Professor Zendavesta Jordan, meaning 
 Windy, will lecture on the size, dimensions, 
 habits and quaint peculiarities of this wondrous 
 creature. That last part suits Windy right 
 down to the ground, him being, as I told you 
 before, the kind of party who s never so happy 
 as when he s started his mouth and gone away 
 and left it running. 
 
 "For maybe a half a minute after the house- 
 manager finishes his little spiel, the kids sort of 
 hang back. Then the rush starts; and take it 
 from me, little one, it s some considerable rush. 
 Here they come up that runway tiny tots in 
 blue, and tiny tots in red, and tiny tots in white; 
 tiny tots with their parents, guardians or nurses, 
 [ 397 ] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 and tiny tots without none; tiny tots that are 
 beginning to outgrow the tiny tottering stage, 
 and other varieties of tiny tots too numerous to 
 mention. And clutched in each and every 
 tiny tot s chubby hand is a bag of peanuts, 
 five-cent size or ten-cent size, but mostly five- 
 cent size. As Emily sees em coming, she smiles 
 until she looks in the face like one of these here 
 old-fashioned red-brick Colonial fireplaces, with 
 an overgrown black Christmas stocking hanging 
 down from the centre of the mantel. 
 
 "Up comes the first and foremost of the tiny 
 tots. The Santy Claus stocking reaches out and 
 annexes the free-will offering. There s a faint 
 crunching sound; that there sack of peanuts 
 has went to the bourne from out which no pea 
 nut, up until that time, has ever been known 
 to return; and Emily is smiling benevolently 
 and reaching out for the next sack. And 
 behind the second kid is the third kid, and 
 behind the third kid still more kids, and as far 
 as the human eye can reach, there ain t nothing 
 on the horizon of that show-shop but just kids 
 kids and peanuts. 
 
 "It certainly was a beauteous spectacle to 
 behold so many of the dear little ones advancing 
 up that runway with peanuts. To myself I 
 says: *I guess I m a bad little suggester, eh, 
 what? Here s Emily getting all this free 
 provender and Windy talking his fool head off 
 and the house getting all this advertising and 
 none of us out a cent for any part of it. 
 
 [398] " 
 
THE BULL CALLED EMILY 
 
 "In about ten minutes, though, I m struck by 
 the fact that Emily s original outburst of 
 enthusiasm appears slightly on the wane. It 
 seems to me she ain t reaching out for the free 
 will offerings with quite so much eagersomeness 
 as she was displaying a spell back. Also I takes 
 notice that the wrinkles in her turn-turn are 
 filling out so that she s beginning to lose some 
 of that deflated or punctured look so common 
 amongst bulls. 
 
 "Still, I don t have no apprehensions, but 
 thinks to myself that any bull which can eat 
 half a ton of hay for breakfast certainly is com 
 petent to take in a couple of wagon-loads of 
 peanuts for five o clock tea. Even at that I 
 figgers that it won t do no harm to coach Emily 
 along a little. 
 
 " Go to it, baby mine, I says to her. *You 
 ain t hardly started. Here s a chance, I says, 
 to establish a new world s record for peanuts. 
 
 "That remark appears to spur her up for a 
 minute or so, but something seems to keep on 
 warning me that her heart ain t in the work to 
 the extent it has been. Windy don t see 
 nothing out of the way, he being congenially 
 engaged in shooting off his face, but I m more 
 or less concerned by certain mighty significant 
 facts. For one thing, Emily ain t eatin sacks 
 and all any more; she s emptying the peanuts 
 out and throwing the paper bags aside. Like 
 wise her work ain t clean and smooth like it was. 
 Her underlip is swinging down, and she s 
 [399] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 beginning to drool loose goobers off the lower 
 end of it, and her low but intelligent forehead 
 is all furrowed up as if with deep thought. 
 
 "Observing all of which, I says to myself, I 
 says: If ever Emily should start to cramp, 
 the world s cramping record is also in a fair way 
 to be busted this afternoon. I certainly do 
 hope, I says, that Emily don t go and get 
 herself overextended. 
 
 "You see, I m trusting for the best, because 
 I realises that it wouldn t do to call off the 
 reception right in the middle of it on account 
 of the disappointment amongst the tiny tots 
 that ain t passed in review yet and the general 
 ill-feeling that s sure to follow. 
 
 "I should say about two hundred tiny tots 
 have gone by, with maybe five hundred more 
 still in line waiting their turn, when there halts 
 in front of Emily a fancy-dressed tiny tot 
 which he must ve been the favourite tiny tot 
 of the richest man in town, because he s holding 
 in his hands a bag of peanuts fully a foot deep. 
 It couldn t of cost a cent less n half a dollar, 
 that bag. Emily reaches for the contribution, 
 fondles it for a second or two and starts to 
 upend it down her throat; and then with a low, 
 sad, hopeless cry she drops it on the stage and 
 sort of shrugs her front legs forward and stands 
 there with her head bent and her ears twitching 
 same as if she s listening for something that s 
 still a long ways off but coming closter fast. 
 And at that precise instant I sees the first 
 " [400] " 
 
THE BULL CALLED EMILY 
 
 cramp start from behind her right-hand shoul 
 der-blade and begin to work south. Say, it 
 was just like being present at the birth of an 
 earthquake. 
 
 "Moving slow and deliberate, Emily turns 
 around in her tracks, shivering all over, and 
 then I sees the cramp ripple along until it 
 reaches her cargo-hold and strikes inward. It 
 lifts all four of her feet clean off the floor, and 
 when she comes down again, she comes down 
 travelling. There s some scenery in her way, 
 and some furniture and props and one thing 
 and other, but she don t trouble to go round 
 em. She goes through em, as being a more 
 simple and direct way, and a minute later she 
 steps out through the stage entrance into the 
 crowded marts of trade with half of a centre 
 door fancy hung around her neck. Me and 
 Windy is trailing along, urging her to be ca m 
 but keeping at a reasonably safe distance while 
 doing so. Behind us as we comes forth we 
 can hear the voices of many tiny tots upraised 
 in skeered cries. 
 
 "Being a Saturday afternoon, the business 
 section is fairly well crowded with people, and 
 I suppose it s only natural that the unexpected 
 appearance upon the main street of the largest 
 bull in captivity, wearing part of a cottage set 
 for a collar and making sounds through her 
 snout like a switch-engine in distress, should 
 cause some surprised comment amongst the 
 populace. In fact, I should say the surprised 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 comment might of been heard for fully half a 
 mile away. 
 
 "Emily hesitates as she reaches the sidewalk, 
 as though she ain t decided yet in her own mind 
 just where she ll go, and then her agonised eye 
 falls on all them peanut-roasters standing in a 
 double row alongside the curbings on both sides 
 of the street. The Italian and Greek gents 
 who owns em are already departing hence in a 
 hurried manner, but they ve left their outfits 
 behind, and right away it s made plain to me by 
 her actions that Emily regards the sight as a 
 part of a general conspiracy to feed her some 
 peanuts when she already has more peanuts 
 than what she really required for personal use. 
 She reaches out for the first peanut-machine 
 in the row, curls her trunk around it and slams 
 it against a brick wall so hard that it imme 
 diately begins to look something like a flivver 
 car which has been in a severe collision and 
 something like a tin accordion that s had hard 
 treatment from a careless owner. With this 
 for a beginning, Emily starts in to get real rough 
 with them roasters. For about three minutes 
 it s rainin hot charcoal fand hot peanuts 
 and wooden wheels and metal cranks and 
 sheet-iron drums all over that part of the fair 
 city. 
 
 "Having put the enemy s batteries out of 
 commission, Emily now swings around and 
 heads back in the opposite direction with 
 everybody giving her plenty of room. I heard 
 
THE BULL CALLED EMILY 
 
 afterward that some citizens went miles out of 
 their way in order to give her room. Emily s 
 snout is aimed straight up as though she s crav 
 ing air, and her tail is standing straight out 
 behind, stiff as a poker except that about every 
 few seconds a painful quiver runs through it 
 from the end that s nearest Emily to the end 
 that s furtherest away from her. Windy is 
 hoofing it along about fifty feet back of her, 
 uttering soothing remarks and entreating her 
 to listen to reason, and I m trailing Windy; but 
 for oncet Emily don t hearken none to her 
 master s voice. 
 
 "Out of the tail of my eye I see a fat lady 
 start to faint, and when she s right in the middle 
 of the faint, change her mind about it and do a 
 back flip into a plumber s shop, the purtiest you 
 ever seen. I see a policeman dodge out from 
 behind a lamp-post as Emily approaches, and 
 reach for his gun. I yells to him not to shoot, 
 but it s unnecessary advice, because he s only 
 chucking his hardware away so s to lighten him 
 up for a couple of hundred yards of straightaway 
 sprinting. I see Emily make a side-swipe with 
 her nozzle at a stout gent who s in the act of 
 climbing a telegraph-pole hand over hand. 
 She misses the seat of his pants by a fraction of 
 an inch, and as he reaches the first cross-arm 
 out of her reach, and drapes his form acrosst it, 
 the reason for her sudden animosity towards 
 him is explained. A glass jar falls out of one of 
 his hip pockets and is dashed to fragments on 
 [403] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 the cruel bricks far below, and its contents is 
 then seen to be peanut butter. 
 
 "I sees these things as if in a troubled dream, 
 and then, all of a sudden, me and Emily are all 
 alone in a deserted city. Exceptin for us two, 
 there ain t a soul in sight nowheres. Even 
 Windy has mysteriously vanished. And now 
 Emily, in passing along, happens to look inside 
 a fruit-store, and through the window her un 
 happy glance rests upon a bin full of peanuts. 
 So she just presses her face against the pane 
 like Little Mary in the po m, and at that the 
 entire front end of that establishment seems to 
 give away in a very simultaneous manner, and 
 Emily reaches in through the orifices and plucks 
 out the contents of that there store, including 
 stock, fixtures and good will, and throws em 
 backward over her shoulder in a petulant and 
 hurried way. But I takes notice that she 
 throws the bin of peanuts much farther than 
 the grapefruit or the pineapples or the glass 
 show-cases containing the stick candy. The 
 proprietor must of been down in the cellar 
 at the moment, else I judge she d of fetched 
 him forth too. 
 
 "Thus we continues on our way, me and 
 Emily, in the midst of a vast but boisterous 
 solitude, for while we can t see the inhabi 
 tants, we can hear em, until we arrive at the 
 foot of Main Street, and there we beholds the 
 railroad freight-depot looming before us. I 
 can tell that Emily is wishful to pass through 
 
THE BULL CALLED EMILY 
 
 this structure. There ain t no opening on the 
 nigh side of it, but that don t hinder Emily 
 none. She gives one heave with her shoulders 
 and makes a door and passes on in and out 
 again on the far side by the same methods. I 
 arrives around the end of the shed just in time 
 to see her slide down a steep grade through 
 somebody s truck-garden and sink down upon 
 her heaving flank in a little hollow. As I halts 
 upon the brow of the hill, she looks up at me 
 very reproachful, and I can see that her preva 
 lent complexion is beginning to turn awful wan 
 and pale. Son, take it from me, when a full- 
 grown she-bull gets wan, she s probably the 
 wannest thing there is in the world. 
 
 " Stand back, Scandalous, she moans to me 
 in bull-language. *I don t bear you no grudge, 
 it was a mistake in judgment on the part of 
 all of us, but stand back and give me room. 
 Up till this time, she says, I ve been po rly, 
 but something seems to tell me that now I m 
 about to be what you might call real indisposed. 
 
 "Which she certainly was. 
 
 "So, after a while, a part of the police force 
 come along, stepping slow and cautious, and 
 they halts themselves in the protecting shadows 
 of the freight-shed or what s left of it, and they 
 beckon me to come near em, and when I 
 responds, they tell me I m under arrest for 
 inciting riots and disturbances and desecration 
 of property and various other crimes and mis- 
 demeanours. I suggests to em that if they re 
 [405 ] 
 
FROM PLACE TO PLACE 
 
 really craving to arrest anybody, they should 
 oughter begin with Emily, but they don t fall in 
 with the idea. They marches me up to the 
 police-station, looking over their shoulders at 
 frequent intervals to be sure the anguished 
 Emily ain t coming too, and when we get there, 
 I find Windy in the act of being forcibly de 
 tained in the front office. 
 
 "Immediately after I arrived, the payoff 
 started and continued unabated for quite a 
 period of time. First we settled in full with 
 the late proprietors of them defunct peanut- 
 roasting machines; and then the owner of the 
 wrecked fruitstore, and the man that owned 
 the opera-house, and the stout lady who d 
 fainted from the waist up but was now entirely 
 recovered, and the fleshy gent who d climbed 
 the telegraph-pole, and the railroad agent and 
 some several hundred others who had claims 
 for property damage or mental anguish or 
 shockages to their nervous systems or shortage 
 of breath or loss of trade or other injuries all 
 these were in line, waiting. 
 
 "We was reduced to a case ten-spot before 
 the depot agent, who came last, lined up for 
 his n; but he took one good look and said he 
 wouldn t be a hog about it we could keep that 
 ten-specker, and he d be satisfied just to take 
 over our private car in consideration of the loss 
 inflicted by Emily to his freight-shed. I was 
 trying to tell him how much we appreciated his 
 
 kindness, but the chief of police wouldn t let me 
 __ 
 
THE BULL CALLED EMILY 
 
 finish said he couldn t permit that kind of 
 language to be used in a police-station, said it 
 might corrupt the morals of some of his young 
 policemen. 
 
 "So everything passed off very pleasant and 
 satisfactory at the police-station, but Emily 
 spent the evening and the ensuing night right 
 where she was, voicing her regrets at frequent 
 intervals. Along toward morning she felt 
 easier, although sadly depleted in general 
 appearance, and about daylight her and Windy 
 bid me good-by and went off acrosst-country 
 afoot, aiming to catch up with Ringbold 
 Brothers circus, which was reported to be 
 operating somewhere in that vicinity. As for 
 me, I d had enough for the time being of the 
 refined amusement business. I took my half 
 of that lone sawbuck which was all that was left 
 to us from our frittered and dissipated fortunes, 
 and I started east, travelling second class and 
 living very frugally on the way. And that was 
 about all that happened, worthy of note, with 
 the exception of a violent personal dispute 
 occurring between me and a train-butch coming 
 out of Ashtabula." 
 
 "What was the cause?" I asked as Scandalous 
 stood up and smoothed down his waistcoat. 
 
 "I had just one thin dime left," said Scan 
 dalous, "and I explained my predicament to 
 the butch, saying as how I wanted what was 
 the most filling thing he had for the price and 
 
 he offered me a sack of peanuts!" 
 
 """"" [407] 
 
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