ILLIAM DANA ORCUTI
 
 cP
 
 THE BALANCE
 
 BOOKS BY WILLIAM DANA ORCUTT 
 
 NOVELS 
 THE SPELL 
 THE MOTH 
 THE LEVER 
 THE BALANCE 
 THE BACHELORS 
 ROBERT CAVELIER 
 THE FLOWER OF DESTINY 
 
 OTHER VOLUMES 
 
 GOOD OLD DORCHESTER 
 THE PRINCESS KALLISTO 
 THE WRITER S DESK BOOK 
 THE AUTHOR S DESK BOOK 
 THE MADONNA OF SACRIFICE 
 BURROWS OF MICHIGAN (2 cok.)
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 A NOVEL OF TODAY 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM DANA ORCUTT 
 
 " Somewhere between conflicting 
 elements there is always a 
 
 BALANCE " 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved, including that 
 of translation into foreign languages 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
 
 To My Sons 
 
 REGINALD WILSON ORCUTT 
 PHILIP DANA ORCUTT 
 
 IN PRIDE AND CONFIDENCE
 
 THE BALANCE
 
 PEOPLE OF THE STORY 
 
 IN THE ORDER OF THEIR APPEARANCE 
 
 LOLA STEWART, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. William Stewart, returned 
 
 from war work in France. 
 RICHARD NORTON, son of James Norton, a veteran of the World 
 
 War. 
 
 OLGA MIROVICH, a worker in the factory. 
 
 JAMES NORTON, the head of the Norton Manufacturing Company. 
 HENRY CROSS the leading citizen of Norcross before the coming of 
 
 the Norton Manufacturing Company. 
 MARTHA CROSS, his wife. 
 SARAH CROSS, his sister. 
 
 BARRY O CAROLAN, a one-legged ex-service man. Protege of Lola s. 
 WILLIAM STEWART, a wealthy resident of Norcross, and a director 
 
 in the Norton Manufacturing Company. 
 MRS. WILLIAM STEWART, his wife. 
 WILLIAM TREADWAY, James Norton s private secretary. 
 HANNAH, an elderly dependent in the Norton household. 
 TONY LEMHOLTZ, a worker in the factory and radical labor leader. 
 JOHN SIBLEY, a worker in the factory and veteran of the World War. 
 ALEC STERLING, the superintendent of the Norton Manufacturing 
 
 Company. 
 DR. ALLEN THURBER, an adopted citizen of Norcross. 
 
 PLACE : Norcross, a Massachusetts manufacturing town. 
 PERIOD: July, 1920 March, 1921. 
 
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 CHAPTER I 
 
 OH, DICK, it has been lonesome waiting for you !" 
 Richard Norton and Lola Stewart were to 
 gether in the Italian pergola in the garden, 
 whose luxurious bloom added beauty even as its for 
 mality gave dignity to the famous Stewart estate in 
 Norcross. Below them were masses of Oriental lark 
 spur, the tall, closely-set spikes rising majestically 
 above the graceful foliage in its full July splendor. 
 Nearby were heavy clusters of Madonna lilies, the pur 
 ity of their whiteness contrasting sharply with the vary 
 ing shades of blue in the neighboring larkspur. 
 
 Three years before, had Lola spoken these words, 
 Richard would have had her in his arms, covering her 
 lips with kisses. Today he felt instinctively that such 
 an act would be taking unwarranted liberty. Yet she 
 was the same Lola and he the same Richard! The 
 youthful impulsiveness of those earlier days had dis 
 appeared, and each now felt a sense of repression as 
 inexplicable as it was uncomfortable. She was changed, 
 
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 but to him still adorable; to her he represented the 
 ideal of manhood, . . yet they seemed to meet as friends 
 rather than as lovers, each unconsciously feeling the 
 necessity of learning how to express that which before 
 had been instinctive. 
 
 "Curious," Richard commented; "but I always 
 dreamed of you in this frame, . . always here in this 
 garden ; and the perfume of the roses in Germany made 
 me frantic to get home to you." 
 
 "The roses were in full bloom when you . . . asked 
 me to marry you," she reminded him quietly. 
 
 " Whosoever enters here let him beware, for he shall 
 nevermore escape or be free from my spell ," Richard 
 quoted from the warning carved in stone at the en 
 trance to the garden. "I have never been free from the 
 spell, dear ; the season made no difference. Roses al 
 ways meant Lola to me, and to think of you was to 
 inhale again the wonderful fragrance which comes to 
 us now as it did then." 
 
 The girl s hand slipped shyly into his and he pressed 
 it tenderly. 
 
 "The fragrance is almost the only thing that has 
 remained the same," he added, with a touch of bitter 
 ness. "Think what has happened since !" 
 
 "No, no, dear," she cried impulsively; "we must try 
 to forget. We have been robbed of three years of our 
 life together. Now we must make up for it." 
 
 II 
 
 The pergola had been their favorite trysting place, 
 for flowers are ever confidants of lovers ; but this was 
 
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 the first July profusion Lola and Richard had enjoyed 
 together since their greatest and most momentous cir 
 cle had been completed, and they had returned to the 
 same point whence they had set out. Life, after all, 
 is but a succession of such circles. 
 
 "How wonderful to be here again!" the traveler ex 
 claims, believing that his pleasure comes from revisiting 
 familiar scenes or greeting again familiar faces. It is 
 all part of the sheer joy of completing another circle! 
 Day by day old circles become memories and new ones 
 begin, until that time comes when each of us awaits in 
 contemplation the completion of the last and greatest 
 of them all. 
 
 Richard s circle had carried him through the inferno 
 of the Marne-Aisne offensive and the St. Mihiel attack, 
 being temporarily broken by a period in the Base Hos 
 pital at Toul as a result of a bullet through his lung, 
 but continued when he was assigned to the Army of 
 Occupation and stationed at Coblentz for months after 
 the armistice had ended actual hostilities. Lola s circle 
 had been smaller, but its curve also crossed the seas, 
 and before completing its arc it merged her individuality 
 into the composite Red Cross nurse in hospital service. 
 Thus, for a time, the symbolic veil concealed the mass 
 of wonderful chestnut hair that was her birthright; 
 and the uniform, sacred in the eyes of every soldier, dur 
 ing this same period robbed a charming personality of 
 its identity. 
 
 July was a month of memories for the pergola. Here 
 Richard had told Lola that he was among those for 
 tunate enough to be ordered overseas, and this message 
 
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 brought to them a realization that they were no longer 
 merely friends but lovers. Here, protected from curi 
 ous eyes by the twining honeysuckle, their lips first 
 met, sealing the confession which was to merge their 
 lives in one. The following July found the pergola 
 deserted, with the honeysuckle in luxurious but riotous 
 disorder; for Richard was in action at St. Mihiel and 
 Lola on duty at her hospital. Again the July flowers 
 bloomed, but their fragrance meant little to Lola, now 
 turned by war experience from girlhood into compre 
 hending womanhood, sitting there alone, longing with 
 anticipation mingled with apprehension for her lover s 
 return. 
 
 Now they were together again. She had been 
 home over a year and he for six months. They had 
 compared their experiences, regretting that at some 
 point over there the circles had not touched. They 
 had tried to forget what they had seen and to become 
 again a part of the life they had lived before, which on 
 its surface appeared to be going on as if the war had 
 been only a hideous nightmare. The pure white lilies 
 in the garden were not stained with blood as had been 
 the lilies in France ! The larkspur reflected the colors 
 of the cerulescent sky unclouded by smoke from bursting 
 shells. But the lilies and the larkspur had their own 
 circles to complete, and fulfilled their function when by 
 their beauty they served to take one s thoughts away 
 from the horrors of battle. Yet neither the lilies nor 
 the larkspur would have asked us to forget that the 
 horrors had been. What of the people in the streets 
 and in the counting-houses and in the homes, untouched 
 
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 by the toll of war? Had they the right to forget so 
 soon? 
 
 Ill 
 
 "The garden hasn t changed a bit," Richard con 
 tinued, as they looked down over the riot of gorgeous 
 color. "I used to wonder if I should ever again see 
 it in its prime." 
 
 With an effort Lola threw off the mood which had 
 sobered her, and turned to him with a smile so forced 
 that he felt the effort it cost her. Her face was far too 
 mature for a girl of her age, and this phase was accen 
 tuated by her present attitude. The color he remem 
 bered in her cheeks when he kissed her good-bye so long 
 ago had vanished. The light which shone through 
 the tears glistening in her eyes as she bravely wished 
 him a safe return had disappeared. With a spirit like 
 hers Richard had not been surprised when he heard that 
 she had joined the ministering army, but even with his 
 knowledge of what she endured he had never imagined 
 that so great a change could be wrought. 
 
 He recognized how much had come to her in com 
 pensation. The quiet maturity which replaced the 
 girlish enthusiasm gave character to her face and poise 
 to her bearing which in itself was beautiful ; her all- 
 embracing sense of responsibility expressed a, self- 
 effacement and an unselfishness which made her pres 
 ence inspiring and ineffably sweet. Yet the changes, 
 whatever they were, produced an invisible barrier in 
 capable of analysis, which had not before existed. 
 
 "I never meant to let you catch me in one of my 
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 doldrum moods," the girl declared as she regained con 
 trol of herself. "It is so wonderful to be together again, 
 to be able to think of ourselves without feeling that we 
 are neglecting any one !" 
 
 IV 
 
 He did not reply at once, for the conversation car 
 ried him back to a period he would have liked to forget. 
 God ! how glad he was to be home again ! The fighting 
 days at least had given opportunity for action, but 
 those months of ennui at Coblentz ! Except for the en 
 forced gaities, he and the others would have gone mad ! 
 Anything to banish all thought save of the present. 
 The past was filled with awful memories of trenches and 
 shells, of dead and dying comrades and foes, of hard 
 ships and privations ; the future was almost as terrify 
 ing with its uncertainties and its dreaded problems, still 
 unsettled, perhaps impossible to settle. But the pres 
 ent remained, . . a present beyond their control, or 
 dained by a power beyond their reach ; a waiting pres 
 ent, to be endured. And to make it endurable, the past 
 and future, home and its conventional requirements, 
 for the time had to be absolutely forgotten. 
 
 Richard finally turned to Lola, ashamed of his 
 momentary obsession, and laughed consciously. 
 
 "How impossible it is to keep from talking about 
 it !" he exclaimed ; "yet every time I do I swear I ll never 
 mention it again." 
 
 "Whenever I start out trying to be cheerful, it al 
 ways ends this way," Lola admitted consciously. 
 
 "You still feel it, just as I do." 
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 "I can t shake it off," she declared. "I find myself 
 out of sympathy with everything and everybody. I 
 try ... I do try . ... to forget and to settle back 
 into the old routine, but I simply can t do it." 
 
 Richard pressed her hand sympathetically. 
 
 "I understand," he said simply. "I am drifting just 
 as you are. There s no use trying to deceive you. 
 Everything is altered. Father is different, the men 
 in the factory . . . the people we meet socially are 
 different. The whole world is different." 
 
 His intensity caused Lola for the moment to forget 
 her own introspection. She placed her hand on Rich 
 ard s arm. 
 
 "I wonder if the change is in the whole world or 
 just in ourselves?" 
 
 "What difference does it make?" Richard demanded 
 with a return of the bitterness in his voice. "All the 
 idealism I thought I had in France has been knocked 
 out of me since I came home. Now I ve lost faith in 
 everything." 
 
 "Oh, Dick," Lola cried, "don t say that ! It is be 
 cause of that idealism that things seem out of sorts to 
 you." 
 
 "I know ; but if I m going to keep myself from going 
 stark, staring mad I must forget it and be like other 
 people. I can t change them." 
 
 "Think what you and I gained which they don t 
 even know exists," she urged. "I couldn t give that up, 
 nor could you." 
 
 "It all seemed fine enough over there," Richard ad 
 mitted. "While I was lying flat on my back those 
 
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 weeks at Toul I had everything worked out. I called 
 it my vision. I kept asking myself what it was all 
 for, and I had the greatest pipe-dream you ever knew. 
 Then I came home and found . . . this." 
 
 "You never told me that, Dick. I have been wor 
 ried to see you so restless and unhappy, but I have 
 no fears if you have really had a vision. Tell me what 
 it was." 
 
 "It would seem ridiculous now, but then I believed 
 it was based on something. I m trying to forget it. 
 Better let it die a natural death and bury it." 
 
 "No, no, Dick; tell it to me. I am just as unhappy 
 as you, but the knowledge I gained that there is some 
 thing greater and more beautiful than anything I ever 
 knew before has helped me to carry on. You and I 
 have a message to the others which we have not yet 
 delivered." 
 
 "You have kept up your war work, Lola. You don t 
 have to push into the background that which brings 
 out the best there is in you." He pointed to the figure 
 of a man working in one of the flower beds. "Barry 
 O Carolan is a daily reminder of something you have 
 really accomplished. It is different with me. In France 
 I was treated as a man whose ideas were at least worth 
 listening to. I had men under me. I gave orders, and 
 could keep my self-respect. Here I have nothing but 
 my work at the plant, and I don t fit in there any 
 more. With the other men, I am simply an automaton, 
 forbidden to think, whose loyalty is measured by my 
 willingness to merge my individuality in the mass and 
 to accept blindly the dictation of another. I tell you, 
 
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 it is maddening. Think of it, factory work after three 
 years in the open!" 
 
 "You are not alone, Dick. There are hundreds of 
 the workmen who feel it just as much." 
 
 "That s what keeps me upset. If I were the only 
 one I could cut and run, but there are boys in those 
 shops who are simply eating their hearts out when 
 they were perfectly satisfied before. At first I thought 
 I could help them, but I can t make my father or any 
 of these stay-at-homes understand even my language. 
 They think the men are chesty because they have been in 
 the army. It isn t that, . . their experience has de 
 veloped them and given them a new dignity. They are 
 entitled to respect. Work as work isn t beneath them, 
 but some of the jobs are, even though they weren t 
 before. The men don t want anything given them, but 
 they do want a chance to use the new asset they have 
 gained." 
 
 "You mustn t give up," Lola insisted. "You are 
 the only one who can ever hope to make your father 
 and the Directors like daddy understand. You owe it 
 to these men, Dick, and when you have put it over for 
 them you will make real that vision of yours, . . please 
 tell me what it was." 
 
 "Little chance," Richard protested doggedly; "but 
 the fact that I am still here shows you that I haven t 
 quit yet." 
 
 "It has been such a change for the men since they 
 returned to civilian dress," Lola continued, . . "such 
 a contrast in the way they have been treated since they 
 were welcomed home as conquering heroes ; for with 
 
 [11]
 
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 the taking off of the uniforms the people seem to feel 
 that as the war is over it should be forgotten." 
 
 "For the people," Richard interrupted bitterly, "the 
 war was simply a seven-day wonder; but for the 
 men . . . 
 
 "I have always dreaded this time," Lola persisted. 
 "In my hospital there was a wonderful little French 
 captain. He was useless for further military service 
 because of his wounds, so they assigned him to our 
 staff as helper. One sleeve was empty and one leg was 
 wood, like Barry s, but he used to hobble around the 
 hospital humming the Marseillaise, greeting every one 
 with a smile, and radiant in the proud possession of a 
 brilliant row of medals fastened on his breast. Every 
 one called him the spirit of France. I wonder where 
 he is now, and whether he is still smiling, and if people 
 are still as considerate of him. If he has had to take 
 off his uniform and put aside his medals what is there 
 left, Dick? Nothing but his helpless, butchered body. 
 I do hope that the people around him haven t forgotten 
 what it represents." 
 
 i "At any rate, his government is taking better care 
 of him than we have taken of our cripples," Richard 
 blurted out. 
 
 "Ah," sighed Lola, "that would not satisfy him. He 
 lived upon the admiration which he saw day after day 
 in the eyes of every one around him. He isn t big 
 enough, Dick, to see beyond, so once his beribboned 
 uniform is taken off his glory vanishes with it ... 
 Come, Dick, tell me of your vision." 
 
 Richard did not respond at once. The crystalization 
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 of his weeks of introspection had meant so much to him 
 that in the reaction he had suffered more than he was 
 willing to admit to any one. But Lola at least under 
 stood. She, of all the people he knew, would sympa 
 thize with it even though the possibility of its realiza 
 tion had long since departed. 
 
 "You remember," he said at last, "how we felt when 
 the United States finally entered the war? We were 
 intoxicated with emotional hysteria, and I went over 
 seas with France and Lafayette as my slogan, and 
 a conviction that I was a member of a mighty crusade. 
 Everything was all right until that bullet struck me. 
 Until then I was an asset to my country and to France ; 
 then I became a liability. Lying there on that cot I 
 had a chance to think, and I tell you I thought hard. 
 Instead of being a mighty crusader, I realized that I was 
 only an infinitesimal atom, a cog in that great war 
 machine which rolled backwards and forwards as the 
 tide of battle turned, leaving behind its toll of broken 
 men, of which I was one." 
 
 Lola listened to him attentively, but her face as 
 sumed the pallor of the Madonna lilies. His words re 
 called the scenes she had tried hard to forget, his 
 intensity gave them startling vividness. 
 
 "When I found that this made me rebellious," Rich 
 ard continued, "I began to question my real motives. 
 Had I come to fight for France, as I really thought, or 
 was it the adventure that appealed to me, and was 
 my whole relation to the war a selfish one after all?" 
 
 "But you had risked your life, Dick." 
 
 "Wasn t it all part of the emotional hysteria and of 
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 the adventure?" he asked; "but I kept on thinking. 
 Then I began to be afraid that by staying so long 
 in the hospital I should be no good for fighting again. 
 The only thing that kept us going, you know, was the 
 feeling that it was all a great game, with lives instead 
 of goal-posts for counters. Unless we felt that way 
 we couldn t have gone through with it; it was too 
 ghastly. Night after night I woke up covered with 
 sweat, seeing things stripped of their masks in their 
 hideous reality." 
 
 Lola placed her hand gently over his. In his suf 
 fering she forgot her own, and her sympathy helped 
 him. 
 
 "I am so glad you are telling me this," she said 
 quietly. "It will do you good to share it with some 
 one . . . All this was before your vision came to you?" 
 
 "Yes. I came out of this phase and passed into the 
 third stage. That was when I asked myself what it 
 was all for. Here were thousands of wounded men 
 throughout France lying on cots like mine. There must 
 be something beyond adventure which had attracted 
 them and had given them the impulse to risk their 
 lives . . . Then I thought I had found the answer." 
 
 He turned away from the girl to hide the bitterness 
 in his face. 
 
 "It seems so foolish to talk about it now after what 
 you and I have seen since we came home," he added. 
 
 "Please tell me," Lola begged. "I really want to 
 know." 
 
 "All right. I know you won t laugh at me. Here 
 it is as well as I can tell you: At that moment the 
 
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 war meant to me a release from something which before 
 this had kept me bound. What we were fighting for 
 seemed so big that small things, our lives for instance, 
 assumed their proper relative positions. Death, the 
 greatest event in life, had always before seemed useless ; 
 now we had the privilege of meeting it in a manner 
 equal to its greatness. Before that I had been haunted 
 by a fear of what the future might do for me, and this, 
 of course, placed a hopeless limitation upon my life. 
 At that moment I was freed from any fear of what could 
 happen, for the only thing which counted was the big 
 common cause. I had been on the outside of the world, 
 and at last I became a part of it." 
 
 The man paused as if ashamed to have put his 
 thoughts into words. Lola looked at him admiringly. 
 
 "Oh, Dick!" she cried, "don t tell me that it is pos 
 sible to have had such a vision as that and then slip 
 back." 
 
 "It is possible, Lola," he answered, with a note so 
 positive in his voice that the girl was shocked; "it not 
 only is possible, but that very thing has happened. I 
 wish we might agree right now never to speak of the war 
 again." 
 
 "Do you think we could keep any such agreement?" 
 Lola inquired, struggling to recover from her disap 
 pointment. 
 
 "Probably not," he admitted, "but I would much 
 rather talk about ourselves." 
 
 He looked into her face with an appeal she could 
 not escape. 
 
 "Lola," he asked, "when are we going to be married?" 
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 The change of the subject was so abrupt that she 
 started noticeably. 
 
 "It seems sacrilegious to think of ourselves, Dick, 
 after what you have just been saying. Somehow I 
 can t seem to think of marriage . . . now . . ." 
 
 "I know you can t, and I wonder if you ever will. 
 Since I came home everything I really want seems to 
 be slipping farther and farther away from me. There s 
 a hopelessness about it that keeps me unsettled and ap 
 prehensive. You and I have had the same problems, 
 Lola. We haven t been successful in solving them by 
 ourselves, but if we were married . . ." 
 
 "Don t urge me against my better judgment, dear," 
 she pleaded with him. "I don t understand myself. I 
 know that my love for you is deeper, if anything, than 
 when you went away, yet I don t dare trust myself 
 to make you happy until I find out what this change 
 in me really means. Be patient, dear, and everything 
 will come out all right. Some day we will look back 
 at this uncertainty and laugh at our fears." 
 
 Richard was distinctly annoyed by her continued 
 postponement, and, man-like, made no attempt to con 
 ceal it. He rose abruptly and picked up his hat from 
 the stone table beside them. 
 
 "All right," he said with a show of resignation. "I 
 can t force you to marry me, but you must not wonder 
 that I ve lost faith in everything. The boys who died 
 over there still believing that their sacrifice accom 
 plished something, are to be envied rather than mourned. 
 They have been spared the awakening that has come to 
 me." 
 
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 Lola was distressed to see him so wounded, yet 
 she must be true to herself. Her eyes moistened as 
 she looked at him with infinite tenderness, almost 
 motherly in its understanding. 
 
 "Don t be hurt, Dick," she pleaded. "We have as 
 sumed responsibilities whether we want them or not. 
 You expressed it perfectly when you said that before 
 we were on the outside of the world, and now we have 
 become a part of it. Our happiness can only come 
 if we live up to these new responsibilities." 
 
 Richard s disappointment was too real for him 
 to yield his ill-temper, and he turned away with a dep 
 recating shrug of his shoulders. 
 
 [17]
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 LOLA watched the unrelenting back, eloquent in 
 in its expression of disapproval, as Richard 
 strode away from her. Their conversation 
 left her in a curious state of mind. If the subject 
 of marriage had not been mentioned, she could have 
 retained, for a time at least, the exhilaration she had 
 experienced ; as it was, Dick s inability to hold himself 
 consistent to his own convictions made her happiness 
 premature, and she suffered from the reaction. 
 
 Richard had put into words ideas which with her 
 had before been merely fugitive thoughts, and to have 
 some one crystallize them was in itself a real inspiration. 
 He admitted that through his experiences he had gained 
 an ability to force events in his life to assume their 
 proper relative positions, yet when she shrank from 
 assuming responsibilities for which she believed them 
 both to be at present unprepared, he was hurt and 
 offended. If Richard had looked upon the war as 
 offering the privilege of meeting death in a manner 
 equal to its greatness, by the same token he should look 
 upon war s aftermath as giving one the opportunity 
 to meet marriage in the same spirit. 
 
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 Marriage to the average woman meant a home and 
 the companionship of husband and children. Lola 
 could not bring herself to consider this as the highest 
 expression of herself. It was a part of that expression, 
 but not the whole of it. "I had been on the outside 
 of the world, and at last I became a part of it," Rich 
 ard had said. He felt it, just as she did, he was able to 
 translate that feeling into words, but he was not trans 
 lating it into action. If they married now, she was 
 convinced that he would never attain the heights which 
 his vision flashed before him. His home and his family 
 would give him relief from his restlessness and from 
 the present unsettled nature of his living, and he and 
 she would settle down into the same self-centered, hum 
 drum eixstence that thousands and hundreds of thou 
 sands of families are living today. If this were pos 
 sible, with the newly-created conditions crying for in 
 telligent, unselfish, sacrificing service, then the agony 
 and bloodshed of those awful years would count for 
 nothing. Richard admitted that his vision was now 
 but a memory of disappointed ideals, and that he had 
 given up all hope of compelling its realization. That 
 must not . . . should not be. For his own sake and 
 for hers she must insist that he live up to it, and in so 
 doing make it possible that their union, freed from 
 fear of what the future might do for them, might also 
 be freed from all limitations, and devoted to the great 
 common cause. 
 
 II 
 
 When Richard left Lola he took a short cut through 
 an opening in the brick wall which surrounded the 
 
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 garden, across an unreclaimed field onto the road. He 
 had no definite objective, his one conscious thought 
 being that he was out of sorts with Lola for her con 
 tinued postponement of their wedding. Being out of 
 sorts had come to be a habit with him. His work at 
 the factory was distasteful, his home life associated 
 itself with daily wrangles with his father, and now he 
 had reached a point where he began to question Lola s 
 devotion, and Lola since his return had been his one 
 haven of refuge. She had changed, . . that was ob 
 vious. Was it possible that the new Lola had lost, 
 to a degree at least, her former love for him? Picking 
 up a stick, he viciously hacked off the heads of the 
 unoffending daisies which showed on either side of the 
 walk, meekly bowing their heads to his unwarranted 
 reprisals. 
 
 Suddenly he became conscious of some one behind 
 him and turned. 
 
 "Hello, Olga !" he exclaimed, glad to have his mood 
 interrupted, and waiting for the girl to overtake him. 
 
 "What strides you take!" she cried, out of breath 
 as she stood beside him; "I thought I should never 
 catch you." 
 
 "Where were you?" 
 
 "Waiting in front of Mr. Stewart s house. I ex 
 pected you to come out that way." 
 
 "Waiting for what?" 
 
 "For you," she replied archly, looking up at him out 
 of her big, brown eyes as if ready for reproof, . . "for 
 you," she repeated, "Mr. Richard Norton." 
 
 Richard laughed at her defiant manner quite as much 
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 as at her words. She made a picture as she stood 
 there with militant attitude, in her pink gingham frock, 
 which set off her dark skin and flashing eyes. Olga 
 Mirovich would attract attention anywhere. Her lithe 
 body ever seemed too small to contain a spirit so fear 
 less and dominating, her eyes spoke even more forcefully 
 than her lips, and her face registered her emotions with 
 the rapidity and accuracy of a photographic plate. 
 
 "Why should you be waiting for me?" Richard asked. 
 
 "Why shouldn t I?" 
 
 "I ll say why shouldn t you?" Richard acquiesced, 
 laughing again. 
 
 The girl s face lighted and she placed her hand hes 
 itatingly on his arm. 
 
 "That is what I told Tony, but he laughed at me." 
 
 "Tony Lemholtz?" Richard asked. "Why should 
 he laugh at you?" 
 
 " The son of the great James Norton will not stoop 
 to speak with a factory-girl, he said. But he speaks 
 to me every day in the shop, I answered, and I tossed 
 my head . . . like this. Then Tony laughed. Per 
 haps in the shop, he said ; but it is different outside. " 
 
 "Tony doesn t know me as well as you do, does he, 
 Olga? . . Come, we will walk along together and you 
 will tell me why you waited for me." 
 
 Ill 
 
 They walked on, but in silence. Richard looked at 
 his companion occasionally, and saw that she was hes 
 itating for just the right words to convey her message. 
 Olga was a character at the plant. Ambitious, alert, 
 
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 active, better educated than her companions, she was 
 the best operative in her department, and recognized 
 by the other women in the works as their leader and 
 spokesman. Richard had first noticed her one day when 
 she attacked another girl who taunted her with being a 
 Russian. The workmen laughingly separated them, and 
 while the two assailants were held far enough apart to 
 prevent bodily injury the girl poured out the vials 
 of her wrath upon her tormentor. 
 
 "Don t you dare say that, Katie McGuire !" she cried 
 passionately with flaming eyes. " I was a Russian. 
 My father and mother were Russians, but became Amer 
 icans. Who could remain a Russian who had seen her 
 grandmother crippled for life by blows from the knout 
 . . ,. whose grandfather died from exhaustion in the 
 mines of Siberia, whose murdered relatives shed a long 
 trail of blood straight to the palace gate of the White 
 Czar ! I am not a Russian, Katie McGuire ! My father 
 and mother and I escaped and came to this country. 
 When our ship entered the great harbor of New York 
 my father pointed to the statue where Liberty holds up 
 her torch, and said to my mother, Now at last I am a 
 man . . . you are a human being . . . and we are all 
 Americans. If you say again I am a Russian, Katie 
 McGuire, I will bite your ear off ! I can do it !" 
 
 Never had Richard seen such passionate fire as dom 
 inated that slight, pulsating figure. She seemed the 
 embodiment of the sublime courage which finally enabled 
 her people to throw off the yoke which centuries of 
 serfdom had locked around their necks, even though 
 they, like Olga, are still children too undeveloped to 
 
 [22]
 
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 use their new-found freedom wisely. Ever since that 
 day Richard had improved every opportunity to talk 
 with the girl, and encouraged her to tell him of herself. 
 
 IV 
 
 But it was not the militant Olga who walked beside 
 him in the twilight of this July afternoon. Their steps 
 had taken them to the edge of the lake which to Nor- 
 crossians is the most beautiful sheet of water in the 
 world. With certain allowances made for local pride, 
 it is still fair to say that East Lake owes no apology to 
 any similar spot, for the pines and the hemlocks and 
 the cedars group themselves in picturesque beauty 
 around its banks, while, beyond, the heavier growth of 
 timberland rises gently to the Blue Hills. The sun was 
 just disappearing behind the trees as the two seated 
 themselves on a rough wooden bench built upon a slight 
 eminence above the water. 
 
 "You haven t told me yet why you waited for me, 
 Olga," Richard reminded her. 
 
 The girl started from her reverie. 
 
 "It is so wonderful !" she answered irrelevantly, giv 
 ing herself up without restraint to the sensuous joy 
 of the beauty of her surroundings . . . "But I will tell 
 you, for you are in haste to go home and be rid of little 
 Olga." 
 
 "No, no," Richard humored her ; smiling at this new 
 mood which he had never seen. "I am in no hurry. This 
 is all very beautiful as you say, and you fit into the pic 
 ture perfectly . . . You are a beautiful child, Olga, 
 even if your temper is so violent." 
 
 [23]
 
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 "I am not a child, and my temper is for those I hate," 
 she declared ... "I will tell you why I waited. It is 
 about the men at the factory. They are planning 
 something, I do not know yet what. They are not 
 sure about you. Are you James Norton s son or are 
 you one of us? I told Tony I would find out, for no 
 one else dared ask you." 
 
 "It ought not to take so much courage to ask me, 
 little Olga," Richard answered soberly, unconsciously 
 giving her the epithet she herself had used ; "but it will 
 take far more to answer it. The men must know that 
 I am not in sympathy with many of the present methods 
 at the factory. I want them to realize that I am doing 
 and shall do all I can to correct some of the injustices 
 I have seen since I came home from France. To that 
 extent I am one of them. But if they are planning 
 violence I am against them, . . not only because I am 
 James Norton s son, but also because I am an employee 
 of the Company and I am loyal. If the men will trust 
 me I can help them. You may tell them that. If they 
 don t trust me, tell them I will keep away from their 
 meetings, for I am no spy." 
 
 "I trust you," Olga announced simply. "You are 
 the son of a rich man, Mr. Richard Norton, but at 
 heart you are one of us, and I know it." 
 
 "There should be no contradiction in that, for the 
 rich man needs the help of the workman just as the 
 workman needs the money of the rich man. Those 
 of us who went to the war, Olga, learned many lessons 
 which we must impart to those who didn t have the same 
 chance to learn them." 
 
 [24]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 The girl looked up at him admiringly. 
 
 "The men will trust you," she assured him confidently. 
 "You fought for us just as you fought for the rich 
 people. If the country which was once my country 
 had not been a traitor you would not have had to fight 
 so hard. I would kill myself from shame if I were still 
 a Russian and not an American." 
 
 "You are an American, sure enough, Olga," Richard 
 acknowledged; "no one could doubt that . . . Now 
 shall I take you back to the town? It is getting dark." 
 
 "You need take me nowhere, Mr. Richard Norton, 
 unless you want to. Olga can take care of herself 
 . . . But do you not like me a little bit?" 
 
 "Of course I like you. Who could help it?" 
 
 They were standing now. As she spoke Olga drew 
 nearer to him, playing with the buttons on his coat. 
 Suddenly she raised her head and smiled roguishly as 
 her eyes, shining like twin stars, met his in the dusk. 
 She felt his instinctive movement toward her and then 
 the reaction of his enforced restraint. 
 
 "You may if you wish, Mr. Richard Norton," she 
 whispered ; "but I am glad you waited, for Olga s lips 
 are not freely given." 
 
 "No, no," he exclaimed quickly; "it would not be 
 fair." 
 
 "To the lady in Mr. Stewart s garden?" she asked 
 daringly, pouting her pique. "Was it her fairness 
 to you that made you knock the heads off all the poor 
 daisies? If she is fair why does she not marry you?" 
 
 Her words irritated Richard. 
 
 "She is not sure yet that she . . . loves me," he 
 [25]
 
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 admitted, and then was more annoyed that he had been 
 surprised into this acknowledgment. 
 
 "Not sure! Then it is no. There is never doubt 
 in a woman s heart. She loves or she does not love. 
 She does not know why, she does not care why, but she 
 knows that it is or it is not." 
 
 "I was not thinking of her, little Olga ; it would not 
 be fair to you to kiss you, even though you make it 
 mighty hard to resist." 
 
 "Not fair to me ! Since when have you had to think 
 of that? I have told you that Olga can take care of 
 herself. You think I love you because I offer ray lips? 
 You flatter yourself, Mr. Richard Norton. Do you 
 know what a kiss means to me? It is wine sipped by 
 two friends from the same glass ; not vodka, for that is 
 sluggish, but sparkling wine which sets the blood on 
 fire and makes me live for that happy moment in an 
 other world, . . in my friend s world. But if I loved 
 you, . . ha ! You would know it ! There would be 
 no doubt as with the lady in Mr. Stewart s garden. 
 I have never yet loved a man, Mr. Richard Norton, 
 but can you not be little Olga s friend?" 
 
 Richard turned his hand until her fingers were in 
 his grasp. Instinctively he drew her toward him, and 
 she held her face close to his in tantalizing proximity. 
 
 "I have warned you, little Olga," he exclaimed ; "but 
 I am human!" 
 
 "Because we both are human, and because we are 
 friends, why should we not sip the wine together?" 
 
 He felt her body yield as he crushed the slight form 
 in his arms, and Olga gave a little sigh of happiness 
 
 [26]
 
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 as his lips pressed against hers. When he released her 
 she stood quivering for a moment beside him. 
 
 "If you had ever kissed the Stewart lady like that 
 you would be married by now," she cried mischievously ; 
 and in another moment she had fled from him into the 
 twilight. 
 
 [27]
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 NORCROSS is an attractively-located factory- 
 town lying not many miles from Boston at the 
 foot of the Blue Hills, and it draws its life 
 from the great plant of the Norton Manufacturing 
 Company. Not that its population is limited to those 
 who gain their livelihood from this prosperous cor 
 poration, for the proximity of Norcross to a great 
 city and its own physical attractions have proved a 
 magnet to other householders who seek natural beauty, 
 fresh air, and an opportunity for expansion in estab 
 lishing their homes. Still, it is a fair statement that 
 without the physical presence of the great plant the 
 town would still be enjoying the Rip Van Winkle sleep 
 which is the fate of other New England towns un 
 touched as yet by commerce. 
 
 Even the business section of the town has not de 
 stroyed the beauties which Nature alloted to it with 
 lavish hand. Either by uncanny foresight or fortunate 
 coincidence the early builders of the town planted the 
 rows of elms and oaks straight and well separated, so 
 that the new macadam streets trespassed only upon the 
 broad grass borders of the walks. Now these trees 
 intertwine their foliage, partially concealing the stone 
 
 [28]
 
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 business blocks, and form fascinating vistas, to which 
 even the adopted citizens point with pride. Outside 
 the centre of the town the broad State roads, well 
 maintained, run to the south toward the Blue Hills, 
 the houses on either side being unpretentious but ex 
 pressive of their orderly, self-respecting owners. To 
 the north, the roads run to the great New England 
 metropolis, and over these arteries one sees a constant 
 stream of motor-trucks and other vehicles conveying 
 produce and production from Norcross to its markets. 
 The people of Norcross divide themselves into two 
 distinct groups, even as did those of ancient Greece, 
 and they possess many of the same characteristics. 
 Those who would have been Dorians in Athens are the 
 elderly people who still cling loyally to the ancestral 
 customs and the traditions associated with their be 
 loved homesteads. Abandoned by their progeny, which 
 seeks its fortune in the more exciting atmosphere of the 
 cities, the Norcrossian-Dorians, recognizing the hope 
 lessness of opposing modern innovations, gratify their 
 self-respect by accepting new conditions under chronic 
 protest. The Ionic portion of Norcross are the doers, 
 and they, true to their classification, have brought to 
 the town undoubted creative activity which, combined 
 with the expression of their love of arts and letters, 
 gives to it an air of refinement often lacking in more 
 pretentious communities, 
 
 II 
 
 When, years ago, Norcross received its present bap 
 tismal name, James Norton, founder of the Norton 
 
 [29]
 
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 Manufacturing Company and still its autocratic mas 
 ter, confidently expected to have his own family cogno 
 men perpetuated in the lexicon of Massachusetts proper 
 names ; but a rival appeared in the person of one Henry 
 Cross, the titular head of a family which had inhabited 
 the town since the Indian wigwam gave way to the 
 Colonial style of architecture. The coming of the 
 great industry to the town had been a heart-breaking 
 blow to the Cross family, which was essentially Doric 
 in birth and inclinations. Until then Henry Cross had 
 been the undisputed squire of the simple, well-man 
 nered New England village, and his women-folk basked 
 in his reflected glory. No family possessed so many 
 broad acres, carefully tilled and productively cul 
 tivated. The Cross "mansion" was the finest in the 
 village, filled as it was with rarest Colonial furniture 
 inherited from earlier generations, and decorated with 
 family portraits and New England samplers which 
 successively and chronologically marked the feminine 
 progression of the Cross dynasty. 
 
 The coming of the Norton Manufacturing Company 
 not only threatened the supremacy of Henry Cross 
 but promptly eclipsed it. The Norton workmen re 
 quired homes, and the neighbors of the Cross family 
 sold their farms piece-meal for building-lots at prices 
 which to them made the advent of the new industry a 
 fortuitous act of God; but the Cross acres remained 
 intact, and "No Trespass" signs appeared at every 
 corner. In a single decade the sleepy little farming set 
 tlement was metamorphosed into a thriving New Eng 
 land manufacturing town, and James Norton was its 
 
 [30]
 
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 leading citizen. His stone house made the Cross man 
 sion appear insignificant, and was rivaled only by a 
 similar estate developed by William Stewart, Lola s 
 father, who next to Norton was the largest stockholder 
 in the Company. New and modern schools sprang up, 
 the Congregational church now had denominational 
 rivals ; a bank was established, with James Norton as 
 its president. The change in the old village was com 
 plete, and even Henry Cross realized that former con 
 ditions had passed never to return. 
 
 Yet this realization could not kill the resentment nor 
 the antagonism which had smouldered during these 
 eventful years, and when James Norton undertook to 
 substitute his own name for the long-respected but non 
 committal "Eastham," Henry Cross rose in town meet 
 ing and in his wrath to express his ideas in no un 
 certain phrases. The renaming of the town was the 
 chief topic of conversation for weeks, and the Dorian 
 faction of the townspeople, even though begrudgingly 
 admitting the advantages accruing from Mr. Norton s 
 many activities, ranged themselves against him as an 
 expression of individual rights. The compromise is 
 shown in the name finally adopted. Henry Cross claimed 
 to have won the victory because in "Norcross" the 
 whole of his name was embodied and only a fragrant 
 of his rival s, while James Norton retorted that a frag 
 ment of his name more than offset the whole of Henry 
 Cross s, and even at that the fragment was given pre 
 cedence. 
 
 With a name which so well combined the Doric and 
 Ionic styles of architecture, the town again settled down 
 
 [31]
 
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 to its business of growing. The plant grew, requiring 
 more dwellings for its workmen; the families grew, re 
 quiring more schools and churches. The farms gradu 
 ally disappeared, making way for new intersecting 
 streets, new homes, and new public buildings. Nor- 
 cross had more than reached adolescence before the 
 war came, but with this epoch-making event the town 
 at once blossomed into full maturity. The Norton 
 Manufacturing Company became a war industry, work 
 ing three eight-hour shifts ; and not even Henry Cross 
 would have had the temerity to dispute the universal 
 local conviction that so long as the town of Norcross 
 stood, the Kaiser and his hordes would wage a hopeless 
 strife in their efforts to uproot civilization. 
 
 Ill 
 
 If James Norton had been an autocrat before, the 
 war made of him a Czar. To have the orders exceed 
 the capacity of his factory, to find a patriotic response 
 in his men to the demand to rise to every emergency, 
 to have the authority to drive ceaselessly for greater 
 output, represented to him the apotheosis of human 
 satisfaction. Stern, upright, demanding much but 
 never more than he believed himself willing to give 
 under similar circumstances, he represented the old 
 school of industrial leaders who force production by 
 "putting the fear of God" into their workmen. 
 
 "You tell the men from me," was his favorite message 
 sent through the superintendent or foremen, "that as 
 long as they play fair with me I ll play fair with them, 
 but" . . . and he would bring his fist down hard on 
 
 [32]
 
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 his mahogany desk * . . "tell them to get this, that 
 I m the boss round here and what I say goes. I ll do the 
 thinking for the lot of em, and they ll do the work." 
 
 Norton really believed that he always played fair 
 with his men, and when they rebelled he was sincere in 
 regarding them as ungrateful and disloyal. 
 
 "Loyalty," he would say, "means the willingness of 
 a workman to come through with a full day s work for 
 a full day s pay, and to work harder than that when 
 the welfare of his concern demands it. When he isn t 
 loyal like that he s biting the hand that feeds him, and 
 God a mighty hates a snake !" 
 
 There were rumblings throughout the plant before 
 the war which annoyed but did not disturb Norton, and 
 when these disappeared in the patriotic fervor which 
 swept through every stratum in every community he 
 was completely deceived. He honestly believed that at 
 last the workmen in his factory not only recognized 
 their obligation to capital, but that in so doing they 
 served their own best interests. Never was he so tire 
 less in his own personal efforts ; never so demanding 
 of his men; never so successful in accomplishing the 
 maximum translated into terms of production. As an 
 added happiness, his son had at last done something 
 which pleased him, . . . his own son, Richard, had been 
 among the first to throw down his tools and enlist to 
 fight for America s ideals. Henry Cross had no son 
 to send, so Norton felt that he had scored again on 
 his vituperative adversary. 
 
 The military experience Richard would get would 
 surely make a man of him. Not that James Norton 
 
 [33] 

 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 had any special complaint to make of his son s conduct 
 before the war, except that he was the only one who 
 ever dared to differ with him. This, Norton contended, 
 was simply an expression of youth and inexperience. 
 To cure him of both these diseases Richard had been 
 put at work in overalls with the men, and it had been 
 Norton s intention to keep him there until he "grew 
 up," . . . which was another way of saying, "until he 
 learns to agree with his father." Then Fate stepped 
 in and took Richard from his job, transferred him 
 over-seas, and placed him under the tyrant War, . . . 
 the sternest master in the world. When Richard re 
 turned, Norton confidently assured himself, the boy 
 would have learned his lesson, and the necessity of 
 further labor in the shops might be removed. In James 
 Norton s heart was an unspoken yearning to have his 
 son shoulder to shoulder with him in the administration 
 of the business, an affection for the boy which he never 
 let him know, an unexpressed desire to shift onto 
 younger shoulders some of the business load he had 
 carried alone for so many years. 
 
 Then, after a quarter century of success as measured 
 by the ability to have his own way, the world began to 
 rock. Wages went up, not five or ten per cent., but 
 forty, fifty, sixty per cent. This in itself was not so 
 important while every advance could be passed on to 
 the consumer, but Norton knew what this increase 
 would do to the morale of the men, and his apprehen 
 sions grew. 
 
 "Workmen can t stand getting what they want," he 
 emphasized to his Board of Directors; "they can t 
 
 [34]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 stand prosperity. Keep em lean, with wrinkles in their 
 bellies, and they will work instead of talk, and that 
 saves a lot of trouble." 
 
 With the demand for labor so much in excess of the 
 supply, Norton was forced to make compromises dur 
 ing the months which preceded Richard s return, but 
 he bided his time and awaited his opportunity to put 
 the workmen back into their proper place. What sur 
 prised him was that the ex-service men who returned 
 to their old positions after demobilization were the least 
 tractable. They should have learned from their army 
 experience the lesson of absolute and immediate obedi 
 ence to the orders of their superiors. But when Rich 
 ard came home he would know how to handle them. 
 
 IV 
 
 With Richard s home-coming James Norton s phil 
 osophy of life received still another jolt. The boy 
 insisted upon thinking for himself and acting upon his 
 own conclusions. Previously Richard might have sput 
 tered over his father s arbitrary decisions, but he al 
 ways accepted them. Now he listened respectfully and 
 then calmly advanced his own opinions, with appar 
 ently no idea that such independence was rebellion. 
 When James Norton advised him of the decision to 
 transfer him from the works to the office, Richard not 
 only showed no appreciation of the concession, but 
 actually declined it. 
 
 "I ll be no good anywhere for a while," he explained ; 
 "but I ll do better in a job where I have to work hard 
 with my hands." 
 
 [35]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 His father might have been satisfied if Richard had 
 confined his labor to that of his hands, but during the 
 months since his return Norton found that the young 
 man s head had never for a moment ceased to function. 
 Richard was changed, and for the worse, his father 
 reluctantly but emphatically concluded. The boy s 
 ideas had become fixed and he was as stubborn as a 
 mule. He refused to quarrel with his father, but made 
 no effort to conceal his entire disapproval of the type 
 of management which to the older man was second 
 nature. Why should his own son turn against him and 
 take the side of the men? They were quite competent 
 to present their own brief. And as for Richard s ar 
 guments . . . they were actually socialistic ! What 
 annoyed Norton most was the expression left on Rich 
 ard s face at the termination of every discussion. When 
 others disagreed with James Norton they made a point 
 of concealing it, but Richard s disapproval was written 
 all over him. The two men had ceased to speak the 
 same language, and their sole remaining community 
 of interest was gone. 
 
 "All right, father," Richard said wearily at the 
 conclusion of one of these "scenes," "let s let it go at 
 that. I can t make you see things my way and I can t 
 agree with you. You have built blinders over your 
 eyes and you can t look through them. Some day the 
 men will take things into their own hands and tear those 
 blinders off." 
 
 "They will if they can," Norton retorted ; "you may 
 be sure of that. But they have tried it before and I m 
 still on my job. And that job is to demand from the 
 
 [36]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 workmen what they owe in exchange for what I give 
 them." 
 
 "You don t ask enough of them at that," Richard 
 surprised his father by saying; "you ask too little of 
 their heads. You not only don t ask them to think but 
 you won t let them." 
 
 "Of course I won t ... I knew there was some catch 
 in that remark. If a workman thinks one thing he ll 
 think another, and the first thing you know he ll get his 
 thoughts centered on our profits and his wages. Then 
 he ll demand more money." 
 
 "That s what he s thinking about now," Richard 
 insisted ; "you can t stop it. Give him something about 
 his job to use his thinkers on and get his mind off the 
 things you don t want him to think about." 
 
 Norton regarded his son steadily for a moment. 
 Then his face assumed that expression which Richard 
 dreaded. 
 
 "You and the other fellows who went into service 
 have come home with the idea that you know it all, 
 haven t you ? I thought you would learn obedience and 
 respect for the experience and knowledge of your supe 
 riors. Far from it ... you all know how to run this 
 business better than I do after forty years in the shafts. 
 Why don t you apply some of the army discipline to 
 business instead of being insubordinate and pigheaded? 
 How much thinking did they ever let you do in the 
 army ?" 
 
 Richard smiled in spite of his mood as the question 
 recalled certain episodes in France where the American 
 army, raised over night and put into action before 
 
 [37]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 military traditions could be assimilated, failed to live up 
 to the strict discipline associated with the service. 
 
 "The boys did think over there, father, every time 
 they had a chance. Of course it was wrong from a 
 military standpoint. We were the worst disciplined 
 but the most unbeatable army in the world. You don t 
 want automatons in the plant ; you want real men, . . 
 men who think but whose line of thought can be guided, 
 men who can feel that they put themselves into their 
 work and can get some satisfaction out of their efforts. 
 You are the master mind, of course ; but the men would 
 give you far more than you can ever drive out of them 
 if they once felt that their work was an expression of 
 their own free will." 
 
 "Isn t it wonderful!" the older man rejoined sar 
 castically. "My son, full of the wisdom of twenty- 
 eight years, gives his father a primary school lesson 
 on how to handle men ! My boy, . . I was the head 
 of this business before you were out of swaddling 
 clothes. I have studied it root and branch all these 
 years while you have been growing up. I know what 
 is going on in every department, at every desk, even 
 inside every machine. Do you think you can tell me 
 anything I don t know about my own business?" 
 
 "Yes," Richard retorted quickly; "you may know 
 what is going on inside every machine, but you don t 
 know what is going on inside the men s heads. I do, 
 and unless you find out there is trouble ahead and 
 plenty of it for the Norton Manufacturing Company !" 
 
 [38]
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 TWO OR THREE months after Lola Stewart 
 returned from over-seas, she received a tele 
 gram from the Red Cross in Chicago stating 
 that a one-legged ex-service man, Barry O Carolan by 
 name, stranded without funds, had applied for assist 
 ance in getting to Norcross, claiming that he had an 
 invitation to visit her there. 
 
 This message recalled to Lola that part of her war 
 service in which she had taken greatest satisfaction, 
 for it was a case where she had been able to see tangible 
 results. It brought back a vivid picture of the great 
 ward in which she had worked tirelessly, ceaselessly, 
 even hopelessly, as the stream of wounded men poured 
 in and passed out, . . cured and ready for further 
 service, convalescent, or tightly rolled in their army 
 blankets. So much had to be impersonal there, for 
 patients as well as for surgeons and nurses, that to 
 have any one separate himself from the others was in 
 itself an event. Barry had been the event in Lola s 
 hospital experience. 
 
 "See what you can do with that case over there," the 
 surgeon said to her. "He has a wonderful constitution, 
 
 [39]
 
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 but he doesn t want to pull through, and he won t un 
 less some one can interest him in something." 
 Lola looked up his record: 
 
 BARRY O CAROLAN: sergeant; age, 30; mechani 
 cian, 34<th Aero Squadron. Shot down with his plane 
 near Grand Pre. Previous occupation, big game hun 
 ter. Home address, Collins, Wyoming. Next of kin, 
 none. 
 
 There he lay in his narrow cot, with his face stub 
 bornly turned to the wall, physically helpless and men 
 tally rebellious at any attempt to relieve his suffering 
 or to give him hope for the future. When Lola suc 
 ceeded in getting him to answer her at all there was 
 a surly resentment in his voice and antagonism in his 
 attitude. 
 
 "Why can t you leave me alone ?" he demanded, turn 
 ing toward her. "There s no use tryin to do anythin* 
 for me. I m done for." 
 
 "I wouldn t admit that," Lola disputed quietly. 
 
 "You nurses make me tired ! I m not a kid. I know 
 when I m done for. It s a hell of a kindness to patch 
 a feller up so he can live on and starve ! Why couldn t 
 they do a good job and let me pass out as a hero for 
 my country instead of stayin on as a no-account 
 cripple ?" 
 
 "What makes you think you ll have to starve?" 
 
 "Think," he growled; "isn t that just like a woman! 
 I don t think, . . I know. The only thing I can do 
 to earn a livin is hunt big game. Did you ever try 
 huntin big game with one leg? P raps I could whistle 
 
 [40]
 
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 and charm the brutes to stand in front of my cabin 
 while I shoot em!" 
 
 "I never tried it," Lola admitted; "but I have an 
 uncle who has." 
 
 "Hunted big game with only one leg?" 
 
 Barry turned his face to her again, but his expression 
 showed absolute incredulity. 
 
 "Yes," Lola continued; "I used to go hunting with 
 him often. Once there was a bear that the whole county 
 was trying to kill. My uncle was keen to be the one to 
 bring him in, but the only way to go after him was 
 on horseback. So my uncle had himself tied onto an 
 Indian pony with a rope, and he brought that bear 
 home." 
 
 "You re not lyin , . . just to cheer me up?" Barry 
 demanded, weakening in his rebellion. 
 
 "No ; it happened exactly as I tell you," she replied. 
 "If you will pay me a visit at my home in America some 
 time, I will show you the pelt." 
 
 From that moment Barry began to improve. What 
 one man could do was not impossible for another. Lola 
 spent much time with him as he convalesced, and gained 
 his confidence. He told her of his hermit life in Wy 
 oming, where he lived in a cabin in the hills, taking his 
 pelts to market twice a year. His father had been a 
 mechanic, and Lola was interested in the description of 
 some of the ingenious devices Barry had installed in 
 his cabin and in the woods, demonstrating his natural 
 genius in following the parental footsteps. This stood 
 him in good stead when he offered himself for war ser 
 vice. He told her of his training at Kelly Field, of his 
 
 [41]
 
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 transferral over-seas to Issoudun, of his disappointment 
 in having his service confined to repair work and trial 
 flights of machines, while the pilots went into action 
 against the beasts of the air. The surliness disappeared, 
 and before he was well enough to be invalided home 
 Barry O Carolan had learned how to give out from him 
 self that crude philosophy which Nature teaehes only 
 to those who come in contact with her. 
 
 Thus it was that Lola extended to him the indefinite 
 invitation to come to Norcross "some time," and from 
 the Red Cross telegram she learned that he remem 
 bered it. 
 
 II 
 
 So Barry O Carolan became a Norcrossian. His ar 
 rival attracted little attention, but he rapidly made 
 himself a veritable part of the town. Lola installed 
 him in simple but comfortable quarters in an outbuild 
 ing on the Stewart estate, and here the family shared 
 with her the responsibility of proving to her ward that 
 life was still worth living. The discouragement Barry 
 felt over the slowness with which the Government met 
 its obligation was offset by the interest expressed in 
 him by his new friends. Mr. Stewart suggested that a 
 place be found in the machine shop at the factory, but 
 Lola explained the necessity of outdoor work for a 
 man who had lived all his life in the open. 
 
 Lola s mother, passionately fond of her flowers, un 
 expectedly solved the problem when she put Barry to 
 work in the garden. A fugitive glimpse of Mrs. Stew- 
 
 [42]
 
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 art, as she puttered over her flowers with her protege 
 beside her, might leave only a memory of a very active 
 blue-and-white-checked gingham sunbonnet, but a 
 glance within would have disclosed a face which in sweet 
 ness challenged any blossoms the garden produced. 
 The sparkle still remained in Mrs. Stewart s eye, a smile 
 was ever on her lips. Before Lola left home for her 
 war-work, friends spoke of her as a younger replica 
 of her mother, but since her return the girl seemed the 
 elder of the two. 
 
 At first Barry was half ashamed of his new occupa 
 tion, and Lola observed him carefully as he passed 
 through this phase. 
 
 "Think of me shootin bugs off plants, Miss Lola, in 
 stead of big game up Wind River or Boches in France," 
 he said to her one day ; but under Mrs. Stewart s skil 
 ful guidance Barry eagerly absorbed the subtle message 
 which flowers express to understanding souls. His life 
 in Wyoming, with Nature as his sole companion, fitted 
 him to comprehend, for the language of the flowers is 
 the same as the language of the forests and the hills. 
 
 At first a flower was a flower to Barry, the only dif 
 ference lying in its shape, color, or fragrance ; but 
 Mrs. Stewart took pains to weave romance in with the 
 horticultural knowledge taught him by the old gar 
 dener. Starting in with the Spring, Barry, with his 
 sympathetic guide, welcomed the drooping snow-drops, 
 the daffodils, and the timid crocuses. The Winter had 
 been a trial to him, not only for the limitations it placed 
 upon his physical activities, but because it was the 
 period of unhappy experimentation, now fortunately 
 
 [43]
 
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 ended by Mrs. Stewart s inspiration. These first blooms 
 seemed to Barry the harbingers of a new life, but his 
 discouragement had been so long extended that he was 
 fearful to accept anything as a fact. Mrs. Stewart 
 sensed this, and she gave him Holmes s little poem to 
 read: 
 
 "When wake the violets, Winter dies; 
 
 When sprout the elm buds, Spring is near; 
 When lilacs blossom, Summer cries, 
 
 l Bud, little roses, Spring is here! 
 
 From that time on Barry associated his own life with 
 the lives of the flowers, and watched eagerly for the 
 violets and the sprouting of the elm buds. Seeing his 
 interest, Mrs. Stewart taught him the symbolism of 
 the flowers, and gave him other volumes from which to 
 learn their story. Lola, feeling her responsibility 
 keenly, was at first worried by the light showing late 
 at night in Barry s quarters, watching it from the 
 window of her own chamber. When she spoke to him 
 about it, cautioning him that until his full strength 
 returned his rest was all-important, Barry plunged 
 quickly into his room and returned with an armful of 
 books. 
 
 "Look, Miss Lola!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Mis 
 Stewart has let me take all these, and I m readin em 
 through. I never was much on readin before the war, 
 but you know how we had to do somethin there to kill 
 time. They were short of books, so one day the library 
 lady tore one of em up, and divided it among us. It 
 was written by a highbrow cuss named Carlyle. Think 
 
 [44]
 
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 of me readin that stuff! But I had to do somethin, 
 and say . . that feller had some real ideas. I can 
 remember some of em now; What have you done, you 
 son of a gun? he says. If you ve got happiness or 
 unhappiness, why that s only just your wages, and 
 you ve spent that in payin for your chow, . . you ve 
 eaten it all up by this time. Now how about your 
 work? Be quick and trot it out. Lets see what you ve 
 really done! . . Those aren t the exact words, Miss 
 Lola, but the idea is somethin like that." 
 
 Barry s quotation was not clear to Lola, but 
 later, in her father s library, her search was re 
 warded: "Happiness, unhappiness; all that was but 
 the wages thou hadst; thou hast spent all that in sus 
 taining thyself hitherward; not a coin of it remains 
 with thee, it is all spent, eaten; and now thy work, 
 where is thy work? Swift, out with it; let us see thy 
 work." 
 
 Thomas Carlyle would have rejoiced in the practical 
 application of his immortal message ! 
 
 Lola watched the new light in Barry s eyes, and her 
 thoughts instinctively went back to those hopeless days 
 in the hospital when she struggled to give him an inter 
 est in life. 
 
 "You had forgotten that when you didn t want us 
 to pull you through," she reminded him. 
 
 "How could I forget somethin I never knew before ?" 
 Barry asked sheepishly. "I didn t even get that feller s 
 idea til I came here. What had I done anyhow? Just 
 shot pelts for the market, sold em, and got my wages. 
 Then I ate the wages up, just as that feller said. Now 
 
 [45]
 
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 I m really doin somethin more. Your mother gave me 
 those books to read, . . and say . . . every flower has 
 a story of its own, just like a person. Remember how 
 the kids used to tramp down this garden? They don t 
 do it now, do they? I caught a couple of em and they 
 thought they were in for a lickin , but I took em right 
 up to the violet-bed, and I says, "See what you ve done. 
 Those little flowers have life just as much as me or you. 
 Then I told em the story about how Jupiter made the 
 violet to feed to the girl his wife got jealous of and 
 changed into a cow, and they were sure interested. 
 Now they come round every day askin me to tell em 
 stories, and I have to read these books your mother 
 gives me to keep ahead of em." 
 
 Barry s eyes twinkled as he paused for a moment. 
 
 "You ought to see those little devils weed the garden 
 while I tell em stories about the flowers !" 
 
 Ill 
 
 So the blooms in the garden succeeded one another 
 in the rotation which Nature ordains, but the bloom in 
 Barry s heart became perennial, crowding out the bit 
 ter memories of severed limb, unintelligent governmental 
 paternalism, and a hopeless future. Barry O Carolan 
 became a Norcross institution. Whenever he would 
 admit the children to the garden they flocked about 
 him; when he limped to the post-office they flanked 
 him on either side, and Barry thoroughly enjoyed their 
 companionship. Life for him settled down into a satis 
 fying minor key in which all the chords were harmoni 
 ous. If he was aware of the struggle in the heart of 
 
 [46]
 
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 his benefactress, he gave no evidence of it; if Richard 
 Norton s restlessness was still obsessive, Barry seemed 
 blissfully unconscious of it. The autocratic old man 
 in the great house on the Hill might be breaking his 
 heart over his son s rebellion and the arrogance of his 
 men; the workmen in the Norton factory might be 
 seething with discontent and plotting mischief, . . but 
 Barry O Carolan, once hunter of big game on the slopes 
 of the Rockies, now hunted contentment and philosophy 
 among the gentle flowers which were his daily com 
 panions, and in the "highbrow" poems which great writ 
 ers had composed to the glory of his new-found friends. 
 
 [47]
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 AUGUST in Norcross can be appreciated only by 
 those who have experienced it. There are many 
 families who still consider the summer exodus 
 to the shore essential to their comfort and their self-re 
 spect, but in Norcross this is the demand of habit 
 rather than necessity. The Stewarts had long since 
 outgrown the conventional summer-gadding habit, pre 
 ferring to break their year in the winter season by trips 
 to California or Florida, Italy or Southern France. 
 Even the continuous residence enforced by war condi 
 tions did not prove irksome to them ; for the great white 
 blanket Nature spread over the meadows, and the 
 masses of hemlocks and cedars weighted with glistening 
 snow, formed a picture with which they were never 
 satiated. 
 
 When once the business section of the town is left 
 behind, the broad meadows spread out like an up-to-date 
 Elysian field, with the single difference that one may 
 wander there without having qualified as among the 
 blessed. Still, was not Menelaus, with all his glorious 
 faults, granted place beside the elect because he was 
 Helen s husband and the son-in-law of Zeus? By the 
 
 [48]
 
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 same token and with little stretch of the imagination 
 we may understand the position of certain Norcrossians 
 because of the beatific attributes of their better halves, 
 or relationship to the mighty . . . Beyond the mead 
 ows are the timberlands, marking by gradual ascent the 
 elevation which culminates in the Blue Hills, and the 
 great silver splotch dazzling in the summer sun is 
 East Lake, the brilliancy of which invites one to seek 
 its sparkling glories. 
 
 II 
 
 The location of the Stewart house, well up on what 
 Norcrossians call "The Hill," affords a. wonderful pan 
 oramic view. Here, in the loggia, in the late August 
 afternoons, neighbors and other friends are wont to 
 gather for tea or some cooling form of refresh 
 ment. On these occasions William Stewart as host is 
 at his best. He is tall and handsome, so courtly and 
 courteous that people call him "a gentleman of the 
 old school." His quiet demeanor gives one the false 
 impression that he is impositive. In reality this does 
 not indicate a lack of energy, but rather that necessity 
 has taken no hand in his making. Mrs. Stewart and 
 Lola naturally relieve him of all cares of home, and 
 he has formed the habit of letting James Norton es 
 tablish his business policies. This leaves him leisure 
 to gratify his love for the beautiful in arts and letters, 
 accumulating the jewels which others drop in his lap, 
 without the incentive of adding even a thread on which 
 to string them. 
 
 On this particular afternoon Mr. Stewart is discuss- 
 [49]
 
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 ing Botticelli and Florentine art with a congenial soul, 
 while Lola s mother explains the intricacies of a new 
 crochet stitch to an ambitious caller. Lola has pre 
 sided at the tea table, but as her duties for the time 
 being are fulfilled she listens patiently to the running 
 fire of small talk, in which gentle art William Tread- 
 way is an adept. Treadway, James Norton s personal 
 secretary, is tall and slight, with a blonde moustache 
 which must cause him some concern as he is constantly 
 striving with his fingers to weave it into new patterns. 
 His two passions in life are power and Lola Stewart. 
 The first seems possible of achievement, for energy and 
 persistence will never be denied ; the second is more diffi 
 cult because of Richard Norton. But Treadway pos 
 sesses the useful attribute of patience. 
 
 He is immaculate today in his golf flannels sitting 
 next to Lola. On the other side is Richard Norton. 
 It is easy to understand the underlying antagonism 
 between the two young men, . . even on the surface 
 it is ill-concealed. Treadway naturally sympathizes 
 with the master on all points of difference with his son ; 
 Richard considers Treadway s subtle jealousy as re 
 sponsible for much of the discord in the Norton family. 
 When to this is added their joint admiration for 
 Lola, the ingredients are complete for constant 
 fermentation. 
 
 "If I stopped smoking," Treadway remarked gazing 
 contemplatively at his half-consumed cigarette, "I 
 shouldn t know what in the world to do with my face." 
 
 "Some smokers don t know what to do with their 
 faces even then," Richard commented. 
 
 [50]
 
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 "No intention of making any personal application, 
 I hope," Lola inquired, holding up her own cigarette. 
 
 "Not at all," he hastened to explain. "I am so 
 afraid Treadway will get back onto his hard-luck golf 
 stories that I am trying to encourage him to talk about 
 something interesting." 
 
 "Oh, I say!" Treadway protested. "Every golfer 
 has to talk about his game afterwards. That s its 
 chief attraction. But I do have more hard luck than 
 anybody else. I simply can t keep the ball in the fair- 
 green. Why, the last time I played, when I finally got 
 out of the long grass, the chap I was with said, 
 Strangers are not allowed on this course ! " 
 
 Lola laughed, but Richard continued to make sport 
 of him. He was impatient to have Lola to himself. 
 
 "Don t you care, Treadway," he railed him ; "nobody 
 else does." 
 
 "It s not fair for people to josh me about my golf," 
 Treadway declared feelingly, . . "I really got so 
 little chance to play. When I figure out how much 
 each game costs me, I am aghast at the extravagance 
 of my club expenses." 
 
 "Figure it on the basis of strokes, Treadway, and 
 it will make it look cheap," Richard retaliated. 
 
 "Come, boys, be reasonable," Lola interfered. "I m 
 tired of being amused. Tell me why this book here is 
 having such a success." 
 
 She help up the novel of the day, which she had laid 
 down when her callers arrived. 
 
 "I can t find any one who likes it any better than I 
 do, yet everybody is talking about it," she added. 
 
 [51]
 
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 "Each one asks the other how he likes it, and each 
 stalls to get the other s expression before he commits 
 himself!" Richard laughed. "That s human nature." 
 
 "But the story is so drab . . . realistic, I ll grant, 
 but the scenes it records so photographically and the 
 odors it revives are all so commonplace and unpleasant 
 . . . Why do people want to read about such things, 
 anyway ?" 
 
 "Have you never noticed how much every one pre 
 fers to talk about his troubles than his blessings?" 
 Richard explained . . "like Treadway, telling us 
 about his golf . . . but, seriously, isn t it true? . . 
 people revel in conversation which is pitifully uninter 
 esting in its personalities and become tongue-tied when 
 a topic of general interest is broached . . . You didn t 
 buy that book because you expected to be absorbed by 
 it, but because you weren t willing to acknowledge 
 again that you hadn t read it, . . come now, f ess up !" 
 
 "Yes, . . I ll plead guilty," she acknowledged 
 frankly; "but in this case I really thought I would 
 learn something. After an every-day over-the-teacup 
 conversation, I m willing to be instructed." 
 
 "That puts me out of the running," Treadway ac 
 knowledged. "I don t believe in mixing things. My 
 theory of life is to concentrate, . . work while I work 
 and play while I play. This is my play-time, and I 
 refuse to assume the role of pedant." 
 
 "You are joking, I know," Lola answered him seri 
 ously ; "but I have noticed how definitely you lay down 
 your rules for living. Don t you sometimes find it 
 difficult to keep them consistent?" 
 
 [52]
 
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 "Oh, every rule has to have its exception," he 
 answered lightly, her recognition of his purpose obvi 
 ously pleasing him. "I have ambitions, but no Ameri 
 can need be ashamed to admit that. I intend to make 
 my mark on the world instead of letting the jolly old 
 world make its mark on me. Success never comes hap 
 hazard, so I plan everything out. Not so complicated, 
 is it?" 
 
 Ill 
 
 Mr. Stewart s listening caller had received his fill 
 of Florentine art and departed, so Lola s father joined 
 the group of young people in time to hear Treadway s 
 explanation. 
 
 "That is a good basis for any American to work on," 
 Stewart commented ; "but I don t quite agree with you 
 about not letting the world make its mark on you. 
 They talk about Americans being born. That isn t 
 so, . . Americanism is a thing to be achieved . . ." 
 
 "By action," Treadway interrupted with confidence. 
 
 "Not wholly," Mr. Stewart corrected. "That is 
 where I think your theory a bit weak. True American 
 ism is a thing of the mind, . . the result of thought 
 and experience as well as of action. And when one has 
 really achieved Americanism he need not fear to have 
 the world make its mark on him, for it will be the hall 
 mark of approval." 
 
 "That s fine, Mr. Stewart !" Richard exclaimed. "I 
 wish we could hear you talk on these subjects oftener. 
 What you say always gives us an inspiration." 
 
 "Scarcely that," Stewart demurred; "but I do think 
 [53]
 
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 I am at fault to spend my life assimilating instead of 
 giving out. It is a selfish habit." 
 
 "My daddy selfish !" Lola cried affectionately, press 
 ing his hand to her cheek. "Why, I never could think 
 of you as one to go out into the mercenary world. 
 You seem to belong right here in this frame. There 
 are plenty of men for business, and who shall say that 
 your dreaming or your life among your books is sel 
 fish? You share your dreams with us all, daddy, and 
 that helps to keep us true to our ideals." 
 
 "Ah, child," her father answered, kissing her, "you 
 and your mother spoil me. Dreams and books ! . . . 
 
 Dreams, books, are each a world: and books we know, 
 Are a substantial world, both pure and good. 
 Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, 
 Our pastime and our happiness will grow. 
 
 As the older man left them, Treadway rose. 
 
 "I thought at first he was complimenting me, but I 
 really believe he was calling me down," he said half 
 jocosely and half in pique. "I must jog along now 
 and think it all over . . . Coming, Dick?" 
 
 "Not yet," Richard answered; "don t wait for me." 
 
 IV 
 
 "Why don t you like Billy Treadway?" Lola de 
 manded when they were alone. 
 
 "What makes you think I don t like him?" 
 
 Lola laughed. 
 
 "You bristle all over whenever you re with him. Why 
 do you dislike him?" 
 
 [54]
 
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 "If I have myself so poorly under control as to 
 expose my feelings to the world," he replied, "I must 
 cultivate restraint." 
 
 "I am not the world, Dick. Perhaps I understand 
 your expressions better than some others." 
 
 "You are all the world to me, Lola," he cried im 
 pulsively, at the same time drawing his chair beside 
 hers and taking her hand. "There is no one else who 
 understands me at all ... Do you know, Lola, if 
 you were to look at me just once as you did at your 
 father a moment ago, I d believe there was some chance 
 of wedding bells." 
 
 "You silly boy !" Lola scolded. "We aren t children 
 any longer. You don t want merely an emotional sweet 
 heart, do you?" 
 
 "You weren t so terribly matter-of-fact before I 
 went to France." 
 
 "We were scarcely more than children, Dick. Then 
 I was inexperienced enough to believe that love . . . 
 our love, was everything ; now we know how little one s 
 personal affairs count in the scheme of things, don t 
 we?" 
 
 She paused for a moment and looked away from him. 
 Then she turned back. 
 
 "What a revelation we have had since, Dick!" she 
 exclaimed. "We were boy and girl before, , . now 
 we re just relics of the war, looking at the world through 
 the empty rims of our spectacles, without the rose- 
 tinted glass. I haven t the desire to be petted or kissed 
 that I had before, . . I admit it; but oh, Dick, I love 
 you a thousand times more!" 
 
 [55]
 
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 "Then why don t you marry me?" he demanded for 
 the hundredth time. 
 
 "Because now I couldn t be satised with the Dick you 
 were before you went to France any more than you 
 could be content with the aimless, heartsick girl you left 
 behind. Each of us requires more, and each can give 
 more to the other. I am trying to make myself the 
 woman you ought to marry; you must make yourself 
 the man my husband must be if he is to hold my love." 
 
 "Then I have slipped . . ." 
 
 "Don t be hurt, dear . . . You haven t slipped, but 
 you don t seem to feel the necessity of forcing the world 
 about you to recognize what your development has 
 taught you . . . Don t let what I say discourage you 
 . . . When you spoke about your vision, you uncov 
 ered something which is very precious to me. Turn 
 that vision into reality, Dick!" 
 
 "But how?" 
 
 "Ah! That is the test . . . but you can meet it! 
 Daddy would tell you that -a real prophet must have 
 voice as well as vision. You have the vision, Dick, and 
 the voice will come to you. I don t ask it for myself, 
 or for you, but for those whom we are pledged to serve. 
 While you are translating your ideals into action, 
 I have as much to accomplish for myself and with 
 myself. Can t you see, dear! Until we both have 
 proved ourselves true to what the war taught us, we 
 have not earned the right to think of ourselves." 
 
 "I try to be patient, Lola," he answered still uncon 
 vinced; "but I can t see why we couldn t do all that 
 you say far better together than alone." 
 
 [56]
 
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 "We first must prove that we can do it alone, dear, 
 as a guarantee that we can do it together. Something 
 has been given to you that has been denied to others. 
 The opportunity is here. The light cast by your vision, 
 Dick, shows you the hitherto concealed entrance from 
 the outside of the world to its very core. Other men, 
 who came home from France with the spirit but without 
 the power of expressing it, call upon you to lead them. 
 It is a call, Dick, that you can t ignore." 
 
 The girl was fired by her enthusiasm, and Richard 
 looked at her in sincere admiration. Her appeal was 
 irresistible, her words brought back the thrill he experi 
 enced at Toul when the veil was for the moment lifted, 
 and he saw beyond. Yes, Lola had changed. Yet could 
 he question her love? She had just expressed in him 
 unbounded faith, and faith surely is akin to love. It 
 was such a moment as comes but rarely, and it affected 
 him deeply. 
 
 "There was only one Jeanne d Arc, Lola," he said 
 feelingly ; "but her spirit has been bequeathed to you. 
 I could not resist it even if I wanted to. It is not 
 a question of desire, but of ability. I will try to hold 
 fast, but I fear that you demand more than I have 
 in me." 
 
 Lola s face lighted with pleasure. 
 
 "Let me be judge of that! If you really try, you 
 cannot fail. Now kiss me, Dick, not merely as lovers 
 kiss, but in pledge of mutual service to the world which 
 will entitle us later to our own personal reward." 
 
 Protected by the dusk into which the lengthened 
 shadows merged, he held her a prisoner in arms which 
 
 [57]
 
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 had no thought of yielding. But presently Lola checked 
 him. Holding him off, she looked full into his eyes 
 with a smile of happy anticipation. 
 
 "I really believe you understand me !" she cried. 
 "I ve been afraid you d think I was demanding too 
 much, dear. But you do understand, don t you? 
 There are so few who see things as they really are that 
 our responsibility is just that much the greater, 
 isn t it?" 
 
 "Yes, Lola," Richard agreed. "I ll admit all that, 
 but still I don t see why we can t kiss each other with 
 out making it a matter of ritual. I meant exactly 
 what I said when I called you Jeanne d Arc," he held 
 her face between his hands as he completed his sentence 
 with marked significance "but . . . that little d Arc 
 girl didn t wear her armor all the time !" 
 
 [58]
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 WHILE Lola was dressing for dinner that even 
 ing her mother came into the room and care 
 fully adjusted herself in the great arm-chair. 
 The slight form was almost lost in its ample recesses, 
 but Mrs. Stewart required no reinforcing cushions to 
 hold her in position or to enable her to preserve her 
 self-respect. In her generation girls were taught to 
 make use of their backbones and to keep both feet on 
 the ground, and her early education became a habit. A 
 dainty footstool, it must be admitted, filled in the space 
 between Mrs. Stewart s tiny feet and the floor, but 
 this necessity was due to Nature s selection of a diminu 
 tive mold in fashioning her attractive personality 
 rather than to any lack of early training. 
 
 The gown Mrs. Stewart had selected this even 
 ing was organdie of purest white, but scarcely 
 more so than her hair, prematurely turned. Her face 
 was delicately suffused with color, her skin fair and fine 
 in texture, showing but slightly the effect of her daily 
 association with the garden ; and the single touch other 
 than white was a large emerald brooch, a family heir 
 loom. Sitting as she was in the great arm-chair, she 
 
 [59]
 
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 made a striking picture against the pink chintz which 
 caused her daughter to regard her with undisguised 
 admiration. 
 
 "Mother, dear, you look like one of the Madonna 
 lilies, transplanted from the garden to my chamber. 
 Truly, you are most decorative !" 
 
 Mrs. Stewart had not come to Lola s room to be 
 complimented, and her daughter knew it. Her func 
 tions in the household were performed quietly, but with 
 a regularity and directness which accomplished results. 
 Lola was fully aware before her mother spoke that her 
 presence at this time predicated a discussion of import 
 ance, and during the process of adjustment in the arm 
 chair she wondered what the subject was to be. 
 
 "I m troubled about Richard," Mrs. Stewart said 
 bluntly, after acknowledging her daughter s compliment 
 with a smile . . "He doesn t seem himself at all. Has 
 anything happened?" 
 
 Lola was still under the spell of the conversation she 
 had so recently had, and regretted that her mother s 
 question had not been postponed in the asking. Rich 
 ard had seemed to be impressed by what she had said, 
 but could he make the application? Until she knew, 
 her reply must be indefinite. 
 
 "We are still engaged, if that is what you mean," 
 she said at length. 
 
 "When is the wedding to be?" 
 
 "Neither one of us is ready to be married yet," she 
 evaded, flushing slightly as she turned back to the mir 
 ror and combed her hair. "We were talking it over only 
 this afternoon." 
 
 [60]
 
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 "Does Richard feel as you do about it?" 
 
 "Not . . . exactly," Lola admitted. "I m hoping 
 that he understands better from what I said to him to 
 day. Dick has lost faith in everything. He has a 
 wonderful opportunity before him to accomplish a 
 great work if he can be made to see it. I am trying 
 to show it to him." 
 
 "Why couldn t you guide him even better if you were 
 married?" 
 
 "That is what Dick asks, . . but I know that I m 
 right. He came home with wonderful ideals, and then 
 he slumped. If we were married now, he would settle 
 down into the same useless routine as the others, and all 
 he gained would be lost. If I can make him see his 
 opportunity, then he will have an incentive. Thus far 
 I haven t been wholly successful. Until then, mother 
 dear, I m trying to be the little wisp of hay in front 
 of him, to urge him on." 
 
 Mrs. Stewart did not respond to the lighter tone in 
 which the girl spoke the last words. 
 
 "You are trying to carry the responsibilities of the 
 whole world on your shoulders since you came home," 
 she exclaimed, making no effort to conceal her disap 
 proval. "You are mothering every ex-service man in 
 Norcross, you are sympathizing with all their family 
 troubles, you are worrying over their sick wives and 
 babies, and now you are doing the thinking for Richard 
 . . . We have lost the daughter we used to have, Lola, 
 and we miss her sorely." 
 
 "Am I so different, mother dear?" Lola exclaimed. 
 
 The expression Lola surprised on her mother s face 
 [61]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 as she turned caused her to lay down the comb and perch 
 herself on the arm of the great chair. 
 
 "I didn t realize that I had changed so much," she 
 added. 
 
 "Your father and I are most unhappy about it," 
 Mrs. Stewart admitted. "While you were away we 
 were sustained by a certain exhaltation. Our loneliness 
 was part of our contribution, and was partially offset 
 by our pride in the splendid work you were doing. Our 
 hearts have been hungry for you, dear, and that craving 
 still remains unsatisfied. The daughter who went away 
 from us has never returned. Richard must feel it too, 
 and that may be one reason why he has lost faith." 
 
 II 
 
 Lola could not answer her mother at once. She knew 
 that what had just been said was true. How could 
 she make it clear that the change which had taken 
 place was simply a broadening of her horizon? Up 
 to the time when she left for her work Lola s life had 
 been completely centered in home and parents; now 
 they were but part of the greater life which she saw 
 before her. The new outlook did not lessen her devo 
 tion to them, but it did require her to divide her alle 
 giance, and this was what her mother felt. To acknowl 
 edge the fact, or to attempt to explain it would only 
 cause greater unhappiness, for not even her parents 
 could understand. No one could understand who had 
 not passed through the fire. 
 
 "Mother dear, I didn t realize that I was making 
 [62]
 
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 you and daddy unhappy. I suppose I am changed 
 ... no one could see what I ve seen and remain the 
 same. But my love for my dear ones . . . for you 
 and daddy and Dick ... is greater than it ever could 
 have been before I learned what love really means in 
 this world where hatred and selfishness hold the upper 
 hand." 
 
 "But, my child, that isn t true," Mrs. Stewart pro 
 tested. "The Bible teaches . . ." 
 
 "Dearie," Lola interrupted with a sigh, "there are 
 hundreds of thousands of sweet, good people like you 
 who refuse to believe this because they don t want to 
 believe it; but until the fact is recognized the task of 
 fighting it is made more difficult. What any one per 
 son can do is so insignificant that it is absolutely dis 
 couraging. Take my work with the disabled boys 
 here ..." 
 
 "You are spending too much time and are working 
 too hard with them, Lola." 
 
 "The hard part, dear, and that which takes the 
 most time, is occasioned by the lack of co-operation 
 and appreciation on the part of those who were over- 
 zealous during the period of war hysteria. Why, I 
 can t even get enough motor cars to take my disabled 
 soldiers riding, when before there were more cars of 
 fered than could be used! It is simply disheartening, 
 mother, and this apathy triples the responsibilities 
 of those who still realize the necessities." 
 
 "But do you have to do it all, Lola?" Mrs. Stewart 
 asked. "Do you think your new duties relieve you of 
 your old ones? Your father and I aren t disabled 
 
 [63]
 
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 soldiers, but our hearts are wounded, dear. Perhaps 
 Dick s heart is hurt a little, too." 
 
 Ill 
 
 Lola felt the criticism, and her first reaction was 
 that in making it even her mother was touched by the 
 epidemic of selfishness which contaminated the world. 
 Perhaps she was not giving to her parents and to 
 Richard the former undivided affection, but they needed 
 it so much less than these helpless, half-neglected heroes 
 who had so freely contributed their present and their 
 future to save humanity. Of course her mother did 
 not realize that what she asked was selfish, but the sum 
 total of this lack of realization was what produced the 
 unhappy condition. 
 
 "Haven t you found happiness in what you have done 
 for Barry?" she asked. 
 
 "Great happiness, my child, not only in what it has 
 meant to him but also in the joy I have seen come to 
 you to have me do it. I rejoice in this opportunity to 
 work with you, even in a small way, and I wish I might 
 do more. But, Lola dear, I should consider myself to 
 blame if I permitted my new responsibilities to make 
 me forget my old ones. I wouldn t have you give up 
 your work. Just keep it within reason, and remember 
 that you can t do it all yourself." 
 
 Lola rose wearily and seated herself disconsolately 
 in a near-by chair. Mrs. Stewart watched her 
 anxiously, fearing lest she had said too much, yet con 
 vinced that her daughter needed another viewpoint for 
 her own good. 
 
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 "Other girls who went to France have returned and 
 taken up their lives just where they left them," Mrs. 
 Stewart suggested. 
 
 "I know it, mother dear," Lola admitted, "and some 
 time I wish I were like them. A lot of the girls went 
 over there because they craved adventure. Some of 
 them did their work well, and all were satisfied. There 
 were others who went because they simply had to do 
 something, and in doing for others found greater per 
 sonal happiness than they had ever known. That is 
 true of me, dearie. I should be miserably unhappy to 
 cease doing now, when the necessity for service is so 
 much greater than ever before." 
 
 "Yet I have never seen you so wretched as since you 
 returned." 
 
 "Doesn t the one go with the other, dear ? We can t 
 reach the heights without touching the depths, can we? 
 I m not choosing the suffering and the despair. It just 
 comes as a payment I have to make for the real hap 
 piness I ve experienced in being able to do something 
 for others." 
 
 Mrs. Stewart was deeply impressed by Lola s words. 
 For the first time since her daughter s return she had 
 been permitted to enter the inner shrine, and what she 
 saw there was inexpressibly beautiful. She closed her 
 eyes for a moment and thanked God for this child 
 of hers, and when she opened them again they were 
 filled with tears. She rose quietly, and putting her 
 arms around Lola s neck, kissed her affectionately. 
 
 "I never realized before how deeply you felt it," she 
 whispered. "It seemed to me that it was over-zealous 
 
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 devotion to a fetish, but perhaps I am wrong. Your 
 happiness, dear child, is all that your father and I 
 live for, and if it lies in this direction, we must try to 
 help you." 
 
 "Oh, mother darling!" the girl cried, "you don t 
 know what it would mean to me if you could only 
 understand ! I have realized all the time that you were 
 waiting for me to lay aside my work as I do my golf- 
 sticks after the game is finished. This isn t a game, 
 dear, . , it is the real thing. It is life itself and will 
 never be finished. I don t mean to neglect my old re 
 sponsibilities except so far as the new ones are more 
 vitally important. I don t mean to try to do it all. 
 If you and daddy and my real friends would only un 
 derstand this and help me, it would make it so much 
 easier." 
 
 "Perhaps I am thinking too much of ourselves and 
 of you," Mrs. Stewart admitted. "Now that the awful 
 tragedy is over, it is natural that we should be eager 
 to forget it and take up our lives again as if nothing 
 had happened." 
 
 IV 
 
 Lola turned from her mother with a sigh of disap 
 pointment. As if nothing had happened! This from 
 her own sweet, sympathetic, usually-comprehending 
 mother! It was hopeless. No one except those who 
 had seen the awful crucible of war could understand. 
 For years to come curious tourists would cross the 
 ocean to gaze at martyred towns in devastated France, 
 
 [66]
 
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 while their eyes refused to see the shattered bodies and 
 the smouldering ashes in the souls of those about them 
 who risked their lives for something which they failed 
 to find! 
 
 [67]
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 BARRY O CAROLAN, outwardly the most seri 
 ously affected by the toll of war, was in reality 
 the only Norcrossian undisturbed by the gath 
 ering of the storm clouds in the hitherto peaceful New 
 England village. Perhaps this was because he instinc 
 tively realized that the worst that could befall him had 
 happened, and his agony of suspense was ended. At all 
 events, the world looked good to him, and the peace 
 which came to his once-troubled spirit expressed itself 
 in his ever-present smile and contagious optimism. 
 His quick intelligence enabled him to expand even as 
 the flowers in the Stewart garden ; but the development 
 came so gradually that those around him scarcely re 
 alized how great the change until it had actually taken 
 place, accepting without comment or surprise the evi 
 dences of the transition. 
 
 Except for the war, Barry would have remained a 
 hunter of big game, his inward craving satisfied by com 
 munion with the vastness of Nature around him; now, 
 in his new environment, he found in human companion 
 ship a stimulus previously denied him, and an intel 
 lectual comradeship in the books to which Mrs. Stewart 
 
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 introduced him, which forced him to apply as well as 
 to absorb. What Barry O Carolan had lacked in com 
 radeship in the wilderness had been made up to him in 
 the acute development of his mental faculties in match 
 ing them against the cunning of the beasts upon the 
 mastery of which his livelihood depended. Guidance 
 and opportunity alone were needed to bring his real 
 self to the surface. Mrs. Stewart and Lola both en 
 joyed his unrestrained happiness, and marveled at oc 
 casional outbursts which showed an unconsciously de 
 veloping poetic phase. In short, Barry had lost his 
 leg but found his soul. His new friends gave full credit 
 to the flowers for that. 
 
 II 
 
 One morning, as was frequently their habit, all three 
 were working together in the garden, transplanting 
 some of the younger rose bushes to form a richer mass 
 of color. There was always a running conversation, 
 started or encouraged by Mrs. Stewart or Lola, in 
 which Barry s part was quaint and optimistic, but fre 
 quently unexpected. 
 
 "Do you miss the old life, Barry?" Lola asked him; 
 "do you ever long to get back to your cabin in the hills 
 where other people can t disturb you?" 
 
 "For a long time I thought I did," he admitted; 
 "then I came to know I couldn t stand the solitude." 
 
 "That is what I should find most grateful," Lola 
 declared. 
 
 "I used to think so myself, Miss Lola ; that was why 
 I stuck to big game huntin . . . nobody to interfere 
 
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 with my thoughts, nothin to break the silence of the 
 mountains but the echoes. But that was before I went 
 up in an areoplane." 
 
 Barry always pronounced this last word with the 
 two letters transposed. His listeners failed to grasp 
 the significance of his expression. 
 
 "You never know how terrifyin solitude is til you 
 get up in the air," he explained, . . "it is so empty and 
 lonesome and still. Why, it doesn t even breathe !" 
 
 Both his hearers were surprised. 
 
 "I thought an aeroplane was the noisiest place in 
 the world," Mrs. Stewart commented. 
 
 "The engine? . . . sure," Barry admitted; "but I 
 mean the air itself. The whir of the motor and the 
 roar of the exhaust make a terrific racket, of course, 
 but this becomes so monotonous that you get used 
 to it ... it s the solitude that realty catches you. 
 Even when you re goin a hundred miles an hour it 
 seems like you were standin plumb still . . . you don t 
 go by any thin , . . just keep your bearin s by a river, 
 or a railroad, or somethin like that." 
 
 Barry stopped work for a moment and leaned against 
 his spade, his eyes looking off into the distance beyond. 
 
 "I used to think the desert was the lonesomest place 
 in the world," he continued, "but it s not a patch on the 
 air. Sometimes it s nothin but clouds, oceans of em, 
 and it seems as if the wheels were runnin along on the 
 cloud-bank. At first the beauty of it gets you, . . . 
 then it turns to loneliness and makes you shiver." 
 
 Barry paused again. Then he turned to Mrs. Stew 
 art. 
 
 [70]
 
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 "Do you believe that the soul goes up into that 
 silence, Mis Stewart, when we die?" 
 
 "That is what the Bible teaches us," she assured 
 him. "Isn t it a blessed thought to you, Barry?" 
 
 He hesitated lest he hurt her feelings. Barry had 
 lived among these people long enough now to realize 
 how insistent was their New England conscience upon 
 a literal acceptance of the Bible. 
 
 "I m not sure," he finally admitted. "I have a feelin 
 my soul would shiver all over just as I did if it went 
 up into that awful solitude . . . Do you think it would 
 be goin against the Bible if I said I d rather have my 
 soul stay down here in the warm earth with my body 
 and these roots and flowers? I think I d rather do that 
 if it don t make you folks unhappy to have me say so." 
 
 "I don t suppose it makes much difference what we 
 want, Barry," Mrs. Stewart replied kindly. "The 
 good Lord knows best what to do with our souls, and 
 all our planning won t change it. But whatever it is 
 . . ." she smiled up into his face in her motherly way, 
 which always brought a lump in his throat, . . "what 
 ever it is, Barry, you may be perfectly sure that there 
 will be no shivering and no lonesomeness." 
 
 "Of course you re right, Mis Stewart," Barry stam 
 mered, abashed that he had exposed so intimate a 
 thought. "You folks know how much I love these flow 
 ers, and it sort of pleased me to think that some day 
 p raps I could be a part of em. Flowers are different 
 from people, . . they just give you all there is of them 
 selves without your askin. I suppose that s their way 
 of sayin thank you for keepin the weeds from chokin 
 
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 em. P raps, . . ." Barry had a sudden inspiration 
 . . . "p raps people would do that if they were treated 
 the same way. There sure are a lot of human weeds in 
 this world, and it would be a tough job to get rid 
 of em." 
 
 "I presume, Barry, if it hadn t been for your acci 
 dent, you would have made aviation your work," Mrs. 
 Stewart remarked. 
 
 "No . . . ma am!" was the emphatic response. 
 
 Noting the surprise on the faces of both, Barry ex 
 plained. 
 
 "I suppose I ought to be ashamed, but I never went 
 up in a plane without bein scared. You see I did a 
 good bit of flyin , and I know the danger. I never shied 
 at goin up, for that was my job, and I always did the 
 best I knew how, but never again for me . . . from 
 choice." 
 
 As Barry moved away to bring a barrow-load of new 
 soil, Mrs. Stewart turned to Lola. 
 
 "What Barry just said confirms what you have told 
 me about the boys over there. His frank admission of 
 fear is peculiarly enlightening. The spirit of adven 
 ture which at first sustained him disappeared when 
 he learned by experience how real the dangers were. 
 . . yet he met them without hesitation whenever duty 
 called him." 
 
 "Truly, it was splendid!" Lola s face lighted as 
 the conversation recalled those gloriously terrible days. 
 "Some of the boys were fatalists, others risked their 
 lives almost needlessly through the sheer thrill of dan 
 ger, but there were many who, like Barry, faced death 
 
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 with fear in their hearts but with determination in their 
 souls to conquer it." 
 
 "This war has given us a new standard of heroism," 
 Mrs. Stewart added feelingly. "We had been taught 
 that when Leonidas and his little band of Spartans at 
 Thermopylae cast themselves headlong on the thou 
 sands of Persian invaders it was the most sublime act 
 of heroism in all history. But the Spartans knew the 
 dangers they faced, and met death with an exhaltation 
 which was adequate compensation . . . But what of 
 that courage which faces a danger the presence of 
 which is known but whose nature is an awesome mystery ! 
 That is what our boys did!" 
 
 Ill 
 
 Barry smoothed the earth around the last bush, and 
 Mrs. Stewart turned back toward the house. As he 
 straightened up he looked full into the girl s face and 
 surprised there an expression she ever sought to con 
 ceal. 
 
 "Miss Lola !" he exclaimed impulsively, "please don t 
 look like that. It s not right for me to be happy and 
 contented when you are lookin like a wounded doe." 
 
 "It s all right, Barry," Lola replied quickly, sur 
 prised at this first intrusion by her protege into her per 
 sonal affairs. "I can t seem to settle down since I came 
 home." 
 
 Barry looked at her attentively. The girl saw his 
 hesitation and she might have stopped him with a word, 
 but somehow Barry s interest did not seem an intru- 
 
 [73]
 
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 sion. She had given herself to him beyond any other 
 experience in her life. He had accepted it always in 
 the spirit in which it was offered; and during these 
 months they could not fail to come to an instinctive 
 understanding of each other s inmost feelings. She 
 knew what he was going to say unless she checked him. 
 She would have given worlds not to have it put into 
 words, yet she stood there waiting for the undesired to 
 happen. 
 
 Gaining courage by her silence Barry spoke. 
 
 "It s not that, Miss Lola, and we both know it isn t, 
 . . . but I ll tell you that it s all goin to come out 
 right." 
 
 "You don t understand, Barry," she faltered weakly, 
 with difficulty holding back the tears. 
 
 "Yes, I do," he insisted; "and now it s my turn to 
 tell you to buck up as you told me in the hospital." 
 
 "I can t bear to lose this opportunity to make my ser 
 vice count !" 
 
 "You re not goin to lose anythin , Miss Lola. Hon 
 est, you re not. You and I know that the Capt n 
 is one of the finest fellers that ever lived, and now he s 
 just driftin , that s all. He ll get his feet on the ground 
 pretty soon and everythin will be better than ever. 
 Now don t you worry. You be patient, just as you 
 used to tell me, and I ll say everythin ll come out all 
 right." 
 
 "I am worried about Mr. Richard," Lola admitted. 
 "I have been afraid that he had become so discouraged 
 that he would give up. I m trying to hold him true 
 to himself. It would be an awful pity if he gave up, 
 
 [74]
 
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 wouldn t it, Barry? You and I know how much men 
 like Mr. Richard are needed." 
 
 "He won t quit, Miss Lola," Barry insisted. "You 
 can tell that by his face. Men are just like animals. 
 When I was huntin big game I could tell just how any 
 critter was goin to behave as soon as I could get my 
 eye on his face. Some of em were tricky and some of 
 em hadn t any spunk. The rest of em might fight hard 
 but they d fight fair and never quit. The Capt n s face 
 is all right, Miss Lola. He may get terrible discour 
 aged before he strikes his gait, but I ll say he ll never 
 lie down." 
 
 "You re lucky, Barry, to be able to get away from 
 your war-self," she told him, eager to turn the conver 
 sation. "You are the only one of the boys who have 
 been over-seas who seems contented." 
 
 Barry sobered. 
 
 "If that s true, Miss Lola, it s you who has done it 
 for me. That s why I d like to be the one to make 
 things right for you. Over there, we fellers got to 
 look for things to be better than they were before. 
 They are better for me, but with the other boys they re 
 worse. I am luckier than the others. You see, I got 
 in the habit of lookin at things from the air, and 
 somehow an areoplane view is mighty different from a 
 ground view. The other fellers keep on lookin for more 
 and they re findin less. That s what keeps em upset. 
 I m sure mighty grateful for what you ve done for me, 
 Miss Lola." 
 
 "You ve done it for yourself," she protested, "and 
 you re doing much for all of us in setting an example 
 
 [75]
 
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 of how we ought to think. We are looking for so much 
 that we find less than there really is." 
 
 "I believe you re right," Barry assented eagerly, 
 as if the idea had been Lola s own, "and even if you re 
 wrong, that s a grand way to look at things. Some 
 of em couldn t do that, Miss Lola, but you can, and 
 I d enjoy my contentment a whole lot better if you 
 were happy too. Just thinkin the way you said would 
 help a lot, wouldn t it?" 
 
 "It would, Barry," she agreed without reserve; "and 
 I will put your advice right into operation. From now 
 on I m going to take an air-plane view of everything! 
 See . . ." she smiled happily . . . "I m feeling more 
 like myself already. I ll be ashamed to mope around 
 any more while you are so cheerful. By believing that 
 everything is all right, we can make it so. And Barry 
 ... do you realize how much more you have gained 
 than you have lost?" 
 
 The change in the line of thought was too abrupt 
 for him to follow, and he showed his perplexity in his 
 face. 
 
 "You lost a leg," she said significantly, . . "what 
 have you gained?" 
 
 "Oh, that!" Barry laughed aloud. "Why, Miss 
 Lola, I understand what you mean, ... it might have 
 been my eyes, so I couldn t see these flowers, or my nose, 
 so I couldn t smell em ... I understand. Shucks ! 
 What s an old leg compared with my findin you?" 
 
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 IV 
 
 As Lola returned to the house her mind centered on 
 what her protege had just said. Unconsciously he 
 had uncovered a fundamental ... it is the ground view 
 which limits the vision of the world to its own narrow, 
 selfish horizon. Until the outlook can be from above, 
 the development of peoples and of nations must stand 
 still. 
 
 [77]
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 HOW often we conscientiously believe ourselves 
 at variance with the judgment of others yet, 
 when the test comes, prove by our action that 
 this apparent difference in opinion is superficial rather 
 than basic ! It is usually the conflict between the head 
 and the heart crowding us into a corner, from which 
 coign of disadvantage the heart looks out with crooked 
 eyes! 
 
 Richard had declared to Lola that his idealism had 
 been shown to be so thoroughly impractical that he 
 had discarded it; that as he could not change the 
 world s attitude he must accept its standard, false 
 though he knew it to be. When he was called upon to 
 accept as fact that which he declared inevitable, Lola s 
 prescience proved keener than his ! 
 
 It was his father who forced it. As the days passed, 
 the relations between the two became more and more 
 intolerable. James Norton knew that the labor cauld 
 ron was seething, and endeavored to secure through 
 Richard information as to its nature. This Richard 
 steadfastly refused to give. 
 
 "Take your choice, my boy, and take it now," the 
 [78]
 
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 older man finally said. "If I ve got to fight against 
 my own flesh and blood, the sooner I know it the better. 
 If you are going to side with the men, then you are 
 against the Company and me. You can t carry water 
 on both shoulders. Which side do you take?" 
 
 Richard could not fail to detect the underlying note 
 of appeal in his father s voice, domineering as it was, 
 nor could he fail to realize that all future relations 
 between them depended upon his answer. In the sec 
 onds of tense silence which followed the question, it 
 seemed to him as if the events of his life thus far, as 
 between his father and himself, marshalled themselves 
 in a vivid series of unforgetable pictures. 
 
 II 
 
 There was his first and only physical punishment for 
 some act of childish disobedience, when his mother s 
 flashing eyes belied the calm firmness with which she 
 held his angry father at bay and left so strong an im 
 pression that James Norton never again laid hands 
 upon his son. There was that ever-present loneliness 
 which every child inevitably feels when a parent is too 
 preoccupied by other duties to give of himself in the 
 thousand and one little ways in which youth takes de 
 light. There were the constant verbal castigations 
 which seared their marks upon the developing and sen 
 sitive negative of the growing boy s mind and heart. 
 Into this brief moment of introspection came two fleet 
 ing memories which had contained elements of hope. 
 One was the tragic moment after his mother s funeral, 
 ten years before, when he and his father returned alone 
 
 [79] 
 

 
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 to the great empty house. For the first time in his life 
 the older man threw his arms about his son and drew 
 the boy to him. 
 
 "You are all I have left," he said brokenly, . . "you 
 must never disappoint me." 
 
 Richard had great expectations from that spontane 
 ous expression of feeling ; but, as the weeks and months 
 went by, his father found the relief from his loneliness 
 in longer business hours and more intense aDr>lication 
 to his work rather than in his son. Neither father 
 nor son knew how to break down the intangible barrier 
 between them, and the pregnant moment passed, leav 
 ing each thrown more than ever upon his own resources. 
 
 The unhappy curve of Richard s life took the second 
 turn upward when he left for France. For the first time 
 his father seemed pleased and gratified by an act of 
 the boy s own volition, and showed a pride in him which 
 raised hopes upon which Richard lived during those 
 long months. He was certain that this time, when he 
 returned, his father would treat him as a man, and 
 that the great house would be robbed of its emptiness 
 by the companionship each would give the other. But 
 Richard had not been home twenty-four hours before 
 he realized that he had again proved himself a disap 
 pointment, even though he could not discover in what 
 way he had fallen short of expectations ; and as time 
 went on there came an absolute conviction that he could 
 never find in his father nor could he give that which 
 each sought and craved. Now, in the question his 
 father put to him, Richard saw the final breach which 
 would destroy even the semblance of amicable relations. 
 
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 III 
 
 "Don t put it that way, father," Richard begged. 
 "I have never been disloyal to you or to the Company. 
 What I urge for the men is of equal importance to the 
 business, only you can t see it that way. There is no 
 reason why the Company should be against the men 
 or the men against the Company. The interests are 
 identical, and knowing both sides better than any one 
 else ought to make me of even greater value to you." 
 
 "It would, if you were willing to use your knowledge 
 for my benefit; but you won t tell me what the men s 
 plans are." 
 
 "Nor will I tell the men what your plans are. You 
 wouldn t have me yellow either way, would you?" 
 
 "You re paid by the Company . . ." 
 
 "Not to spy on the men." 
 
 "You re paid to do as you re told, and I ve told you 
 to find out what the men plan to do, so that we can head 
 them off." 
 
 Richard was silent. 
 
 "You still refuse?" 
 
 "Why don t you let the men appoint a committee and 
 lay the situation squarely before them? They can t 
 believe that things have turned as you and I know 
 they have, but they would believe it if you showed them 
 that bunch of cancelations and let them see how our 
 inventories have dropped. Then listen to what they 
 have to say on their side . . . That s all I ask." 
 
 "You d have me treat them as partners, I suppose," 
 Norton retorted. 
 
 [81]
 
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 "They are partners. They always have been, and 
 they are entitled to your confidence." 
 
 "Why not turn the business over to them and be done 
 with it? If you are going to preach sovietism you 
 might as well go the whole hog." 
 
 "Please, father," Richard implored. "You know 
 I m no bolshevist. This means more to me than any 
 thing that has ever come into my life. I have lived 
 a century these last two years, and I have been face 
 to face with conditions which have never come even to 
 you. The war has given the men a new viewpoint, 
 while many of those who are running our great indus 
 trial plants, like you, father, have stood still. Your 
 methods may have been all right before the new view 
 point came, but you must take it into account now. 1 
 didn t create it, the men didn t create it, . . the war 
 did. I don t need to say whether I approve of it or 
 not, but it exists, and you can t get away from it. Why 
 not recognize the fact now voluntarily before you are 
 forced to do so by the men themselves? Why not make 
 use of me and my experience to put the new arrange 
 ment across?" 
 
 James Norton had been ominously calm. Richard 
 knew his moods, and the present one precluded the pos 
 sibility of successful argument. 
 
 "You re wasting your time and mine," Norton said 
 with determination. "I have listened to you because 
 you are my son. I would have thrown any one else 
 out of the room who tried to talk such damned nonsense 
 to me. Now get this . . . there may be a possibility of 
 compromise in some things, but never in loyalty. You 
 
 [82]
 
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 can t be almost loyal. Either you are with the Com 
 pany or with the men. I am the Company. Labor has 
 no place in the management of any concern, and I ll 
 close these doors before I ll be false to my responsibility 
 as the head of this corporation." 
 
 IV 
 
 Richard rose and walked slowly around the room, 
 his father following every footstep. There was a nervous 
 twitching in the older man s face which alone showed 
 the emotion which he held so well under control. At 
 last Richard turned suddenly. 
 
 "Father," he said quietly, with all evidence of his 
 resentment dispelled, "we never have hitched up well 
 together, and I ve no doubt it s mostly my fault. But 
 I m older now. I ve had experiences which have knocked 
 the boy out of me. These have given me convictions 
 which are entitled to respect just as much as yours. 
 Because these convictions are different, is it necessary 
 for us to quarrel? Can t we meet each other as men 
 now, each with tolerance for the other s ideas, each 
 willing to test the other s convictions and in that way 
 prove which is right?" 
 
 "Why waste any time on that when I know you are 
 wrong to begin with?" 
 
 "Wouldn t it be worth that waste of time to win 
 me over to your ideas, if you are so sure that you are 
 right?" 
 
 "I ought not to be obliged to win you. It should be 
 enough for me to tell you." 
 
 "Perhaps it would be . . ." Richard hung on, hoping 
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 against hope . . . "if our differences affected only me. 
 But I feel the situation so keenly ! I fought for some 
 thing in France, father, which hasn t come true. We 
 thought we were victorious but to have such relations 
 
 D 
 
 as at present exist right here between employer and 
 employed proves that all our effort has really ac 
 complished nothing." 
 
 "There s no difference between these relations and 
 those which existed before the war," Norton insisted. 
 * The men have used the conditions produced by the 
 catacylsm to help them put their blackmail across. 
 Now the time has come when they can t do that any 
 longer, and the old relations must be re-established." 
 "That can never be . . ." Richard declared seri 
 ously. 
 
 "It shall be," his father retorted. "What you have 
 said emphasizes the necessity. You suggest that I try 
 out your way to prove that you are wrong? I pro 
 pose to try my way to prove that I am right. Rebel 
 lious sons need discipline and demonstration as well as 
 rebellious workmen. I ll break you just as I will break 
 them !" 
 
 "It can t be done," Richard declared firmly. 
 "I ve done it before, and I can do it again." 
 Norton became more insensed by his son s repeated 
 statement. 
 
 "No, father; it s different now. Before, you were 
 fighting against men whose horizon was limited to the 
 tops of their machines. Today you are up against an 
 idea, born in the midst of bursting bombs and flying 
 shrapnel, under the light of floating star-shells. Do 
 
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 you suppose that a man who has absorbed that idea 
 will ever again permit you or any other employer 
 to treat him as a chattel? Those of us who have faced 
 death without flinching are today facing life with the 
 same determination. Break us? Why, it can t be 
 done ! The idea is bigger than all of us put together, 
 and is indestructible !" 
 
 Norton regarded his son steadily. There was no 
 mistaking the new note of authority in Richard s voice. 
 His father realized at last that he was dealing with a 
 man. 
 
 "You are more than a rebellious son," he said at 
 length; "you have become a dangerous fanatic. This 
 sort of talk will hypnotize a mob of ignorant workmen, 
 but it doesn t go down with me. The man who works 
 for money has always been and must always be sub 
 servient to the man with money. Any effort to change 
 that relation means industrial revolution. If what you 
 say is true, then this industrial revolution is upon us, 
 and it is time for those who represent capital to fight 
 for their principles. I for one am ready to accept the 
 challenge now. It is for you to say whether you are 
 with the men or with the Company." 
 
 Richard realized that the discussion was at an end. 
 There was no possibility of breaking the deadlock. Two 
 roads lay before him, but there was only one he could 
 take. 
 
 "All right," he said quietly, with no effort to con 
 ceal his disappointment ; "there is nothing more I can 
 say. You ask where I stand, ... I am neither for the 
 men nor for the Company. I stand for the new indus- 
 
 [85]
 
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 trial relations which recognize the rights of both. Be 
 cause of you and men like you, who have listened all 
 these years to the roar of their machinery instead of 
 to the heartbeat of the world, . . because of radicals 
 in the labor ranks created by the system you uphold, 
 . . it means a fight to establish these new relations; 
 and this is where I enlist. I hoped to work it out as 
 your son . . . with your help and with your understand 
 ing. As that is impossible, I ll do it now as one of 
 your workmen. And I pray God that the price we all 
 have to pay to make right right is not greater than 
 we can stand!" 
 
 "Then you defy me!" Norton said at length, his 
 grizzled face aging in the moment. "I suppose you 
 realize what that means?" 
 
 "In the Civil War it became necessary in certain 
 cases for sons to take up arms against the cause their 
 fathers fought for," Richard answered soberly. "His 
 tory is repeating itself, but for the first time I realize 
 what agony those sons suffered." 
 
 "So be it," the old man said huskily. "Henceforth 
 I stand as the last of the Nortons." 
 "Father, I beg of you . . ." 
 
 Richard held out his hand beseechingly, but there 
 was no response from the huddled figure sitting at the 
 desk. 
 
 Gradually James Norton regained control of him 
 self. The figure stiffened, and with a dramatic gesture 
 he pointed to the door. Richard obeyed the command, 
 turning with a last appeal to the stern face before 
 he stepped beyond the threshold. Old Hannah, an 
 
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 elderly dependent of the household for more than a 
 quarter century, who could not avoid hearing this alter 
 cation, as she had heard many others, was waiting in 
 the hall with tears streaming down her face. She seized 
 his hand and kissed it. He was her boy . . . her s, 
 since his mother died . . . being driven from home, 
 and her heart was broken. Richard tried to speak 
 a word of gratitude, but the lump in his throat pre 
 vented anything but the silent pressure of her hand. 
 Then he closed the door and walked out into the dark 
 ness. 
 
 V 
 
 Lola would have told him what he did not realize, 
 . . . that what seemed darkness was really light, that 
 he had at that moment turned his vision into action, 
 and that at last the vision had found voice. 
 
 [87]
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 TONY LEMHOLTZ was a power among the work 
 men in the Norton factory, and a shining ex 
 ample of what personal magnetism can ac 
 complish without education in swaying the ideas and 
 actions of other men. Tony was a fire-brand, and half 
 the trouble he created in his labor-leadership came from 
 the sheer delight of exercising his will over his fellow- 
 workmen. Olga Mirovich was the only one he failed 
 to influence, and perhaps that was why Tony was so 
 furiously in love with her. Olga laughed at him, de 
 fied him, ridiculed him, yet she would miss the violence 
 of his devotion for it gratified her vanity. Richard 
 and Tony had been good friends until now, but the 
 rumors of Olga s new interest in the son of her em 
 ployer did not bode well for future friendship. 
 
 At the present moment, Lemholtz was in his element. 
 The notice posted by the management that a reduced 
 wage scale would be put into effect gave him something 
 definite to work upon. The action of the Company 
 in laying off men and running short hours came just 
 at the time when plans were maturing to make further 
 demands for increased wages, and to pull off the big 
 
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 strike. This action frightened some of the timid and 
 more conservative members of the union, and caused 
 a delay in action. The union officials were convinced 
 that the wage cut was simply part of a backfire started 
 by the management to forestall the demands of the 
 men. One by one Tony persuaded the recalcitrants to 
 get back into line by picturing the enormous profits 
 which their efforts had piled up for the Company, 
 and the necessity of standing with unbroken front when 
 Oppression sought to rob Labor of its rightful share 
 in the profits which opportunity had recently given 
 them. This was the moment for which Tony had been 
 impatiently waiting, and he was eager to make the 
 most of it. 
 
 The situation also provided an opening for him to 
 gratify his personal spite. It could scarcely have been 
 a coincidence that the management should have taken 
 their action at the precise moment which would stop 
 the union in its aggressive plans. Some one on the 
 inside must have squealed, and it was more than plausi 
 ble to suggest that Richard Norton, posing as a friend 
 of the workmen, was in reality acting as a spy of the 
 Company. Tony Lemholtz was a good judge of men, 
 and in his heart he was not so firmly convinced of Rich 
 ard s culpability as would appear from the flat accusa 
 tion he made to the men; but it suited his purpose to 
 believe him guilty, particularly in his conversations 
 with Olga; and he did not permit the opportunity to 
 pass by. 
 
 "I will not believe it," the girl asserted vehemently. 
 "Mr. Richard Norton is not that kind." 
 
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 "Mister Richard Norton!" Tony sneered. "You 
 make me sick! If he is one of us, why do you keep 
 stickin on the mister ?" 
 
 "Because he is a gentleman, Tony Lemholtz," Olga 
 retorted hotly, "and because he is my friend." 
 
 "Gentlemen don t mix with workin -people, and when 
 they re friends with factory-girls there s always some 
 good reason." 
 
 "You know me, Tony Lemholtz, and so you know you 
 lie. Mr. Richard Norton wants to help us, and he will 
 if you don t stop him. He is my friend, and I trust 
 him. That is more than I can say of you." 
 
 Tony s face darkened. 
 
 "We shall see," he muttered. "The men will believe 
 what I tell em. You can say what you like to the 
 women . . . they don t count. Except for Mister 
 Richard Norton you would still be my girl, and he had 
 better look out for himself. He is a spy, and I will 
 get him for that. He will do you dirt, and I will get 
 him for that. He had better keep out of my way. 
 Damn Mister Richard Norton!" 
 
 Olga laughed tantalizingly. 
 
 "You are a big stiff, Tony Lemholtz ! Mr. Richard 
 Norton could tie you into a double knot with one hand, 
 and have the other free to slap your face. We shall 
 see tonight at the meeting whether the men believe 
 he is a spy. But if you play your dirty tricks on him 
 . . ." Olga s eyes snapped . . . "remember, Tony 
 Lemholtz, I know you. I will get him for that, mimick 
 ing Tony s voice to perfection. "All right, . . then. 
 I will get you!" 
 
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 II 
 
 The meeting Olga referred to was called by the union 
 for this Saturday night to take joint action on the ques 
 tion of the reduced wage scale. It was a foregone con 
 clusion that a strike would be called, and the Company 
 was prepared to meet the issue. Tony had done his 
 work well, and the men stood as a solid phalanx ; Olga s 
 work with the women was equally complete. Between 
 them, these two controlled the situation, so the meeting 
 was scarcely more than a formality to record the voice 
 of the working force, and to formulate plans for defi 
 nite and concerted action. Tony knew that Richard 
 Norton would be present. This could not be prevented, 
 for Richard was a full-fledged member of the union, and 
 in good standing. Tony had no evidence to substanti 
 ate the impression he had fostered among the men as 
 to Richard s alleged treachery ; but Tony had swayed 
 men before by his personal magnetism, and what had 
 been done once could be done again. 
 
 Lemholtz at once assumed control of the meeting. 
 He rehearsed in glowing pictures the advantages which 
 had come to the Company from the efforts of the work 
 ers in the months during and succeeding the war period. 
 He compared the conditions of the workers preceding 
 this time and at present. He emphasized the fact that 
 the concessions made by the Company were not volun 
 tary, but because necessitated by economic conditions ; 
 and now, at the first opportunity, the Company sought 
 to restore the old serfdom. In this effort they would 
 be successful if the workers did not stand together to 
 
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 the bitter end. The plant could not be operated with 
 out them. The power lay in their hands, and if they 
 failed to use it they would prove themselves the dumb 
 things the management believed them to be. All that 
 was necessary to establish their present wages as a 
 minimum was to stick together, and he called upon 
 them now to assert their manhood by resisting the man 
 agement at every point. 
 
 A roar of approval greeted the close of Tony s ha 
 rangue, and he seated himself well satisfied with the 
 result of his efforts. As the applause died away he 
 again sprang to his feet. 
 
 "The vote!" he cried, . . . "and make it unani 
 mous !" 
 
 "Not so fast !" 
 
 Richard s voice sounded clear and dominating as 
 he rose in the center of the hall. 
 
 "I have something to say first." 
 
 "Don t listen to him," Tony cried, waving his arms 
 dramatically. "He is a spy." 
 
 "Prove it!" 
 
 Richard crowded by the men and strode down the 
 aisle toward the stage, never taking his eyes from 
 Tony s face. 
 
 "Prove it!" he repeated after he had mounted the 
 few steps and stood before his accuser. "Every per 
 son in this room believes in fair play. If I am a spy, 
 prove it and I will take the consequences. If you can t, 
 then I claim my right to speak." 
 
 "Who told the boss two weeks ago we were planning 
 to strike?" 
 
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 "Not I, and you know me well enough, Tony Lera- 
 holtz, to know that I would not lie. If I had believed 
 it to be my duty to tell him, I should have done so, but 
 I should have told you all that I was going to do it. 
 After what I ve faced in France, I m not afraid to face 
 anything here . , . Tony Lemholtz has made a state 
 ment he knows is false. At the right time he shall 
 answer to me for it, but not now. We have something 
 more important than personal quarrels to settle to 
 night . . . Will you listen to me?" 
 
 "Let him speak," came from all over the hall as 
 Richard held out his arms asking for their answer. 
 
 Tony shrugged his shoulders, and sullenly resumed 
 his seat. 
 
 "What Tony says is Gospel truth," Richard began 
 without preliminaries. "The management of this com 
 pany . . . and by that I mean my own father . . . 
 has always looked upon labor as a commodity, to be 
 bought and sold like any other, and subject to the 
 same laws of demand and supply. He is not alone in 
 that attitude, and what we as workmen do now ought 
 to be an object lesson for every great industrial plant 
 in America." 
 
 "Good stuff!" some one in the audience shouted. 
 "We ll show em that we are the people !" 
 
 "What these old-type managers fail to realize," 
 Richard went on without regarding the interruption, 
 "is that a workman can never be degraded to the level 
 of a machine ; that he has a personality which goes into 
 his work; and that it is this personality which estab 
 lishes the quality of his product." 
 
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 "What s all this got to do with the strike ?" demanded 
 Tony, made uneasy by the attention the workers were 
 giving to the speaker. 
 
 "Shut up!" . . . "Let him talk" ... the men re 
 torted. 
 
 "Until the war shook things up, the wages of labor 
 were too low," Richard continued, . . "since then, they 
 have advanced to a point beyond what can be main 
 tained. Labor must never again accept the old condi 
 tions. The higher wages have given the working-people 
 a taste of greater things, and they require an increased 
 income to gratify their new-born desires. On the other 
 hand, labor will destroy the advantage it has now gained 
 if it insists on a wage-scale so high that employers 
 cannot produce commodities at a price at which they 
 can be sold. The management of the Norton Manu 
 facturing Company is undertaking to establish a scale 
 which will meet present conditions. What they suggest 
 may be right and it may not. We are entitled to know 
 whether it is fair. A wage-scale is a vital matter, in 
 which employer and employed have a common interest, 
 and neither one has the right to establish it without 
 conference with the other. I believe that one of the 
 things we fought for in this war was to establish a new 
 basis ... a fair one . . . for the working-class ; and 
 that cannot be arrived at unless each side considers the 
 necessities of the other. Neither Labor nor Capital 
 must forget its inter-dependence." 
 
 "Watch him! He s tryin to slip somethin* over on 
 us!" Tony yelled, but Richard gave no heed either to 
 him or the cries of protest against the interruption. 
 
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 He was fired by his subject and overjoyed that the 
 audience would listen to him. 
 
 "What I want to see now is not a fight simply to 
 resist wage reduction. That may or may not ac 
 complish what we have in mind, but at best it means 
 doing it all over again every time a difference arises 
 between us and the management. Now is the time 
 to establish the fact that the workers are an integral 
 part of every industrial concern, that they insist upon 
 getting the share that rightfully belongs to them, that 
 they are prepared to give proper return for this right 
 ful share. Now is the time to show the world that Labor 
 stands ready to recognize Capital as a co-partner and 
 not as an enemy, putting the onus on Capital to refuse 
 the co-partnership if it is unwilling to accept a fair 
 basis of relationship." 
 
 Murmurs ran around the hall. 
 
 "What do you mean by giving proper return?" some 
 one asked. 
 
 "Just what we demand from Capital," Richard 
 shouted, turning toward the speaker. "In our pay 
 envelopes we receive genuine money, one hundred cents 
 on the dollar. How long would we stand for it if some 
 of that money was counterfeit, or if we were short 
 changed? Yet every one of us knows that we are not 
 giving the management one hundred per cent, value in 
 the quality of our work, or sixty minutes full capacity 
 for every hour." 
 
 "It s a trick!" Tony yelled, jumping to his feet, and 
 in various parts of the hall men were rising in protest 
 against the speaker. But before the outbreak was 
 
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 sufficient to drown the voices, John Sibley, one of the 
 ex-service men, stood on his chair, his stentorian tone 
 rising above the clamor. 
 
 "Let him finish, men !" he cried. "He fought with us 
 in France . . . He is fighting for us here . . . Let 
 him finish what he has to say." 
 
 Ill 
 
 As the threatened outburst subsided, Richard re 
 sumed, but he spoke in a quieter, calmer tone which was 
 even more effective. 
 
 "Yes, fellows ; I fought with you in France. We are 
 still fighting and must keep at it until the Prussianism 
 of the industrial world is beaten. There is no trick 
 underlying what I say, but we can t win unless we 
 are ready to give as well as take. The future of the 
 world depends upon production, and production rests 
 in our hands. The conditions under which production 
 shall be carried on will remain in our hands if what we 
 ask is fair, and we enforce it by demanding no more 
 than we are prepared to give. Capital has been unfair ; 
 Labor, with its newly-discovered power, is repeating 
 the mistake Capital has made. If we are red-blooded 
 men instead of machines, why do we limit our output, 
 which in itself destroys our individuality? If we de 
 mand our full rights, are we honest if we show ourselves 
 wasteful in our production?" 
 
 "What in hell has all this to do with the strike?" 
 Tony demanded. "Are you in favor of striking or not?" 
 
 "I am," Richard retorted, "if we have to strike to 
 secure our rights; and frankly I believe we will. But 
 
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 let us do it with intelligence, and not as a mob. Is the 
 management justified in cutting wages? Have they 
 made the profits we believe they have? Why have they 
 decided to run short time?" 
 
 "Fine!" sneered Tony. "Go ask your papa those 
 questions, and then come back and tell us !" 
 
 "It is not for me to ask except as your accredited 
 representative, but it is for us to find out. We have 
 a right to ask and a right to know. I have no idea that 
 the management will tell us. If they do not, then the 
 responsibility for what happens is theirs. I propose 
 that a committee be appointed to draw up a statement 
 to the management, making a demand for representa 
 tion in the running of the Company, through which we 
 may know the authoritative answers to these questions, 
 and to all others which may arise. Let us make it 
 clear that at all times we insist upon receiving as wages 
 our full share of the return from our efforts, at the 
 same time granting Capital and Management a similarly 
 fair return. If our demand for this representation is 
 granted, and it probably will not be, then let the first 
 duty of our representatives be to discover whether this 
 wage-cut is warranted, and govern ourselves accord 
 ingly. If it is warranted then a return to prosperous 
 conditions will come quicker if we recognize it, and this 
 prosperity will automatically restore our present wages 
 or increase them. If this demand for representation 
 be denied, then let us strike to enforce not merely the 
 present question, but the bigger, basic principle which 
 when won will give us our full share, and will guarantee 
 permanent prosperity." 
 
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 Richard took no part in the turmoil which followed 
 his speech. Returning to his seat in the midst of the 
 uproar, he listened to the harangues made by Tony and 
 the younger radical element of the union in answer to 
 remarks of the older men who were interested in Rich 
 ard s suggestions. That he was concerned in the out 
 come was shown by the tenseness of his expression, and 
 the sharp, penetrating glances he shot at the men 
 around him, trying to read their minds. 
 
 IV 
 
 That John Sibley had stood as his champion was of 
 peculiar significance to Richard, for he was one of 
 those ex-service boys who came back from heroic deeds 
 over-seas with the idea that their work was finished. 
 Sibley was as splendid an example of young American 
 manhood as one would wish to see. Fired to a burst 
 of patriotism by his country s call to arms, he enlisted 
 as a private and fought his way to glory and a cap 
 taincy. He made an enviable record, and deserved 
 the hysterical welcome home given to those first return 
 ing troops. Every one looked upon him as a hero, 
 and he saw no reason to disagree with them . . Then 
 came the disillusioning. His old position in the factory 
 was given back to him. That was good enough for 
 John Sibley, private, but far beneath the dignity of 
 Captain John Sibley. Why should he not be advanced 
 in civilian life as he had been in the army? This am 
 bition was laudable, and might have been attained if 
 he had attacked his work with the ferocity he showed 
 when he fought the Boches ; but that the fault lay 
 
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 at his door never occurred to him. In his own eyes he 
 was still a hero, now neglected, and he was forever look 
 ing and waiting for that applause which was so omin 
 ously lacking. The world was unappreciative and 
 against him ! This made grievances easy to find. 
 
 If Richard s conception of the new industrial rela 
 tions appealed to a man of the Sibley type there must 
 be something in it beyond an expression of idealism. 
 If, through it, industry could receive the benefit of the 
 best that men like Sibley could contribute, success was 
 assured. Should his efforts fail, Richard felt that his 
 last interest in anything would disappear; if he won, 
 then the flame ignited in France still flared, translated 
 into living practicality. If the great common cause still 
 survived beneath the debris of deadening non-essentials, 
 he need no longer fear that he was on the outside of 
 the world, for he could again buckle on the armor of 
 the Crusader and make himself a part of that world. 
 What wonder that he felt himself on trial ! 
 
 It was a small thing that turned the verdict in the 
 closest and most bitter fight the Norcross union ever 
 passed through. Tony s impassioned tirades held to 
 gether the rabid members, but they would have voted 
 with him under any circumstances. There were enough 
 of the conservative element to outvote the others if 
 they could be united. The speeches of Alec Sterling, 
 the stolid superintendent of the works, and John Sibley 
 helped to do this ; but it was little Olga Mirovich who 
 won over the doubtful balance of power. 
 
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 "Hell!" she cried at the top of her voice, climbing 
 onto an upturned packing-case. "You are making a 
 lot of fuss over nothing. Let us appoint the committee 
 as Mr. Richard Norton asks us to do. They will get 
 nothing but the door when they see the boss, and then 
 we can have the strike any way. That will satisfy 
 every one, and the bug will be on the boss!" 
 
 VI 
 
 The committee was appointed, with Richard its 
 chairman, and Tony Lemholtz left the meeting with but 
 the tattered shreds of his former power. A new labor 
 leader had arisen in Norcross. 
 
 [1003
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 A FORTNIGHT had passed since the afternoon 
 when Lola exhorted Richard to remain true to 
 his idealism by translating his vision into ac 
 tion. During those days which had been so eventful in 
 Richard s life she had received no word from him, so 
 she could only conclude that in spite of her hopefulness 
 she had failed to arouse him beyond temporary interest. 
 What could she do to bring him to a realization of her 
 devotion to him? What could she say which would ap 
 ply the spark necessary for his complete understand 
 ing ? She wished that she might bring herself to believe 
 with Richard that their marriage would supply him 
 with a continued inspiration to strive for his ideal; 
 but knowing him, and feeling sure that possession would 
 remove the only incentive, she was sure that his salva 
 tion lay in her steadfast adherence to the position she 
 had taken. 
 
 Rumors came and went as to labor troubles at the 
 plant, but there was nothing to associate Richard s 
 name with them until Treadway dropped in for an after 
 noon cup of tea. After his usual desultory conversa 
 tion, the caller broached the subject on which Lola was 
 
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 most anxious to receive news and which she most dreaded 
 to approach. 
 
 "Have you seen Dick lately?" he inquired suddenly. 
 
 "Not . . . for a few days," she replied, unwilling 
 to admit how long it had really been. 
 
 "Dick doesn t have much time for his social duties 
 now," Treadway went on smoothly. "I suppose you 
 know he s turned red?" 
 
 "Turned red?" Lola repeated. "What do you 
 mean?" 
 
 "Oh, bolshevist, labor agitator, socialist, . . all that 
 sort of thing, you know. Too bad, isn t it, a fine chap 
 like Dick?" 
 
 "Tell me about it," she urged, manifesting an interest 
 which stimulated her companion. 
 
 "Why, I thought every one knew . . ." 
 
 Treadway blew a cloud of cigarette smoke in front of 
 him. 
 
 "Had an awful row with his father, you know, told 
 him how he ought to run his business, threatened him 
 with all sorts of calamities if he didn t change his meth 
 ods, left the family roof and fig tree, and now he s living 
 in a tenement down near the plant." 
 
 Lola wondered. Did this mean that Richard had re 
 ceived another blow, or that he himself had struck one? 
 Much might have happened during that fortnight. 
 Had these days disclosed to him the direction in which 
 his opportunity lay, or had this break with his father 
 supplied the final evidence that the world was hopelessly 
 askew? Lola suffered from the suspense. 
 
 "Poor Dick !" she exclaimed sympathetically. "I am 
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 so sorry ! No one knows what that boy has gone 
 through since he came home !" 
 
 "I ll say it must have gone to his head, if you ask 
 me," Treadway explained. "Dick was all right before 
 the war. Must have got shell-shock or something like 
 that, don t you think?" 
 
 "I don t believe those who stayed at home can under 
 stand just what is the matter with Dick," Lola re 
 marked quietly; but Treadway felt the sting. 
 
 "Don t knock," he protested. "You know I would 
 have gone if I hadn t been necessary to an essential in 
 dustry." 
 
 "Some felt they were necessary to an essential war." 
 
 "Oh, you re trying to make me feel uncomfortable, 
 Lola, but you can t do it. Perhaps you might have, 
 a year ago, but all that hurrah boys stuff has gone into 
 the discard how. I did my part, and my conscience is 
 clear. Unlike Nathan Hale, my only regret is that I 
 have but one life to live for my country . . . Now 
 don t be unfair to me." 
 
 Lola held back the reply which was on her lips. 
 Treadway s "war-service" had always been a sore point 
 with her, but there was nothing to be gained by raising 
 it now. Besides, she wanted to learn of Richard. 
 
 "Tell me about Dick," she urged ... "I interrupted 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, yes," Treadway assented cheerfully; glad to 
 turn the conversation upon a more agreeable subject. 
 "He s thrown young Lemholtz out of the saddle as 
 labor leader, and jumped in himself. Clever, I ll admit, 
 but it is too bad for Dick to do it, isn t it? The old 
 
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 man is quite upset, you know. Can t blame him for 
 that, can we?" 
 
 Treadway s obvious delight in being the harbinger 
 of such tidings was mortifying, for the fact that she 
 had not already learned the news from Richard himself 
 was an admission of altered conditions. But there was 
 nothing now to conceal, and she must know all that 
 Treadway could tell her. 
 
 "Of course, it is terrible for Dick and his father to 
 have a break," Lola said with real feeling, . . . "each 
 of them needs the other so much. But I don t under 
 stand yet just what has happened." 
 
 "I ll explain. The men were going to make all sorts 
 of demands, and Dick has put them up to some they 
 never thought of before, . . factory representation and 
 all that sort of thing. They have made him chairman 
 or something of the kind of their committee, and he in 
 sists on seeing the entire Board of Directors. Not the 
 General Manager, if you please, but the entire Board 
 of Directors! What do you think of that? Why, his 
 father is still frothing at the mouth !" 
 
 "What are the demands he is going to make?" she 
 inquired, striving to conceal her real interest. 
 
 These were not the acts of a despairing man ! Could 
 it be that her exhortation was beginning to bear fruit? 
 
 "Oh, yes," Treadway replied ; . . "that is, I can tell 
 you some of them. He . . ." 
 
 "Suppose you let me answer Lola s question myself." 
 
 "Oh, Dick !" the girl cried, rising and holding out her 
 hand to him impulsively; "where did you drop from?" 
 
 "Sorry to interrupt," he said, looking steadily at 
 
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 Treadway. "I came up the north steps. Treadway 
 has apparently told you all the news, but perhaps I 
 can supply some of the details. I ll wait for you inside." 
 "Oh, I must be going," Treadway exclaimed, rising 
 hastily in his embarrassment. "Promised to meet the 
 boys at the club, and I m late now. So long." 
 
 II 
 
 Lola led the way into the house. There was a great 
 joy in her face as she looked up into his from the 
 huge chair into which she threw herself. She needed 
 no word from him to know that at last the spark had 
 kindled into flame. It mattered little where or how, 
 . . the fact was obvious. 
 
 "I don t know how much Treadway has told you, 
 . ." Richard began. 
 
 "Never mind what he said. I want to know it all 
 from the beginning." 
 
 "Well," he began, "first of all, I want to tell you how 
 sorry I am that I am to be a disappointment to you, 
 just as I have been to my father." 
 
 Lola sobered. 
 
 "Oh, Dick ! I cannot believe that ! When I saw 
 your face I was sure that at last you had found your 
 self." 
 
 "I have, Lola, but not the way you expected . . . 
 And truly, I did want to please you, dear ! Things have 
 moved so fast since I saw you that I could not even 
 get here to tell you about them. There is going to be 
 trouble at the plant and apparently I am to be in the 
 thick of it." 
 
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 Then he told her in detail of the heated discussion 
 with his father, of his work with the men, of the strug 
 gle with Tony Lemholtz, and his final victory over 
 the radicals. Lola could scarcely believe that this was 
 the same Richard. The pall of discouragement had fal 
 len from him ; there was purpose in every word, author 
 ity and decision in every motion. 
 
 "Have you an idea that your father will even con 
 sider such a proposition as you suggest?" Lola asked 
 as he paused. 
 
 "Not a chance," Richard acknowledged. "If the set 
 tlement of the present situation is left to him it means 
 hardship for the men and bankruptcy for the business. 
 That is why I am trying to go over his head. I want 
 a chance to show the Directors just what this thing 
 means, and I can t do that to a man who won t even 
 listen to me. Your father could be a wonderful help, 
 Lola. The way he talked the other day makes me 
 think he might be sympathetic. Will you help me win 
 him over?" 
 
 "Of course I ll help, Dick." 
 
 "It is going to be a tremendous proposition to put 
 across, but it s worth a fight, isn t it? Think, Lola, 
 what it would mean ! Employers and employed work 
 ing together as partners, . . the energy now wasted by 
 each in fighting the other concentrated on production, 
 . . all animated by a common interest, sharing in a 
 common prosperity ! It is so logical if each will recog 
 nize the other s importance to himself, and cease try 
 ing to get more than his share." 
 
 He was so consumed by the excitement of having a 
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 new world open before him that he actually trembled. 
 As Lola listened to him a great joy came into her heart. 
 
 "Why did you think that this would be a disappoint 
 ment to me?" she asked quietly. 
 
 "You had your heart so set on that vision of mine." 
 
 She looked at him to make sure that he was serious. 
 What a big, blessed, lovable idiot the boy was ! 
 
 "Why, Dick !" she cried, "this is your vision ! Don t 
 you realize it? The voice has come! You have ac 
 cepted the call." 
 
 He looked at her in complete bewilderment for a 
 moment ; then a new light came into his face, culminat 
 ing in a radiant smile. 
 
 "I believe you are right! Lola, . . I really believe 
 you are right! It is the same thing, isn t it?" 
 
 "Of course it is, Dick. It is making a practical ap 
 plication of the idealism which meant so much to you in 
 France. What more could you possibly ask?" 
 
 Even now the realization of the fact was almost be 
 yond him, but the truth could not be denied. 
 
 "I knew that you could do it, Dick !" Lola declared. 
 "It was worth a little misunderstanding, wasn t it? It 
 was worth waiting for. I knew that you could not feel 
 as you had and then slip back. That was what I was 
 trying to make you see, dear. Will you forgive me 
 for seeming to be unkind?" 
 
 But Richard s thoughts were too firmly centered 
 upon the opportunity he saw before him to recognize 
 the personal appeal which the girl s words contained. 
 
 "Why, it is even bigger than anything I ever thought 
 of in France, isn t it?" he exclaimed joyfully. "It is so 
 
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 big that we can t expect to do more than make a 
 start, but if I can even do that I shall be satisfied. If 
 the American Legion would only throw its weight to 
 force the issue nothing could stop it. This is just the 
 kind of constructive work they ought to do. The 
 Legion was formed to combat the autocracy of both 
 the classes and the masses ; to make right the master 
 of might; to promote peace and good-will on earth; 
 to safeguard and transmit to posterity the principles 
 of justice, freedom, and democracy. Its members, 
 pledged to these articles of incorporation are to be 
 found among the employers and the employed. Indus 
 trial peace means production, and production means 
 the solution of the world s problem today." 
 
 "Oh, Dick !" Lola cried, fired by his enthusiasm. "If 
 that could only be spread over the country, over the 
 world ! Isn t there some little way I could help ?" 
 
 "Of course, Lola," he answered with unconscious 
 patronage, oblivious to the part she had already 
 played; "but I particularly need your father. I also 
 need every one who can see beyond himself and his own 
 petty little personal interests. For the struggle will 
 not be with Capital alone. The labor organizations 
 are handicapped by those who think only of them 
 selves. The mass of the workers are honest and sincere 
 in seeking a fair return for their efforts, and are will 
 ing to give a full equivalent. Those who influence them 
 to do otherwise are traitors to their own brothers, and 
 must be weeded out. But they ll fight, and by confus 
 ing the real issue will divide the men and endanger our 
 success." 
 
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 "You have your own men back of you . . ." 
 
 "Only partially. Tony Lemholtz and his radicals 
 are against me from the start. Sterling and the 
 conservatives are with me. Little Olga Mirovich is 
 my right-hand man. I don t know what I d do with 
 out her." 
 
 Richard was too obsessed by his subject to notice 
 the expression which passed over Lola s face, so her 
 question surprised him. 
 
 "Is Olga only a right-hand man, Dick?" she asked 
 pointedly. "Olga is a woman, and a very pretty one." 
 
 Richard looked at her a moment and then laughed. 
 
 "If I didn t know you so well, Lola, I d think you 
 were jealous! No ; there s nothing like that. Olga and 
 I have a big common interest, but aside from that the 
 child simply amuses me." 
 
 "She is no child, Dick," Lola said gravely, . . "and 
 people are talking." 
 
 A wave of angry color surged through Richard s 
 face. 
 
 "They re talking, are they? Well ... let them 
 talk ! There s nothing between Olga and me which isn t 
 thoroughly respectable, even measured by standards 
 you and I know are stupid. Until the world learns the 
 difference between essentials and non-essentials, and to 
 mind its own business, people will waste their breath 
 like that. A man s life is made up of his work and his 
 pleasures. It s clear to me now what my work is to 
 be; my pleasures I will pluck as I can, for there are 
 to be few enough for me at best . . . Cheer up, O 
 mentor o mine! I m feeling very happy today, . , 
 
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 Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, 
 
 Old Time is still a-flying, 
 And this same flower that smiles today 
 
 Tomorrow will be dying, 
 
 he quoted irrelevantly. "Let s talk of real things." 
 
 "Can t we talk a little about ourselves, Dick?" she 
 began. "Surely that is real. I haven t seen you for 
 nearly two weeks." 
 
 "That subject is taboo, Lola," was the quick answer. 
 "It leads to but one conclusion, and that you ve asked 
 me to avoid." 
 
 "But suppose . . ." 
 
 "I have come to see things your way, Lola," Richard 
 went on. "It hasn t been easy, but I ve brought myself 
 to believe that you are right in saying that neither one 
 of us in ready yet to think of marriage. What you 
 said is true: we must prove ourselves faithful to what 
 the war taught us before we earn the right to consider 
 ourselves. The men seem to think that I can lead them. 
 This may be the call you spoke of, which you urged me 
 not to ignore. I will try to live up to the best there 
 is in me, Lola, and I am satisfied, now that I realize 
 that this is what you want me to do." 
 
 Ill 
 
 Lola let him leave her without further protest. While 
 in this mood, it was useless for her to explain to him 
 that since their last conversation circumstances had 
 removed the single obstacle to their marriage. What 
 Richard said showed how little he understood the pur- 
 
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 pose of her insistence . . . had he found himself earlier 
 there would have been no need of postponement. Today 
 she not only stood ready but was as eager as he had 
 been for the union which would permit them to work 
 out their problem jointly, . . but now Richard saw 
 in their marriage a hindrance to his plans. He seemed 
 to feel that he had simply fallen in with her ideas, when 
 in reality he had established a new basis of his own. 
 The situation had taken an unexpected turn, and she 
 must think it out . . . Had his intimacy with Olga 
 been a factor in his decision? . . . People said . . . 
 "I am just like every one else," Lola declared to her 
 self, indignant that she had permitted her thoughts to 
 run along this line, . . "How can I ever expect to ac 
 complish anything with others if I am so inconsistent 
 myself?" 
 
 [Ill]
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 IT MUST not be supposed that Henry Cross 
 dropped out of town affairs after his historic bat 
 tle with James Norton over the baptismal name. 
 On the contrary, Norton would have told you with some 
 degree of feeling that Henry Cross was distressingly om 
 nipresent. The Cross ancestry went back in too direct 
 a line in New England genealogy to make it possible for 
 the present family head to accept an eclipse without en 
 forcing a price which should be felt in the paying. 
 James Norton had been the shadow which had blotted 
 out the disk of Henry Cross s sun, and for twenty years 
 the offended Dorian had quietly but effectively enforced 
 almost daily reprisals. Let Norton undertake to secure 
 a coveted piece of land, and it would develop that Cross 
 had anticipated him or the price had doubled ; let him, 
 as president, propose any action for the bank, and 
 Cross, as director, straightway and as a matter of 
 principle put himself in opposition. If a Norcrossian 
 made an enemy of James Norton by that act he be 
 came a friend of Henry Cross. The other citizens of 
 the town recognized the antagonism and enjoyed it, 
 a favorite form of salutation being, "What s the latest 
 
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 about Norton and Cross?" The historic Kentucky 
 feuds perhaps contained more shooting and dramatics, 
 but no more honest hatred. 
 
 II 
 
 When the armistice with Germany was declared, 
 James Norton, in common with other far-sighted exe 
 cutives, made definite plans for curtailing production 
 and reducing expenses ; but contrary to his expectations 
 the demand increased rather than diminished, and the 
 question was how to meet it rather than how to main 
 tain it. Labor made new demands and was in a posi 
 tion to enforce them. James Norton shook his head 
 ominously, but to his amazement the consumer offered 
 no objection to the increased prices, his only anxiety 
 being lest his orders could not be filled. This condition 
 continued month after month, until the manufacturer 
 came to regard the abnormal as normal, and the laborer 
 believed his marvelously increased stipend to be assured 
 for all time. What had been looked upon as luxuries 
 became necessities, and society had to change its classi 
 fications. The first stratum and the most arrogant 
 was now the working class ; the second included the man 
 ufacturers, somewhat less assuming, but possessing no 
 lack of self-respect ; and the third, a new creation, were 
 the nouveaux pauvres, those gentle folk who before 
 the war received a sufficient income from their invest 
 ments in stocks and bonds to meet their varying de 
 mands of living. These unfortunate creatures in the 
 third class found themselves between the Scylla of re- 
 
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 duced or vanished dividends and the Charybdis of 
 enormously increased expenses and income taxes. 
 
 Then, without warning, came the economic condition 
 for which the manufacturers had earlier prepared but 
 later ignored. The buying public struck. As if busi 
 ness had been cut in two by a gigantic cleaver, orders 
 in hand were suddenly canceled and new orders ceased. 
 Before the industrial world grasped the fact that the 
 reaction had actually arrived the enormous profits 
 yielded by war prices had been wiped out by the con 
 tinuing high cost of labor, which could no longer be 
 passed on to the consumer, and by inventories of ma 
 terials purchased at top prices and daily shrinking to 
 lower values which meant appalling losses. James 
 Norton was but one of the many executives who found 
 themselves face to face with the greatest business crisis 
 of their lives. 
 
 Ill 
 
 All this produced a condition for which Henry Cross 
 had been patiently waiting for twenty years. The 
 accumulated fortune of the Cross family was divided 
 into three classes, . . land, mortgages, and government 
 securities. The life-long principle of Henry Cross had 
 been to keep a sufficient amount of his property in 
 liquid form so that he could always gratify his quiet 
 passion for bargains. This might take the form of 
 a neat little farm whose owner found himself embar 
 rassed through ill-luck or poor management, or Lib 
 erty Bonds ten to fifteen points below par. Cross never 
 purchased a share of stock in the market, yet he lacked 
 
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 no opportunity to make use of his native genius as a 
 speculator. He would have told you that he "traded" 
 sometimes, but never speculated. He bought (only 
 when the other man wanted to sell, and his business 
 discussions were brief and to the point. 
 
 "You are the one asking me to buy, aren t you?" he 
 would demand at the first symptom of an argument. 
 "That s what I ll give you for it. Take it or leave it." 
 
 But in any man s scheme of life there are always 
 exceptions, and in this case there were two: every 
 share of stock in the Norcross National Bank which 
 changed hands interested Henry Cross from a buyer s 
 standpoint, and during the last two years he had in 
 vested heavily in the commercial paper of the Norton 
 Manufacturing Company. No one but his agent knew 
 of these departures from his life-long practice, but 
 share by share he came nearer to a controlling interest 
 in the bank, and month by month increased his holdings 
 of Norton s notes, waiting patiently for the inflated 
 business airship to make its enforced landing. When 
 that happened something told him there would be a 
 bump. 
 
 The Cross household included Mrs. Cross and Miss 
 Sarah Cross, Henry s maiden sister. For over thirty- 
 five years it had seen no changes except in the altera 
 tions in the house itself occasioned by the addition of 
 material improvements as they came to be necessities. 
 The telephone had been the greatest struggle, but Henry 
 Cross had no intention of permitting any one in Nor 
 cross to possess what he lacked, so the instrument was 
 installed, even though for over a year after its instal- 
 
 [115]
 
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 lation no out-going calls were registered against it. 
 It was an harmonious household with but a single 
 mind, and that mind was Henry Cross s. The women 
 had two distinct interests in life, , . Henry Cross and 
 the Congregational Church, the first from habit and 
 the second from inheritance. The Calvinistic doctrines 
 had come to the Cross family in direct line from Jon 
 athan Edwards. Such topics as original sin, bondage 
 of the will, predestination, and the creation were still 
 discussed with as much familiarity and enthusiasm as 
 other families manifest today in baseball scores and 
 rival types of automobiles. Where on some walls would 
 hang a photograph of Theodore Roosevelt a visitor 
 might observe an ancient sampler carrying the words, 
 "In Adam s fall we sinned all." There was no com 
 promise with wrong in the hearts of the Cross women, 
 but their less righteous neighbors, who considered them 
 strait-laced and bigoted, were scarcely warranted in 
 saying that Sarah even blew her nose on high moral 
 principles. Under these circumstances the routine of 
 the Cross household possessed little variety, and there 
 had been no thrill since the west end of the house caught 
 fire ten years before. 
 
 "Henry," said Mrs. Cross to her husband when he 
 returned to the house late one afternoon, "we ve got to 
 do something about that dog." 
 
 "Killed another cat, has he?" 
 
 "Yes ; I m getting a regular cemetery of cats out 
 in the garden. If you can tell me why that dog pays no 
 attention to cats on week-days and kills one and fetches 
 it home every Sunday, I d like to know." 
 
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 "Takes em for heretics, I guess." Henry chuckled 
 over his joke. "He can t drop his weekly donation into 
 the contribution box on the Sabbath, so he brings it to 
 you, Martha." 
 
 "He s awful vindictive about it. Even after he s 
 killed em, he shakes em til it makes me sick." 
 
 "Probably wants to prove to em that there s pun 
 ishment after death." 
 
 "What s got into you, Henry Cross," she demanded, 
 "to make you so specially chipper and good-natured 
 tonight?" 
 
 "Nothing to speak of," he disclaimed; "just trying 
 to be cheerful, I suppose." 
 
 Mrs. Cross, however, was not to be diverted, and 
 repeated her observations to her sister-in-law. 
 
 "We ll know in time," Sarah replied philosophically. 
 "Henry won t open his mouth until he gets good and 
 ready, so there isn t any use in wondering." 
 
 During supper Henry s good spirits continued. Mrs. 
 Cross found it difficult to follow Sarah s advice, for 
 her curiosity still flourished with undiminished vigor 
 even though other personal characteristics had weak 
 ened from a hardening of the ideas. 
 
 "Land s sakes, Henry !" she exclaimed at length, 
 "aren t you going to tell us what has happened? I 
 haven t seen you so chipper for years." 
 
 Henry Cross chuckled to himself. 
 
 "I am feeling pretty good," he admitted ; "but there 
 isn t much to talk about . . . yet." 
 
 "You aren t going to leave us hung up like that, are 
 you?" 
 
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 "I ll tell you all in good time . . . I d like some more 
 of those beans." 
 
 "Henry Cross !" The gentle spouse gave evidence 
 of being annoyed. "It isn t Christian for you to ag 
 gravate us like this. Don t you agree with me, sister?" 
 
 "What is the use of agreeing?" Sarah asked with 
 resignation. "You know Henry." 
 
 "Well," he said slowly, "it isn t any secret as I know 
 of, but I haven t much to tell . . . yet. I am going 
 over to call on James Norton after supper." 
 
 "Henry Cross!" Martha ejaculated, and then sub 
 sided into inarticulate suspense. 
 
 The thrill had come. If Henry Cross had anticipated 
 the pleasure of creating a dramatic moment he could 
 ask for nothing more. Martha looked at Sarah and 
 Sarah looked at Martha, while both looked at Henry, 
 and the silence was filled with tense excitement. Henry 
 tried to appear unconcerned as he ate his beans, but 
 his enjoyment of the situation was far greater than 
 his gastronomic satisfaction. 
 
 There are few shocks, however violent, from which 
 those affected do not ultimately recover. At length 
 Sarah found her voice. 
 
 "Has James Norton invited you without includ 
 ing us?" 
 
 "Oh, no; nothing social . . . nothing social," he 
 hastened to reassure his sister. 
 
 "Are you going to James Norton s house of your 
 own free will?" Martha demanded incredulously. 
 
 "Yes," Henry acknowledged; "I am. As a matter 
 of fact, Norton doesn t know I m coming." 
 
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 "Merciful man!" 
 
 This was the most extravagant expression of pro 
 fanity ever heard in the Cross household, and its use 
 evidenced the high moral tension. 
 
 "You don t mean to say that you are going to make 
 up with that . . . that . . ." 
 
 "Don t get excited," Henry interrupted soothingly. 
 "Didn t the minister in his sermon yesterday tell us to 
 forgive our enemies?" 
 
 "That was a quotation from the Scriptures, Henry 
 Cross, and you know it. The Scriptures were written 
 long before James Norton was born or there would 
 have been a special exception made to cover his case." 
 
 "Why, Martha!" Henry thoroughly enjoyed his 
 wife s wrath when directed against his rival, and pro 
 ceeded to encourage it. "What has James Norton ever 
 done to get you so down on him?" 
 
 "Done? You ask me what he s done when there 
 hasn t been a day these last twenty years I haven t 
 heard you say something mean against him ! And now 
 you re going to make up with him after all these years 
 of hating him ! If you hadn t been a Christian all your 
 life, Henry Cross, I d say you were getting a sudden 
 experience of religion and an awful dose of it !" 
 
 Sarah had been watching her brother s face and was 
 able to detect what Martha s excitement had caused her 
 to overlook. 
 
 "Can t you see he s making sport of you, Martha? 
 Henry Cross never flopped like that in all his natural 
 life." 
 
 "Then he has no right to treat me like a child." 
 [119]
 
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 Martha s eyes filled with tears of mortification. 
 
 "There, there," her husband soothed her; "every 
 body has to have his little joke. I have an idea that 
 my call will cause Mr. James Norton the utmost as 
 tonishment." 
 
 "I should think it might," Martha dried her tears ; 
 "it certainly has me. Why don t you tell us all 
 about it?" 
 
 "Never like to count my chickens before they re 
 hatched, but I will tell you this, Martha, . ." Henry 
 Cross s face hardened as his wife had seldom seen it 
 before, . "I ve got James Norton now where I can 
 handle him, and it has taken me twenty years to do it !" 
 
 [120]
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 RICHARD was waylaid by Barry as he was leav 
 ing the house. What Lola had told him about 
 the contentment her protege had found gave 
 Dick a new interest in him. Until then he had looked 
 upon the one-legged man as a bit of flotsam cast up by 
 the war, more fortunate than most because he had 
 fallen among sympathetic and understanding friends, 
 but still a pitiable object because necessarily the re 
 cipient of charity. 
 
 Nothing so exasperated Richard or caused so severe 
 a shock to his patriotism as the failure of his own gov 
 ernment to provide promptly and efficiently for the 
 care of those who had given themselves to their coun 
 try s service. No other nation proved itself so liberal 
 in its provisions for the disabled soldiers ; no other 
 nation, through legislative and administrative defi 
 ciencies, so failed to make those provisions available. 
 It seemed incredible to Richard that an intelligent gov 
 ernment should fail to appreciate the fact that in the 
 rehabilitation of the disabled soldier the three important 
 needs . . . medical treatment, vocational training, and 
 financial support . . . were the simultaneous neces- 
 
 [121]
 
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 sities of one man and not of three different men, or of 
 one man at three different times. The lack of vision 
 and foresight in our preparation seemed indefensible 
 to him when we had before us the experience of other 
 nations, and of our own nation in previous wars. The 
 delayed start made by our government and its lack of 
 conception of the magnitude of the problem, resulting 
 in so much unnecessary suffering for the disabled vet 
 erans, appeared to Richard as nothing less than crim 
 inal, and he was eager to call some one strictly to 
 account. 
 
 Richard was among the leaders in the American 
 Legion to force home to a government clogged by red 
 tape, administrative chaos, duplication, and wasted 
 energy and conflict, the fact that thousands of these 
 men were waiting and had been waiting for months for 
 compensation for their injuries; that other thousands 
 had waited at least as long for an opportunity to re 
 establish themselves as sustaining members of society 
 by vocational training; that still other thousands were 
 in need of hospital care with no hospital facilities avail 
 able; that afflicted and penniless veterans had been 
 driven to refuge in almshouses and j ails ; that hundreds 
 were still the unwilling objects of public and private 
 charity. 
 
 To find one of these men, like Barry, who had been 
 able to rise above the supineness of governmental delay 
 and work out his own individual solution, was an event 
 of no little interest to Richard. Lola had told him 
 how all bitterness had disappeared, and that Barry 
 O Carolan s experiences had really made of him a phil- 
 
 [122]
 
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 osopher. This Richard could scarcely believe, and he 
 was glad of this first opportunity to satisfy his doubts. 
 
 II 
 
 Barry always saluted Richard. The army had given 
 him his only social training, and in recognizing the 
 difference in their positions Barry knew no other form 
 of expression. 
 
 "If you re not in too much of a hurry, Capt n, I d 
 like to speak to you about Jack Munsey." 
 
 Munsey was a Norcross disabled veteran to whom 
 Barry had been drawn by the similarity of their afflic 
 tions, for Munsey s right leg had been amputated just 
 below the hip ; but his condition was more serious ow 
 ing to tuberculosis contracted from exposure in the 
 service. 
 
 "How is Munsey? . . . poor chap!" Richard in 
 quired. 
 
 "He died last night, Capt n, . . and that s what I 
 want to speak to you about." 
 
 "Died!" Richard exclaimed. "Oh, I should have 
 gone down to see him, but I have been so tied up with 
 this labor trouble ! Had his War Risk payments come 
 through?" 
 
 Barry shook his head. 
 
 "No; that s what hurts. Jack died cursin* out the 
 gov ment." 
 
 Richard drew in his breath sharply. 
 
 "John Sibley and I are tryin to raise enough money 
 to bury him," Barry went on, "and I thought p raps 
 
 [123]
 
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 you d like to help. It can all be paid back when the 
 checks do come in." 
 
 "I ll pay the whole of it," Richard declared vehe 
 mently, . . "and to hell with the checks !" 
 
 "We wouldn t want you to do that, Capt n. I and 
 some of his other friends would like to have a share in 
 it, but we can t do it all." 
 
 "You can t afford it, Barry . . ." 
 
 "Oh, yes ; I can." Barry smiled. "I m makin enough 
 now to support myself, and when the gov ment gets 
 round to send me my checks I ll be rich! I suppose 
 they ll do it some time." 
 
 "How far behind were they with Jack?" 
 
 "Eight months, Capt n. I sent em a telegram last 
 week, Please hurry Jack Munsey s checks so he can 
 sign em before he dies to pay for funeral, but I guess 
 it just made em laugh in Washington. They prob ly 
 thought I was kiddin em. But it does hurt to hear 
 a chap like Jack curse out his own gov ment, don t it, 
 Capt n?" 
 
 "Barry," Richard said, controlling himself and plac 
 ing one hand on his companion s shoulder, "don t get 
 me started, for things like this make me see red. Thank 
 God we re near the end of this administration which 
 plays politics while men like Jack Munsey die in pov- 
 irty !" 
 
 "But we mustn t lose faith in our country, must we, 
 Capt n? The trouble isn t with our country. We 
 wouldn t ask anythin better than a chance to fight for 
 her again, would we, Capt n?" 
 
 Richard looked at Barry admiringly. 
 [124]
 
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 "If you can say that after the way you ve been 
 treated, and what you ve seen of the neglect of other 
 disabled boys, I ll say so; but I wouldn t have agreed 
 to that five minutes ago. Don t you ever complain of 
 your experiences?" 
 
 Barry smiled sheepishly. 
 
 "I wouldn t like to have you ask Miss Lola that," he 
 said. "You should have heard me rave in her hospital ! 
 But my case was a joke. As long as I had lost a leg, 
 they thought they knew what to do with me, so I was 
 shipped out to Seattle to be made a master mechanic 
 by the Vocational Board. I m afraid I wouldn t have 
 lasted long indoors, but I had the luck to get the flu. 
 Then I couldn t work, so the Vocational Board turned 
 me back to the army, but the army didn t have any 
 appropriation to take care of me, and they sure were 
 embarrassed. After waitin a couple of months for em 
 to decide what to do next, I hocked my overcoat and 
 watch and beat it for Miss Lola. You see I was in 
 luck all the way through." 
 
 "Yes," Richard acknowledged, with a curious expres 
 sion on his face; "you were surely in luck all the way 
 through, . . and particularly when you fell into Miss 
 Lola s hands." 
 
 "That s it," Barry cried eagerly. "She understands. 
 And say, Capt n, Miss Lola s been through just as much 
 as any of us. She s a real veteran all right, and she 
 ought to wear stripes on her arm, . . only her wounds 
 aren t where you can see em." 
 
 Richard looked up quickly. 
 
 "I m doin all I can to pay her back for what she 
 [125]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 did for me," Barry hurried on; "but it s too big a job 
 for me to swing alone. If you could see her face some 
 times, Capt n, with the tears just glistenin in her eyes, 
 it would bring a lump in your throat just as it does 
 in mine. When any one outside the family comes round 
 she bucks up, so p raps you haven t noticed it. Bern 
 so fond of her as I know you are, I thought p raps you 
 wouldn t mind my speakin of it." 
 
 "You re a good old scout, Barry." Richard clapped 
 him on the shoulder. "You keep right on watching over 
 Miss Lola while I m kept busy with the men at the plant. 
 After that s settled, we ll join forces and see what we 
 can do to bring the roses back to her cheeks and the 
 laughter to her eyes . . . Let me know how much I 
 may stand on the expenses for Jack . . . Poor chap! 
 Good night, Barry." 
 
 Ill 
 
 After watching Richard stride off, Barry hobbled 
 back toward the house. He was fortunate enough to 
 discover the object of his search, for Lola was leaning 
 against a pillar of the loggia, watching the brilliancy of 
 the setting sun. But whatever her eyes might see, what 
 ever her resolutions, her thoughts were still centered 
 upon Richard. He could not realize how cruel he had 
 been to her. It was she who had forced him into the 
 very position which now gave him such satisfaction, 
 yet he seemed so blissfully unconscious of it that what 
 ever credit there was to give went to this factory-girl, 
 whose name was already too intimately associated with 
 his. In Richard s emancipation she had touched the 
 
 [126]
 
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 heights, but only for a moment; the aftermath was al 
 most more than she could bear ... It was Lola the 
 women rather than Lola the war-worker who leaned 
 against the pillar. 
 
 As Barry approached her she turned toward him 
 and smiled consciously. 
 
 "Isn t it beautiful?" 
 
 "Yes, Miss Lola. There s an awful lot of beautiful 
 things in this world if you know where to look for em, 
 and if you keep on lookin for em you don t have time 
 to worry about the ugly ones. The real job is to keep 
 on lookin , isn t it, Miss Lola?" 
 
 "Yes, Barry; and that is a real job, as you say. 
 Sometimes I feel that I ve done nothing but look since 
 I came home, and that I have found nothing." 
 
 "You haven t found anythin beautiful, Miss Lola?" 
 he asked, surprise and disappointment showing in his 
 voice. 
 
 "I don t mean quite that," she explained. "When 
 you spoke of the beautiful things in the world you 
 didn t mean the beauty of the sunset or of the flowers. 
 These are wonderful, of course, but the beauties I 
 have looked for and failed to find are those of human 
 life, . . unselfishness, appreciation^ [helpfulness, and 
 sympathy. I came home, Barry, full of eagerness to 
 carry on right here in Norcross the work I had learned 
 to do over there. I knew the need existed, and believed 
 the opportunity would be waiting for me." 
 
 "I guess you found both the need and the opportunity 
 all right . . ." 
 
 "Yes, Barry; but not the co-operation or the un- 
 [127]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 derstanding. Why, even today I heard some one ask 
 why the Red Cross had to carry on any more ! The way 
 the people responded to the war demands was magni 
 ficent; their failure to recognize the aftermath is dis 
 graceful. I ve wanted to go right back to France; 
 Barry, where people understand! * 
 
 "I m glad you didn t, Miss Lola," he said soberly ; 
 "but I suppose that s selfish, too. You and my wooden 
 leg have made a man out of me, and there are lots of 
 us boys here in Norcross who think you ought to have 
 a colored glass window in the church; but of course in 
 France you could have helped a lot more fellers like us. 
 We re all selfish, Miss Lola, when it comes right down 
 to ourselves, aren t we?" 
 
 "No, Barry, . ." she said emphatically. "If it 
 hadn t been for you and the other boys, I should have 
 gone back, but the fact that you needed me helped me 
 to forget my disappointment. What you boys have 
 done for me has been far more than anything I could 
 ever do for you, but you don t need me now, and I m 
 wondering . . ." 
 
 "The Capt n needs you . . . " he said unexpectedly. 
 
 Lola looked at him quickly. Her protege was rap 
 idly acquiring intuition. 
 
 "I don t believe he does, Barry," she replied quietly. 
 "I think he has found himself now in his work with 
 the men." 
 
 "But that never takes the place of what a woman 
 can do, Miss Lola. I was just talkin with the 
 Capt n . . ." 
 
 Lola s sudden look interrupted him. 
 [128]
 
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 "Oh, no !" he exclaimed with quick comprehension ; 
 "you know I wouldn t speak of what we talked about. 
 But we did speak of you . . . just casual like, . . and 
 say . . . the Capt n sure does think a heap of you!" 
 
 "I hope so, Barry," Lola said simply, holding out 
 her hand. 
 
 Barry seized it eagerly, and an expression came into 
 his face which Lola had never seen there before. 
 
 "That s nothin strange," he added in a low voice. 
 "Any man who didn t would be blind in both eyes and 
 wooden all over." 
 
 [129]
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 WHENEVER James Norton s emotions were 
 affected, his immediate reaction was to plunge 
 more furiously into his work. Lately he had 
 experienced a series of emotional shocks, and as a re 
 sult his activities were correspondingly abnormal. His 
 office hours, longer than those of any other employee 
 of the Company, were crowded with hectic routine, 
 which present-day executives delegate to subordinates. 
 A manager in another business, who made the state 
 ment in his hearing that for a highly-paid executive 
 to do any work which could be performed by one draw 
 ing a smaller salary was a waste of the company s 
 money, incurred Norton s instant distrust. Except 
 for his tremendous dynamic power, he could never have 
 met the .demands of his position with his days so clogged 
 by minor details. As it was, the physical effort re 
 quired to drive the machine over an uncharted route 
 so pulled upon his vitality that, had he realized it, his 
 capacity was needlessly impaired. 
 
 Norton had always done this. It was his idea of 
 work, and he considered the modern notion that vaca 
 tions and occasional afternoons at golf made a man 
 more valuable to his business was the specious invention 
 
 [130]
 
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 of sloths and idlers. His favorite boast was that he 
 had never taken a vacation, and he failed to observe, 
 so gradual came the transition in public opinion, that 
 the earlier expression of wonder and approval on the 
 part of his hearers was now rather that of pity or 
 surprise. 
 
 "The world has gone crazy," he would tell Treadway, 
 when his secretary reported that the head of some con 
 cern was "out of town" or "away on a vacation." 
 "How they keep things going is beyond my understand 
 ing. They don t, that s all," he would say conclusively ; 
 "other people, who aren t afraid to work, are holding 
 down their jobs for them. That s the answer ... I 
 don t see how they get away with it." 
 
 Now the office hours extended into the evening, and 
 James Norton might be found at his desk in his library 
 at home, carrying on the routine of his work with noth 
 ing changed but the surroundings. This was a trial 
 to Treadway, for when his master s idiosyncracies de 
 prived him of his own leisure for relaxation his enthu 
 siastic approval of the Norton idea became somewhat 
 modified. But it still served Treadway s purpose to 
 play close to James Norton, so he uncomplainingly 
 sacrificed whatever of his personal time was demanded, 
 charging it off to profit and loss. 
 
 "All this is having a demoralizing influence on the 
 younger men," Norton declared one evening when feel 
 ing particularly resentful . . . "they re getting where 
 they think that anything to do with honest labor con 
 taminates them. They d rather talk about life being a 
 representation of art and all that sort of thing." 
 
 [131]
 
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 "Don t you think that is a phase which disappears 
 after experience teaches them what they are really up 
 against ?" 
 
 "Yes, I do," the older man admitted; "but that 
 doesn t keep it from being an additional obstacle to 
 overcome in driving common-sense ideas into their 
 heads . . . and there were obstacles enough before." 
 
 Treadway was delighted to match his mind against 
 the master s, for such opportunities came but seldom. 
 Norton rarely argued . . . usually he told him. The 
 secretary s retentive mind supplied material absorbed 
 from a recent lecture, but easily made his own for the 
 purpose of the present discussion. 
 
 "Yet we must admit the value of leisure to our civi 
 lization," he contended, assuming the attitude of an 
 oracle. "Leisure produces culture, and culture has 
 interpreted man to man; it has explored the mind and 
 rediscovered past explorations; it has developed scien 
 tists as well as artists, whose contribution to civilization 
 has been to lay the foundation upon which were built 
 the colossal minds which conceived the machines that 
 rule the commercial world today." 
 
 Norton listened, highly amused. 
 
 "Who told you all that, Treadway? It sounds to 
 me like a Lowell lecture . . . You expect me to dis 
 agree with you, but I don t. Everything you have just 
 quoted is correct, but it stops short of facts. Always 
 beware of half-truths, Treadway, . they re danger 
 ous ... Of course culture has played its part, but 
 what could it have accomplished without commerce? 
 It has been commercialism that has applied the wisdom 
 
 [132]
 
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 of the ages toward the advancement of the welfare of 
 mankind. Ask yourself where medicine and education 
 and art and science would be today except for the mil 
 lions of dollars contributed by men who contaminated 
 themselves by work. I don t object to a man being an 
 artist or a golf player if he wants to, provided he has 
 earned the right to his leisure by hard work. What 
 I don t like is to have him half business man and half 
 loafer. Nearly every one who looks down on labor 
 owes his present leisure to the contaminating but pro 
 ductive efforts of his ancestors. My code, Treadway, 
 is that every man should be forced to make his con 
 tribution to society." 
 
 "I agree with you . . ." 
 
 "Of course you do ! You can t fool me by getting 
 off that half-baked, high-brow stuff that is all right 
 as far as it goes, but always stops short of the prac 
 tical. You are one of the few who have the right idea, 
 Treadway. Work is the salvation of man, and he 
 comes to his full development only through work. If 
 I have taught you that lesson it will be worth more than 
 all the money I ever paid you." 
 
 "My theory of life is to concentrate," Treadway 
 acquiesced by repeating his favorite slogan, . . "work 
 while I work and play while I play." 
 
 "That s all right so long as you keep the proportion 
 well on the side of work," the master agreed ; "but work 
 itself is play if you go at it right, . . don t forget that. 
 That is why I never took up these new-fangled ideas. 
 Leisure bores me. You don t find these evenings here 
 at the house very hard work, eh, Treadway? Change 
 
 [133]
 
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 of scene, chance to smoke and relax, opportunity to 
 learn more about the business, . . couldn t ask for 
 much better play than that, could you?" 
 
 Then a cloud passed over the old man s face. 
 
 "This is where Richard ought to be this minute," he 
 muttered, "learning the business and helping his 
 father." 
 
 "Do you think it would be a good idea if I were to 
 have a talk with Richard?" Treadway asked, confident 
 that his suggestion would never be accepted. "Perhaps, 
 being about his age, I could approach him from his own 
 standpoint and bring him to our way of thinking." 
 
 "You change Richard!" Norton demanded incredu 
 lously. "There would be more chance of his converting 
 jou! Richard has more brains in his head than any 
 youngster in the plant, Treadway, if he d only make a 
 proper use of them. No, you re not in Richard s class. 
 You re more comfortable to have around, . . you prob 
 ably wouldn t be if you were as smart as he is ... 
 Come, we re wasting a lot of valuable time." 
 
 Treadway s face flushed, but he made no retort to 
 his master s uncomplimentary estimate of his capacity. 
 Some time, perhaps, James Norton might find occasion 
 to change his opinion. 
 
 II 
 
 Later in the evening Hannah announced Mr. Henry 
 Cross. Norton could not believe his ears. 
 
 "Sure you got that name right, Hannah?" he de 
 manded. 
 
 "Yes, sir; it s Mr. Henry Cross all right." 
 [134]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 "What is that hypocrite doing here," he exclaimed, 
 more to himself than to Treadway, "away from his 
 Bibles and bargains? Show him in ... show him 
 in . . ." 
 
 Norton waved his hand, and Hannah noiselessly de 
 parted. 
 
 The master s eye did not return to the papers on the 
 desk before him, but remained fixed on the door through 
 which his caller must enter. The suspense was not of 
 long duration, but Treadway had a fairly definite idea 
 of what was passing through his chief s mind. Even 
 for a moment after Cross stood before the well-littered 
 desk, the two men glared at each other without speak 
 ing. It was Norton who broke the silence. 
 
 "This is an honor I hadn t expected," he said crisply. 
 "If it s a social call, I ll get up and treat you as a guest 
 ought to be treated; if it isn t, you may stand or sit, 
 as you choose, and state your business." 
 
 Henry Cross took no offence at the brusque recep 
 tion. He drew a chair closer to the desk and seated 
 himself with marked deliberation. 
 
 "This is a business call," he admitted ; "and I should 
 have thought I was in the wrong pew if you d shown 
 any civility." 
 
 With these preliminaries over, the two men again 
 glared, each waiting for the other to say something. 
 This time Cross took the initiative. 
 
 "My business is fairly personal," he announced, 
 glancing significantly at Treadway. 
 
 "Go ahead with it. My secretary is familiar with 
 my personal affairs." 
 
 [135]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 Cross shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "As you like," he commented genially. "I generally 
 cut out the Man Fridays when I discuss private mat 
 ters. But it is your affair." 
 
 "It is," Norton snapped. "Get down to business. 
 Can t you see that you re interrupting me?" 
 
 "Sorry," Cross apologized. 
 
 Then he shifted his legs and meditated for a moment. 
 
 "Want to sell your bank stock?" he asked abruptly. 
 
 "My bank stock? What are you talking about? 
 It is not for sale, and you know it." 
 
 Again Cross shrugged his shoulders imperturbably. 
 
 "Thought you might, that s all. I ve taken a fancy 
 to that bank stock, and I come pretty close to holding 
 the control. A little block of yours would give it to 
 me. Then I could elect myself president, as you did, 
 and sit in that office with all the mahogany fixings, and 
 feel I really was somebody." 
 
 "You re crazy, man!" Norton cried, trying to 
 fathom the motive which lay behind the apparent frank 
 ness of the statement Cross made. Norton and Stew 
 art held the control of the bank stock, so he cared lit 
 tle who owned the balance, but Henry Cross was not a 
 man to make such a fool proposition without something 
 in the back of his head. 
 
 "I m not an idiot," Norton continued, "and I give 
 you credit for having some common sense. What s the 
 idea of making me a proposition you know can t be put 
 through ?" 
 
 "I m not so sure it can t." 
 
 "Well, I am; so let s cut it short." 
 [136]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 In spite of the invitation, Cross showed no inclina 
 tion to rise from his comfortable seat. 
 
 "How are the Company s affairs?" he asked casu 
 ally, shifting the subject abruptly. 
 
 "That s my business." 
 
 "I know it is, and I m thinking some of asking you 
 to attend to it. Having some difficulty in getting the 
 banks to take your paper, aren t you?" 
 
 "You damned, impertinent . . ." 
 
 "Go easy ... go easy," Cross stopped his outburst. 
 "I ve got a reason for asking and a right to know. I 
 hold a lot of the notes of the Norton Manufacturing 
 Company, and I want to have your assurance that my 
 money is safe." 
 
 "Where did you get hold of any of our paper ?" Nor 
 ton demanded, but he looked to Treadway for the 
 answer. As the secretary seemed equally mystified, 
 his glance returned to Cross. 
 
 "Oh, you ve been using my money in your business for 
 the past eighteen months," Cross enlightened him. 
 "The Norton Manufacturing Company means a lot to 
 this town, and when I found out that you were expand 
 ing beyond what the banks would carry you, I thought 
 it would be public-spirited to help you out. Now that 
 money is so tight, I wanted to be sure I wasn t taking 
 too much risk." 
 
 "You reptile !" Norton exclaimed. "You . . pub 
 lic spirited ! You would like nothing better than to see 
 the Company smashed . . ." 
 
 "Calling names doesn t pay notes," Cross observed. 
 "I have nothing against the Company, but the time 
 
 [137]
 
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 is here right now for you and me to have a show down. 
 I hold a bunch of your obligations coming due during 
 the next thirty days, and I have a right to know whether 
 you re going to meet them." 
 
 "Of course we ll meet them . , . How much do you 
 hold?" 
 
 "Oh, a little matter of between two hundred and three 
 hundred thousand." 
 
 "What !" Norton cried, surprised into showing his 
 amazement. "I don t believe you hold twenty thou 
 sand !" 
 
 "Thought you might need convincing," Cross drew 
 a package of papers from his pocket, "so I brought 
 these along." 
 
 "Let me look at them." 
 
 Cross hesitated a moment, and then handed the pack 
 age to Norton. 
 
 "Guess I can trust you," he remarked, dryly. 
 
 Norton started to make a retort, but he was more 
 interested in the papers before him. He rapidly tabu 
 lated the dates and the amounts. 
 
 "Not far from right, was I?" Cross inquired. "Two 
 hundred and sixty -eight thousand, isn t it?" 
 
 "Yes," Norton acknowledged; a calmness coming 
 over him which was in strange contrast with his pre 
 vious attitude. 
 
 "That s a lot of money to raise in thirty days with 
 the market the way it is," the caller suggested. 
 
 Norton started suddenly as he turned the notes over 
 in his hand. Then he reached for his magnifying glass 
 and scrutinized them carefully, checking off certain 
 
 [138]
 
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 items on his list. Treadway watched him with obvious 
 interest. 
 
 "Aren t they big enough without putting a magnify 
 ing glass on them?" Cross inquired jocosely; but Nor 
 ton paid no attention to him . . . "If you care to sell 
 enough of your bank stock to give me control," he con 
 tinued, "I might be inclined to extend some of those 
 notes." 
 
 Norton handed the package back to him. Then his 
 choler returned, and he shook his fist menacingly in 
 Cross s face. 
 
 "You ll be paid every cent that s due you on the 
 day it matures," he declared, . . "every cent that s 
 due you," Norton repeated with careful emphasis. 
 
 "That s all I wanted to hear you say." Cross re 
 stored the notes to his pocket and rose. "But if any 
 thing happens between now and then you might re 
 member my proposition. It will still hold good. Good 
 night." 
 
 Ill 
 
 Norton watched him as he departed. As the door 
 closed behind him he turned excitedly to his secretary. 
 
 "Treadway," he cried, "at last we ve got that old ras 
 cal where we want him ! On four of those notes both 
 signatures are forged ! We ll wait until he presents the 
 first one of these, and then . . ." 
 
 It was not necessary for Norton to complete his 
 sentence. Treadway understood him perfectly. 
 
 [139]
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 WHEN Lola undertook to make good her promise 
 to interest her father on Richard s behalf, 
 she encountered a well-defined reluctance to 
 depart from his invariable practice of leaving the solu 
 tion of business problems to others. When he yielded, 
 as he always did to his daughter s persuasion, the con 
 cession was to his affection for her rather than to any 
 interest in the subject. Richard on his part had asked 
 for the interview because he was grasping at straws 
 which might prove of service to his cause, and not from 
 any real confidence that Mr. Stewart would prove of 
 the slightest assistance. 
 
 The interview developed unexpected surprises for 
 both. Beneath the polished, dilettante exterior, which 
 Richard had admired but which he supposed to express 
 the personality of the man, he discovered a quick sym 
 pathy, a clear understanding, a latent force which he 
 had never suspected. It was obvious that these char 
 acteristics might have been combined to make Wil 
 liam Stewart a power except for his established habit 
 of moving along the line of least resistance. The elder 
 man found in the younger an idealism and a purpose en- 
 
 [140]
 
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 tirely at variance with the impression he had formed 
 by casual observation, colored, it is true, by the caustic 
 comments made by Richard s father. Each left the 
 conference with greater respect for the other. 
 
 Whether or not Richard s idealism could be made 
 practical was another matter, and to a consideration 
 of this Stewart devoted much time and thought. Mov 
 ing along the line of least resistance had caused him to 
 be misjudged by others as well as Richard. To oppose 
 methods of administration required time and effort, 
 and so long as affairs proceeded in orderly fashion and 
 in such a way as to yield satisfactory returns upon 
 his investment, Stewart preferred to devote himself to 
 more congenial subjects. 
 
 Richard, however, left him with a sense of obligation 
 to take a definite stand in this crisis. The demands 
 outlined by the men were entirely at variance with the 
 present policy of the Company, but Stewart kept him 
 self well-informed, and was sufficiently in touch with 
 the trend of the times to realize that some change 
 would inevitably be required in order to reconcile re 
 lations between employers and employed. If there 
 was to be a change, why not recognize the necessity 
 promptly, and, as Richard urged, turn it from a liabil 
 ity into an asset? All that Richard asked of him was 
 his influence to secure a hearing before the Board. 
 Knowing James Norton as he did, he understood why 
 the committee desired a jury verdict rather than the 
 decision of a biased judge. His own final conclusion 
 need not be rendered until after all the evidence on both 
 sides had been presented. 
 
 [141]
 
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 II 
 
 "So the boy has hypnotized you, has he?" Norton 
 commented, when Stewart broached the subject. "Well, 
 it won t do him any good. I m the general manager of 
 this concern, and it s my job to handle these affairs. If 
 the Directors don t agree with me, it s time I stepped 
 down and out, and let the men take over the manage 
 ment. You ll get your chance to talk, William, when 
 I refer the matter to the Board, but if the men have 
 anything to say, let them say it to me. And remember 
 ... if there are any signs of going over my head, the 
 Directors must act on my resignation first. That boy 
 is crazy and stubborn, and he s bound to stir up all the 
 trouble for me he can." 
 
 "I m wondering if you are not doing more to make 
 trouble for yourself and for all of us than he is," Stew 
 art surprised Norton by taking a stand in opposition 
 to him. "Richard knows you won t listen to him, and 
 that when you present the question to the Board, you 
 will give the answer first. If you have been reading 
 the papers lately, you must realize that managers are 
 thinking more about men than they used to. I m not 
 sure that these demands Richard outlined to me are 
 sound or just, but I do know that the workman today 
 wants to be treated as an intelligent participator in 
 the concern which employs him instead of merely as 
 a seller of a commodity. He believes he has a right 
 to be consulted, to have things explained to him instead 
 of being the target for orders thrown at him arbitrarily. 
 He has self-respect, just as you and I have, James, and 
 
 [142]
 
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 to maintain it he insists on self-expression and self- 
 determination." 
 
 "I never expected to hear this heresy from one of 
 my Directors," Norton exclaimed doggedly. "It s curi 
 ous that idea has never come to you before." 
 
 "I don t wonder you are surprised," Stewart ad 
 mitted. "I ve been content to go on as we have gone 
 for twenty-five years, giving as little as possible and 
 getting as much as we could, but I m not blind to the 
 fact that we can t do that any longer. We don t need 
 to discuss the ethics . . . the fact is enough. The 
 world today is determined to found itself on political 
 democracy, and that is fundamentally dependent upon 
 industrial democracy. Richard has asked to present 
 the case for the men. Because of the relations existing 
 between you and him, he naturally questions your abil 
 ity to be impartial. Some change is inevitable. If we 
 don t recognize this voluntarily, it will be forced on us. 
 If we show our willingness to co-operate, we can un 
 doubtedly make better terms than when the men have 
 demonstrated their power." 
 
 "I guess I ve outlived my usefulness," Norton replied 
 bitterly. "If this movement to take the control of 
 business out of the hands of those who created it and 
 turn it over to the workmen can appeal to men like you, 
 then my experience of forty years goes by the board. 
 But get this, William, . . so long as I remain the head 
 of this concern, I ll run it. If you persuade the Di 
 rectors to side with you, then I ll get out and let you 
 handle things as you like. Until then, I m boss, . . 
 and that goes." 
 
 [143]
 
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 III 
 
 Stewart reported to Richard the failure of his efforts 
 to influence the older man s attitude, and advised him 
 to present his case to his father in due form, promising 
 to support it in the hearing before the Board when 
 it was referred to them for discussion ; but he held out 
 little hope for success. The Directors had so long 
 looked upon James Norton as their business mentor 
 that his judgment would inevitably be accepted as final. 
 
 "It is only because it affects their personal interests 
 so deeply that I believe it possible," Richard explained, 
 refusing to abandon hope. "The men are in a danger 
 ous frame of mind. It is only right that I should warn 
 you." 
 
 "I appreciate their earnestness, but I doubt if there 
 is really any likelihood of violence," Stewart deprecated 
 his companion s apprehensions. "Frankly, I am more 
 concerned just now about you. I believe you are on 
 the right track, and I don t want you to give up. 
 Something must be done to preserve the balance. The 
 scales must be steadied. Perhaps yours is the hand to 
 do it. Don t be discouraged. Everything has to have 
 a beginning, and you will be making history if you suc 
 ceed in planting some of the seeds of this idea where 
 later they may produce fruit." 
 
 "It is playing a game when you know the dice are 
 loaded," Richard demurred; "but your sympathy is 
 most helpful, and I ll carry my part through." 
 
 [144]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 IV 
 
 So Richard headed the committee which visited James 
 Norton, and presented the demands made by the men. 
 Treadway alone was with his chief ; with Richard were 
 Alec Sterling and Tony Lemholtz, the latter sullenly 
 representing the radical wing of the union, still for 
 tunately in the minority. Norton looked the committee 
 over critically and in silence, the expression on his face 
 evidencing to Richard, before a word was spoken, the 
 hopelessness of the appeal. 
 
 "This is an interesting combination," Norton com 
 mented as he completed his survey. "Lemholtz was to 
 be expected, for he has stirred up most of the trouble 
 we have previously had, but even he seems ill at ease 
 with the other members of the committee. Sterling, 
 my trusted right-hand man, in my employ for twenty 
 years, and raised by me during that time from ordinary 
 workman to superintendent of my plant; my son, flesh 
 of my flesh, whom I have brought up from birth. These 
 two recipients of my affection and my favors now league 
 themselves with the professional labor agitator in the 
 edifying attempt to undo the work of my life-time, to 
 destroy the business which has sustained thousands of 
 loyal workmen and their families for a quarter of a 
 century. An interesting combination! Gentlemen, . . 
 I suppose I should say gentlemen, , . kindly state your 
 business." 
 
 Richard s face flushed crimson as he listened to his 
 father s insulting comments, but he choked down the 
 hot reply which forced itself to his lips. It was not for 
 him to add to the bitterness. Hopeless as the situation 
 
 [145]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 was, this was his only chance, and he was determined 
 to make the most of it. He read the brief statements 
 which outlined the demands for the new industrial re 
 lations, then he enlarged on the advantages to be gained 
 by the combined efforts of employer and employed 
 working on a common basis toward a common end. 
 He pointed out the importance of eliminating discon 
 tent and trouble, which disappear when co-operation re 
 places competition. He urged that when business con 
 sisted in making men, the operation of business took 
 care of itself ; that management, instead of asking their 
 men to work for them should work with them ; that there 
 should no longer be a distinction between those who 
 work for money and those who work with it ; that labor 
 should be considered not only as the product of the 
 hands but of the brain as well ; that with the incentive 
 given by factory-representation and its guarantee of 
 fair play, the men would instinctively give their best 
 efforts to their production ; and finally, to show that his 
 plea was based upon a practical foundation, he demon 
 strated that what the men asked had already been 
 granted in establishments larger than the Norton Man 
 ufacturing Company, where the plan was working out 
 to the advantage of all concerned. 
 
 Never had Richard translated so much of himself 
 into words, never had he plead so earnestly for a fair 
 consideration of the claims he made on behalf of the 
 men. When he finished he was physically exhausted, 
 but his eye eagerly sought his father s face to see if 
 he had succeeded in making even a dent in his impene 
 trable hardness. 
 
 [146]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 "Why, Richard," Norton said, a half smile relieving 
 his supercilious expression, "you really are quite an 
 orator ! I had no idea of it ! But it s wasted in busi 
 ness, my boy. We must get you into politics . , . 
 Have the other members of the committee anything 
 to add?" 
 
 "If you treat lightly what Richard has said you will 
 bring the house down upon your head," Sterling de 
 clared gravely, aroused from his usual calm by Nor 
 ton s insolence. "I went on this committee to repre 
 sent the conservative men who want to prevent violence, 
 but if you don t accept the situation as a serious one, 
 we will be powerless to keep things under control." 
 
 Norton was bound to listen to Sterling s warning 
 for he had reason to respect the big, raw-boned Scotch 
 man, even though the superintendent s method of con 
 trol differed so radically from his own. Sterling ruled 
 through the exercise of human instincts rather than 
 through fear, and knowing how cordially the men hated 
 their chief, he had prevented several industrial tragedies 
 in the past by having the master s drastic orders filter 
 through him. Norton had never forgotten or forgiven 
 Sterling for the consideration he showed his men, or 
 for his efforts to maintain for them equitable working 
 conditions, but the superintendent was so beloved that 
 to do more than criticise him for not driving harder 
 would have precipitated crises which James Norton did 
 not care to face. Now, however, affairs had progressed 
 too far to permit retreat. 
 
 "So you threaten, Sterling!" he commented. "I 
 scarcely expected that." 
 
 [147]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 "No, , . we don t threaten, . ." Tony Lemholtz re 
 torted sullenly ; "we act !" 
 
 "You have the papers, Treadway?" Norton asked, 
 turning to his secretary. "These will be duly pre 
 sented to the Board of Directors as you request. If 
 they act favorably on them, you will find a new manager 
 at the head of the Norton Manufacturing Company. 
 If not . . ." Norton s face darkened . . . "If not, 
 you may strike and be damned! Inside of thirty days 
 I ll fill every vacant place with men who are loyal and 
 willing to work . . . Good day, gentlemen !" 
 
 The three members of the committee silently left the 
 office and returned to the works. Eager eyes watched 
 them as they passed through the various departments 
 before separating, each again taking up his suspended 
 labor at the point where he had dropped it. Their fel 
 low-workmen needed no report to tell them that the 
 expected had happened, . . that the boss had given 
 them no quarter: the grave expression on Sterling s 
 face, the discouragement which marked Richard s de 
 meanor, and the unholy joy with which Tony bore him 
 self, were eloquent enough. 
 
 There was no outward change, but to Richard the 
 air seemed to become more tense, and the throb of the 
 machinery menacing. During his first week in the 
 shop he had heard the voice of the machinery threaten, 
 . . just before Mary Fennessy was caught in the shaft 
 ing and lost her arm. Now he felt that it was speaking 
 the same terrifying language, talking for the men and 
 
 [148]
 
 for the women whose giant slave it was, demanding for 
 them recognition and the right to be heard. The men 
 and women had cursed the machinery when it took the 
 toll of Mary Fennessy s arm, but the powerful monster 
 knew what it was doing ! That single tragedy had com 
 pelled James Norton to install safety appliances which 
 the law required but had not enforced ; and what was a 
 single arm as against the protection of all the workers ! 
 Dully, Richard asked himself what the giant was trying 
 to say to him now, and what action it was planning to 
 help him bring James Norton to a realization that his 
 son was not a rebellious, trouble-fomenting agitator, 
 but an accredited messenger from Justice, to announce 
 that she had torn the bandage from her eyes and dis 
 covered the inaccuracy of her balances. 
 
 [149]
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 IF HENRY CROSS succeeded in surprising James 
 Norton by his unexpected call, the tables were 
 turned when William Treadway s name was an 
 nounced at his own home. The natural inference was 
 that Norton had decided to accept the proposition of 
 turning over enough of the bank stock to give Cross 
 the control, but Treadway promptly assumed entire 
 responsibility for the call. Cross was interested to 
 note that the young man seemed to have discarded some 
 of his superior manner and was inclined to treat him 
 almost as an equal. 
 
 "I am in rather a curious position, Mr. Cross," 
 Treadway explained. "Of course, I am Mr. Norton s 
 secretary ; but after all I am in the employ of the Com 
 pany, so I feel that I should act in the interests of 
 the Company rather than those of any individual." 
 
 The older man did not as yet grasp the purport of 
 Treadway s remarks, but he saw no reason why he 
 should dispute them. 
 
 "Mr. Norton has had smooth sailing for so many 
 years," Treadway went on, "that he cannot and will not 
 bring himself to admit that the Company is today face 
 
 [150]
 
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 to face with a crisis. I am not telling you anything 
 you do not already know, so there is nothing to be lost 
 by frankness. I don t mean by this to suggest embar 
 rassment for the Company, for its resources are tre 
 mendous; but there is no denying the fact that it will 
 be inconvenient to meet all those notes which you hold 
 on the dates they come due." 
 
 "That s what I thought," Cross commented with con 
 siderable satisfaction. "Norton s bluff didn t fool me 
 a bit." 
 
 "Of course not ... a man with your business acu 
 men and experience," Treadway agreed. 
 
 "You heard what I offered him as an alternative?" 
 
 "Yes ; that is what I am here to talk about." 
 
 "Norton has come round, has he?" 
 
 Treadway smiled indulgently. 
 
 "I thought you knew Mr. Norton better than that! 
 No ; it is from another source that I think possibly the 
 stock you desire might be obtained, and there is a good 
 chance that I could secure it for you." 
 
 Cross regarded his visitor critically. 
 
 "Does this mean that you re going to double-cross 
 Norton?" he asked suspiciously. 
 
 "Only to the extent of serving the Company," Tread- 
 way explained quickly. "It is desirable that some of 
 these notes be renewed. The Directors realize this even 
 if Mr. Norton does not. If you and I can come to an 
 understanding, I think I can help you." 
 
 "Hm !" Cross meditated . . . "The only other source 
 that stock could come from would be Stewart." 
 
 "Exactly, . . unless in the meantime some pressure 
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 was brought to bear on Mr. Norton which would cause 
 him to change his mind." 
 
 Cross remained silent for several moments. The situ 
 ation was even more interesting than he had supposed. 
 
 "Just what is your proposition?" he demanded. 
 
 "It is really accepting your proposition rather than 
 making a new one," Treadway corrected. "If you will 
 permit renewals on certain of those notes, I will under 
 take to secure enough of the bank stock to give you the 
 control, . . but I must have a little time to make the 
 turn." 
 
 "How many of the notes, and how much time?" 
 
 "We can take care of all but $100,000 without incon 
 venience. I will give you renewals for these, extending 
 them six months, and before they mature you shall 
 have the stock." 
 
 "All right," Cross said crisply after a moment s con 
 sideration; "I accept. Which notes do you wish re 
 newed ?" 
 
 Treadway took a small leather book from his pocket 
 and made a pencil memorandum which he handed to 
 Cross. 
 
 "These four, for $25,000 each. I ll bring down the 
 new notes tonight." 
 
 "And a signed agreement of our understanding." 
 
 "Of course," Treadway acquiesced; "but you realize 
 that to put this through we must keep the matter be 
 tween ourselves?" 
 
 "Yes," Cross agreed. "I ve been waiting twenty 
 years for this. I guess I can wait six months longer. 
 You re sure you can carry out your promise?" 
 
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 "You have my word." 
 
 "True," Cross commented; "but I m not sure how 
 much you ve been contaminated by working with James 
 Norton." 
 
 "If you have any question . . ." Treadway assumed 
 his previous patronizing superiority. 
 
 "Oh, no ; it s all right," Cross said quickly. "I sup 
 pose I m a bit prejudiced. I ll take a chance." 
 
 II 
 
 Treadway left the Cross mansion with a light step 
 and climbed the hill to pay his respects to Lola Stewart. 
 This was one of his fortunate days, and he felt inclined 
 to take advantage of the present favor of the fickle god 
 dess. He had just rectified a mistake, and the ease 
 with which he had accomplished this pleased him. Any 
 one is liable to make a slip, . . to be able to correct it 
 promptly and prevent it from becoming a calamity is 
 a mark of genius. In six months time he would be be 
 yond the need of taking chances, and this period of 
 grace he had just secured. 
 
 He found himself the only caller, and this he con 
 sidered another favor of fortune. More than this, Lola 
 was in a lighter mood than he remembered to have seen 
 her for a long time. Richard s new attitude, had 
 Treadway but known it, lifted a world of anxiety from 
 Lola s heart, and she dwelt on this rather than on any 
 doubt as to his loyalty to her. She had followed the 
 progress of affairs as closely as she could through 
 her father. From him she learned of James Norton s 
 unalterable antagonism, but she knew that this had 
 
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 been discounted by Richard, and she blindly pinned 
 her faith on her father and the other Directors. Tread- 
 way was a welcome caller today because she counted 
 on him for further information direct from the foun 
 tain head. 
 
 "How goes the merry little battle?" she inquired 
 lightly. 
 
 "Oh ... at the plant, you mean? We re all set. * 
 
 "For a strike?" 
 
 "Yes ; the men are bound to have it, and there s noth 
 ing to do but let them learn their lesson." 
 
 "But the Directors haven t passed on the men s peti 
 tion yet," she suggested. 
 
 Treadway laughed. 
 
 "The Directors are prayerfully considering," he ad 
 mitted, . . "but James Norton is ordering in the strike 
 breakers." 
 
 Lola sobered. For the first time she realized how lit 
 tle her father figured in this great corporation in spite 
 of his heavy holdings. Treadway was an echo of his 
 chief, and what he said made it clear that while James 
 Norton went through the motions of consulting his 
 Board of Directors, in reality he considered them 
 scarcely entitled to the courtesy of expressing their 
 opinion! She glanced over to the great chair on the 
 opposite side of the veranda where her father sat 
 reading. 
 
 It was a picture well worth looking at, for William 
 Stewart s face might have served as model for a 
 Greek god, and the beauty of its lines was enhanced 
 by the shaggy crown of pure white hair. She recalled 
 
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 what he had said to Dick: "I am at fault to spend 
 my life assimilating instead of giving out." She had 
 demurred when he said it, but now she knew that he was 
 right. "Dreams and books !" Until this moment she 
 had been quite content to have her father what he was ; 
 now she knew that she wished him otherwise. He was 
 right in saying that she and her mother had spoiled 
 him, and Lola now realized how unfair this had been 
 to him. Their intimacy had been the sweetest thing in 
 the world to her, but it had deprived her father of 
 something Nature had intended him to have. To have 
 encouraged him to hold his place in the world need 
 not have deprived her of the delightful cavalier or the 
 comforting confidant, nor have marred the fineness of 
 his finished gentility. Because he had been encouraged 
 to dream, this other . . . the man of action . . . was 
 in a position to crush the very idealism of which he 
 dreamt ! 
 
 Ill 
 
 While these thoughts were passing through Lola s 
 mind Treadway rambled on, content to hold her an 
 apparent listener. At last he felt that the moment had 
 arrived to play his trump card. 
 
 "I passed Dick and that Mirovich girl as I came up," 
 he remarked casually. "Curious what he sees in that 
 cheap little skirt ! Of course she s pretty and all that, 
 but . . ." 
 
 Lola flushed in spite of the assurance she gave her 
 self again and again that she understood. With an 
 effort she threw off the instinctive feeling of resentment 
 
 against Richard. 
 
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 "I shouldn t think you would like to see them to 
 gether," she railed him. "From what Dick tells me 
 I suspect that between them they are planning to keep 
 Mr. Norton and you in hot water for some time to 
 come." 
 
 Treadway was frankly surprised by her attitude, 
 but he suspected that it was simply defensive reaction. 
 
 "It probably pleases me just about as much as it 
 does you." 
 
 "Oh, I don t mind," Lola said lightly. "Olga is a 
 smart little thing, and she is heart and soul in this 
 plan Dick has worked out. Have you ever met her?" 
 
 "I ve seen her in action a couple of times, when the 
 old man has had her on the mat for fighting with the 
 other girls. Gad ! What a temper she has !" 
 
 "Dick was telling me about her temper," Lola 
 laughed. Then her tone became more serious. "But it 
 is that very temper which gives her individuality. It 
 is simply the wrong expression of a will which makes 
 her somebody. If even now her education could be 
 completed, and she could live in different environment 
 she would make a wonderful woman." 
 
 "Perhaps Dick will see that she has the opportunity," 
 Treadway remarked significantly. 
 
 Lola looked at him steadily. 
 
 "Why don t you suggest that to him?" she asked, 
 with a meaning he could not ignore. 
 
 "Oh, don t take it that way," Treadway hastened 
 to appease Lola s growing indignation. "I get sore 
 sometimes to see Dick playing so fast and loose with 
 you, and perhaps I say more than I should." 
 
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 "You are saying more than you should now." 
 
 "You know how I feel about you, Lola. That must 
 be my excuse. I stood aside when Dick came home, for 
 I knew what he had been through, and he was entitled 
 to anything he wanted. But if he doesn t want . . ." 
 
 "What makes you think Dick doesn t want now 
 what he wanted before?" 
 
 "The way he neglects you, Lola, and the way he plays 
 around with this factory-girl." 
 
 "Would it change your opinion if I told you that 
 except for my unwillingness Dick and I would already 
 be married?" 
 
 Treadway s face lighted. 
 
 "Then you don t care for him?" he cried. "Then 
 I have a chance?" 
 
 "I care for Dick Norton more than for any other 
 man," she declared with spirit. "If I ever marry I 
 expect to marry Dick. At the present moment I have 
 no desire to marry any one; but Dick Norton is my 
 friend ... a very dear friend. I m proud of what 
 he s doing, and I have no criticism to make of anything 
 he does . . . Now you know where I stand. Let me give 
 you another cup of tea." 
 
 "Well . . ." Treadway stammered. "That s right 
 from the shoulder, isn t it? Dick is a fine chap and all 
 that, of course; but I don t understand . . ." 
 
 "There s a whole lot about Dick Norton that wiser 
 people than you don t understand," Lola interrupted, 
 as she viciously dropped the second lump of sugar 
 into his cup. 
 
 [157]
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 AFTER Treadway left her, Lola went over 
 to where her father was sitting. Pulling up 
 a stool she seated herself at his feet, and leaned 
 against his knees. 
 
 "Daddy," she asked, as he laid down his book and 
 stroked her hair affectionately, "you re going to help 
 Dick, aren t you?" 
 
 "Yes, dear ;" he replied. "I m convinced that the boy 
 is on the right track. I ve told him so, and have urged 
 him not to lose heart. I shall do my best to make the 
 exact situation clear to the Directors when the Board 
 meets tomorrow." 
 
 "But you don t think there is much chance of their 
 giving Dick s plan a trial?" 
 
 "Absolutely none. We all have let Norton run us 
 so long that we haven t the moral strength to oppose 
 him now." 
 
 "Even when you know he s wrong?" 
 
 Stewart sensed the quiet criticism in her question, 
 and it was as uncomfortable as it was unusual. 
 
 "I have told you that I shall do my best to present 
 the matter effectively," he defended himself; "but I 
 
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 have only one vote, and Norton s accumulated influence 
 is far greater than mine. What I have said already 
 has caused a break in my long friendship with James 
 Norton, but I promised Dick I would support him, 
 and I shall carry it through." 
 
 "Good for you, daddy!" Lola exclaimed. "But it 
 will make a lot of difference how you present it. Are 
 you going to be firm and unyielding, eloquent and mag 
 nificent?" 
 
 "Of course I am going to be firm." 
 
 Stewart s back straightened, and he held his head 
 with the air of an emperor. 
 
 Lola clapped her hands. "You are splendid when you 
 look like that !" she cried. "Oh, I wish I could hear you 
 when you talk to the Directors ! I was afraid that you 
 would be courteous and agreeable, as you usually are; 
 but that would be a mistake in dealing with a man 
 like James Norton, wouldn t it, daddy?" 
 
 "Of course ... of course," he agreed with her. 
 "Perhaps it would be a good idea for me to run over 
 those papers of Dick s again, and sketch out what I m 
 going to say." 
 
 "Splendid, daddy ! I do wish I might hear you talk 
 to those Directors tomorrow! Even if they haven t 
 enough self-respect to vote for what is right after you 
 make it clear to them that it is right, your conscience 
 will be clear." 
 
 "Yes . . . yes, dear. I think I ll go to the library 
 now," he added. 
 
 Lola quickly rose and assisted him to extricate him 
 self from the recesses of the great chair. 
 
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 "Perhaps you would care to look over my notes since 
 you can t hear me speak tomorrow?" he added. 
 "May I, daddy?" she cried. "I d love to!" 
 
 II 
 
 Thus the unexpected came to pass at the meeting of 
 the Board the following day. William Stewart as 
 tounded his fellow-directors and James Norton by the 
 energy and earnestness with which he argued for a 
 thorough investigation into the merits of the case as 
 presented by Richard for the workmen. Because of 
 his sponsorship, the matter was discussed at length and 
 finally voted upon; but from the first it was at best a 
 formality, as Stewart had predicted. Norton bullied 
 his Directors as he bullied his men, the only difference 
 being in the way he did it. They had been docile for 
 so many years that Stewart s action in venturing to 
 take a viewpoint opposed to that of the General Man 
 ager could be regarded only as a temporary lapse in 
 his loyalty to the Company. 
 
 "You don t understand, Stewart," one of the others 
 said to him. "Norton has already passed on this, and 
 turned it down." 
 
 "That is why I am fighting for it," he retorted with 
 unexpected zeal. "I have acquiesced all these years in 
 Norton s policies because I believed them to be right. 
 Now I believe he s wrong. No one is infallible. Our 
 responsibility to the Company is to prevent any repre 
 sentative of this concern from making a mistake. I m 
 trying to live up to that responsibility." 
 
 "I know ... I know," was the placating reply, "but 
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 Norton understands this situation better than we do. 
 He s handled men all his life. If we don t back him up 
 he ll resign, and who could be put in his place? That 
 would be a very serious problem . . ." 
 
 "It is one we are likely to have to face at any mo 
 ment," Stewart insisted. "The fact that we are not 
 prepared for this emergency is evidence enough that 
 we are not properly protecting the stockholders." 
 
 "But Norton wouldn t stand for an understudy . . ." 
 
 "And I won t stand for being a puppet," Stewart 
 retorted sharply, again assuming imperial dignity. 
 "Except for Norton I have more invested in this busi 
 ness than any other single stockholder, and for the 
 first time in my life I realize how easily my interests 
 may be jeopardized by the stubbornness of one man. 
 We are facing a crisis now, but as soon as it can be 
 done with safety I propose to show the stockholders 
 the dangerous position we are in, and take steps to 
 remedy the situation. I appreciate what Norton has 
 done for the business during these years, but no man 
 holds a monopoly on all the knowledge in the world. 
 This Company has become too large for any one to 
 swing without the constructive advice of other men 
 competent to give it. That is what we are here for. 
 If Norton has reached a point where he won t take 
 advice, it is time to replace him with a man who will." 
 
 Stewart s attitude created a profound sensation, 
 but it failed to influence the result. He might force 
 a change in the future, but the Directors were dealing 
 with the present, and the present was dominated by 
 Norton. The General Manager of the Norton Manu- 
 
 [161]
 
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 facturing Company was formally authorized by his 
 Board of Directors to make such reply to the demands 
 of the men as his judgment might dictate, and the meet 
 ing adjourned. 
 
 Norton lost no time in sending to the committee a 
 flat refusal to negotiate further, and gave orders to 
 have the strike-breakers from outside ready to replace 
 with the utmost promptness the workers who left their 
 jobs. 
 
 He went about his preparations with a zeal even 
 beyond his usual dynamic, driving force. He had a 
 triple purpose now: he would show the men that he 
 was still their master ; he must beat them if he was to 
 hold together his Board of Directors and prevent 
 Stewart from undermining his position with the stock 
 holders ; he would demonstrate to his son that the ex 
 perience of forty years in solving business problems 
 and in meeting rebellious workmen out-balanced the 
 conceit of youth and the new-fangled ideas of meddling 
 theorists. If battle it was to be, Norton was deter 
 mined to prove that the old methods were still the best ; 
 that capital still demanded subservience from labor; 
 that the Norton Manufacturing Company was going 
 to be run just as it always had been even if the war 
 had turned everything else upside down. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Richard believed himself prepared for the complete 
 failure of his efforts to have the management meet the 
 men half way, but in reality he absolutely refused to 
 accept the inevitable. It was a case where the desires 
 
 [162]
 
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 of the heart unconsciously took precedence over the 
 sober judgment of the mind. He knew his father s in 
 fluence with the Directors, but Mr. Stewart s sympathy 
 and co-operation encouraged him to expect the impos 
 sible. For weeks he had worked on his problem, arguing 
 with one man, urging another, pointing out the pros 
 perity which must follow when the hated terms "capital" 
 and "labor" were obliterated from the language and re 
 placed by "employer" and "emplo} f ed"; when the object 
 of both was production, and each gave to the other the 
 co-operation he needed to make this production max 
 imum. 
 
 He had been successful with the men. In spite of 
 the opposition of those who saw in the new industrial 
 relations the passing of their power, there were enough 
 in the labor ranks who were reasonable and loved peace 
 to make the experiment possible, and Richard was con 
 fident that its success would allay their suspicions and 
 give to it an enduring permanence. It was a real tri 
 umph to have accomplished this, and Richard knew it. 
 Yet he had failed. His own father, fortified by prece 
 dent, blinded by habit, cherishing "what always was" 
 as more precious than "what is to be," refused to see 
 in this triumph anything save rebellion and sedition! 
 He refused to read the handwriting on the wall, even 
 though the letters seemed to Richard to be written in 
 flaming symbols, foretelling with terrifying clarity 
 the fate of the world unless the basic principles of 
 democracy were embodied in industrial enterprise as 
 they were guaranteed in the constitutions of nations. 
 
 "Blind . . . blind . . . blind!" he shouted, though 
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 there was no one to hear him in the small bedroom 
 of the flat which he had occupied since he left his fath 
 er s house. "Why can t they realize that indemnities 
 won t give the world peace, nor the readjustment of 
 boundary lines, nor treaties, nor armies, nor ships. 
 Production . . . nothing but production will solve the 
 problem, and without understanding and co-operation 
 in industry there can be no production. We who of 
 fered our lives for the peace of the world know, and we 
 have a right to be heard. We have a right ... we 
 have a right . . ." 
 
 Then something gave way, and Richard sank in a 
 heap upon the floor. The mental strain had worn down 
 his physical strength, never fully recovered since his 
 wound, until the frayed nerves yielded. There Olga 
 found him when she called later in the day to receive 
 instructions. There the doctor, hastily summoned by 
 the terrified girl, helped her to get him into bed, and 
 prescribed absolute quiet and watchful nursing. 
 
 "Who is he?" Dr. Thurber inquired. 
 
 Being a new-comer to Norcross, he failed to recog 
 nize the son of the town s leading citizen. 
 
 "He s my man !" Olga declared defiantly, fearful lest 
 this opportunity to serve him be taken away from her. 
 
 "I mean, what is his name?" 
 
 "Richards," Olga lied, rejoiced that his identity was 
 not disclosed. 
 
 There she nursed him day and night, jealously guard 
 ing and protecting him while the workers walked out 
 from the plant ; while the strike-breakers arrived ; while 
 Alec Sterling, taking Richard s place, struggled to hold 
 
 [164]
 
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 back Tony Lemholtz and his radicals in their lust for 
 violence ; while Lola worried over Richard s absence and 
 silence ; while the atmosphere of Norcross became in 
 tense in its anticipation of something unusual and 
 malevolent. 
 
 Olga permitted no foot save the doctor s to cross 
 the threshold of the little room, and was happy in the 
 praise he gave her for her instinctive skill and devotion. 
 Alec Sterling alone knew her secret. The men were 
 told that Richard was away arranging matters with 
 the union chiefs, and no one else inquired. 
 
 [165]
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 ON Sundays, James Norton, deacon in the Con 
 gregational Church in Norcross, never failed 
 to sit in his family pew or to admit himself a 
 miserable sinner. This was a condition he acknowl 
 edged solely to his Maker, and then only on Sundays. 
 On other days he considered himself quite competent 
 to look after his own affairs. Another invariable cus 
 tom was to walk to and from church. His father had 
 made it a point to obey the Biblical injunction to rest 
 his beasts upon the seventh day, and the early impres 
 sion made upon James Norton s mind extended now 
 even to his automobiles. 
 
 September in Norcross is the loveliest month in all 
 the year. The air turns crisp and invigorating, the 
 gardens give their final flare of color in the masses of 
 chrysanthemums, asters, dahlias, salvia, and canna, 
 and the trees vie with the gardens in the gorgeous bril 
 liancy of their array. 
 
 Norton found it a relief on this September Sunday 
 to get away from the great empty house, away from 
 himself. Once inside the house of God he found a rest 
 which came to him at no other time. He was sincere 
 
 [166]
 
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 in his belief that he was a consciencious, consistent 
 Christian, and when he felt the pain of his son s defec 
 tion and of his former friend Stewart s disloyalty, he 
 turned to his Maker with a confidence that the words, 
 "Well done, thou good and faithful servant," were 
 spoken to him. He knew himself to be stern ; that was 
 but the expression of his duty to those who required 
 discipline. No man could say that he was not just 
 and honest. He contributed to the church and to char 
 ities ; he had given of himself in the building of a busi 
 ness from which thousands gained their sustenance; 
 except for him the town itself would lack its present 
 individuality. As he sat in his pew this Sabbath morn 
 ing he reconciled the bitterness of his personal expe 
 riences by recalling the comforting thought that "whom 
 the Lord loveth he chasteneth." 
 
 Norton could not have repeated the text nor told 
 much of the subject matter of the discourse. The min 
 ister did not interest him, and of what use were these 
 theories of life after death and all that sort of thing 
 when no one could prove anything one way or the other? 
 Norton was at church not for what he could give to it 
 or what he could receive from it, but because of the 
 habit which years had established. The fact that he 
 went gave him satisfaction, and the experience was 
 soothing after six days of strife and turmoil. 
 
 II 
 
 The services over, Norton found himself walking 
 behind Henry Cross. Perhaps it was the humanizing 
 effect of the last hour and a half, or it may have been 
 
 [187]
 
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 that a bit of the September beauty crept for a moment 
 into his lonely old heart. Instead of brushing past 
 him, as was his custom, and expressing his disdain by 
 the straightness of his back, Norton surprised Cross 
 by letting his step fall in with his. 
 
 "Feeling easier about that money, aren t you?" he 
 asked without preliminaries. 
 
 "I don t usually discuss business matters on the 
 Sabbath day," Cross replied, assuming a non-committal 
 attitude in order to recover from his surprise. 
 
 "I d hate to take a chance on offering you that bank 
 stock you want, even on the Sabbath, unless I was 
 willing to let it go," Norton chuckled. 
 
 "There might be some exceptions," Cross admitted. 
 
 "Why did you hold back that note that fell due on 
 Friday?" Norton inquired. "There was plenty of 
 money in the bank to take care of it." 
 
 Henry Cross looked up quickly. After what Tread- 
 way had said to him, Norton s remark was a bit sur 
 prising. Safely deposited among his securities was a 
 renewal of this note, bearing James Norton s signature. 
 
 "You know why that note wasn t presented." 
 
 "You are right," Norton shouted. "I do know, but 
 I didn t think you knew I knew. I d like nothing better 
 than to have you present it. You don t dare !" 
 
 Cross regarded his companion critically to make 
 sure that he was in earnest. 
 
 "I thought you were a business man, . . or is your 
 memory failing? It isn t customary to present a note 
 for payment after accepting a renewal." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Norton. "A renewal? You re 
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 crazy ! No renewal has ever been issued for that note, 
 and never will be." 
 
 There could be no question of the sincerity of Nor 
 ton s statement, and Henry Cross found himself some 
 what bewildered. 
 
 "Either you re surpassing yourself in bluffing," he 
 said, "or there s something here neither one of us under 
 stands. I hold a renewal of that note in my safe-de 
 posit box at the bank. I can t get at it today, but if 
 it would interest you to see it I ll show it to you at 
 the bank meeting tomorrow morning." 
 
 "You do that," Norton cried; "and let me know 
 where you got it. Good day to you." 
 
 Norton stamped off, bringing down his heavy cane 
 with resounding thumps on the new granolithic side 
 walk which was the town s pride. Henry Cross watched 
 him as the distance between them widened, then he, too, 
 proceeded to his home with much the same feeling of 
 bewilderment which Norton himself experienced. 
 
 Ill 
 
 On this same Sunday Richard Norton was discovered, 
 and it was Barry O Carolan who found him. The bills 
 had come in for Jack Munsey s funeral, and Barry 
 needed the contribution which Richard had so freely 
 pledged. Every one accepted the report which Alec 
 Sterling circulated that young Norton was out of town, 
 and many were the conjectures and comments occa 
 sioned by his continued absence at just this crisis. 
 Having no better idea come to him, Barry hobbled down 
 to Richard s boarding-place, hoping to gain informa- 
 
 [189]
 
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 tion which would enable him to acquaint "the Capt n" 
 with the situation. 
 
 Olga met him at the door of Richard s chamber and 
 barred his entrance. Her attitude and the defiant 
 expression on her face were in themselves a direct chal 
 lenge. 
 
 "What are you doin here?" Barry demanded. 
 
 "None of your business, Barry O Carolan," she re 
 plied angrily. "Why are you snooping around, any 
 way?" 
 
 "I want to find out where the Capt n is. I ve got 
 somethin important to say to him. And I m guessin 
 he s not very far from where we re standin now." 
 
 "S-ssh!" she whispered anxiously, seeing that con 
 cealment was no longer possible. "Mr. Richard has 
 been awful sick, and I have been nursing him. But 
 you will not give him away, will you, Barry? He does 
 not want the men to know that he is so sick for fear 
 Tony will take advantage of it. You will not give 
 him away, will you?" 
 
 Barry was bewildered, but if Richard wished the 
 knowledge of his illness to be suppressed, that was 
 enough. 
 
 "He s not much sick, is he?" 
 
 "He is better now, but he cannot see any one yet. 
 The doctor says he may in a few days." 
 
 "Can t I tell even Miss Lola? She s terrible worried 
 about him." 
 
 "No ... no ! not her !" the girl exclaimed impul 
 sively, fearful lest this knowledge should result in hav 
 ing the "Stewart lady" supplant her. 
 
 [170]
 
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 "When can I see him?" Barry demanded, instinc 
 tively resenting the protective attitude Olga assumed. 
 He had given his word to Lola that things were going 
 to come out all right for her, and the present situation 
 contained elements which made him wonder if he had 
 made a false estimate after all. He had assured her 
 that Richard s work with the men could never take 
 the place of what a woman could be in his life, but here 
 was a woman . . . another woman . . . 
 
 Olga s eyes anxiously followed the changing expres 
 sion on Barry s face, and she could not fail to note 
 his disapproval. The security she had enjoyed was 
 threatened, and she must act promptly and daringly. 
 She knew how loyal the one-legged man was to Richard. 
 If he could be convinced that things were as "the 
 Capt n" wished them to be her secret might be kept 
 at least a little longer. 
 
 "Barry," she said, after a delay in answering the 
 question, "I think it would be all right for you to see 
 Mr. Richard today. The doctor lets Alec Sterling 
 come in, and I will take a chance." 
 
 "Fine !" he cried, relieved to have the situation clear 
 so unexpectedly; "but first let me go and get some 
 flowers for him ... It won t take me more than half 
 an hour . . . You can t have a person sick without 
 bavin flowers, you know, . . they sort of go together 
 . . . I ll be right back." 
 
 "You will not tell anybody where he is?" 
 
 "Not if he says himself that he don t want people 
 to know," was the guarded reply as Barry hobbled down 
 
 the stairs. 
 
 [171]
 
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 When he returned, Olga admitted him at once. As 
 she had said, Richard was better now, and the girl 
 had greater difficulty in enforcing the doctor s injunc 
 tion to keep him quiet. Alec Sterling came in to see 
 him once each day, so that the invalid was in touch 
 with the strike as far as it seemed wise for him to know. 
 
 Olga took her place at the head of the bed, still 
 jealously watchful. 
 
 "Hello, Barry," Richard greeted him; "this is a 
 nice trick I ve played on myself, isn t it?" 
 
 "But not for long, Capt n. You ll be out again 
 in a few days." 
 
 "I must be," Richard replied emphatically. 
 
 "Here are some flowers for you . . ." 
 
 Barry laid the gorgeous bunch of chrysanthemums 
 on the coverlet where Richard could reach them. 
 
 "They re from Miss Lola s garden," he added, watch 
 ing to see what effect the mention of the name would 
 have. 
 
 "So they are, . . I know just the spot where you 
 picked them, Barry. How is Miss Lola, and the Stew 
 arts, and everybody?" 
 
 "As well as they could be after worryin bout you." 
 
 "Oh, there s nothing to worry about," Richard in 
 sisted. "I did too much, that s all. I m feeling fine 
 today, and I ll be on my job soon, I promise you 
 . . . I m sorry I couldn t go to Jack s funeral. Tell 
 Olga how much my share is. She is my treasurer now." 
 
 Richard looked up smilingly into the girl s face, 
 and took in his the hand which rested lightly on his 
 
 shoulder. 
 
 [172]
 
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 "I can never repay this child for her devoted care," 
 he said gratefully. "A wife could have done no more." 
 
 Olga flushed at the tribute, but Barry could see the 
 joy come into her eyes, even as she deprecated her 
 efforts. 
 
 "Hell!" she said consciously; "I d have done as 
 much for a sick dog." 
 
 Richard was amused by the girl s characteristic re 
 sponse, but it troubled Barry. Perhaps rumor had 
 been right, and things had gone farther than he had 
 been willing to acknowledge to himself. 
 
 "Miss Lola would have come if she d known . . ." 
 
 "You hold your tongue, Barry O Carolan !" 
 
 Richard held up a restraining hand, which Olga at 
 once respected. 
 
 "Olga is right, Barry," he said. "It is best that 
 for the present no one should know where I am . . . 
 Miss Lola could not have come to this place, even if 
 she had wanted to. It happened just as it should, for 
 Olga was willing to take care of me, and I am happy 
 and grateful to have had her. She has been a wonder 
 ful help to me, Barry. You ought to find a girl like 
 Olga and marry her." 
 
 "No girl would ever marry half a man like me," 
 Barry stammered in his embarrassment . . , "But 
 there re some men with two legs who haven t got such 
 good eye-sight as I have," with which enigmatical com 
 ment Barry turned to Olga for the funeral contribu 
 tion and took his departure, the stamp of his wooden 
 leg on the stairs registering his entire disapproval of 
 
 the situation. 
 
 [173]
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 WHILE Richard lay convalescing, Norcross 
 passed through its own physical disarrange 
 ment. The presence of so many hundreds of 
 unemployed workers congested the streets, and intro 
 duced an element of discontent hitherto unknown in the 
 orderly, self-satisfied town. There were occasional out 
 breaks, but the general attitude of the strikers was 
 that of peaceful patience, confident of being able to 
 outwait the management at the plant. 
 
 When the first strike-breakers arrived they occa 
 sioned curiosity rather than resentment. What could 
 these strangers accomplish in running machines which 
 year after year had known the touch of but a single 
 hand ! It was simply a gallery play on the part of 
 the management to impress the men with their inde 
 pendence. Skilled workmen are not to be picked up 
 on every corner. These Hessians, who came in for 
 blood money at the behest of Capital, might go through 
 the motions, but they could never perform the work 
 of those whose places they took ! 
 
 The workmen saw little to complain of until Tony 
 Lemholtz began to point it out to them. Then they 
 
 [174]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 became apprehensive. Tony was clever enough to re 
 alize that the strike-breakers offered him his oppor 
 tunity to recover his lost leadership. Richard Norton 
 had won the men away from him by glowing pictures of 
 a future which had failed to materialize. As a spell 
 binder Richard had temporarily surpassed him ; but 
 now his rival had taken himself off, . . whither he knew 
 not nor did he care. The field was clear for Tony to 
 pull down the structure Richard had reared, and to 
 salvage the material for building to his own design. 
 
 Groups of workmen met each incoming train and 
 sought to dissuade the newcomers from going to the 
 plant. Moral suasion was employed as the strike 
 breakers went to and from their work. In some in 
 stances these efforts were successful, but for the most 
 part the men had come to Norcross for a definite pur 
 pose and went about their business stolidly. In a few 
 instances the attempts at suasion passed the bounds 
 and resulted in personal encounters, but except for 
 these Alec Sterling and his conservatives held back 
 the fire-brands in spite of Tony s tirades. 
 
 "Leave them alone," Sterling counseled. "They re 
 ruining more than half the stuff they turn out. We re 
 all right if we keep our heads. The management can t 
 run the plant without us, and they know it. If we use 
 violence, we ll play right Into their hands. Leave them 
 
 alone." 
 
 "Yes, leave em alone and let em think we re scared 
 of em!" Tony retorted. "Leave em alone and let 
 em take the bread out of our mouths !" 
 
 "You haven t gone hungry yet, have you?" Sterling 
 [175]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 came back. "You re getting your pay regular from 
 the union, whatever happens to us. You should worry." 
 
 "Yes, I m gettin my pay," Tony admitted ; "and I m 
 earnin it. Not by standin round like you and lettin 
 em tear the coats off our backs, but by doin somethin 
 to get through with this loafin , so that all of us can 
 get our pay. They never would have brought in these 
 scabs if they hadn t thought we was cowards. That s 
 what you get for listenin to that highbrow Mister 
 Richard Norton! Where is he now? Run away, to 
 some place where it s healthier, that s what he s done." 
 
 "He ll be back when he s needed," Sterling asserted 
 staunchly; "and when he comes you ll have reason to 
 know it. He won t be overlooking you this time." 
 
 II 
 
 Thus the battle of words raged. Sometimes the men 
 seemed content to abide by Sterling s moderation, some 
 times the superintendent felt that his last grip on them 
 had loosened, and that they would follow Tony to tear 
 down the works. Twice he sought interviews with James 
 Norton, but he accomplished nothing. 
 
 "Come to me when the men have learned their lesson, 
 Sterling," Norton told him. "I can run this plant 
 without em, and I will run it. You all are making me 
 a lot of trouble which I shan t forget, and you all 
 must pay the price for it." 
 
 "Then you had better have the State troops ready 
 to act in an emergency," Sterling warned him. "There 
 is an element among the strikers I don t like. We ll 
 hold them back as long as we can, but when the storm 
 
 [176]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 breaks you and the works will need all the protection 
 you can get." 
 
 Norton laughed at him. 
 
 "I thought you knew men better than that, Sterling. 
 They haven t got it in em. They re skunks, every one 
 of em, and you know how much courage a skunk has. 
 They ll make the air foul with their threats, but they 
 don t dare raise a hand against me. I ve ruled em by 
 fear all these years, and they re afraid of me now. 
 There won t be any storm, Sterling, . . just a little 
 breeze stirred up by their own hot air." 
 
 Sterling pleaded in vain. The old man sat tight 
 in his overweening confidence, and refused to see any 
 thing in the superintendent s warnings except an effort 
 to weaken the Company s stand in the interest of the 
 men. 
 
 "You always take the men s side, Sterling," Norton 
 told him. "That s the only criticism I ve ever had to 
 make of you. If you had stood up stiffer in the past 
 I shouldn t have to be doing it now. The men have got 
 almighty cocky with their big wages these last few 
 years. They ve forgotten how it feels to have their 
 bellies empty. I m in no hurry. We ll do a good job 
 now and have it over with. If these men ever come back 
 into this plant it will be on a basis which will keep 
 things smooth for a good long time. Tell em that from 
 me, Sterling." 
 
 Ill 
 
 Norton found Henry Cross a diversion from his trou 
 bles with the men. True to his promise, after the bank 
 
 [177]
 
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 meeting that Monday morning, Cross handed Norton 
 the renewal note, and awaited his comments. 
 
 "Where did you get this?" Norton demanded, after he 
 had given it a careful examination. 
 
 "I don t know that it makes much difference," Cross 
 parried. "These things frequently pass through sev 
 eral hands before they get back home." 
 
 "In this particular instance it makes a good deal 
 of difference." 
 
 "That s your signature all right, isn t it?" Cross 
 asked complacently. "That s all I m interested in." 
 
 Norton hesitated a moment. The episode of the 
 notes was not developing exactly as he had expected, 
 and he was puzzled. Henry Cross could not sit there 
 so calmly if he had in any way been a party to the 
 forgery. 
 
 "As a matter of fact," Norton said slowly "neither 
 signature is genuine." 
 
 Cross sprang excitedly from his chair. 
 
 "What do you mean?" he cried. "The signatures are 
 forged?" 
 
 Norton nodded. "And rather badly done at that. 
 Now you realize the importance of telling me where you 
 got this note. The one which fell due last Friday was 
 also a forgery." 
 
 Henry Cross rarely became flustered, but this occa 
 sion was a notable exception. He fell back into his 
 chair speechless for the moment, and then made sev 
 eral efforts before the words finally came. 
 
 "This . . . this isn t another one of your bluffs?" 
 
 he demanded. 
 
 [178]
 
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 "It s serious business. Four of those notes you 
 showed me at the house the other night were forgeries." 
 
 Cross s face turned white. 
 
 "Do you happen to remember the amounts?" 
 
 "Yes; each note was for $25,000 ... I guess this 
 is the time when we ll have to play the game together 
 whether we want to or not. Where did you get the 
 note?" 
 
 "You wait right here." 
 
 Cross rose clumsily, and leaving the President s office 
 made for his safe-deposit box. Securing the desired 
 papers, he returned to Norton, and laid on his desk 
 the renewal notes for the three remaining maturities. 
 
 "How about these?" he demanded. 
 
 The pathetic tone in Cross s voice would have amused 
 Norton except for the significance of the affair to him 
 and to the Company. 
 
 "Phoney, every one of em," he said crisply, after 
 a careful examination; "and the notes they extended 
 were just like em. I m afraid you re in for a pretty 
 loss." 
 
 "We ll see about that!" Cross cried, trembling in 
 his excitement. "We ll see whether or not a man is 
 responsible for the acts of his own secretary . . . Read 
 
 this !" 
 
 "The acts of his own secretary . . ." Norton re 
 peated slowly, holding the proffered paper in his hand 
 . . . "Look here, Cross, are you crazy or am I?" 
 
 "Read that," Cross insisted, pointing to the agree 
 ment drawn up by Treadway which he had just handed 
 
 him. 
 
 [179]
 
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 At first the importance of the document was not 
 apparent to Norton. Then its significance became 
 clear, and a wave of anger passed over him, followed 
 by a pain as real as if a blow had been dealt. The whole 
 world had turned against him! His son, his friend 
 Stewart, his trusted superintendent, and now Tread- 
 way, on whom he had relied implicitly, and on whom 
 he had rested more than ever since he had forced Rich 
 ard out of his life ! Forgetful of Cross s presence, he 
 bowed his head on his hands and groaned. 
 
 "We must go right up to the plant and arrest him," 
 Cross declared, mopping his face with his handkerchief, 
 unmindful of everything except his personal tragedy. 
 
 The words brought Norton back to realities. He 
 held up his hand restrainingly. 
 
 "There is no haste, Cross; he can t get away . . . 
 Let me think this out^. I m dumfounded." 
 
 "Do you acknowledge your responsibility?" 
 
 "Don t be a fool ! Of course there s no responsibility ; 
 but you d better let me handle it. I ll pledge myself 
 to help you all I can. I ve got to think it out." 
 
 "You won t let him get away ?" 
 
 "No," Norton answered wearily; "he must pay the 
 price. Now leave me alone . . . Treadway a criminal ! 
 I trusted him. I cared for him. I wished my son was 
 like him! My God! . . Richard at least is honest!" 
 
 [180]
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 BLACK MONDAY" they still call it in Norcross. 
 Henry Cross found the day dismal enough when 
 James Norton disclosed to him the fact that 
 he had paid out a princely sum for alleged business 
 paper which was absolutely worthless. Norton felt 
 its dreariness when he returned to the plant. 
 
 It was raining hard, as if to average things up for 
 the wonderful Sunday which preceded it. The weather 
 appeared to reflect itself in the strikers. They had 
 been getting more restless each week, and when "Black 
 Monday" opened up in sullen fashion it found them 
 sullen too. But the weather was not wholly responsible. 
 Sunday had been a day of labor for Tony Lemholtz 
 and his aides. James Norton s parting words to Alec 
 Sterling were oAerheard by one whom the strikers had 
 "planted" in the office, and Tony had not overlooked 
 their value in working the men up to a fighting frenzy. 
 
 "He calls us skunks, fellers," Tony yelled from the 
 housetops, . . "the boss calls us skunks ! He says 
 we re scared of him. He ll wait til our bellies are empty, 
 will he? . . . and then he ll take us back on his own 
 terms. Now will you listen to Alec Sterling, or will 
 you stand up and show yourselves men?" 
 
 [181]
 
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 All day Sunday Tony watched the crowds of men 
 about him grow larger and listen to him with deeper 
 interest. He marked the angry flushes which came into 
 their faces as he talked, and he delighted to goad them 
 on the raw which the experiences of the past few weeks 
 had produced. 
 
 On this Monday morning the cold, wet, penetrating 
 east wind settled into their wounds, real and fancied. 
 Alec Sterling now could scarcely find a listener. The 
 men moved about in groups, and there was an unusually 
 large number of personal encounters with the strike 
 breakers. As James Norton s limousine passed some 
 of the men on its way back from the bank to the plant 
 there were howls and cat-calls, but to the old man inside 
 these meant nothing. His mind was intent upon some 
 thing else. By noon several of the groups had joined 
 together, with Tony at their head, still skilfully excit 
 ing them until there were shouts containing threats, 
 and loud exhortations to "get the boss." 
 
 Sterling felt it necessary to acquaint Richard witK 
 the conditions. In spite of Olga s protests, the sick 
 man struggled to his feet, relieved to find that his 
 strength was sufficient for this achievement. 
 
 "I have your promise to keep me posted?" Richard 
 demanded of Sterling, and the superintendent gave his 
 word. 
 
 II 
 
 Unmindful of the turmoil outside, the master of Nor- 
 cross entered his office. Never had it seemed so cheerless, 
 never had he seated himself at the great desk with 
 
 [182]
 
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 such despair in his heart. He knew that from now on 
 he must distrust every one. If those who had been near 
 est and dearest to him could so chastise him, there was 
 nothing to hope for in the future. Then a terrifying 
 thought came to him * . . if every one had turned 
 against him, could it be possible that he himself had 
 after all been wrong? He sat there with bowed head, 
 striving to analyze himself and the life he had lived 
 so strictly in accord with what he believed was right. 
 
 Treadway entered the office and was startled by his 
 physical appearance. 
 
 "You re not well," he exclaimed. "Shall I call a 
 doctor?" 
 
 Norton roused himself, gave him a long, searching 
 glance, and then shook his head. 
 
 "No, Treadway," he said in a voice so hollow that 
 it added to the secretary s alarm. "It isn t a doctor I 
 need; it s time in which to readjust myself . . . Sit 
 down." 
 
 With wondering eyes never leaving his chief s face, 
 Treadway seated himself and waited. That it was an 
 epochal moment he could not fail to sense, but its exact 
 purport did not occur to him. Norton s question there 
 fore took him completely off his guard. 
 
 "Why did you do it?" the old man cried, with so 
 much feeling in his voice that Treadway was genuinely 
 affected; but as yet no understanding came to relieve 
 his suspense. 
 
 "Do what?" he inquired. "I m afraid I don t . . ." 
 
 Treadway s lack of comprehension angered Norton. 
 To his mind, in which honor was synonymous with life, 
 
 [183]
 
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 it was unbelievable that any man could be guilty of 
 crime without having its consciousness ever stalking 
 before him. The calm, unruffled bearing stirred in Nor 
 ton a resentment which made him again the pitiless 
 judge rather than the injured patron. 
 
 "Don t try stalling!" he said sharply. "Your game 
 is up ... And I trusted you, Treadway !" 
 
 The secretary rose with that consummate dignity he 
 knew so well how to assume. 
 
 "Something has evidently occurred of which I am 
 ignorant, . . I have apparently lost your confidence, 
 sir . . ." 
 
 "You have lost more than that," Norton interrupted 
 sternly. "When a man stoops to crime he loses every 
 thing." 
 
 "Sir !" Treadway exclaimed indignantly. "If you are 
 applying your remarks to me . . ." 
 
 "Cut out the dramatics !" Norton commanded ; "I 
 want facts. How many notes are there outstanding on 
 which my name has been forged by you?" 
 
 Treadway stiffened, and regarded his chief steadily 
 for several moments in silence, but during this period 
 his mind was unusually active. So Cross had given him 
 away! Treadway knew Norton well enough to realize 
 the hopelessness of throwing himself on his mercy. 
 His only possible salvation lay in appealing to the 
 older man s self-interest. As Norton watched him, he 
 saw a complete metamorphosis in his secretary . . . 
 The sleek, polished, deferential man of the world 
 changed into a cunning, resourceful antagonist. There 
 were no evidences of remorse or of apprehension. 
 
 [184]
 
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 Treadway at bay held himself perfectly in hand. He 
 calmly reseated himself and played with the ivory 
 paper-cutter. 
 
 "At last we meet as man to man," he said defiantly. 
 "You have discovered this too late, Norton. A year ago 
 you might have made things unpleasant for me; today 
 I have something on which to trade." 
 
 "I have no interest in your personal affairs," Nor 
 ton exclaimed. "I asked you a question and I want an 
 answer . . . How many forged notes are outstand- 
 ing?" 
 
 "I really don t know without consulting my private 
 books," Treadway answered indifferently ; "but enough 
 to make it absolutely necessary for you to trade with 
 me if you wish to straighten matters out. I have taken 
 good care of that." 
 
 "Trade with you?" Norton repeated. "What non 
 sense are you talking! Trade with a criminal ... a 
 forger ! I ve asked you a question. If you don t choose 
 to answer, that s all there is to it ... I had hoped 
 there might be some explanation which would at least 
 mitigate the enormity of your duplicity." 
 
 "I can take care of everything if you give me time," 
 Treadway explained. "The money is not lost ... In 
 fact I ve done very well with it. Give me your promise 
 that you won t prosecute, and no one need suffer at all. 
 In another six months I shouldn t have needed any 
 . . . loans from the Company." 
 
 "Do you realize that you are asking me to compound 
 a felony?" 
 
 Treadway shrugged his shoulders. 
 [185]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 "You ve driven some pretty hard bargains yourself, 
 Norton." 
 
 "Have I ever broken the law?" 
 
 "Perhaps not," Treadway admitted; "but there are 
 those who say you ve bent it." 
 
 The assurance manifested by his secretary astonished 
 Norton. He became more and more incensed by his 
 insolence, but he was interested to see how far the man 
 would go. 
 
 "What is this trade* you suggest?" 
 
 "Ah! that s better!" Treadway exclaimed. "I felt 
 sure you didn t care to have this complication on top 
 of all the others ! The Company reached its borrowing 
 limit at the banks six weeks ago. The note-brokers 
 who have been handling the Company paper since 
 then are only doing so to protect their holdings. They 
 know that with our cancelations, shrunken inventories, 
 and labor troubles there is at least a chance that even 
 the famous Norton Manufacturing Company may find 
 itself seriously embarrassed. If they discover now that 
 a part of the paper they hold is not genuine, and that 
 they must face a substantial loss, the Company s only 
 resource will be cut off." 
 
 "Very interesting, Treadway," Norton commented; 
 . . "go on." 
 
 "If, on the other hand, matters are not disturbed, 
 within six months everything will straighten out. These 
 notes of mine, when presented, will either be retired by 
 me, or renewed." 
 
 "I shan t even have to sign the renewals, shall I?" 
 Norton inquired scornfully. 
 
 [186]
 
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 "Except for such renewals as are necessary," Tread- 
 way continued, unruffled by the stinging sarcasm, "I 
 shall of course issue no new notes ... I give you my 
 word of honor." 
 
 "Your word of honor!" the old man repeated with 
 emphasis. "Very ingenious, Treadway . . . Your abil 
 ities are too great to be wasted on so insignificant a 
 position as you now hold. The State calls for your 
 services. I will no longer stand between you and your 
 destiny !" 
 
 Norton reached for the telephone, called the police 
 department, and asked that an officer be sent at once 
 to his office. 
 
 "You wouldn t do that !" Treadway cried, surprised 
 by the suddenness of his action. 
 
 "I have done it," Norton replied with finality. 
 
 Treadway s face darkened as he rose to his feet. 
 Irresolutely he went to his own desk and seated himself, 
 Norton s eyes never leaving him. Thus they sat for 
 several moments. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Suddenly the tense silence was broken by a commotion 
 in the outer office. There was the sound of broken glass, 
 of furniture being thrown about, and the angry voices 
 of men. 
 
 "The boss . . . the boss !" they shouted ; "we want 
 the boss !" 
 
 "See what that is, Treadway," Norton instructed 
 him. "Tell them I am not to be disturbed." 
 
 [187]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 The secretary opened the door, and then as suddenly 
 shut and locked it. 
 
 "The strikers!" he cried; "they re running amuck!" 
 
 "Open that door!" Norton commanded. 
 
 "We re skunks, are we? . . We re afraid of the boss, 
 are we?" came the strident voices from outside. 
 
 "Open that door!" the old man again ordered, but 
 seeing Treadway s alarm he strode from his desk and 
 opened it himself. 
 
 "Here is the boss," he cried; "who wants him?" 
 
 Norton s unexpected appearance and his defiant atti 
 tude caused those who stood nearer the door to fall 
 back. This encouraged Treadway to leave his desk 
 and take his customary position beside his chief, but 
 before doing so he took a revolver from the drawer 
 and slipped it into his pocket. 
 
 "Well, . . here I am. What do you want?" Norton 
 again demanded. 
 
 There was no sign of fear in the old man s bearing 
 as he faced the disorderly mob. He was still master 
 of his men, and the stern glance of his eye intimidated 
 them as it always had. Those who stood in front of 
 him were silent, but from the rear came answers to his 
 question. 
 
 "We want our rights, and we re goin to get em!" 
 
 "We re skunks, are we?" 
 
 "You want to make our bellies empty !" 
 
 Norton turned on them, his voice trembling with 
 anger. 
 
 "Yes; you re skunks!" he cried. "I said it, and I 
 mean it. If you weren t, you wouldn t be here where 
 
 [188]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 you don t belong. You d bite the hand that feeds you, 
 would you? Well . . . for what you ve done today 
 you ll never have a job in this plant again. Now get 
 to that door before I get to you!" 
 
 A few of the men fell back in the face of the violence 
 of his words and attitude, but Tony Lemholtz pushed 
 his way through the mass and stood menacingly before 
 him. 
 
 "When we go out that door," he threatened, "you ll 
 go with us, . , and it s a coat of tar and feathers 
 for you!" 
 
 Before Norton could make reply, another figure 
 elbowed its way to where Tony stood, causing a mo 
 mentary diversion. 
 
 "So you ve come back at last," Tony sneered, as 
 he recognized him. "You re just in time to see your 
 highbrow theories put in practice." 
 
 With a single blow, into which Richard concentrated 
 all his remaining strength, he stretched Tony in a heap 
 at his feet. Then he turned to the strikers. 
 
 "Do you realize what you re doing?" he cried. "Vio 
 lence will put back the cause of labor twenty years. 
 Give way, and let me talk to my father." 
 
 With Tony s downfall the aggressive attitude weak 
 ened. He had regained his feet, but for the time being 
 showed little further interest in the proceedings. 
 
 "Father," Richard appealed to the belligerent old 
 man. "Don t hold this up against the men. It is all 
 wrong, and they know it; but they have suffered, and 
 this man here" pointing at Lemholtz "has incited 
 them beyond their reason. Let it stand, I beg of you, 
 
 [189]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 as a terrible mistake, but also as an evidence of the 
 depth of their conviction that they have rights which 
 have not yet been recognized. Tell them that you will 
 again take their demands under consideration. Set them 
 an example of moderation. It is your son who asks it." 
 
 "My son!" Norton cried. "I have no son. Except 
 for you, this disgraceful affair would never have oc 
 curred. You have brains, and you have loaned them 
 to these numskulls, you have encouraged them to turn 
 themselves from respectful, efficient workmen into ruf 
 fians. I repeat," . . he shouted, . . "not one of you 
 skunks . . you carrion shall ever have a job in this 
 plant again." 
 
 The mob surged forward angrily at his words, push 
 ing Richard, Lemholtz, and Sterling through the door 
 of the private office. Sterling aided Richard in his 
 efforts to force the men back, and Treadway, embold 
 ened by the reinforcements, joined them, leaving Nor 
 ton standing by himself, leaning against his desk, . . 
 angry, and defiant. But the strikers were not so easily 
 repulsed. 
 
 "Come on, boys," Lemholtz cried exultantly, keeping 
 well beyond the reach of Richard s arm, . . "come on 
 now and get the boss ! We ll make him eat his words. 
 These traitors can t hold us back !" 
 
 Backwards and forwards the mob surged, Norton 
 himself being the only one apart from the jostling 
 crowd. Suddenly, without warning, a shot rang out, 
 Norton s body gave a convulsive quiver, and then 
 crumpled into a heap on the floor. Richard sprang 
 forward instinctively, but Treadway seized him by the 
 
 [190]
 
 arm and held him back. At the same moment there was 
 the sound of a falling object upon the floor. 
 
 "Stand back . . . you hypocrite !" Treadway com 
 manded, pointing to the uniformed official who was 
 pushing the strikers one side. "Leave everything as it 
 is. The officer will take charge . . , Mr. Norton tele 
 phoned for you when he heard that the strikers were 
 on their way," he explained; "but you have come too 
 late." 
 
 Silence fell on the mob as the officer examined the 
 body. Then he rose. 
 
 "He is dead," he announced. "Who shot him?" 
 
 Treadway pointed to an army revolver which lay 
 on the floor. 
 
 "That may help to answer your question," he re 
 marked. 
 
 " Whose is it?" the officer demanded, picking up the 
 weapon. 
 
 "Ask Richard Norton," Treadway suggested. 
 
 "Is this yours?" 
 
 The officer showed the revolver to Richard, who ex 
 amined it carefully. The crowd awaited his reply in 
 tense expectation. 
 
 "Yes," he answered, as he located a mark on the 
 butt ; "it is the gun I used in France. But . . ." 
 
 "Anything you say, Mr. Norton, will be used against 
 you," the officer cautioned him. "You are under ar 
 rest !" 
 
 [191]
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE DEATH of James Norton made it necessary 
 for the town of Norcross to take a new inven 
 tory of itself. When for twenty-five years one 
 man has dominated every motion a community makes, 
 it is inevitable that his loss should be distinctly felt. 
 The shock of the tragedy shook the town to its depths, 
 and actually changed its personality. Yet it was not 
 many days before the topic of conversation veered from 
 the dead to the living. 
 
 Richard Norton was confined in the county jail, 
 indicted by the Grand Jury and held for the murder 
 of his father. The town was split into factions on the 
 question of his innocence or guilt. Those who held 
 him to be the murderer recounted the endless misun 
 derstandings between Richard and his father, and the 
 final parting in anger. Clerks in the counting-room 
 of the plant recalled the many humiliations he had suf 
 fered at his father s hands. The strikers bore testimony 
 to the importance Richard attached to the new indus 
 trial relations he had endeavored to establish for them, 
 and his overwhelming chagrin when James Norton 
 gave the matter such scant courtesy. Those who were 
 
 [192]
 
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 present at the tragedy pointed out the provocation 
 given by the violence of the old man s reply to his son ; 
 and, finally and conclusively, there was the army re 
 volver, which Richard acknowledged to be his own. 
 
 The silent testimony given by this relic of the great 
 war was the one thing which Richard s friends could 
 not explain away. Everything else was circumstantial. 
 The shot might have been fired by Sterling, Treadway, 
 or Lemholtz, who stood between James Norton and that 
 surging mob, as well as by Richard. Any one of these 
 men might have been armed, and except for Treadway, 
 the old man s virulent abuse might supply the motive. 
 It was in Richard s favor that he had just cautioned 
 the men against violence. His words were sufficient evi 
 dence that he knew how seriously such an act would 
 injure the position of the men, and all agreed that the 
 interests of the workmen constituted the great, dominat 
 ing force in his life at this time. The improbability of 
 his guilt was easily established, . . but there was the 
 revolver! To maintain the hypothesis of innocence 
 established by Richard s friends, the presence of the 
 weapon must be ignored. 
 
 II 
 
 The body of James Norton had scarcely been removed 
 by the coroner before Treadway sought out Henry 
 Cross. The question of those accusing notes must be 
 settled to prevent the knowledge of their existence from 
 being shared by the public. 
 
 "I have called upon a very painful errand," Tread- 
 way announced. 
 
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 Henry Cross regarded him steadily. His presence 
 solved a problem to which Cross had devoted much 
 anxious thought since the news of Norton s death 
 reached him. Being in ignorance of what had actually 
 occurred before the tragedy took place, he was still try 
 ing to decide how he should act to protect his interests. 
 Treadway s call relieved him of his uncertainty. 
 
 "Very painful, I should say," he replied deliberately ; 
 "particularly to you !" 
 
 "Yes," Treadway acquiesced; "yet it would be more 
 unpleasant if during the few moments preceding Mr. 
 Norton s death he had not shown himself in his true 
 colors." 
 
 Cross waited for his caller to continue, but for some 
 moments Treadway seemed absorbed in melancholy 
 thoughts. At last Cross s patience was rewarded. 
 
 "Do you mind telling me what Mr. Norton said to 
 you about those notes?" Treadway asked. 
 
 "He said they were forgeries." 
 
 Cross s temper again began to rise. 
 
 "Did he accuse any one?" 
 
 "Yes, you . . . double-crosser ; he accused you!" 
 
 Treadway rose quickly to his feet. 
 
 "Please, Mr. Cross!" he protested . . . "please re 
 serve your judgment until you know the facts. This is 
 more serious than I supposed. Did he actually accuse 
 me by name?" 
 
 "No," Cross admitted after a moment s thought 
 and striving to be scrupulously exact: "I can t say 
 he called you by name, but he certainly meant you." 
 
 Treadway seemed relieved. 
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 "I could not really believe that he made a definite 
 accusation, for he knew better; but I suspected from 
 what he said to me that he had thrown aspersions upon 
 my character. I realized, of course, that Mr. Norton 
 was personally in a desperate situation, but it never 
 occurred to me that he would undertake to cast sus 
 picion on an innocent man to divert attention from 
 himself." 
 
 "Do you mean to imply that in spite of what James 
 Norton told me the signatures on those notes are gen 
 uine?" 
 
 "It is painful to make these statements when they 
 affect the reputation of a man now dead," Treadway 
 replied with apparent reluctance ; "but it is my due 
 that you at least should know the truth. I see no 
 reason to smirch his name outside, so I depend upon 
 your discretion ... Of course James Norton signed 
 those notes ! His pride was hurt that I had raised 
 money for the Company when he had failed, yet he 
 knew that except for my success the Company would 
 have been sorely pressed. It is evident now that he 
 planned to get rid of me, and to have me leave under 
 a cloud. Just how he expected to accomplish this, with 
 my own reputation unblemished, is not clear, but the 
 intent is obvious. Fate, however, intervened." 
 
 Henry Cross had experienced many sensations since 
 he first presented the notes to Norton. At the present 
 moment his apprehension of financial loss appeared to 
 be relieved, and he breathed easier. 
 
 "Every cent due on those notes will be paid at ma 
 turity," Treadway declared with increasing confidence. 
 
 r.1951
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 "If it will make you feel more comfortable, I will en 
 dorse them personally." 
 
 "I can t understand it," Cross mused. "I never 
 liked Norton, but I did believe him honest." 
 
 "Power turned his head, Mr. Cross. He had come 
 to believe that whatever he did was right because he 
 did it. We meet people like that sometimes, don t we? 
 Then, when his affairs became involved, he found it 
 necessary to do certain things to extricate himself 
 which under ordinary conditions he would never have 
 thought of doing. Life itself is a paradox, Mr. Cross. 
 I imagine that with any of us, if his acts were analyzed, 
 some things would come to light which he would prefer 
 to have remain in the background." 
 
 Without committing himself, Cross acquiesced. 
 While Treadway was explaining the situation his mind 
 had been active. Was it possible that Norton had 
 lied about his signature? It seemed incredible, yet 
 other men, looked upon as upright pillars of society, 
 had proved themselves unworthy when faced by per 
 sonal disaster. Treadway was in a position to know 
 the facts, and he guaranteed the payment of the notes. 
 Whatever else might be confused, the fact that the 
 money was safe appeared clear. 
 
 "It s the greatest shock I ve ever had in all my life," 
 Cross admitted. "James Norton, . . deacon in the 
 church, president of the bank, looked upon as our lead 
 ing citizen . . ." 
 
 "You haven t known him as I have," Treadway inter 
 rupted, . . "but of the dead, let us remember only 
 the good." 
 
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 "That s the Christian way to look at it, I suppose, 
 but I m shocked ... I can t help it." 
 
 Ill 
 
 Now, two weeks after the tragedy, Treadway was 
 breathing easily again. He looked back upon his 
 experience with James Norton that tragic day with 
 mortification and chagrin. To have handled his affairs 
 in such a manner as to make detection possible evi 
 denced the fact that as yet he had not acquired the 
 finesse he demanded of himself. He had actually been 
 face to face with arrest and prosecution as a common 
 criminal ! If Norton had mentioned over the telephone 
 why the officer had been summoned, if Norton had con 
 fided his knowledge of the forgeries to any except one 
 whose interest it was to regard the signature as genu 
 ine, if Norton s accusing voice had not been stilled! 
 Treadway felt the sensations of one who, stumbling on 
 the brink of a precipice, experiences the sinking exhaus 
 tion of imminent destruction, and suddenly finds him 
 self firmly on solid ground again. The horrid dream 
 was over ! He found relief from the shock in the 
 added responsibilities which came to him at the office, 
 and he plunged into the work with an energy which 
 attracted universal approval, 
 
 IV 
 
 The Stewart family were stunned by the news of 
 the tragedy, but Richard s innocence was implicitly ac 
 cepted. Knowing him as they did, such an act on his 
 part was unthinkable. Yet when they attempted to 
 
 [197]
 
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 go beyond this simple declaration of faith, they en 
 countered the same stultifying mystery as did Richard s 
 other friends. To Lola, the blow, while staggering, 
 came as a steadying influence. There were no hysterics. 
 Her comrade was in danger, and she rallied to his de 
 fence. Again William Stewart was commandeered as 
 aide, but to Lola s surprise and delight, she discovered 
 that he had already acted upon his own initiative. 
 
 "Dick can do nothing for himself," she said. "There 
 is no one to lift a finger for him but ourselves." 
 
 "I have already engaged counsel," Stewart told her. 
 "We will fight for him as if he were our own son. The 
 truth is bound to be discovered. If we could only dis 
 miss that accusing revolver !" 
 
 "You don t believe he did it?" she demanded. 
 
 "No, dear; my faith is as strong as yours. There 
 must be some explanation, and that is what we shall 
 seek . . . Norton dead! I can t realize it even now!" 
 
 Treadway called to express his sympathy, and Lola s 
 attitude demonstrated beyond a doubt her unwavering 
 devotion to Richard which Treadway tried to convince 
 himself had lessened. Under these circumstances he 
 showed a tenderness and consideration for which Lola 
 had not given him credit ; yet his frank assumption of 
 Richard s guilt proved disconcerting, and added to the 
 girl s apprehensions. 
 
 "We must not blame Dick too harshly," Treadway 
 said soothingly. "No one knows better than I the daily 
 provocation he suffered, and that was bound to wear 
 down even a strong nature like his." 
 
 "That is assuming that he did it," Lola protested. 
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 Treadway shrugged his shoulders sympathetically, 
 but did not retract his statement. 
 
 "He was weakened by his illness," he replied, avoid 
 ing a direct answer; "he saw the work he had done 
 being destroyed by his father s obstinacy; he was be 
 side himself with disappointment. I am sure that a 
 plea of temporary insanity will save him." 
 
 Stewart, seeing the expression on Lola s face, joined 
 them. 
 
 "Just where do you stand, Treadway?" he inquired. 
 
 "Why ... of course I m friendly to Richard," he 
 explained; "but I am held as a witness, and I have to 
 tell what I saw." 
 
 "Did you actually see Richard fire the shot?" Stew 
 art asked abruptly. 
 
 "No," Treadway answered after great deliberation; 
 "I can t say flatly that I did. There were several of 
 us standing close together . . ." 
 
 "Sterling and Lemholtz were on the other side of 
 Richard, were they not?" Stewart inquired. 
 
 "Yes ; and I was on his right. The mob was pushing 
 us from behind, after Mr. Norton made the statement 
 which so infuriated them, and we all were trying to hold 
 them back. Then the shot was fired, and the revolver 
 fell on the floor . . ." 
 
 "Go on," Stewart urged as Treadway paused, eager 
 to have the scene reconstructed by an eye-witness. "In 
 the surging of the men around you it is impossible to 
 state definitely that any particular person fired the 
 shot, but you believe it to have been Richard?" 
 
 Treadway nodded. "The weapon was very close to 
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 me when it was discharged, and ... it was Dick s 
 
 gun." 
 
 "We come up against that accursed revolver every 
 time!" Stewart admitted. "Is there any chance that 
 Lemholtz might have secured it in some way?" 
 
 "I suppose anything is possible," Treadway answered 
 without committing himself. 
 
 "Lemholtz is the kind of man who would like nothing 
 better than to throw suspicion on Richard by way of 
 revenge," the older man added. 
 
 "I wish we could shift the responsibility onto him," 
 Treadway answered, shaking his head doubtfully ; "but 
 I fear we can t. The evidence is too direct." 
 
 Lola sat in silence during the conversation between 
 Treadway and her father, losing not a word, her eyes 
 shifting from one to the other as each spoke. Her face 
 was pale and set, and her determination strengthened as 
 she listened to the incriminating evidence Treadway was 
 to give at Richard s trial. This determination found 
 voice as her father completed his cross-examination. 
 
 "Richard Norton did not kill his father!" 
 
 The girl spoke with such finality that both men 
 turned sharply, Treadway with some apprehension, 
 and waited for her to continue. A statement so definite 
 required explanation. She sensed the significance of 
 their questioning looks. 
 
 "No," she replied to the unspoken query ; "you would 
 probably call it woman s intuition, but it is far more 
 than that. There are some things I know and some 
 things I know I know. You wouldn t understand. It is 
 something that came to us over there in France. Liv- 
 
 [200]
 
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 ing as we did in the constant presence of death, I sup 
 pose the real things of life became clearer to us. After 
 I have seen Richard I shall know better what to do, for 
 that power of understanding came to him just as it did 
 to me; . . but it was not Dick who fired that shot." 
 
 Lola s confidence was a bulwark of strength to her 
 father. There had been a few instances, like the present, 
 when he had seen in her face a conviction which comes 
 only to those who experience the fervor of a religious 
 rite. At such times his daughter seemed separated from 
 those around her by something beyond what he could 
 explain but which he was compelled to respect. This 
 new phase of Lola s life was brought to Stewart s mind 
 when, several Sundays before, the minister had an 
 nounced his text, "Now we see through a glass, darkly, 
 but then face to face." Was it possible that as com 
 pensation to those who ministered to the travelers dur 
 ing their journey through the valley of the shadow of 
 death, the glass was made at least partially transpar 
 ent? There had been times when Lola s judgment had 
 been so uncanny that Stewart believed the gift had been 
 bestowed on her, and when she spoke of her faith in 
 Richard with that all-including confidence, her father 
 would have accepted her judgment against all the evi 
 dence in the world. 
 
 Treadway, however, saw nothing unusual in Lola s 
 explanation. Women are always emotional, and this 
 was but another example of their unreasoning cham 
 pionship of the unfortunate. But he was too expe- 
 
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 rienced a diplomat to differ from her at this moment. 
 For the time being Richard would naturally receive her 
 undivided thought and sympathy, . . but county jails 
 are not the most fortunate trysting-places, nor do con 
 victed felons long retain the affection of girls brought 
 up as Lola Stewart. Treadway was content to bide 
 his time. 
 
 [202]
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 ON the day of the tragedy, Olga had followed 
 Richard to the plant with serious misgivings. 
 She was present when Sterling brought the 
 news that Tony had gained the upper hand, and that 
 the strikers were on their way to the office to demand 
 a reckoning with James Norton. She had seen the 
 angry color come in Richard s cheeks as he appre 
 hensively left the flat, brushing her aside as she tried 
 to argue against his going. She was with the mob 
 at the rear of the office when James Norton denounced 
 his son. She heard the fatal shot, and when the officer 
 forced his way through the crowd, she slipped into his 
 wake and gained a position near the front. She was 
 just behind Richard when the revolver was shown him 
 for identification, she heard his acknowledgment, and 
 witnessed his arrest. 
 
 Then a glance at Richard s face took Olga s mind 
 from the tragedy, for she knew what that look meant. 
 Quickly separating herself from the crowd, she hastened 
 to Dr. Thurber s office and implored him to go with 
 her to the county jail, where they arrived only a few 
 moments after the prisoner and his guard. 
 
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 Richard s collapse in his cell made his removal to the 
 imfirmary imperative. Dr. Thurber was permitted to 
 act in consultation, and Olga was admitted under his 
 protecting patronage. When the patient was made as 
 comfortable as possible, the doctor turned to her. 
 
 "You gave me to understand that this man was your 
 husband. Now I understand that he is Richard Nor 
 ton." 
 
 "What difference does his name mate so long as he 
 needs you?" she pleaded, fearful lest the doctor give 
 up the case. 
 
 "I ll look after him all right," he reassured her; 
 "but where do you come in?" 
 
 "Never mind about me," she cried pitifully . . . 
 "Will he live?" 
 
 "I don t know that it makes much difference," Dr. 
 Thurber replied with unintentional cruelty. "From 
 what they tell me we ll be simply saving him for the 
 chair." 
 
 Olga stifled a scream, and her eyes filled with horror. 
 Her mind had been so painfully occupied by Richard s 
 collapse that the significance of his arrest for the mo 
 ment entirely escaped her. 
 
 "He did it, didn t he?" the doctor demanded abruptly. 
 
 "Of course," Olga answered proudly. "What else 
 could he do when his father called us carrion? But 
 they won t send him to the chair for sticking up for us. 
 He fought for us in France." 
 
 Dr. Thurber shrugged his shoulders. Nothing could 
 be gained by combating the girl s mistaken faith. There 
 was no question in Olga s mind that Richard had fired 
 
 [204]
 
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 the fatal shot. It was what she would have done, and 
 she considered the act as consummate self-abnegation 
 and further evidence of his devotion to the cause. Tony 
 Lemholtz might talk and rave, but it took a man to 
 act as Richard had! 
 
 "Well," Dr. Thurber said finally, "there s enough 
 to think about now without going into the family rela 
 tions ; but if you re not his wife this is no place for you." 
 
 "I may come back and see him?" Olga begged, ter 
 ror-stricken at the thought that she would be separ 
 ated from her charge. 
 
 "It depends on whether he wants you after he s strong 
 enough to see any one. That won t be for a week or 
 two at best." 
 
 "Who will nurse him as I have all this time ?" 
 
 "The officials will look after that." 
 
 Olga regarded him with reproach, but there was no 
 yielding in the doctor s face. His thoughts were cen 
 tered on more than the case before him. The engage 
 ment existing between Richard Norton and Lola Stew 
 art was well known throughout the town, and Dr. 
 Thurber was trying to reconstruct the situation as it 
 was affected by "Mr. and Mrs. Richards." As this 
 was a case which could not be relieved by pills, powders, 
 or prescriptions, the doctor found it somewhat baf 
 fling. 
 
 II 
 
 It was another fortnight before the patient s brain 
 cleared. Dr. Thurber was sitting beside his cot, feel- 
 
 [205]
 
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 ing his pulse, gratified by the steady improvement. As 
 he turned, he saw that Richard s eyes were open, and in 
 them was an expression of intelligence which announced 
 to the doctor s trained sense that normal conditions 
 had returned. 
 
 "Hello, doctor," Richard greeted him cheerfully. 
 "I m glad to see you . . . I ve just had a horrible 
 dream." 
 
 Before an answer could be made the patient s glance 
 took in the surroundings. Richard raised himself on 
 his elbow and the smile of greeting upon his face changed 
 into ghastly realization. 
 
 "Then it wasn t a dream, doctor?" he demanded 
 slowly. 
 
 As Dr. Thurber shook his head Richard sank back, 
 but only for a moment. 
 
 "My father is really dead?" he asked . . . "Poor 
 old dad!" he added as the doctor nodded. 
 
 After a few moments silence he continued. 
 
 "I can t seem to think of my father as being dead, 
 doctor. It doesn t seem possible that such a personality 
 as his could ever cease to exist. He never understood 
 me, and I don t suppose I understood him, but he was 
 a wonderful man." 
 
 Dr. Thurber studied his patient carefully. This was 
 no incoherent rambling. It was evident that the mind 
 had entirely cleared; yet the words were surprising in 
 view of the circumstances. The doctor carefully jotted 
 them down for future reference. 
 
 "Don t think too much," he cautioned Richard. 
 "You have been very ill, and you ll need all your 
 
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 strength. You will be able to see some of your friends 
 now within a day or two." 
 
 But a flood of thought once started is not thus 
 easily checked by a word of caution. Richard s eyes 
 again fell on the grey stone walls, and his mind leaped 
 to reconstruct the present situation. 
 
 "I was accused of shooting my father !" he cried sud 
 denly. "I was arrested and I am now in jail. Tell me, 
 doctor, is all that true?" 
 
 "Yes, it is true," Dr. Thurber admitted; "but let 
 us talk about that tomorrow. Your strength won t 
 stand it all at once." 
 
 "It is too awful . . ." horror filled Richard s voice 
 . . . "it is too awful even to think . . . that I would 
 do anything to harm my father !" 
 
 "He was shot with your revolver," the doctor said 
 significantly, feeling it to be his duty to get the reac 
 tion of this moment. 
 
 "I haven t had that gun in my possession since I 
 left home," Richard declared with such emphasis that 
 Dr. Thurber started. He had dreaded this moment of 
 awakening, for he felt certain that the prisoner would 
 involuntarily make some damaging statement which 
 would add to his own moral responsibility. 
 
 "If that is true, you have nothing to worry about," 
 he replied reassuringly. "Now try to forget, and a lit 
 tle later Mr. Stewart will want you to tell him every 
 thing." 
 
 "Miss Stewart doesn t believe it, does she?" 
 
 "No ; the Stewarts have absolute faith in you." 
 
 "Thank God for that! Now I can forget it; but, 
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 doctor, please have Miss Stewart and her father come 
 to see me as soon as you can." 
 
 "If you rest well tonight, that may be tomorrow." 
 
 Ill 
 
 So the morrow brought added strength to the patient 
 and encouragement in the person of Lola. She asked 
 her father to postpone his visit, so that this first meet 
 ing might be sacred to themselves. 
 
 "Keep the conversation off the situation itself as 
 much as you can," Dr. Thurber cautioned Lola. "He 
 does not realize his unfortunate position as yet, and it 
 is just as well." 
 
 It seemed to each of them as if ages had passed since 
 last they met. Lola was shocked to see the physical 
 change in Richard. He was pale and thin, and his 
 attenuated features gave him the appearance of an 
 ascetic. In his bearing the change was even greater. 
 When they were last together, a buoyant enthusiasm 
 replaced the former restlessness and uncertainty. Now 
 this had disappeared, and in its place had come a calm 
 ness indicating the new poise which the experiences of 
 the past few weeks had given him. Here in confine 
 ment, charged with the gravest crime civilized society 
 recognizes, a peace seemed to have fallen on Richard 
 which Lola had never seen before. 
 
 "I m glad you came alone," he said simply after 
 greeting her. "The doctor told me that your faith 
 in me was unshaken, so we don t need to talk about 
 this terrible affair yet ... Of course I shall be freed. 
 I didn t do it, so they can t convict me ... Poor old 
 
 [208]
 
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 dad! But before I do anything for myself I must tell 
 you how troubled I have been these weeks while I have 
 been so ill, not to be able to exchange ideas with you. 
 It was this illness that gave me the first chance I have 
 had to think since I lay on my back at Toul, . . but 
 what a change in the picture !" 
 
 Lola was surprised and relieved to find Richard so 
 confident of his acquittal. Dr. Thurber saw in this 
 merely a lack of realization ; she knew now that it was 
 born of faith based on innocence, and any lingering 
 doubt inspired by Treadway s testimony faded away. 
 Still she was puzzled by his attitude toward her. He 
 was frankly overjoyed to see her, yet there was an 
 impersonality about their meeting which evidenced a 
 changed relation. 
 
 "I knew nothing of your illness, Dick," she explained 
 solicitously. "You know I would have gone to you." 
 
 "I know you would, but that was impossible. Olga 
 did for me more than any one else could have done. 
 That lodging house would have been no place for 
 you . . ." 
 
 "At least we might have taken you to our 
 house . . ." 
 
 "Let s forget about ourselves . . . We have greater 
 things to talk about." 
 
 "Yes, dear," she humored him. "After all, we are 
 only atoms, you and I, in this great scheme of life 
 which has been unfolded before us." 
 
 Richard looked at her admiringly. 
 
 "You are a wonderful girl, Lola," he exclaimed. "It 
 was you who pulled me back to my best self ... it 
 
 [209]
 
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 was you who kept me from losing all I had gained. 
 I really believed that our marriage was the only thing 
 that could reconcile me to conditions as I found them; 
 you stood firm for the greater purpose which lay before 
 us. Now I see it clearly . . . How unimportant is 
 any personal gratification compared with this oppor 
 tunity to serve !" 
 
 "It was your vision, Dick, which gave me my per 
 spective. If I have helped . . . even a little ... to 
 bring that to a realization, what a satisfaction it will 
 be to us in later years. . . how much it will help to 
 make our lives together worth while !" 
 
 "Yes," he acknowledged; . . "but, as you said, the 
 life together is of minor importance, and the work as I 
 see it ahead of me now seems almost greater than can 
 be accomplished in a lifetime . . . Perhaps we shall 
 never marry, Lola, for we must permit no personal 
 selfishness to interfere with our labors for the common 
 cause. But we can work it out together, and that 
 means even more, doesn t it, dear? I know you feel 
 as I do. You realized that before I did, and you were 
 right." 
 
 Lola was deeply affected by Richard s earnestness. 
 It was a shock even to suggest that perhaps they might 
 never marry. The woman in her asked unanswerable 
 questions raised by his mention of Olga, . . but deeper 
 than all was the unalterable conviction that she was in 
 the presence of that Great Thing which she had previ 
 ously felt, now for the first time made tangible. Over 
 there, a life or a thousand lives meant nothing if an 
 objective was to be gained. Of what importance now 
 
 [210]
 
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 was her life or Richard s if real service demanded it ! 
 Is not service the yardstick by which human character 
 is measured, and the crucible in which human character 
 is tested? Is not the apotheosis of service that which 
 requires personal sacrifice? 
 
 "We must get you away from here first, Dick," she 
 said quietly. "Then we will work it out together." 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "How much do you want to tell me now?" she asked. 
 
 "I don t like to think of myself even to that extent 
 ... I want to tell you everything, but it must develop 
 by degrees. To any one else it would sound brutal, 
 but I m wondering if the death of my poor old dad isn t 
 a part of the working out, . . if it isn t the only way 
 he could contribute to the great common cause. Do I 
 shock you, Lola? Why not believe that today, with the 
 broader vision which has come to him, he is really 
 beside me, helping his son to play his part at this crisis, 
 and rejoicing that he unwittingly has played his? As 
 I think of him now, Lola, I forget all that made trouble 
 between us. I am conscious only of his strength and 
 his integrity of purpose. Think what we could have 
 done together if he had seen the light before he passed 
 beyond! I ll believe that he will still give me of his 
 power to help me accomplish my great desire." 
 
 IV 
 
 Dr. Thurber entered the ward and interrupted their 
 conversation. 
 
 "I was afraid you would overstay your time, young 
 lady," he said; "yet from the expression on my pa- 
 
 [ 211 ]
 
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 tient s face I can see that no harm has been done." 
 "No harm can ever come from Miss Stewart s visits, 
 doctor," Richard declared ; . . "she and I have a work 
 to do together which nothing must interrupt." 
 
 "Not even the due exercise of the functions of the law, 
 I suppose," Dr. Thurber remarked dryly, with an ex 
 pression which Lola understood to be confirmation of 
 his belief that Richard failed to comprehend the gravity 
 of the situation. "There are some formalities which 
 remain to be gone through, and Mr. Stewart and your 
 attorney will probably ask Miss Stewart to share you 
 with them for a time. Keep on gaining your strength, 
 and you will be able to increase your visiting-list. With 
 in a few days you will be returned to your cell, but 
 after that I recommend that everything possible be 
 done to bring about a change of scene." 
 
 [212]
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 IF THE Norton Manufacturing Company had been 
 deprived of its guiding genius prior to the meet 
 ing of its Board of Directors at which William 
 Stewart ventured to take issue with Norton, he would 
 have been the last member of the Board, in spite of 
 his large holding of stock, to be considered in the re 
 organization now necessitated. As it was, the other 
 Directors turned to Stewart as, next to Norton, the 
 outstanding figure in the Company. During all these 
 years of close association they had never really known 
 him, and it had required that single hour of self-asser 
 tion to disclose the real Stewart, and to correct the pre 
 vious impression that his dreaming expressed rather 
 than concealed his personality. And William Stewart 
 found the new experience of leading instead of follow 
 ing a sensation as agreeable as it was novel. 
 
 The tragedy forced a truce in the hostilities between 
 the Company and the men. The strikers were dazed 
 by the sudden removal of the dominating figure which 
 had ruled them for so many years. The bitterness 
 many of them had felt became tempered by the grim 
 fact that this man whom they had regarded as their 
 
 [213]
 
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 personal enemy had paid the supreme price for his 
 dogged determination to have his own way. More than 
 that no man could do. Tony Lemholtz and his radicals 
 were now deprived of a target for their vituperative 
 slings. The new management might later provide one, 
 but at present there was nothing to do except await 
 developments. Without the inciting influence of radical 
 leadership, labor is always reasonable, so there re 
 mained no obstacle to the proposal for arbitration 
 which was promptly issued by the management. 
 
 Under these circumstances conditions gradually ap 
 proached normal in the works. The strike-breakers 
 were dismissed, the men returned to their machines, and 
 the great industry of the town, as far as outward ap 
 pearances went, proceeded at slackened speed but in 
 due fashion as if no untoward event had threatened 
 to destroy even its massive foundations. The smoke 
 curling listlessly from the tall chimneys at first seemed 
 ironical in its tranquility, but Norcross soon accepted 
 it as a symbol that man is but a fleeting incident in the 
 life of a community. 
 
 Inside the works affairs were not as tranquil as the 
 curling smoke might seem to indicate. James Norton 
 had kept within himself so much of the routine of the 
 business that to unravel it without his aid was a vexa 
 tious undertaking. Treadway proved to be of the 
 greatest assistance, for he had stood nearest to the 
 master, and possessed at least a superficial knowledge 
 of the workings of the great man s mind. On him, 
 therefore, fell the chief burden of the executive manage 
 ment, and he met his new responsibilities with an energy 
 
 [214]
 
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 and ability which delighted the Directors. Alec Sterling 
 was fully competent to handle the manufacturing end 
 of the business, so gradually affairs straightened out 
 at least to the extent of conducting the Company with 
 out jeopardy until the proper successor to James Nor 
 ton could be found. 
 
 II 
 
 Stewart, as chairman of the Board, was in no haste 
 to discover this successor. Richard Norton, as his 
 father s heir, was now the chief stockholder in the 
 Company, and his wishes in the matter must be con 
 sulted. If Richard was acquitted, as Stewart believed 
 he must be, there was much to say in favor of consid 
 ering him as the logical incumbent of James Norton s 
 position. This might mean a tempering of his advanced 
 ideas or a revision of the attitude always taken by the 
 Directors in their relations toward the employees, or 
 a compromise between the two ; but whatever might be 
 the final outcome, Stewart was determined that Rich 
 ard s interests in the Company should be carefully safe 
 guarded. 
 
 In talking the matter over with Treadway, Stewart 
 encountered his first obstacle . . should Richard re 
 turn, the former secretary made it quite clear that he 
 would retire from the Company. Stewart realized that 
 because of Treadway s value to the business this threat 
 ened action would carry much weight against his plan 
 when presented to the Directors. 
 
 "Why do you take this attitude, Treadway?" he in- 
 [215]
 
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 quired. "Had there been any trouble between you and 
 Richard?" 
 
 "Not the slightest," was the emphatic response. 
 "Personally I should be glad to see Dick take what 
 seems to be his logical position in the Company, and I 
 should be willing to work with him if I could. But the 
 fact remains that we differ so radically in our ideas of 
 conducting a business that our relations would be intol 
 erable. I see nothing but failure ahead if his ideas 
 were permitted to dominate, and of course I couldn t 
 afford to injure my personal reputation by becoming 
 part of a failure, even though I was in no way respon 
 sible for it." 
 
 "I am sorry to have you oppose me in this," Stew 
 art said frankly ; "my heart is set on it." 
 
 "Aren t we crossing our bridge before we come to it ?" 
 Treadway asked. "There is no question whatever that 
 Richard shot his father. The only possible escape for 
 him is through a plea of insanity, and if that prevails 
 he will of course prefer to live anywhere rather than in 
 Norcross. Whichever way the trial results, it seems 
 to me that the facts themselves preclude the remotest 
 possibility of his returning here." 
 
 "You may be right," Stewart admitted reluctantly, 
 "but I fervently hope that you are not. Nothing but 
 his own admission will ever convince me that Richard 
 Norton is the guilty man." 
 
 "I fear your faith is based too much on Lola s confi 
 dence, Mr. Stewart ; but the unfortunate facts remain." 
 
 "There are no facts as yet . . . beyond the murder 
 itself. The evidence is purely circumstantial . . " 
 
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 THE BALANCE 
 
 "You forget the gun . . ." 
 
 "But no one actually saw Richard use it ... I un 
 derstand that from a strategic position any one of four 
 of you might have used it." 
 
 "I saw him fire the shot, Mr. Stewart !" 
 
 The older man started violently. 
 
 "You told me, in Lola s presence, that you did not 
 see the shot fired." 
 
 Treadway regarded him steadily for a moment. 
 
 "I also made the same statement in my testimony 
 before the Grand Jury," he said calmly. 
 
 "You perjured yourself . . ." 
 
 "You would have done the same under similar circum 
 stances. Richard Norton has been my friend. His 
 father was my benefactor. The situation is desperate 
 enough for Dick at best. Until now, I have kept my 
 own counsel, for with the truth once shared by any one, 
 the danger to Richard is increased. But I know that 
 it is safe with you. I have told you in order to save 
 you unnecessary embarrassment later, and to impress 
 you with the importance of entering a plea of tempor 
 ary insanity." 
 
 Stewart was staggered, and he glanced nervously 
 around as if seeking some avenue of escape from the 
 damning testimony he had just heard. 
 
 "I may have to make this statement at the trial," 
 Treadway continued ; "but I hope not. I am not afraid 
 of suffering from perjury charges. Every one knows of 
 my peculiar relation to the Norton family, and will 
 appreciate the fact that I tried to protect my friend. 
 If Richard s guilt is admitted, and his temporary irre- 
 
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 THE BALANCE 
 
 sponsibility established, it will be the best solution for 
 all concerned." 
 
 "Of course Richard s counsel must know this. You 
 are not binding me to secrecy to that extent?" 
 
 "No," Treadway replied, seeming to hesitate for a 
 moment; . . "he should have all the facts in his pos 
 session, of course. I should think that what I have just 
 told you would influence his attitude. I will even talk 
 the matter over with him if you think it wise." 
 
 "I cannot believe what you tell me, Treadway. It 
 isn t that I question your words, but rather your eye 
 sight. I start with the hypothesis that Richard is 
 innocent, so you may very properly say that I am pre 
 judiced . . . Have you ever listened to the contradic 
 tory statements made by equally conscientious witnesses 
 of an automobile accident?" 
 
 Treadway shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "I m not trying to convict Richard," he explained. 
 "I wish the burden of testimony might be removed from, 
 me to some one less intimately associated with the fam 
 ily. But I was present at the time, I saw what I did see, 
 I am held as a material witness, and I must answer the 
 questions that are put to me." 
 
 "Of course ... of course . . ." Stewart agreed. 
 "I understand all that . . . and I m not sure that I 
 wholly approve of your perjuring yourself before the 
 Grand Jury, still your loyalty to the Norton family 
 does you credit. I have not recovered yet from the 
 shock you gave me, but the lawyer will know what is 
 best to do. If Richard actually shot his father, he de 
 serves . . . but no, Treadway, I will not believe it? 
 
 [218]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 In all that confusion you were deceived, and the fact 
 that it was Richard s gun confirmed you in your false 
 impression . . . But we ll drop the matter of the boy s 
 relation to the business until the truth is established." 
 
 [219]
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 WHEN TREADWAY assumed charge of James 
 Norton s private office he discovered several 
 papers the existence of which had previously 
 been unknown to him. The one which proved to be of 
 greatest interest to him personally was a codicil to his 
 chief s will which canceled the original bequest of all 
 his property to his son, leaving him only the house 
 on the Hill and a legacy of ten thousand dollars. Tread- 
 way had always hoped that this might be the outcome of 
 Norton s quarrel with Richard, but as no such sugges 
 tion had ever been made, it was a happy surprise to find 
 himself named as a beneficiary to the extent of the old 
 man s holdings in the Company and in the bank. 
 
 The realization which came to Treadway of the power 
 and position this wealth would give him was almost 
 overwhelming; but why had the codicil never been de 
 livered to the executors? Norton had evidently caused 
 it to be drawn immediately after Richard left home, 
 but for some reason had postponed placing it with his 
 will. Had this been due to a lingering affection for the 
 boy, a hope of reconciliation in spite of their differences ; 
 had Norton been too occupied with other matters, or was 
 
 [220]
 
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 it simply an oversight ? These questions could never be 
 answered now, but Treadway preferred to assume that 
 the newly-discovered document represented Norton s 
 unalterable intention, and that it was his secretary s 
 personal duty to prevent the accident of his death from 
 causing a miscarriage of his obvious desires. 
 
 When, therefore, James Norton s will was duly pro 
 bated, the codicil, properly signed and witnessed, was 
 included. No one questioned the old man s change of 
 heart. In view of all that had happened, the codicil 
 was more obvious than the original document. Rich 
 ard s friends were sympathetic but not surprised, the 
 Directors of the Company were relieved, since Richard 
 was not to be the heir, to have the stock fall into the 
 hands of some one familiar with its affairs ; the public 
 spoke of Treadway s "luck" ; and James Norton s erst 
 while secretary settled down as the logical successor 
 of the Great Man of Norcross. 
 
 II 
 
 Henry Cross watched the new turn of affairs with con 
 siderable interest. His experiences with Treadway had 
 not predisposed him in his favor. Cross had hated 
 Norton with the accumulated venom of over twenty 
 years, but beneath that hatred was the inevitable respect 
 which one strong man feels for another, whatever the 
 differences in their religious, political, or business 
 creeds. He had believed Norton when he told him that 
 his signature was forged. The shock which came to him 
 when Treadway flatly proclaimed his late chief a liar 
 and a crook later gave way to incredulity. As a matter 
 
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 of fact, Norton and Treadway had been very much in 
 Cross s mind ever since the tragedy. 
 
 Treadway now represented the Norton interests at 
 the meetings of the bank. Here Cross came into fre 
 quent contact with him, and found him modest and un 
 assuming in wearing his new dignities. 
 
 "I little thought when I agreed to get you that 
 stock," Treadway confided to him one day, "that it 
 would be so prejudicial to my personal interests; but 
 a promise is a promise, and you shall be the next presi 
 dent of the Norcross National Bank." 
 
 All this was gratifying to Henry Cross s ambitions, 
 but with their realization close at hand, he found his 
 satisfaction less than he had anticipated. It was one 
 thing to assume the position he had long coveted with 
 out contest, and another to have forced James Norton, 
 at the height of his arrogance, out of his chair at the 
 head of that long mahogany table. The memory of the 
 last meeting with his rival still proved disconcerting. 
 He had seen the strong man weaken, he had seen the 
 chilled steel pierced, and had been given a glimpse of 
 human clay beneath, which he had not believed was 
 there. If James Norton had lied to him during that 
 conference, then Cross had been in the presence of the 
 most consummate actor of his time; and if he had not 
 lied . . . 
 
 Herein lay the disconcerting element. Was his in 
 stinctive distrust of William Treadway justified, and in 
 which direction did his duty lie? Duty was still spelled 
 with capital letters in Henry Cross s New England con 
 science, and he earnestly prayed that he had not yielded 
 
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 to temptation in accepting Treadway s words at their 
 par value. 
 
 Treadway himself was actively engaged in strength 
 ening the fortifications in his new position. If he could 
 have foreseen that his dream of wealth and power was 
 to be gratified without his personal effort, there would 
 have been no occasion for him to take chances by mark 
 ing the cards. Now it was important for his future 
 welfare that these silent witnesses be removed from the 
 pack. The forged notes held by those other than Henry 
 Cross could easily be retired on presentation without 
 attracting attention, but the Cross notes still repre 
 sented a danger point. Treadway believed that the old 
 man s suspicions had been allayed, but it was the act of 
 wisdom to make assurance doubly sure. 
 
 "In view of what has happened," he said quietly to 
 Cross after one of the meetings at the bank, "I should 
 be glad to take up those notes you hold without wait 
 ing for their maturity." 
 
 This remark caused that troublesome New England 
 conscience of Henry Cross further twinges. If the 
 notes were all right, why should Treadway suggest 
 retiring them? They represented an obligation of the 
 Company, and Treadway s only personal responsibility 
 was his endorsement, which should cause him no con 
 cern. Treadway s manner intimated that his sugges 
 tion was made as a favor to Cross, but the old man 
 was not wholly convinced as to the younger man s altru 
 istic interest. Henry Cross invoked Divine guidance, 
 in answer to which the still small voice became a shrill 
 calliope, clamoring for attention. The responsibility 
 
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 became too great for him to bear alone. He removed 
 the disturbing documents from his safe-deposit box, 
 placed them in his inside pocket, and made a special trip 
 to the metropolis to lay them before a hand-writing 
 expert. 
 
 Ill 
 
 It happened to be Olga who brought to Richard the 
 news of his disinheritance. Among whom, in a manu 
 facturing town, does news or rumors of news travel 
 more rapidly than the working class? At last the girl 
 succeeded in passing Dr. Thurber s guard, for Richard 
 had asked for her, and the doctor could offer no good 
 reason for denying his request. Olga rejoiced in the 
 tidings she had to bring. If there had not been justi 
 fication before, this unfatherly act supplied it. To her 
 it was conclusive evidence that James Norton had no 
 right to live. 
 
 "You mustn t talk like that," Richard restrained her, 
 as she poured out the story after her first passionate 
 tears of greeting. "He was my father, Olga, and what 
 ever our differences, I shall always respect his memory. 
 It was his money, and he knew that I shouldn t use it as 
 he would have wished it to be used. He had a perfect 
 right to leave it to whomever he chose." 
 
 Olga looked at Richard in astonishment. 
 
 "If you feel that way toward your father, why did 
 you shoot him?" she demanded. 
 
 "You don t think I shot him, Olga?" 
 
 "Of course. Why shouldn t you? He called us car 
 rion, and he gave your money away." 
 
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 "Hush." Richard understood this fiery spirit, and 
 realized what lay beneath her primitive attitude. "I m 
 sorry you could think that of me, Olga, but you don t 
 realize what you are saying." 
 
 The girl was undeniably disappointed, and she 
 showed it. 
 
 "Then who did do it?" she asked incredulously. 
 
 "That we must find out . . . Olga, do you suppose 
 Tony Lemholtz could have got hold of my revolver?" 
 
 "If it was where he could reach it, he could. But if 
 you think he shot the boss, forget it. He would not 
 take the chance." 
 
 "He might have, in the excitement," Richard in 
 sisted. "I saw his face when he got up from the floor." 
 
 "He might have killed you . . . from behind," the 
 girl said contemptuously ; "but never the boss in the 
 open. He is too yellow." 
 
 "We mustn t take anything for granted, Olga. He 
 was the only one there insane enough to commit such 
 a deed . . . But I can t understand where my gun 
 came from. You might be able to find that out for me, 
 Olga. Will you try?" 
 
 "Sure I will try," she said promptly; "but if you 
 did not do it, why have they got you here?" 
 
 "They think I did it." 
 
 "Your word is as good as theirs . . . and better. 
 Where is the cop? I will tell him so." 
 
 "Quiet . . * quiet !" Richard calmed her. "You can 
 help me more by doing what I ask." 
 
 "Has the Stewart lady been to see you?" she inquired 
 abruptly. 
 
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 As he nodded, the girl s eyes snapped jealously. 
 
 "Are you going to let her come between us ?" 
 
 Richard looked at her in surprise. It was the first 
 time Olga had ever suggested a claim upon him, and 
 his immediate reaction was one of annoyance. Then 
 the absurdity of her words became uppermost, and he 
 smiled into her face. 
 
 "No, you silly child, . . the Stewart lady is not 
 going to take your little playmate away from you . . . 
 Why are you so serious today?" 
 
 Olga s eyes were snapping, and her whole bearing 
 showed the resentment she felt that he took her words 
 so lightly. 
 
 "Because I am serious," she answered him. "I am 
 not a child, and you shall never call me that again. I 
 am a woman, just as the Stewart lady is, and you have 
 no right to treat me like this." 
 
 Richard had seen her in temper before, and he sensed 
 nothing in this outburst beyond others which had pre 
 ceded it. Sometimes he purposely teased her, to see 
 the color come to her cheeks and the fire to her eyes. 
 
 "Come here, you little spit-fire," he said, placing his 
 arm around her and drawing her slight form to him. 
 "What do you mean by getting angry with me when I 
 am having so much trouble any way?" 
 
 "It is your own fault for not answering my question. 
 I do not like to have you make sport of me ... I think 
 too much of you for that." 
 
 "I only make sport of you when you invite it," he 
 said more seriously. "There has been no change in our 
 friendship since that afternoon at East Lake, except 
 
 [226]
 
 that it is stronger. What has Miss Lola to do with it? * 
 
 "Everything," the girl answered solemnly. "It is 
 true we sipped the wine as friends long ago, but much 
 has happened since." 
 
 "True, but nothing to affect our friendship." 
 
 "Then you lived in a different world from mine, now 
 you live in my world; then you were a rich man s son, 
 now you are poor like me ; then you were Mr. Richard 
 Norton, now you are my Richard ; then we were friends 
 only, now . . ." 
 
 "Nonsense !" he interrupted her. "There is no 
 stronger word than friend. Miss Lola is also my friend, 
 yet she would never ask if you were going to come be 
 tween her and me." 
 
 "Her friendship is different . . . she expects you to 
 marry her." 
 
 "She expects that no longer, Olga," Richard ex 
 plained. "I never expect to marry now. I have told 
 her so, and she understands." 
 
 "She understands that you no longer love her? . . . 
 Your engagement is broken !" Olga s voice expressed ab 
 solute incredulity. 
 
 "I didn t say that. I do love Miss Lola . . . You 
 have always known that . . . but now I am face to 
 face with something more important than marriage or 
 love. When I get out of here, I mean to devote my life 
 to putting across what you have heard me talk of for 
 the men. It means sacrifice to me, but I must not think 
 of wife, or home, or children until I have fulfilled the 
 duty I have laid upon myself." 
 
 It was difficult for Olga to comprehend Richard s 
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 statement, but out of the confusion in her mind there 
 came an impression that perhaps the situation was 
 better for her than she had thought. 
 
 "You say that you still love the Stewart lady even 
 though you will not marry her," she said slowly, as if 
 trying to put his words into her own language . . . 
 "Does that mean that you do not love me?" 
 
 "Of course !" he admitted promptly. "We are friends 
 ... we have sipped the wine together ... we are liv 
 ing in each other s lives . . . what could be happier 
 or sweeter?" 
 
 The girl clasped her hands about his neck, and looked 
 up into his face. The great brown eyes were wet with 
 unshed tears, the lips quivered, and the voice was low. 
 
 "Oh, Richard !" she cried impulsively ; "don t you see 
 how different everything is now from what it used to be? 
 Until these last weeks I had not loved any one but 
 myself, but now, . . oh, Richard ! While you were so 
 weak and I held your head in my lap, I could close my 
 eyes and think my dream had come true. When you 
 took me in your arms and kissed me . . . didn t you 
 love me then, Richard? Was it only the sip of wine? 
 I know you have never held the Stewart lady like that, 
 nor kissed her as you kiss me. When the good God 
 took your money away, I thought He did it for me, so 
 that we both could be poor and you could marry me 
 . . . Now I am afraid, and that is why I ask if the 
 Stewart lady is to come between us." 
 
 "What in the world possesses you today, Olga?" 
 Richard demanded, as he sought to calm her. "What 
 does a little girl like you know about love, any way? 
 
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 You have been worrying so much about me these weeks 
 that some foolish thoughts have crept into your mind 
 . . You don t love me, Olga . . . you are unstrung 
 over this whole affair, and you are sorry for me. In 
 your sweet anxiety you are still trying to watch over 
 me . . . Don t be silly ! I need your friendship now 
 more than I ever did. What you have done for me is 
 beyond what I can ever repay ... If there were any 
 thing serious in what you say I should be terribly con 
 cerned, but fortunately we don t have to think of that. 
 I m not going to marry any one, so that problem needn t 
 cause us any worry . . . You re not suggesting that 
 we should cease to be friends, are you?" 
 
 "Oh, no ! . . no . . . no !" Olga cried. 
 
 "Then we ll leave things just where they were? . . 
 We still are comrades, and always will be?" 
 
 "You have told the Stewart lady all that you have 
 told me?" she asked again, to make sure that there was 
 no mistake. 
 
 "Yes ; exactly that. She understands the situation 
 perfectly, and agrees with me." 
 
 Olga was quick to realize that if Lola had acqui 
 esced, she would place herself at a disadvantage by re 
 fusing to be equally generous. But she could not yield 
 without a last effort to strengthen her position. 
 
 "Then I suppose I, too, must agree with you," she 
 said at length ; "but really I do not ! If the Stewart 
 lady gives you up so easily she cannot love you . . . 
 Perhaps it is because now you are a poor man. I will 
 never believe you do not love me, Richard, but if I 
 make it hard for you now perhaps your love will turn 
 
 [229]
 
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 to hate. I will be patient . . . But while we wait shall 
 we still sip the wine together?" 
 
 "Of course," Richard agreed, relieved to have 
 straightened Olga out. "Everything is mixed up now ; 
 but if you will be patient, as you say you will, all is 
 bound to come out right." 
 
 "Then you will marry me," Olga said with finality; 
 * for that only is right." 
 
 [230]
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE EFFECT on Lola of her visits with Richard 
 was electrifying. Her work in France had im 
 pressed her with a sense of obligation, hitherto 
 unknown and unexpressed. The results of her later 
 efforts to give this expression had proved unsatisfying. 
 She had felt the necessity for action and had succeeded 
 in making Richard recognize it, but it was he who at 
 last supplied something tangible which she could grasp. 
 Now the spirit of martyrdom had seized her as it had 
 him. 
 
 Fired by the inspiration which comes from a sym 
 pathetic listener, Richard put into words for the first 
 time the cumulative results of those days of solitary 
 thought, and his own confidence and enthusiasm were 
 contagious. 
 
 "Do you know, Lola," he said to her, "except for 
 what it stands for, this time in jail has its compensa 
 tions. I believed I had my brief for the new industrial 
 relations well in hand when I presented it to my father, 
 but since I have been here, with so much time to think, 
 the idea has grown beyond anything I could have im 
 agined." 
 
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 "That is just what happened to you at Toul, wasn t 
 it?" Lola reminded him. "Then your vision gave you 
 the first suggestion that you were something in the 
 scheme of things ; now you have discovered how to make 
 the application to something very real." 
 
 "What a blessing it would be if every citizen was 
 obliged by law to spend a month each year in solitary 
 confinement," Richard cried enthusiastically, "with no 
 one to talk to, no books, no newspapers, just alone with 
 himself, and forced to think ! No man ought to be al 
 lowed to write, or make a speech, or advance an opinion 
 until he has solved the problem in his own mind by the 
 pitiless self-analysis which comes from an experience 
 such as I am having here. Oh, Lola, it does separate 
 the essentials from the non-essentials, it does show up 
 the specious emptiness of theories, and it does make 
 the real things stand out in wonderful relief from the 
 very blackness of the background ! 
 
 From this starting-point, he outlined to her his new 
 conception of the work as he now saw it opening up 
 before him. He pointed out the basic mistakes made 
 in the past and now being made by employers, and with 
 equal clearness laid bare the basic error of labor union 
 ism in placing such stress on organization, rather 
 than on the essentials of service and the welfare of the 
 working-man. With infinite detail he showed Lola the 
 enlarged and revised plan as he had worked it out, to 
 eliminate the errors and to bring the two elements to 
 gether on a basis which should obviously be for the 
 advantage of both. 
 
 Lola was thrilled by the tremendous possibilities 
 [232]
 
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 which his plan seemed to contain. It was all so plaus 
 ible, so simple, that it would be ridiculous to think that 
 it could fail of acceptance when Richard explained it 
 to the world as he had to her. What a change these 
 few months had wrought. Then, Richard was con 
 vinced that his idealism was chimerical ; now he saw so 
 clearly before him the opportunity to make it practical 
 that even a charge of patricide appeared to him noth 
 ing more serious than a temporary delay ! Then, his 
 main thought was to marry her; now he looked upon 
 marriage as a handicap until he had translated his 
 theories into practical realities. At least Lola could 
 take credit to herself for having held him true to his 
 course when he showed signs of weakening . . . but 
 the same might be said of Richard. At one point she 
 would have yielded had he still insisted. Fortunately 
 that moment came after he had gained his new view 
 point, and he failed to recognize her weakness. He had 
 strengthened her as she had guided him, and now the 
 old contentment returned. Again they were workers 
 as they had been in France, . . not as man or woman, 
 but as agents of a force greater than they ; not to win 
 the war, but now, thank God, to make possible a last 
 
 ing peace ! 
 
 II 
 
 Mrs. Stewart noted the change in Lola s bearing, 
 and it relieved an over-powering anxiety. Since the 
 tragedy, Lola had suffered, but instead of bearing her 
 burdens alone, as had been her habit since her home 
 coming from France, she now turned to her mother with 
 
 [233]
 
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 the former intimacy which Mrs. Stewart had feared was 
 lost forever. Together they discussed every angle of 
 Richard s precarious position, and from the older wo 
 man s unswerving faith in the justice meted out by an 
 all-watchful Providence, the girl gained a comforting 
 peace which comes only from faith. 
 
 Ill 
 
 William Stewart the dreamer was a figure of the past. 
 He would have told you that it was Richard who first 
 demonstrated to him the responsibility which rests on 
 those who have acquired knowledge to place it at the 
 disposition of the world. He had been a miser all these 
 years. From his travels, from his books, from his in 
 timate study of current topics, his retentive mind had 
 amassed jewels of thought, . . the most precious treas 
 ures of all, yet he had hoarded them. Like other misers, 
 he had loved to play with his wealth, to count it over, 
 to revel in its possession. When Richard outlined to 
 him his desire to capitalize the idealism which the war 
 had disclosed by applying it to a readjustment of in 
 dustrial relations, the idea fitted perfectly into the 
 theory of life which his knowledge told him was correct, 
 yet which he himself until then had never crystallized. 
 
 At first, Stewart had listened to Richard because it 
 pleased Lola to have him do so ; later he assimilated the 
 boy s enthusiasm. With the interest aroused, he had 
 tested Richard s plan theoretically, and with some 
 slight exceptions found it in tune with his own judg 
 ment. The young people had asked his assistance in 
 
 [234]
 
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 putting the plan into practical operation. Again he 
 had acquiesced because it would please them, but with 
 this acquiescence came a sudden realization of his per 
 sonal responsibility. He must do it not for Lola or 
 for Richard, but for himself, if he was to retain his 
 own self-respect ; and having done this, he must keep on 
 translating his ideas into action. The golden knowledge 
 he had accumulated must pass into circulation, and 
 now he must learn how to give it out again made richer 
 by the personal application. 
 
 Lola saw this change in her father with mingled feel 
 ings of surprise and happiness. Therein lay the dif 
 ference between the girl and her mother. To these two 
 women, William Stewart was perfection. The elder, 
 accustomed to his passive acceptance of her little tyran 
 nies, regarded him with amazement when now he ven 
 tured mildly to insist on something when previously he 
 would have yielded without discussion. Not that it 
 made any material difference, for even the new person 
 ality he disclosed was courtly and considerate. 
 
 To Lola, however, it was like having a beautiful 
 statue suddenly come to life. The sweet, courteous 
 disposition lost nothing and gained much by the added 
 virility. Life assumed for her a new interest as her 
 father became a real part of affairs which went on 
 about him. At the present time, aside from his new 
 business responsibilities, Stewart s demand for action 
 took the form of working unceasingly in Richard s inter 
 ests in trying to unravel the mystery of the murder: 
 but thus far these efforts had produced nothing tang 
 ible. 
 
 [235]
 
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 IV 
 
 Lola was given a fresh impetus by her visits with 
 Richard at the jail. It was not enough to continue her 
 strenuous programme, . . she must exceed it. Since 
 her return, she had carried on her work with the ex- 
 service men single-handed ; now she impressed every one 
 into the work. Barry was placed in charge of her 
 motor corps, organized among friends who owned auto 
 mobiles, pledging their machines for a specified number 
 of hours each week for the use of disabled soldiers at 
 the hospitals. The fact that chauffeurs replaced the 
 girl owners was perhaps indicative of the change in 
 the attitude of the public since the time when the trim 
 uniforms and the slight, youthful figures at the wheels 
 sped through the streets on their errands of mercy. 
 Plans were soon under way for collecting books and 
 magazines, for an employment agency, for entertain 
 ments, . . in all of which Mr. and Mrs. Stewart and 
 their friends were given ample opportunity to co-oper 
 ate. Organization now seemed to be Lola s shibboleth, 
 and she herself set an example of energy and industry 
 which shamed others into efforts far beyond their natu 
 ral inclinations. 
 
 "There will be nothing left of you or of any of the 
 rest of us if you keep this up much longer," Mrs. Stew 
 art declared between breaths, exhausted as much by the 
 unwonted activity in the atmosphere as by her personal 
 endeavor. 
 
 "This is what I have wanted to do ever since I came 
 home," Lola explained. "I used to be afraid that you 
 
 [236]
 
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 and daddy were just like the other people ... I don t 
 mean that, dear ; but I did think you felt that I ought 
 to forget and settle back into the old conventional rou 
 tine. That would be actually criminal, when so much 
 remains to be done. But now it is your work as well 
 as mine. You have seen with your own eyes how nec 
 essary it is, and I don t have to keep my feelings all 
 pent up inside. I can t tell you what a difference it 
 makes." 
 
 "Yes, dear," her mother answered seriously; "we 
 have learned the necessity better from being a part of 
 the work itself. That is human nature. And the people 
 who are working with us are coming to appreciate the 
 situation better, just as your father and I do. But 
 what delights me most is to see my child her old self 
 again. I suspect that you and Richard have come 
 to a better understanding about something too . . at 
 any rate I am hoping so." 
 
 "Yes, mother ; we have," she acknowledged. 
 
 "I am relieved," Mrs. Stewart said frankly. "I was 
 greatly concerned over what you told me . . . You 
 must be married immediately after his acquittal." 
 
 "Would the verdict really make any difference?" 
 Lola inquired in a low tone. "If we are convinced of 
 his innocence, and things go against him, he would 
 need me more than ever." 
 
 "Fortunately we don t have to settle that point 
 yet," Mrs. Stewart replied evasively. "The main thing 
 is that you have come to a realization that the war 
 didn t change the natural order of things after all. 
 If you and Richard had been married as you ought to 
 
 L237]
 
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 have been, he wouldn t have been mixed up in this af 
 fair." 
 
 "I m glad he was, mother," Lola surprised her by say 
 ing. "It has proved to be of the greatest importance 
 in his personal development." 
 
 "You are glad Richard was arrested?" 
 
 Mrs. Stewart could scarcely believe her ears. 
 
 "Yes," Lola answered calmly; "his arrest and im 
 prisonment have brought him to his best self, . . the 
 whole experience has proved a blessing in disguise." 
 
 Mrs. Stewart regarded her daughter with the utmost 
 astonishment. 
 
 "Where will this madness end!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Dick and I have passed through very unusual expe 
 riences," Lola continued. "They have been bitter, but 
 every cloud has its silver lining. In this case, the silver 
 lining is a perfect comprehension of each other s view 
 point. When he wanted to be married, for instance, I 
 wasn t ready for it ; when I was ready, he realized that 
 it ought not to be. Now we have both agreed to drop 
 all thought of marriage, and to devote ourselves wholly 
 to our work." 
 
 Mrs. Stewart looked at her daughter in reproachful 
 silence. 
 
 "Your engagement is broken?" she asked at length. 
 
 "It amounts to that," Lola admitted ; "but I am in 
 complete sympathy with Dick, mother dear, and am 
 happier than I ever was in my life." 
 
 "Have you ceased to care for each other?" 
 
 The expression on Lola s face made her motKer re 
 gret that she had asked the question. 
 
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 THE BALANCE 
 
 "I don t believe Dick has ceased to care . . . As for 
 me, I never loved him so much ! Whether we ever marry 
 or not, Richard Norton will always be the one man in 
 my life." 
 
 "Of course, if he feels different . . ." the older wo 
 man began, still mystified by Lola s words. 
 
 "He doesn t, dear ... I know he doesn t . . . but 
 at present his mind is wholly concentrated on a big 
 work. To accomplish this he must be free, and I gladly 
 give him his freedom as my contribution to the cause. 
 Can t you understand, mother dear? There are some 
 things in life which are greater than others. Dick and 
 I think we are in the presence of one which demands 
 personal sacrifice. It is I who am making it, and if 
 it gives me happiness to have this opportunity to prove 
 my sincerity, surely you don t blame me for living up 
 to what I believe is right." 
 
 "I m not blaming you, child," Mrs. Stewart hastened 
 to assure her, for she saw tears gathering in her eyes. 
 "I can t follow you, that is all. The more I try the 
 less I seem to understand. I have been brought up to 
 look upon marriage and children as God s work for 
 women, and greater than any which mortal man can 
 find for us to do. Perhaps I am old-fashioned, but that 
 is how I feel. For a good many centuries love has been 
 supposed to be the greatest influence in our lives, and 
 when I see something else put ahead of it, I wonder 
 whether the present generation is really wiser than those 
 which went before it after all." 
 
 "Is it putting something else ahead of it, dear? 
 Isn t it rather giving love a broader interpretation to 
 
 [239]
 
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 devote ourselves to making other people happier and 
 better than to seek it for our own selfish enjoyment?" 
 "It may be," Mrs. Stewart answered doubtfully and 
 without enthusiasm. "I have always admired the Chris 
 tian martyrs, but it s another matter when it strikes 
 one s own family ... Of course, you and Dick must 
 work it out for yourselves." 
 
 This conversation with her mother unnerved Lola. 
 It was one thing to argue with herself and another to 
 crystallize an idea into words which should satisfy one 
 who approached it from an unsympathetic angle. 
 While with Richard, everything seemed to fit perfectly 
 into their new scheme of life; when away from him an 
 unexplained something crowded itself between her zeal 
 and her instinct, preventing their complete co-ordina 
 tion. Sometimes the conflict seemed too great for her 
 to bear, but then she gained new strength by repeating 
 to herself that she was fighting the good fight, . . that, 
 even though her course was still unfinished, thus far 
 she had kept the faith. 
 
 [240]
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 NO ONE realized more clearly than William 
 Treadway that the wealth and position to which 
 he had so suddenly fallen heir carried a respon 
 sibility from him to the community to live up to what 
 their possession represented. Immediately after the 
 probating of James Norton s will, he made it known 
 to such charitable organizations as were not included 
 as beneficiaries, but which had previously been the re 
 cipients of his chief s bounty, that similar support might 
 be expected from him. The Civic Association, the Con 
 gregational Church, the Norcross hospital, and many 
 other similar institutions, were gratified to find that 
 James Norton s money had fallen into such sym 
 pathetic hands. The passing of the Great Man of Nor 
 cross was lamented, but the town soon accepted the 
 fact that his mantle would fall upon the shoulders of 
 his secretary, and it was the general verdict that his 
 successor was wearing it with becoming grace. 
 
 Treadway also realized that a great man does more 
 than simply give from his stores, and he straightway 
 enlisted his personal effort in all the good works that 
 concerned the town, of which he was now so prominent 
 
 [241]
 
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 a part. Lola s activity at just this time afforded him 
 ample opportunity to be of service to her, and she found 
 in him an efficient and helpful worker in several of her 
 newly-formed organizations. He knew that she cher 
 ished against him the fact that he had not seen active 
 service in the war. Several of her quips, which he had 
 passed off lightly at the time, still left their scars. 
 Here was his opportunity to heap coals of fire upon 
 her head, and incidentally an excuse to be with her more 
 frequently than she would have permitted under other 
 circumstances. 
 
 "Some day you will realize how great an injustice 
 you did me concerning my war-work," he said quietly 
 once in Lola s "office," when she complimented him on 
 some work he had just successfully completed. "You 
 said that those who stayed at home cannot understand 
 the feelings of the boys who got into it; I ll say that 
 those who got into it can t understand the feelings of 
 those who had to stay at home." 
 
 "I suppose that s true, Billy," Lola admitted, will 
 ing at least to give him the benefit of the doubt. "I 
 don t mean to be unjust, but I m afraid I can never 
 understand how any man able to see service could per 
 mit anything to stop him." 
 
 "Sometimes it s harder to do the things we have to 
 do than those which people think we ought to do," 
 Treadway remarked seriously. "If I wore a stripe for 
 every wound the world has given me for sticking to 
 what was shown me to be my duty . . against my will, 
 I d be a hero." 
 
 "But you wouldn t be hobbling along on one leg 
 [242]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 like Barry, or sleeping over in France, or up in the 
 cemetery, like Jack Munsey, still waiting for your War 
 Risk payments to come through . . . Let s not talk 
 about that, Billy. You said to me once, All that hur 
 rah boys stuff has gone into the discard now. With 
 a lot of people I think it has. I m one of those who 
 still feel a thrill when the Star Spangled Banner is 
 played, and still believe that there is something worth 
 while going to come out of those awful years which 
 hasn t come out yet, so I simply can t understand the 
 attitude these people take I m not knocking you in 
 particular, Billy. I ve no doubt that you and all these 
 other people have acted conscientiously, and that is 
 all you have to consider. I have my own conscience, 
 and that keeps me busy enough trying to liv^ up to its 
 demands. Truly, I don t mean to be disagreeable ; but 
 you started the conversation, and I have to say what 
 I really think." 
 
 "If you feel that way about me, Lola, perhaps I d 
 better not continue this work I m doing for you," 
 Treadway said abruptly, resentful of her continued 
 criticism. 
 
 "Work for me, Billy?" she inquired. "I thought you 
 were doing it to make the boys who protected those 
 who were kept at home in essential industries realize 
 that their sacrifices were appreciated. You don t mean 
 to say that you have been doing this for me?" 
 
 Treadway looked at her steadily for a moment. No 
 one ever spoke to him as Lola did, no one ever made 
 him feel so thoroughly uncomfortable. Everything 
 else he had craved and planned for had come to him 
 
 [243]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 except Lola Stewart. She sat there in her desk-chair 
 with apparently no idea that she was disciplining him, 
 yet in every word he felt a sting. Lola could not realize 
 how cruel she really was. If she felt as strongly as 
 her words seemed to indicate, she would not treat him 
 with such consideration, or accept his co-operation. 
 Treadway had trained himself to take the bitter with 
 the sweet whenever the sweet was eventually assured. 
 With his confidence in himself, he could not doubt the 
 ultimate result of his determination to overcome oppo 
 sition in this instance as in all the others. Success had 
 come to be a habit with him, and temporary rebuffs were 
 only incidents in the day s run. At the same time, 
 Treadway was sufficiently astute to appreciate the fact 
 that at present he was on the wrong track, so with his 
 usual agility he shunted onto a safer route. 
 
 "Of course I m doing it for the boys," he protested 
 vigorously. "At the same time I don t see anything 
 unpatriotic in saying that it is a particular pleasure 
 to me to be working with you. You know how I feel 
 toward you, Lola. I ve worked like a slave all my life 
 to get where I am today. I ve taken chances that an 
 other man wouldn t have had the nerve to take, and I ve 
 won out. Now I ve got everything in the world I want 
 except you . . . No. I m not going to propose to you 
 again," he added quickly, as she started to protest. "I 
 know how anxious you are about Dick, and I respect it. 
 He has first claim, of course. All I ask is that you let 
 me stand next. Dick is in a serious situation. If the 
 expected happens, it will be a terrible blow to you. 
 In that case I want to be permitted to be near you, to 
 
 [244]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 comfort you, and to help you face the world again 
 after the suffering you will have to endure." 
 
 "You can t really think he will be convicted!" Lola 
 cried, forgetful of all else that Treadway had said. 
 "If you could see him and talk with him as I have, you 
 would know that Richard Norton never shot his father." 
 
 "There, there," Treadway sought to calm her. "I 
 didn t mean to bring back the spectre; but perhaps it 
 is just as well for you to begin to prepare yourself. 
 I have gone over matters with every one connected with 
 the unfortunate affair, and there seems to be no evidence 
 to connect any one else with the murder. It is most 
 distressing to be obliged to give my testimony: I, the 
 beneficiary of Mr. Norton s generosity, against his 
 son, who has been cut off in my favor. And yet . . . 
 does not Mr. Norton s action make even clearer the 
 relations which existed between the two ? I hope Dick s 
 lawyer will put in a defence of temporary insanity. If I 
 were assured that Richard would acknowledge his act, 
 while denying his responsibility, I might be of assist 
 ance by giving testimony which would strengthen his 
 case." 
 
 Lola smiled sadly. 
 
 "You don t understand Dick," she said firmly. "That 
 boy doesn t know what compromise is. If he had shot 
 his father impulsively or in anger he would be the first 
 to admit it, and to insist on receiving the utmost pen 
 alty. Not having done it, he has no anxiety about the 
 outcome. His confidence is sublime. Dick is today 
 thinking not of himself but of the great work he has 
 to do after he is acquitted. The experience, awful as 
 
 [245]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 it is, has brought out in him that wonderful strength 
 and character which he had allowed to lie dormant 
 since his return home." 
 
 Treadway shook his head soberly. 
 
 "I m afraid it is all part of the same madness," he 
 insisted ; "but it will naturally go to help him. No man 
 in his right mind could fail to realize his danger, and 
 what every one tells me of his indifference confirms me 
 in my apprehensions . . . Lola," hei said suddenly, 
 changing the subject abruptly, "if it were not for 
 Richard, wouldn t I stand some chance of winning you?" 
 
 The question came so unexpectedly that for a mo 
 ment the girl was caught off her guard. 
 
 "I never intend to marry any one," she said quickly, 
 and promptly regretted having said it. 
 
 "Not even Dick?" Treadway demanded. 
 
 "Not even Dick," Lola answered. 
 
 Treadway was completely mystified. 
 
 "But I thought you were confident that he would be 
 acquitted . . ." 
 
 "I am. That is why I speak so definitely. If Dick 
 were convicted, I should probably change my mind." 
 
 "Of course I have no right to ask, but is your en 
 gagement broken?" 
 
 "Dick and I have decided that we can do what we 
 have to do better if we are absolutely free." 
 
 "I told you he was out of his head !" Treadway de 
 clared. "If that doesn t prove it I don t know what 
 does. So Richard has . . ." 
 
 "He has done nothing of the sort," Lola interrupted 
 him indignantly, thoroughly incensed by the turn the 
 
 [246]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 conversation had taken. "You had no right to question 
 me, and I ought not to have answered you." 
 
 Treadway was distinctly interested. Lola s protest 
 was so violent that he was convinced that unexpectedly 
 he had hit upon the truth. Nothing but mortification 
 would cause that sudden rush of color to her cheeks 
 and bring the tears to her eyes. 
 
 "But you did answer," he said deliberately, "and you 
 are giving me further information now. All this is sur 
 prising and encouraging. Of course he did it for your 
 sake. Very manly of him, I ll say. And now where 
 do I come in?" 
 
 "You don t come in," Lola cried, exasperated, rising 
 to her feet. "On the contrary, this is where you go out ! 
 It is cowardly of you to take advantage of me, and 
 I don t intend to give you another chance." 
 
 "Your loyalty to Dick under the circumstances is 
 splendid," Treadway bowed graciously. 
 
 "My loyalty is based on faith. The real murderer 
 is sure to be found. There were others who had the 
 chance." 
 
 "Who, for instance?" he demanded. 
 
 "You, for one," she declared, making a random shot 
 in her anger. 
 
 Treadway s face went white. 
 
 "You don t really believe . . ." 
 
 "I am simply answering your question," Lola re 
 plied, holding her head high as she marched past him. 
 "I ll leave you to close the office." 
 
 [247]
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 IF IT appears that Barry O Carolan has been neg 
 lected in these recent chronicles, it must not be as 
 sumed that he has ceased to be a part of life at 
 Norcross. When one glances at his watch, he is con 
 scious only of its hands and face, yet the myriads of 
 smaller pieces which together constitute its mechanism 
 are performing their more humble functions with 
 faithful accuracy and regularity. 
 
 All Barry s actual knowledge of the tragedy came 
 from the many and conflicting stories which passed 
 from mouth to mouth. Like Richard s other friends, 
 he was unable to explain his loyalty in the face of the 
 facts as known ; but nothing could swerve him from his 
 conviction of "the Capt n s" innocence. 
 
 "I know from his face that he would always fight 
 fair. He never did it," was Barry s invariable state 
 ment at the close of every argument. 
 
 The coming of the frost in the garden lessened 
 Barry s duties so that even with Lola s motor corps 
 added to his responsibilities he found himself with more 
 time on his hands than he liked. Mrs. Stewart still 
 kept him supplied with books, but somehow Barry could 
 
 [248J
 
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 not concentrate upon them. He was impelled to action. 
 He felt himself in the midst of a real drama, being 
 enacted all around him, and for the time fictitious char 
 acters lost their power to interest. Richard was ever 
 uppermost in his mind, and Barry found opportunity to 
 discuss the case in some phase with nearly all the eye 
 witnesses. 
 
 Richard was not the only one in Norcross who sug 
 gested Tony Lemholtz s name in connection with the 
 murder, and it was in Tony s direction that Barry men 
 tally pointed the finger of suspicion. In fact, Lemholtz 
 was made so uncomfortable by the unspoken charges 
 that he would have left town except for the fact that he 
 was held as a witness by the Grand Jury. As the 
 State had not taken action against him, no one had 
 the temerity to translate his suspicions into charges, 
 but many of Tony s closest cronies dropped their for 
 mer intimacy and awaited developments, 
 
 II 
 
 One afternoon, for lack of something better to do, 
 Barry hobbled over to the Norton place, where he 
 knew things had gone at sixes and sevens since the death 
 of its master and the less personal attention of the ad 
 ministrators. Old Hannah was in charge, and she, 
 Barry was well aware, would never listen to any word 
 against "Mr. Richard." It was an opportunity to com 
 mune with a kindred spirit, and Barry craved reassur 
 ance after an argument with one of the townspeople who 
 had personally tried, convicted, and executed the 
 
 prisoner. 
 
 [249]
 
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 Hannah welcomed Barry with genuine delight, for 
 she, poor soul, had little opportunity to keep in touch 
 with the progress of affairs. "Mr. Richard" was still 
 her "boy," and he was in trouble. Many a heartburn 
 had she experienced in the great house on the Hill when 
 the master made Richard suffer from his tyranny. She 
 had been powerless to intervene then, as she was power 
 less now. She kept him supplied in jail with luscious 
 mince and pumpkin pies, which had made his mouth 
 water ever since he was a small boy. While she baked 
 them she recalled the time when she discovered the 
 youthful Richard with half a pie in each hand, and 
 chuckled to herself as she remembered how he averted 
 her threatened scolding by saying archly, "If you don t 
 want me to steal em, Hannah, you mustn t make em 
 so good!" 
 
 This service to the boy was slight, but like the Juggler 
 of Notre Dame, it was the best she had to give . . . 
 and it satisfied her craving; but her heart yearned for 
 news and for comforting assurances which could come 
 only from one who agreed with her that Richard could 
 do no wrong. 
 
 Hannah did not question the fact that Richard had 
 fired the shot, but she considered the provocation given 
 by the old man ample justification for the act. 
 
 "If you d seen and heard what I have, Barry O Car- 
 olan, you d wonder that Mr. Richard hadn t done it 
 before," she declared. "My poor boy . . . how that 
 old man abused him!" 
 
 "The Capt n never did it," Barry declared stoutly. 
 "He might have got mad and punched his father in 
 
 [250]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 the face, or cursed him out, or somethin like that, but 
 he d never shoot any one without givin him a chance. 
 The Capt n isn t that kind of a feller." 
 
 "But he admitted it was his revolver," Hannah ex 
 claimed, surprised that there was any doubt as to the 
 responsibility. "I was always scared of that revolver, 
 every time I dusted the mantel-piece in the library. 
 I used to look at it and think of the hundreds of Ger 
 mans Mr. Richard must have shot with it, and it made 
 me squirm." 
 
 "You needn t have been scared," Barry tried to re 
 assure her. "It prob ly wasn t loaded." 
 
 "Oh, yes ; it was. I spoke of it once when Mr. Tread- 
 way was cleaning it. He had it open, and I saw the 
 part with the bullets in it. I used to wish Mr. Richard 
 had taken it with him when he left home. It kept re 
 minding me of him." 
 
 Barry sprang from his chair so suddenly that he 
 nearly lost his balance. 
 
 "Didn t the Capt n take that gun with him?" 
 
 "Oh, no ; it lay here on the mantel-piece for two or 
 three weeks after he went away. I wisht he had." 
 
 "What became of it then?" Barry demanded excit 
 edly. 
 
 "I never knew. P raps Mr. Treadway sent it over 
 to Mr. Richard. P raps that s why he was cleaning 
 it up." 
 
 "You stay right here, and don t you say anythin to 
 anybody til I get back," Barry cried, leaving Hannah 
 aghast, in the belief that he had suddenly lost his reason. 
 
 [251]
 
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 III 
 
 Barry s wooden leg never made such rapid progress 
 as when it covered the distance between the Norton place 
 and Mr. Stewart s house. He was not sure just what 
 this information he had gleaned might be worth, but 
 his instinct told him it was valuable. 
 
 The Stewarts were in the library, discussing the 
 ever-present subject when Barry arrived. With them 
 was the most famous criminal lawyer the metropolis 
 could supply. Mr. Stewart was determined that Rich 
 ard should have the advantage of the highest legal de 
 fence, and the name of the counsel retained guaranteed 
 full protection of his rights The lawyer had held con 
 ferences with the prisoner, and gone over the ground 
 thoroughly with several of those who had witnessed 
 the tragedy. 
 
 "Young Norton is of little use to us in the defence," 
 the lawyer declared. "He does not sense the gravity of 
 his position. It is all very well to have this supreme 
 confidence, but his simple reiteration of his innocence 
 won t go far with a jury." 
 
 "You have gained nothing from the others which 
 could be made of value?" Stewart asked anxiously. 
 
 "Absolutely nothing. His best friends are doing 
 what they can to convict him by emphasizing the provo 
 cation." 
 
 "I left word we were not to be disturbed," Mrs. Stew 
 art explained quietly to the maid who appeared at the 
 door. 
 
 "It s Barry, madam, who insists on seeing Miss 
 [252]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 Lola. I told him you were engaged, but he is most per 
 sistent." 
 
 "Tell him I ll see him in the morning," Lola instructed 
 her. 
 
 "Lemholtz seems to be the only one who would have 
 been likely to shoot Norton," Mr. Stewart resumed as 
 the maid retired. 
 
 "Yes," the lawyer admitted; "I ve gone into that. 
 He had threatened Norton . . ." 
 
 "Didn t Mrs. Stewart make herself clear?" Mr. Stew 
 art said sternly to the maid, who reappeared at the 
 door. 
 
 "Yes, sir; I m sorry, but Barry says he must see 
 Miss Lola at once. It s about Mr. Richard . . ." 
 
 "Perhaps he has discovered something," Lola ex 
 claimed. "Please let him come in ... He s my relic 
 of the war," she explained to the lawyer. 
 
 Barry was abashed to find a stranger present. He 
 had not hesitated to force himself upon the Stewarts, 
 for he knew that they would understand; but with a 
 stranger present he was much confused. 
 
 "It s all right, Barry," Lola checked his broken 
 apologies. "This is the lawyer who is going to help 
 Mr. Richard, so if you have anything to tell us about 
 him, now is just the time." 
 
 "It s about the Capt n s gun," he said abruptly. 
 
 Barry instantly found himself surrounded by in 
 tensely interested listeners. 
 
 "What about the gun?" the lawyer demanded, as 
 Barry hesitated. 
 
 "It was lyin on the mantel-piece in the Norton house 
 [253]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 for two or three weeks after the Capt n left home." 
 
 "How do you know that?" was the lawyer s crisp 
 inquiry. 
 
 "Hannah, the woman over at Norton s, just told me." 
 
 "Who took it away? . . I must see this woman at 
 once." 
 
 "She don t know, sir, but she saw Mr. Treadway 
 handlin it. She thinks he might have sent it to Mr. 
 Richard, but . . ." 
 
 "Treadway?" the lawyer repeated slowly, turning 
 to the Stewarts. "He is the chief witness against the 
 prisoner, and the man who urges us to put in a plea 
 of insanity . . . And, by George ! he is the beneficiary 
 in Norton s will, isn t he? Curious we hadn t thought 
 of him. Why couldn t we have used the gun? This 
 woman at Norton s has given us the clew." 
 
 "Billy Treadway is hateful and impertinent," Lola 
 exclaimed, still nursing her resentment, "but one could 
 never think of him as the murderer." 
 
 She spoke with such feeling that the lawyer looked 
 at her surprised. The flush in her cheeks told his 
 trained eyes something he did not know before. 
 
 "There s a motive, any way, . . . perhaps more than 
 one," the lawyer insisted, . . "and the opportunity." 
 
 "I agree with Lola," Mr, Stewart added. "I ve 
 known Treadway a long time. I ve seen him every day 
 since this happened. Why, the codicil is dated only 
 a fortnight before Norton s death. Treadway would 
 never have taken a chance like that when the property 
 was sure to come to him. anyway." 
 
 "He might not have known of the existence of the 
 [254]
 
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 codicil," the lawyer contended, still thinking aloud 
 . . . "At all events this evidence confirms young Nor 
 ton s claim that the revolver was not in his possession, 
 which is a big point." 
 
 "Is what I told you any good?" Barry asked 
 anxiously, uncomfortable in the presence of the great 
 lawyer, and eager to get away. 
 
 "Yes, Barry . . ." Lola assured him; "it may prove 
 most important." 
 
 "Don t talk about this outside," the lawyer cautioned 
 as Barry departed. Then he resumed his conversation 
 with Mr. Stewart. 
 
 "We can t afford to overlook any one in a case like 
 this," he said, referring to Treadway. "You think it 
 absurd to consider young Norton as the slayer of his 
 father, yet he is held by the Grand Jury as the probable 
 murderer, and we don t feel any too sure that we can 
 prove his innocence at the trial. Lemholtz was vin 
 dictive, but he had no special motive ; this man Tread- 
 way had a motive, a powerful one, and apparently an 
 opportunity to get hold of young Norton s gun. Why 
 is he so concerned to have the insanity plea put in? 
 One of these three men obviously shot Norton. It may 
 be ridiculous, but what this man has just told us is 
 the first tangible thing I ve found to work on . . I sug 
 gest that we go over to the Norton place, now." 
 
 "Have you talked with Henry Cross?" Stewart in 
 quired. 
 
 "Cross? No; where does he come in?" 
 
 "He asked me at the bank yesterday who Richard s 
 [255]
 
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 lawyer was, and I gave him your name. I don t know 
 what he had in mind." 
 
 "Suppose we find out," the lawyer suggested, look 
 ing at his watch. "If it has any bearing on this case, 
 perhaps he would come over." 
 
 IV 
 
 A telephone call discovered Henry Cross at home, 
 and eager to see the lawyer. Within fifteen minutes 
 he had joined the group in the Stewart library. The 
 old man s face was ashen, his cheeks so drawn that the 
 lines age had written there were accentuated. As Stew 
 art introduced Cross to the lawyer he was struck by 
 his physical condition, and commented on it sympa 
 thetically. 
 
 "I ll be all right when I get this off my mind," Cross 
 replied gravely. "This is James Norton s persecution 
 of me in death for the trouble I gave him during his 
 lifetime. That man may be dead . . ." he shook his 
 finger impressively . . . "he may be dead, but I tell 
 you he has more power over me today than any living 
 man I know." 
 
 The lawyer glanced at Stewart inquiringly, but be 
 fore he could speak Cross continued. 
 
 "I have always hated him," he declared; "and for 
 twenty years I laid traps to catch him, but every time 
 he was smarter than I was and he licked me. Then 
 I bought commercial paper of his Company, with the 
 idea of making trouble for him when the inflation bub 
 ble burst. I thought I had him at last, but I was 
 swindled by that slick secretary of his into renewing 
 
 [256]
 
 some notes. Norton told me they were forged. He got 
 all excited, as he used to, and left me at the bank with 
 a promise that he would turn Treadway over to the law. 
 Then he was shot. Treadway came right down to see 
 me, and for a time he made me believe that Norton was 
 the crook. But he wasn t, and that is where Norton 
 scored on me again. I wanted to think so, but I sus- 
 picioned that smart Aleck, and my conscience troubled 
 me until I showed these notes to an expert. He says 
 every one of them is forged . . . just as Norton 
 told me." 
 
 "By Treadway?" 
 
 Stewart and the lawyer asked the question simul 
 taneously. 
 
 "By Treadway," Cross declared solemnly. "Now 
 James Norton is grinning in his grave at my losing all 
 that money trying to spite him, and coming here with 
 the evidence that will save his son." 
 
 "Have you such evidence?" the lawyer demanded 
 sternly. "The fact that the notes were forged does not 
 prove that Treadway was the forger." 
 
 Again the old man shook his finger impressively. 
 
 "James Norton was shot by William Treadway to 
 prevent the knowledge of these forgeries from becoming 
 known. How he got hold of Richard s gun I don t 
 know, but the strikers raid on the office gave him his 
 chance to kill his man and throw the blame on some 
 one else. Norton left me an hour before the murder 
 with a promise to turn Treadway over to the authori 
 ties. Treadway admitted to me that they had dis 
 cussed the matter. Since then he has offered to buy 
 
 [257]
 
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 the notes from me ... for what else than to destroy 
 the evidence? If you need any more than that to con 
 vict Treadway of the murder, you re not the lawyer 
 I take you to be . * . But it is James Norton who made 
 me come to you. Now I hope he ll leave me in peace." 
 
 The hush that fell on the little group in the Stewart 
 library evidenced the dramatic value of the old man s 
 words. He was so shaken it was necessary to assist 
 him into his carriage, and Stewart sent his butler to 
 see him safely home. When he returned to the library 
 Stewart was the first to speak. 
 
 "I cannot believe it possible . . . Treadway a forger 
 and a murderer . . ." 
 
 "Twice a murderer," Lola cried hotly, . . "placing 
 the responsibility of his crime upon the shoulders of 
 an innocent man!" 
 
 "This has been an eventful afternoon," the lawyer 
 remarked with obvious satisfaction. "With the in 
 formation we now have it ought to be fairly simple 
 to reconstruct the case. Treadway is now held by the 
 Grand Jury as witness. Perhaps before the trial is over 
 we may arrange for the witness and the prisoner to 
 exchange places ! . . Come, let us follow the scent over 
 at Norton s." 
 
 [258]
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THOSE residents of Norcross who selected the 
 town as an abiding-place because of the quiet 
 calm of country life found themselves obliged 
 to reconstruct their hypothesis. The strike proved 
 the first disturbing influence ; later, the murder of James 
 Norton and the arrest of his son forced the tempera 
 ture to fever-heat, and centered the thoughts of every 
 one upon the trial. Then came the unexpected climax, 
 which left even those citizens with a reputation for 
 intelligence and self-control gaping at each other, won 
 dering where the drama was going to end. 
 
 The court-house, during the hectic days of the Nor 
 ton trial, proved hopelessly inadequate to accomodate 
 the surging mass of would-be spectators who clamored 
 for admission. Every resident of Norcross considered 
 himself personally interested, and those excluded by 
 lack of space looked upon the fact as personal discrim 
 ination. To most of them, the trial was a holiday spec 
 tacle rather than an exhibition of Justice exercising 
 her function, . . a display of blood-lust handed down 
 perhaps from their Puritan ancestors who abolished 
 the sport of bear-baiting not because it gave pain to 
 
 [259]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 the bear but because of the pleasure derived by the spec 
 tators. Richard Norton, already a picturesque charac 
 ter in the town life from the importance of his family, 
 his war-service, and his leadership of the Norton work 
 men, loomed large as a drawing-card. 
 
 Except among his immediate friends, the fact of 
 Richard s guilt was generally accepted, so the interest 
 in the case centered in the nature of the defence and 
 the verdict. Treadway was the chief witness for the 
 State, and after his testimony it seemed merely a per 
 functory action for Richard s lawyer to attempt any 
 cross-examination. The spectators were amazed, when 
 Treadway was turned over to him, to have the lawyer 
 force, by a series of cumulative questions, a flat declar 
 ation that Treadway saw the shot fired; for this final 
 statement seemed absolutely fatal to young Norton. 
 If it was hoped that by proving him a perjurer his 
 testimony against Richard would be invalidated, the 
 purpose failed, for a majority of those in the court 
 room looked upon Treadway s reluctance to disclose 
 his full knowledge of the facts as an act of sublime loy 
 alty to his friend rather than an effort to subvert the 
 action of the law. 
 
 With the closing of the case for the State the great 
 lawyer brought into action those characteristics which 
 had given him his reputation. First he placed old 
 Hannah on the stand and established the fact that the 
 revolver had been in the Norton house after Richard 
 left home, and that Treadway had handled it. Through 
 Henry Cross he brought the forged notes into the case, 
 and the discovery of Treadway s criminality by James 
 
 [260]
 
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 Norton. Alec Sterling testified that both the prisoner s 
 hands were extended in supplication at the moment the 
 shot was fired, and Tony Lemholtz swore reluctantly 
 that although standing as close to him as Treadway 
 did, he saw nothing of the gun until the officer lifted 
 the weapon from the floor and showed it to the prisoner. 
 Finally, the handwriting expert was placed on the 
 stand to pronounce the signatures to the notes obvious 
 forgeries. 
 
 "I am offering no defence for the prisoner,* the 
 lawyer summed up, "as innocence needs no defence. The 
 law seeks to protect the community by employing its 
 strength to detect and punish the wrong-doer, but in 
 the exercise of its powerful function it wraps its majesty 
 with special care about those falsely accused to prevent 
 the miscarriage of its justice. By taking advantage 
 of a strategic moment, staged as if in his single inter 
 est, this man here" , . . the lawyer pointed his finger 
 dramatically at Treadway . . . "this man here was 
 enabled, by an act so quickly conceived and skilfully 
 executed as to do credit to his cleverness, to remove 
 his accuser and place the responsibility upon the head 
 of an innocent man. Not content with the assassina 
 tion of his friend and benefactor, he nonchalantly as 
 sumes possession of the vast property which he knows 
 to belong rightfully to his benefactor s ,son, since 
 which time, while waiting for the law, misled by 
 perjured testimony, to aid him unwittingly in his nefa 
 rious scheme, he has taken his place among his fellow- 
 citizens as an honored member of the community, enjoy 
 ing their confidence, contributing to their charities, 
 
 [261]
 
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 sympathizing with the unfortunate prisoner, and even 
 having the audacity to suggest the line of his defence 
 . . . Why were you so insistent that a plea of tempor 
 ary insanity be entered?" the lawyer demanded, point 
 ing suddenly at Treadway . . . "Why, except through 
 fear that sooner or later your own guilt would be de 
 tected! . . Gentlemen of the jury, in all the long ex 
 perience I have had in the practice of my profession, 
 in all the history of Massachusetts criminal cases I do 
 not recall the equal of this for sheer effrontery or dar 
 ing, and its conception places this man among the most 
 dangerous criminals with whom the State has to deal 
 ... In view of the facts as disclosed and established, 
 in the name of Justice itself I ask a verdict of Not 
 Guilty for the prisoner." 
 
 To this day those who were present in the court 
 room at that moment like nothing better than to re 
 count the scene to those less fortunate. The prompt 
 verdict of acquittal by the jury; the shouts as Richard 
 was released; the ugly threats against Treadway as he 
 was taken into custody ; the nonchalance of his bearing 
 and his single comment, "I have played it badly." They 
 would tell you of the dramatic moment when a working- 
 girl from the plant pushed her way through the crowd 
 to the place where Richard was standing, threw her 
 arms about his neck and kissed him brazenly upon the 
 lips. They would tell you much more in detail of what 
 happened, and perhaps some things which had been 
 unintentionally added to make a good story better; 
 but these form an aftermath in the case of Common- 
 
 [262]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 wealth v. Richard Norton, and as such require no record 
 here. 
 
 II 
 
 Lola was making her way through the crowd in the 
 court-room to greet Richard when she saw Olga ex 
 press her joy over the outcome. A twinge of pain 
 passed through her heart, and she instinctively turned 
 back. Then she rebuked herself, and resumed her strug 
 gle to crowd past the surging groups. How ridiculous 
 to feel hurt ! It was Olga who did it, not Richard, and 
 her action was the uncontrolled expression of a wild 
 spirit. If Dick had checked her, it would have shown 
 scant gratitude for the girl s devoted care during his 
 illness. Lola s strength rested on the philosophy taught 
 her by her war experiences, and her announced creed 
 that essentials were all that counted; her weakness 
 asked if Olga s kiss was really a non-essential. The 
 answer depended upon what preceded it and what fol 
 lowed. Did Olga understand that Richard had no 
 thought of marrying her? These and a hundred other 
 questions pursued one another through her mind during 
 that moment of hesitation, proving perhaps that phil 
 osophy is sometimes illusive when one tries to rest 
 upon it his own human problems. 
 
 At last she stood before Richard, and he eagerly 
 seized the hand she extended to him. 
 
 "My confidence was not so foolish as some of them 
 thought!" he cried. "It all seems a terrible dream. 
 To think that Treadway . . . the man he trusted most 
 
 [263]
 
 . . . should have killed him! Poor old dad! There 
 must be some way I can make it up to him." 
 
 "You ll come home with us, Dick?" she asked. 
 
 "Stay at our house until you have time to readjust 
 yourself," added Mrs. Stewart, who had just joined 
 them. 
 
 "We can t take no* for an answer, Dick," Lola s 
 father insisted. "When you are equal to it, you and 
 I have some important problems to discuss about the 
 business. Make our home yours for the present." 
 
 "I d like nothing better," Richard declared, "if you ll 
 let me come to you later in the day . . . There is 
 something I must do first." 
 
 The Stewarts respected his desire and left him. 
 
 Ill 
 
 As soon as he could separate himself from his friends 
 and the curious-minded, Richard set out for the village 
 cemetery. The freedom after the weeks of confinement 
 almost intoxicated him, and he drew in great breaths 
 of the clear, cold air as he strode along. The road 
 which led off the main street to the little settlement 
 of the dead was seldom traveled except by the silent 
 processions which wound their way up the hill to per 
 form the last ceremony over the mortal remains of 
 departed Norcrossians, and Richard met no one to di 
 vert his mind from its purpose. He had not been there 
 since his mother s funeral ten years before. Now he 
 wondered that during all this time he had not visited 
 her grave, there to find the comfort which had been 
 denied him at home. 
 
 [264]
 
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 The freshly-made mound beside his mother s showed 
 Richard where the body of his father had been laid at 
 rest. An imposing pillar had just been placed in posi 
 tion. Treadway had seen to that. As Richard stood 
 beside the grave he felt a momentary reaction, and 
 leaned against the stone for support. Then, realizing 
 that this was Treadway s gift, he stood upright and 
 moved a step away. But these were trivial incidents. 
 Here he was, close to the mortal relics of that powerful 
 personality which had dominated his life. The flashing 
 eyes were dulled, the imperious voice stilled, yet Richard 
 felt his father very near him. Could it be that with 
 the supreme understanding which comes in the beyond, 
 the old man was now in closer sympathy with his son? 
 Richard asked himself why this should not be. With 
 human prejudices removed, with the power to see things 
 with an all-penetrating eye, it would depend wholly 
 upon whether the plan upon which Richard was re 
 solved was right. If so, his father must understand 
 it now, and, understanding, must wish him to accom 
 plish what he had undertaken. 
 
 "If you believe in me now," he said aloud, "give me 
 of your strength . . . Let it be our work, not mine 
 alone . . . Guide me and help me to do my part." 
 
 Mentally refreshed, Richard retraced his steps. At 
 tracted by another recent grave, he stooped to read the 
 inscription on the simple headstone. 
 
 "Jack Munsey !" he exclaimed. 
 
 His lips tightened as his mind centered on what that 
 grave represented, and unconsciously he spoke aloud 
 words in which was concentrated a grim determination : 
 
 [265]
 
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 "This . . . must . . . never . . . happen . . . again." 
 At the Norton home Hannah threw herself unre 
 servedly into his strong arms, expressing her joy in a 
 paroxysm of tears. Finally freeing himself from her 
 embraces, he passed from one room to another: the 
 chamber in which he had spent so many sleepless nights 
 after painful evenings with his father ; the dining-room, 
 where he had eaten so many silent meals, his father 
 buried in his newspaper; the library, which was their 
 joint living-room. He mechanically pulled open one 
 of the drawers of the great mahogany desk, so insepar 
 ably associated with his father s work. A legal-look 
 ing document lay before him. It was dated in New 
 York City, during a recent absence from home, written 
 and signed in James Norton s familiar hand, and duly 
 attested by witnesses whose names were unfamiliar to 
 Richard. He picked it up and read : 
 
 "Convinced by mature judgment that a codicil re 
 cently executed while unduly affected by certain cir 
 cumstances will work injustice to my only son, Richard 
 Norton, who, in spite of our many differences of opinion, 
 is very dear to me, I hereby revoke said codicil, and 
 declare that my will, previously executed and now in tJie 
 hands of my executors, expresses my final wishes as to 
 the disposition of my property. 
 
 "This instrument is executed in case my death should 
 occur, through accident or otherwise, before I can 
 destroy the aforementioned codicil. In this unexpected 
 event I ask my son to believe that while my opposi 
 tion to his reactionary ideas is sincere, my affection 
 
 [266]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 for him is such that I place no restrictions upon m,y 
 bequest" 
 
 Richard s heart bounded! His thought was not of 
 the restoration of his property, but that beneath the 
 austere exterior was an overwhelming love. The old 
 man s opposition was not antagonism to his son s ideas 
 so much as an unwillingness or inability to relinquish 
 the principles which forty years of habit had estab 
 lished ! 
 
 It was a day of experiences. At length he rose, and 
 passed his hand wearily over his forehead, but as he 
 stepped out onto the veranda there was a smile of con 
 tentment upon his face. 
 
 IV 
 
 As he stood there, the last of the Nor tons, he did 
 not feel himself to be alone. The reflected radiance of 
 the setting sun rested upon his upturned face, but 
 beyond that was a light which comes only from within. 
 
 "Father !" he cried at length. "That understanding 
 which was denied in life has come to us now. You and 
 I are at peace !" 
 
 [267]
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 OLGA was conscience-stricken when she recalled 
 how public had been the display of her emotion 
 in the court-room, yet she would have burst 
 into a tantrum if any one other than herself had ven 
 tured to criticize. As a matter of fact, her ebulition 
 was due to the reaction she had experienced from the 
 sudden and unexpected twist the case took. That a 
 trial should be required at all was beyond her compre 
 hension, for one only had to ask Richard, as she had 
 done, to learn from him of his entire innocence ! Start 
 ing with this hypothesis, she had thought of the whole 
 affair as a mere formality, but she became more im 
 pressed with its seriousness as the day progressed. 
 Treadway became the object of her deadliest hatred 
 when he testified against Richard. Olga knew that he 
 was lying, but to her surprise and consternation the 
 spectators around her accepted his statement as abso 
 lute truth! For the first time she realized that the 
 danger earlier suggested by Dr. Thurber s chance ref 
 erence to the electric chair was real, and apprehension 
 gripped her heart. Then, when the lawyer fastened 
 the crime so completely on Treadway, Olga s joy knew 
 no bounds. She had not believed that such things ever 
 
 [268]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 happened except in the movies ! She wriggled her way 
 to where Richard was standing, and once there it would 
 have required more than human force to prevent her 
 from expressing her emotion in the one way that Nature 
 prompted. 
 
 After the first excitement, she realized how her dem 
 onstration would appear to others, and she was deeply 
 chagrined. Richard had not chided her, but she feared 
 lest she had made him angry. lie had always been so 
 gentle with her, even when he scolded her, but she re 
 membered the look in his face when Sterling told him of 
 the strikers raid upon the office! As other people 
 crowded around her hero, the girl slipped away un 
 noticed, and now, thoroughly miserable, awaited Rich 
 ard s return to the flat where she had nursed him back 
 to life. 
 
 The waiting was trying, for the moments were filled 
 with doubts. The dead silence of that room contained 
 ghosts of hours which to her had been the happiest in 
 her life; but now they seemed so long ago that she 
 almost questioned their reality. As* she waited, her 
 mind centered on the conversation with Richard in the 
 jail, the effect of which still hung over her oppressively, 
 even though she had been unable to analyze her vague 
 forebodings. Now the sentences came back to her in 
 fragments, and they troubled her. She was not wise 
 enough nor sufficiently* experienced to explain her fears, 
 but in her heart she felt the sophistry of Richard s 
 arguments. All that was clear to her was that she had 
 been necessary to him while he was ill and weak, but 
 now he needed her no longer. 
 
 [269]
 
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 II 
 
 The hours of the afternoon crept by, and Richard 
 did not come; but at last Olga s vigil was rewarded by 
 the sound of feet upon the stairs. She started joyfully 
 to the door, but before she reached it drew back in dis 
 appointment. That intermittent clump upon the 
 treads was not made by Richard s footsteps, and could 
 only announce the approach of Barry O Carolan 
 and his wooden leg. Her lip quivered, but the thought 
 that the visitor might perhaps tell her of Richard 
 caused her to open the door and welcome him. 
 
 "Hello, Olga," he greeted her on the top landing; 
 "where s the Capt n?" 
 
 "That is what I am asking you." 
 
 "Hasn t he been back here?" 
 
 Olga shook her head. 
 
 "I thought he d be sure to come here," Barry con 
 tinued. "I want to tell him what it means to us fellers 
 to have him cleared . . . Can I wait a few minutes to 
 see if he ll come?" 
 
 "Sure." 
 
 Olga led the way into the room and motioned Barry 
 to a chair by way of belated hospitality. 
 
 "Why don t you sit down?" she demanded abruptly 
 after a moment of awkward standing. 
 
 "Ladies first!" 
 
 Barry bowed with as much ceremony as his wooden 
 leg would permit. 
 
 "My God!" Olga exclaimed in frank astonishment. 
 "That Stewart lady must have been teaching you man- 
 
 [270]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 ners! . % But say, Barry, there is something nice in 
 being polite to people, isn t there ?" 
 
 Her caller had been grinning sheepishly over the 
 attention his courtesy attracted, but the girl s remark 
 as they seated themselves put him at his ease. 
 
 "At first it does look kind of foolish, don t it?" he 
 replied . .: . "all this bowin and scrapin , and takin 
 off your hat, and treatin women like they were better 
 than men ; but after you get used to it, it sort of makes 
 you feel good to do it." 
 
 "You are a swell ladies man, Barry, for a lame feller. 
 Did you have to practice much?" 
 
 "Shucks, no !" he boasted, trying to act with becom 
 ing modesty; "it comes natural when you see it goin* 
 on round you all the time." 
 
 "There is something in that," Olga admitted after a 
 moment s meditation. "It is the same way with me. I 
 can t say hell and damn any more since I have been 
 with Richard without feeling like . , . There ! I nearly 
 said it then!" 
 
 "You needn t stop on my account," Barry assured 
 her magnanimously. "I m not above employin a bit 
 of profanity myself at times, but I ve quit wastin it on 
 unimportant occasions." 
 
 "Barry," the girl declared in admiration, "you will 
 be a gentleman yet if you keep on. When I first knew 
 you I didn t think you amounted to anything, with your 
 working around in the garden, and your dippy ideas 
 about flowers, and being so gentle and quiet. I used 
 to think a man to be worth anything had to talk loud, 
 and swing his arms, and all that. But look at Richard ! 
 
 [271]
 
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 There is a man for you! He is quiet to look at, but 
 my God ! when he gets moving ! Being with him has 
 taught me a lot. And every now and then I hear 
 of some things you have done that I wouldn t have 
 thought you had the guts to do; but it s that quiet 
 *strength of conviction Richard talks about, and I 
 suppose you have learned it from the Stewart lady, 
 just as I did from Richard . . ." 
 
 "Say," interrupted Barry, "aren t you gettin kind 
 of fresh callin the Capt n by his first name?" 
 
 "Who has a better right?" Olga demanded, placed 
 instantly on the defensive. 
 
 "Well," he answered, looking at her deliberately, 
 "there s Miss Lola for one, , . she s got a better right." 
 
 "Did she ever nurse him day and night and keep him 
 from going off the hooks altogether? Did she ever 
 hold his head in her arms while he was raving mad, and 
 calm him down until he slept like a baby? Didn t he 
 tell you himself, the last time you were here, Barry 
 O Carolan, that a wife could not have done more for 
 him?" 
 
 "Yes; I heard him say that, Olga; but you haven t 
 got any idea that you and the Capt n are goin to be 
 married ever, have you?" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 The girl s militant attitude returned and her eyes 
 snapped. 
 
 "I did not think so, Barry until he lost his money. 
 While he was a rich man s son, of course I did not think 
 of it; but now, when he has become poor like me, and 
 just one of us, I don t see why he could not marry me. 
 
 [272]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 But now you say he will never do it, and I don t sup 
 pose there is any chance for me. Oh, Barry," . . the 
 woman in Olga gained the upper hand, and she burst 
 into tears ... "I never thought I would love any man, 
 but I have gone and done it, and until you came in here 
 and told me he would never marry me, I really believed 
 I had a chance." 
 
 Barry was not experienced in soothing the sorrows 
 of a weeping woman, but in following his natural in 
 stinct he made no mistakes. With his arm about the 
 girl, he let her sob on his capacious shoulder, patting 
 her sympathetically and encouraging her to confide her 
 troubles. 
 
 "It s all right, Olga," he assured her as her paroxysm 
 subsided; "we all go through that at least once in our 
 lives, and it does us good. Of course, it s natural you 
 should love the Capt n . . .. any girl would do that 
 . , . but you must get it right out of your head that 
 there s any chance of your marryin him, . . and his 
 havin money or not don t enter into it." 
 
 "It is all very fine for you to talk so wise, Barry 
 O Carolan, but what do you know about such things 
 anyhow ?" 
 
 Olga was surprised by the expression on his face. 
 
 "I guess I have said something," she added sym 
 pathetically ... "I didn t mean to hurt you, Barry." 
 
 "I do know about such things, Olga," he replied 
 soberly ; "and because I know I have a right to tell you." 
 
 She looked at him in silence until a quick understand 
 ing came to her. 
 
 [273]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 "You don t mean . ." 
 
 Barry bowed his head as he saw that she had guessed 
 his secret. 
 
 "You ... in love with the Stewart lady !" 
 
 Olga was breathless with surprise. 
 
 "And she turned you down?" 
 
 It was Barry s voice which choked now, but he was 
 disgusted with the girl s lack of comprehension. 
 
 "She hasn t any idea that I care that way for her, 
 and she never will know. You re the only one I ve ever 
 told, and if you give me away, I ll . . but you 
 wouldn t do that, Olga, for you know I told you just 
 to make it easier for you. You and I are in the same 
 boat. You can comfort the Capt n all you like, and I 
 can watch over Miss Lola, and they can be kind and 
 helpful to us, but after you ve said that you ve said 
 everythin . Those people aren t in our lives, Olga, ex 
 cept the way the sun or moon is in our lives, and the 
 more we get attached to em, the further away they 
 really are." 
 
 Olga was very sober. What Barry had said struck 
 her hard, for his words strengthened waverings in her 
 own mind which until then had refused to crystallize. 
 The surprising disclosure Barry had made of his own 
 hopeless romance gave to his sympathy *a real signifi 
 cance, and kept his advice, bitter as it was, from seem 
 ing impertinent. 
 
 "Then you think Richard will give me up," the girl 
 said reluctantly. "He told me he was not going to 
 marry the Stewart lady." 
 
 "He was kiddin you," Barry retorted incredulously. 
 [274]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 "Where is he now? You thought he d come right here, 
 and so did I, but he hasn t ; and if he isn t here there s 
 only one other place he would go, and that s to Miss 
 Lola." 
 
 Barry looked suggestively at the telephone Richard 
 kept installed in the flat, and Olga understood what 
 was in his mind. 
 
 "Do it," she exclaimed. 
 
 "Has Mr. Richard arrived yet?" he inquired of the 
 maid, and on hearing the reply hung up the receiver. 
 
 "Half an hour ago," he announced, looking firmly 
 at Olga . . . "There isn t any use fightin against the 
 laws of Nature," he declared; "those people aren t in 
 our lives." 
 
 "I will never give him up!" the girl cried savagely. 
 "He is not going to marry any one, but he means more 
 to me than to any one else." 
 
 "Don t talk foolish, Olga," Barry checked her. "The 
 Capt n s goin to be the head of the great Norton Man- 
 ufacturin Company, isn t he? When he marries, he ll 
 take his wife into that big house up on the Hill. Can 
 you see yourself in that house, Olga? If he said he 
 wasn t goin to marry Miss Lola, he only meant he 
 wasn t goin to do it now ; but when the time comes, it 
 won t be one of the girls from his factory he ll take 
 into that house as his wife. I don t want to hurt you, 
 Olga, . . and I know how it does hurt, . . but you ve 
 got to see things the way they really are." 
 
 "I will not ! I will not !" she cried out like a spunky 
 child. "I don t want to live in that house; I would 
 rather live right here, with him." 
 
 [275]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 "And the Capt n with a wife besides, livin in the big 
 house?" 
 
 "Why not?" Olga declared defiantly. "We have 
 been here in this flat together, haven t we? Some of the 
 best folks in the Bible had more than one wife, and I 
 don t know as we are so much better than they were." 
 
 Barry looked at her in astonishment. 
 
 "You don t mean that, Olga, . . I know you don t. 
 How about the wife in the big house?" 
 
 "That is her look-out. I would take good care to 
 keep him more fond of me than he was of her." 
 
 Barry looked at her steadily. 
 
 "I ve just told you what I think of Miss Lola," lie 
 said with more feeling than he had allowed himself 
 to show. "After all she s done for us fellers I sure 
 would hate to have anythin you do keep her from bein 
 happy herself. She and the Capt n are promised to 
 each other, aren t they? You re not a thief, are you 
 Olga, . . tryin to steal somethin you know belongs 
 to some one else?" 
 
 "Then why does he kiss me and hold me in his arms?" 
 she demanded rebelliously. 
 
 Olga s cry confirmed Barry s confidence in them both. 
 If the girl s claim had been as strong as her words im 
 plied, she would have disclosed it then. His resentment 
 vanished, and in its place came a tenderness toward 
 his companion, for her distress was akin to his own. 
 Hesitatingly he took Olga s hand in his and smiled 
 into her troubled face. 
 
 "That s the Capt n s way of showin you he likes 
 you," he explained, "but he don t mean anythin by it 
 
 [276]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 except just that . . . Because the good Lord has given 
 the Capt n the most wonderful flower in the world to 
 wear always in his heart isn t any reason why Mr. Rich 
 ard shouldn t enjoy lookin at another blossom, when 
 it s as pretty as you are, Olga. The Capt n knows he 
 could never pick it, and he s been mighty careful not 
 to bruise its petals, hasn t he, Olga?" 
 
 "Oh, Barry ! You are so unkind to me !" 
 
 "No, I m not. You ll see it the way it is after I 
 go . . , 
 
 Barry lifted himself onto his feet, and with a hand 
 on each of Olga s shoulders looked straight into her 
 eyes. 
 
 "Don t ever forget this, Olga . . . those people 
 aren t in our lives." 
 
 [277]
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 BARRY S conversation with Olga left her more 
 apprehensive than ever. Everything the girl 
 had secured since she could remember had been 
 by fighting for it, so the present necessity for struggle, 
 unhappy as it made her, did not seem unnatural. For 
 a time circumstances appeared to be conspiring in her 
 favor . . . Richard s illness gave her an opportunity 
 for companionship which could never have come other 
 wise; the intimacy which developed from their associa 
 tion showed her a side of his character which was so 
 thoroughly democratic that she felt herself on a social 
 equality with him; the loss of his fortune would force 
 him in reality to become a working man. He treated 
 her with a courtesy and consideration which no one else 
 had ever shown her, and she knew he liked her. The oc 
 casional kiss no longer made her live in her friend s 
 world, but brought Richard into hers. The caresses 
 seeped into her blood until they possessed a significance 
 far beyond the measure of friendship for which they had 
 stood at first. To Olga, it was a certainty that Rich 
 ard s sweetheart who lived in the wonderful house would 
 never marry a man who worked . . . and except for 
 her the girl feared no rival. 
 
 [278]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 The restoration of Richard s inheritance, the news of 
 which spread over Norcross like wild-fire, placed him 
 again in a world in which she had no part. This she 
 realized fully, but after the delirious happiness of her 
 day-dream she was slow to acknowledge an unpleasant 
 fact. Barry s flat statement that she must abandon all 
 thought of having her dream come true was so close 
 to her unexpressed conviction that it hurt her, and 
 when she was hurt she knew no other reaction than 
 to fight. 
 
 II 
 
 It was in this mood that Richard found her in the 
 late afternoon of the day following his acquittal, when 
 he returned to the flat to gather together his belongings. 
 Her greeting lacked the usual abandon, her face ex 
 pressed an unspoken reproach. Richard looked at her 
 in surprise. 
 
 "Aren t you glad to see me, Olga ?" he asked. 
 
 "I am not sure," she replied guardedly. "I think you 
 have forgotten me." 
 
 "Nonsense !" he cried. "What has happened to make 
 my little nurse unhappy ?" 
 
 "Why have you not come here sooner?" 
 
 "You know how many things I ve had to do since I 
 have been free," he explained. 
 
 "I never had too many things to do when you needed 
 me." 
 
 "Come," Richard said, putting out his arm to draw 
 her to him; "let me make you understand." 
 
 To his surprise, Olga refused to respond as usual 
 [279]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 to his advances. She drew back and held herself with 
 a new dignity. 
 
 "Because I showed you that I loved you, while the 
 Stewart lady was making up her mind, I made myself 
 so cheap that now you think nothing of me. You kiss 
 me, you hold me in your arms, you say pleasant things 
 to me, and you ... go to her. You can play with 
 me no longer, Mr. Richard Norton. I can love better 
 than the Stewart lady, and I can hate better too. Per 
 haps you care no more for my hate than you care for 
 my love!" 
 
 Richard was amazed at the girl s vehemence. Her 
 words hurt him less than the wounded expression in 
 her face. The tears glistening in her eyes and the quiver 
 in her lips belied her repellent attitude, and her hymn 
 of hate was sung to music vibrant with affection. Noth 
 ing could have disclosed with such final conviction the 
 fact that this wild daughter of Nature had given her 
 heart to him with absolute abandon, and in spite of his 
 forewarning from Lola and from that day at the jail 
 this knowledge came as a blow. Even when Olga pre 
 viously mentioned marriage, he could not take it seri 
 ously. Their stations in life were so far separated 
 that even the possibility had never occurred to him. 
 He had made himself believe that she accepted what 
 he said to her. Now it was only too clear that the 
 affection he had unwittingly awakened in this savage 
 little breast was real, and demanded recognition. He 
 had already wounded this devoted comrade of his by his 
 belated understanding. Now he became aware that 
 
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 the wound must be made deeper before she could share 
 the understanding with him. 
 
 It was a sobered Richard who drew the chairs closer 
 together, and motioned her to sit down. With a pro 
 test in every movement she seated herself. 
 
 "I have been very much at fault, Olga," he said 
 quietly. "I can t blame myself enough. When you 
 told me your pretty conceit . . . that a kiss was wine 
 sipped by two friends ... I accepted it, and that was 
 a cowardly thing to do." 
 
 "That was long ago. I told you that much had hap 
 pened since." 
 
 "I know ... I have no excuse for not realizing 
 sooner that no matter what else we may call a kiss, 
 it is a spark which is only too certain to start a con 
 flagration in one heart or the other which may leave 
 desolation in its wake. To me our kisses have always 
 been the wine which you and I have sipped in friend 
 ship and in friendship only. I felt sure of myself. I 
 thought I was sure of you, but I should have known 
 that it was too much to expect. It was a sweet moment, 
 Olga, when I first held your fiery little body in my arms, 
 but I knew then as I know now that I should never have 
 yielded to the temptation. We have been happy to 
 gether, and it hurts me to see you unhappy now . . . 
 Forgive me, Olga." 
 
 "I can forgive you, but that does not give you back 
 to me," she cried. "You have made me love you, and 
 now you tell me not to do so any more. It is an easy 
 thing to say, but I am not strong enough to do it. You 
 have brought to life something in me which I did not 
 
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 know I had. I may try to kill it, but if I succeed it 
 will kill me, too, it is so great a part of me." 
 
 "What can I do?" Richard demanded, but the ques 
 tion was to himself rather than to Olga. "If I was go 
 ing to marry Lola I might understand your feeling as 
 you do ; as it is, I shall not marry any one ... I can 
 not even if I would." 
 
 "Oh, that talk about a wife interfering with your 
 work! You only think it will! Every great man who 
 ever did a great work was married . . . and it was 
 usually the wife who made him great while he took all 
 the glory !" 
 
 "You may be right, Olga, but I have to act as it 
 seems wise to me . . . Lola understands . . ." 
 
 "But you see I do not, and that makes it different. 
 She understands because she is not sure yet that she 
 loves you ... I do not understand because I know 
 that I do love you." 
 
 "I have a great work ahead of me," Richard repeated 
 helplessly. "If I am to make a success of it, I must 
 give to it my undivided thought and effort." 
 
 "You will not be able to do that anyway, for you 
 cannot help thinking of me even if we are not together." 
 
 "Let the thoughts be happy ones, Olga! My life 
 must be with men . . . with employers who fail to ap 
 preciate their obligations, with workmen who fail to 
 see their opportunities. Can t you understand there 
 is no place for a woman in my life ?" 
 
 "But I am a working-woman," she insisted tena 
 ciously, "and I could help you. I can see that the Stew 
 art lady has no place in your life, but I can also see 
 
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 that I have. I do not care to live in the big house on 
 the Hill. I know I could never learn to carry myself 
 like the Stewart lady. But I know the working-men as 
 well as you. I have helped you with them before, and 
 I can help you with them now." 
 
 Richard saw clearly the hopelessness of argument. 
 Olga sensed it, and in her expectant face he read a hope 
 fulness of victory. To say what would be necessary to 
 make her fully understand would be brutal, and she 
 had already suffered much. Comprehension would come 
 slowly, and he must let time be his ally. 
 
 "If you really want to help," he said at length, "you 
 must let me leave it there for the present . . I came 
 today to tell you that I want you to take this flat for 
 your own, and to keep it for your own just as long as 
 you like." 
 
 "Won t you be coming as you always have?" 
 
 "No, not as before, Olga ; for I must look after my 
 father s property, and must live in the big house. But 
 I shall see you often, and we will still be comrades. 
 You must not be unhappy, for that would make it hard 
 for me to do my work. Why not let the future take 
 care of itself? Surely we can plan together so that 
 each may be happy ... if not in the way you think 
 now, then in some other way." 
 
 "There is no other way," the girl declared despond 
 ently, the confidence disappearing from her face. 
 
 Richard watched her as she passed through her strug 
 gle. She realized that she could gain nothing more by 
 pleading, and she feared lest she lose what she still 
 might keep. If Richard should go out of her life ! The 
 
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 thought terrified her. He still liked her. He admitted 
 it, and she knew that it was true. He had taken her at 
 her word, and the present situation was of her making, 
 not his. He had played the game straight with her, 
 and she had no right to find fault. However deep the 
 wound, she must conceal it now. Gradually the despair 
 in her face gave way to a forced smile. Shyly, she ex 
 tended her hand, as if in penitence for her earlier 
 outbreak. 
 
 "I will try to make you happy," she said firmly. 
 "That will be one way to prove how much I really love 
 you. And I will try to make myself everything you 
 want me to be, if perhaps some time in the future you 
 found that I would not be in your way while you were 
 doing your great work. But Richard . ... no matter 
 what happens, do not forget me. If you cannot love 
 me, keep right on liking me. You are a rich man now, 
 and I a working-girl . . . but the honest love of any 
 girl, whatever her station, will not hurt even a great 
 man, will it, Richard?" 
 
 "No," he replied, touched by her devotion ; "such love 
 could be only an incentive. But what of the man s re 
 sponsibility? Suppose he were inspired by such affec 
 tion, was proud to acknowledge it. Suppose he would 
 cut off his right hand rather than wound such love, 
 yet knew that appreciation and gratitude could never 
 be a just return. What then of him? Would it not be 
 cowardly for him to accept from her more than he had 
 to give?" 
 
 "Do not say it! . ." she cried, fearful lest the op 
 portunity had been given for a final severance. "Until 
 
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 I hear you say it, I shall never believe it, and you must 
 not say it yet !" 
 
 "You are right, Olga. Nothing must interrupt our 
 friendship, which has been and is very beautiful. If we 
 try to force things, something may interfere. Why not 
 leave it as it is, and enjoy together what we have had 
 and what we still may have?" 
 
 "Yes . . . yes, we must!" she cried impulsively. 
 "When I was a little girl and some one was going to 
 say something I did not wish to hear, I would put my 
 hands over my ears . . . like this. See ... I do it 
 now. We are still friends, but we must no longer sip 
 the wine together. If my lips touched yours only once 
 more ... if I felt my arms again around your neck, 
 I should never let you go. But if we do not do this, 
 perhaps I shall become strong again, as I used to be, 
 mistress of myself, afraid of no man. You have made 
 me afraid, Richard, for the only time in my life, . . 
 afraid of myself." 
 
 "That is my real Olga again !" he cried. "I am proud 
 of you ! Be your own sweet, strong self, and our friend 
 ship will remain a blessing to us both. Let me feel that 
 I need not blame myself too severely for not protecting 
 you better. Forgive me for not realizing earlier that 
 you were beginning to care." 
 
 "I have nothing to forgive, Richard. You took my 
 words as I spoke them. I thought then that I meant 
 them. I will make myself mean them now. You have 
 given me much. You have protected me, for if you had 
 wished you could have done with me as you chose. 
 Instead . . ." 
 
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 "That was unthinkable," he interrupted; "for we 
 were friends." 
 
 As he spoke she gazed at him with eyes which could 
 not conceal her overpowering love. She dared not trust 
 herself further. 
 
 "Oh, Richard . . . you must go !" she cried. "I can 
 not stand it any longer !" 
 
 Ill 
 
 She listened to his footsteps retreating down the 
 stairs, and then crossed over to the window where she 
 could watch him until he passed out of sight. Long 
 after he disappeared she stood there, as the twilight 
 deepened. At length she turned away, and threw her 
 self on her knees at the chair where Richard had been 
 sitting. Barry s words came back to her with over 
 whelming force. 
 
 "He did not bruise the petals," she cried. "Thank 
 God, . . because we were friends, he would not bruise 
 the petals!" 
 
 [286]
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 RICHARD was too eager to put into practical 
 operation the plans perfected in the solitude 
 of his confinement to accept much time for re 
 cuperation, but a certain period for personal readjust 
 ment was imperative. Curiously enough, he had never 
 thought of himself as occupying, even in the future, 
 the position held by his father. James Norton s char 
 acter has been so positive, his personality so dominating, 
 that, as one of the Directors had once pointed out to 
 William Stewart, the question of his successor had 
 never even been considered. After the tragedy, the 
 executive responsibility was divided, as no single per 
 son combined the practical knowledge of the works and 
 the personal relations with the customers. When 
 Treadway was accepted as Norton s heir to the busi 
 ness, his position was obvious, and the routine of the 
 plant seemed to be settling down upon this basis. 
 
 The outcome of the trial, however, necessitated a 
 complete business readjustment, and for this reason 
 Stewart, who succeeded Norton as Chairman of the 
 Board, was anxious to discuss matters with Richard 
 at the earliest opportunity. James Norton s son was 
 
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 now the largest stockholder in the Company, and the 
 Directors were waiting to learn his attitude before seri 
 ously considering the next step. It must be admitted 
 that some members of the Board were considerably 
 disturbed by the prospect of a reactionary influence in 
 the Company. The business had grown and prospered 
 through following the well-defined policy which was now 
 threatened. Richard s antagonism to his father s views 
 was common knowledge, and his close contact with the 
 workmen filled these Directors with vague forebodings 
 of deepest moment. Stewart alone was reassuring. He 
 reminded them that other concerns had tested the idea 
 of factory representation with favorable results, and 
 this departure from the previous policy was the basis 
 of Richard s plan. 
 
 II 
 
 Lola was eager to be present when Richard and her 
 father had their first discussion. She liked to feel her 
 self a part of Richard s work, not with full understand 
 ing, but with an enthusiastic sympathy which made up 
 for her lack of business knowledge. She tried to be 
 business-like in handling the organizations in which she 
 was interested, for she had seen many instances where 
 zealous war-workers, trying to capitalize the energy 
 which made their earlier efforts successful by applying 
 it to home charities, failed because they lacked the 
 technical training required to make their work prac 
 tical. Lola realized that if she was to enjoy the grati 
 fication of personal expression in her work, she must 
 
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 possess absolute knowledge of its demands, for the 
 best intentions in the world fail to excuse disaster which 
 comes from the over-confidence of amateurs. 
 
 It was a week after Richard s release that the confer 
 ence was held in the Stewart library. During the 
 interval he had spent many hours at the Company s 
 office, and nearly as much time with the men. It was 
 a new sensation to feel that the future policy of this 
 great concern would be affected by his actions at this 
 critical point in its history, and his responsibility im 
 pressed him deeply. Years before, his father had faced 
 the same problem, and had built his foundations so 
 firm that during his lifetime they had withstood every 
 attack. In his day, James Norton had been considered 
 a heretic in some of the radical departures he made 
 from established business precedent. Would history 
 repeat itself? Would the progressive ideas for which 
 Richard now endeavored to force recognition seem to 
 his son as archaic and unfair as the James Norton pol 
 icy seemed to him? That, Richard assured himself, 
 could not be, for the new era was built upon co-opera 
 tion and mutual service the basis of human society 
 itself as against competition and the struggle of self- 
 interest. It was too much to hope that his generation 
 would see the two elements of capital and labor wholly 
 reconciled, but he did believe it possible to demonstrate 
 the needlessness of conflict. If he could be a force in 
 accomplishing this demonstration, he would be content 
 to have his son, an employer, standing shoulder to 
 shoulder with John Doe, the employed, united to gain 
 from their combined efforts the rewards to which each 
 
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 was fairly entitled, producing the maximum output 
 consistent with the health and welfare of the workmen, 
 supplying the public at a price which made the burden 
 of the cost of living rest equally upon all, and placing 
 America in the vanguard of nations as a real and great 
 democracy in industry as well as government. 
 
 Ill 
 
 "Well, young man," Mr. Stewart remarked by way of 
 preliminary, after the three had gathered in the library, 
 "my colleagues on the Board of Directors are anxiously 
 awaiting the result of this conference. When I acted 
 as your ambassador before, I made little success of my 
 embassy; but the seed we planted then has produced 
 some fruit. The Directors are agreed that a change 
 in policy is necessary. Whether your plans will meet 
 their approval or not I cannot say, but of course your 
 present position as a stockholder will carry great 
 weight. You will wish to present your own case to them, 
 but it would interest me to discuss it with you now. 
 Lola tells me your original ideas have expanded con 
 siderably since we talked them over before." 
 
 " Expanded is just the word, Mr. Stewart," Rich 
 ard replied eagerly. "The idea has not materially 
 changed, but the application is much broader. I appre 
 ciate this opportunity to discuss it with you because 
 what I need is good, straightforward, constructive crit 
 icism ... I would like to assume that the interests 
 of the employer and the employed are the same, and 
 then pick out the basic obstacles which at present inter- 
 
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 fere with the functionalizing of the two elements in co 
 operation." 
 
 "To find the obstacles, Dick, will be the easiest part 
 of your task," Stewart commented. "I have read ev 
 erything I could lay my hands on ... profit-sharing, 
 profit-halving, management-sharing, factory represen 
 tation, and the like, but I must confess that high above 
 every delightful theory some ever-present obstacle rears 
 its head. When I urged the Directors to make a trial of 
 your plan, I did it more because I felt that the employer 
 is bound to accept every suggestion advanced by labor 
 in an effort to bridge the chasm, than because I really 
 believed it would succeed." 
 
 "There is no chasm, Mr. Stewart," Richard insisted. 
 "To acknowledge one is to create it. The element in 
 labor-unionism which prevents co-operation can exist 
 only so long as class distinction is encouraged. That 
 is why they make the possession of a union card of par 
 amount importance, that is why they hammer so hard 
 on organization. Suppose the labor union came out 
 tomorrow with a statement that its function was three 
 fold ... to secure for the working-man good wages, 
 satisfactory working conditions, and the highest possi 
 ble standard of craftsmanship ; that any industrial or 
 ganization which satisfied these would receive its en 
 dorsement whether it was working on a union or non 
 union basis ; that the basis of its existence was its ability 
 to serve. Could any workman afford to remain outside ? 
 Would the Directors of the Norton Manufacturing 
 Company have any difficulty in doing business with such 
 an organization?" 
 
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 "It would be for the Company s interest to co-oper 
 ate with it to the fullest extent," Stewart admitted; 
 "but that would only be possible after your ideal labor 
 organization had worked out definite standards by 
 which could be measured industrial health, fairness, and 
 well-being." 
 
 "Of course !" Richard cried, delighted that Mr. Stew 
 art was following him so closely. "At present the 
 unions have no standards, . . only requirements. In 
 stead of establishing a standard by which to measure, 
 they simply issue demands." 
 
 "To work out a sound labor union standard would 
 be an interesting commission for a real philosopher," 
 Stewart said meditatively; "it would embrace a com 
 plete working-theory of the relation of the workman 
 to industry." 
 
 "What a privilege it would be!" Richard exclaimed 
 enthusiastically. "Who would not be proud to be the 
 author of such a document? At present the unions de 
 pend upon the power which comes through organization. 
 Germany demonstrated the fallacy that power thus se 
 cured possesses permanency, but because during the war 
 employers yielded temporarily, labor is as thoroughly 
 deceived as to its real position as were the Huns up to 
 the time of the second Battle of the Marne." 
 
 "You have hold of a big idea, my boy." 
 
 "It isn t my idea, . . it is the combined result of 
 everything we see around us. It is a common mistake 
 to confuse the means and the end. The labor union 
 ought to consider itself the means, and it doesn t. It 
 is completely satisfied if it can enroll one hundred per 
 
 [292]
 
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 cent, of the employees of a plant in its membership. 
 The standard of wages, of workmanship, of conditions, 
 is secondary so long as the union cards are there. In 
 every other walk in life we have learned how much more 
 valuable is the law of prevention than the law of cure." 
 
 "Why couldn t it be done?" Stewart demanded. 
 
 "It can be done !" Richard declared. "I have mixed 
 a lot with the workmen, and as a class I have absolute 
 faith in them. At heart they resent restricted output 
 and the other union requirements which destroy their 
 self-respect. They are intelligent, but they are sus 
 picious. They have been deceived so many times in the 
 past that they have come to look upon every advance 
 made by their employers as having an underlying ul 
 terior motive. Their confidence must be won by actual 
 evidences of fair play; but they can be won if em 
 ployers can be forced to give up their feudal instincts. 
 You know better than I whether that is possible." 
 
 "That is already taking place," Stewart replied, . . 
 "not from choice or a change in heart, but because em 
 ployers now realize that their future is irrevocably 
 associated with the welfare of the employed. Our own 
 Directors are included in that category. That is why 
 they are willing to listen to you now that James Norton 
 can no longer hold them back." 
 
 "I can t believe he would hold them back today if 
 he were here," Lola said impressively. 
 
 "Habit is a powerful master," Stewart answered 
 kindly. "Except for that, in view of that last docu 
 ment, Richard might have had the joy of his father s 
 
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 approval and co-operation. . . . But it is a satis 
 faction to know the truth at last ! Too old to change 
 his ways, but not too old to recognize the possible 
 element of success in what his son suggested ! If James 
 Norton could compromise with his hard-set ideas, I 
 see no reason why we should show ourselves less pro 
 gressive! . . Now, do you believe yourself competent 
 to inaugurate the millenium at the Norton Manufac 
 turing Company?" 
 
 "No," was Richard s prompt and definite reply ; "but 
 if I could have the backing of the Directors, I know 
 I could convince the men of our sincerity. Then I 
 should call in the ablest men I could find to work out 
 a basis which both sides would consider possessed a fair 
 chance of success. I would start out simply with my 
 objective determined, and that objective should be maxi 
 mum production, highest quality, best wages, perfect 
 working conditions, fair play. I should establish stand 
 ards which both sides would accept, and I should meas 
 ure everything by these standards. I should have the 
 factory represented in the management, and the man 
 agement represented in the factory. We fought for a 
 common cause in France, and we would fight for a 
 common cause here. It can be done, Mr. Stewart, . . 
 not easily, for selfishness and short-sightedness are pow 
 erful obstacles ; but unless we face the situation now 
 we will be false to the best there is in us." 
 
 "Buckle on your armor, my son !" Stewart exclaimed, 
 smiling. "I see before me the James Norton I knew 
 over a quarter of a century ago. I see the same in 
 spired confidence, the same dynamic energy, tempered 
 
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 now by the experiences of a new generation, fitted for 
 the new conditions. Somewhere between conflicting ele 
 ments there is always a balance. Why should it not 
 be you? Nos morituri te salutamn/sl" 
 
 [295]
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 I 
 
 DURING these weeks there was little place in 
 Richard s life either for Lola or Olga. He was 
 back now in the big house on the Hill, so the 
 daily mingling with the Stewart family had come to an 
 end; and Olga studiously avoided him. The big house 
 would have been awesome through its emptiness and de 
 pressing from its memories except that Richard re 
 turned to it only to sleep, and so thoroughly exhausted 
 from his strenuous days that he was indifferent to his 
 surroundings. While James Norton lived, the house 
 seemed filled by the tremendous force of his personality ; 
 Richard slipped in and out almost without Hannah s 
 knowledge. She, poor soul, had now a new anxiety to 
 replace those which had been relieved, in her fear that 
 her "Mr. Richard" was killing himself by his long hours 
 and arduous application. 
 
 II 
 
 Olga deliberately kept out of Richard s way as a 
 part of her self-abnegation. Whenever his routine 
 duties at the plant required him to walk by her machine, 
 the girl s eyes became fastened on the unfinished work 
 before them. After he passed, the eyes slowly raised 
 themselves and watched the retreating figure. But she 
 
 [296]
 
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 could see no reason why he should not stop long enough 
 to give her the cheery greeting that was his custom. 
 This caused her fresh alarm. Could it be that what he 
 said to her during that last conference was really a 
 polite dismissal? Her ever-watchful eyes and ears bore 
 testimony to the fact that if Richard was neglecting 
 her, the "Stewart lady" shared the slight with her, and 
 this eased her apprehensions. Whatever the real situ 
 ation, her thoughts were ever centered upon him. While 
 she sat at her work, the machinery repeated his name 
 with terrifying monotony; when she returned to the 
 little flat, she found it filled with aching memories. 
 Even those which had given her happiness before now 
 brought pain because she knew they could be no more. 
 Those among Olga s friends who had commented upon 
 her previous intimacy with Richard, found a new topic 
 for conversation. It was to be expected, they admitted, 
 that the heir to the Norton wealth would throw her over 
 now that he had come into his own, but they were 
 frankly surprised to find Olga turning to Tony Lem- 
 holtz after the bitter speeches she had made against 
 him. These friends did not realize how much news of 
 Richard the girl secured from his vituperative enemy, 
 or how important Olga considered it to keep herself 
 informed at all times of the plans Tony Lemholtz cher 
 ished in the back of his scheming, vindictive head. 
 Knowing him as she did, Olga feared for Richard s 
 safety, and the habit of watching over her charge still 
 held strong. Except for this, she could not have paid 
 the price, for Tony s gloating over the present situa 
 tion was almost more than she could endure. 
 
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 "It s your own fault," he goaded her. "I told you 
 all the time that a swell guy like him had no use for a 
 workin -girl. He was just playin with you, he was, 
 and you re lucky if you got by without gettin burnt 
 ... I ain t so sure you did, at that, except that you 
 let him get away from you without makin any fuss. 
 A girl like you would hold a feller if she had any grip 
 on him, you bet." 
 
 "Shut your mouth, Tony, or else talk sense," Olga 
 retorted. "He is tending to his business, and you had 
 better do the same." 
 
 "He ain t tendin to his business," was the hot reply. 
 "He s buttin into mine, and I ll make him sweat for it 
 yet. He s made me look like a dirty two-spot in a 
 phoney deck, he knocked my block off the day his old 
 man was croaked. Now he s tryin to run the union, 
 . . him owning the most of the Company ! It s a great 
 game, but he can t put it across. He s foolin some of 
 the men, but most of us can see what he will do to us 
 if he ever gets us under his heel. As another gentleman 
 once said, You can t fool all the people all the time 
 . . . I ll get him yet !" 
 
 Tony could not have told who the other gentleman 
 was, but the quotation served his purpose. Olga was 
 too wise to offer any defence for Richard, for to be his 
 champion would put Lemholtz on his guard. This 
 unexpected acquiescence was completely misunderstood, 
 as the girl intended it to be, and Tony attributed the 
 lack of spirit to a belated awakening on her part to 
 the real facts. 
 
 Aside from Tony s attitude toward Richard, Olga 
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 was most concerned regarding Lola. In fact, the 
 "Stewart lady" had been a mystery from the begin 
 ning. To have the opportunity of loving Richard and 
 not be sure of her own reciprocation was absolutely 
 incomprehensible to Olga. Lola s restrained bearing, 
 as she saw her from time to time, so much at variance 
 with her own temperamental nature, always impressed 
 the girl as cold and unresponsive ; but after the tragedy 
 Olga was forced to reconstruct her ideas. No girl who 
 did not love a man would work as Lola did in Rich 
 ard s behalf; and if she did love him, then the selfish 
 hopefulness raised by Olga s analysis disappeared, and 
 she considered the two as good as married. 
 
 The second readjustment came when Richard told 
 her that he had renounced all present idea of marriage, 
 and gave her the astonishing information that Lola 
 understood and agreed with him. To Olga, a woman 
 who loved him might understand, but that she would 
 agree was unthinkable. There must be something be 
 neath it all which he had not told her, and she longed 
 to solve the mystery. If Richard was really planning 
 to devote his energies to the cause of the working man, 
 Olga was quite ready to believe the Stewart lady ill- 
 suited to the life which this would require ; but, by the 
 same token, she considered herself ideally equipped to 
 encourage and supplement Richard at every point. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The opportunity of meeting the "Stewart lady," and 
 forming first-hand impressions, came unexpectedly. 
 
 [299]
 
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 Olga was walking from the plant one noon when the trim 
 roadster Lola was driving stopped beside her. 
 
 "May I take you where you re going?" the voice 
 from the car asked. 
 
 Olga was too surprised to make a protest. 
 
 "For a long time I ve wanted to know you," Lola 
 continued as the girl silently climbed into the car. 
 "Richard Norton has told me so much about you." 
 
 If Lola desired to become acquainted, Olga was no 
 less eager. She did not deceive herself as to Lola s 
 motive, for she easily understood that it was the same 
 as her own ; but she was quick to sense that the oppor 
 tunity she longed for had at last arrived. There was a 
 natural embarrassment when she actually found herself 
 seated beside the girl she had successively disliked, 
 feared, and envied. Lola, however, at once made her 
 feel at ease. 
 
 "You re going to lunch, aren t you? I m all alone 
 at the house today . . . Why can t you come home and 
 lunch with me?" 
 
 "Why . . ." 
 
 "Of course this seems very unusual to you," Lola 
 followed up the advantage offered by the momentary 
 hesitation, and the car still speeded toward the Stewart 
 home. "I really know you better than you know me, and 
 for a long time I have wanted to have a talk with you." 
 
 Olga decided quickly. The experience might prove 
 unpleasant, but at least it offered her a chance she might 
 never have again. 
 
 "I will come," she said simply ; "but I am not so sure 
 about you knowing me better than I do you. Mr. Rich- 
 
 [300]
 
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 ard has told me a lot about you. When he was so sick 
 he kept calling your name, but that was natural be 
 cause then you and he were engaged to be married." 
 
 "You were a wonderful help to him, Olga, . . do 
 you mind? Richard always calls you that, and I never 
 think of you except as Olga. " 
 
 Lola s friendliness was bewildering to her companion. 
 If their positions were reversed, Olga would not have 
 been as generous. 
 
 "I did not know he was ill until it was all over," Lola 
 added. 
 
 "He was not willing for you to know, for fear you 
 would try to come to him. He knew that would not do, 
 but with me it made no difference." 
 
 Lola started to make reply, but the car ran under 
 the porte-cochere, and she decided to postpone the con 
 tinuation of their conversation on this subject until a 
 more propitious moment. She led Olga into the house, 
 and during the simple luncheon they chatted of every 
 thing except the one topic which remained uppermost 
 in the minds of both. Lola told her guest of the work 
 with the ex-service men, and elicited her assistance, 
 inquired as to conditions at the plant from the work 
 men s standpoint, and in general guided the conver 
 sation along safe channels until they found themselves 
 seated in the deep recesses of a great divan in the li 
 brary. Then Lola turned back to Olga s remark. 
 
 "Why should it be different for me to go to Richard s 
 flat, Olga, than for you?" she asked. 
 
 "You are a lady, and people would take notice. They 
 do not pay so much attention to us working-girls." 
 
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 "He might have been brought here . . ." 
 
 Olga winced. 
 
 "That was what I feared," she acknowledged frankly. 
 
 Lola had every desire not to wound her, and she saw 
 that she was on dangerous ground. 
 
 "Even if he had been brought here, I couldn t have 
 done for him what you did. Richard has told me what 
 a wonderful nurse you were." 
 
 "It is easy to take good care of Mr. Richard," Olga 
 said impulsively. Then her eyes dropped. 
 
 Lola studied the girl carefully. She was winsome 
 in her frankness. Her devotion to Richard was only 
 too apparent in every word she spoke, and a heavy load 
 fell on Lola s heart as she realized what Richard had 
 so little foreseen or comprehended. It was impossible 
 to fence with Olga ; she was too ingenuous, too honest in 
 the expression of her own feelings. 
 
 "You are very fond of Richard, aren t you, Olga?" 
 Lola asked quietly. 
 
 The girl looked up quickly. She seemed surprised 
 that her heart had been so easily read. She tried to 
 smile, but the attempt was unsuccessful. 
 
 "What is the use of lying?" she answered, the old de 
 fiant attitude returning. "I suppose I ought not to say 
 it to you, but you asked me, and I will not lie to you. 
 I am more than fond of Mr. Richard. I love him, . . 
 more than you ever did, or you would not have agreed 
 with him about his not marrying." 
 
 Olga was prepared for an indignant protest from 
 her companion, but none came. Instead, Lola placed 
 her arm around thejgirl s shoulders. Her action sur- 
 
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 prised Olga, and she felt thoroughly ashamed of her 
 outburst. 
 
 "I suppose you do love him as much as a girl like 
 you can," she modified her previous statement; "but 
 folks brought up your way cannot have the same feel 
 ings as working-girls. We have to fight for everything 
 we get. It makes us hate harder and love stronger. 
 You could not understand." 
 
 " Aren t you taking a great deal for granted, Olga?" 
 
 "Why, our whole lives are made up of sacrifice! 
 What have you ever had to give up in order to get 
 something else?" 
 
 "I do understand," Lola insisted, . . "perhaps bet 
 ter than you know. What sacrifices I have made in my 
 life are nothing compared with yours ; but until you 
 have seen me fail you cannot say that I wouldn t prove 
 equal to the test if a great sacrifice was demanded 
 of me." 
 
 Olga looked at Lola intently, instantly challenged 
 by her statement. 
 
 "Do you mean that ?" she demanded quickly. "Listen 
 ... I will give you the test. We both love Richard 
 Norton. Except for you, I know that I could marry 
 him. You never made a real sacrifice, I have never 
 known anything else. Give Richard to me. This is 
 your chance. Will you take it?" 
 
 "I would take it in a moment," Lola answered de 
 liberately, "if I thought it would mean his greatest 
 happiness. You have no claim on me which warrants 
 such a sacrifice; the fact that I love him gives such a 
 claim to Richard . . But why talk of this now? 
 
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 He is not going to marry any one, so the sacrifice has 
 come to us both." 
 
 "The reason he does not wish to marry is because he 
 thinks it will interfere with his work for the men. Do 
 you not see that I could help him much more than you 
 because I am one of the working-people, and under 
 stand them better?" 
 
 "Whenever Richard feels that to be so, I will stand 
 aside." 
 
 "You will?" 
 
 Olga s expression manifested her unqualified aston 
 ishment. 
 
 Lola bowed her head in reiteration, and as she did 
 so Olga thought she saw tears glistening in her eyes. 
 She looked again to make sure. 
 
 "You are not really crying?" she asked incredulously. 
 
 "How foolish of me!" Lola exclaimed, drying her 
 eyes. "You touched on something which is very pre 
 cious to me, but I didn t mean to show any one how 
 precious it is. I have given up all thought of marrying 
 Richard. I have steeled myself to look at things the 
 way he wishes me to. But nothing can keep me from 
 loving him with all the strength I have, so long as I 
 live." 
 
 IV 
 
 It was a day of novel sensations to Olga. These peo 
 ple who lived in beautiful houses and were surrounded 
 by every luxury, were human after all ! This girl be 
 side her was crying, just as she had cried that after 
 noon when Richard left her! Let them exchange po- 
 
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 sitions, and there would be little difference between 
 them . . . they were sisters under the skin ! 
 
 Olga was sobered by her discovery. Half hesitating 
 at her temerity, she slipped her arm about Lola s waist. 
 Receiving no rebuff she grew bolder. 
 
 "I never knew you folks had feelings like that," she 
 said in a low voice. "Perhaps you have made a sacrifice 
 already that I would not make when Richard asked me 
 to. I want him to be happy, just as you do, and he 
 probably knows better than either one of us what is 
 best for him. I did not mean to hurt you. I have 
 been unhappy. Until today I hated you, but it was I 
 who did not understand. I cannot hate you now." 
 
 "We both understand each other better," Lola reas 
 sured her, smiling through her tears. "I m so glad that 
 I yielded to the impulse to take you home with me today. 
 Neither one of us can blame the other for loving Rich 
 ard. Each of us has that right, and needs not be 
 ashamed to acknowledge it. We must let it be a bond 
 between us, instead of something to keep us apart. 
 We both will wish him success and happiness." 
 
 Olga rose in silence to take her leave. At the door 
 she held Lola s proffered hand, and before releasing it 
 touched it to her lips. 
 
 "I guess my most selfish wish would be that he never 
 marries," she said quietly. "So long as he could get 
 a girl like you he would never look at me ... I did 
 not know before that there were such people in the 
 world!" 
 
 [305]
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 A PROBLEM which concerned Richard deeply 
 was how to work out his plan in such a way 
 as to capitalize the ex-service men in industry. 
 From his own experiences he recognized the inability 
 of these returned soldiers to go back into the old grooves 
 after having realized so tremendous a momentum in a 
 new and different direction; but he refused to accept 
 the bromidic statements that they were drained emo 
 tionally, or that the baptism of fire, instead of uplift 
 ing, had made them unfit or unwilling to return to their 
 former positions, and thus produced a class of social 
 misfits. 
 
 "If the world has been sorely disappointed in the 
 returned soldier," he explained to his Directors, "so 
 has the returned soldier been sorely disappointed in 
 the world into which he returned. It was natural that 
 he should be gratified by the extravagant praise given 
 for his sacrifice, his heroism, and his consecration to 
 the cause. It was agreeable to him to accept the theory 
 of the regenerated soldier. He believed in the talk 
 about the strange light of vision in the eyes of men who 
 had stood face to face with death, because he had seen 
 
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 it. He was willing to admit that he had been purged 
 by fire and sword. Then, when he discovered that all 
 this idealization of him was only a passing phase of 
 society, a distrust came into his soul which thus far 
 nothing has relieved; and out of this bitterness was 
 born a desire to force society to recognize its obliga 
 tion by paying him a bonus. Think of it ! Asking for 
 a bonus when we haven t yet taken care of the disabled 
 soldiers ! But when these artificial excrescences are 
 scraped off, underneath is the real product of the war : 
 men whose inventive and constructive instincts have 
 been sharpened by the premium which war places upon 
 human ingenuity and skill, and whose desire to express 
 these instincts is dominating. The factory as run to 
 day offers no scope for this, and that is what causes un 
 rest. We must turn this liability into an asset." 
 
 II 
 
 They were hard days but rare days to Richard, filled 
 with opposition and discouragement, but never void of 
 the ever-present confidence that success must come be 
 cause it ought to come. He tried to gauge his progress, 
 but there was nothing by which to measure it. The Di 
 rectors at last gave their consent to the employment of 
 experts, and for a time everything seemed in so cha 
 otic a condition that all except Richard lost hope. Alec 
 Sterling was a tower of strength, but his unswerving 
 support was an expression of loyalty rather than con 
 fidence. He knew that some change was essential in 
 the relations between employer and employed, but what 
 that change ought to be had never been clear to him. 
 
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 Richard s enthusiasm contributed a new element to his 
 solid but stolid Scotch nature, which sensed the im 
 portance of an innovation yet shrank from taking the 
 initiative. 
 
 To the ex-service men Richard presented his problem 
 differently, but to the same end. With the new author 
 ity given him by the Directors, he placed the case 
 squarely before them. 
 
 "Boys," he said, "we fought for something in France 
 we didn t get, and it s partly our fault and partly our 
 misfortune. Now it s up to us to correct the fault, 
 and to turn the misfortune into an advantage. The 
 trouble with us is that we haven t carried on. After 
 doing our job over there, and being received here at 
 home as if we were little tin gods, we ve laid down and 
 made people think a whole lot of things about us that 
 aren t so. It isn t a cheerful experience to be a hero 
 one day and an ordinary workman the next; and 
 ordmary is just what we ve been. Instead of making 
 use of our experience and leveling things up here at 
 home, we ve been disgusted when the people around us 
 forgot there had been a war at all, and by standing 
 still we ve let them level us down. That s where we 
 have been to blame. We have known right along that 
 our experiences have made us more capable and more 
 valuable to any industry we may be in, but the employ 
 ers haven t known it, and they haven t let us show 
 them. That has been our misfortune. 
 
 "Now, those of us right here are going to have the 
 chance to show our class in civilian life just as we did 
 in the army. The Directors are willing to try out the 
 
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 experiment of letting us have something to say in the 
 way this business is run. They have given me some 
 authority, and they re going to give me more, to make 
 good on the statements I ve made as to what you boys 
 can do. If you back me up, we ll turn out better work 
 and more of it, we ll get more out of it ourselves than we 
 ever did before, we ll be able to retain our self-respect 
 because we ll be putting ourselves into our work, and be 
 cause we ll have the chance to show the best there is in 
 us. If you don t back me up, then there s nothing to it. 
 We ll all settle down into the old routine, and let Ger 
 many win the peace. They re working over there, boys. 
 They ve learned their lesson. They realize that to pay 
 their indemnity and get back on their feet they ve got 
 to produce five times as much as they ever did before, 
 and they re going to do it. In Germany they re raising 
 blisters on the mailed fist, and they call it economic en 
 thusiasm! That s something we need right now. We 
 didn t let the Huns beat us over there, boys, . . are 
 we going to let them beat us here?" 
 
 The union officials were unalterably opposed to every 
 suggestion of co-operation between the management and 
 the shop. Richard s ideas, successfully introduced, 
 meant the end of their arbitrary power. If the men 
 themselves could deal directly with those conducting the 
 business end, and secure their "rights" by discussion 
 rather than by the force of mob organization, then the 
 usefulness of the agitator was over, and he must ex 
 change his profession of lung-thinking for the more pro 
 ductive though less agreeable pursuit of honest labor. 
 
 The men themselves, while more non-committal than 
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 Richard would have liked, were not antagonistic as a 
 class. The fear of losing their union cards was their 
 greatest apprehension. If they could actually feel 
 themselves an integral part of the business itself with 
 out risking the loss of something else, they recognized 
 in the new relations a return of their self-respect and 
 a satisfying of their innate yearning for constructive 
 expression which the introduction of labor-saving ma 
 chinery destroyed. But they would make no definite 
 effort themselves to secure the change. If Richard could 
 bring it about, if the union did not specifically proscribe 
 such action, if they were free to return to the old con 
 ditions after the experiment in case they preferred 
 them to the new . . . this was as far as they could be 
 brought to commit themselves. But passivity was bet 
 ter than opposition, so Richard worked on. The fact 
 that the men as a whole liked him and trusted him was 
 in itself an impetus. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The one striking triumph which Richard had achieved 
 was John Sibley, and he cherished him as fondly as 
 Lola cherished Barry, ... as a symbol rather than an 
 individual. Richard had expected great things of Sib- 
 ley when he returned to civilian duties, and had been 
 disappointed. He had seen him in France, as he rose 
 by sheer character and effort from private to captain. 
 He had seen the personal asset grow as Sibley grasped 
 each opportunity and reached each new objective. 
 Richard was proud to hear the praise spoken by his 
 superior officers of this worker from the Norton plant, 
 
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 and he felt sure that John Sibley, multiplied not by 
 two million perhaps, but even by two hundred thousand, 
 would introduce so powerful a leaven into American 
 life that this vision which had been the product of his 
 convalescence at Toul could not fail to come true. 
 
 Then he had seen Sibley slip backwards upon his 
 return. At first he blamed him for not living up to him 
 self ; later he sympathized with him. Except for Lola, 
 Richard would have found the same level. As a result 
 of her inspiration and the opportunity his incarcera 
 tion gave for introspection, he himself had found new 
 anchorage. The fact that Richard had suffered from 
 the same reaction made it possible for him to make an 
 understanding approach to Sibley, and little by little 
 he brought him back to a realization and expression of 
 his best self. 
 
 It was Richard s reference to Germany that finally 
 struck the note. The one conviction which had ever 
 strengthened in Sibley s mind was that the Huns had re 
 ceived slight punishment for the cataclysm they pre 
 cipitated. One of his deepest grievances with the world 
 was that a more drastic penalty had not been exacted 
 to make them pay for the barbarism he had seen with 
 his own eyes. While in action, he had learned to fear 
 their duplicity far more than their boasted might, and 
 in what Richard said he saw that there was occasion 
 still to fear this same characteristic in peace. 
 
 "Is what you told the boys about the way the Huns 
 are working the honest truth?" Sibley demanded of 
 Richard the first time he saw him after the conference 
 with the ex-servicemen. 
 
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 "Only a part of it," Richard replied, overjoyed at 
 last to have him take the initiative when previously he 
 had simply listened, with apparently little interest. "I 
 barely touched on it, but Germany is fooling the world 
 now just as she did in 1914. Her military budget and 
 taxes have been reduced while those of all the other 
 countries have been increased; she makes an eight- 
 hour day the legal limit, and works fourteen. While 
 England stands still in production and burns German 
 coal, while we are slowed down by our strikes and other 
 efforts to reduce working hours and increase wages, 
 Germany is building railroads and new harbors and 
 spinning the cotton which the rest of the world rejects. 
 While the allies are struggling among themselves and 
 with their domestic troubles, Germany is developing an 
 industrial army which will have the world by the throat 
 within ten years." 
 
 "They can t do it unless we let them," Sibley declared. 
 
 "We are letting them . . . Have you given the fac 
 tory one single day s work since you came home, John 
 Sibley, that represented one hundred per cent, of your 
 capacity ?" 
 
 "Aw, cut out personalities," was the retort. "I ve 
 given them the union limit." 
 
 "I know you have, and I m only asking you the ques 
 tion because you will understand better what I mean 
 if it is applied to yourself. When I say you, I mean 
 union labor. We ask for the highest wage ever known 
 in the history of industry, and refuse to give a cor 
 responding equivalent. Except for that, we could hold 
 the wage, and be entitled to receive it ; but in exchange 
 
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 for honest money, John Sibley, you and I, and the hun 
 dreds of thousands of workmen throughout the country, 
 are giving counterfeit labor. The union restricts our 
 output, and we let them get away with it when we know 
 it s all wrong." 
 
 "Where would we be today without the union?" Sib- 
 ley demanded. 
 
 "Still under the heel of the employer," Richard ac 
 knowledged frankly. "Don t think for a minute that 
 I m talking against labor unionism. Without organiza 
 tion the working-man would never have secured what 
 belongs to him. What I m objecting to, is the use made 
 by the leaders of the union today of the power which 
 has come to them, . . assuming the same arrogant and 
 unfair attitude toward the employers which they prop 
 erly complained of when the boot was on the other leg. 
 I m working for fair play, John, on both sides. Most 
 employers have learned their lesson, and realize that 
 it is for their interest to play the game with their 
 men ; the union hasn t learned the lesson yet. The war 
 gave labor unexpected power, and the leaders are still 
 intoxicated by its fumes. It s for you and for me, 
 John, and for the thousands of other ex-service men who 
 have had their eyes opened and their vision broadened, 
 to sober these topers up, to put aside our suspicions, 
 to demand our rights but to acknowledge the rights of 
 others, to meet the employers half-way, to stop bick 
 ering and work, work, work, so that America s produc 
 tion may keep pace with Germany s. In that way we 
 can prevent the Huns from getting a commercial 
 strangle-hold on the world and on us. We can t revo- 
 
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 lutionize the universe or even our own country ; but we 
 can make a start right here in Norcross if men like 
 you will back me up. Will you do it, John?" 
 
 "I sure will !" Sibley declared, affected by Richard s 
 magnetism; and from that moment the new movement 
 had no stronger ally. 
 
 [314]
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 SPRING came reluctantly to Norcross that year. 
 Even Nature seemed to feel the strain which the 
 town had endured, and dragged itself along with 
 slow-functioning footsteps which denote fatigue. Noth 
 ing could settle down into a routine until the untoward 
 events which had shocked the usual tranquility of the 
 community had completed their circles and passed into 
 history. 
 
 The strike was now only a memory, for the Norton 
 plant was running smoothly, with Richard s innovations 
 fully installed and under critical observation. Thus 
 far, the new system of co-operation between the man 
 agement and the men gave promise of success in spite 
 of individual opposition on the part of the radicals, 
 who still fought to retain their former prestige and 
 power, now waning. The trial of William Treadway 
 revived the excitement occasioned by the tragedy ; 
 but with his conviction this circle completed itself, and 
 Spring and the town of Norcross were eager to forget 
 the past, to enter into full enjoyment of the present, 
 and to look with confidence into the future. 
 
 But when at last the snow-drops and the crocuses de- 
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 lighted Barry s heart by breaking through the dull 
 earth, Nature seemed inclined to atone for her tardi 
 ness. The hyacinths and the daffodils followed fast, 
 and the early summer flowers were not far behind. The 
 spirit in the air was contagious. Richard s doubts 
 and apprehensions faded away, and were replaced by 
 assured confidence that his vision was not illusive. Wil 
 liam Stewart found tremendous satisfaction in the fruits 
 of his new activities, discovering the greater joy of 
 having his books the means rather than the end, of turn 
 ing dreams into realities. The workmen came to speak 
 of the Norton Manufacturing Company as "our" busi 
 ness, and took unlimited pride in their individual con 
 tributions to its success. Richard Norton, to be sure, 
 was now General Manager, but there was no "boss," 
 and the responsibility for success or failure was so 
 broadly distributed that the workers were entitled to 
 their self-conceit. 
 
 n 
 
 To Lola, the late coming of Spring was a relief, for 
 she had not yet found herself. Her happiness in the 
 accumulative success at the works should perhaps have 
 been sufficient to enable her to join in the chorus of 
 optimism; but with the gratification she felt in Rich 
 ard s triumph was coupled an over-powering sense of 
 his personal responsibility to this factory-girl, who by 
 now had completely won her heart. Lola had ac 
 cepted his judgment regarding their own marriage, but 
 since her visit with Olga she had troublesome ques 
 tionings as to whether he had assumed more than his 
 
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 proper prerogative in deciding the situation for all 
 three. Olga and she had rights as well as Richard. 
 
 Lola was more and more drawn to the girl as she 
 learned to know her better. The fiery, unmanageable 
 temper came under control as a result of chastening 
 experiences, and the "Stewart lady" admitted frankly 
 to herself, if to no one else, that if Richard really in 
 tended to devote his life to his announced project, what 
 Olga lacked in education and social finish was at least 
 offset by her personal attractiveness, her unwavering 
 loyalty, and her knowledge of the class he wished to 
 reach. 
 
 Olga had never accepted Richard s dictum that mar 
 riage would interfere in any way with the life-work 
 he had laid out for himself; Lola accepted it blindly. 
 Now she believed that Olga was right, and that Richard 
 had exaggerated the necessity. She wondered if per 
 haps the thought of personal sacrifice had not over- 
 appealed to him. Seized by the idea, it would be natural 
 for him to feel that complete consecration to the cause 
 demanded the voluntary contribution of his entire per 
 sonality. Greater men that Richard Norton had taken 
 unlimited satisfaction in the mere fact of their mar 
 tyrdom! She did not question his sincerity, but she 
 began to form her own opinions, and these proved to be 
 at variance with his. 
 
 Ill 
 
 At last Lola could keep her thoughts to herself no 
 longer. Some one must bring Richard to an under 
 standing, and it was on her that the duty obviously 
 
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 fell. It was not difficult to make the opportunity, for 
 he was now a frequent caller at the Stewart house, 
 which really was more a home to him than his own. 
 He and Mr. Stewart saw much of each other, both from 
 their mutual business interests, and because of the 
 friendship which had developed between them. Matur 
 ity and experience contributed much in tempering the 
 dynamic energy and optimism of youth; courage and 
 ignorance of defeat introduced a new and welcome 
 feature to a life which had considered itself fixed in its 
 middle-age rigidity, now becoming flexible. 
 
 Richard had promised to let Lola help in the work 
 ing out of his plans, and he undoubtedly felt that he 
 had done so. The girl, however, came to realize that 
 the early confidences were made to her because at that 
 time there was no one else with whom he could talk 
 freely. When later he was thrown more with men of 
 affairs, the necessity of Lola s comprehending sympathy 
 disappeared, and what she learned now of his work and 
 plans came from listening to conversations between him 
 and her father. She was disappointed, but she under 
 stood, and no word was ever spoken to express her un 
 fulfilled expectations. 
 
 One evening, after the usual quiet family discussion, 
 in which Mr. and Mrs. Stewart were a part, the two 
 young people were left alone, and Lola seized her oppor 
 tunity. 
 
 "The new scheme is working out more rapidly than 
 you expected, isn t it, Dick?" 
 
 "Indeed it is," he replied with enthusiasm. "The 
 results are proving so beneficial to both sides that they 
 
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 are unanswerable arguments. As far as our plant is 
 concerned, my hardest work is over ; and as for spread 
 ing the gospel of good will in industry, we are already 
 flooded by inquiries from big organizations all over the 
 country. Instead of going out into the world to preach 
 it, I can point to actual performance ; instead of argu 
 ing on the basis of theory, I can show how practical 
 it is in operation." 
 
 "Then it won t be necessary after all for you to 
 sacrifice your whole life to your ideals, will it?" 
 
 Richard looked at her questioningly. Then he 
 thought he understood. Smiling, he took her hand in 
 his. 
 
 "I must have seemed selfish to you these months, dear, 
 but I really felt it necessary to forget everything but 
 that great common cause we both believe in. Perhaps 
 I seemed more selfish than I really was, because I knew 
 you understood. But we have gained our first objective 
 now, Lola dear, without any casualties, and we can be 
 ourselves again. You have never doubted, . . have 
 you? . . that my love for you was stronger than every 
 thing else except my duty to translate my vision and 
 my experience into something real ?" 
 
 "No, Dick," she answered frankly. "I have never 
 doubted that ; but I m not quite so sure that there have 
 been no casualties." 
 
 He looked at her surprised. 
 
 "But you have understood?" 
 
 "Yes," Lola replied deliberately ; "I have understood, 
 . . better, I fear than you. How about Olga?" 
 
 Richard s face sobered. 
 
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 "Surely you could never be jealous of her! That 
 wouldn t be like you. I ve never . ." 
 
 "Not jealous, Dick. You might break my heart, but 
 you could never make me jealous. There are some 
 things you haven t sensed because you have been so 
 engrossed with your work. Olga loves you, Dick, and 
 she is suffering more than you have any right to let 
 her suffer." 
 
 For a moment he looked at her with an expression 
 Lola had never before seen. She expected him to insist 
 again that she was wrong, but this time there was no 
 such protest. Instead, he rose and went to the window, 
 looking out into the darkness. What he saw was a pair 
 of great brown eyes, glistening from unshed tears, lips 
 which quivered as they bravely smiled. What he heard 
 was not Lola s words, but a voice struggling to conceal 
 the love which found expression in every accent, crying, 
 "Oh, Richard, . . you must go! I cannot stand it 
 any longer !" 
 
 At last he turned. 
 
 "You are right, Lola," he acknowledged, to her sur 
 prise. "I realize it now, but my knowledge has come late, 
 Heaven knows ! I did look upon her as a child. Even 
 when I first noticed that her affection for me seemed 
 to ask for possession, I thought it nothing more than a 
 child s desire for a new toy. Since I unexpectedly dis 
 covered the real situation I have thought of little else, 
 for I care for her a great deal, and I am eternally 
 grateful. I have told her frankly . . . almost brutally 
 . . . that I do not love her. She is wounded . . . 
 naturally, and I blame myself for my stupidity. There 
 
 [320]
 
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 is so little one can do. For one thing, I mean to give 
 her every opportunity to make something of herself, 
 but that doesn t take away her present pain. Yet what 
 more can I do?" 
 
 "Of course, I am looking at it from a woman s stand 
 point," Lola replied. "Perhaps that is all you can do, 
 . . perhaps it is more than you ought to do ... but 
 I m wondering if we are holding true to the creed you 
 and I boast. You have accepted everything, and given 
 nothing in return. We must be true to our creed, no 
 matter what the cost. Don t you think so?" 
 
 "Are you suggesting that I ought to marry Olga?" 
 
 "I m not sure ... I am groping in the dark . . . 
 I m asking you." 
 
 Richard rose again and walked slowly about the room 
 as he always did when deeply affected. Lola watched 
 him with a look in her eyes which, had he seen, would 
 have made his question unnecessary. 
 
 "Does this mean that you no longer care for me?" 
 
 "I don t believe that enters into the question, dear," 
 she answered with more feeling than she had allowed her 
 self to show. "You were speaking of the casualties in 
 attaining your objective. It may be that I am one 
 of these, it may be that it is Olga. I m not making 
 any statement, Dick; I m just placing the matter 
 squarely before you. Your final judgment will be 
 right." 
 
 He returned to the chair where Lola was sitting 
 and seated himself upon the arm. All resentment had 
 disappeared, for he realized how much in earnest she 
 was. Knowing her as he did, he could but admire the 
 
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 courage and the sacrifice which lay behind her words. 
 As he looked at her, she seemed the embodiment of that 
 spirit which was the single worth-while product of the 
 war. In France, she would have sacrificed herself will 
 ingly for her ideal ; tonight she was no less willing. 
 There remained no question in his mind of her love for 
 him, . . and in his own heart he discovered a longing 
 for her which was beyond anything which had come into 
 his life. He was conscious of the thought that had 
 this overpowering love possessed him earlier, he might 
 not have been strong enough to put it aside even for 
 the great common cause. 
 
 "Lola," he said quietly, but with such intensity in 
 his voice that there could be no misunderstanding him, 
 "you are wonderful ! I have always loved you. I have 
 never had a place in my heart for any one else ; but until 
 now I have not known how much you really meant to me. 
 You and I have been through experiences which would 
 never have come to us except with the whole world up 
 side down. I thought I had kept on my feet better 
 than most people, but I, too, have been affected by the 
 madness. You have been steadfast, you have been true 
 to every ideal. When I wavered, you steadied me, . . 
 and I thought it my own strength ! What place can you 
 have in your life for one who assumed attributes to 
 which he had no shadow of a claim?" 
 
 "Oh, Dick !" she cried ; "you make it so hard for me ! 
 Whatever the cost may be to us, we must think of Olga, 
 who has had nothing but sacrifice in her life. You gave 
 her a new horizon. You made life for her something be 
 yond anything she knew or craved before. We must be 
 
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 fair. But, Dick, . . O Dick, my darling! . . don t 
 ever think I don t love you! It is because our love 
 must be worthy of what you and I know love ought to 
 be, that we must think of her." 
 
 Richard again rose and walked back and forth trying 
 to think of some solution of the problem. 
 
 "I can t believe that happiness could come to her 
 through anything that brought misery to us," he said 
 soberly, at length. "We must take time to think it out. 
 Surely there is some way other than that which wrecks 
 our lives just as we have discovered what they might 
 contain." 
 
 "I hope so, Dick ! . . oh ! my very dear, I hope so !" 
 
 Richard held out his arms to her with such yearning 
 in his face that she could no longer resist. 
 
 "This at least is our moment . . . Come !" 
 
 Without taking her eyes from his, she rose slowly 
 from the chair and permitted him to fold her in his 
 great arms. 
 
 "It is this that counts !" he whispered. 
 
 The anxious lines disappeared from Lola s face. 
 She yielded herself wholly to the joy of the moment, de 
 liberately forgetting that it was but a haven she had 
 found and not the port where she might gain protection 
 from the storm. She raised her eyes shyly, and smiled 
 into his. Then their lips met. 
 
 "Oh, Dick!" she cried as he released her, . . "my 
 Dick . . . always . . . whatever happens !" 
 
 [323]
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 RICHARD found Olga in the little flat which he 
 had turned over for her occupancy. She heard 
 the familiar footsteps upon the stairs, and 
 when Richard reached the top landing she was waiting 
 for him in the open doorway. In her face pleasure 
 mingled with apprehension. 
 
 "You recognized my step?" Richard inquired, sur 
 prised now to find her there. 
 
 "Is there anything strange in that?" she asked, not 
 defiantly, as had been her wont, but with a sad, wistful 
 smile which hurt him. "I wondered if I should ever 
 hear it again." 
 
 "Surely you could never believe that, after being such 
 comrades, I would let you drop out of my life !" 
 
 "You will be a great man, Mr. Richard Norton, and 
 a factory-girl does not belong in the life of a great 
 man." 
 
 They entered the room and seated themselves. Both 
 felt the restraint, and Olga made no effort to relieve it. 
 
 "When I say to you what I have come to say," Rich 
 ard replied seriously, "you will understand how far I 
 am from the exhalted position you suggest, and you will 
 
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 also realize how much a part of my life I consider one 
 little factory-girl, who is not very distant now." 
 
 She waited for him to continue. 
 
 "Until we talked things over that last time," he went 
 on, "I was not convinced that you seriously cared for 
 me . . ." 
 
 "I told you so, over and over again." 
 
 "I know you did, and I should have believed you. 
 Instead, I thought it was just your way of saying that 
 you liked me." 
 
 "I promised you that I would try to turn my love 
 back into friendship," Olga reminded him, striving 
 bravely to prevent her voice from breaking. "Truly, 
 I am doing my best to keep my promise." 
 
 "Dear Olga!" Richard cried, affected by her strug 
 gle. "It is for me to turn my friendship into love." 
 
 She looked at him with uncomprehending eyes. She 
 had changed even since he saw her last. Her face was 
 still beautiful, but it lacked the color which had previ 
 ously added so great a charm. Yet it was not the face 
 which had changed so much as her manner. The hoy- 
 denish abandon had disappeared long since. Now she 
 displayed a calm self-control he scarcely recognized. 
 She sensed what was passing through his mind. 
 
 "Is it an improvement?" she asked. "If you blame 
 yourself for some things you must take credit for 
 others. As for my loving you . . . Miss Lola has for 
 given me, and so must you." 
 
 "Don t, Olga, I beg of you!" he cried. "You and 
 Lola make me feel contemptibly small when you assume 
 responsibility which belongs to me. I can never repay 
 
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 you for what you did for me, yet in return I have made 
 you unhappy . . . the one thing I would have avoided !" 
 
 He hesitated for an instant, then asked the question 
 abruptly. 
 
 "Do you think you could really be happy as my wife, 
 Olga?" 
 
 For a moment surprise filled her eyes, then all the 
 color which Richard missed returned to her face. 
 
 "Did Miss Lola tell you to ask me that ?" she inquired 
 at length. 
 
 "No ; she urged me to decide, and I have done so." 
 
 "Does that mean that you love me?" 
 
 The momentary hesitation gave her a truer answer 
 than the evasive words which followed. 
 
 "There would be no question of that, dear, if we were 
 married." 
 
 The look which came into Olga s face was that which 
 Richard would always remember when he thought of 
 her in later years. He had called her beautiful, but 
 never had she seemed so radiantly lovely. Her eyes 
 never left his, and into them came a look . . . inscrut 
 able as it was tender, . . which he had seen before only 
 in the eyes of Mona Lisa. 
 
 "Then you have discovered that you can be married 
 and still accomplish your great work?" she inquired. 
 
 "I know now that I can t possibly accomplish it un 
 less I am." 
 
 "And you will marry me ?" 
 
 "Yes, Olga; and I will do my best to make you 
 happy." 
 
 The girl again relapsed into silence. The moment 
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 was too delicious to be hastened. Her dream had come 
 true! What others had mocked at was within her 
 grasp. All that was necessary would be to forget 
 what these last months had taught her, and to justify 
 herself by declaring, with her former fierceness, that 
 the buffeting old world owed her anything she could get 
 out of it in compensation for the price it had made 
 her pay. 
 
 But forgetfulness was not possible after the lessons 
 learned from her association with Lola. Previously, it 
 would have been class against class; now it was one 
 woman s heart against another s. Lola, surrounded 
 by every luxury, who had never been forced to practice 
 the self-restraint which formed a part of Olga s daily 
 life, stood ready to make the supremest sacrifice a 
 woman knows. Olga had not believed this at first; it 
 was too incredible. Later, as she came to understand 
 her better through Lola s determination to protect her, 
 she was convinced of her sincerity. Now that Richard 
 had come with his offer of marriage, she knew that 
 Lola s words were as true as her heart. If a girl 
 brought up as she had been could prove herself so loyal 
 to her ideals, what of Olga, to whom sacrifice had be 
 come second nature? 
 
 There was but one more question which she put 
 to Richard. 
 
 "Do you love Miss Lola?" 
 
 It was one he could not answer by evasion. The 
 great brown eyes, looking so tenderly and trustfully 
 into his, demanded an admission of the truth which 
 they already knew. 
 
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 "You know that I have always loved her, Olga. I 
 have told you so before ; but that does not mean that I 
 am less honest in asking you to be my wife." 
 
 Olga knew now beyond a doubt that the words she 
 longed to hear could never be spoken. She was grateful 
 to him that he had given her the opportunity of hear 
 ing his declaration. She would like to believe that if 
 there had been no "Stewart lady" he might have loved 
 her, yet, except for Lola, Olga was well aware that the 
 present situation had been an impossibility. She had 
 acknowledged to herself long since that Richard and 
 Lola were truly mated ; now she knew well that to come 
 between them would be to wreck three lives instead 
 of one. 
 
 "Something good must come from our friendship, 
 Richard," she said to him. "My life began that day 
 at East Lake. It is like Miss Lola to say to you what 
 she did say ; it is like you to give up what you know 
 is best for yourself in trying to muke me happy. It 
 is not like me to refuse to accept what would be my 
 greatest joy, and because I am doing what is so unlike 
 me, you can believe that my friendship is even stronger 
 than you knew . . . We must not talk of marriage. 
 You do not love me, yet you ask me to be your wife; 
 because I do love you, I do not accept. I am glad you 
 have discovered that there is something greater than 
 your work, for even I knew that long ago! Go back 
 to Miss Lola and tell her that you have done your duty, 
 and that in doing it you have made me happy. Tell 
 her that I love her for what she has done for me, just 
 as I love you for what you have tried to do." 
 
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 "But what of you?" Richard demanded, deeply af 
 fected by this display of a nobility of character which 
 he had not realized she possessed. 
 
 "So long as you are happy, I shall also be happy," 
 the girl replied simply. "I will believe that somewhere 
 in the world there is a place for me. You will be a 
 great man, Richard Norton, and people will clap their 
 hands and shout your praises. But you must not for 
 get your little comrade. Far away from the crowd, 
 around the corner, even though you cannot hear her, 
 she will be shouting your praises too," 
 
 II 
 
 Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden 
 knock at the door. Without waiting for it to be an 
 swered, Tony Lemholtz entered, and stood on the thres 
 hold leering at them. 
 
 "So you re back again, are you?" he said unsteadily 
 to Richard. "Can t keep away from her even if you 
 are a great man now, can you?" 
 
 Olga placed a restraining hand on Richard s arm 
 as he rose with dangerous calmness. 
 
 "You have been drinking again," she charged Lem 
 holtz. 
 
 "S all right," he retorted thickly. "I m not goin to 
 start anythin . . . yet. Want to talk business with 
 the big boss." 
 
 "I ll see you at the office in the morning," Richard 
 told him. 
 
 "You ll see me here . . . right now," Tony cor- 
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 reeled . . . "I ve been fired. What you goin to do 
 about it?" 
 
 "You can refer the matter to the Shop Committee 
 if you think an injustice has been done you," Richard 
 answered, restraining his resentment at the man s inso 
 lence to Olga as well as to himself. 
 
 "I ve done that, and they ve decided against me. 
 Now it s up to you." 
 
 "No," Richard replied; "you still have the privilege 
 of appealing to the General Joint Committee on Ad 
 justment." 
 
 "Appeal nothin !" Tony exclaimed. "The Shop 
 Committee was unanimous against me, so I can t ap 
 peal." 
 
 "Then that ends it," Richard remarked with finality. 
 "You have been tried by your fellow-workers and con 
 victed. What more can you ask?" 
 
 "You can put me back if you like . . . you can. 
 You re the head of the whole shebang, ain t you ? Now, 
 will you or won t you?" 
 
 "I certainly will not," Richard declared flatly. "If 
 the men had voted to let you stay, I would have ac 
 cepted the decision. As they didn t, you will have to 
 do the same . . . Come. If that s what you re here 
 for, let s go along together, and leave Olga in peace." 
 
 "I m not going, and you re not going . . . yet." 
 
 Lemholtz half-sang the words, standing in front of 
 the door with legs well apart, assuming a belligerent 
 attitude. 
 
 "Go along with Mr. Richard," Olga urged, "and 
 come back when you re sober." 
 
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 "Mister Richard !" he repeated after her . . . "Mis 
 ter Richard ! Now I ain t in his employ I can tell him 
 what I damn think of him, can t I? Think you can take 
 my girl and play with her till you get tired, and then 
 throw her over, do you?" 
 
 "Don t pay any attention to him," Olga begged 
 Richard. "He s half-drunk, and he s always ugly 
 when he s this way." 
 
 "It s all right, Olga," Richard reassured her. "I 
 just want to get him out of here so that he won t annoy 
 you." 
 
 "Want to get me out, do you?" Tony overheard 
 a part of the conversation. "All right, . . try it ... 
 Can t be done." 
 
 Richard paid no attention to him, but turned to Olga. 
 
 "I am responsible even for this brute s insults to 
 you," he said contritely. "We can t finish our talk to 
 night, but we must do so soon. I m not satisfied to 
 leave it here." 
 
 "Leave what . . . where?" Lemholtz demanded. 
 
 "There s nothing more to say," she whispered, not 
 heeding the interruption. "Why leave it open . . . 
 for all our sakes?" 
 
 "A little later," Richard insisted gently; "you and 
 Lola and I." Then he turned to Lemholtz. 
 
 "Come on," he said. "I ll see you home and in bed 
 where you can sober up." 
 
 "Can t be done," Tony repeated. "Touch me, and 
 I ll kill you !" 
 
 Richard dodged the blow aimed at him, and caught 
 his antagonist firmly around the waist, pinioning his 
 
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 arms so that he was absolutely helpless. Then he 
 swung him over his shoulder, holding him with a grip 
 against which Tony s struggles were in vain. 
 
 "Open the door, Olga." 
 
 Richard laughed aloud at the ridiculousness of the 
 situation. 
 
 "I ll take this naughty boy home and spank him 
 . . . Good night." 
 
 Olga did not share his mirth. She could see the 
 vindictive hatred on the swarthy face, and it fright 
 ened her. 
 
 "Be careful, Richard," she implored. "He dislikes 
 you enough already." 
 
 "Dislike him?" Lemholtz muttered, exhausted by his 
 fruitless struggle. "Dislike him ? . . I hate him, that s 
 what I do ... He d better be careful . . . I ll get 
 him yet !" 
 
 [332]
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 THE PLAN of factory representation was work 
 ing out so well that Richard almost dreaded 
 to accept congratulations for fear that some 
 thing unforeseen might happen to prove his structure 
 only a house of cards. It was not perfect by any means. 
 Every day showed some change necessary to hold the 
 scheme true to the basic principles upon which it stood ; 
 but the foundation still seemed unassailable, and that 
 gave Richard confidence. The men at once recognized 
 the spirit of fair play and were convinced that they 
 would receive a square deal, with nothing counting but 
 the facts. 
 
 "It is always a case of cards down face up," one of 
 the workers explained. "Nothing is hidden, and we 
 all know what the other fellow knows." 
 
 The prompt establishment of this confidence nulli 
 fied the opposition of the union heads, who saw their 
 prestige wane as the management and the workers be 
 came educated to each other s point of view. There 
 could be little talk of collective bargaining when every 
 question of joint interest became co-operative and the 
 subject of mutual deliberation. The men frankly liked 
 
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 it. They had come to see that the union kept all its 
 men on a dead level while the new system gave the 
 opportunity for any one to rise above it who possessed 
 more than average ability. They retained their mem 
 bership cards, for the union found no vulnerable point 
 at which to strike. Certain it was that the new spirit 
 of co-operation and fair play worked to smooth out 
 situations which under old methods would have resulted 
 in serious trouble. 
 
 Tony Lemholtz was a case in point. He had been 
 a trouble-maker from the time he entered the plant; 
 yet not even James Norton dared to discharge him be 
 cause of his power as a labor leader. Now, when he 
 transgressed the rules of his department, the foreman 
 fearlessly exercised his prerogative. Lemholtz de 
 manded justice, and was tried before a tribunal made 
 up equally of representatives from the management and 
 those duly elected by the workers. The foreman became 
 the plaintiff, and witnesses were called on both sides. 
 With all the evidence before them, the Shop Committee 
 unanimously sustained the action of the foreman, and, 
 being unanimous, the incident was closed. Had there 
 been only a majority-ruling against him, Lemholtz 
 might have appealed, but as it stood even the General 
 Manager would hesitate to reinstate him. 
 
 Richard reviewed the case with considerable satisfac 
 tion as he continued his walk after depositing the unwill 
 ing burden at his lodgings. He had been confident that 
 the foreman would be upheld, yet the case had been a 
 real test of the strength of the new system. There 
 could be no failure, he was sure, so long as the manage- 
 
 [334]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 ment maintained their faith in the workers, for it was 
 human nature that the men should share the same re 
 action. 
 
 n 
 
 Richard had still further basis for confidence. In 
 another fortnight a new administration would be in 
 augurated at Washington ... a new President, who 
 had already indicated by his utterances and by the men 
 selected to be his advisors that he recognized the mag 
 nitude of his task, and the presumption of any mortal 
 to appropriate to himself omnipotence. It was too 
 soon to judge except by the calibre of the outstanding 
 figures, but Richard felt in his heart an abiding faith 
 that party politics would now give way to the humani 
 tarian demands created by the war ; that the academic 
 atmosphere in the White House would become charged 
 with the vitality of constructive action; that his coun 
 try, for which he fought, would regain the prestige won 
 by the spontaneous response of its people, and lost 
 by the supine misrepresentation of its government. 
 Barry s words came back to him . . . "We mustn t lose 
 faith in our country . . . the trouble isn t with our 
 country, is it, Capt n?" Richard held his head erect 
 for the first time since he returned home . . . No, thank 
 God ! the trouble is not with our country ! 
 
 Ill 
 
 Lola came to the plant the following day with her 
 father. She was sure that Richard would seek Olga at 
 the first opportunity, and concluded that the interview 
 
 [335]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 must have taken place. She was so fearful of the effect 
 on both that she could not wait for Richard to come to 
 her. Mr. Stewart s conference with him gave her the 
 opportunity to relieve her anxiety, and she knew her 
 presence would be no embarrassment. 
 
 "I ve just been over the figures for the last period," 
 Stewart remarked when they were seated in Richard s 
 office. "You ought to feel well satisfied with the re 
 sults." 
 
 "I do," was the frank acknowledgement. "That we 
 are getting increased production is beyond question. 
 But what I am most pleased with is the fact that we 
 all are becoming educated. Never before did we know 
 so well the actual conditions in the plant, never before 
 have the workers so well understood our problems. Pre 
 viously we could make mistakes and get away with them ; 
 now if we are unjust, or use poor judgment, we are 
 shown up without mercy. On the other hand, no opera 
 tive can give less than a fair day s work for a fair day s 
 pay without having the fact so apparent that he is 
 ashamed of it." 
 
 "I believe even your father would be convinced if he 
 could see things now." 
 
 "I know he would," Richard declared decisively. "All 
 father wanted was results, but because he had always 
 secured them in one particular way he couldn t accept 
 any other method. I give him credit for much of this 
 success. It would be unbelievable that, after giving his 
 entire personality to this concern for so many years, he 
 could be disassociated by anything so incidental as 
 death. This will always be James Norton s business; 
 
 [336]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 all we are doing is adding modern improvements to a 
 structure already built on a rock." 
 
 "I am glad to hear you speak like that," Stewart 
 replied soberly. "My friendship with your father ex 
 tended over so many years that to have had a break 
 come at the end is still a real sorrow. I would like to 
 believe with you that he knows now that our difference 
 was only that of method. When one reaches my age 
 friendships become sacred." 
 
 "You may believe it ... surely," Richard declared 
 with emphasis ; "and I look upon my friendship with you 
 as another legacy from him. It will mean much to me 
 to have you think of it as a continuation of the old." 
 
 Richard felt Mr. Stewart s smile to be a benediction. 
 
 "I shall so consider it," the older man replied, . . 
 "until I have the right to give you that deeper affec 
 tion to which a son is entitled." 
 
 "I hope that time may not be far distant," Richard 
 exclaimed, holding out his hand impulsively. "Lola 
 knows how much that hope means to me ; she also knows 
 that there still remains one obstacle to overcome. We 
 are working on that now." 
 
 "I don t mean to interfere," Stewart apologized. 
 "You young people have fully demonstrated your abil 
 ity to look after your own affairs . . . Lola came to 
 day to see some of the changes I told her had been made 
 in the plant." . 
 
 "Let me show them to you both a little later." 
 
 "I have some letters to dictate," Stewart continued. 
 "Lola and I will be waiting in my office when you are 
 ready." 
 
 [337]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 "Can you spare her for a few moments?" Richard 
 asked. 
 
 "Willingly ... to you," the older man answered 
 as he rose and left them to themselves. 
 
 IV 
 
 "You have seen her?" Lola asked eagerly as the 
 door closed. 
 
 Richard drew a chair beside hers. 
 
 "I have surely made a mess of things," he replied 
 bluntly. "While I have been analyzing this problem of 
 industrial relations, I have completely overlooked a 
 greater human problem under my very eyes. By my 
 inconsistency I have proved my right to be classed 
 among the so-called reformers ! Unless we can 
 straighten this out in fairness to Olga, I shall be a 
 failure after all." 
 
 "We can always make our sacrifice, Dick," Lola 
 said seriously, but her voice broke as she spoke. 
 
 "We can t even do that," he corrected her. "Olga 
 has seen the situation from the beginning far more 
 clearly than we have. She saw through my conceited 
 platitude that my work was the greatest thing on earth. 
 She knew that my love for you was bigger than anything 
 else in my life even when I questioned it myself, and 
 she has never doubted that it would assert itself when 
 I finally came to my senses." 
 
 "But she loves you, Dick." 
 
 "The more blame to me ... I have offered to marry 
 her, Lola. I felt it to be my duty. I tried to conceal 
 the fact that there can be no one in my heart but you. 
 
 [338]
 
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 She will have none of it. Hers is a big nature, and its 
 strength appals me. It is Olga who dominates the sit 
 uation today, and in the end we must do as she insists." 
 
 "We can t accept our happiness at her expense, 
 Dick." 
 
 "What can we do ?" he asked helplessly. 
 
 "Is she in the works now?" 
 
 "I suppose she is in her department. We can see 
 as we go through the plant." 
 
 "Get her up to the house tonight, Dick, and we three 
 will talk things over." 
 
 "Very well," he assented . . . "Shall we start now? 
 Your father must be ready by this time." 
 
 Stewart had explained to Lola the physical changes 
 which had been made in the works as part of the new 
 scheme. Every machine was now located so that the 
 light fell upon the work from the proper angle; the 
 sequence of the machines was arranged to conform with 
 the natural order of the processes; everything was so 
 planned as to eliminate waste energy and to preserve 
 the comfort and well-being of the workers. 
 
 "I feel every throb of this machinery," Richard 
 remarked as the three walked through the various de 
 partments. "Think of the power which lies behind it! 
 I am always impressed that it is trying to convey a 
 message which I can t understand because I am ignorant 
 of its language." 
 
 "I should say that its song now was Good Will in 
 Industry, " Stewart suggested. 
 
 [ 339 ]
 
 THE BALANCE 
 
 "Listen," Lola added, . . " All have a chance, all 
 have a chance, . . that s what it is saying!" 
 
 "Whatever it is," Richard continued, "it does seem 
 to have a kindlier tone now than formerly ; still, I dread 
 it. There is something so inexorable about it. Prop 
 erly controlled, it serves mankind, but we can take 
 no liberties with it. Its power seems lurking behind each 
 throb, jealously watching every human action, and 
 ready to punish the foolhardy mortal who dares to 
 match his strength against it ... This is the depart 
 ment where Olga works, Lola . . . There she is ... 
 over there at her machine." 
 
 As the girl saw them approaching she gave them a 
 brave smile, but continued with her work. Richard 
 signaled to stop the machine. 
 
 "Will you come up to the house this evening?" Lola 
 asked her quietly. 
 
 "Please, Olga," Richard added as he saw her hesitate. 
 
 "Yes," she said, evidently with an effort; "I will 
 come." 
 
 VI 
 
 As Richard turned, a wild-eyed figure suddenly stood 
 in front of him, rising out of nowhere. Before he real 
 ized it, Tony Lemholtz, maddened beyond reason by 
 the continuation of his drunken orgy, was upon him. 
 
 "Now I ve got you, Mister Richard Norton," he 
 snarled, his face twitching with demoniacal fury. "You 
 are bigger than I am, and you are strong enough to 
 truss me up on your shoulder like a pig, as you did last 
 night, but here s a little argument which makes us even." 
 
 [340]
 
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 As he spoke he threw himself at Richard with a knife 
 gleaming in his hand, but before the blow reached its 
 objective a slight form intervened, and Olga s back 
 received the slender blade. As she slipped to the 
 ground, Lemholtz dropped the knife, and ran to escape 
 the angry cries of pursuing workmen. 
 
 "Get the nurse . . . quick!" Richard cried. 
 
 Then, seeing that he could do nothing beyond what 
 Lola had already done for the still figure in her arms, 
 he joined in the pursuit. 
 
 In and out among the machinery ran the fleeing man, 
 sobered by the excitement, yet none too steady on his 
 feet. As he turned a corner, he came face to face with 
 another infuriated group, and in dodging them plunged 
 headlong into a mass of belting which controlled a bat 
 tery of machines. With a shriek of agonized fear, Lem 
 holtz was seized by the slow but endless movement of the 
 giant octopus, and carried toward the wheels, which 
 awaited their victim. 
 
 "For God s sake shut off the power!" Richard or 
 dered. 
 
 Then he started to climb up the frame. 
 
 "You ll be killed, sir!" 
 
 One of the workmen tried to restrain him. 
 
 "Leave me alone !" he shouted. "If I can reach him, 
 I can hold him back from the wheels." 
 
 Rapidly but cautiously picking his way, Richard 
 reached a point where he could seize Tony s foot, and 
 by bracing himself, he held him there until the throb 
 bing of the machinery became less and less, and reluct 
 antly the great giant relinquished its prey. Lemholtz 
 
 [341]
 
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 was lifted none too gently to the floor by his former 
 shopmates, who relented when they saw his condition. 
 Then, as by a common impulse, the men turned to Rich 
 ard with a mighty cheer. 
 
 VII 
 
 Richard s thoughts were all of Olga. When he re 
 turned, the nurse had staunched the flow of blood, but 
 they dared not move her until the doctor arrived. 
 
 "How serious is it?" he demanded. 
 
 "I can t tell," the nurse admitted. "It all depends 
 upon what the knife reached." 
 
 "Suppose you take a look at that man there, if you 
 can be spared now." 
 
 When she returned a few moments later, Richard 
 awaited her report. 
 
 "Compound fracture in both arms, sir. He ll be 
 lucky if he saves either one." 
 
 Richard shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "I had better have left him to his fate." 
 
 [342]
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 OLGA kept her appointment with Lola and Rich 
 ard, but not as had been expected. She was 
 tenderly conveyed to the Stewart house as soon 
 as Dr. Thurber completed his examination and declared 
 the wound not mortal, and there Lola and Richard 
 watched by her bedside until she regained consciousness. 
 When she opened her eyes that same accusing smile 
 which penetrated Richard s heart seemed to rest upon 
 her lips. 
 
 "Am I going to die?" she inquired simply. 
 
 "No, dear," Lola answered her; "you are going to 
 live . . . that we may show how much we all love you." 
 
 An expression of disappointment passed over Olga s 
 face. 
 
 "I am sorry," she said quietly. "To have given my 
 life for Richard would have made it worth while after 
 all." 
 
 "It has been worth while in more ways than you will 
 ever know," he replied with much feeling. 
 
 Dr. Thurber s entrance interrupted their conversa 
 tion. With him was the great surgeon Barry had been 
 rushed to bring from the metropolis for consultation. 
 
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 The doctor s face lighted as he saw the patient s con 
 dition. 
 
 "Well," he exclaimed to Olga . . . "here we all are 
 again! The last time, we had this young man in bed 
 and you anxiously watching over him ; now the positions 
 are reversed!" 
 
 "I am glad," she said, smiling weakly. "It is my turn 
 to take his place." 
 
 "She is much brighter, doctor," Mrs. Stewart said 
 hopefully. "That is a good sign, isn t it?" 
 
 "Of course," he replied encouragingly. "Dr. Lamson 
 and I will know all about it now in a few moments." 
 
 The moments seemed lengthened into hours to the 
 Stewarts and Richard who waited below in the library 
 for the surgeon s report. What the nurse had said 
 made them anxious, but in the joy of again hearing 
 Olga s voice their apprehensions were temporarily for 
 gotten. When steps were heard descending the stairs 
 every eye turned toward the door in breathless tension. 
 
 It was a moment which comes daily to every doctor, 
 . . mercifully with sufficient rarity to the individual 
 to have it epoch-making. Its dramatic value is no less 
 than that of the jury s foreman when he pronounces 
 the verdict of life or death, freedom or a life-long 
 incarceration, simply because it is rendered in the 
 privacy of a home rather than in the glare of the court 
 room. Dr. Thurber tried to mitigate the force of the 
 announcement by an attempt to smile, but the surgeon, 
 with only a professional duty to perform, came directly 
 to the point. 
 
 "She will never walk again," he declared bluntly, 
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 "The wound has produced paralysis from the hips down. 
 
 Without further comment the surgeon turned into 
 the hall, and Dr. Thurber saw him to the door. 
 
 Barry, standing in the hallway, with his hands behind 
 him, had an expression on his face which caused Rich 
 ard to reassure him. 
 
 "She is badly injured, Barry, but she will live." 
 
 "I sure thank the good Lord !" was the heartfelt re 
 sponse. 
 
 Then Barry handed Richard a magnificent rose from 
 the conservatory which he had kept concealed. 
 
 "Please give that to her yourself, Capt n. Tell her 
 it s from me, and ask her to notice particular how 
 beautiful a flower is when its petals aren t* bruised." 
 
 Left to themselves the little group glanced helplessly 
 each at the other, tears forcing themselves into the 
 eyes of all. Richard was the first to speak. 
 
 "This is what she did for me !" he said brokenly. 
 
 "For us, dear," Lola corrected, with equal emotion. 
 "This makes her forever a part of our lives." 
 
 "Unselfishness, sacrifice, service, love, . . the apothe 
 osis of our creed," he added ; "a living expression of all 
 we have tried to put into words," 
 
 II 
 
 Richard stepped back into the hall to meet Dr. Thur 
 ber as he returned from the front door. 
 
 "How much do you care to tell me to explain this 
 mystery?" the doctor asked abruptly. 
 
 "What mystery?" 
 
 "The interest you all have in this factory-girl. First 
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 I find her with you in a flat down near the plant, living 
 as Mr. and Mrs. Richards. Then she calls me to the 
 jail on your account, and for the first time I discover 
 your identity. Now I find her accepted in this house 
 hold as a member of the family. I confess that my hu 
 man curiosity makes me guilty of transgressing profes 
 sional etiquette." 
 
 "Your question is a natural one," Richard admitted 
 soberly ; "and there are others who are entitled to hear 
 my answer. Come with me." 
 
 When they were again in the library, Richard took 
 Lola s hand in his, and repeated the doctor s question. 
 Stewart showed instant resentment, but Richard s lifted 
 hand caused him to refrain from what he would have 
 said. 
 
 "What Dr. Thurber has asked requires an answer," 
 Richard declared. "Lola has never raised the question, 
 and never would. Unless it were asked, perhaps I 
 should never have referred to it myself, but it is better 
 for you all to know the exact facts. Circumstances 
 brought this wounded girl and me closely together, . . 
 more closely than convention would permit. She found 
 me unconscious upon the floor of my chamber. She 
 summoned the doctor. Fearful lest she lose the oppor 
 tunity to nurse me, she let him think that we were man 
 and wife. In France, during the war, nothing was 
 thought of such companionship ; at home, in peace, such 
 a relation can have but one interpretation, . . such is 
 the degree of perfection civilization has attained be 
 yond the barbarism of war! If Dr. Thurber s ques 
 tion involved me alone, I would tell him to think what 
 
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 he likes and be damned; for the only one concerned 
 knows the answer before it is given. Since it affects 
 the honor of that wonderful little girl upstairs, I will 
 tell him that there are men and women in the world who 
 are able to rise above the physical, to whom conventions 
 represent limitations, and who have creeds and ideals 
 of their own which to them are more sacred than the 
 platitudinous hypocrisies amongst which they live." 
 
 "I apologize, . . I m sure," Dr. Thurber stammered ; 
 "I only asked . . ." 
 
 "You only asked what the world would ask," Richard 
 interrupted; "you are merely its mouthpiece, and my 
 answer is not to you personally, but to the world. I 
 had hoped that one of the great results of this war would 
 be the emancipation of the sexes. Over there, men and 
 women served and lived as friends, as pals, as comrades, 
 and they learned the happiness which comes from this 
 natural companionship. Here it is tabooed. Men must 
 herd with men and women with women. For a man to be 
 intimate with a woman labels her as his wife or brands 
 her as his mistress. I ll admit that I can t force the 
 world to my viewpoint, but I m not sorry to have proved 
 to myself that the relation which the good Lord in 
 tended to have exist between men and women is not 
 impossible in practice. The present incident is closed. 
 One of the chief joys to which Lola and I look forward 
 in our married life is the companionship of this won 
 derful woman, no longer a factory-girl, no longer, thank 
 God ! subject to the slanderous tongues of busy-bodies, 
 but an integral part of our lives, which her presence 
 will make richer and more beautiful." 
 
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 "I am glad I asked the question," Dr. Thurber de 
 clared frankly, "for otherwise I should not have had 
 your answer. One of the compensations of a profes 
 sional man s life is that he comes face to face with men 
 and women who, under stress of feeling, disclose their 
 real human selves. My question was brutal, but the 
 genuine admiration I feel for my patient, whom I have 
 seen under curiously varied circumstances, impelled me 
 to seek an explanation. You have given it to me, and 
 I thank you for it." 
 
 "It is a different world we are living in today from 
 that in which you and I were brought up," Mrs. Stew 
 art remarked, as the situation was improved by the 
 doctor s response. "It has taken me a long time to 
 get used to it, but somehow I am inclined to think the 
 change a healthy one, after all." 
 
 "Why shouldn t the final education of parents rest in 
 the hands of their children?" Stewart demanded, try 
 ing to relieve the tension. "After inflicting ourselves 
 on them for a generation, why shouldn t they have a 
 chance to retaliate? It certainly comes under the head 
 of poetic justice." 
 
 "Or retribution," Lola laughed, delighted to have the 
 conversation take a lighter turn. 
 
 "Well," Dr. Thurber exclaimed, "if I am forgiven 
 I will return to my patient." 
 
 "Does she know . . . what we know?" Lola inquired 
 anxiously. 
 
 The doctor shook his head. 
 
 "It would not be safe," he explained. "She has al 
 ways seemed the embodiment of action, and now . . , " 
 
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 "Tell her that she shall be our daughter ... to 
 live with us always, for Lola will soon be flying the old 
 nest," Mrs. Stewart said feelingly, and her husband 
 silently nodded his approval. 
 
 "You always think of the right thing, dear," Lola 
 cried, embracing her mother affectionately. Then she 
 turned to the doctor. 
 
 "You don t realize the fearlessness of her spirit," she 
 added. "She would far rather know the truth, and she 
 will meet it unflinchingly." 
 
 "At the right time, but that won t make it any easier 
 for me. I shot a doe once, up in the Maine woods. She 
 accepted her fate, but her eyes haunt me still . . . You 
 all may follow me, say in five minutes, but you must 
 only stay with her for a moment." 
 
 Ill 
 
 In due time, obedient to instructions, the family fol 
 lowed him to the sick chamber. The doctor s face ex 
 pressed an overpowering sympathy, but on Olga s fea 
 tures rested a new light, startling to those who had be 
 fore associated it only with that exhaltation which so 
 frequently precedes death. Lola and Richard went di 
 rectly to the bedside, while the others drew back, realiz 
 ing that this moment was not theirs. 
 
 "The doctor has told you . . ." Richard asked halt 
 ingly. 
 
 "Not what I most wished to hear," she answered. 
 
 "And that is . . ." Lola interrogated. 
 
 Olga held out both hands, one to each, and with 
 theirs tightly grasped within her own she looked from 
 
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 one to the other with a smile so tender that Richard no 
 longer felt its accusation. She put her question to Lola. 
 
 "Will you marry my Richard now . . . very soon?" 
 
 "Let us speak of you, dear," Lola protested ; but the 
 girl did not heed her. 
 
 "Will you marry my Miss Lola now . . . very 
 soon?" she demanded of Richard. 
 
 "Lola is right," he declared, . . "it is you of whom 
 we are thinking now, not of ourselves." 
 
 "You will be thinking of me if you do as I ask. It is 
 the only thing which will make me happy." 
 
 "The doctor has told you of our plans for you?" 
 Lola asked. 
 
 "Yes; is it all true? Is it possible that I can still 
 be a part of your lives and that I shall not be a burden 
 to you?" 
 
 "Oh, Olga," Lola cried, "except for that there can 
 be no joy for any of us." 
 
 The invalid closed her eyes for a moment, as if the 
 light was too brilliant for their strength. When she 
 opened them a new expression possessed her, . . a re 
 turn of the old roguish animation. 
 
 "You have had to take us both after all!" she said 
 shyly to Richard. 
 
 "Am I not a lucky man?" 
 
 Then she turned to Lola. 
 
 "May I kiss our Richard?" 
 
 As he bent over her she became serious again. The 
 great brown eyes looked full into his as if to convey a 
 message of unusual import, but the words she spoke 
 were for the others. 
 
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 "A kiss is wine sipped by two friends from the same 
 glass . . ." 
 
 Olga motioned Lola to approach nearer the bed, and 
 placing her hand with Richard s, joined them together 
 in her own. 
 
 "But love is the crucible which remains forever after 
 the wine is gone!" 
 
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