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JUDGE ELBRIDGE 
 
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He threw a piece of silver upon the banner of the Salvationists -Page iSo. 
 
Judge Elbridge 
 
 BY 
 
 OPIE READ 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "An Arkansas Planter," "The Waters 
 
 OF Caney Fork," "A Yankee 
 
 from the West," Etc. 
 
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 Chicago and New York: 
 RAND, McNALLY & CO., PUBLISHERS. 
 
 MDCCCXCIX. 
 
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 Copyright, 1899, by Rand, McNally & Co. 
 
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 JUDGE ELBRIDGE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE STUDENT AND THE ORATOR. 
 
 When John Elbridge retired from the bench, the 
 newspapers said that he had been an honorable 
 judge. He was not a pioneer, but had come to 
 Chicago at a time which we now call an early day, 
 when churches rang their bells where now there is 
 a jungle of trade, when the legs of the Giant of the 
 West were in the ache of "growing pains ;" at a 
 time when none but the most visionary dreamed 
 that a mud-hole full of old boots, dead rats, cats, 
 dogs, could ever be worth a million of dollars. El- 
 bridge came from Maryland, with a scant ward- 
 robe, a lawyer's diploma, and the confident ambi- 
 tion of youth. It was not long before he formed a 
 copartnership with a young man named Bodney, a 
 
6 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 Kentuckian, in whose mind still lived the chimes of 
 Henry Clay's bells — a memory that not so much 
 fitted him to the law as it atuned him to oratory ; 
 but in those days the bar could be eloquent with- 
 out inviting the pitying smile which means, '*Oh, 
 yes, it sounds all right, but it's crude." Elbridge 
 was the student of the firm, and Bodney the orator, 
 not a bad combination in the law at that time, for 
 what one did not know the other was prepared to 
 assert. They prospered in a way, but never had the 
 forethought to invest in the ma^ic mud-hole ; took 
 wives unto themselves, and, in the opinion of the 
 "orator," settled down to dull and uneventful hon- 
 esty. The years, like racing horses, flew round and 
 round the track, and a palace of trade grew out of 
 the mud-hole. Bodney and his wife passed away, 
 leaving two children, a boy and a girl. Elbridge had 
 stood at the bedside of his partner, who was fol- 
 lowing his wife into the eternal shadow. "Don't 
 worry about the children, Dan ; they are mine," 
 said the "student," and the "orator" passed away in 
 peace. And they were his. He took them to his 
 home to be brother and sister to his son ; and the 
 years raced round and round the track. 
 
 At the time of his retirement from the bench the 
 Judge was asked why he refused longer to serve the 
 
THE STUDENT AND THE ORATOR. 7 
 
 people. "Because," said he, ''T am beginning to be 
 afraid of my judgment ; I am becoming too careful 
 — like the old engineer who can't summon the nerve 
 to bring his train in on time." 
 
 I\Irs. Elbridge had been known as a local 
 "beauty.'' It was said that the "orator" had rung 
 his Henry Clay bells for her hand, and with philos- 
 ophy, a rare quality among orators, had accepted 
 defeat, to spur himself into another contest and to 
 win a woman not unknown to "looks." Rachel 
 Fry, afterward Mrs. Elbridge, had written verses 
 to sky tints and lake hues, and the "student" be- 
 lieved that he had won her with a volume of Keats, 
 bound in blue, the color of one of her ovv-n lake 
 odes. And in the reminiscent humor of his older 
 days he was wont to laugh over it until he himself 
 was shot through with a metric thrill, when in 
 measure he strove to recall the past; and then she 
 had the laugh on him. It may be a mere notion, but 
 it seems that the young doctor and the old lawyer 
 are much inclined to write verses, for among the 
 papers of many an aged jurist sonnets are found, 
 and editors are well acquainted with the beguiling 
 smile of the young physician. So the "pink fleece 
 of the cloud-sheep," and the "blue, mysterious soul 
 of the lake," inspirations of the "beauty's" earlier 
 
8 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 years, found sympathy in the "student's" "mellow 
 morning of sunlit hope," penned in the late after- 
 noon of life. But verses, be they ever so bad, are 
 the marks of refinement, and there was no vulgar 
 streak in the mind of the Judge. His weakness, 
 and he possessed more than one, was the dogged- 
 ness with which he held to a conviction. His mind 
 was not at all times clear; a neighbor said that he 
 often found himself in a cloud of dust that arose 
 from ancient law books ; and it is a fact that an able 
 judge is sometimes a man of strong prejudices. At 
 the time of this narration he was still hale, good 
 humored, a little given to the pedantry of advanc- 
 ing years, devoted to his family, impressive in man- 
 ner, with his high forehead and thin gray hair ; firm 
 of step, heavy in the shoulders, not much above me- 
 dium height, cleanly shaven, with full lips slightly 
 pouting. Following his own idea of comfort, he 
 had planned his house, a large brick building in 
 Indiana Avenue, at first far out, but now within 
 easy reach of the area where the city's pile-driving 
 heart beats with increasing violence. It was a 
 happy household. The son, Howard, was a manly 
 fellow, studious but wide awake, and upon him the 
 old man rested a precious hope. The mother was a 
 blonde, and nature had given her cast to the boy, 
 
THE STUDENT AND THE ORATOR. 9 
 
 blue eyes and yellowish hair ; and it was said that if 
 he had a vanity it lay in his bronze beard, which he 
 kept neatl}' trimmed — and it had come early, this 
 mark of the matured man. His foster brother, 
 George Bodney, was dark, inclined to restlessness, 
 over-impressionable, nervous. The old man had 
 another precious hope — Florence, Bodney's sister; 
 but of this he shall tell in his own words. A 
 stranger might not have seen anything striking 
 about the girl ; but all acquaintances thought her 
 handsome. At school she had been called a ''char- 
 acter," not that she was original to the degree of 
 being "queer," but because she acted in a manner 
 prematurely old, discussing serious questions with 
 her teachers, debating the problems of life. Her 
 hobby was honor, a virtue which a cynic has de- 
 clared is more often found among boys than among 
 girls. She liked to read of martyrs, not that there 
 was heaven in their faith, but because she thought 
 it glorious to suffer and to die for a principle, no 
 matter what that principle miight happen to be. 
 
 There was one other member of the family, Wil- 
 liam, the Judge's brother. He looked like a carica- 
 ture of the "student," with thinner hair and thicker 
 lips. He had not given his energies to any one 
 calling ; shiftless is the word best fitted to set him 
 
10 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 forth. He had Hved in different parts of the far 
 West, had been dissatisfied with all places because 
 a failure in all, and had come to spend the remainder 
 of his days with his brother in Chicago. Here, he 
 declared, a man could not find disappointment, for 
 no man of sense expected anything but permission 
 to breathe and to keep out of the way. Friends 
 knew that he was the Judge's standing joke, a 
 family laughing stock, a humorous burden, a neces- 
 sary idleness. Of course, it was natural for him to 
 feel that he owned the place. 
 
 Howard and George Bodney were bred to the 
 law, and recently had been admitted to the bar. The 
 "starvation period" of the average young lawyer did 
 not arise out of dull prospect to confront them ; they 
 were to make their way, it was true, but they could 
 study and wait. Howard was ambitious, and his 
 mind was grasping. It was said that he "gulped" 
 a book. He did not stop at the stern texts which 
 were to serve as a part of his necessary equipment, 
 but gave himself excursions among those graces of 
 half-idle minds which light a torch for souls that 
 may be greater. He peeped into the odd corners of 
 thought. Once he startled his father by declaring 
 that genius was the unconscious wisdom of igno- 
 rance. 
 
THE STUDENT AND THE ORATOR. 11 
 
 "It is the reflection of hard work," said the old 
 man. The boy was the corner-stone of his hope ; 
 he wanted to feel that his work was to go on, gen- 
 eration after generation, a pardonable vanity, but 
 a vanity nevertheless. He wanted the boy to be 
 practical, for a speculative youth is not a good per- 
 petuator of a father's career. And on one occasion 
 the boy was taken gently to task for reading a de- 
 cadent book. 
 
 "I like to brush up against different minds," said 
 he. 
 
 '"But nothing is gained by brushing against a 
 diseased mind." 
 
 "\\'e might learn something from a mad dog." 
 
 "But all of value that we may learn from him," 
 said the old man, '*is to keep out of his way. I 
 must request you not to read such books." 
 
 Bodnev had not distinguished himself. He ap- 
 peared to be restless and dissatisfied with himself 
 and with his prospects. He thought that the lav/ 
 afforded but a slow and tedious way to make money, 
 and deplored the shortsightedness of his father and 
 his benefactor for not having invested in the mud- 
 hole. Nervousness may inspire force of character, 
 but it more often induces weakness. In many re- 
 spects Bodney was weak. But the Judge, who 
 
12 , JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 should nave been a shrewd observer of men as well 
 as of principles, did not see it. In the "youth of 
 old age," a man who, in his younger days, may have 
 been keenly of the world, sometimes turns upon 
 life the goggle eye of optimism. 
 
 After his retirement from the bench and the more 
 active affairs of the law, the Judge fitted up an office 
 at his home, with desks, long table covered with 
 green baize, books and safe. 
 
 One evening Bodney sat alone in the home office, 
 deeply brooding. The household was at dinner, 
 and he heard the hearty laughter of the Judge. He 
 was joking with a guest, a preacher, a good fellow. 
 The young man's brow was dark. Of late he had 
 formed an association with a man named Goyle, 
 clearly an adventurer, but a man to inflame the 
 fancy of a morbid nature. Bodney and Goyle had 
 been much together, at the house and at the office 
 down town, but no one made any objection. Per- 
 sonal freedom was a hobby with the Judge. 
 
 There were two doors leading into the office, one 
 opening into a hall, the other into a passageway 
 communicating directly with the street. Through 
 the door opening into the passage Goyle entered. 
 He carried a valise in his hand. Bodney looked up. 
 
 ''Halloa, Goyle," said he. "Come in." 
 
" Halloa, Goyle," said he. " Come in. 
 
THE STUDENT AND THE ORATOR. 13 
 
 "That's what I'm doing," Goyle repHed, putting 
 down the vaHse near the door and advancing to- 
 ward the desk at which Bodney was seated. 
 
 "Sit down," said Bodney. 
 
 "That's what Fm going to do," Goyle repHed. 
 
 He sat down, and for a time both were silent. 
 "Where's everybody?" Goyle asked. 
 
 The bass laughter of the Judge and the contralto 
 of a woman's mirth were heard. 
 
 "At dinner," said Bodney, nodding toward the 
 dining room. 
 
 "Don't you eat?" 
 
 "Sometimes," Bodney answered, and then after 
 a short silence he asked: "Did you get my note?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What do you think?" 
 
 "I think you're scared," said Goyle. 
 
 Bodney gave him a quick look. "Who wouldn't 
 be?" 
 
 "I wouldn't." 
 
 "Yes, you would. It's this way, and there's no 
 other way to it: The old man has missed money 
 from the safe. He hasn't said so, but I can tell by 
 the way he acts." 
 
 Goyle smiled. "Well, but no one but himself 
 
14 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 knows the combination of the safe. He doesn't 
 know that you found a piece of paper with the fig- 
 ures on it, does he?" 
 
 ''Of course not, but it won't be long before he 
 begins to suspect someone." 
 
 "Which, necessarily, fastens it on you. Is that 
 it?" 
 
 "Doesn't it look like it?" 
 
 "Oh, it might," said Goyle. "That is, if you let 
 it?" 
 
 Bodney looked at him with reproach. "If I let it. 
 How the duece can I help it? You don't suppose 
 he'd suspect his son Howard, do you? No man 
 could trust a son more than he does." 
 
 Goyle shrugged his shoulders. "Didn't trust 
 him with the combination of the safe, did he ?" 
 
 "No, for it's his idea of business not to trust any- 
 one absolutely. He laughs and jokes all right 
 enough, and says that this is a fine old world, but 
 he hasn't quite forgotten that he practiced law 
 among rascals." 
 
 "Yes," said Goyle, leaning back and stretching 
 himself. "This soft air makes me lazy. It's not 
 natural, you know, to be comfortable in Chicago. 
 What were we talking about ?" 
 
 Bodney turned upon him almost fiercely, but the 
 
THE STUDENT AND THE ORATOR. 15 
 
 visitor looked at him with the self-command of im- 
 pudent laziness. He was not given to starts. He 
 was born a rascal, and had cultivated his legacy. 
 Coolness may be a virtue ; it is also the strongest 
 weapon of the scoundrel, and Goyle was always 
 cool. He motioned with his hand, bowed, smiled, 
 and Bodney's anger was gone. 
 
 "Don't get hot, old man," said he. "Everything 
 is all right. If it isn't, we'll make it so. Oh, yes, 
 we were talking about the old gentleman's sus- 
 picions. And we've got to take care of them. If 
 I understand it, Howard is to marry your sister. 
 You are all of a family. Your father and the Judge 
 were law partners years ago, and you and your 
 sister were adopted by — " 
 
 Bodney waved his hand impatiently. "We know 
 all about that. Yes, and he has been a father to 
 me and I have been — " 
 
 "A villain, necessarily," Goyle broke in. "Vil- 
 lainy is born in us, and for a time we may hide out 
 our inheritance, but we can't get awayfrom it. And 
 it's only the weak that struggle against it. The 
 lamb is born with wool and the dog with hair. No, 
 we can't get away from it." 
 
 "But we needn't delight in it," said Bodney, with 
 a faint struggle. 
 
16 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "No, and we needn't lie down on it, either. But, 
 to business. The Judge must know who took the 
 money from the safe." 
 
 Bodney started. "What, do you think I am go- 
 ing to tell him?" 
 
 Goyle yawned. "No, you must show him." 
 
 "Show him !" 
 
 "Yes. He must see his son Howard take the 
 money." 
 
 Bodney stood up and looked down upon him. 
 "Goyle, are you a fool, or do you take me for one? 
 Must see Howard take the money! What do you 
 mean? Do you think I can bribe Howard to take 
 it? I don't understand you." 
 
 "Sit down," said Goyle, and Bodney obeyed, 
 looking at him. Goyle lighted a cigarette, turned 
 and pointed to the vaHse. "The thief is in that 
 grip, and the Judge must see him take the money 
 from the safe. Listen to me a minute. Among my 
 numerous accomplishments I number several fail- 
 ures — one as an actor. But we learn more from a 
 failure than from a success. , All right. I heard 
 Howard say that tonight he is going to a reception. 
 In that grip is his semblance — make-up. At the 
 proper time, after Howard is gone, you must lead 
 the Judge in here and see me, as Howard, take 
 
THE STUDENT AND THE ORATOR. 17 
 
 money from the safe. On the mother's account the 
 old man can be made to keep quiet — to hold his 
 tongue, and not even say anything to his son. He 
 changes his combination, the affair blows over — 
 and we've got the money." 
 
 "Monstrous !" exclaimed Bodney, jumping up 
 and glaring at Goyle. 
 
 **Do you think so? Sit down." 
 
 Bodney sat down. **Yes, I do think so." he said. 
 
 "What, the crime or the — " 
 
 "Both. And the trick ! Anybody could see 
 through it. It's nonsense, it's rot." 
 
 "Yes? Now. let me tell you. Brother Bodney, 
 that life itself is but a trick. The world worships a 
 trick — art. literature, nuisic — all tricks. And what 
 sort of art is the most successful? Bold art. What 
 sort of scoundrel is the most admired by the world ? 
 The bold scoundrel. Bold art, my boy." 
 
 "But art has its limits and its rules." Bodney 
 feebly protested. 
 
 Goyle dropped the stub of his cigarette upon the 
 floor. "Yes. rules for imitators to follow. Originals 
 break rules. Rules are made by weaklings to 
 hamper the success of the strong. You've got to 
 take the rig^ht view of life." he said, slowlv liftinir 
 his hand and slowly letting it drop upon his knee. 
 
18 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 *'We are living in the nervous atmosphere of ad- 
 venture and bold trickery. The spirit of this town 
 hates the stagnant; we wipe our muddy feet on 
 tradition. To us the pig squeal of the present is 
 sweeter than the flute of the past. You and I are 
 intellectual failures, and why ? The town is against 
 us. Put an advertisement in tomorrow morn- 
 ing's newspaper — * Graduates of Harvard and 
 Yale wanted, fifteen dollars a week,' and see 
 how many answers you'll get. A cartload 
 — and from men who were turned out pre- 
 pared to fight the battle of life. Think of it. 
 The man who has had his mind trained to failure, 
 whose teaching has made him a refined weakling, 
 with a mind full of quotations and mystic theories — 
 that man has a cause to be avenged upon life, upon 
 society for misleading him. Hear them laughing in 
 there? You don't hear me laughing. I've got 
 nothing to laugh about. You and I know that there 
 isn't any future beyond this infernal life. Then, 
 why hesitate to do anything that works toward our 
 advantage here? I'm talking to your reason now. 
 We have gambled, and we have lost." He turned 
 and shook his finger at the valise. "The thief, I tell 
 you, is in that grip, and he will get us out. If it 
 fails, of course, we are done for, but we are done for 
 
THE STUDENT AND THE ORATOR. 19 
 
 if we don't try. I know it's a bold trick, but that's 
 in its favor. It's too bold to be expected or under- 
 stood. It's no time to think of gratitude. We've 
 got to act. Give me the combination." 
 
 They got up, and Bodney stood trembling. He 
 seemed to be struggling to break loose from some- 
 thing that held him in its grasp. Goyle gazed into 
 his eyes. Bodney put up his hand as if to shield 
 them from a dazzling light. 
 
 ''Give me the combination." 
 
 Bodney tore loose from the something that 
 seemed to be gripping him, and started on a run to- 
 ward the door. Goyle caught him, put his hand on 
 him, held him. 
 
 "1 hear them coming. Give me that piece of 
 paper." 
 
 Bodney gave him a slip of paper. Goyle took up 
 the valise. "Come on," he said, and Bodney fol- 
 lowed him out through the door leading into the 
 passage. 
 
20 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 THE FAMILY JOKE. 
 
 The Judge, his brother William and the Rev. 
 Mr. Bradley entered the office. "Yes, sir," said the 
 Judge, "I'm delighted that you have been called to 
 Chicago. We are full of enterprise here, religious 
 as well as secular. Sit down. And we push relig- 
 ious matters, Mr. Bradley. Here everything takes 
 up the vigorous character of the town. You know 
 that one of our poets has said that when the time 
 comes we'll make culture hum." Bradley sat down, 
 smiling. "Willliam," said the Judge, still standing, 
 "can't you find a chair?" 
 
 "Oh, I believe so," William replied, sitting 
 down. "But why do you make everybody sit down 
 and then stand up yourself? Mr. Bradley, my 
 brother John is a browbeater. He forgets that he 
 ain't always on the bench." 
 
 The Judge winked at Bradley, and laughed. He 
 was full of good humor, sniffing about on the scent 
 of a prank, and when all other resources failed, he 
 
THE FAMILY JOKE. 21 
 
 had the reserve fund of his brother, the family joke, 
 the humorous necessity. 
 
 ''You remember," said Bradley, ''I told you, some 
 time ago, that it was my ambition to have a charge 
 here." 
 
 The Judge, standing in front of him, began to 
 make convincing motions Vv'ith his finger, laying 
 down the law, as William termed it. 'Tt's the field, 
 Bradley. You can raise more money in a church 
 here than — " 
 
 "Oh, it is not that. Judge," the preacher broke in. 
 "Chicago presents a fertile opportunity for doing 
 good, for making men better, life more worth liv- 
 ing, and — " 
 
 "Death more certain," William suggested. 
 
 "My brother doesn't like it here," said the Judge. 
 
 Bradley turned his mild eyes upon the brother 
 and in the form of a question, said, "Xo?" 
 
 William cleared his husky throat. "I have lived 
 further West, where a fellow may make you get 
 out of a stage-coach at the muzzle of a pistol, but he 
 won't sneak up and slip his hand into your pocket." 
 
 "My brother took a whirl at the board of trade," 
 said the Judge. He sat down, lighted a cigar, and 
 offered one to Bradlev. "Won't vou smoke ?" 
 
22 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "Not now," Bradley answered. "I am trying to 
 break myself." 
 
 "Go down to the board of trade," William sug- 
 gested. The Judge laughed, and looked as if he 
 were proud of his family joke. "Won't you smoke, 
 William?" 
 
 "No," replied the humorous necessity, "I'll wait 
 till I go to my room and then smoke sure enough — 
 a pipe." 
 
 "Smoke it here." 
 
 "No, I'll put it off — always enjoy it more then. 
 I recollect the tenth of June, sixty-three — was it the 
 tenth or the eleventh ? Anyway, a party of us were 
 going — it was the eleventh. Yes, the eleventh. I 
 was only a young fellow at the time, but I liked a 
 pipe, and on that day — no, it must have been the 
 tenth. John, did I say the eleventh?" 
 
 "I think you hung a little in favor of the elev- 
 enth, William." He winked at Bradley. "And I 
 was sorry to see it, too, for of all the days in June, 
 the tenth is my favorite." 
 
 William looked at him and cleared his throat, but 
 the Judge wore the mask of seriousness. The 
 brother proceeded : "Well, I'm reasonably certain 
 it v/as the tenth. Yes. Well, on the tenth of June, 
 
THE FAMILY JOKE. 23 
 
 sixty-three, a party of us were going over to — yes, 
 the tenth — over to — " 
 
 ''Hold on a moment," said the Judge. "Are you 
 quite sure it was the tenth? We want it settled, 
 don't we, Bradley? Of course, you are much 
 younger than we are, Bradley, but you are old 
 enough to enter into the importance of this thing. 
 As far as he can, a preacher should be as exact as 
 a judge." Bradley nodded, laughing, and the flame 
 of William's anger burst forth. 
 
 "Confound it, John, don't you suppose I know?" 
 
 "I hope so, William," said the Judge. 
 
 William snorted. "You don't do anything of the 
 sort, and you know it." 
 
 "Well, if I don't I know it, of course, but—" 
 
 "Oh, you be confound. You are all the time — " 
 
 "Go ahead with your story." 
 
 "I'll do nothing of the sort, sir; I'll do nothing 
 of the sort. You are all the time trying to put it 
 on me, and I'll do nothing of the sort ; and the first 
 thing you know, I'll pick up and leave here. I was 
 simply going to tell of something that took place 
 on the — Mr. Bradley, did I say the tenth?" 
 
 The preacher had not been able to keep a straight 
 face, but with reasonable gravity he managed to say 
 that the tenth was the final date agreed upon. "By 
 
24 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 all parties concerned," said the Judge, puffing at his 
 cigar. William scratched his head. "But, after all, 
 it must have been on the eleventh." 
 
 "Knocks out my favorite again," the Judge mut- 
 tered, but William took no notice of the interrup- 
 tion. It is the duty of a family joke to be forbear- 
 ing. 
 
 "Ab Tollivar came to me on that day," William 
 began, "and said that there was to be — " 
 
 "On the tenth — came to you on the tenth?" the 
 Judge broke in. 
 
 "I said the eleventh." 
 
 "William, I beg your pardon," the Judge re- 
 plied, "but you said the tenth, raising my hopes, 
 for you well know my predilection for that day. In 
 many ways a man may be pardoned for reckless- 
 ness, but not in the matter of a date. The exact 
 time of an occurrence is almost as important as the 
 occurrence itself. History would lose much of its 
 value if the dates — " 
 
 "John, when you get into one of your tantrums 
 you are enough to make a snow man melt himself 
 with an oath. You'd make a dog swear." 
 
 "Not before me when I was on the bench. But 
 your story. Ab Tollivar came to you and — " 
 
 "I'll not tell it." He got up and glared at the 
 
THE FAMILY JOKE. 25 
 
 Judge. Oughtn't I to know what day it was on?" 
 "Yes, and I believe you do. Sit down." 
 ''Til do nothing of the sort, sir. I'll not sit here 
 to be insulted by you or anybody else." He moved 
 off toward the door, but before going out, halted, 
 turned, and said: '"Mr. Bradley, I'll tell you the 
 story some other time. But John shall never hear 
 it." He gave his head a jerk, intended for a bow of 
 indignation, and strode out. 
 
 "He's the dearest old fellow in the world," said 
 the Judge, "and I couldn't get along without him." 
 ''Isn't he somewhat younger than yourself?" 
 "Yes, two years. Come in." 
 Mrs. Elbridge entered the dingy- room, bright- 
 ening it with her presence. "Won't you please 
 come into the drawing room?" she said. "It is so 
 dreary in here. Judge, why do you bring visitors 
 to this room? After the Judge retired from the 
 bench, Mr. Bradley, he decided to move the main 
 branch of his law ol^ce out here, and I didn't think 
 that he would make it his home, but he has ; and, 
 worse than that, he makes it a home for all his 
 clients. They can stroll in from the street at any 
 time." 
 
 "A sort of old shoe that fits everybody," said the 
 Judge. "The only way to live is to be comfortable, 
 
26 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 and the only place in which to find comfort is in a 
 room where nothing can be spoiled." 
 
 "But won't you please come into the drawing 
 room ?" 
 
 "Yes, my dear, as soon as I am done smoking." 
 "But you may smoke in there. Do come, please. 
 The girls want to see Mr. Bradley. Won't you 
 make him come?" she asked, appealing to the 
 preacher. 
 
 "Yes, very shortly," replied Bradley. "If he 
 doesn't drop his cigar pretty soon we'll have him 
 driven out with Mr. William's pipe." 
 
 "The threat is surely dark enough," she rejoined. 
 "Don't be long, Judge," she added, turning to go. 
 "Agnes declares that you shall not drag Mr. Brad- 
 ley into your den and keep him shut out from civil- 
 ized Hfe." 
 
 Agnes was a Miss Temple, a visitor, bright and 
 full of mischief. And during all the talk the preach- 
 er's mind had been dwelling upon her, the mischief 
 in her eyes and the dazzle of her smile. 
 
 "Miss Temple is an exceedingly charming 
 woman," he said, when Mrs. Elbridge had quitted 
 the room. "She and Miss Bodney were school- 
 mates, I believe." 
 
THE FAMILY JOKE. 27 
 
 "Yes, and although much separated, have not 
 broken the gauze bonds of school fellowship." 
 "Gauze bonds, Judge?" 
 
 "The beautiful but flimsy friendship of girlhood." 
 "Younger than Miss Bodney, I fancy." 
 "Yes, a year or so. She lives in Quincy, and is 
 here for a month, but we shall keep her longer if 
 we can. She is a source of great entertainment. Of 
 course, you have noticed Florence closely — you 
 couldn't help it. She is one of the sweetest crea- 
 tures that ever lived, and she has character, too. I 
 couldn't think more of her if she were my daughter 
 — and she is to be my daughter. She and my son 
 Howard are soon to be married. It is the prettiest 
 romance in life or fiction. They are near the same 
 age. They went to school hand in hand — sat beside 
 each other at table, year after year, and in innocent 
 love kissed each other good-night. They don't 
 know the time when they made their first vows — 
 upon this life they opened their eyes in love; an 
 infant devotion reached forth 'its dimpled hand and 
 drew their hearts together. Beautiful." 
 
 The preacher was thoughtful for a few moments, 
 and then he said: "The Spirit of God doing the 
 work it loves the best. And they are soon to be 
 married. May I hope to — " 
 
28 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 ''You shall join them together, Bradley." 
 
 "I thank you." 
 
 "No, thank the memory of your father. I knew 
 him well. He was my friend at a time when friend- 
 ship meant something to me." 
 
 "And the young woman's brother, Judge. I 
 haven't seen much of him." 
 
 "George Bodney? A manly young fellow, sir, 
 quiet and thoughful. He and Howard are to take 
 up the law when I put it down — indeed, they have 
 begun already." 
 
 "You are a happy man. Judge." 
 
 The Judge leaned back in his chair and was 
 thoughtful ; his cigar had gone out, and he held it 
 listlessly. "Yes, for the others are so happy." He 
 dropped the cigar stub upon the ash tray, roused 
 himself, and said: "Nothing bothers me now. I 
 am out of the current of life ; I am in a quiet pool, 
 in the shade ; and I don't regret having passed out 
 of the swift stream where the sun was blazing. No, 
 I am rarely worried. Yes, I am annoyed at times, 
 to be perfectly frank, now, for instance, and by a 
 most peculiar thing. I — er — a friend of mine told 
 me a story that bothers me, although it is but a 
 trifle and shouldn't worry me at all. He is a lawyer, 
 situated very much as I am. He has been missing 
 
THE FAMILY JOKE. 29 
 
 money from his safe. No one but himself knows 
 the combination. He couldn't suspect either of his 
 sons ; they didn't know the combination — not to be 
 considered at all. He doesn't keep large sums on 
 hand, of course ; just enough to accommodate some 
 of his old-fashioned clients who like to do busi- 
 ness in the old-fashioned way. It bothered him, for 
 he took it into his head that he himself was getting 
 up at night and in his sleep taking the money from 
 the safe and hiding it somewhere. For years, when- 
 ever he has had anything important on hand, he has 
 been in the habit of waking himself at morning 
 with an alarm clock. And I told him to set the 
 clock in the safe and catch himself. He has done 
 better than that — has fixed a gong so that it will 
 ring whenever the inner drawer of the safe is pulled 
 open. Of course, it is nothing to me, but — ah, come 
 in, Agnes." 
 
 "Your wife has sent a bench warrant for you," 
 said the young woman, entering the room and 
 shaking her finger at the Judge. 
 
 "To be served by a charming deputy," said Brad- 
 ley. 
 
 She laughed. "No wonder preachers catch 
 women," she replied. "I'm glad I struck you. I 
 was afraid I might miss." 
 
30 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 The Judge arose and bowed to her. "We might 
 dodge an arrow but not a perfume," said he. 
 
 *'Now, Mr. Judge, when did you come from the 
 South?" she cried. ''But are you going with me? 
 There are some more people in there ; a young fel- 
 low that looks like a scared rabbit. But he's got 
 nerve enough to say cawn't. I told him that if he'd 
 come to Quincy we'd make him say kain't." 
 
 ''Well, Bradley," said the Judge, "we are prison- 
 ers. Come on." 
 
 Bradley halted a moment to speak to Agnes. 
 The Judge turned and asked if Howard and George 
 Bodney were in the drawing room. She replied 
 that Howard had gone or was going to a reception 
 and that Mr. Bodney was somewhere about the 
 house. She had seen him passing along the hall 
 with Mr. Goyle. Just then, in evening dress, How- 
 ard came into the room. "I thought I heard Flor- 
 ence in here," said he, looking about. 
 
 "Going to leave us?" said the Judge. 
 
 "Yes, to bore and be politely bored. I want Flor- 
 ence to see if I look all right." 
 
 "Oh, I wonder," cried Agues, "if any man will 
 ever have that much confidence in me. There 
 she is now. Florence, here's a man that wants you 
 to put the stamp of approval upon his appearance." 
 
THE FAMILY JOKE. 31 
 
 Howard turned to Florence. "I wanted you to 
 see me," he said. 
 
 "l\e been looking for you," she repHed. 
 Bradley, in an undertone, spoke to the Judge. 
 '1 can see the picture you drew of them." 
 
 "No," replied the preacher, with the light of ad- 
 miration in his honest eyes. 
 
 Agnes spoke to Howard. 'It must have been 
 nearly half an hour since you and Florence saw each 
 other. What an age," she added, with the carica- 
 ture of a sigh. ''But come on, Judge, you and Mr. 
 Bradley." She led the two men away, looking back 
 with another mock sigh at Florence. 
 
 "1 may not be back till late," said Howard, "and 
 I couldn't go without my good-night kiss." 
 
 She smiled upon him. "I knew that you had 
 not forgotten it. And yet," she added, looking at 
 him — "and yet I was anxious." 
 "Anxious?" 
 
 "Yes, but I didn't know why. Howard, within 
 the past few days my love for you has taken so— so 
 trembling a turn. We have been so happy, and—" 
 "And what, Florence?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know, but something makes me 
 afraid now. You know that there are times when 
 happiness halts to shudder." 
 
32 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 He put his arm about her. "Yes, we are some- 
 times afraid that something may happen because it 
 has not. But it is only a reproachful fancy. We 
 see the sorrow of others and are afraid that we don't 
 deserve to be happy. But I must go," he added 
 kissing her. 
 
 She continued to cling to him. "Do I look all 
 right?" he asked. 
 
 "I don't know — I can't see." 
 
 "Can't see?" 
 
 "No. Love, which they say is blind, has blinded 
 me." 
 
 He kissed her again. "But if love blinds, Flor- 
 ence, it would make a bat of me. You are serious 
 tonight," he added, looking into her eyes. 
 
 "Yes, I am." The sound of laughter came from 
 the drawing room. "Yes, I am, and I must go in 
 there to be pleased. Howard, do you believe that 
 anything could separate us ?" 
 
 "Really, you are beginning to distress me. I have 
 never known what it was to live without you, and I 
 couldn't know it. But cheer up, won't you? To- 
 morrow we — " 
 
 "Yes, I will," she broke in. "It was only a 
 shadow and it has passed. But I wonder where 
 
THE FAMILY JOKE. 33 
 
 such shadows come from. Why do they come? 
 Who has the ordering of them ?" 
 
 As they were walking toward the door opening 
 into the hall, William entered from the passage, 
 smoking his pipe, his thin hair rumpled as if he had 
 just emerged from a contest. Howard and Florence 
 did not see him, and he called to them. 
 
 "I say, there, Howard, I thought you were 
 going out." 
 
 The young man halted and looked back with a 
 smile. ''Don't you see me going out. Uncle Billy?" 
 
 "Now look here, young fellow !" exclaimed the 
 old man in a rage, his hair seeming to stand up 
 straighter, "I don't want to be Uucle Billied by you, 
 and I won't have it, either. Your daddy's got it in 
 for me lately, and I'll be hanged if I'm going to put 
 up with it much longer. And Florence, you'd better 
 speak to him about it. I want to give him every op- 
 portunity to mend his ways toward me, and you'd 
 better caution him before it's too late. Do you un- 
 derstand ?" 
 
 "Yes, Uncle William," she answered. "And I 
 will speak to him." 
 
 "Well, see that you do. And, mind you, I wasn't 
 certain whether it was on the tenth or the eleventh ; 
 
 8 
 
34 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 I was willing to give either the benefit of the doubt ; 
 I—" 
 
 "That's all right, Uncle WilHam," said Howard. 
 
 The old man glared at him. "It's not all right, 
 sir, and you know it. But go ahead. I don't be- 
 long to the plot of this household, anyway. I'm 
 only a side issue." Howard and Florence passed 
 out, and he shouted after them. "Do you hear me? 
 Only a side issue." 
 
 Just then Bodney came in. "You are a what, 
 Uncle WilHam ?" he asked, looking about. 
 
 "I said a side issue." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "If you haven't got sense enough to know, I 
 haven't the indulgence to tell you." 
 
 "Where did you get that pipe, Uncle William?" 
 
 "I got it in the Rocky Mountains," said the old 
 fellow. , 
 
 "It must have come there about the time the 
 mountains arrived. Whew !" 
 
 "Now, look here, George Bodney, don't you 
 bring up the tail end of an entire evening of insult 
 by whewing at my pipe. I won't stand it, do you 
 hear?" 
 
 Bodney undoubtedly heard, but he did not reply ; 
 he went over to the desk and began to look about, 
 
THE FAMILY JOKE. 35 
 
 moving papers, as if searching for something. "I 
 left my knife here, somewhere," said he. "Must 
 have a Httle more Hght." He turned up the gas 
 drop Hght on the table, went back to the desk, and, 
 pretending to find his knife, turned down the drop 
 hght lower than it had been before. 
 
 "There's no use to put out the light simply be- 
 cause you've found your knife," said William. "It 
 may be to your advantage to have it dark, but I like 
 to see. I haven't always lived in this soot and 
 smoke ; I have lived where I could see the sky from 
 one year's end to another." 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said Bodney, "but how long 
 do you expect to stay in this room ?" 
 
 "Oh, don't pay any attention to me. I don't be- 
 long to the plot." 
 
 "What plot ?" Bodney exclaimed, with a start. 
 "Why, the plot of this household — the general 
 plot of the whole thing." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I see," said Bodney. 
 
 "T'm glad you do. And, here, just a minute. 
 The Judge and I had a difiference tonight." 
 
 "Not a serious one, I hope." 
 
 "Devilish serious. Wait a moment. I set out 
 by admitting that I was not exactly certain whether 
 
36 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 it was on the tenth or the eleventh. But I settled it, 
 finally, I think, on the eleventh. I — " 
 
 "Eleventh of what?" 
 
 "Of June, sixty-three. On that day, as I started 
 to tell them — now, I want to be exact, and I'll tell 
 you all about it." The old man sat down, crossed his 
 legs, took a few puffs at his pipe, preliminaries to a 
 long recital; but the young fellow, standing near, 
 began to shift about in impatience. "I remember 
 exactly what sort of a day it was. There had been a 
 threat of rain, but the clouds — " 
 
 "Oh, I don't care anything about it." 
 
 "What !" 
 
 "I say, I don't care anything about it." 
 
 "The hell you don't ! Why, you trifling rascal, I 
 raised you ; you owe almost your very existence to 
 me. And now you tell me that you don't care any- 
 thing about it. Go on out, then. You shan't hear 
 it now, after your ingratitude." Bodney strode out, 
 and the old man shouted after him, "I wouldn't tell 
 you that story to save your life." Laughter came 
 from the drawing room. William grunted con- 
 temptuously. "There's John telling his yarns. And 
 that preacher — why, if I couldn't tell a better story 
 than a preacher — " He broke ofi and got up with 
 sudden energy. "But they've got to hear that 
 
THE FAMILY JOKE. 37 
 
 story. They can't get away from it." And mutter- 
 ing, he walked out .briskly. 
 
 Bodney stepped back into the room. He looked 
 at the light, turned it lower, sat down and, leaning 
 forward, covered his face with his hands. But he 
 did not remain long in this position ; he got up and 
 went to the safe, put his hand upon it, snatched it 
 away, put it back and stood there, gazing at the 
 light. Then he went to the door and beckoned. 
 Goyle, disguised as Howard, walked in with inso- 
 lent coolness. In Bodney's room he had dressed 
 himself, posing before the glass, arranging his 
 bronze beard, clipping here and there, touching up 
 his features with paint — and Bodney had stood by, 
 dumb with astonishment. The dress suit, every- 
 thing, was complete, and when he came out he imi- 
 tated Howard's walk. Bodney could not help ad- 
 miring the superb control he had of his nerves ; but 
 more than once he felt an impulse to kill him, par- 
 ticularly when, in response to the beckoning, he 
 stepped into the ofhce. 
 
 ''If it fails, I shoot you," Bodney whispered. 
 "Rot. It can't fail. Don't I look like him?" 
 "Yes. You would deceive me — you — " 
 "Art, bold art," said Goyle. "A man ought to be 
 willing to die for his art. Turn the light a little 
 higher." 
 
38 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "No, it's high enough." 
 
 Goyle walked over leisurely and turned up the 
 light. 'That's better. We must give him a chance 
 to see." 
 
 "Wait a moment," said Bodney, as Goyle took 
 his position at the safe. "Wolf, I want to acknowl- 
 edge myself the blackest scoundrel on the earth." 
 
 "Not necessary. Taken for granted. Go ahead." 
 
 Bodney turned to go, but hesitated at the hall 
 door and seemed again to struggle with something 
 that had him in its grasp. Goyle motioned, and 
 said, "Go ahead, fool." Bodney passed into the 
 hall, and Goyle began to turn the knob of the safe, 
 holding his paper to catch the light. He heard 
 the voice of Bodney. "It won't take long. I want 
 you to help me — " The door swung. Goyle pulled 
 open the drawer, and then followed three sharp 
 strokes of the gong, just as loud laughter burst 
 from the drawing room. Goyle jumped back. The 
 Judge rushed in, with Bodney cHnging to him. 
 Goyle turned as if he had not seen the Judge and 
 rushed from the room. Bodney struggled with the 
 Judge, his hand over his mouth, and forced him 
 down upon a chair. "Judge, father, not a word — for 
 his mother's sake. You must freeze your heart for 
 her sake." The old man dropped with a groan, 
 Bodney bending over him. 
 
Goyle began to turn the knob of the safe. 
 
« C C t *i 
 
THE NIGHT CAME BACK. 39 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE NIGHT CAME BACK WITH A RUSH. 
 
 Bodney led the Judge to his room on the second 
 floor, where he left him almost in a state of collapse. 
 He spoke of calling Mrs. Elbridge, but the old man 
 shook his head, which Bodney knew he would do, 
 and in a broken voice said that he wanted to be left 
 alone. At the time when the Judge left the drawing 
 room with Bodney, Bradley was bidding the family 
 good-night, but lingered a moment longer to join 
 the company in a laugh at William, who, having 
 settled his date to his own satisfaction, had forgotten 
 the point of the story. 
 
 Bodney's room was on the first floor, of¥ the 
 passage, and, going thither, he found Goyle sitting 
 on the side of the bed, not as Howard, but as him- 
 self. The scoundrel declared that it had worked 
 like a charm, but that the clang of the gong had 
 prevented his getting any money. That, however, 
 was a minor consideration. He needed money, it 
 was true ; he had not expected much, but even a 
 
40 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 little would have helped him greatly. A lower order 
 of mind might have brooded over the disappoint- 
 ment, but his mind was exultant over the success 
 of his art. He argued that if his impersonation of 
 a son could deceive a father, he might bring forth 
 a Hamlet to charm an audience. 
 
 ''How is he?" Goyle asked, as Bodney stepped 
 into the room. 
 
 "Don't talk to me, now," said Bodney, sitting 
 down. He took up a newspaper and fanned himself. 
 "For a time I jwished that I had killed you." 
 
 "Yes? And now?" 
 
 "I wish that you had killed me. Tell me, are you 
 a human being? I don't believe you are. I don't 
 believe that any human being could have the in- 
 fluence over me that you have had — that you still 
 have, you scoundrel. I wish I could stab you." 
 
 "Can't you?" 
 
 "No. My arm would fall, paralyzed. I used to 
 scout the idea of a personal devil, but I believe in 
 one now. He is sitting on my bed. He has com- 
 pelled me to do something — " 
 
 "It worked like a charm, George ; and now, old 
 fellow, don't hold a grudge against me. I have 
 taught you more than you ever learned before ; I 
 have shown you that a man can do almost any- 
 
THE NIGHT CAME BACK. 41 
 
 thing— that men are but children to be dehided by 
 trickery. There, for instance, is a judge, a man who 
 was set up to pass upon the actions of men. What 
 did I do? Convinced him that his own son is a 
 robber. Was that right? Perhaps. Why should 
 such a man have been a judge? What wrongs may 
 not his shortsightedness have caused him to com- 
 mit? We can't tell. He may have committed a 
 thousand unconscious crimes. But an unconscious 
 crime may be just as bad as a conscious one. He 
 has been sitting above other men. Now let him 
 suffer; it is due him. x\nd his son! What does he 
 care for you or me ? He reads, and thinks that he 
 is wise. He has stuffed himself with the echo of 
 feeble minds; and now let him wallow in his 
 wisdom. Look at me. Are you sorry for what we 
 have done? Look at me." 
 
 Bodney made an effort to get up, but his strength 
 seemed to fail him, and he remained as he was, 
 gazing at Goyle. "George," Goyle continued, his 
 eyes glittering, "I was the hope of a father, a better 
 man than Judge Elbridge. But he was ruined by 
 honest men and died of a broken heart. That was 
 all right; it was a part of life's infamous plan. 
 Everything is all right— a part of the plan. My 
 friends called me a genius ; they believed that I was 
 
42 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 to astonish the world, and I believed it. I bent my- 
 self to study, but one day the bubble burst and I 
 felt then that nothing amounted to anything — that 
 all was a fraud. The world is the enemy of every 
 man. Every man is the natural enemy of every 
 other man. Evil has always triumphed and al- 
 ways will. The churches meet to reform their 
 creeds. After a while they must revise out God — 
 another bubble, constantly bursting. Then, why 
 should there be a conscience? That's the point I 
 want to make. Why should you and I suffer on 
 account of anything we have done? Everything 
 you see will soon pass away. Nothing is the only 
 thing eternal. Then, let us make the most of our 
 opportunities for animal enjoyment. The animal 
 is the only substance. Intellectuality is a shadow. 
 Are you sorry for what I have done?" 
 
 He fixed his glittering eyes upon Bodney, and, 
 gazing at him, Bodney answered: "No, I am not. 
 It was marked out for us, and I don't suppose we 
 could help it ; but somehow — somehow, I wish 
 that I had killed you." 
 
 "What for ? to cut off a few days of animalism — 
 to make of me an eternal nothing? That wouldn't 
 have done any good." 
 
 "It would have prevented the misery — '* 
 
THE NIGHT CAME BACK. 43 
 
 Goyle stopped him with a snap of his fingers. 
 *Tor how long? For a minute. It will all pass 
 away. Be cheerful, now. We haven't any money 
 as a reward of our enterprise and art, but we have 
 let the life blood out of all suspicion attaching to us. 
 Let us go to bed." 
 "You go to bed. I will lie on the floor." 
 "No use to put yourself out, George. I'll He on 
 the floor." 
 
 "No," said Bodney, and Goyle let him have his 
 way. The hours passed, Bodney lying in a restless 
 stupor, but Goyle slept. Sunlight poured into the 
 room and Bodney got up. He went to the window 
 and stood to cool his face in the fresh air. He 
 looked back at the bed. Goyle was still sleeping, 
 breathing gently. The horror of the night came 
 in a rush. And there was the cause of it, sleeping 
 in peace. Bodney snatched open a drawer and 
 seized a razor. Goyle turned over, with his face to- 
 ward the window. 
 
 "Ah, up? What time is it, George?" 
 Bodney dropped the razor and sat down. "It is 
 time to get up," he said. Goyle got out of bed and 
 began to exercise himself by striking out with his 
 fists. He had passed, he said, a night of delicious 
 rest, with not a dream to disturb him. He whistled 
 
44 ' JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 merrily as he dressed himself. Bodney stood with 
 his elbow resting on the marble top of the "bu- 
 reau," his face yellow and haggard. Glancing down 
 into the half closed drawer, he saw the razor and 
 shuddered at the sight of it. With his left hand he 
 felt of his right arm, gripping it from shoulder down 
 to wrist as if in some strange manner it had been 
 deprived of strength. Goyle moved toward him 
 and he pushed against the drawer to close it, but the 
 keen eye of the ''artist" fell upon the open razor, 
 and glittered like the eye of a snake. But he showed 
 no sign of fear or even of resentment. 
 
 "I will stay to breakfast with you," he said, put- 
 ting his hand on Bodney's shoulder. 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't," Bodney feebly replied. 
 
 ''Oh, no you don't. Come, brace up now. My 
 part of the work is done, but yours is just begin- 
 ning. I have saved you from suspicion, but you 
 must keep yourself saved. That's right, brighten 
 up. Now you are beginning to look like yourself. 
 Why, nothing so very bad has been done. We 
 have enacted a little drama, that's all. Such things, 
 or things on a par with them, are enacted every 
 day. The newspapers are full of stranger things. 
 We haven't hired a 'castle' and entered upon a 
 career of wholesale murder; we haven't cut up a 
 woman and made her into sausage." 
 
THE NIGHT CAME BACK. 45 
 
 The voice of William was heard in the passage, 
 scolding a housemaid for disturbing his papers. 
 The old man tapped on the door and Goyle opened 
 
 it. 
 
 "Ah, you here?" said the old man, stepping into 
 the room. "You'd better go in to breakfast. Well, 
 sir, I never saw anything hke it in my life. I can't 
 put a thing down and find it where I left it. George, 
 what's the matter with you this morning?" 
 
 "Nothing at all, sir. I had a headache and didn't 
 sleep very well. That's all. Is the Judge up yet?" 
 '1 beheve not. And when he does get up I ^ant 
 to have a talk with him. I'll be hanged if he didn't 
 get that preacher to laughing at me last night- 
 laughing at me right here in my own house. I can 
 stand a good deal, but when a preacher laughs at 
 me, why things have gone too far." 
 
 Goyle smiled upon him. "But, Mr. Elbridge, a 
 preacher means quite as little when he laughs as 
 when he talks." 
 
 This pleased the old man, and he chuckled, his 
 fat sides shaking. Bodney smiled, too, and Goyle 
 gave him a look of approval and it appeared to 
 brighten him. He dressed himself hastily, turning 
 occasionally to heed a remark made by Goyle or the 
 old man, and when he stepped out of the room to go 
 with them, to breakfast, his face was not so yellow, 
 nor his countenance so haggard. 
 
46 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 STOOD LOOKING AT THEM. 
 
 About two hours later Florence was sitting alone 
 in the drawing room when Howard entered. She 
 asked him if he had seen his father that morning. 
 He sat down on a sofa beside her and said, after 
 a moment's reflection : 
 
 "Yes, I have seen him? Why did you ask?" 
 
 She seemed worried and did not immediately 
 answer him. He repeated his question. "Because 
 he spoke of you at breakfast," she said. "He didn't 
 appear at all well — sat staring about, and — " 
 
 "That explains it," said Howard. 
 
 "Explains what?" she asked. 
 
 "His treatment of me." 
 
 "Treatment of you? Has anything gone wrong?" 
 
 "Yes, in the office, just now. When I went in he 
 jumped up from his desk, threw down a hand full 
 of papers, and stared at me — muttered, seemed to 
 struggle with himself, sat down, and asked me to 
 leave him alone. He never acted that way toward 
 
STOOD LOOKING AT THEM. 47 
 
 me before. I'm afraid he's ill. Why, he's the most 
 jovial man in the world, and — I'm worried. I don't 
 understand it. If he's sick, why didn't he say so ?" 
 
 "I don't know, but don't let it worry you, dear," 
 she said. 
 
 "But it does, Florence, to be turned upon in that 
 way. What did he say about me at the table this 
 morning? He surely wasn't angry because I didn't 
 get up in time for breakfast." 
 
 "Surely not. He didn't say anything, only asked 
 where you were, and kept staring at the place 
 where you sit." 
 
 "And is that the reason you asked me if I had 
 seen him?" 
 
 "Yes, that and the fact that he didn't appear to 
 be well." 
 
 "I don't understand it. Why, he has joked with 
 me all my life, sick or well. It hurts me." And, 
 after a slight pause, he added: "I wonder if he 
 turned on George, too." 
 
 "It wouldn't seem so, for as he was going out of 
 the breakfast room he put his hand on brother's 
 shoulder and leaned on him." 
 
 Bodney came in at that moment, and, looking 
 about, asked if they had seen Goyle. As he was 
 going out, Howard called him. 
 
48 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 *'Oh, George, just a moment. Have you no- 
 ticed anything strange about father this morning?" 
 
 And Bodney was master of himself when he an- 
 swered : "Nothing much. Only he didn't seem 
 to be as well as usual. It will pass ofif. I wonder 
 where that fellow is?" He strode out, and they 
 heard him talking to Goyle in the hall. 
 
 "Put his hand on George's shoulder and leaned 
 on him," Howard mused, aloud. "Then he is not 
 well. George knows it and doesn't want to distress 
 me by telling me. Did he sit up late?" 
 
 "No. Mr. Bradley had to go early, and just as 
 he was taking his leave brother stepped in and 
 asked your father to help him with an important 
 matter — some abstract of title, or something of 
 the sort, and they went out and he didn't come back. 
 I don't want to distress you, but your mother said 
 that he walked the floor nearly all night." 
 
 "Did she? And George knows more than he is 
 willing to tell. But why do they try to shield me ? 
 It would be all right to shield mother if anything 
 were wrong, but if there's a burden, I ought to help 
 bear it." 
 
 She besought him not to be worried, assuring him 
 that nothing had gone very far wrong and that 
 everything would come right. The clearness and 
 
STOOD LOOKING AT THEM. 49 
 
 the strength of her mind, her individuality, her 
 strength of character, ahvays had a quick influence 
 upon him, and he threw ofif the heavier part of his 
 worry and they talked of other matters, of the re- 
 ception which he had attended the night before. 
 He repeated a part of a stupid address delivered by 
 a prominent man, and they laughed at it, he declar- 
 ing that nearly all men, no matter how prominent 
 or bright, were usually dull at a reception. And, 
 after a time, she asked: ''What sort of a man is 
 Mr. Goyle?" 
 
 "Oh, he's all right, I suppose; smart, full of odd 
 conceits. I don't know him very well. He comes 
 into the down-town ofBce quite frequently, but he 
 rarely has much to say to me. George seems to be 
 devoted to him." 
 
 Florence shook her head, deploring the intimacy. 
 "I don't like him," she said. "And Agnes says she 
 hates him. She snaps him up every time he speaks 
 to her." She looked at Howard, and saw that his 
 worry was returning upon him. She put the hair 
 back from his forehead, affection's most instinctive 
 by-play, and said that he must not be downcast at 
 a mere nothing, a passing whim on the part of his 
 father. "And it was only a whim," she added. 
 
 "But whims make an atmosphere," he replied. 
 
 4 
 
so JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "Not ours, Howard — not yours, not mine. Love 
 makes our atmosphere." 
 
 "Yes," he said, putting his arm about her, "our 
 breath of hfe. Florence, last night you were de- 
 pressed, and now I am heavy." Their heads, bent 
 forward, touched each other. "And your love is 
 dearer to me now than ever before." Their faces 
 were turned from the hall door. The Judge silently 
 entered, and, seeing them, started toward them, 
 making motions with his hands as if he would tear 
 them apart. But Howard, after a brief pause, spoke 
 again, and the old man halted, gazing at them. 
 "Florence, you asked me, last night, if anything 
 could separate us, and now I ask you that same 
 question. Could anything part us ?" 
 
 "No," she said, "not man, not woman, nothing 
 but God, and he has bound us together." 
 
 "With silken cords woven in the loom of eter- 
 nity," he replied ; and the Judge wheeled about, and, 
 with a sob, was gone, unseen. 
 
 "What was that ?" Florence asked, looking round. 
 "It sounded like a sob." 
 
 "We were not listening for sobs and should not 
 have heard them," he replied. "It wasn't any- 
 thing." 
 
 William came in, clearing his throat. "Don't let 
 
STOOD LOOKING AT THEM. 51 
 
 me disturb you," he said, as they got up.' '1 don't 
 belong to the plot at all." He began to look about. 
 ''I left my pipe somewhere." 
 
 '1 don't think it's here, Uncle William," said 
 Howard. ''You surely wouldn't leave it here ; and, 
 besides, I don't hear it." 
 
 There came a sort of explosion, and upon it was 
 borne the words, "What's that? You don't hear it? 
 You don't ? Xow what have I ever done to you to 
 deserve such an insult? Ha! What have I done?" 
 
 "Why, nothing at all, Uncle WilHam." 
 
 "Then why do you want to insult me? Haven't 
 I been your slave ever since I came here ? Haven't 
 I passed sleepless nights devising things for your 
 good? You can't deny it, and yet, at the first op- 
 portunity, you turn upon me with an insult." 
 
 "Why, Uncle Billy," said Florence, "he wouldn't 
 insult you. He was only joking." 
 
 Howard assured him that he meant no insult, 
 whereupon the old man said : "All right, but I 
 know a joke as well as anybody. I have joked with 
 some of the best of 'em in my time, I'll tell you 
 that. But it's no joke when you come talking about 
 not hearing a man's pipe. It's a reflection on his 
 cleanliness — it means that his pipe is stronger than 
 
52 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 a gentleman's pipe ought to be. But I want to tell 
 you, sir, that it isn't. It's as sweet as a pie." 
 
 Howard said that he knew the import of such an 
 accusation. "But," he added, "I was in hopes that 
 it was strong, not to cast any reflection, you under- 
 stand, but to show my appreciation of what you 
 have done for me. I was going to give you that 
 meerschaum of mine." 
 
 The old man's under jaw dropped. "Hah ? Well, 
 now, I do believe that it has got to be just a little 
 nippy ; just a little, you understand." 
 
 "I wish it were stronger than that, Uncle Billy." 
 
 "You do? Howard, you have always been a 
 good friend to me ; our relations have been most 
 cordial and confidential, and I don't mind telling 
 you — to go no further, mind you — that niy old pipe 
 is as strong as — as a red fox. Yes, sir, it's a posi- 
 tive fact. Er — where is your pipe?" 
 
 "In my room. You may go and get it as soon 
 as you like." 
 
 "All right, and I'm a thousand times obliged to 
 you. Florence, did that preacher go away so sud- 
 denly last night because I settled the fact that it 
 was on the tenth ?" 
 
 "Oh, no, he left because he had an engagement." 
 
 "Well," drawled the old man, "I don't know 
 
STOOD LOOKING AT THEM. 53 
 
 about that. Why, confound him, I've got a right to 
 settle it as my memory dictates. Does he think 
 that I'm going to warp my recollection just for 
 
 him?" 
 
 ''What was it all about, Uncle Billy?" Howard 
 
 asked. 
 
 "About a story I was going to tell." 
 
 ''Did you tell it?" 
 
 "Did I tell it ! Well, after a fashion ; after they 
 had badgered me. Then I made a mess of it. How 
 do you expect me to tell a story when— look here, 
 ain't you trying to put it on me? Hah, ain't you?" 
 "I don't know what you mean. Uncle WiUiam." 
 "Oh, you don't. The whole kit of you are devil- 
 ish dull all at once." 
 
 "You surely don't include me," said Florence. 
 "No, not you, Florence, but all the men about 
 the house. Why, I went up to John, just a while 
 ago, and I'll be hanged if he didn't snap at me hke 
 a turtle— told me to get out of his office. Shall I 
 tell vou what he said? He said that last night he 
 weni to hell and was still there. There's something 
 wrong with him, as sure as you live." 
 
 Howard turned away and began to walk up and 
 down the room. 'There it is again," said he. "I 
 no sooner convince myself that it might have been 
 
54 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 a mere whim when something comes up to assure 
 me that it is something worse. And the look he 
 gave me, Florence. It hurts me." He walked to- 
 ward the door. Florence asked him if he were go- 
 ing to his father. He turned and stood for a mo- 
 ment in silence. ''No, I am going down town. I 
 don't feel right. I am hurt. But don't. say any- 
 thing to him, please. I am going to wait and see 
 what comes of it. And please don't say anything 
 to mother." He took his leave, and Florence went 
 to the window and looked after him as he passed 
 down the street. She spoke to William. ''I won- 
 der what the trouble is," she said. 
 
 *'I don't know," WilHam replied, ruffling his 
 brow, ''but as for that preacher — the first thing he 
 knows, I won't let him come here. John has in- 
 sisted on his dropping in at any time, because he 
 used to know his father, but Fll attend to that. 
 Why does a great, strong fellow as. he is want to 
 throw away his time? Why doesn't he get to 
 work ?" He sat down and, looking toward the piano, 
 asked Florence to play something. "Fd like a 
 tune quick and high-stepping," he said. She told 
 him that she was in no humor. "In that event," 
 he insisted, "you might play the Maiden's Prayer." 
 
 "Not now. Uncle William. Here's Agnes. 
 She'll play for you." 
 
STOOD LOOKING AT THEM. 55 
 
 "No, I won't," said Agnes, coming into the room. 
 Florence expected the old fellow to snort his dis- 
 pleasure at so flat a refusal, but he did not. He 
 bowed to her and said: "Now, that's the way to 
 talk. I like to have a woman come right out and 
 say what she means. Well," he added, getting up, 
 "I am not in your plot, anyway, so I'll bid you 
 good morning." 
 
 As soon as William was gone, Agnes went to 
 the piano, seated herself on the stool and began 
 to ripple on the keys. "There are times when we 
 feel Hke dabbling in water but don't want to swim," 
 she said. 
 
 "And you are dabbling now," Florence spoke up. 
 
 "Only dabbling. Oh, I forgot ; your dressmaker 
 is out there, and I came in to tell you." 
 
 "I'm glad you didn't forget it entirely. Oh, and 
 I must tell you something. Brother says that Mr. 
 Goyle is smitten with you." 
 
 Agnes, still rippling, turned half way round, 
 sniffed and turned back. "I hate him so hard that 
 it's almost second cousin to love," she declared. 
 
 "Don't let it be any closer kin, Agnes. There is 
 always danger in a first cousin." 
 
 Agnes, still rippling, sniffed contemptuously. 
 
56 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "He's been following me around all the morning. 
 How I love to hate him." 
 
 The voice of Mrs. Elbridge was heard, calling 
 Florence, who answered that she was coming, but 
 she halted long enough to say to Agnes, mischiev- 
 ously, that she might learn to love him if she loved 
 to hate him. Both love and hate were kindred pas- 
 sions, with but a thin partition between them. As 
 she was going out, Agnes shouted after her that, 
 if she ever loved him she would hate herself, and 
 then, just as Goyle and Bodney entered the room, 
 she added: "We tar and feather such fellows in 
 Quincy." 
 
 "You do what in Quincy?" Bodney asked. 
 
 And Agnes, without looking round, repeated: 
 "Tar and feather such fellows." 
 
 Goyle knew that she meant him, but instead of 
 kindhng resentment, her words aroused in him an 
 additional interest in her. He looked at her as in 
 the rythmic sway of her graceful form, the nodding 
 of her shapely head, she kept time with a tune, half 
 remembered, half improvised ; and, turning to Bod- 
 ney, he asked in tones too low for the girl to hear : 
 "Has she got any money?" 
 
 "I think she has." 
 
 "Leave me alone with her." 
 
STOOD LOOKING AT THEM. 57 
 
 "Do you want to snatch her purse?" 
 
 "Do you suppose I want a hair pin, a pearl but- 
 ton, a scrap of verse, and a three-cornered piece 
 of silk that no man can match? I mean, has she 
 got any money in her own name?" 
 
 "I haven't asked her, but I think she has." 
 
 "Then leave me alone with her." 
 
 Bodney stood looking at him. There was a con- 
 tinuous fascination in the fellow's affrontery. "All 
 right," he said, but quickly added : "We've got to 
 go down town, you know. I'll step into the office 
 and wait till she gets through with you. You may 
 hypnotize me, but — " 
 
 Goyle cut him off with a gesture. "Nonsense ! 
 When she gets through with me ! Cool, coming 
 from a man whose honor I have saved at the risk 
 of my own. But no cooler than the bullet you 
 threatened me with." 
 
 "I wish I had given it to you," said Bodney. 
 
 "Do you? It's not too late, if you are bent on 
 murder. But that's all right," he broke ofT, with a 
 wave of the hand. "Leave me alone with her." 
 
 Bodney went out and Goyle sat down on a sofa, 
 gazed at the girl, cleared his throat, coughed ; but 
 she did not look round. "What are you playing? 
 May I ask?" 
 
58 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "You have asked," she repHed, without looking 
 round. 
 
 ''But you haven't told me." 
 
 She left off playing, and slowly turned on the 
 stool to face him. "A tune they played in Quincy 
 one night, when they tarred and feathered a man," 
 she said. And then, with a smile of sweet inno- 
 cence, she added: ''You were never in Quincy, 
 were you ?" 
 
 "Well, I was never tarred and feathered there." 
 
 "Possibly an acknowledgment that you were 
 never in the town. Oh, somebody told me that you 
 were once connected with opera." 
 
 "Then somebody flattered me. I couldn't sing 
 in a chorus of scissors grinders." 
 
 "A sort of Chinese opera, I inferred," she said. 
 
 "Well, that's about the only sort I could sing in. 
 Chinese opera, eh?" 
 
 "Yes, that's what I inferred. It was something 
 about Sing-Sing. Isn't that Chinese?" 
 
 "Oh, it sounds Hke a joke," said he. 
 
 "And it wasn't?" she asked, in surprise. "Then 
 it was serious opera instead of comic. They call 
 serious opera grand, I believe. And is that the rea- 
 son they call larceny grand — because it is serious ?" 
 
 For a time he sat in a deep study of her. How 
 
STOOD LOOKING AT THEM. 59 
 
 different from the nervous and impressionable 
 weakling who had just left the room ; and in looking 
 at her he felt that his eyes refused to glitter with a 
 snake-like charm; they were dull and flat, and he 
 drew his hand across them. "Do you know that I 
 Hke you?" he said. 
 
 'Then I do not bring up an unpleasant recollec- 
 tion." 
 
 ''No, a beautiful vision." And now he had more 
 confidence in his eyes, for he got up and moved 
 toward her. She slipped off the stool and stood 
 looking at him. 
 
 ''Won't you play something for me?" he asked. 
 "I don't want to play. I don't feel like it." 
 "Let your fingers dream over the keys." 
 "My hands aren't asleep." She moved oft' from 
 him. 
 
 "You aren't afraid of me, are you?" 
 She looked him in the eye. "My grandmother 
 killed a panther," she said. 
 
 He drew his hand across his eyes ; he recalled 
 what Bodney had said — about her getting through 
 with him. In the dictionary of slang there is a word 
 to fit him : the resources of his "gall" were bound- 
 less. "Why don't you like me?" he asked. "Am 
 I ugly in your sight ? Do I look like a villain ?" 
 
60 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "If you looked more like a villain you'd be less 
 dangerous." 
 
 "That's cruel. We may not see each other again. 
 Won't you shake hands with me ?" 
 
 "What is the use of shaking hands with a stranger 
 we are never to see again," she said. 
 
 "But if we shake hands," he persisted, "we may 
 not be strangers." 
 
 "No? Then, we'll not shake." 
 
 William strolled through the room, halting just 
 long enough to assure them that he was not trying 
 to break into the plot. "He's a queer duck," said 
 Goyle. 
 
 "I wish there were more of his feather," she re- 
 plied. "He can pass through without stopping." 
 
 "And so could I but for you," he rejoined. 
 
 She snapped her eyes at him. "What nerve tonic 
 do you take?" 
 
 "Nature's. She gives me a tonic whenever I look 
 at you." 
 
 She laughed at this, and she said : "I am woman 
 enough to like that sort of talk, but I don't like 
 you." 
 
 "You like my talk, but don't like me. Why this 
 discrepancy? Why don't you like me?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know. You give me the creeps." 
 
STOOD LOOKING AT THEM. 61 
 
 "You are very frank." 
 
 ''Oh, the creeps would make anybody frank." 
 
 Bodney appeared at the door and cleared his 
 throat to attract attention, and he was bold enough 
 to ask her if she had got through with him. "Long 
 ago," she answered. ''And now you may have 
 him." 
 
 Goyle bowed to her. "Mr. Bodney and I may 
 go out of town for a day or two — or, at least, I 
 may. Will you permit me to hope to see you upon 
 my return?" 
 
 "Oh, certainly," she said, and he felt that at last 
 he was making some sort of progress. "I thank 
 you," he replied. 
 
 But there was something more to follow. "You 
 can hope that you may, and I will hope that you 
 may not," she said. 
 
 Goyle bowed, and looked at her, admiringly. 
 "Miss Needle-tongue," he said. "But you catch 
 
 me." 
 
 Bodney told him to come on, but he lingered a 
 moment longer. "May I tell you good-bye?" he 
 said, and she replied that she hoped so. As the two 
 men were going out the Judge came in. Goyle 
 glanced at him, but Bodney averted his eyes. The 
 old man's face smote him with reproach. 
 
62 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SHE SAID THAT SHE WAS STRONG. 
 
 Agnes, accustomed to joke with the Judge, now 
 looked at him in astonishment ; his face was hag- 
 gard and his eyes appeared hot with suffering. But 
 he had not forgotten his dignified courtesy. He 
 bowed to her, bade her good morning, as if he had 
 not seen her earHer in the day, said that he was 
 looking for Florence, and asked if she would please 
 find her, that he desired to see her — alone. Agnes 
 went out at once to find Florence, wondering what 
 could have happened to throw so serious a cast 
 upon the countenance of the Judge ; and, left alone, 
 the old man walked slowly up and down the room, 
 talking to himself. ''I don't know how to tell her, 
 but she must know of it. It is my duty to tell her." 
 He paused, looked toward the door, and continued : 
 "I am striving to master my heart by smothering 
 it ; I must be the master of a dead heart." He 
 paused again and resumed his walk. "Yesterday 
 the world was a laugh, but today it is a groan. I 
 
SHE SAID THAT SHE WAS STRONG. 63 
 
 wonder if he saw me. No, and toward him I must 
 bear the burden of silence. A mother's heart would 
 see the accusation in his face, and I must protect 
 her. To keep her shielded is now my only duty 
 in life. That decadent book ! It was a seed of de- 
 generacy. Ah, come in," he said, as Florence ap- 
 peared at the door. Howard had called her eyes the 
 searchlights of sym.pathy ; and she turned those 
 lights upon the old man's face as she came into the 
 room, slowly approaching him. 
 
 ''Did you send for me — father?" 
 
 "Father," he repeated with a catch in his breath 
 that sounded like a sob. "My dear, it comes sweet 
 from your lips, but it falls upon me with reproach." 
 He stood with bowed head, and Florence put her 
 hand on his arm. 
 
 "What is the matter, father? Why, you need 
 a doctor. Let me call — " 
 
 "No !" came from him like a cry of pain, as he 
 stepped back from her. "You must call no one. 
 Wait a moment. Oh, I've got iron in me — but it is 
 cold, Florence — cold. Wait a moment. Wait." 
 
 She stood looking at him, wondering, striving to 
 catch some possible forecast of what might follow, 
 but in his face there was no light save the dull hue 
 of agony. Gradually he became calmer, and then 
 
64 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 he said: ''I am going to tell you something; it is 
 my duty." 
 
 ''Yes, sir, I am listening." 
 
 ''But are you strong enough to hear what I have 
 to say?" 
 
 "Does it take strength to hear?" 
 
 "In your case — yes." 
 
 "Then I am strong." She moved closer and 
 stood resolutely before him, looking into his eyes. 
 
 "Florence, I know your character; I know that 
 your word is too sacred to break, but this is — is an 
 unparalleled case, and you must be put under oath." 
 
 "Judge, instead of administering an oath, you 
 ought to take medicine. Why, I never saw you 
 this way before." 
 
 She was about to turn away from him, but he 
 took her by the arm. "Look at me. You never 
 saw me this way before. No. In all my experience 
 I have never heard of a man being so situated. I 
 am a novelty of distress. And you must know what 
 my ailment is, but you must take an oath, a sacred 
 oath, not to speak of it to any human being." 
 
 "But if it is so awful, why should I know it? Tell 
 it to a physician." 
 
 "It is my duty to tell it to one human being, and 
 you are the one." 
 
SHE SAID THAT SHE WAS STRONG. 65 
 
 'Then I will take the oath." 
 
 ''Hold up your right hand." She obeyed him. 
 "You swear never to repeat what I tell you." 
 
 "Yes, I swear." 
 
 "By the memory of your mother?" 
 
 "Yes, by the memory of my mother." 
 
 "And you hope that the Eternal God may frown 
 upon you if you do not keep your oath ?" 
 
 "Judge, this is awful." 
 
 "Are you going to back out now? Are you 
 afraid?" 
 
 "I am not afraid. I hope that the Eternal God 
 may frown upon me if I do not keep my oath." 
 
 He took her hand, the hand held high, and said 
 to her, '*You will keep your oath. It was disagree- 
 able to take it, but the measure was necessary. And 
 now comes the agonizing part of my duty— and I 
 wish I had died before being compelled to dis- 
 charge it. Florence, you know that I love you." 
 
 "Yes, sir, I know it — could never have doubted 
 it. But why do you speak of it? What has it to 
 do with — " 
 
 "Wait. This shall be explained. You must not 
 marry my son." 
 
 She stepped back from him and from her clear 
 6 
 
66 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 eyes, always so sympathetic, there came a flash of 
 anger. "You are mad, Judge," she said. 
 
 "I grant it. He drove me mad — he sent me to 
 hell." 
 
 "And you would drag me there." 
 
 "I would save you. It is a duty I owe to the 
 memory of your father and to my own love for you. 
 Yes, it is my duty." 
 
 "And it is my duty," she said, with now the Hght 
 of sympathy in her eyes, "to send for a doctor." 
 
 "Wait. You have not heard. Remember you 
 have sworn." 
 
 "Yes, and I will keep my oath. No, I have not 
 heard. You have told me nothing. You have 
 simply been mad enough to say that we must not 
 marry." The sympathy had gone from her eyes. 
 "You must know that Howard and I have 
 all our lives Hved for each other. I owe 
 you nearly everything, I would make al- 
 most any sacrifice for you, but when you 
 even intimate — but I will not reproach you," 
 she said, softening again. "You have not told me 
 why," she added, looking into his eyes. 
 
 "My child, it would break your heart." 
 
 She straightened and put her hand upon her 
 bosom. "I offer my heart. Break it." 
 
SHE SAID THAT SHE WAS STRONG. 67 
 
 "Florence, my son Howard is a thief." 
 
 She snatched her hand from her bosom and 
 raised it as if to strike him, but one look of agony 
 from his eyes, and her hand fell. "]udgQ, how can 
 you say such a thing ? Something has tripped your 
 mind, but how could it fall so low?" 
 
 ''My mind has not been tripped. It is as firm as a 
 rock. And you cannot doubt my word. Last 
 night I saw him steaHng money from the safe, as 
 if I had not always supplied all his wants, and at 
 an alarm which I had fixed, little dreaming who 
 the thief might be, he ran away — a thief. You 
 cannot doubt my word." 
 
 Stern of countenance and with her eyes piercing 
 him, regal as the barbaric queens we find in an- 
 cient fiction, she stood, and the moment of her 
 silence seemed an age to him. "I pity your word 
 and I doubt your eyes." 
 
 "You may pretend to, but you cannot in your 
 heart. You must believe me when I say that I saw 
 him." 
 
 "You saw a vision. Your eyes have lied to you." 
 
 "I saw no vision. My eyes told a heart-breaking 
 truth. Florence, would you marry a thief?" 
 
 "Sir, I would marry Howard if I knew that he 
 had stolen a hammer to nail a god to the cross." 
 
68 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 The old man wheeled away from her with a cry. 
 "Oh, crumbled hope — " 
 
 Mrs. Elbridge swept into the room, gazing at 
 the Judge. "Why, what is the matter?" 
 
 The old man gripped himself together. "Why, I 
 — I have just received a dispatch, telling me — tell- 
 ing me that my brother Henry is dead. Don't tell 
 William — brother Henry is dead." 
 
 Mrs. Elbridge went to him and put her arm about 
 him. "And you loved him so," she said. "Poor, 
 dear man, but we must bow to it, and pray for 
 consolation. Don't — don't grieve so, dear. Where 
 is the message?" 
 
 The old man looked at Florence. "It distressed 
 him so that I tore it to pieces and threw it away," 
 she said. 
 
 The Judge gave her a grateful look. "I thank 
 you," he muttered. 
 
THE WEXTOX CLUB. 69 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE WEXTON CLUB. 
 
 When Goyle and Bodney left the house they went 
 to a place known as the Wexton Club. This in- 
 stitution was not incorporated under the laws of 
 the state, but its afifairs were conducted under a law, 
 the law that governs the game of poker. The pub- 
 lic dinner pail gaming house, the pickpocket of the 
 laborer, had been closed ; the grave-countenanced 
 faro dealer and the sad-eyed man who turned the 
 roulette wheel ; the hoarse-voiced "hazard" operator, 
 and the nimble and enterprising thief of the "stud 
 poker" game, now thrown out of visible employ- 
 ment, stood at the mouth of the alley waiting for 
 "good times" to return. "Bucket-shops" broke 
 out in new places, once in a while, and there was 
 the occasional raid of a poolroom, but it was agreed 
 that public gambling was a thing of the rough and 
 disgraceful past. But the poker clubs ! They were 
 not traps set for the man in overalls. His pennies 
 and dimes were not solicited. Of course, if he 
 
70 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 saved up capital to the amount of five dollars, and 
 came with a reasonable appearance of respectability, 
 he could get into the game, but he was not wanted. 
 The board of trade men, the race horse man, the 
 merchant, doctor, lawyer, and particularly the fool 
 with money, furnished the life blood of the enter- 
 prise. Shrewd gamblers risked their money and 
 pronounced the game "straight." And it was 
 ''straight." The "house" could not afford to permit 
 any "crooked" work. Its success, the "rake off," 
 depended upon its own fairness to everyone play- 
 ing in the game. But the "sucker" does not need 
 to be cheated to lose. His own impulses will sooner 
 or later rob him of all the money he can borrow, 
 beg or steal. The man who plays for recreation 
 wants it, not after a long season of waiting for a 
 good hand, but at once ; and putting in his money 
 he draws to "short" pairs or to every four straight 
 or four flush. He may have an encouraging spurt ; 
 he may make a hardened player wince and swear 
 under his breath or even above it, but in the end, 
 and it comes on apace, he shoves it back, broke, and 
 the old-timer rakes in the money. Within recent 
 years several fine young fellows of good standing 
 and of bright prospects have looked for diversion in 
 poker and have found state's prison. The road to 
 the penitentiary is paved with four flushes. 
 
THE WEXTON CLUB. 71 
 
 At the Wexton, Goyle had introduced Bodney as 
 his friend, ]\Ir. Ramage, and out of that famiharity 
 which comes of constantly gazing into a man's 
 countenance, in the effort to determine what he 
 holds in his hand, they shortened his name to Ram. 
 The young lawyer had played with friends, and had 
 won, not because his friends were kind to him, but 
 because they were as experimental in drawing cards 
 as himself, and because they were possessed of 
 equally as much curiosity. The "gentleman's game" 
 is a trap door, and it is easy enough to fall from 
 ''Billy" and "George" and "Tom," down into a hell 
 on earth. This is not a tirade against gambling, 
 for the horrors of that vice have engaged the ablest 
 of pens, but to give life in poker clubs as it really 
 exists, the attractive with the distressful. Indeed, 
 the distress is not seen in the club. The victim gets 
 up with a jocular remark, and silently goes out, 
 wishing that he were dead, and resolving deep 
 within his disconsolate heart that he will never enter 
 the place again. Then his heart lightens. He is 
 saved. He has lost money that he could not afiford 
 to lose, the very bread of his family ; but he will do 
 so no more. He has strength of purpose, an object 
 in life, a position to maintain. He is now grateful to 
 himself for his own strength of will. The next 
 
72 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 morning he goes dull and heavy to his business. 
 He shudders as he enumerates the amount of money 
 that he has lost within the past few weeks ; counts 
 it all up, and then, with a sickening pang, recurs 
 a forgotten sum, borrowed from a friend and not 
 yet returned, though he had promised to ''hand" it 
 back the next day. The details of his business are 
 wearisome. At noon he goes out. At the ''Club" 
 they serve a meal, better than he can get at a res- 
 taurant. He will go there, but not to play. He 
 plays, to get even — will try it once more; and at 
 evening he sends a message to his wife — "detained 
 on important business." He has several checks, 
 and one by one they melt away in the pot. He is 
 broke. He wants more chips. He has money in 
 the bank, he declares; but the man at the desk is 
 sorry to inform him that it is a rule of the "house" 
 not to take personal checks. He is angry, of course. 
 He wants to know why a check which he offered 
 earlier in the evening was accepted, and is told 
 that the other check was different, that it was signed 
 by a name better known than his. Then he tries to 
 borrow from the men who have won his money; 
 he knows them well, for he has played with them 
 day after day. They have laughed at his jokes, 
 when with the fool's luck he has drawn to "short" 
 
THE WEXTON CLUB. 73 
 
 pairs and won. They have no money to lend — 
 would really like to accommodate him, but have 
 obligations to meet. And so he goes heavily down 
 the stairs again, with murder in his heart. But his 
 heart lightens after a time. He will never, so help 
 him God, play again. But he does. Ah, it is less 
 bad to be bitten by a mad dog. 
 
 Goyle was but an indifferent player. He well 
 knew the value of a hand, but was too impatient to 
 wait. But no despair fell upon him when he lost. 
 He did not look forward to a time when circum- 
 stances or the force of his own resolution might 
 set him beyond the temptations of the game, but 
 to the time when luck might give him enough 
 money to put him in the game. Bodney, however, 
 was bound soul and body. He could hardly think of 
 anything else. Dozing to sleep he saw aces and 
 kings ; asleep, he drew to flushes and straights. In 
 his sleep he might win, but only in his sleep. His 
 soul seemed to have been created for this one 
 debasing passion. It was his first, for though im- 
 pressionable, no enthusiasm had ever mastered him, 
 and love had never set his heart aflame. But now 
 he was an embodiment of raging poker, not for 
 gain, but for the thrill, the drunkenness of play- 
 ing. His bank account, never large, was gone. For 
 
74 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 himself and for Goyle he had taken small sums of 
 money from the Judge's safe, and had lived in the 
 terror of being confronted with the theft. And he 
 actually believed that had the old man accused 
 him or even strongly suspected him he would have 
 killed himself. Suspicion was now averted, but at 
 the cost of what infamy ! He could face Howard ; 
 he could endure with a show of self-control the 
 agonized countenance of the old man ; but remorse 
 gnawed him like a rat. It was not to be supposed 
 that Florence would be enlightened as to the cool- 
 ness which, of necessity, must fall between Howard 
 and the Judge, but it could not be otherwise than a 
 grief to her. He could look forward and see the 
 wonder in her eyes, and then the sorrow that must 
 come to her. It is one of the misfortunes of a 
 weak man to have a strong conscience, a con- 
 science with not enough of forecast to prevent a 
 crime, but one which agonizes when a crime has 
 been committed. His only solace was to play. 
 Then his mind was chained to the game, the deal- 
 ing of the cards, the scanning of his hand, to the 
 thrill of winning, the dull oppression of losing. 
 Upon entering the club he had been surprised to 
 see so many old and venerable looking men sitting 
 about the tables. One had been a prominent law- 
 
THE WEXTON CLUB. 75 
 
 yer ; another, a doctor, had turned from a fine prac- 
 tice to waste his substance and the remainder of his 
 days. There was good humor, an occasional story 
 of brightness and color, but upon the whole the 
 place was sad, everyone seeming to recognize that 
 he was a hopeless slave The scholar turned poker- 
 player, thinks and talks poker. He forgets his 
 grammer, and puts everything in the present tense. 
 "How did you come out last night ?" someone asks, 
 and he answers, "I lose." Many of those men 
 would not have gone to a ''regular" gaming house ; 
 they would not have played faro or roulette, but 
 the blight of poker fell upon them, to Vv^eaken them 
 morally, to make them liars. Sometimes an old 
 fellow, getting up broke, would turn moralist. One 
 said to Bodney: 'The chips you see on the table 
 don't belong to anyone. You may go so far as to 
 cash them and put the money into your pocket, but 
 it isn't yours. You may spend it, but you will bor- 
 row or steal to make it good to the game." Among 
 those daily associates engaged in the enterprise of 
 ''wolfing" one another there was a fine shade of 
 courtesy. No one can be politer or more genial 
 than a winner, and a loser is expected to shove over 
 the pot which he has just lost, in case the winner 
 cannot reach it. In return for this the loser is per- 
 
76 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 mitted to swear at his victor, but etiquette demands 
 that it shall be done in a mumble, as if he were 
 talking to himself. The winner can stand a great 
 deal of abuse. Jn the game there were usually two 
 or more players put in by the "house," cool fel- 
 lows, educated to know the value of a hand or the 
 advantage of a position. They were the "regulars," 
 the others the militia. The dash and the fire of the 
 militiaman sometimes overrode the regular, but 
 there was no question as to the ultimate result. 
 The regular knew when to put down a bad hand ; 
 he could be "bluffed" by the militiaman. But he 
 could afford to wait ; he was paid to sit there ; it 
 was his business. Bodney, however, could not wait. 
 With him, impulsive hope was leaping from deal to 
 deal, from card to card, from spot to spot. 
 
 When Goyle and Bodney arrived the members 
 of this family of interchangeable robbery were 
 ranged at a long table in the dining room, eating 
 in hurried silence or talking about the game. Oc- 
 casionally someone would venture an opinion of a 
 race horse or a prize fighter, but for the most part 
 the meal was solemn and dull. Laughter was not 
 unknown, but it was short, like a bark. This does 
 not mean that there w^as a want of fellowship in the 
 club, but eating was looked upon as a necessary in- 
 terruption. 
 
THE WEXTON CLUB. 77 
 
 ''You are just in time," said the proprietor of the 
 house, not a bad fellow, a business man, accom- 
 modating as far as he could be, yielding sometimes 
 to the almost tearful importunity of a fool to the 
 extent of lending him money never to be returned. 
 "Sit down. Fine weather we're having." 
 
 "A champagne "day," said Goyle, sitting down 
 and spreading a napkin across his knees. "How's 
 the game going?'' 
 
 *'0h, fairly well. We've got a good run of cus- 
 tomers. They know that they are perfectly safe 
 here." 
 
 "What's become of that fellow they called Shad ?" 
 asked a man at the end of the table. 
 
 *'0h, that fellow from Kansas City? He's gone. 
 I didn't want him. I think he'd snatch a card." 
 
 Bodney was silent. He could hear the rat gnaw- 
 ing at his conscience, and he yearned for the moral 
 oblivion of the game. Leaving Goyle at the table, 
 he arose, and walked up and down, then went into 
 the room where the game was forming. He had but 
 fifteen dollars, but with this amount he felt that he 
 could win. He bought ten dollars worth of chips, 
 musing upon the fact that he had a reserve fund of 
 five dollars. The game was all jackpots, twenty-five 
 cent ante, and three dollar limit, except when the 
 
78 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 pot was doubled, and then the Hmit was five dollars. 
 While a man at his side was shuffling a deck of new 
 cards, Bodney began to meditate upon the policy 
 which he intended to pursue. He would not draw 
 to a flush or straight except when there were several 
 "stayers," for then the percentage would warrant 
 the risk. He would not draw to a pair below kings, 
 nor open on jacks next to the dealer. If the pot 
 were opened and came around to him, even with- 
 out a raise, he would not stay on a pair of queens. 
 If he opened on one pair and was raised, he would 
 lie down. He would not stand a raise under kings 
 up. Goyle came in, bought twenty dollars worth 
 of chips, and took a seat on the opposite side of the 
 table; and the game proceeded, with seven play- 
 ers. Bodney opened on a pair of kings. All passed 
 around to Goyle. He looked at his hand a moment, 
 and said: "Only one in? Well, I've got to stay. 
 Give me that one," he said to the dealer, meaning 
 that he wanted one card. "Got two little pairs here, 
 and I won't raise you unless I help." Bodney drew 
 three cards and did not help his kings. He bet a 
 white chip. "Now I'll go down and look," said 
 Goyle. "Bet you three dollars," he added. Bodney 
 was smoking. He pufifed at his cigar. "I don't 
 know about that," he said. "What do you want to 
 raise me for ?" 
 
THE WEXTON CLUB. 79 
 
 "Got to play my hand, haven't I?" Goyle repHed. 
 
 Bodney put his cigar on the table and thought. 
 "Well, you've got 'em or you haven't. I'll call you." 
 He threw in three blue chips, and Goyle spread a 
 Hush. 'Thought you said you had two little pairs," 
 said Bodney, as Goyle raked in the pot. 
 
 ''I hadn't looked at my hand very close." 
 
 *'You knew what you had all the time. Stayed 
 on a four flush with only one man in. Of course 
 you can always make it against me." 
 
 The deal went round and round, and occasionally 
 Bodney won a pot, once a large one, and now as he 
 stacked up his chips he felt at peace with the world. 
 He laughed and joked with a man whom he had 
 never met before ; he did not see how he could lose. 
 He threw ofif the rigor of his resolution, and drew to 
 a pair of sixes, caught the third, raised the opener 
 three dollars, and won the pot against aces up. 
 Then his senses floated in a limpid pool of delight. 
 Goyle opened a pot. Bodney raised him, having 
 kings up. "I've got to stay," said Goyle. "Give me 
 one card." Godney drew one and made a king full. 
 His heart leaped with joy. "What do you do?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Bet three dollars," said Goyle, putting in the 
 
80 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 chips, and Bodney was almost smothered in exul- 
 tation. 
 
 "I raise you three." 
 
 ''Raise you three," said Goyle. 
 
 "Are you as strong as that?" Bodney remarked, 
 striving to hide the delight that was shooting 
 through him. "Well, I'll have to raise you three." 
 
 Goyle began to study. "Well, if you can beat a 
 jack full, take the money." He put in his three 
 dollars. "King full," said Bodney, and Goyle threw 
 down his cards with an oath. "Of course you 
 couldn't make that against anybody but me. It's 
 what a man gets for not playing his hand before the 
 draw. I ought to have raised you back. Had three 
 jacks all the time. But I didn't want to beat you." 
 
 "Looked like it when you made that flush." 
 
 "That's ancient history." 
 
 Bodney did not reply. He was behind a bulwark 
 of chips, and his heart beat high. He began to tell 
 a story. The winners were interested ; the losers did 
 not hear it. In the midst of the story, just below 
 the climax, he had a hand beaten for six dollars, and 
 the story, thus broken, fell into silence. 
 
 "What was that story you were going to tell?" 
 
 "It didn't amount to anything," said Bodney, but 
 not long afterward he won a ten dollar pot, found 
 
THE WEXTON CLUB. 81 
 
 the fragments of the story, lying at the bottom of 
 silence, and gave them voice. The winners laughed ; 
 the losers did not hear it. 
 
 A minute legitimately employed may seem an 
 hour; an hour at a poker table may be but a 
 
 minute. 
 
 Someone asked the time. Bodney looked at his 
 watch, and said that it was five o'clock. He was 
 nearly seventy dollars ahead, with the reserve fund 
 still in his pocket, and was resolved to quit very 
 soon. Just then Goyle emerged from a contest, 
 broke. "Let me take ten," said he. Bodney hesi- 
 tated a moment. ''Say, I've got to pay for—" 
 
 ''Oh, I'll give it to you tomorrow. Let me take 
 
 ten." 
 
 He passed over the chips, but with a feeling of 
 depression. "I may be broke pretty soon," said he. 
 "And I can't let you have any more." 
 
 "Broke pretty soon ! Why, you're even on your 
 whole life. You got all my money." 
 
 "I haven't won as much from you as you have 
 
 from nae." 
 
 'That's all right. My day may come." 
 Bodney Vv^as determined to play no longer than 
 dinner time. Then he would cash in. Goyle's stack 
 grew to the am.ount of thirty dollars. Bodney was 
 
82 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 glad to see it grow; ten dollars of it belonged to 
 him. He did not care for ten dollars ; he had loaned 
 Goyle ten times ten, and did not expect to recover 
 the sum, but chips were different, and especially 
 now that they fed his passion and dulled his con- 
 science. Goyle got up. ''Let me have that ten till 
 tomorrow," said he, and Bodney did not say any- 
 thing, but his spirits felt a sudden weight. He was 
 pleased, however, when Goyle went out, for there 
 were to be no more raids upon his stack. Dinner 
 was announced. He motioned to an attendant upon 
 the game, and his chips were taken over to the desk. 
 "Going to quit us?" a man asked. 
 "Yes. This is the first time I've won," he added, 
 by way of apology. 
 
 "Have dinner before you go," said the proprietor, 
 coming forward. 
 
 "I don't know that I've got the time." 
 "Just as well. You've got to eat anyway." 
 He went out to dinner, and was permitted to be 
 vivacious. An old fellow, sitting on his right, re- 
 marked: "I'm glad to see you win." Others said 
 that they were glad to see him win. It was surely a 
 very genial company. 
 
WENT OUT TO "DIG." 
 
 83 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WENT OUT TO "dIG." 
 
 After dinner, when the game was reorganized, 
 Bodney looked on for a few moments, still alive 
 to the keen pleasure of winning ; and just as he was 
 atout to go out, a thought struck him. What was 
 the use of quitting now that he had luck ? He had 
 waited for it a long time, and now that it had ar- 
 rived he was going to throw it away. He might just 
 as well win a hundred and seventy as seventy. He 
 could at least try ten dollars, and quit if he found 
 that fortune was against him. There was one vacant 
 seat and he took it. Ten dollars and not a cent 
 more. That would leave sixty to the good, 
 enough to play on for a long time. So he bought 
 ten dollars worth of chips and was again forgetful 
 of the Judge, of Howard, of Florence, of the world. 
 After a few hands he picked up a straight, seven 
 high. He raised the opener, who promptly raised 
 him in return, giving him the other barrel, as the 
 saying went. Bodney raised again. He was to get 
 
84 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 action on all the money in front of him. The dealer 
 said ''cards," and the opener, tapping the table with 
 his cards, repHed, ''Help him." 
 
 "Don't you want any?" Bodney eagerly asked. 
 
 "Didn't hear me call for any, did you?" 
 
 "Well, I don't want any either," said Bodney, in 
 faltering tones. A seven high straight looked weak 
 against a pat hand. 
 
 "Turn 'em over, boys," said the man in the look- 
 out chair. 
 
 Bodney tremulously spread his hand. "Only 
 seven high." 
 
 "Just top you. Mine's eight high. You had me 
 scared, and if you'd have more money and bet me 
 after the draw I don't think I call." 
 
 That might have been true, but it offered no con- 
 solation to Bodney. "Just my luck," he said. 
 
 "When a man gets them sort of hands beaten 
 he's got to lose his money," said the "look-out." 
 "There's nothing to it." A man standing near was 
 waiting for Bodney's seat. He shoved back and 
 was about to get up, pursuant upon the resolution 
 which he had formed when, it occurred to him, as 
 it always does, that with ten more he could win back 
 the ten just lost. It was simply an accident that the 
 fellow held over him. He would try ten more. His 
 
WENT OUT TO "DIG." 85 
 
 luck was gone, but he expected every moment to 
 see it return. He opened a pot on aces and tens. 
 A fool stayed on deuces, caught his third, and 
 slaughtered him. He bought ten more. His spirits 
 were heavy and he sighed distressfully. It was 
 not the loss of the money ; it was the harassing 
 sense of being beaten. He opened another pot on 
 queens up. One of the regulars raised him. He 
 began to reason. "He would raise it on two pairs 
 smaller than queens up. I saw him raise just now 
 on sevens up. I'll stand it." He put in his money 
 and drew one card. The regular drew one. The 
 prospect was not bright, still it was not so bad. He 
 did not help. He bet a white chip ; the regular 
 raised him three dollars and he called. Then the 
 regular had recourse to a joke, new to Bodney, but 
 old to the game. "I have the waiter's deHght," 
 said he. 
 
 "The what?" 
 
 "The waiter's delight," and he spread a tray full. 
 
 At ten o'clock, Bodney's capital, including the 
 reserve fund, amounted to twenty dollars. "You 
 beat me every time," he said, to an offensive fellow 
 who sat opposite. It was the stranger with whom 
 he had laughed early in the game. 
 
 "That's what I'm here for." 
 
86 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 'That's all right. I'll get you yet." 
 
 He won several pots, and then opened a double 
 pot for five dollars. He had a king high flush, and 
 he intended the heavy opening to operate as a re- 
 verse bluff, to argue a small hand. The offensive 
 fellow stayed and drew one card. He made a small 
 full and Bodney felt his heart stop beating. At 
 eleven o'clock he had simply the five dollar reserve 
 fund. And he saw it melt away — saw his last chip go 
 in. He drew, having a show for the pot, and made 
 jacks up. The opener had queens up. Heavy of 
 heart, Bodney went down the stairs. He cursed 
 himself for playing after dinner. "If I only had 
 ten dollars I might win it all back," he mused. 
 "They can't possibly beat me all the time. I played 
 as good cards as anybody. I wonder where I can 
 get ten dollars. Everybody that knows me has 
 gone home by now. Let me see. I know a fellow 
 over at that drug store. But I've forgotten his 
 name. Wonder if he'd let me have ten. I'll try 
 him." He went into the drug store, saw the man 
 standing behind the counter, walked up, reached 
 over and shook hands with him. 
 
 "How's everything?" Bodney asked. 
 
 "Oh, pretty fair. How is it with you?'* 
 
 "All right. Say, old man, a college chum of mine, 
 

 " How's everything?" Bodney asked. 
 
WENT OUT TO "DIG." 87 
 
 devilish good fellow, came in just now on a train 
 and happened to catch me at the office — " 
 "Yes?" said the druggist, looking at him. 
 "Yes, and the fact is, he got here broke and has 
 called on me to help him out. He's a devilish good 
 fellow, and I don't exactly know what to do. Every 
 one I know has gone home, and — could you let me 
 have ten till tomorrow ? You can count on it then." 
 "Oh, I guess so, but I'm rather short." 
 "I'll give it to you tomorrow without fail." 
 He went out with a ten dollar note crumpled 
 in his hand. A man may fail to get rent money, 
 clothes money, bread money ; he may meet with 
 obstacles that he cannot overcome ; his self-respect 
 withholds him from asking favors of certain men. 
 But the fool in hot quest of poker money knows no 
 self-respect, recognizes no embarrassments that 
 might stand in modesty's way. Bodney bounded up 
 the stairs, afraid that the game might have broken 
 up. Panting and tremulous, he pressed the electric 
 button. A negro porter pulled aside a blue curtain, 
 peeped through the glass and opened the door. The 
 game had not broken up. Every seat was taken, 
 the regulars, with chips stacked high before them, 
 the "suckers" squirming with "short money." How 
 dull and spiritless everything had looked when Bod- 
 
88 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 ney went out, and now how bright it all was, the 
 carpet, the window curtains, the pictures on the 
 walls. The room w^as large, affording ample space 
 for a meditative walk up and down, and as he was 
 too nervous to sit still, he walked. 
 
 "Think there'll be a seat pretty soon?" he asked 
 of the man at the desk. 
 
 "Very soon, I think. Sit down and make yourself 
 comfortable. Have a cigar." He lighted the cigar 
 and resumed his v/alk. Passing the table he saw a 
 man in the death throes of a "show-down." Some 
 one had opened a pot and he had been compelled to 
 stay. Bodney eagerly watched the draw. The 
 opener drew one card. The "show-down" man had 
 to draw four, presumably to an ace. This was en- 
 couraging to Bodney. He was the next in Hne ; he 
 would get the seat. He leaned forward to catch the 
 result. The opener had tens up. The four-card 
 draw yielded a better crop, aces up, and with a sense 
 of disappointment and injury Bodney resumed his 
 walk. But pretty soon a man cashed in, and the 
 young lawyer bought five dollars worth of chips, 
 and took his seat. He won the first pot, the second 
 and the third, but without stayers. Surely his luck 
 had returned. Again he felt a current of pleasure 
 flowing through his mind. He laughed at a stale 
 
WENT OUT TO "DIG." 89 
 
 joke. It had never sounded so well before. A man, 
 the offensive fellow, now quite a gentleman, began 
 to tell a story, and Bodney encouraged him with a 
 smile. *'I knev/ a man once, a preacher, by the 
 way," said he, "who got into the habit of playing 
 faro ; I guess he must have played before he began to 
 preach, and found that he couldn't quit. Some 
 fellow that was kin to him croaked, and left him a 
 lot of money. Then he knew he wouldn't play any 
 more. Well, one day he went by the bank where he 
 had his money, and pretty soon he says to himself : 
 'Believe I'll draw out just a small sum and try my 
 luck once more — just once.' Well, he kept drawing 
 on that money till it is all gone. Nothing to it, you 
 know. Then one night he gets down on his knees 
 and prays. 'Lord,' says he, 'if I ever play again I 
 hope you'll make me lose.' " 
 
 "Did he play again?" Bodney asked. 
 
 "Yes ; he keep right on." 
 
 "And did he lose?" 
 
 "No. He coppers his bets." 
 
 Bodney was immensely tickled at the idea of the 
 fellow "coppering" his bets to offset the influence 
 of the Deity, and he laughed uproariously, but just 
 then he lost a pot, and his mirth fell dead. And 
 after this every time he opened a pot someone 
 
90 . JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 would raise him. After a while he dragged out his 
 last five dollars and invested in chips. Then he 
 sank into the condition known as "sifting," anteing 
 and never getting a pair. Behind him stood a man 
 waiting for his seat. He saw his last chip melt 
 away and he got up, so heavy that he could hardly 
 stand. The fellow who had told the story, and to 
 whom Bodney had paid the tribute of most gen- 
 erous laughter, dealt the cards and skipped Bodney 
 without even looking at him. But Bodney looked 
 at him, and how offensive he was. ''I'd like to cut 
 his infamous throat," he mused. Down the stairs 
 again he went, heavier and more desperate than be- 
 fore. It was now past midnight. ''Now what?" he 
 said, halting on a corner and wiping his hot face. 
 "I don't know what to do, but I almost know I 
 could win out if I had ten more. But I don't know 
 where to get it. There's no use to look for Goyle. 
 I wonder if that fellow at the drug store would let 
 me have another ten. I'll go and see." He crossed 
 over, went into the drug store, and asked the 
 squirter of soda water if his friend was there. No, 
 he had gone home. 'Ts there anything I can do for 
 you?" 
 
 "Well, I don't know. By the way, you've seen 
 me in here a number of times, haven't you?" 
 
WENT OUT TO "DIG." 91 
 
 "Oh, yes. And I used to see you over at the 
 other place." 
 
 "Yes, I remember, now. And your name is — " 
 
 "Watkins." 
 
 "Yes, that's a fact. I remember you now. How 
 are you getting along, Watkins ?" 
 
 "All right." 
 
 "Yes, sir, I used to know you," said Bodney. 
 "And I guess you are about the best in your line." 
 
 The man smiled. "Well, that's what they say." 
 
 "Yes, I've heard a good many people say it. 
 Well, you understand your business. Say, can you 
 do me a favor? I need ten dollars till tomorrow 
 morning, and if you'll let me have it, I'll — " 
 
 The man shut him off with the shake of the head. 
 "I haven't got ten cents," he said. 
 
 Bodney stepped out. "Come in again," the fel- 
 low called after him. He did not reply, except in a 
 mumble, to hurl imprecations back over his shoulder 
 at the soda-water man. "He's a liar, and I'll bet 
 he's a thief. Now what?" he added, halting on the 
 corner. He looked up and down the street, and 
 scanned the faces of the passers-by, hoping to recog- 
 nize an acquaintance. Presently a man rushed up 
 and with a "helloa, old fellow," grasped him by the 
 hand. Bodney gripped him ; he did not recall his 
 
92 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 name, but he held him close. "I haven't seen you 
 for some time," said Bodney. 
 
 "No, not since we were out on Lake Geneva, 
 fishing; for cisco." 
 
 'That's a fact. Say, everybody has closed up, 
 and I need ten dollars till tomorrow morning. Can 
 you—" 
 
 "I was just going to ask you ior five," said the 
 Cisco fisherman. ''I went over here at three sixty- 
 one, and got into a little game of poker and got 
 busted. Ever over there? Now, there's a good 
 game, only two dollars limit, but it's liberal. There 
 ain't a tight wad in the house. Come up some 
 time." 
 
 Bodney got on a car to go home. He had just 
 five cents. The talking of two women and the 
 frolicking of a party of young fellows annoyed him. 
 And then arose before him the sorrowful face of 
 his sister. The rat had come back with his teeth 
 sharpened, and he felt his heart bleeding. He fan- 
 cied that he could hear the dripping of the blood. 
 Then came upon him the resolve never to play an- 
 other game of poker. It was a sure road to ruin, 
 to despair. He would confess to Howard and the 
 Judge. The car stopped and Bradley, the preacher, 
 got on, sitting down opposite Bodney, who, upon 
 
WENT OUT TO "DIG." 93 
 
 recognizing him, arose and warmly shook his 
 hand. "I am dehghted to see you, Mr. Bradley. 
 You are out thus late for the good of humanity, I 
 suppose, or rather I know." 
 
 *'I can only hope so," repHed the preacher. 
 
 ''Some sort of meeting of preachers for the ad- 
 vancement of morals, Mr. Bradley?" 
 
 "No, a dinner.- 
 
 "Well, a good dinner contributes to good 
 morals." 
 
 "If not over-indulged in." 
 
 "Yes, if there is a virtuous lack of wine, such as 
 must have been the case tonight." He continued to 
 stand, holding a strap, and meditating upon future 
 procedure, for there was a purpose in the cordiality 
 with which he had greeted the minister, a purpose 
 now fully developed. "By the way, I must come 
 down again tonight — am going home to get some 
 money. Late this evening I received a note, tell- 
 ing me that a friend of mine, a divinity student, was 
 exceedingly ill. I hastened to the number given 
 and found him in a poverty-stricken room, lying 
 upon a wretched bed, without a nurse, almost de- 
 lirious with suffering. I knew that he was poor, 
 that he had bent his energies to study to the neglect 
 of material things, but I had not expected to find 
 
94 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 him in so deplorable a condition. So I am now on 
 my way home to get ten dollars. I went to several 
 places, hoping that I could borrow, but failed to 
 find any one whom I knew well enough to ask for 
 a loan, even for so short a time as tomorrow. But 
 perhaps you could let me have it." 
 
 **Why, I'll go with you — at once. What is the 
 young man's name?" 
 
 'Tatterson. But he's so peculiar that he might 
 not like to see a stranger. He begged me not to 
 say anything about his condition." 
 
 Bradley gave him ten dollars, and he did not wait 
 to reach the next street crossing, but jumped oflf 
 the car, sprang upon a cable train going north, and 
 was soon climbing the stairs leading to the Wexton 
 Club. The same negro admitted him, and again he 
 was afraid that the game might have dissolved, 
 merely to cheat him of victorious reprisal, but it 
 was still in progress, with one vacant seat. This 
 time he invested his entire amount. The feeling of 
 security, inspired by a reserve fund, favored an over- 
 confidence, he fancied; it was better to know that 
 there was nothing in reserve ; it enforced caution. 
 He played with varying luck till about twelve 
 o'clock, till a regular smote him, hip and thigh; 
 and then, like the captain, in the version of the poem, 
 not recited to ladies, he staggered down the stairs. 
 
SAW THE BLACK FACE. 95 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 SAW THE BLACK FACE, GRIM, WITHOUT A SMILE. 
 
 It was nearly daylight when Bodney reached 
 home. As he stood on the steps, after unlocking 
 the door, he looked toward the east and said aloud : 
 "The sun will soon draw to his flush. But he al- 
 ways makes it. God, what a night I've had. It is 
 the last one, for here at the threshold of a new day 
 I swear that I will never touch another card. And 
 Goyle — I'll have nothing more to do with him." 
 He went in, still repeating his vow, and as he passed 
 the door of the office, was surprised to see a light 
 within ; and halting, he heard footsteps slowly pac- 
 ing up and down. He stepped in and stood face to 
 face with the Judge. 
 
 "Why, Judge, are you up so soon, or haven't you 
 gone to bed?" 
 
 "I haven't been to bed. And you?" 
 
 "I have been sitting up with a sick friend. Don't 
 you think you'd better lie down now?" 
 
 "No, I think nothing of the sort. It is better to 
 
96 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 stand in hell, sir, than to wallow in it." Bodney 
 sat Sown and the old man stood facing him. "But 
 I can hardly realize that it was not a nightmare, 
 George. Go over it with me ; tell me about it. How 
 did it happen?" 
 
 "Why, we simply came in here together and 
 found — him. That's all." 
 
 "Yes, that's all, but it is enough." 
 
 "Was there very much money involved?" Bod- 
 ney asked, not knowing what else to say. 
 
 "Money ! I haven't once thought of the amount. 
 It is the fact that I have been shot with an arrow 
 taken from my own quiver, and poisoned. And yet, 
 when I look at him, as I did today at dinner, I can 
 hardly bring myself to believe my own eyes." 
 
 "You haven't — haven't said anything to him, 
 have you ?" 
 
 "In the way of accusation? No. It would leap 
 from him to his mother. And I charge you to 
 breathe it to no one." 
 
 "Not even my sister, who is to be his wife?" 
 
 "No. I will take her case in hand." 
 
 "But will you permit them to marry?" 
 
 "Not in a house of God ; not in the presence of a 
 guest. If she is determined to marry him against my 
 protest, it must be in secret, as his deed was." 
 
SAW THE 3LACK FACE. 97 
 
 "I hope, sir, that everything may— may come out 
 right." 
 
 ''What do you mean by that ?" 
 
 "Why, I hope that you may forgive him. I don't 
 think that he's dishonest at heart." 
 
 "Then you are a fool." 
 
 "I admit that, Judge. I am a fool, an infamous 
 fool." 
 
 "But you are not a scoundrel, not a thief." 
 
 "I might be worse." 
 
 "Enough of that. You are trying to debase 
 yourself to raise him. Don't do it. You can't afford 
 it. You have an honest living to make, and through 
 you I must now look to the future." He turned 
 away, and for a time walked up and down in silence ; 
 then, coming back, resumed his place in front of 
 Bodney. "It all comes from my over-confidence in 
 modern civilization. I did not presume to instruct 
 or even advise him as to a course of reading, per- 
 mitting him to exercise his own fancy ; and it led 
 him to that running sore on the face of the earth 
 — Paris. He read French books, the germs thrown 
 off by diseased minds. He lived in a literary pest 
 house, and how could he come out clean? He was 
 prepared for any enormity against nature, and why 
 then should he have drawn the line between me 
 
98 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 and any of his desires ?" He turned away, walking 
 up and down, sometimes rubbing his hands to- 
 gether, as if washing them, then putting them be- 
 hind him ; halting at the desk to gaze down at some- 
 thing ; going once to the safe and putting his hand 
 upon it, but snatching it away as if the iron were 
 hot. Bodney followed him about with his eyes, 
 seeing him through cards, hearts and spades. His 
 mind flew back to the game, and he could see the 
 players sitting just as he had left them, the offensive 
 fellow and the regular, behind a redoubt of chips. 
 Only ten dollars more would have saved him; he 
 had fancied so before, but now it was not fancy but 
 almost a perfect knowledge. Why had he not asked 
 the preacher for twenty instead of ten? 
 
 "But it is so strange," said the old man, sitting 
 down with one arm straight out upon the green 
 baize table; and the wretch with his mind on the 
 game thought that it would be but an ungainly 
 position for a player to take ; he ought to sit facing 
 the table with his hands in front of him. ''Stranger 
 than truth," said the Judge, and Bodney looked at 
 him with a start. For a moment the game van- 
 ished and darkness fell upon the players, but soon 
 a blue curtain was pulled aside, a black face, grim, 
 without a smile, showed glistering behind the glass, 
 
SAW THE BLACK FACE. 99 
 
 the door was opened, and there again were the 
 players in the Hght, the offensive fellow drawing 
 one card, the regular solemn and confident with 
 a hand that was pat. ''Stranger than the strangest 
 truth that I have ever encountered," the Judge went 
 on, turning his back to the table and looking over 
 Bodney's head at something on the wall. ''But I 
 brood too much." 
 
 "One card," said Bodney, in a thick muse. 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 The young man started. "Nothing." 
 
 "You said something about a card." 
 
 "Yes, sir; it was sent in to me tonight while I 
 was with my sick friend — man wanted to see him 
 on business and insisted upon coming in, and it was 
 all I could do to put him off." 
 
 "Brood too much,'' the Judge repeated, after a 
 brief mterval of silence. "The mind mildews under 
 any one thing that lies upon it long. A continuous 
 joy might be as poisonous as a grief." He leaned 
 forward with his head in his hands, and talked in a 
 smothered voice. 
 
 "The sun is coming up," said Bodney. "Don't 
 you think you'd better lie down?" 
 
 "You go to bed. Don't mind me." 
 
 "Believe I will. I am worn out, and I don't see 
 how you can stand it as well as you do." 
 
100 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "In worry there is a certain sort of strength. Go 
 to bed." 
 
 Bodney got up and went to the door, but turned 
 and looked at the old man, bowed over with his 
 fingers pressed to his eyes. The coming of the sun 
 had driven the game further ofif into the night, and 
 now the wretch's heart smote him hard. He could 
 lift that gray head; into those dull eyes he could 
 throw the light of astonishment, but they would 
 shoot anger at him and drive him out of the house. 
 If he could only win enough to replace the money 
 taken from the safe, to give himself the standing of 
 true repentance, he would confess his crime. Win 
 enough! He could not conceive of getting it in 
 any other way ; all idea of business had been driven 
 from his mind. He had no mind, no reason ; what 
 had been his mind was now a disease on fire, half 
 in smoke and half in flame, but he felt that if he could 
 get even, the fire would go out and the smoke clear 
 away. The old fellow who turned moralist could 
 have told him that he had for more than half a life- 
 time struggled to get even, that the poker fool is 
 never even but twice, once before he plays and once 
 after he is dead. And the scholar who had forgotten 
 his grammar in the constant strain of the present 
 tense would have assured him that the hope to get 
 
SAW THE BLACK FACE. 101 
 
 even was a trap set by the devil to catch the imag- 
 inative mind. 
 
 The Judge groaned, and Bodney took a step to- 
 ward him, with his hands stretched forth as if he 
 would grasp him and shake him into a conscious- 
 ness of the truth, but the old man looked up and 
 the young man faltered. "T thought you were 
 going to bed, George." 
 
 *T am, sir." 
 
 "Then, why do you stand there looking at me?" 
 
 "I — I don't know," he stammered, in his embar- 
 rassment. 
 
 **Yes, you do know," said the Judge, giving him 
 a straight and steady look. "You know that you 
 are hanging about to plead the cause of your — your 
 friend ; but it is of no use. Friend ! I would to 
 God he had been my friend. Confess, now ; isn't 
 that the reason you are standing there?" 
 
 **You read my mind. Judge," said the wretch. 
 
 "Do I ? Then read mine and go to bed." 
 
 As Bodney turned toward the door, he met Wil- 
 liam coming in. The old fellow carried his coat 
 thrown across one arm and was trying to button 
 his shirt collar. It was his custom to begin dress- 
 ing at his bedside, grabbing up the first garment 
 within reach, and to complete his work in the office, 
 
102 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 the basement, or even the back yard. "Hold on 
 a minute," he said to Bodney. ''Button this 
 infernal collar for me." Bodney halted to obey. 
 "Can't you take hold of it? Is it as slick as all 
 that ? Do you think I wear an eel around my neck ? 
 Confound it, don't choke the life out of me. Get 
 away. I can do it better myself. Didn't I tell you 
 to quit ? Are you a bull-dog, that you have to hang 
 on that way?" 
 
 Bodney trod heavily to his room. The old fel- 
 low threw his coat on the table and began to walk 
 about, tugging at his collar. 
 
 "Do you think you can button it here better than 
 in your own room?" the Judge asked, straightening 
 up and looking at him. "Has this office been set 
 aside as a sort of dressing parade ground for you ?" 
 
 William was muttering and fuming. "I was 
 Judge Lynch out West, once, and was about to set 
 a horse-thief free, but just then I incidentally heard 
 that he had sold collars and I ordered him hanged. 
 Did you speak to me, John?" 
 
 "I asked you a question." 
 
 "I knew a Universalist preacher that changed his 
 religion on account of a collar — swore that its in- 
 ventor must necessarily go to the flames. What was 
 the question you asked me, John?" 
 
SAW THE BLACK FACE. 103 
 
 ''One that would have no more effect on you than 
 a drop of water on the back of a mole." 
 
 WilHam buttoned his collar, tied his cravat, took 
 a seat opposite his brother and looked hard at him. 
 ''John, I see that your temper hasn't improved. 
 And you have got up early to turn it loose on me. 
 Now, what have I done ? Hah, what have I done ?" 
 
 "I have never heard of your doing anything, Wil- 
 liam." 
 
 "That's intended as an insult. Oh, I understand 
 you. You never heard of my doing anything. You 
 haven't ? You never heard of my electing two gov- 
 ernors out West. You bat your eyes at the fact 
 that I sent a man to the United States Senate. Why, 
 at one time I owned the whole state of Montana, 
 and a man who had never done anything couldn't 
 — couldn't make that sort of showing." 
 
 "What did you do with the state ?" 
 
 "What did I do with it ? A nice question to ask a 
 man. W^hat did Adam do with the Garden of 
 Eden?" 
 
 "You were not driven out of Montana, were 
 you?" 
 
 "Driven out? W^ho said I was driven out?" 
 
 "But Adam was driven out of the garden." 
 
 "Oh, yes, of course. I merely spoke of the 
 
104 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 Garden of Eden for the reason that Adam's claim 
 on it was only sentimental, if I may call it such. I 
 mean that I owned the good opinion of every man 
 in the state. I could have had anything within the 
 gift of the commonwealth." 
 
 "Then, why didn't you go to the Senate, or elect 
 yourself governor? Why were you so thoughtless 
 a prodigal of your influence?" 
 
 "That's a nice question to ask a man. Why didn't 
 you buy an acre in this town that would have made 
 you worth millions? Why didn't I go to the 
 Senate? I had something else on my mind. Every 
 man is not ambitious to hold office. There's some- 
 thing higher than politics. I was educated for a 
 different sphere of action. I was, as you know, 
 educated for a preacher, but my faith slipped from 
 under me. But it is of no use to talk to you." 
 
 "Not much, William, I admit." 
 
 "But can't you tell me why this peculiar change 
 has come over you? It worries me, and you know 
 why." 
 
 The Judge made a gesture. "Don't — it's not that. 
 My mind is perfectly sound." 
 
 "Then, what's the trouble ?" 
 
 "I can't tell you." 
 
 "Am I ever to know?" 
 
 *T hope not." 
 
SAW THE BLACK FACE. 105 
 
 "I don't see why you should give me the keen 
 edge of your temper and not tell me the cause that 
 led you to whet it against me." 
 
 "I have not whetted it againct you — it has been 
 whetted on my heart. Go away, William, and leave 
 me to myself." 
 
 *'I would if you were yourself, but you are not. 
 There is something the matter with you." 
 
 ''1 grant that." 
 
 "And in it there is cause for alarm, both for you 
 and for myself." 
 
 "Now, please don't allude to that again. My 
 mind is perfectly sound, I tell you." 
 
 "And so one dear to us often declared." 
 
 The Judge got up. "I shall have to command 
 you to leave this room." 
 
 "Then, of course, I'll go. Here comes your v/ife. 
 Rachel, there is something radically wrong with 
 John, and I advise you to send for the best physi- 
 cian in this town." 
 
106 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HEARD A GONG IN THE ALLEY. 
 
 More than once during the night had Mrs. El- 
 bridge looked in upon her husband, to urge upon 
 him the necessity for rest. But he had told her 
 that he had on hand the most important case that 
 ever came to him, declared that the life of a man 
 depended upon his meditation ; a new point in law 
 was involved, and it would be a crime to sleep until 
 his work was done. The governor of the state 
 had submitted the question to him. And thus had 
 she been put off, having no cause to doubt him ; 
 but now she caught William's alarm. ''My dear," 
 said the Judge, when she approached him, "it seems 
 that both you and my brother are struggling hard 
 to misunderstand me. You know that I have never 
 deceived you — you know that I would tell you if 
 there were anything wrong. It is true that the 
 death of my brother Henry has shocked me great- 
 ly—" 
 
 "But why don't you tell William ? He ought to 
 know. And it is our duty to tell him." 
 
HEARD A GONG IN THE ALLEY. 107 
 
 The old man, looking toward the door, held up 
 his hand. '*No, he must not be told — nor must any- 
 one else. I have an object." 
 
 "But, my dear, I don't see — " 
 
 "I know you don't. And I cannot tell you — I 
 can — can merely hint. It is a question of life insur- 
 ance, and the company must not hear of his death 
 till certain points are settled. William, as you 
 know, while one of the best men in the world, has a 
 slippery tongue. And, besides, he is in no condition 
 now to hear bad news. It is a secret, but he is 
 having trouble with his heart — under treatment. 
 Let us wait till he is stronger." 
 
 "But, dear, is that a cause why you should frown 
 so at Howard, and treat him with such contempt?" 
 
 He walked away from her, but she followed him 
 and put her hand on his arm. They halted near 
 the safe and stood in silence, he looking at the 
 iron chest, she looking at him. The sound of a 
 peddler's gong came from the alley, and he sprang 
 back from the safe and dropped heavily down upon 
 a chair. Florence was heard talking to someone, 
 and Mrs. Elbridge called her, and at this the old 
 man brightened. Florence was his recourse, his 
 safeguard, and when she came in he greeted her 
 with something of his former heartiness. 
 
108 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 ''Florence, they are worried about me. Tell them 
 that they have no cause." 
 
 The young woman's face was bright with a smile, 
 but it was a light without warmth, a kindly light 
 intended to deceive, not the Judge, but his wife. 
 Mrs. Elbridge looked at her husband and was aston- 
 ished at the change in him. She could not under- 
 stand it, but she was not halting to investigate 
 causes. ''You are our physician, Florence," she 
 said. "But you must bring your patient under bet- 
 ter discipline. He didn't go to bed at all last night." 
 
 "Then I shall have to reprimand him. Sir, why 
 do you disobey my orders?" 
 
 The old man's attempt at a smile was but a poor 
 pretense, but it deceived the eye of affection. "Be- 
 cause, Doctor, I had a most important case on 
 hand; but it is about worked out now, and I will 
 in the future have more regard for your instruc- 
 tions." 
 
 They talked pleasantly for a time, and then Mrs. 
 Elbridge went out, leaving the Judge and Florence 
 in the office ; but no sooner was the wife gone than 
 the husband began to droop; and the light of the 
 forced smile faded from the countenance of the 
 young woman. She looked at the Judge and her 
 face was stern. "We are hypocrites for her," she 
 
HEARD A GONG IN THE ALLEY. 109 
 
 said, nodding toward the door through which Mrs. 
 Elbridge had just passed. 
 
 "Yes, to protect the tenderest nature I have ever 
 known. She could not stand such a trouble. It 
 would kill her." 
 
 "She would not beHeve your story." 
 
 "Yes, she would. UnHke you, she could not be 
 infatuated with the blindness of her own faith. She 
 loves her son, but she knows me — loves me. She 
 could not doubt my eyes. What," he said, getting 
 up with energy and standing in front of Florence, 
 "you are not debating with yourself whether or 
 not to tell her, are you? Can you, for one mo- 
 ment, forget your oath — an oath as solemn and as 
 binding as any oath ever taken? You, surely, are 
 not forgetting it." 
 
 "No, but I ought to. My heart cries for permis- 
 sion to tell Howard. His distress reproaches me." 
 
 ''But your oath." 
 
 "Oh, I shall not forget it, sir," she said, almost 
 savagely. "But, it was not generous of you — not 
 generous." 
 
 "What wasn't?" 
 
 "Swearing me to secrecy. You took advantage 
 of what you conceive to be my honor, my strength 
 of character; and you would have me break his 
 
110 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 heart by refusing to marry him. You have a far- 
 reaching cruelty." 
 
 "Florence — my daughter, you must not say that. 
 You know why I would keep you from marrying 
 him. Have I been a judge all these years, to find 
 that I am now incapable of pronouncing against 
 my own affections and my own flesh and blood ? I 
 am broader than that." 
 
 "You mean that you are narrower than that. It 
 is noble to shield those whom we love." 
 
 "No, it is selfish. You are a woman, and there- 
 fore cannot see justice as a man sees it." 
 
 "My eyes may not be clear enough to see jus- 
 tice, but they have never beheld a vision to — " 
 
 "Don't, Florence — now, please don't. You know 
 how I held him in my heart; you know that no 
 vision could have driven him out. But it is useless 
 to argue. I have knowledge and you have faith. 
 Knowledge is brightest when the eye is opened 
 wide ; faith is strongest when the eye is closed." 
 
 And thus she replied: "Ignorant faith may save 
 a soul ; knowledge alone might damn it." 
 
 "Very good and very orthodox, my child ; a say- 
 ing, though, may be orthodox, and yet but graze the 
 outer edge of truth." 
 
 "But if there be so little truth in things orthodox, 
 why should there be such obligation in an oath ?" 
 
HEARD A GONG IN THE ALLEY. Ill 
 
 ''Ah, you still have that in your mind. Look at 
 me. I hold you to that oath. Will you keep it ?" 
 
 "Yes, but if I did not believe that within a short 
 time something might occur to clear this mystery, 
 I would break it in a minute." 
 
 "And let your soul be damned ?" 
 
 "Now, you are orthodox. Yes, I would break it. 
 But I will wait, in the beUef that something must 
 occur." 
 
 "There is no way too tortuous for a faith to 
 travel," the old man murmured, but then he be- 
 thought himself that to encourage waiting was a 
 furtherance of this humane plan of protection, and 
 then he added: "Yes, wait; we never know, of 
 course. Something might occur. But make me a 
 promise, now in addition' to your oath — that if, 
 finally, when nothing does occur and you are re- 
 solved to break it, that you will first come to me." 
 
 "I will make that promise." 
 
 Agnes tripped in with a tune on her lips. The 
 Judge wondered why George Bodney had not fallen 
 in love with her. She was bright enough and pretty 
 enough to ensnare the heart of any man. But Bod- 
 ney was peculiar, and susceptibility to the blandish- 
 ments of a bewildering eye was not one of his traits ; 
 his nature held itself in reserve for a debasing weak- 
 
112 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 ness. Agnes asked Florence why everyone seemed 
 to drift unconsciously into that mouldy old office. 
 Florence did not know, but the Judge said that it 
 was attractive to women because it was their nature 
 to find interest in the machinery of man's afifairs. 
 Business was the means with which man had es- 
 tablished himself as woman's superior, and there 
 was always a mystery in the appliances of his work- 
 shop. 
 
 "What nonsense, Mr. Judge," said Agnes. "It is 
 because there is so much freedom in here. You 
 can't soil anything in here — never can in a place 
 where men stay." Howard passed the door, and 
 the Judge's face darkened. Florence looked at him 
 and her eyes were not soft. 
 
 "Now, what are you frowning at, Mr. Judge?" 
 said Agnes. "Do you mean that I haven't told the 
 truth?" 
 
 "You always tell the truth, Agnes." 
 
 "No, I don't. I told Mr. Bradley a fib— a small 
 one, though ; a little white mouse of a fib. But you 
 have to tell fibs to a preacher." 
 
 "It is the way of life. Fibs to a preacher and lies 
 to a judge," said the old man. 
 
 "Lies for a judge," Florence spoke up. 
 
 "What's the matter with everybody!" Agnes 
 
HEARD A GONG IX THE ALLEY. 113 
 
 cried, looking from one to another. "You people 
 talk in riddles to me. I'm not used to it. And, 
 Florence, you are getting to be so sober I don't 
 know what to do with you. You and the Judge are 
 just alike. What's the matter with everybody? 
 ^Ir. Howard mumbles about the house and ]Mr. 
 Bodney acts like a man with — with the jerks, what- 
 ever that is, for I don't know\ There, I'm glad 
 breakfast is ready. Come on, Mr. Judge." 
 
 8 
 
114 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 WILLIAM AGREED WITH THE JUDGE. 
 
 The Judge took his accustomed seat at the head 
 of the breakfast table, Howard on his right and 
 Bodney's vacant chair at his left ; but there was no 
 disposition on the part of the worry-haunted father 
 to enter into conversation with the son. Howard 
 was talkative ; his mind might have been termed 
 dyspeptic instead of digestive. The books, stories, 
 sketches, scraps that he read, ill-stored, appeared 
 as a patchwork in his talk. He spoke of a French 
 author, and Florence saw the Judge wince. She 
 was sitting beside Howard, and she pulled at his 
 coat sleeve as a warning to drop the disagreeable 
 name. He understood and changed the subject, 
 but the fire had been kindled. 
 
 *'It is no wonder that the French could not whip 
 the Germans," said the Judge, not addressing him- 
 self to Howard, but to the table. "It was the litera- 
 ture of France that weakened her armies. Morality 
 was destroyed, and without morality there can be 
 no enduring courage." 
 
WILLIAM AGREED WITH THE JUDGE. 115 
 
 "I think Victor Hugo is just lovely," said Agnes. 
 The Judge nodded assent. "A great genius— 
 and, by the way, he said that there were but three 
 men worthy to be estimated as memorable in all the 
 history of this life — Moses, Shakespeare and Homer. 
 He belonged to older and better France, at the dy- 
 ing end of her greatness. And you will observe that 
 he did not include a Frenchman in his list." 
 
 "But I warrant you," said Howard, ''that in his 
 secret mind he put himself at the head of it." 
 
 The Judge looked at him. "Warrants issued by 
 you, sir, are not always returnable accompanied by 
 the facts." 
 
 "No, I wouldn't issue a warrant for the arrest of 
 a fact. Truth ought to be at large." 
 
 Florence glanced at the Judge and saw him slowly 
 close his eyes and slowly open them. "You think 
 Hugo lovely," said the old man, speaking to Agnes. 
 "But what do you think of Zola?" 
 
 "I don't know anything about him. But some 
 of the girls said he was horrid," she answered. 
 
 "It is a good thing for you that you don't know 
 anything about him, and it reflects credit upon the 
 judgment of the girls who pronounced him horrid," 
 said the Judge. "His influence upon his own coun- 
 
116 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 try, and upon this country, too, has been most per- 
 nicious." 
 
 WilHam was usually most prompt at meal time, 
 but now he was for some unaccountable reason de- 
 layed ; but he came in just as the Judge closed his 
 remark concerning Zola, sat down and began to 
 tuck a napkin under his chin. The Judge had more 
 than once hinted his displeasure at this vulgarity, 
 but his brother continued to practice it, not without 
 heeding the hint, but with a defense of his custom. 
 He had elected governors, and was not to be ruled 
 into discomfort by a woman who had written a 
 book on etiquette. He knew politeness as well as 
 the next man or next woman, for that matter. 
 Many a time had he seen Senator Bascomb, who 
 owed his election to him, sit down to table in his 
 shirt sleeves, with a napkin tucked into his bosom, 
 and Washington City was compelled to acknowl- 
 edge him a man of brains. The Judge stared at Wil- 
 liam, and was doubtless about to repeat his hint, 
 when Florence said something to attract his eye, 
 and shook her head at him. 
 
 "What have we under discussion this morning?" 
 said WilHam, squaring in readiness to defend him- 
 self, for he ever expected an attack. 
 
 "French literature," Howard answered. 
 
WILLIAM AGREED WITH THE JUDGE. 117 
 
 "French fiddlesticks." William replied. 'There 
 is no French literature. They have slop that they 
 call literature." 
 
 "T thank you, William," said the Judge, forget- 
 ting the napkin. This was received by the former 
 owner of Montana as proof that the Judge's ill- 
 nature had been cured ; and, bowing, he pulled the 
 napkin from about his jowl and spread it upon his 
 knees. And then arose a spirited discussion be- 
 tween the political Warwick and Howard, the 
 former snatching a cue from his brother, affirming 
 that the influence of France had always been bad, 
 the latter maintaining that France had civilized and 
 cultivated the modern world. Florence pulled at 
 Howard's coat sleeve ; and the Judge, observing 
 her, and irritated that she was moved to employ re- 
 straint, threw off all attempt at an exercise of his 
 patience. ''Let him proceed !" he roared, and 
 everyone looked at him in surprise. ''Let him pro- 
 ceed to the end of his disgraceful advocacy of cor- 
 ruption. But I will not stay to hear it." And, get- 
 ting up, he bowed himself out. 
 
 "Howard," said Mrs. Elbridge, "you ought not 
 to talk about things that irritate your father. He 
 is not vv^ell." 
 
 "You are wrong. Howard, to oppose him," Flor- 
 ence spoke up. 
 
118 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "I suppose I am," the young man admitted, "but 
 he has always taught me to form an opinion of my 
 own and to hold it when once well formed, and until 
 recently he seemed pleased at what he termed my 
 individuality and independence. But now I can't 
 do or say a thing to please him. I'm no child, and 
 not a fool, I hope; then, why should I be treated 
 as if I had no sense at all ? What have I done that 
 he should turn against me? He treats everyone 
 else with consideration and respect. He even has 
 toleration of Uncle William's dates," he added, mis- 
 chievously thrusting at the old fellow for the recent 
 stand he had taken, knowing that, with him, it 
 was the policy of the moment rather than the con- 
 viction of the hour. 
 
 "What!" exclaimed William, with a bat of eye 
 and a swell of jaw. "Turned loose on me, have 
 you? Well, I want to tell you, sir, that I won't 
 stand it. I am aware that my forbearance hereto- 
 fore may have misled you with regard to the ex- 
 tent of my endurance, but I want to say that you 
 have made a mistake. I am treated with considera- 
 tion and respect everywhere except in this house- 
 hold, and I won't stand it, that's all." 
 
 "Thank you," Howard replied. 
 
 "Thank me ! Thank me for what ?" 
 
WILLIAM AGREED WITH THE JUDGE. 119 
 
 "You said, 'that's all,' and I thank you for it." 
 
 Mrs. Elbridge interposed with a mild and smiling 
 admonition. She shook her finger at Howard. 
 "Let him go ahead, Rachel," the old fellow spoke 
 up. "Let him go ahead as far as his strength will 
 permit him. He's — he's set himself against us, and 
 as he runs riot in the privilege of the spoiled heir, 
 why, I guess we'll have to stand it — as long as we 
 can. Of course, there'll come a time when all 
 bodily and moral strength will fail us, but until then 
 let him go ahead. Yes, has set himself against us." 
 
 "Us, did you say, Uncle Billy? You are evi- 
 dently one of the us. Who's the other?" Howard 
 asked, immensely tickled, for the warmth of the fam- 
 ily joke was most genial to him. 
 
 "I don't want any of your Uncle Billying. I al- 
 ways know what to expect when you begin that." 
 
 "I began it the other night and ended by giving 
 you a meerschaum pipe, didn't I ?" 
 
 "Oh, meerschaum. Chalk — if there ever was a 
 piece used by a tailor to mark out the angles of a 
 raw-boned man — that pipe's chalk. You could 
 no more color it than you could a door-knob." 
 
 "A friend of mine brought it from Germany, Un- 
 cle Billy." 
 
 "Did he ? He brought it from a German beer 
 
120 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 garden, where they peddle them in baskets and sell 
 them by the paper bag full, like popcorn. I had 
 my suspicions at the time." 
 
 "But you were willing to run the risk of ac- 
 ceptance because your pipe was so strong." 
 
 The old fellow put down his knife and fork and, 
 straightening up, looked at Howard as if he would 
 bore him through. "I deny your slander, sir." 
 
 "So do I," said Howard. 
 
 "You do what?" 
 
 "Deny the slander — unless there is slander in 
 truth." 
 
 "Howard, you remind me of a cart-horse, tread- 
 ing on his trace chains. You remind me — I don't 
 know what you remind me of." 
 
 "Of a cart-horse, you said." 
 
 Again Mrs. Elbridge admonished him not to irri- 
 tate the old fellow, but did it so laughingly that he 
 accepted it more as a spur than as a restraint ; and 
 Florence pulled at his sleeve, but more in con- 
 nivance than in reproof. Agnes laughed outright. 
 She declared that it was better than a circus. The 
 old man turned his eyes upon her, giving her a long 
 and steady gaze, and she whispered to Florence that 
 even the pin-feathers of his dignity had begun to 
 rise. "Better than a circus," he replied. "I don't 
 
WILLIAM! AGREED WITH THE JUDGE. 121 
 
 see any similarity except that we have a clown." 
 He winked at Mrs. Elbridge, as if he expected her 
 to rejoice in what he believed to be a victory over 
 the young man. ^larriage may cripple a man's 
 opportunities — in some respects it may restrict his 
 range of vision, but it renders his near view much 
 more nearly exact. Having never known the repres- 
 sions of the married state — ignorant of the intellec- 
 tual clearing-house of matrimony — William was 
 blind to many things, and particularly to the fact 
 that the mother hated him at that moment, though 
 she smiled when he winked at her. 
 
 "Xot much like modern circuses," Howard ad- 
 mitted. 'They have a whole group of clowns, while 
 we have but two, at most." 
 
 "Howard," said the old fellow, "do you mean to 
 call me a clown?" 
 
 "Not a good one, Uncle William." 
 
 "Not a good one. Well, sir, I want to say that 
 I'd make a deuced sight better one than you." 
 When emphasis was put upon the word, it meant, 
 with Uncle William, not the opprobrious, but the 
 commendable. During his boyhood, to be a clown 
 was to be greater than a judge, greater, if possible, 
 than the driver of a stage-coach. In the old day, 
 it was a compliment to tell a boy that he would 
 make a good clown. 
 
122 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "I don't doubt you'd make a good clown, Uncle 
 Billy. Aspiration is, within itself, a sort of fitness." 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" 
 
 "There is a certain genius in mere ambition," 
 Howard went on. "If we yearn — and yearn, only, 
 we come nearer to an achievement than those who 
 don't yearn. Who knows that genius is not desire — 
 just desire, and nothing more. I know a man over 
 at St. Jo that can eat more cherries than any man in 
 Michigan, not because he is larger than any of the 
 rest, but because he has a broader appetite for cher- 
 ries — more yearning." 
 
 William turned to Mrs. Elbridge. "Rachel, do 
 you think he's lost what little sense he ever had." 
 
 "William," she said, "you must not talk to me 
 that way. I won't put up with it, sir. I am sure he 
 has as good sense as any — " 
 
 "Oh, if you are going to turn against me I guess 
 I'd better go," he broke in, getting up. "I'll go to 
 my brother. He at least can understand me." 
 
 The Judge was in the office. William entered, 
 and, going up to the desk, began to rummage 
 among some papers. "Trying to swim ?" the Judge 
 asked, looking up from a document spread out be- 
 fore him on the table. 
 
 "No, I'm looking for a cigar." 
 
WILLIAM AGREED WITH THE JUDGE. 123 
 
 •'I thought you were trying to swim." 
 
 WilUam stepped back from the desk. "Jo^^"' I 
 didn't expect such treatment after our hearty agree- 
 ment at the breakfast table. But it's what I get for 
 taking sides. The ncMtral is the only man that gets 
 through this life in good shape." 
 
 "And is that the reason, William, that you didn't 
 preach— didn't want to take sides against the 
 devil?" 
 
 "If I'm not wanted here, I can go to my own 
 room." 
 
 "I wish you would. I am expecting an old 
 client." 
 
 "Oh, I can go." 
 
 "Can you?" 
 
 "John, your irritability has irritated everybody on 
 the place. You have poisoned our atmosphere. I 
 will leave you." 
 
 "Thank you," said the Judge, examining the 
 document before him. After a time, and still with- 
 out looking up, he added: "Still here?" 
 
 "I have just come in, sir," said Howard. The 
 Judge looked up. 
 
 "I thought it was William." 
 
 "He has just gone out. And I have come to beg 
 
124 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 your pardon for what I said at breakfast. I didn't 
 mean to worry you ; I — " 
 
 "It is unnecessary to beg my pardon, sir." 
 
 ''I hope not." He moved closer, with one hand 
 resting upon the table. ''Father, something is 
 wrong, and — " 
 
 ''Most decidedly." 
 
 "But won't you please tell me what it is? If 
 the fault is in me and I can reach it I will pull it 
 out. I could bear many crosses, but your ill-opin- 
 ion is too heavy." 
 
 The old man looked up at him. "To your lack of 
 virtue you have added silly reading." 
 
 "But I am playing in a farce worse than any I 
 have ever read. Be frank with me. You have 
 taught me frankness." 
 
 "And tried to teach you honesty." 
 
 "Yes, both by precept and example. But what is 
 to come of it all when you treat me this way ? Why 
 don't you go to some springs?" 
 
 "Why don't you leave me to myself?" 
 
 "I am almost afraid. You rake up enmities 
 against me when you are alone, it seems ; and you 
 pour them out upon me when we meet. Why is it ?" 
 
 The Judge waved him ofif. "Go away," he said. 
 
THE OLD OFFICE. 125 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE OLD OFFICE. 
 
 The office in La Salle Street was in an old-fash- 
 ioned building, with heavily ornamented front. The 
 room was large, high of ceiling, with a grate and a 
 marble mantlepiece. It was on the first floor, after 
 the short flight of iron steps leading from the pave- 
 ment. Once it had been active with business, but 
 now few clients found their way into its dingy pre- 
 cincts. Occasionally some old-timer would come 
 in, but upon seeing Howard or Bodney, faces of- 
 fensively young to him, would go out again, sighing 
 over the degeneracy of the day. The young men 
 had often advised a change of quarters, apartments 
 in a steel building, but the Judge would not con- 
 sent. The old room was sentiment's heritage. 
 Many a famous man had trod the rough carpet on 
 the floor ; many a time had the dry eye of the tired 
 lawyer watered at the wit of Emery Storrs ; and In- 
 gersoll, warm with fellowship and wine, walking up 
 and down, had poured out the overflow of his magic 
 
126 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 brain. How intellectual were its surroundings then, 
 and now how different! The great advocate was 
 gone, and in his stead sat the real-estate lawyer, 
 emotionless, keen-eyed, searching out the pedigree 
 of a title to a few feet of soil — narrow, direct, dys- 
 peptic, money-dwarfed. 
 
 After leaving home, Howard went straightway 
 to the down-town office, and there, amid the dust 
 raised by the negro who was sweeping, he found 
 Goyle, waiting for Bodney. "I have taken posses- 
 sion," said Goyle. 
 
 "All right. And you are taking more dust than 
 is good for you." 
 
 "I don't mind that. Where is Bodney?" 
 
 "He hadn't got up when I left home. He was 
 up all night with a sick friend, I believe, and is not 
 likely to be down before the afternoon." 
 
 Goyle looked at his watch. "I will come in again 
 about three o'clock. How is business with you?" 
 He did not get up. 
 
 "The business of waiting is good. It is about all 
 a young lawyer need expect." Howard sat down, 
 telling the negro to leave off sweeping ; and Goyle, 
 leaning back, put his feet upon the window ledge. 
 He was never in haste to leave. It was one of his 
 sayings that he was looking for a soft seat, and he 
 
THE OLD OFFICE. 127 
 
 appeared now to have found one. He gazed out 
 into the rumbHng thoroughfare, at men of all ages 
 passing one another, pushing, jamming, limping, 
 some on crutches, some tottering, some strong of 
 limb, all with eager faces. "Rushing after the dol- 
 lar," said Goyle. 
 
 "Or fleeing from necessity," replied Howard. 
 
 "Yes, and hard pressed by the enemy. But they 
 have made their enemy powerful — have built up 
 their necessities. Once a shadow lay upon the 
 ground, a harmless thing; but they breathed hot 
 breath upon it and it became a thing of life, jumped 
 up and took after them. I hate the whole scheme." 
 He waved his hand, and Howard sat looking at 
 him — at the hair curling about his forehead, at his 
 Greek nose; and he wondered why one so seem- 
 ingly fitted for the chase should express such con- 
 tempt for it. He spoke of it, and Goyle turned to- 
 ward him with a cold smile. "You have heard," 
 said he, "of the fellow who would rather be a cat 
 in hell without claws. Well, that's what I am, and 
 where I am when thrown out there." He nodded 
 toward the street, and then lazily taking out a ciga- 
 rette, lighted it. 
 
 "I don't believe that," said Howard. "I believe 
 that you are well fitted, except, possibly, by disposi- 
 tion. You lack patience." 
 
128 . JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "Patience! It doesn't admit of patience. Do 
 those fellows out there look patient?" 
 
 "A man may run and be patient." 
 
 *'And he may also run and be a fool." 
 
 ''Or be a bigger fool and not run. I am a be- 
 liever in the world — in man." 
 
 "I'm not," said Goyle. "I know that the world 
 is a trap and that man is caught. Puppies play, but 
 the old dog lies down. He knows that life is a 
 farce." 
 
 "The old dog lies down, it is true," Howard re- 
 plied, "but he dreams of his youth and barks in his 
 dream." 
 
 "And calls himself a fool when he awakes. It is 
 the same with the old man. There comes a time 
 when he loses confidence even in those who are 
 nearest him." Out of the sharp corner of his eye 
 he shot a glance at Howard and saw his counte- 
 nance change. An old man, shriveled and wretched, 
 with feather dusters for sale, came shambling into 
 the room. Goyle glanced at him, and when he was 
 gone, turned to Howard and said : "Ask his opin- 
 ion of the world. He is your old dog who dreamed 
 and barked in his dream." 
 
 "Goyle, I don't like the position you take. My 
 experience and my reading teach me better." 
 
THE OLD OFFICE. 129 
 
 Goyle glanced at him again. "Your reading, be- 
 cause what you read was written to flatter hope — to 
 sell. Your experience is not ripe. It is not even 
 green fruit. It is a bud. Oh, of course there are 
 some old men, your father, for instance, who — " 
 
 'Well, what about him?" 
 
 "Nothing, only he is by nature fitted to smile at 
 everything." 
 
 Hov/ard got up, went over to a bookcase, took 
 down a book, put it back, went to the open door, 
 and stood there looking at a doctor's sign, just 
 across the hall. Goyle got up with a yawn, came 
 walking slowly toward the door, and Howard, hear- 
 ing him, but without looking round, stepped aside 
 to let him pass out. In the hall he halted to repeat 
 that he would return during the afternoon. 
 
 "You have the privilege to come and go as often 
 as you like, being George's friend," said Howard, 
 "but, so far as you and I are concerned, I don't 
 think we are suited to each other." 
 
 Goyle laughed and stepped back a pace or two. 
 "Why, on account of my nonsense just now? That 
 was all guff ; I didn't mean it. It is the easiest thing 
 in the world for a man to condemn the whole of 
 creation, and I talk that way when my mind is too 
 
 9 
 
130 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 dull to act. Why, I am going out now to knock an 
 eye tooth out of the wolf." 
 
 "And you didn't' mean what you said about old 
 men ?" 
 
 "Not a word of it." 
 
 "Why did you happen to speak of my father?" 
 
 "Merely to refute what I had said about old men 
 in general. Well, so long." 
 
 Howard went into the doctor's office, as musty a 
 den as ever a fox inhabited. The physician was an 
 old man, who had no future and who prescribed in 
 the past. During the best years of his life he had 
 dozed or talked under the influence of opium, so 
 given to harmless fabrication when awake that it 
 followed him into his slumber, snoring a lie ; now 
 cured of the habit but not of the evil it had wrought. 
 When Howard entered the old man was reading a 
 medical journal of 1849, ^^^ ^^ glanced up disap- 
 pointed to see the visitor looking so well. He had 
 met Howard many a time, but his memory was 
 short. 
 
 "Ah, come in, sir. Have a seat. You are — let 
 me see. 
 
 "My office is just across the hall." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I remember. You are in the — the bro- 
 kerage business. And your name is — " 
 
THE OLD OFFICE. 131 
 
 '*I am trying to be a lawyer. Elbridge is my 
 name." 
 
 "Of course it is. I used to know your father — 
 was called in consultation just before he died." 
 
 "Then it must have been since I left the house 
 this morning." 
 
 "Ah, let me see. Elbridge — the Judge. I'm 
 wrong, of course. It was Elsworth. How is your 
 father?" 
 
 "That's what I wanted to talk about, and I am 
 sorry that you do not recall him more vividly. I 
 wanted to ask your opinion." 
 
 "Why, now I know him as well as I know myself. 
 What is it you wish to consult me about? His 
 heaUh?" 
 
 "Well, I hardly know how to get at it. You know 
 he has been a very busy man — working day and 
 night for years ; and I wanted to ask if a sudden 
 breaking off isn't dangerous — that is, not exactly 
 dangerous, but likely to induce a change in disposi- 
 tion?" 
 
 The doctor looked wise, with his hand flat upon 
 the medical journal, and as it had been printed in 
 the drowsy afternoon of a slow day, seemed to in- 
 spire caution against a quick opinion. 
 
 "I hold, and have held for years," said he, "that a 
 
132 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 complete revolution in a man's affairs, sudden riches 
 or sudden poverty — the er — the withdrawing of vital 
 forces necessary to a continuous strain, is a shock 
 to the system, and therefore deleterious. It is un- 
 questionably a fact, not only known to the medical 
 fraternity, but to ordinary observation, that incen- 
 tive in the aged is a sort of continuance of youth, in 
 other words, to make myself perfectly clear, the im- 
 petus of youth when unchecked, goes farinto old 
 age — when the pursuit has not been changed; and 
 therefore a sudden halting is bad for the system. Is 
 your father's health impaired?" 
 
 "I can't say that it is. He appears to be strong, 
 but his temper is not of the best — toward me. To- 
 ward the others he is just the same." 
 
 '*Ah, not unusual in such cases. It so happened 
 that a sudden change must have taken place in him, 
 and as you were doubtless the first one to come in 
 contact with him after the change, his — his displeas- 
 ure, if I may be permitted the term, fell upon you." 
 
 "But I was not the first one." 
 
 "Um, a complication. I shall have to study that 
 up a little. Perhaps I'd better see him." 
 
 ''Oh, no, don't do that. It really amounts to 
 nothing. I consulted you because you were well 
 acquainted with him. And I am now inclined to 
 
THE OLD OFFICE. 133 
 
 think that I have made more of it than it really is. 
 How are you getting along?" Howard asked, to 
 change the subject. 
 
 ''Never better, sir, I am pleased to say. Of course 
 medicine has degenerated, splitting up into all sorts 
 of specialties, but there are a few people who don't 
 want to be humbugged. Well, I am glad you 
 called," he added as Howard turned to go. ''Give 
 my regards to your father." 
 
 Howard returned to the office, took up a book 
 which held in closer affinity the laws of verse than 
 the laws of the land, and lying down upon a leather 
 lounge, was borne away by the gentle tide of a 
 rhythmic sea. 
 
134 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WALKED AND REPENTED. 
 
 A man can be more repentant when he walks than 
 when he rides. The world's most meditative high- 
 way is that road which we are told is paved with 
 good intentions; and strolling along it, our deter- 
 mination to reform becomes stronger at each step 
 until — until something occurs to change it all. 
 Bodney walked down town. And for the first time 
 in his life he fancied that he found the very bottom 
 of his mind, and thereon lay a resolution, an oath 
 self-made, self-sworn to tell Howard the truth and 
 to take the consequences no matter what they might 
 be. He had intended, upon getting out of bed to 
 make his confession to the old gentleman, and he 
 would have done so, he fully believed, had not the 
 Judge been engaged with a client. But perhaps 
 after all it would better serve the purposes of justice 
 to confess to Howard. He was the one most deep- 
 ly injured. Yes, he would go at once to Howard 
 and tell him the truth. It would of course involve 
 
WALKED AND REPENTED. 135 
 
 Goyle, but he ought to be involved ; he was a scoun- 
 drel. Perhaps they might both be sent to the peni- 
 tentiary. No matter, the confession must be made. 
 He passed the building wherein the night before he 
 had agonized under the frown of hard luck ; he 
 halted and looked into the entry-way, at the stairs 
 worn and splintered by the heavy feet of the unfortu- 
 nate. Some strange influence had fallen upon him, 
 some strength not gathered by his own vital forces 
 had come to him, and now he knew that no longer 
 could he be a slave held by chains forged in that 
 house of bondage. As he turned away he met a 
 man who had been in the game the night before. 
 His face was bright and he did not look like a 
 slave. 
 
 ''How did you come out?" Bodney asked. 
 
 "I w'as ninety in when you left, and I pull out 
 sixty winner." 
 
 "You did? You were losing when I left." 
 
 '*Yes, but they can't beat a man all the time. I 
 tell you it would put me in the hole if I didn't win. 
 I owe at three or four places, and I go around today 
 and pay up." 
 
 Then, w^ith a feeling like a sudden sickness at the 
 stomach, came the recollection of the druggist and 
 the preacher, obligations not to be discharged that 
 
136 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 day. Long after the moral nature has been weak- 
 ened, the poker player may continue to respect his 
 own word, or rather he may not respect it himself 
 but may desire others to do so. Unless his income 
 is large he must operate mainly upon borrowed cap- 
 ital, and breaking his word cripples his resources. 
 And then, after having lost, there is a self-shame in 
 having borrowed, a confession of weakness. He 
 condemns himself for not having had strength 
 enough to quit when he found that there was no 
 chance to get even. "There never is a chance to get 
 even," Bodney mused as he walked on toward the 
 office. 'The old fellow who has worn himself out 
 at the cursed game says so and I believe it." I will 
 tell Howard — nothing shall shake my resolution. 
 I will simply cut my throat before I'll sink myself 
 further in this iniquity. By nature I am not dishon- 
 est. If I hadn't met that fellow Goyle I might— but 
 I'll not think of him. Now that fellow didn't play 
 any better cards than I did, was nearly a hundred 
 in and pulled out sixty ahead. And he has paid his 
 debts while I must dodge. I wonder how much I 
 have lost within the past two months. On an aver- 
 age of fifty dollars a sitting. That won't do. I had 
 money enough to — but I won't think about it — 
 won't do any good, and besides it is over with now." 
 
WALKED AND REPENTED. 137 
 
 He found Howard in the office writing. "A 
 brief?" said Bodney, sitting down. 
 
 ''In one sense— short meter," Howard repHed. 
 
 "What, poetry?" 
 
 "Rhyme. I come by it naturally, you know. 
 Have you heard from your friend today, the one 
 you sat up with ?" 
 
 "Yes, he's better." 
 
 "Goyle was here— said he'd be back this after- 
 noon." 
 
 "Didn't leave any money— didn't say what he 
 
 wanted, did he ?" 
 
 "No. I think he wants to talk more than any- 
 thing else. He is a smart fellow, George, but I am 
 beginning to find fault with him. I don't like his 
 principles." 
 
 "Perhaps he has none," Bodney replied. 
 
 "What, have you begun to—" 
 
 "Oh, no, I merely said that." 
 
 "That's the way he talks — makes a statement and 
 then declares he didn't mean it. By the way, I'm 
 going to get out of this office. There's no use stay- 
 ing here. If father wants to keep it, let him ; but 
 you and I ought to be in a more modern building. 
 We have played at the law long enough. What do 
 you say?" 
 
138 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "I don't know but you are right. I would like to 
 do something. Has anyone else called?" 
 
 "Yes, Bradley was here." 
 
 "Bradley ! What did he want?" 
 
 "He didn't say what he wanted." 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 "He inquired about your friend — the divinity 
 student." 
 
 Bodney was silent, and to him it seemed that 
 he was groping about in his own mind, searching 
 for his resolution, but he could not find it. The 
 preacher might have asked about the divinity stu- 
 dent, the wretch mused, but of course he wanted 
 ten dollars ; and what if it should be known at the 
 house that he had borrowed the money? 
 
 "Howard, can you let me have twenty-five dol- 
 lars?" 
 
 "What, haven't you — you any money?" 
 
 "None that I can get hold of. I haven't said 
 anything about it, but the fact is, I have invested 
 in suburban lots, and can make a good profit any 
 time I care to sell out, but I don't want to sell just 
 now." 
 
 "Ah, business man, eh?" said Howard, crumpling 
 the paper which he had covered with rhymes and 
 throwing it into the waste basket. "Well, I am 
 
Bodney took the money. 
 
 > J , ' ' ^ ^ 
 
 J > J 3 
 
WALKED AND REPENTED. 139 
 
 going to do something of that sort myself. I am 
 glad you told me. Yes, I'll let you have twenty- 
 five. I have just about that amount with me." 
 
 Bodney took the money and seized his hat. "If 
 Goyle comes in, tell him I don't know when I'll 
 be back. By the way, do you suppose Bradley 
 went home ?" 
 
 "Yes, I think so — in fact, he remarked that he 
 was going home to do some work. Why?" 
 
 "Nothing, only he seemed interested in the 
 young fellow I sat up with— wanted to go with me 
 to see him, in fact." 
 
 With a determination to pay the druggist and to 
 go at once to Bradley's house, Bodney left the 
 office, still wondering, though, what had become of 
 his resolve to make a confession to Howard. But 
 he woul'd fortify himself against trivial annoyances 
 and then, morally stronger, he could confess. As 
 he was crossing the street he thought of the fellow 
 who had won sixty dollars. "No better player than 
 I am," he mused. "He hung on, that's all. Now, 
 when I pay the preacher and the druggist I'll have 
 five dollars left. And with that five dollars I might 
 win out. If I had held to my resolution not to 
 stay in on so many four flushes I might have won 
 out anyway. But the other fellows filled flushes and 
 
140 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 straights against me. Why couldn't I against 
 them ? Simply because it wasn't my day. But this 
 may be my day. My day must come some time. 
 As that fellow said, 'they can't beat a man all the 
 time.' Why not go to the club first? Then, if I 
 win, I can easily meet my obligations." 
 
 He went to the club. The game was full, but a 
 ''house" player got up and gave him a seat. He 
 bought ten dollars' worth of chips, and the first 
 hand he picked up was three queens. The pot was 
 opened ahead of him and another man came in. 
 Bodney raised ; they stood it, and drew one card 
 each. To disguise his hand, Bodney drew one, 
 holding up a six. He caught a six. The opener 
 bet a white chip. The next man raised him three 
 dollars. Bodney raised all he had. The opener 
 laid down ; the other man studied. "Is it that bad ?" 
 he asked, peeping at the tips of his cards. Bod- 
 ney said nothing ; his blood was tingling, but in his 
 eyes there was a far-away look. 
 
 "It's up to you, Grifif," said an impatient fellow. 
 
 "Yes, so I see; but I'm playing this hand. 
 Raised it and drew one card, then raised a one- 
 card draw. Well, I've got to call you." 
 
 "Queen full." 
 
 "Beats a flush. Take the hay." 
 
WALKED AND REPENTED. 141 
 
 And now Bodney's troubles all were luminous. 
 The wine of the game flowed through his veins and 
 made his heart drunk with delight. He held a pat 
 flush, won a big pot and felt a delicious coolness 
 in his mind, the chamber wherein he had groped 
 through darkness, searching for the lost resolution. 
 But now it was light, and was crowded with charm- 
 ing fancies. He bubbled wit and simmered humor, 
 and the look-out man said, "you bet, he's a good 
 one." His stack was building so high that he could 
 hardly keep from knocking it over— did overturn it 
 with a crash, and a loud voice called to the porter: 
 ''Chip on the floor." The man attendant upon the 
 desk came over, put his hand on Bodney's shoulder 
 and said : ''Give it to 'em ; eat 'em up." 
 
 In the game there was a mind-reader, and they 
 called him Professor. In his "studio" he told 
 marvelous things, brought up the past and read 
 the future. Hundreds of persons consulted him, 
 race-track men looking for tips, board of trade 
 men wanting to know the coming trend of the 
 market; and in the twilight came the blushing 
 maiden to ask if her lover were true. In deepest 
 secret you might write a dozen questions, put them 
 in your pocket and button your coat, but the Pro- 
 fessor could read them. He was unquestionably a 
 
142 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 mind-reader — till he sat down to play poker — and 
 then his marvelous powers failed him. The most 
 unintuitive man at the table could beat him. Bod- 
 ney slaughtered him. ''Can you make those things 
 every time?" said the Professor, calling a three- 
 dollar bet. 
 
 "Not every time," Bodney replied, spreading a 
 straight, "but I made it this time." 
 
 "You can make them every time against me. 
 You are the luckiest man I ever saw. Do you al- 
 ways win ?" 
 
 "I have lost more within the last two months 
 than any man that comes up the stairs." 
 
 "That's right," said the look-out. 
 
 One wretched fellow, who had been struggling 
 hard, got up broke. He strove to appear uncon- 
 cerned, but despair was written on his face. As he 
 walked across the room toward the door the man at 
 the desk called to him. He turned with the light of 
 a vague hope in his eye. In consideration of his 
 hard luck was the house about to stake him? 
 "Have a cigar before you go," said the man at the 
 desk. The light went out of the wretch's eye. He 
 took the cigar and drooped away, to beg for an 
 extension from his landlord, to plead with the 
 grocer, to lie to his wife. 
 
WALKED AND REPENTED. 143 
 
 At six o'clock Bodney cashed in one hundred 
 and four dollars. He would eat dinner with them, 
 but he would not play afterward. He had tried 
 that before. His eye-tooth had not only been cut ; 
 it had been sharpened to the point of keenest wis- 
 dom. While he was at the dinner table Goyle came 
 in and took a seat behind him. 
 
 "Understand you sewed up the game," said the 
 master. 
 
 'Tve got just about enough to pay up what I 
 owe," replied the slave. 
 
 "Come ofif. Let me have twenty." 
 "I can't do it— swear I can't. I owe all round 
 town. I let you have ten yesterday, you know." 
 
 "That's all right. You'll get it again— you know 
 that. Let me have twenty." 
 "I can't possibly do it." 
 
 But he did. Goyle got up and walked out into 
 the hall with him, put his hand on his arm and 
 stood a long time, talking, gazing into his eyes. So 
 Bodney gave him the money and hastened away, 
 his spirits somewhat dampened. But his heart was 
 still light enough to keep him pleased with himself. 
 Luck had surely turned. He would win enough 
 to replace the money taken from the safe, and 
 then he would make a confession. But, that fel- 
 
144 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 low Goyle ! What was the secret of his infatuating 
 influence? How did he inspire common words 
 with such power, invest mere slang with such com- 
 mand ? But his influence could not last ; indeed, it 
 was weakening. And when thus he mused his 
 heart grew lighter. "He couldn't make me aid and 
 abet a robbery now," he said. ''I would turn on 
 him and rend him. Let him take the money. The 
 debt is now large enough to make him shun me." 
 With a smile and a merry salutation he stepped 
 into the drug store, and handed the druggist ten 
 dollars, apologizing for not having called during 
 the day, but he had been busy and did not sup- 
 pose that it would make any particular difference. 
 The druggist assured him that it did not. Good 
 fortune in its many phases may be taken as a mat- 
 ter of course, but the return of borrowed money 
 is nearly always a surprise. The druggist gave him 
 a cigar. 
 
 'Thank you," said Bodney. "By the way, have 
 you an envelope and stamp?" 
 
 He found an envelope, but no stamp. A young 
 woman who had held his telephone for ten min- 
 utes had bought the last one. It was of no conse- 
 quence; Bodney could get one at the next corner. 
 Tearing a scrap of paper out of his notebook and 
 
WALKED AND REPENTED. 145 
 
 putting it upon a show case, he scribbled a few Hnes 
 upon it, folded a ten dollar note in the paper, en- 
 closed it in the envelope and directed it to Bradley. 
 
 "I guess that ought to be safe enough," he said. 
 
 '*I don't know," replied the druggist. 
 
 ''Well, I'll risk it. Again let me thank you for 
 your kindness. It isn't often that I am forced to 
 borrow, and wouldn't have done so last night but 
 for—" 
 
 ''Oh, that's all right. Come in again," he added, 
 as Bodney stepped out. At the next corner he 
 stamped his letter and went out to drop it into a 
 box, but before reaching it was accosted by some- 
 one, the Professor v/hom he had slaughtered in the 
 game. 
 
 "How did you come out?" Bodney asked. 
 
 "You broke me." 
 
 "Didn't you sit in after dinner?" 
 
 "For about three minutes — first hand finished me. 
 I see you have a letter there with ten dollars in it." 
 
 "What! How do you know?" 
 
 "And a note written with a pencil." 
 
 "Why, that's marvelous. How do you do it?" 
 
 The Professor smiled. "It is the line of my busi- 
 ness. Why don't you come up to my place some 
 time? I can tell you many things." 
 
 10 
 
146 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 It flashed through Bodney's mind that he might 
 tell him many things, and he shrank back from him. 
 "I will, one of these days," he said, and strode off 
 without dropping his letter into the box. He put 
 it into his pocket, intending to stop at the next 
 corner, but forgot it. ''Now, what?" he mused. 
 ''Beheve I'll go home." He got on a car, but 
 stepped off before it started. He went to a hotel, 
 into the reading room, and took up a newspaper, 
 but found nothing interesting in it. His thoughts 
 were upon the game. In his mind was the red glare 
 of a pat diamond flush. He could see it as vividly 
 as if it had been held before his eye. Was it pro- 
 phetic ? He strolled out, not in the direction of the 
 Wexton Club ; but he changed his course, and was 
 soon mounting the stairs. There was no seat, but 
 the man at the desk said that there were enough 
 players to start another game. The game was 
 organized with four regulars, Bodney and another 
 fool. The regulars took twenty dollars' worth of 
 chips apiece; the two fools took ten, and within 
 ten minutes Bodney was buying more. A man got 
 up from the other table, and Bodney returned to 
 his old seat, where he knew that luck waited for 
 him. The desk man came over to him. "That 
 other gentleman is number one," said he. Just 
 
WALKED AND REPENTED. U7 
 
 then a new arrival took the seat which Bodney had 
 vacated and number one called out : "Let him go 
 ahead. I'll stay here." And there, sure enough, 
 was the pat diamond flush. Wasn't it singular that 
 he should have seen it glowing upon the surface of 
 his mind? And wasn't it fortunate that the pot 
 was opened ahead of him? He raised and the 
 opener stayed and drew one card. He bet a white 
 chip and Bodney raised. The opener gave him 
 what was termed the ''back wash," re-raised. Then 
 the beauty of the flush began to fade. Could it be 
 that the fellow — the very same offensive fellow, who 
 had beaten him before— could have filled his hand ? 
 Or, had he drawn to threes and "sized" Bodney for a 
 revengeful "bluff?" 
 
 "Well, I'll have to call you," said Bodney. He 
 put in his money and the offensive fellow showed 
 him a ten full. 
 
 "You always beat me." 
 
 "I do whenever I can." 
 
 "But you make it a point to beat me." 
 
 "Make it a point to beat anybody." 
 
 "Well, I don't want any abuse and I won't have 
 it." 
 
 "Play cards, boys," said the look-out. 
 
 "What's the matter with you, worms?" said the 
 offensive fellow, looking at Bodney. 
 
148 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 *Tlay like brothers," spoke up the look-out. 
 
 At a little after eleven o'clock Bodney came down 
 as heavy as a drowned man. His heart was full of 
 bitterness. He cursed the world and all that was 
 in it. He called on God to strike him dead. Then 
 he swore that there could be no God; there was 
 nothing but evil and he was the embodiment of it. 
 But if he had only ten dollars he could win out. 
 He had won, and it was but reason to suppose 
 that he could win again. Any old player, imbued 
 with the superstitions of the game, would have 
 told him that to go back was to lose. "V\\ go over 
 and see that druggist again," he mused. "Strange 
 that I have lived in this town all my life and don't 
 know where to get money after eleven o'clock at 
 night. I ought to have set my stakes better than 
 that. And now, what excuse can I give for coming 
 back to borrow again so soon? Perhaps he isn't 
 there." Nor was he there. Bodney looked in with 
 anxiety toward the show case behind which he ex- 
 pected to see his friend, and with contempt at the 
 soda-water man. He thought of the envelope. He 
 pictured himself standing there, smiling, a few 
 hours before — and like an arrow came the recollec- 
 tion of the note directed to the preacher. He 
 wheeled about, rushed across the street, jostling 
 
WALKED AND REPENTED. 149 
 
 through the crowd which was still thick upon the 
 sidewalk, raced around the corner, swam through 
 another crowd, bounded across another street just 
 in front of a cable train, and. breathless, panted up 
 the stairway leading to the Wexton. Before touch- 
 ing the electric button he tore open the envelope, 
 took out the money, destroyed the note; he 
 touched the button and wondered if the black porter 
 would ever come. Undoubtedly the game must 
 have broken up. No, there was the black face, grim 
 in the vitreous light. And there was a vacant seat, 
 his old, lucky seat. 
 
 "Bring me ten," he called, as he sat down. And 
 addressing the look-out, he asked if Goyle had 
 been there. He had played a few pots after din- 
 ner, but had quit early. 
 "Did he win?" 
 
 "I think he win a few dollars. Said he had an 
 engagement on the West Side." 
 
 ''Leave me out," said a man, counting his impos- 
 ing stack of chips. "Never mind, I'll play this 
 one." A hand had been dealt him. "But I've got to 
 go after this hand ; oughtn't to stay as long as I 
 do. Got to catch a train. Who opened it?" 
 "I did," replied a regular. 
 "Raise you." 
 
ISO JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "So soon? Well, I'll have to trot you. Tear 
 me one off the roof." 
 
 "I'll play these," said the man who had to catch 
 a train. 
 
 "You'd better take some. He won't come round 
 again. Well, I'll chip it up to you." 
 
 "Raise you three." 
 
 The regular raised him back. The man who had 
 to go raised, and the regular fired back at him, nor 
 did the contest end here, but when it did end the 
 regular spread an ace full to overcast with the shade 
 of defeat three queens and a pair. And the man who 
 had been in a hurry continued to sit there. At short 
 intervals, during half an hour or more, he had 
 snapped his watch, but he did not snap it now. 
 Trains might come and trains might go, but he was 
 not compelled to catch them ; he lost his last chip, 
 bought more, lost, and, finally, accepted carfare 
 from the man at the desk. Bodney won, and the 
 world threw off its sables and put on bright attire, 
 and at two o'clock he thought of cashing in, though 
 not quite even. He lacked just seventy-five cents — 
 three red chips. He would play one more pot. He 
 lost, and now he was two dollars behind, the pot 
 having been opened for a dollar and twenty-five 
 cents. Pretty soon he had a big hand beaten. 
 
WALKED AND REPENTED. 151 
 
 "I see my finish," he said. 
 
 "You can't win every pot," replied a railway en- 
 gineer, who had failed to take out his train. "I 
 have four pat hands beat and every set of threes I 
 pick up. Serves me right. Pot somebody for a 
 bottle of beer." 
 
 "You're on," replied the dealer, a comical-look- 
 ing countryman, known as Cy. "Deal 'em lower, 
 I can see every card," someone remarked; and 
 just at that moment Cy turned over a deuce and 
 replied : "Can't deal 'em much lower than that, 
 can I?" 
 
 But who is this going down the stairs just as 
 daylight is breaking ? And why is he making such 
 gestures ? It is Bodney, and he is swearing that he 
 will never play again. 
 
152 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 WANTED TO SEE HIS SON. 
 
 Howard had shared his father's sentiment with 
 regard to the old office, for then the sky was clear, 
 but now a cloud had come the atmosphere was 
 changed. And on his way home to dinner, after 
 a day spent without progress, he formed a resolve 
 to tell the old gentleman that he needed a fresher 
 and a brisker air than that blown about the ancient 
 temple of lore. It ought not to hurt him now since 
 he had begun to look upon his son with an eye so 
 dark with censure. Even if his affection had been 
 withdrawn his blood-interest must surely still re- 
 main, the young man mused; even though senti- 
 ment were dead, there must remain alive a desire to 
 see him prosper, and to prosper in that old place 
 was impossible. He believed that his father was 
 losing his mind; years of dry opinion, of unyield- 
 ing fact and the dead weight of precedent growing 
 heavier, smothered his mental life. 
 
 The household, with the exception of the Judge, 
 
WANTED TO SEE HIS SON. 153 
 
 was at dinner, and when Howard entered the dining 
 room his mother arose hastily and came to meet 
 him. "Your father wants to see you in the office," 
 she said, and putting her hand on his arm, she 
 added : "I don't know what he w^ants, but no mat- 
 ter what it is, please bear with him — don't say any- 
 thing to annoy him." 
 
 *'Has anything happened?" Howard asked. 
 
 "Something, but I don't know what. Someone 
 called, I heard loud talking in the office, and after 
 the caller had gone, your father came out and said 
 that he wanted to see you as soon as you arrived. 
 Be gentle with him, dear." 
 
 The old gentleman was sitting at his desk when 
 Howard entered the office. He got up and for a 
 time stood looking at the young man with no 
 word of explanation. "Well, sir," he said, after a 
 time, "what will you do next?" 
 
 "What have I done now?" 
 
 "No quibbling, sir. You know what you have 
 done." 
 
 "I pledge you my honor I do not." 
 
 "Pledge me your what! Pledge me your old 
 clothes, but not your honor." 
 
 "You wanted to see me, so mother says, and now 
 I should like to know why." 
 
154 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "I suppose that you are so innocent that you 
 can't even guess. Or is it that you are so forgetful 
 of your deeds that you cannot remember? Why 
 did you send that old fool out here?" 
 
 "Send an old fool out here! I didn't send any- 
 one." 
 
 The old man took a step toward him with his 
 finger uplifted. His eyes were full of anger and 
 his finger shook, a willow in the wind. ''How can 
 you deny it? You sent old Dr. Risbin, the mor- 
 phine eater, out here to see me." 
 
 "Oh, did he come out here? But I swear I did 
 not send him. In fact, I told him not to come." 
 
 "Ah, and is that the reason he came — because 
 you told him not to? He was never here before 
 in his life, and why should he say that you sent 
 him?" 
 
 "Because he is a poor old liar, I suppose. I ad- 
 mit that I saw him in his office and — ■' 
 
 "A gradual acknowledgment is better than no 
 acknowledgment at all. Why did you see him in 
 his office, or why did you speak of me ?" 
 
 "Father, if you'll only be patient with me I will 
 tell you. Your bearing toward me has been dis- 
 tressful. I was afraid that your mind — " 
 
 "Enough of that. My mind is sounder, sir, than 
 
WANTED TO SEE HIS SON. 155 
 
 yours will ever be. But, suppose something were 
 wrong. Is he the physician to consult ? Why, his 
 mind has been dead for years. Why did you con- 
 sult him if it were not in contempt of me? I ask 
 you why ?" 
 
 ''I was standing in the door of our office and 
 happened to notice his sign just across the hall ; 
 and 1 thought that as he knew you well, I would 
 speak to him. I soon saw that he didn't know 
 what he was talking about, and when he suggested 
 that he ought to see you, I told him no, and 
 changed the subject. That's my offense, and I beg 
 your pardon." 
 
 "I will try to believe you," said the Judge, sit- 
 ting down. "Your office is down town. This one 
 is mine." 
 
 *'Yes, sir, and I will not intrude. I wouldn't have 
 come in but you wanted — " 
 
 The Judge* waved his hand. "Our business has 
 been transacted." 
 
 "Yours has, but I have something to say. I don't 
 want to occupy that musty old den any longer. It 
 doesn't make any difference to me if there are a 
 thousand javelins of wit sticking in the walls, or a 
 thousand ghosts of oratory floating in the air, I 
 can't make a living so long as I stay in it. I don't 
 
156 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 want to be of the past, but of the present. Your 
 success was not a past but a present, and my pres- 
 ent is as valuable to me as yours was to you." 
 
 "You are at liberty to get out of that office as 
 soon as you like. But before you go, put up some 
 sort of emblem expressive of your contempt of all 
 its memories. Stuf¥ out a suit of old clothes with 
 straw, a scarecrow of the past, set it at the desk 
 and call it — me." 
 
 "Please don't talk to me that way. I don't 
 mean any disrespect — I want to establish myself on 
 a modern footing. You know that Florence and 
 I—" 
 
 "Don't speak of her" 
 
 "Why not? She is to be my wife." 
 
 "Not with my consent." 
 
 "Your consent is desirable, but not absolutely 
 necessary. I don't mean this in impudence; I 
 mean it merely to show my — our determination. 
 I don't know why you should oppose our marriage, 
 and I have no idea as to what extent you will op- 
 pose it, but I wish to say that no extreme will have 
 any effect. You say that you are not ill; you 
 swear that your mind is not affected, and yet you 
 refuse to tell me the cause of your change toward 
 me. I must have done something, either con- 
 
The old man pointed toward the door, and Howard walked slowlv out. 
 
WANTED TO SEE HIS SON. 157 
 
 sciously or unconsciously, and now again I beg of 
 you to tell me what it is." 
 
 The old man leaned forward with his eyes bent 
 upon the floor. "I have seen great actors, but this 
 — go away, Howard. Leave me alone." 
 
 ''Am I ever to know, sir?" 
 
 The old man pointed toward the door, and How- 
 ard walked slowly out. His mother stood in the 
 hall. Her eyes were tearful, and taking his arm 
 she held it as if she would say something, but liber- 
 ated him, motioned him away, and went into the 
 office. The Judge got up, forcing a change upon 
 his countenance, smiled at her, took her hand and 
 led her to a chair. "Now, don't be w^orried," said 
 he. "I merely reprimanded Howard, as I had a 
 right to do, for sending an old fool, who calls him- 
 self a doctor, out here to see me. That's all." 
 
 "But what did you mean by calling him an 
 actor ? What has he done that he should be acting 
 now ?" 
 
 "Nothing — nothing at all, I assure you." 
 
 "You said he was acting," she persisted. 
 
 "Perhaps I did, but I didn't mean it. Oh, yes, 
 acting as if he didn't care for the memories of the 
 old office." 
 
 "But, dear, something has come between you 
 and Howard. What is it?" 
 
158 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 ^'Between us, my dear? Surely not. We don't 
 agree on all points ; he has his opinions and I have 
 mine ; but there is no serious difference between 
 us. Come, I will show you. He and I will eat 
 dinner together." 
 
 He led her to the dining room, where Howard 
 sat moodily looking at the table. He glanced up, 
 and the Judge waved his hand with something of 
 his old-time graciousness. "Any callers today, 
 Howard?" he asked, sitting down. 
 
 ''Goyle, whom I am beginning not to like, and 
 Mr. Bradley." 
 
 "Whom you cannot help but like. A good man, 
 conscientious and yet not creed-bound." 
 
 "He is building up a great church," said Mrs. 
 Elbridge. "It is almost impossible to get a seat." 
 
 "Ah, I don't attend as regularly as I should," re- 
 marked the Judge, "but I am going to mend my 
 ways. Howard, shall we go together soon?" 
 
 "I shall be dehghted, sir." 
 
 "Then let us appoint an early day." 
 
 The father and the son laughed with each other, 
 and to the mother it was as if new strings, to re- 
 place broken ones, had been put upon an old 
 guitar, and she was happy merely to listen; but 
 soon she was called away, attendant upon some 
 
WANTED TO SEE HIS SON. 159 
 
 duty, and then a darkness fell upon the old man's 
 countenance. ''Enough of this," he said. And 
 there was more than surprise in the look which 
 Howard gave him— there was grief in it. "Then 
 your good humor was assumed," he replied. 
 
 "We may assume good humor as we assume hon- 
 esty—for policy," the Judge rejoined. 
 
 ''I swear I don't understand you." 
 
 "Then don't strive to do so when your mother 
 is present. At such times, take me as you find me." 
 
 "My pleasure just now was real. It is a grief to 
 know that yours was not. I was in hopes that our 
 difference, whatever it is, for I don't know, was at 
 an end. You led me to believe so." 
 
 "Lay no store by what you suppose I lead you 
 to believe. When our difference shall reach an end, 
 if such a thing is possible, I will tell you." 
 
 "Then you acknowledge a difference." 
 
 "T have not denied it." 
 
 "And you will not tell what it is ?" 
 
 "Now, you are mocking me. Ah, come in, my 
 dear." Mrs. Elbridge had returned. "Yes, we will 
 go to hear Bradley preach. And I warrant I can 
 remember more of the sermon than you." 
 
 "Mr. Bradley is here now," said :\Irs. Elbridge. 
 
 "Ah, is he? Did you tell him I would be in 
 pretty soon ?" 
 
160 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "He has come to see Agnes, I think. He asked 
 for her." 
 
 "Ah, the sly dog. Well, he couldn't ask for a 
 better girl. Are you going, Howard?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, to take a walk with Florence, if she 
 cares to go." 
 
 The Judge frowned, but his wife did not notice it. 
 Howard did, however, and was sorry that he spoke 
 of his intention, but he had no opportunity to apolo- 
 gize, if indeed he felt an inclination to do so. It 
 was a sorrow to feel that his father was set against 
 him, but to know that he was trying to influence the 
 girl was more than a sorrow — it was a grief har- 
 dened with anger. He found Florence and they 
 went out together, walking southward. 
 
 "How soft the air is," she said. 
 
 "Nature is breathing low." 
 
 They walked on in silence beneath the cotton- 
 woods and elms. Laughter, the buzz of talk and 
 tunes softly hummed came from door-steps and 
 porticos where families and visitors were gathered, 
 to the disgust of Astors and flunkies from over the 
 sea. 
 
 "Florence," said Howard, "before I came home 
 this evening I was determined to move out of that 
 old building down town, and to get an office in a 
 
WANTED TO SEE HIS SON. 161 
 
 modern building. But now I have decided upon 
 something else." 
 
 "To remain there out of respect for your father 
 and his memories?" 
 
 "No. To gtt away from this town — out West, 
 to build a home for you. I hope you don't object." 
 
 "Object. I am pleased. I think it is the very 
 wisest thing you could do. And as soon as you are 
 ready for me, I will go." 
 
 He took her hand and held it till, passing under 
 a lamp, near a group of persons on a flight of steps, 
 he gently let it fall. "Yes, it is the wisest thing I 
 can do. The law is altogether different from v/hat 
 it was when father was in his prime — the practice 
 of it, I mean — and I don't believe I could ever build 
 up here. Oh, I might. The fact is, I don't want to 
 practice here. I am disheartened. The idea of a 
 man, at his age, turning against — do you know 
 what he holds against me, Florence?" 
 
 "Howard, you must not ask me." 
 
 "Must not ask you ? Then you know." 
 
 "Please don't ask me." 
 
 They were in the light, amid laughter and the 
 humming of tunes, and he waited till they reached 
 a place where there was no one to hear, and then he 
 said : "If you know and love me, it would be un- 
 natural not to tell me." 
 11 
 
162 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 ''Howard, Peter may have denied his Lord, mar- 
 tyrs may have denied their reHgion, but you can't 
 deny my love." 
 
 "No, I can't; but how can you keep from me 
 a secret that concerns me so vitally? Do you sup- 
 pose I could hold back anything from you?" 
 
 "Not if your mother were dead and you had taken 
 an oath upon her memory?" 
 
 "Not if God were dead and I had sworn — " 
 
 "Howard, you must not talk that way." 
 
 He was holding her hand and he felt the ripples 
 of her agitation. "I think I know your secret," he 
 said. "You have cause to believe that his mind is 
 giving way and you don't want to distress me by 
 confessing it — have been sworn to silence, as if it 
 could be kept hidden from me." 
 
 She admitted that she did not believe that his 
 mind was sound, and he accepted it as the secret 
 which she had at first held back, but her conscience 
 arose against the deception of leaving him so com- 
 pletely in the dark. "Howard, you have often said 
 in your joking way that I have the honor of a man." 
 
 "Yes, the honor of the Roman famed for honor. 
 But honor can be cool, and I need something warm- 
 er, now — love. I am, as you know, deeply distressed 
 at father's condition ; it has changed nearly all my 
 
WANTED TO SEE HIS SON. 163 
 
 plans— every plan, in fact, except the one great 
 plan — our plan. Mother begs me to be patient. 
 But for what end, if there is to be no improvement 
 in his treatment of me? I took a hint from Uncle 
 WiUiam, not intended for me, that there has been 
 insanity in the family. That's a comforting thought, 
 now, isn't it ? Why do you tremble so ?" 
 
 ''Because I believe that there is truth in Uncle 
 William's hint." 
 
 ''But it should not have any effect upon our plans 
 — our marriage." 
 
 "r would marry you, Howard, if you were a 
 maniac." 
 
 They were in the dark, and he put his arm about 
 her. "Then, let the whole world go insane," he 
 said. 
 
 The soft air murmured among the leaves of the 
 Cottonwood. A band of happy children danced 
 about an organ grinder in the street. A fraudulent 
 newsboy cried a murder in Indiana Avenue, and 
 from afar came as if in echo, "All about the murder 
 on Prairie Avenue." 
 
 "Howard, knowing me as you do, and supposing 
 that I had not told all I know, and I were to ask 
 you to wait, what would you say ?" 
 
 "Not knowing you so well I would say, 'out with 
 
164 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 it,' but knowing you, I would say, 'wait.' But what 
 do you mean ?" 
 
 '*! mean to wait four weeks and no longer." 
 
 **Now you begin to mystify me. But we'll not 
 think about it. I wonder what's the trouble with 
 George. I never saw a fellow change so. I be- 
 lieve that fellow Goyle is having a bad influence on 
 him. There is something uncanny about that chap. 
 Did you ever notice his eyes ? They have a sort of 
 a draw, like a nerve. Have you noticed it?" 
 
 '*I have noticed that I don't like him. He looks 
 like a professional spiritualist." 
 
 'T guess he is in one sense — in slate writing — 
 guess he has most everything put down on the 
 slate." 
 
 *T don't know what you mean." 
 
 "Has everything charged that he can. He's a 
 fraud, no doubt." 
 
 "Agnes says so." 
 
 "Oh, well, what Agnes says couldn't be taken as 
 evidence. She sees a man and has a sort of flutter. 
 If the flutter's pleasant the man's all right; if it 
 isn't, he's all wrong." 
 
 "But there might be intuition in a flutter," she 
 said. 
 
 "Yes, or prejudice. But George has always been 
 
WANTED TO SEE HIS SON. 165 
 
 a good judge of men. He has excellent business 
 sense — has invested in lots and can make a fair 
 profit on them at any time he cares to sell. Shall 
 we turn back here ?" 
 
 Agnes and the preacher sat in the drawing room, 
 she flouncing about on a sofa, and he dignified on 
 a straight-back chair. It is rather remarkable that 
 a preacher is more often attracted by a mischief- 
 loving girl than by a sedate maiden ; and this may 
 account for the truth that ministers' sons are some- 
 times so full of that quality known, impiously, as 
 the devil. In the early days of the EngUsh church, 
 when the meek parson, not permitted to hope that 
 he might one day chase a fox or drink deep with 
 the bishop, and who was forced to retire to the serv- 
 ants' hall when the ale and the cheese cakes came 
 on, had cause in secret to offer up thanks that not 
 more than two of his sons were pirates on the high 
 seas. And Bradley sat there watching a cotillion of 
 mischief dancing in the eyes of the girl. 
 
 "You have never been connected with any 
 church, have you?" 
 
 *'Once," she replied, with a graceful flounce. 
 ''But I danced out." 
 
 "Danced out, did you say?" 
 
 *'Yes. I got religion in the fall and lost it in the 
 winter — by going to a ball and dancing." 
 
166 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "Why," said the preacher, slowly, patting his 
 knee, *'that did not cause you to lose it." 
 
 "Well, that's what they said, anyway. And I 
 know I cried after I got home because my religion 
 was gone." 
 
 "It is a crime to teach such rubbish." 
 
 "Then you don't think I lost it ?" 
 
 "Surely not." 
 
 "Then I must have it yet," she cried, clapping her 
 hands. 
 
 "Miss Agnes, your purity is of itself a religion." 
 
 "I don't know about that. I am wicked some- 
 times — I say hateful things." 
 
 "But there is no bitterness in your soul." 
 
 "I don't know, but I think there is, sometimes. 
 I know once I wished that a woman was dead ; but 
 she was the meanest thing you ever saw. And she 
 did die not long after that and I was scared nearly 
 to death — and I prayed and sent flowers to the 
 funeral. Wasn't that wicked ?" 
 
 The preacher admitted that it was wayward, but 
 he could not find it in his inflamed heart to call 
 her wicked. She was too engaging, too handsome 
 to be wicked. Nature could not so defame herself, 
 he thought, though he knew that there was many a 
 beautiful flower without perfume. But while set- 
 
WANTED TO SEE HIS SON. 167 
 
 tied love condemns, love springing into life for- 
 gives. "Wayward,"' said the preacher, "Perhaps 
 thoughtless would be a better word." 
 
 "No, it wasn't thoughtless, because I was think- 
 ing hard all the time. Don't you get awfully tired 
 studying up something to preach about?" 
 
 He smiled upon her. "All work in time becomes 
 laborious, and that is why congregations desire 
 young men — they want freshness. An old man 
 may continue to be fresh, but his brain must be 
 wonderful and his soul must be a garden of flow- 
 ers. The wisdom of the old man often oliends the 
 young and tires the middle-aged ; human nature 
 demands entertainment, and the preacher who en- 
 tertains while he instructs is the one who makes 
 the most friends and the one who indeed does the 
 most good. The unpoetic preacher is doomed ; the 
 gospel itself is a poem. The practical man may not 
 read poetry, may not understand it ; but he likes it 
 in a sermon, for it breathes the gentleness and the 
 purity of Christ. But poetry cannot be laborious, 
 cannot be dry with studied wisdom, and therefore, 
 when a preacher becomes a great scholar, he forgets 
 his simple poetry and the people begin to forget 
 him." 
 
 "My!" exclaimed the girl, "what a sermon you 
 
168 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 have preached. And it's true, too, I think. I know 
 we had an old man at our church — one of the best 
 old men you ever saw — but they got tired of him. 
 He — he couldn't hold anybody. Even the old 
 men gaped and yawned. He was giving them dry 
 creed. Well, a young man came along and 
 p<reached for us. And it was like spring time com- 
 ing in the winter. He made us laugh and cry. 
 People like to cry — it makes them laugh so much 
 better afterward. Well, the old man had to go." 
 
 "And after a time, the young man, grown old, 
 will have to go. We must keep this life fresh ; we 
 must look for incentives to freshness. A preacher 
 ought to be the most genial of men. And his wife 
 ought to be genial; indeed, innocent mischief 
 would not ill become her." 
 
 He looked at her, but she did not look at him. 
 She was leaning back with her eyes half closed. "I 
 hear Mr. Howard and Agnes coming," she said. 
 
A PROPOSITION TO MAKE. 169 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A PROPOSITION TO MAKE. 
 
 Two weeks passed, and during the time Howard 
 busied himself with the writing of letters to numer- 
 ous real-estate men and postmasters in the West. 
 Sometimes he would put down his pen to muse 
 over what Florence had said, that she might tell 
 him something after the lapse of four weeks, and 
 more than once had he spoken to her with regard 
 to what seemed to him as her vague information, 
 but she had told him to wait. He knew her well 
 enough not to persist. One of his earliest memories 
 was a certain sort of stubbornness which formed a 
 part of her character. She was gentle and lovable, 
 but strong. He fancied that had she been reared 
 in a different sphere of Hfe she would have become 
 a leader in the Salvation Army. 
 
 Bodney came to the office every day, but was so 
 restless that he rarely remained long. Once he 
 came to the door, saw the preacher within, and 
 stole away without speaking. And one after- 
 
170 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 noon Howard heard him and Goyle tossing high 
 words in the hall, but a few moments later they went 
 out, arm in arm. One morning the Judge came in. 
 "I didn't know but you had left this place," he said, 
 standing near the door and looking about to search 
 for the old memories, Howard mused. 
 
 "No, sir. The fact is I may not move to any 
 other ofhce in this town." 
 
 'In this town!" the old man repeated. "What 
 other town is there?" To a Chicago man that 
 ought to have established his complete soundness 
 of mind. 'T can give you credit for all sorts of — let 
 me say, weakness — but I cannot see why you 
 should be so foolish as to leave this city." 
 
 "You came at an early day," said Howard. "I 
 might better my prospects by going to a town that 
 is still in its early day." 
 
 "Um, and come back broke. You haven't stuffed 
 that old suit of clothes yet." 
 
 "There's time enough for that, sir?" 
 
 "What ! Then you really intend to do it ?" 
 
 "Didn't you command me?" 
 
 "None of your banter." The Judge walked over 
 to the old iron safe, with the names Elbridge & 
 Bodney slowly rusting into the invisible past, put 
 his hand upon it and stood there with his head 
 
A PROPOSITION TO MAKE. 171 
 
 bowed. From the street came the sharp clang of a 
 fireman's gong, and the old man sprang back. 
 
 'There is a fire somewhere," said Howard. 
 
 "There is, sir ; it is here," the Judge rephed, put- 
 ting his hand on his breast. Yes, it was now only 
 too evident that his mind was diseased. The young 
 man went to him, took his hand, looked into his 
 eyes. 'T beg of you to believe that my love for 
 you is as strong as ever. I don't know how to 
 humble myself, for you have taught me independ- 
 ence, but I would get down on my knees to you 
 if — " The old man threw his hand from him and 
 hastened from the room. In the hall he en- 
 countered the opium eating doctor. ''Why, my 
 dear Judge, I am surprised to see you out." 
 
 "And you will be still more surprised if you don't 
 get out of my way." 
 
 "But won't you stop a while for old-time's sake?" 
 
 "I will do nothing, sir, but attend to my own 
 affairs, and I request you to do the same." 
 
 "Of course, yes, of course. Well, drop in when 
 you are passing." 
 
 The old doctor stepped up to the door of How- 
 ard's office. The young man stood confronting 
 him. "I have thought over what you said the other 
 day concerning your father, and have come to the 
 
172 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 conclusion that you are right," said the doctor. 
 "There is something wrong with him." 
 
 "But I wish you wouldn't irritate him. And, by 
 the way, why did you tell him that I told you to go 
 out to the house ?" 
 
 "Didn't you request me to go?" 
 
 "I certainly did not." 
 
 "Well, really, I misunderstood you. By the way, 
 someone told me that you intended to give up this 
 office. It is a better one than mine, having the 
 advantage of a better view, and I don't know but I 
 might take it." 
 
 "I am not going to give it up yet a while." 
 
 Bodney came into the hall and the old doctor 
 shuffled into his own den. "I guess he wants to 
 poison someone," said Bodney, nodding toward 
 the doctor's office. "Anybody with you ?" he asked. 
 
 "No," Howard answered, as they both stepped 
 into the office. "Why?" 
 
 "Oh, I am getting so I don't want to see any- 
 body. I feel as if I were a thousand years old," he 
 added, dropping upon a chair. 
 
 "You don't look well, that's a fact. What seems 
 to be the trouble?" 
 
 "I don't know. Liver, perhaps. Goyle been here 
 today?" 
 
A PROPOSITION TO MAKE. 173 
 
 ''No, and I don't want him to come again. Now, 
 look here, George, I believe that fellow has a bad 
 influence on you. You are not the same m^an since 
 you became so intimate with him. What's his busi- 
 ness? What does he do?" 
 
 "I'd rather not talk about him, Howard." 
 
 "Then his influence must be bad. Turn him over 
 to me the next — " 
 
 "No," Bodney quickly interposed. "Let every- 
 thing go along as it is till the proper time and 
 then — then I will attend to him. I am not in a po- 
 sition now to do anything, but one of these days I 
 am going to tell you something that will open your 
 eyes to the perfidy of man — man close to you. 
 Don't say anything more now ; I am crushed. I 
 am — " 
 
 He leaned forward with his arms on a table and 
 his head on his arms, his eyes hidden from the 
 light. "Why, my dear boy," said Howard, going 
 to him. touching him gently, "don't look at it that 
 way. It is not so bad as that." 
 
 "It is worse," said Bodney, in a smothered voice. 
 "It is worse than you can possibly picture it. And 
 when I tell you, you will hate me as you never 
 hated a human being on the earth. Don't ask me 
 now, for I can't tell you. Just simply don't pay 
 
174 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 any attention to me. But I beg of you not to say a 
 word at home. I have been led into hell, Howard, 
 and there is no way out." 
 
 "Oh, yes, there is, my boy. There is the door 
 through which you went in. Go out at it." 
 
 '1 can't. You don't know." 
 
 ''Are you in financial trouble? Has that fellow 
 led you — " ^ 
 
 ''Worse than that, Howard. But I can't tell you 
 now." 
 
 Once his long-delayed confession flowed to the 
 very brim of utterance, but he forced it back and 
 sat in silence. Howard went out and Bodney was 
 thankful to be alone with his own misery; but 
 he was not to be long alone — Goyle came in. 
 
 "Why, what's the matter, old chap? You seem 
 to be in the dumps. Come, cheer up now. You've 
 got no cause to be so blue? You don't see those 
 fellows over yonder in the bank blue, do you? I 
 guess not. And they are the biggest sort of rob- 
 bers. I beat the horses today. And here's thirty of 
 what I owe you. Oh, it's coming around all right. 
 You can't keep a squirrel on the ground, you 
 know." 
 
 "That's all right," replied Bodney, brightening 
 as he took the bank notes. "Can't keep a squirrel 
 
A PROPOSITION TO MAKE. 175 
 
 on the ground, but you can shoot him out of a 
 
 tree/' 
 
 "But we haven't been shot out of the tree yet. 
 Things will begin to come our way now, you see 
 if they don't. I've got a proposition to submit to 
 you that will make us both rich— regular gold mine, 
 with not a dull moment in it— life from beginning 
 to end. I can't tell you now, but hold yourself in 
 readiness for it. You can take that thirty and 
 maybe win a hundred at the Wexton. In the mean- 
 time I'll be perfecting my plans. We shall need 
 four or five agents, but I can get them all right, 
 and if we don't live in clover a bumble bee never 
 did. Now, don't you feel better? Look at me." 
 
 "Yes, I feel better." 
 
 "And don't you believe we'll pull out all right? 
 Hah ?" He put his hand on Bodney's shoulder and 
 looked into his eyes. 
 
 "Yes, I do." 
 
 "Of course you do. We have been living in the 
 night, but the sun is rising now. Let's go over to 
 the Wexton and eat dinner." 
 
 "I ought to stay here till Howard comes back." 
 
 "Why, just to tell him you are going out? If 
 you go out he'll know you are gone, won't he ?" 
 
 "You go on and I will come pretty soon. I said 
 
176 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 something to Howard just now that I want to cor- 
 rect/' 
 
 "All right," said Goyle. "But come over as soon 
 as you can." 
 
 When Howard returned he found Bodney idly 
 drawing comic pictures on a sheet of paper. He 
 looked at him in astonishment. ''Why, what has 
 happened ?" Howard asked. 
 
 "My fit's passed, that's all. I must have talked 
 Hke a wild man." 
 
 "I rather think you did. You alarmed me — said 
 you were worse than ruined. What has occurred 
 to change it all?" 
 
 Bodney laughed as he looked about, making 
 ready to take his leave. He was beginning to be 
 restless, for the fever was rising fast. He turned his 
 eye inward to look for full hands and flushes. 
 
 "Nothing has occurred," said he. "The fit of 
 melancholy has simply passed. That's all." He 
 was moving toward the door. 
 
 "Don't be in a hurry," said Howard. "There is 
 something I want to talk about." 
 
 "I haven't time now," Bodney replied. "I have 
 thought of something that must be attended to 
 at once." 
 
 "Just a moment, George. Hasn't Goyle been 
 
 here?" 
 
A PROPOSITION TO MAKE. 177 
 
 ''Goyle? No, not today. And, by the way," he 
 added, turning toward Howard, "I think I must 
 have spoken rashly about him just now. There is 
 nothing wrong in his make-up ; he may appear 
 queer, but he's all right when you come down to 
 principle. He thinks the world of you." 
 
 "I don't want him to think anything of me." 
 
 Bodney did not stay to reply. His fever was 
 now so strong that it would have taken two giants 
 to hold him. He fought his way through the 
 crowd, and, panting, rushed into the poker room. 
 They greeted him with the complimentary encour- 
 agement usually poured out upon the arrival of the 
 "sucker." ''He'll make you look at your hole 
 card." ''Cash my chips." "None of us got any 
 show now." It was nearly dinner time when Bod- 
 ney sat down to the game, and when the meal was 
 announced he was winner. Goyle came in and sat 
 beside him at the dinner table. "The scheme I 
 spoke to you about is a sure road to fortune," he 
 said, in a low tone. 
 
 "Bank robbery?" Bodney asked, smiling with the 
 brightness of a winner. 
 
 "No, it's not the robbery of the robbers. It is less 
 dangerous and more profitable — almost legitimate." 
 
 "Almost!" 
 
 12 
 
178 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "Yes— but full of sauce." 
 
 "Don't you think you'd better tell me what it is ?" 
 
 "Not now. I want to see you alone — tomorrow. 
 In the meantime make up your mind." 
 
 "How can I make up my mind to do something 
 that hasn't been proposed?" 
 
 "Make up your mind to agree to my plan no mat- 
 ter what it may be. We are going to ride in car- 
 riages." 
 
 "Or in a police van, which?" said Bodney, smil- 
 ing. 
 
 Goyle put his hand on Bodney 's shoulder. "I 
 see you are in a hurry to get back to the game. 
 All right, but keep your mind on my proposition." 
 
 "A proposition that hasn't been made," replied 
 Bodney, getting up from the table. The game was 
 re-forming, for the poker player does not daudle 
 over a meal ; he eats just as a pig does — as fast 
 as he can. 
 
 It seemed that Bodney's luck had come to stay. 
 "You make your third man every time," said a los- 
 ing wretch whose rent was past due. A kindlier eye 
 might have seen through him his ragged children, 
 but the eye of the winner looks at his stack — no 
 poverty and no wretchedness softens its glitter. 
 
 The offensive fellow was there, sitting to the left 
 
A PROPOSITION TO MAKE. 179 
 
 of Bodney, but he was not offensive now; defeat 
 had subdued him ; and the Professor was present, 
 in the darkness of hard luck, and with his air of mys- 
 tery. "You either made your hand or you didn't," 
 he said to a man who had drawn one card. 
 
 "You ought to know," the man repHed, looking 
 at him with a steady eye. "You are a mind-reader." 
 
 "Yes, when there is a mind to read. I will call 
 you." He did so and lost his money. 
 
 "You knew what I had in my note," said Bod- 
 ney. "Don't you remember, when I met you on 
 the corner? You said it was written with a pen- 
 cil. Why couldn't you tell what that man held — 
 whether or not he had made his flush ?" 
 
 "Both science and psychology stop and grow 
 dizzy when they come to cards," the Professor re- 
 plied. 
 
 Goyle came in and put his hand on Bodney's 
 shoulder, "Slaughter 'em," he said. "You've got 
 everything coming your way." 
 
 "But I don't know how long it will last," Bodney 
 replied. 
 
 "Don't scare away your luck with mistrust. And 
 above all, don't forget that I have a proposition to 
 make. Well, I'll see you tomorrow. He went out, 
 humming a tune. Bodney looked round to see 
 
180 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 whether he was gone, and seemed to be reheved 
 upon seeing him pass out. Now it was time to quit, 
 the slave thought. He had not counted his chips, 
 for that was bad luck, but he must have won nearly 
 sixty dollars. Still the Ccirds kept coming, two 
 pairs holding good, and to quit was an insult to the 
 goddess of good fortune. He remembered hearing 
 a gambler say, speaking of an unlucky playei : "He 
 stays to lose, but not to win." At ten o'clock he 
 felt that he had reached his limit, and counted his 
 chips — eighty-seven dollars. "I'll have to quit you," 
 he said, shoving back. And now how bright and 
 spirited the streets were. He threw a piece of 
 silver upon the banner of the Salvationists. 
 
DID NOT TOUCH HER. 181 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 DID NOT TOUCH HER. 
 
 As Howard was going out he met Bradley com- 
 ing up the stairs. 'T have caught you in time," 
 said the preacher. "I want you to go to dinner with 
 me — at a place off Van Buren Street, where they 
 cater to the poor." 
 
 "It is rather a tough neighborhood for a dinner," 
 Howard replied. "Wouldn't you rather go to a 
 better place?" 
 
 "No, I would rather like to see how the unfor- 
 tunate dine." 
 
 They went to a restaurant that opened into an 
 alley. The long room was furnished with plain 
 tables, without cloths, and not clean. There was 
 sand on the floor, and on the whitewashed walls, 
 together with Scriptural texts, against one of 
 which some brute had thrown a^quid of tobacco, 
 were placards which read, "Lodging ten cents." 
 They took seats at a table and a girl came up and 
 put down a piece of paper, scrawled upon with a 
 
182 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 pencil. It was a bill of fare. The price set opposite 
 each dish was five cents, and at the bottom it was 
 announced that any order included bread. The 
 place was gradually filling up with a mottled crowd, 
 negroes, a sprinkle of Chinamen, Greeks, Polish 
 Jews, tramps — and off in a corner sat an American 
 Indian. "The air is bad," said the preacher. 
 
 "No worse than the bill of fare," Howard replied. 
 "Let us get out. Don't you see how they are eyeing 
 us?" 
 
 "Let us at least make a pretense of eating. I 
 like to watch these odd pieces of driftwood." 
 
 "Washed from the wreck of humanity," said 
 Howard. 
 
 The preacher looked at him with a sad smile. 
 "Yes, and perhaps not all of them are responsible 
 for the wreck. They couldn't weather the storm." 
 
 The crowd was noisy and profane. The preacher 
 spoke to a waitress, a girl with a hard, uncon- 
 cerned face. "I thought that this place was under 
 the auspices of the gospel," said he. 
 
 She did not look at him as she replied : "I believe 
 some sort of a church duck did start it, but a feller 
 named Smith runs it now." 
 
 "Then services are not held here." 
 
 She looked at him. "What sort of services?" 
 
DID NOT TOUCH HER. 183 
 
 "Church services." 
 
 "Well, I guess not. These guys don't want serv- 
 ices — they want grub." 
 
 "I believe I will address them," the preacher 
 said to Howard. 
 
 "On the subject of foreign missions?" Howard 
 asked. 
 
 "A merited sarcasm," the minister replied. "Let 
 us go." 
 
 In the alley near the door a woman and a rufifian 
 were quarreling. The woman held a piece of money 
 in her hand and the ruffian was trying to take it 
 from her. A policeman passed down the alley, but 
 paid no attention. The ruffian demanded the 
 money. The woman refused. He knocked her 
 down, took it from her hand and was walking oflf 
 when Bradley touched him on the shoulder. "Give 
 her back that money," he said. The man drew 
 back his ponderous fist. At that moment Howard 
 ran up. The ruffian looked at him and let his arm 
 fall. Bradley called the policeman. He turned and 
 came walking slowly back, swinging his club. 
 "What's wanted?" he asked. Bradley told him 
 what had occurred. "It's a He!" exclaimed the 
 woman, stepping forward. "You never hit me, did 
 you, Jack ?" 
 
184 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "Never touched her," said Jack, and a group 
 about the door of the restaurant roared with 
 laughter. . "Move on," said the policeman, and 
 Howard and the preacher moved on, the crowd 
 jeering them. 
 
 "What put it into your head to go there ?" How- 
 ard asked. 
 
 "I thought it was my duty." 
 
 "A man's duty lies mostly among his own peo- 
 ple," said the young lawyer. 
 
 "No, among stricken humanity." 
 
 "A heroic idea, but fallacious. The Lord takes 
 care of His own. These people are evidently not 
 His own. Pardon my slang, but here is a genuine 
 gospel shop. Let us go in." 
 
 At the door of a room forbiddingly neat to the 
 class which it intended to feed, they were met by a 
 cool young woman and a ministerial man. It was 
 a coffee house established to offset the influence 
 of the saloon. At the rear end of the room a young 
 fellow played upon a wheezing melodion. Girls 
 were serving coffee. On the walls were pictures 
 of the Prodigal's Return, Daniel in the Lion's Den, 
 Jacob before Pharaoh, The Old Home, several cows, 
 a horse with his head over a barred gate, and a 
 child lamenting over a broken doll. Howard called 
 
DID NOT TOUCH HER. 185 
 
 attention to the fact that the sandwiches were thin 
 and that the coffee looked pale. "It is charity," said 
 he, "and charity is pale. Now, let -me take you 
 to the enemy — the den against which these mild 
 batters are directed." 
 
 They went to a saloon. The place was ablaze 
 with light. The walls were hung with paintings, 
 some of them costly, some modest, others repre- 
 senting figures as nude as Lorado's nymphs. On 
 a side counter was a roast of beef, weighing at least 
 a hundred pounds. "Look at that," said Howard. 
 "Vice sets us a great roast — and for five cents, a 
 glass of beer, the vagabond may feast." 
 
 "The devil pandering to the drunkard and the 
 glutton," replied the preacher. 
 
 "But the devil is not pale ; he is not niggardly — 
 he is bountiful. To cope with him. Virtue must 
 be more liberal — give more beef and better coffee." 
 
 "Good," said the minister. "I am going to 
 preach a sermon on the Virtue of Vice." 
 
 "Red beef versus pale coffee," Howard said, as 
 they stepped out. "And now," he added, "let us get 
 something to eat and then go home." 
 
 "Home," repeated the preacher. "I have no 
 home — I have lodgings. 
 
186 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "I know, and I mean that you must go home 
 with me." 
 
 Bradley muttered a protest, but was deHghted 
 at the thought of seeing Agnes again so soon. 
 He had spent the afternoon at the Judge's house, 
 had left to unite in marriage a servant girl and a 
 hackman, and now wanted an excuse to return, not 
 that he needed one, for the Judge had urged upon 
 him the freedom of the house ; but timid love must 
 show cause, or rather must apologize to appear- 
 ances. And, though the cause now was not strong, 
 yet he argued that the fact of meeting Howard 
 would make it valid enough. He felt that his 
 secret was not known to the Judge, as if that would 
 have made any diflerence ; and he was sure that the 
 girl did not more than suspect him. He wanted 
 her to suspect him, for there was a sweetness in it, 
 but he wanted it to be as yet only a suspicion. He 
 did not acknowledge that he had quite made up 
 his mind regarding her fitness as a wife ; and when 
 a man thus reasons he is hopelessly entangled. 
 When a m.an decides that a woman is not fitted to 
 be his wife he may have arrived at reason but has 
 stopped short of love. 
 
 They went to a place that makes a specialty of 
 crabs and sat down in the cool breath of an electric 
 
DID NOT TOUCH HER. 187 
 
 fan. "Quite a difference in our bill of fare," said 
 Bradley, taking up a long card framed in brass 
 edged wood. 
 
 "And quite as much difference in our company," 
 Howard replied. 
 
 "The old saying, Howard : 'One half the world 
 doesn't know how the other half lives.' " 
 
 "Doesn't know how the other half dies," said 
 Howard. 
 
 "You are sententious tonight. I have led you 
 into a place that has sharpened your wits." 
 
 "But not into a place that sharpened my appetite. 
 But it makes a meal all the more enjoyable after- 
 ward. Do you find anything that hits your fancy?" 
 
 During the meal the preacher talked of the vices 
 of a great city. A truthful farmer could have told 
 him that there are almost as many vices in the 
 country, and an observant moralist could have as- 
 sured him that the great mass of women parading 
 the sidewalks at night were sent thither by the 
 rural reprobate, proprietor of a horse and buggy. 
 
 "Vice is in man," said Howard. 
 
 "Ah, but how are we to eradicate it ?" 
 
 "By educating woman." 
 
 "I don't know that I fully comprehend you." 
 
 "Were you ever in a place where women are 
 shameless?" 
 
188 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "No," said the preacher. "The only shameless 
 women I ever met are those who accost me in the 
 street." 
 
 "And if," said Howard, "you were to go into a 
 thousand such places you would not meet a well- 
 educated woman. Some of them are bright ; some 
 speak several languages, but I have yet to find one 
 who speaks good English. But we are on a subject 
 that is as old as the ocean. It is, however, always 
 new to one in your profession, I suppose. You 
 preach about it, and innocence wonders at your 
 insight, but the young fellow who reports your 
 sermon laughs in his sleeve." 
 
 "But, my gracious, Howard, what must we do, 
 ignore it all ?" 
 
 "I give it up." 
 
 "You are young to take so gloomy a view." 
 
 "Oh, I don't view it at all," said Howard. "I 
 shoulder my way through it." 
 
 An elderly woman, handsomely dressed, came up 
 and held out her hand to the preacher, who arose, 
 bowed over it and declared his pleasure at meet- 
 ing her. Then he introduced her to Howard, a 
 woman noted for her work in the slums. A part 
 of her labor was to talk morality to the girls in de- 
 partment stores, to make them pious and virtuous 
 
DID NOT TOUCH HER. 189 
 
 on three dollars a week. She kept a house of refuge 
 which she visited once a day, to talk to the women 
 who had been gathered in from the streets and 
 the dens rented to vice by the rich. Her register 
 showed that within the past ten years thousands of 
 women had been reclaimed. But the register did 
 not show how many had gone back to loud music 
 and shame, preferring the glare of infamy, tired out 
 with the simmer of the tea-kettle and the shadows of 
 the kitchen. The preacher had visited her place 
 and had complimented her upon the work she was 
 
 doing. 
 
 "Oh, what has become of Margaret, the blonde 
 
 girl?" 
 
 The matron shook her head. "She became dis- 
 satisfied and left us." 
 
 "And the one called Fanny. Where is she?" 
 
 "Oh, she was too pretty and went away." 
 
 "And Julia?" 
 
 "Didn't you hear about her? Well, well. Why, 
 the newspapers were full of it. She left us and 
 shortly afterward married a rich man. He took her 
 to his mansion and gave her everything that heart 
 could wish, but it did not suffice. He returned home 
 after an absence from the city to find a drunken 
 crowd in his house, and he turned her out. I am 
 so glad to have met you again. Good-bye." 
 
190 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 Bradley began to talk of something foreign, to 
 lead Howard's mind away, but the young man 
 looked at him with a smile and said : "You see that 
 a palace is not even sufficient/ 
 
 "Her moral nature had not been trained," Brad- 
 ley replied. 
 
 "It is not that, Mr. Bradley. Her miserable lit- 
 tle head had not been trained. Morality without in- 
 tellectual force is a weakness waiting for a tempta- 
 tion." 
 
 "Don't say that, Howard ; it is a monstrous 
 thought. Brain is not the whole force of this life. 
 There is something stronger than brain. Love is 
 stronger." 
 
 "Yes, it overturns brain. And I will not argue 
 against it, though it might be the cause of thousands 
 of wretched feet on our thoroughfares tonight. It 
 is a glory or a disgrace. But we have been moral- 
 ists long enough. Let us go home." 
 
EAR TURNED TOWARD THE DOOR. 191 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 WITH AN EAR TURNED TOWARD THE DOOR. 
 
 Mrs. Elbridge met Howard and the preacher in 
 the hall. She told them that the girls had gone to 
 a meeting of the Epworth League, a short dis- 
 tance away. They had gone to a religious gather- 
 ering held in the interest of the young, but the 
 preacher felt a deadening sense of disappointment. 
 "They will be back soon," said Mrs. Elbridge, seem- 
 ine to divine the effect her information had made 
 
 o 
 
 upon him. Howard heard his father and Uncle 
 William talking in the office. "We will wait for 
 the girls in here," he said, leading the way into 
 the drawing room. Mrs. Elbridge went in to tell 
 the Judge, and shortly afterward entered the draw- 
 ing room with him. The old gentleman paid no 
 attention to Howard, but warmly shook hands with 
 Bradley, as if he had not seen him only a few hours 
 before. 
 
 "Delighted to see you, Mr. Bradley." 
 
 Howard glanced at his mother and she read a 
 
192 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 communication in his eye. It was that in the old 
 man's enthusiasm there was added evidence of 
 mental weakness. The Latin may express delight 
 at seeing one a dozen times a day, but with an 
 Anglo-Saxon more than one "delight" within twen- 
 ty-four hours is an extreme. 
 
 Bradley looked embarrassed. He said that he 
 was glad to see the Judge, which was hardly true, 
 as he was not prepared at that moment to be glad 
 or even pleased. His heart had gone over to the 
 Epworth League, not to worship God, but one of 
 God's creatures, which, after all, is a pardonable 
 backsliding. He remarked that he and Howard 
 had encountered quite an adventure, giving it in 
 detail, but to avoid any moralizing, having had 
 enough of that for one evening, hastened to change 
 the subject, asking if Mr. William had become any 
 nearer settled as to his dates. This brought a flow 
 of good humor. The Judge looked toward the 
 door. *'He has so far improved," said he, "as to 
 admit that at times he may possibly be wrong. I 
 asked him if it were possible to be right, and then 
 we had our battle to fight over again." He offered 
 the preacher a cigar, but ignored his son. The 
 mother noticed it and sighed. Howard smiled at 
 her sadly, and shook his head. Bradley took the 
 
EAR TURNED TOWARD THE DOOR. 193 
 
 cigar abstractedly and after holding it for a time, of- 
 fered it to Howard, who declined it. The Judge 
 glanced at him but said nothing. William came in. 
 *7ohn," said he, after speaking to Bradley, "I saw 
 old Bodsford this morning." 
 
 "Not old Bill Bodsford." 
 
 "Yes, sir, old Bill." 
 
 "I thought he died years ago." 
 
 "No, he has been out in Colorado. I haven't 
 seen him since seventy-eight." 
 
 "Are you sure?" the Judge asked, winking at 
 Bradley. 
 
 "I ought to know. I met him in St. Louis in 
 seventy-eight— seventy-eight or seventy-nine— in 
 July, about the fifth." 
 
 "About the fifth. How can a date be about the 
 fifth?" 
 
 "I mean that it was either the fourth, fifth or 
 sixth. He told me then that he was on his way 
 to New Orleans, by boat. It was during that in- 
 tensely hot weather when so many people were 
 sun — but that was in seventy-nine, wasn't it?" 
 
 "I don't remember," said the Judge, winking at 
 Howard by mistake and then frowning to unde- 
 ceive him. 
 
 "Yes, I think it was." 
 
 13 
 
194 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "Seventy-nine," said the preacher, at a venture. 
 
 "Then I couldn't have seen old Bill in seventy- 
 eight. But I saw him today — and he looks like a 
 grizzly bear. And he didn't seem to be in very good 
 circumstances. But the last time I saw him before 
 that—" 
 
 "In seventy-nine," interrupted the Judge. 
 
 "Well, I'm not so sure about that, John. Let me 
 see. I was in St. Paul and went from there directly 
 to St. Louis. Yes. Now, I haven't been in St. 
 Paul but once since seventy-eight and that was year 
 before last. Went directly to St. Louis. It must 
 have been seventy-eight, John. Yes, it was." 
 
 "Well, go ahead with your story," said the Judge. 
 
 "Oh, it's no story. I was simply telling you 
 when I met old Bill the last time." 
 
 "And is that all there is to it?" 
 
 "All! Isn't it enough? I didn't start to tell a 
 story and you know it well enough. Look here, 
 Howard," he added, turning upon the young law- 
 yer, "are you fixing to jump on me, too?" 
 
 "Not at all, Uncle Billy." 
 
 "Oh, Uncle Billy, is it? Then I know you've 
 got it in for me. Mr. Bradley, I studied for the 
 ministry — not very hard, I admit — but I studied, 
 and I am sorry sometimes that I didn't go so far as 
 
EAR TURNED TOWARD THE DOOR. 195 
 
 to put on the cloth. It would have at least protected 
 me from ridicule." 
 
 Bradley smiled upon him in a lonesome sort of 
 way, with his ear turned toward the front door, 
 listening for the coming of Agnes. The family joke, 
 so eternally green for the Judge, was but dry grass 
 to him. His soul was panting for the sweet waters 
 of love, the babbling brook of a girl's dehghtful 
 mischief. But the mind can talk shop while the 
 soul is panting. ''You no doubt would have added 
 strength to our profession," he said. "I call it pro- 
 fession in want at the present moment of a better 
 term. Why did you give up your intention? Not 
 want of faith, I hope." 
 
 Mrs. Elbridge shook her head as if to imply that 
 there could be no want of faith in one connected 
 with her family. ''Well, I don't know," said Wil- 
 liam. "But the scheme, if I may so express it, 
 struck me as being not exactly useless, but, let us 
 say, hopeless." 
 
 "Hopeless," echoed the preacher. 
 
 "Yes. The warfare has been going on nearly 
 two thousand years, and the victory is not yet in 
 sight." 
 
 "At what date did it begin ?" the Judge asked. 
 
 William began to puff up. "Now, look here, 
 
196 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 John, this is a serious discussion. Is it possible that 
 there is nothing serious except in the law, in the 
 names of your old clients ? Do you keep everything 
 serious shut up in your safe ?" 
 
 The Judge's countenance changed, like the sud- 
 den turning down of a light, and he made a dis- 
 tressful gesture. ''Don't, William ; don't say that." 
 
 ''Why, what did I say to shock you so ?" 
 
 The Judge got up and slowly walked back into 
 his office. William looked at Mrs. Elbridge. 
 "Rachel, did I say anything?" 
 
 "He isn't well, William, and we never know what 
 is gomg to displease him. But he means nothing 
 by it, Mr. Bradley," she added. "Sometimes he be- 
 gins to joke in its old way, but it has been long 
 since we heard his laugh in its old heartiness. I 
 wish you would talk to him, Mr. Bradley. I know 
 he is not well, but he won't permit a doctor to come 
 near him." 
 
 The preacher assured her that he would. He did 
 not believe that there was any serious trouble ; it 
 was the strain of former years now claiming its debt 
 of his constitution. "Nature does not forget," said 
 he. "But nature may be humored. I have noticed 
 a change in him, but I am inclined to think that he 
 is gradually improving." 
 
EAR TURNED TOWARD THE DOOR. 197 
 
 Howard was silent, though the minister looked at 
 him at the conclusion of his speech as if expecting 
 some sort of reply. "He doesn't forget about my 
 dates, no matter how much of a change he has 
 undergone," said William. "But, as to our discus- 
 sion : I read some little in those days, and my 
 mind led me into bogs and swamps — into doubts, 
 if I may say so. It seemed to me that the whole 
 plan was marked out and couldn't be changed. I 
 remember having come across this startling ques- 
 tion : 'If man can make his own destiny ; if he can, 
 by his own free will, arrest the accomplishment of 
 the general plan, what becomes of God?' That 
 struck me, sir. like a knockout blow." 
 
 ''And yet," said Howard, "you say that the 
 French have a slop which they call literature." 
 
 "What! I said so? Well, what if I did?" 
 
 "You have quoted Balzac." 
 
 "Have I? But, sir, do you appoint yourself 
 to preside over my conscience?" 
 
 "I didn't say anything about your conscience. 
 Uncle Billy." 
 
 "Oh, no, but you Uncle Billy me into a broil, 
 that's what you do." 
 
 The preacher's mind had caught the quotation, 
 relating as it did to the shop, and he smiled as he 
 
198 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 said : "I am afraid, Uncle William, that the young 
 man has read too much for us. In an argument 
 he is a porcupine with sharp quills." 
 
 "A pig with the bristles of impudence," said Wil- 
 liam, and smiled an apology to the mother. 
 
 ''Nevertheless," remarked the preacher, returning 
 to the subject, "I don't see how the eye of faith 
 could have been dimmed by such a mote. Con- 
 science — " 
 
 "Meaning education," Howard interrupted. 
 
 The minister bowed to Howard, but continued to 
 address himself to William. "Conscience ought to 
 have pointed out the good you could do. You 
 could at least have gone to a foreign country — " 
 
 "Or off Van Buren Street," said Howard. 
 
 Bradley braced himself for a debate. Alone with 
 Howard he might have said, "let it pass," but in 
 the presence of a woman, a believer in his faith, a 
 preacher must not shun a controversy. It would 
 be an acknowledgment of the strength of the doubt 
 and of the weakness of faith. So he braced himself 
 against the wall of creed, and with polemic finger 
 raised was about to proceed when he heard the 
 front door open. 
 
 "The girls," said Mrs. Elbrldge, glad enough to 
 break in. 
 
EAR TURNED TOWARD THE DOOR. 199 
 
 *'So soon?" remarked Bradley, looking at his 
 watch and meaning so late. Florence and Agnes 
 came in, laughing. Bradley got up with a bow. 
 ''You here?" said Agnes, and then corrected her- 
 self by saying that she was pleased to see him there. 
 ''I never know how anything is going to sound," 
 she continued, throwing her hat on a sofa. "It's all 
 improvisation with me. I never saw as awkward 
 a man in my life—" Bradley looked at her with 
 such a start that she hastened to exclaim: "Oh, 
 not you, Mr. Bradley— the young man who walked 
 home with us. I couldn't for the life of me get it 
 out of my head that he wasn't on stilts." She sat 
 down on the sofa. Bradley made bold to go over 
 and sit down beside her, taking up her hat, looking 
 about for some place to put it and ending by hold- 
 ing it on his knees, awkwardly pressing them to- 
 gether. He felt that Howard was laughing at him ; 
 he knew that Agnes was. But she didn't offer to 
 take the hat. Florence, however, relieved him, 
 and then everyone laughed except William. The 
 preacher had been placed in an awkward position, 
 though anyone might have made a grace of it— any- 
 one but a man whom custom almost forces to adopt 
 solemnity as a badge of office ; and William gave 
 Howard credit for it all. In certain humors he 
 
200 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 would have charged the young man with a rainy 
 day, a frost or a cold wind. He looked at him in 
 his reproachful way and cleared his throat. 
 
 **What is it now, Uncle William ?" Howard asked. 
 
 "Oh, don't ask me. You ought to know." 
 
 **But I don't. I haven't said a word or done a 
 thing that you should give me the bad eye." 
 
 '"Rachel," said the old man, *'it seems to me that 
 the more he reads the more slang he uses. The 
 'bad eye !' That belongs to the police court." 
 
 'Then it is not a quotation from Balzac." 
 
 "Never you mind about quotations. I have 
 quoted before you were born — and I knew, sir, 
 from what source. But I won't stay to be brow- 
 beaten. I will leave you." 
 
 "By the way," Howard called after him, "if you 
 want a pipe of good tobacco step into my room. 
 You'll find a fresh can on the table." 
 
 "I don't want any of your tobacco, sir; I don't 
 want anything you've got." 
 
 Bradley might have thought that in this family 
 the joke was overworked, that is, had he been pre- 
 pared to think anything. But he was not. His 
 mind was aglow from the light beside him, and his 
 ideas, if at that moment he had any, were as gold 
 fishes in a globe, swimming round and round. 
 
EAR TURNED TOWARD THE DOOR. 201 
 
 Florence went to the piano. Howard stood beside 
 her. Mrs. Elbridge went out. It was time, and 
 she knew it. WilHam appeared at the door. "I 
 thought you said that your tobacco was on the table 
 in your room. What right have you got— what 
 cause have I ever given you to deceive me in that 
 
 way: 
 
 "You said you didn't want any of my tobacco." 
 "You said it was on the table. Of course I don't 
 want it — I wouldn't have it." 
 
 "You just wanted to see where it was." 
 "I don't care anything about it, sir. I want you 
 to understand that as you go along." 
 
 "All right, but the can of tobacco, I remember 
 now, is in the closet on the shelf." 
 
 WilHam went away, and the young man knew 
 that in the morning his tobacco can would be 
 empty. Florence played the air of a slow, old love 
 song, and between the notes fell the soft words, her 
 own and Howard's ; they looked into each other's 
 eyes, eyes so familiar to both, eyes they could no 
 more remember first seeing than we can remember 
 the first sky, the first star— love as old as recollec- 
 tion and as young as the moment. 
 
 There is one thing we can always say, and Brad- 
 ley said it: 'T shall miss you when you are gone." 
 
202 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 'Tm not gone yet," Agnes replied. 
 
 "I hope you are not getting tired of us." 
 
 "Tired ?" She raised her eyes and he looked into 
 them, into the depth of their blue mystery. "No, 
 I am having lots of fun." 
 
 "Fun! Is that all?" 
 
 "Isn't that enough? That's all I want." 
 
 "But hfe is not all fun." 
 
 "No?" She raised her eyes again. 
 
 "Life is serious," he said. "The greatest joy is 
 serious ; the greatest happiness comes to the heart 
 when the heart is solemn." 
 
 "Oh, 1 don't think so. I cry when I'm serious." 
 
 "There is joy in a tear." 
 
 "Not in mine." 
 
 He did not hear the front door open. For him 
 all the world had come in. He did not hear a step 
 at the door. Bodney came in. Florence left off 
 playing and turned about on the stool. Bradley 
 arose and shook hands with him, said that he was 
 glad to meet him, and lied. He would not at that 
 moment have been glad to see the glory promised 
 to the faithful. But he lied, as we all of us are com- 
 pelled to lie, for to lie at times is the necessary 
 martyrdom of the conscience. Bodney's face was 
 bright and his laugh was gay. "You are as merry 
 as a serenade," said Florence. 
 
EAR TURNED TOWARD THE DOOR. 203 
 
 "As happy as a lark," he replied. The love-mak- 
 ing was spoiled. Bradley said that it was time to 
 take his leave. Bodney followed him to the door, 
 and beneath the hall light handed him a bank note, 
 apologizing for not having sooner returned the loan 
 of ten dollars. 
 
 "But you have given me twenty," said Bradley. 
 
 "Have I? Then give the extra ten to the 
 church." 
 
204 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 LYING ON THE SIDEWALK. 
 
 Bradley lived in Aldine Square. By the light of 
 the first gas lamp he looked at his watch and found 
 that it wanted but three minutes to midnight. At 
 the corner of the street he waited for a cross-town 
 car, but as none was within sight, he walked on, 
 thinking little of the distance home, which was not 
 great, for his mind was on Agnes. He had not de- 
 cided that she would make a good wife, but he 
 knew that he would ask her to marry him. He 
 believed that his happiness depended upon her de- 
 cision. This is a conclusion reached by nearly 
 every man. His salary was not large, for his church 
 was poor, but it was growing rich in numbers and 
 that meant a popularity insuring larger pay. But 
 why should he consider his income? They could 
 live happily in Aldine Square. It was a charming 
 place, and so romantic that one would scarcely ex- 
 pect to find it in Chicago. It might have been a 
 part of Paris. It was come upon suddenly, its gate. 
 
LYING ON THE SIDEWALK. 205 
 
 with two great posts of stone, opening into the 
 street. There was a plastered wall, and it looked 
 as if it had been built for ages. Through the gate, 
 which was always left open, the view was attrac- 
 tive—there were trees, shrubbery, flowers, a pool, a 
 fountain and a carriage drive. It would charm 
 
 Agnes. 
 
 The street was deserted, with the exception of a 
 straggler here and there, turned out of a saloon. 
 ''Vice shutting its red eye," he mused, as one place 
 closed its door. Looking ahead he saw a man lean- 
 ing against a lamp post. As Bradley came up the 
 man, stepping out, said : "Mister, will you please 
 tell me what time it is ?" 
 
 Bradley halted and took out his watch, and, hold- 
 ing it so as to catch the light, was about to tell 
 him when the man snatched the watch, broke the 
 chain and fled down an alley. The preacher 
 shouted after him, ran a short distance down the 
 alley, but, realizing that pursuit was folly, if not dan- 
 gerous, returned to the street and continued his 
 way homeward, the piece of chain dangUng from 
 his pocket. He thought of going to the nearest 
 station to report the robbery, but his mind flew 
 back to x\gnes. How delicious it would be to have 
 her all to himself, sitting by the fountain in the 
 
206 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 summer air. The perfume of the flowers would 
 be sweeter, the falling of the water more musical. 
 They would read together till the twilight came, 
 read silly books, if she preferred them ; and in the 
 twilight they would read a book in which God had 
 written — the book of their own hearts. And in 
 cold ^yeather they would sit in the warm light, at 
 the window, and look out upon the little park, the 
 shrubbery covered with snow, the statuary of 
 winter. He would never seek to change the cur- 
 rent of her mind. Nature had fashioned it a laugh- 
 ing rivulet and it should never be a sighing wave. 
 With her in the congregation he could be more 
 eloquent, touch more hearts through his love for 
 her ; he would be more akin to the young, for her 
 love would be as a stream of youth constantly 
 flowing into his life. Nature might have shown her 
 power in the creation of man, but surely her glory 
 in the creation of woman. He drew a contrast be- 
 tween Florence and Agnes. Florence was stronger, 
 and had more dignity ; but, of course, he believed 
 that Agnes was more affectionate, and love was 
 more beautiful than strength. 
 
 He turned into the street leading to the Aldine 
 gate. And how quiet everything was. It was a 
 love night, the leaves murmuring. But, what was 
 
LYING ON THE SIDEWALK. 207 
 
 that lying on the sidewalk in front of the gate? A 
 
 woman. He stood looking down at her. Could 
 
 she have been murdered. The light was not strong, 
 
 but he could see that she was not ill dressed. She 
 
 was lying on her right side. He touched her 
 
 shoulder and she turned upon her back with a 
 
 moan. He leaned over her and caught the fumes 
 
 of liquor. But he got down upon his knees, raised 
 
 her head and spoke to her. 
 
 "What are you domg here, poor girl?" he said. 
 
 The light falling upon her face showed that she 
 
 was young. She moaned and mumbled something. 
 
 He asked her where she lived, but she could not 
 
 tell him. 
 
 "I don't know what to do wuth you," he said. 
 
 "Don't leave me," she mumbled. 
 
 "I will be back in a moment," he said, placing 
 her with her back against the wall. Then he ran 
 to the fountain, wet his handkerchief, and returning 
 with it dripping, bathed her face. It was hot and 
 feverish. The cold handkerchief appeared some- 
 what to revive her. 
 
 "Don't you know where you live?" 
 
 'T can't — don't know the number." 
 
 "Nor the street?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
208 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 Again he bathed her face, and taking his hat 
 fanned her with it. "How did you come here ?" 
 
 "They must have left me." 
 
 "Then you were with someone." 
 
 "Yes— three." 
 
 "Where had you been?" 
 
 "Wine room. Don't turn me over to the police. 
 I won't go there again." 
 
 "Can't you remember now where you live?" 
 
 "It is a long ways from here — over on the West 
 Side. I won't go there in this fix. I would rather 
 die." 
 
 "Then I don't know what to do." 
 
 "Don't turn me over to the police," she moaned. 
 
 He stood with his hat in his hand, looking up 
 and down the street. From the corner came the 
 whack of the policeman's club against a lamp post. 
 Not far away the fountain splashed its music. "Can 
 you walk?" he asked. 
 
 "I'll try. But where are you going to take me?" 
 
 "To my home." 
 
 "No," she cried piteously. "I don't want a 
 woman to see me this way." 
 
 "No woman is there to see you. Come on." 
 
 He led her along, supporting her with his arm. 
 He did not look to see if there were any windows 
 
LYING ON THE SIDEWALK. 209 
 
 lighted about the square ; he did not think of scan- 
 dal ; he thought of the poor thing heavy upon his 
 arm, not as a preacher, but as a man. He carried 
 her up the stone steps, unlocked the door and went 
 into the hall, into the red light falling from the 
 lamp. Up the stairs he led her, into a front room, 
 striking a match as he entered, lighted the gas and 
 eased her down upon a chair. She was deathly 
 pale. 
 
 "Let me lie down," she said. 
 
 He pointed to the bed, stepped out into another 
 room and drew the portieres. Then he lay down 
 upon a sofa, not to think of what he had done, but 
 of Agnes. 
 
 He was awakened by the housekeeper's tap upon 
 the door. "Come in," he called, and as she entered 
 he thought of the woman. The housekeeper was 
 fat and full of scandal. She walked straightway 
 to the portieres and drew them aside to enter the 
 room, and started back with a gasp of surprise. 
 
 "My sister," said Bradley. "She came on a late 
 train, and is going out early. Don't disturb her. 
 She brought me bad news from home, and must 
 go on further to see my other brother. She could 
 not explain by telegraph. It involves the settling 
 of an estate." 
 
 14 
 
210 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 He was now standing beside the housekeeper 
 and could see into the adjoining room. The girl, 
 with a remnant of modesty, had drawn the covering 
 over her. • 
 
 Two days later, Sunday, at the close of services, 
 a woman came forward, held out her hand to Brad- 
 ley and said: "I want you to pray for me." 
 
 Her face was pale and there was true repentance 
 in her eyes. ''You are my sister," Bradley replied, 
 and this time he did not believe that he had told 
 a falsehood. She went out, with tears on her 
 cheeks; and a lady who had come up to compli- 
 ment the preacher on his sermon, asked : 
 
 ''Who is that girl?" 
 
 "I don't know her name." 
 
 "She met me just as I was coming in," said the 
 lady, and was anxious as to whether or not this was 
 your church. She was evidently not looking for 
 denominations." 
 
 She was not. She was looking for something 
 nearer God — a man. 
 
MADE HIS PROPOSITION. 211 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 MADE HIS PROPOSITION. 
 
 The farmers have a saying to illustrate restless- 
 ness : "Like a hen on a hot griddle." And Rod- 
 ney thought of it the next day, as he sat about the 
 ofTfice waiting for the noon hour, for the game did 
 not start before then. He tried to read, but the 
 words were as the echo of a pot that had been 
 played. He attempted to write, but called it a mis- 
 deal. How swift was life, viewed from the window, 
 and yet how slow time was, limping, halting, stand- 
 ing still, boulders between minutes and mountains 
 betvv-een hours. Surely his watch was slow. Xo, 
 for a bell confirmed it in its record of the forenoon's 
 slothfulness. He thought of Goyle, and wondered 
 why he did not come to make his proposition, if it 
 were so important. He went out to walk in the 
 cool air blowing from the lake, and the Wexton 
 stairs arose before him. He rang the bell, and, 
 standing there waiting for the grim face of the 
 porter, reminded himself of an old horse at a stable 
 
212 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 door. Inside they were cleaning up, sweeping, 
 dusting, getting ready for another day and another 
 night. From o& in a bedroom came the snoring 
 of a man who had gone to sleep, drunk and broke ; 
 but the porter v/ould bid him a pleasant good- 
 morning and would give him a drink from a bottle 
 kept in ice all night. Bodney sat down at a window 
 and took up a newspaper and glanced at the report 
 of a committee appointed to investigate gambling 
 in Chicago. Numerous witnesses had been sum- 
 moned, some of them connected with the poker 
 clubs ; and in a vague way they admitted under 
 oath that they might have seen men playing cards 
 for money, but could not recall exactly where. "I 
 am looking for a fool," said the Legislature. 
 ''What do you want with him?" the Governor 
 asked. *'I want to put him on an investigative com- 
 mittee," the Legislature replied. *'For the city?" 
 the Governor inquired. "Yes," answered the Legis- 
 lature. "Then," said the Governor, "take the first 
 countryman you come to." 
 
 Men v/ith borrowed money burning in their 
 pockets began to arrive, and each one was asked 
 by an earlier comer if he wanted to play poker, and 
 though he had shouldered his way through the 
 crowd to get there, fearing, that he might not find 
 
MADE HIS PROPOSITION. 213 
 
 a vacant seat, he answered in a hesitating way, 
 ''Well, I don't know ; haven't got much time- 
 might play a little while." It was a part of the 
 hypocrisy of the game, recognized by all and prac- 
 ticed by all. 
 
 The noon meal was munched and the game be- 
 gan. Opposite Bodney sat a man whose liquor 
 lapped over from the previous day. One eye was 
 smaller than the other, and on one cheek, red and 
 flaming, was a white scar. He drew to everything, 
 won from the start and was therefore offensive. 
 Bodney opened a pot on a pair of aces. All passed 
 but the man with the white scar, who s>aid that he 
 would stay. "You are a pretty good fellow," he 
 remarked to Bodney. "I'll help you along." Bod- 
 ney drew three cards and caught his third ace. The 
 white scar drew two cards. Bodney, to lead him 
 on, bet a chip. 
 
 ''Well," said the scar, "I had a pair of sixes and 
 an ace here. I'll go down now and see if I helped, 
 and I won't bet you unless I have. Well, I'll have to 
 raise you three dollars." 
 
 "Raise you three," said Bodney. 
 
 "You must have helped. Still, we never know. 
 Ain't that so, Jim?" 
 
 Jim said that it was so, and the scar, as if pleased 
 
214 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 and reassured in thus finding his view confirmed, 
 raised Bodney. 
 
 It was wrong to take a drunken man's money; 
 it was robbery, but it was poker, and Bodney raised 
 him. 
 
 "Well, you play two pairs pretty hard, and I 
 don't believe you can beat three sixes. Raise you." 
 Then Bodney began to study. 'T'll call you," he 
 said. 
 
 'T drew to three little diamonds," said the fellow, 
 "and caught a flush." He spread his hand. Bod- 
 ney swore. "I never played with a drunken man 
 that he didn't beat me." 
 
 The fellow looked up at him as he raked in the 
 pot. "Have to do it. My pew rent's due. Ain't 
 that right, Jim?" 
 
 "That's right," said Jim. 
 
 Bad ran into worse and rounded up in a heap of 
 disaster. At three o'clock, just as the game was 
 getting good, as someone remarked, Bodney went 
 out, feeling in his pockets. This becomes a habit 
 with the poker fool. He continues to search him- 
 self long after he has raked up the lint from the 
 bottom of his pockets. In the street the air was 
 stagnant and the sunshine was a mockery. At sev- 
 eral places he tried to borrow money, but failed ; 
 
MADE HIS PROPOSITION. 215 
 
 his former accommodater, the druggist, told him 
 that he had a note to meet and could not spare it. 
 He was sorry, he said. Bodney went out, mutter- 
 ing that he was a liar. He went to the office and 
 found the door locked. Howard was not there, and 
 he could hide himself, the peacock whose tail 
 feathers had been pulled out. But before going 
 into the office he thought of the old doctor across 
 the hall, and hesitated. Perhaps he had money, 
 and, having ruined his mind, might be fool enough 
 to lend it. The doctor was pleased to see him. He 
 was astonished to find Bodney so much interested 
 in his affairs, and he wondered if a spirit of refor- 
 mation had come upon the youth of the land. 
 Bodney said that of late he had begun to hear much 
 of the old man's skill as a physician. The old man 
 turned a whitish smile upon him and listened like 
 a gray rat, bristles resembling feelers sticking out 
 on his lip. And after a time Bodney asked if he 
 would be so kind as to lend ten dollars till the fol- 
 lowing morning? He was sorry, but could not. 
 That part of the mind which takes account of money 
 is the last to suffer from disease. 
 
 Bodney went into the office to wait for some- 
 thing, he did not know what. He thought of Brad- 
 lev and wondered if he could find him. Just then 
 
216 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 he discovered the something he had been waiting 
 for. Goyle came in. 
 
 "Halloa, old man," said Goyle. "I went up to 
 the club just now to look for you and they told me 
 that you had gone down stairs." 
 
 "Down stairs broke," Bodney replied. 
 
 "That's all right," said Goyle. 
 
 "It's not all right. I'm broke, I tell you; and 
 a man that's broke is all wrong." 
 
 "He may think so. I'm glad you are broke." He 
 put his hand on a table, leaned forward, and gazed 
 into Bodney's eyes. 
 
 "Glad," said Bodney, bUnking. 
 
 "Yes, glad. It teaches you the need of money. 
 You are forced to shove back your chair, to give 
 your place to a brute standing behind you. You 
 see the deal go on. You are frozen out, but no one 
 cares. That game is life, the affairs of man epit- 
 omized ; you put in your last chip, you lose, and 
 you have failed in business. A fellow who hasn't 
 one-tenth the education has succeeded. He stacks 
 up the chips that you have bought, and for consola- 
 tion he says that chips have no home. Am I right ?" 
 
 "Yes, you are. But I want to get back into the 
 affairs of man. Let me have ten dollars." 
 
 "Two weeks from now I can give you ten thou- 
 
MADE HIS PROPOSITION. 217 
 
 sand. Listen to me. Wait a moment." He closed 
 the door, came back, drew a chair in front of Bod- 
 nev, sat down and leaned forward. "Now, I will 
 submit my proposition." 
 
 "I don't know that I can entertain any proposi- 
 tion. I am in too desperate a fix to go into any 
 sort of an enterprise. My blood is full of fever. 
 I've got this gambliag mania on me and I'm 
 tempted to cut my throat. One evening you took 
 me to a supper that was not to cost anything. It 
 has cost everything, all the money I had, my honor, 
 my future, my — " 
 
 "That's rot, George. I introduced you to a sup- 
 per that gave you experience — real knowledge of 
 the v.'orld. You have met men without their dress- 
 coats — you know man as he is and not as he says 
 he is. You were bUnd and I opened your eyes to 
 the fact that money is not the reward of the honest 
 and industrious. It is the agent of hell, and must 
 be won by means of the devil. You ought to have 
 been a rich man. If there'd been any foresight you 
 would have been. And whose fault was it that the 
 opportunity slipped? Not yours. Now to my 
 plan. Look at me. Child steaHng." 
 
 "What !" Bodney exclaimed. 
 
 "I have laid my wires. We will steal children 
 
218 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 and gather in thousands of dollars in reward for re- 
 storing them to their parents. Hold on. Look 
 at me. We will steal from the rich, for that is al- 
 ways legitimate. We will have our agents stationed 
 here and there — we will — " 
 
 "Infamous scoundrel, I could cut your throat. 
 I wish to God I had." 
 
 "Sit down and listen to me." 
 
 "I won't sit down. I will stand and look you 
 in the eye, you scoundrel. Don't put your hand on 
 me. Stand back, or I'll knock you down." 
 
 Goyle sneered at him. "You can't hit me. I am 
 your master. Now, listen to me. I am going over 
 into Michigan to establish a — post, I'll call it. And 
 when I come back, you will join me. I present a 
 plan by which you can get out of all your difficul- 
 ties, and you turn on me. Is that the way to treat 
 a benefactor? I have settled upon our first enter- 
 prise. Every day a nurse and child are at a certain 
 place in Lincoln Park. The father is dead and the 
 mother is rich. The child, I have found from the 
 nurse, is a boy. I am engaged to marry her. While 
 I am walking with her you steal — " 
 
 Bodney struck him in the mouth— struck him 
 with all the force of disgrace and dispair. He fell 
 and the blood flowed from his mouth. He did not 
 

 Bodnev struck him in the mouth. 
 
£Co <■ 
 
MADE HIS PROPOSITION. 219 
 
 get up ; he lay with his head back, and Bodney 
 thought that he saw death in his half-closed eyes. 
 He touched him with his foot and spoke to him, 
 but he did not move. Someone knocked at the 
 door, and without a tremor Bodney opened it, ex- 
 pecting to find Howard. The old doctor stood in 
 the hall. "I am sorry I refused to let you have the 
 money," he said. "And now, if you assure me 
 that—" 
 
 ''I am obhged to you," Bodney broke in, "but I 
 do not need it. I wanted to gamble with it, but I 
 have quit gambling. I have overthrown the evil. 
 Here," lie added, taking the old man's arm and 
 leading him into the room. "There it lies bleed- 
 ing," he said, pointing. "Perhaps it needs your as- 
 sistance. I must bid you good day." He walked 
 out, leaving the old man alone with Goyle. 
 
 "What are you smiling at?" asked an acquaint- 
 ance who met him in the street. 
 
 "Was I smiling?" 
 
 "Yes, hke a four-time winner." 
 
 "I am at least a one-time winner," Bodney re- 
 plied. He stepped into a drug store to get a cold 
 drink, his friend's place, he noticed after entering. 
 The druggist came forward and thus spoke to him : 
 'T was sorrv after vou went out that I didn't let 
 
220 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 you have ten dollars. I found that I had more than 
 enough to meet the note. I can let you have it 
 now." 
 
 Bodney shook his head. "No, I thank you — I 
 don't care for it. I have quit borrowing." 
 
 "I hope you don't feel ofifended." 
 
 "Not at all. I am grateful to you for not lending 
 it to me." 
 
 Late in the evening he went back to the office. 
 No one was there, but soon the negro janitor came 
 in and pointed to a damp spot on the floor. "I have 
 washed up the blood where the man fainted and 
 fell," he said. "The doctor brought him to all 
 right, and there's a note on the table he left for 
 you." 
 
 Bodney opened the note and read: "I leave 
 for Michigan, and will be back within a few days. 
 I don't blame you as much as I do myself. I per- 
 mitted you to break away from me, but you will 
 come back and at last be thankful. Goyle." 
 
THE GIRL AGAIN. 221 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE GIRL AGAIN. 
 
 Bodney's ''breaking away" from Goyle had taken 
 place on the day following the night when Brad- 
 ley had been robbed of his watch, and two days be- 
 fore the girl appeared in church to ask for prayers. 
 On the Monday following, about noon, she ap- 
 peared again, this time at Bradley's lodgings. The 
 housekeeper answered her ring at the bell. "Ah," 
 she said, "come in. You are Mr. Bradley's sister, 
 I believe. I didn't see you but a moment, but I 
 think I recognize you." 
 
 "Is Mr. Bradley here?" the girl asked. 
 
 "No, your brother has gone out. I think you 
 can find him over at Judge Elbridge's. I don't 
 know exactly where it is, but some place on Indiana 
 Avenue. Anyone can tell you. I hope you haven't 
 any more bad news for him." 
 
 The girl was shrewd and did not betray herself. 
 "No," she said, and went away. Bradley was in the 
 Judge's drawing room with Agnes when a servant 
 
222 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 came in to tell him that a young woman at the door 
 wished to see him. 
 
 "Oh, a young woman," cried Agnes, pretending 
 to pout. "Some girl you have been talking sweet 
 to, I warrant." He had risen to go out, but he 
 halted to lean over and say to her, "1 have never 
 talked sweet, as you term it, to anyone — except — " 
 
 "This one," Agnes broke in. "Oh, go on. Don't 
 let me detain you." 
 
 "Probably someone connected with the church — " 
 
 "Of course, they always are. Go on, please." 
 
 "I will tell you all about her when I come back." 
 
 "Oh, don't mind me. Here's Florence. She 
 knows I don't care. Do please go on." 
 
 Bradley went out, and not with a light heart, for 
 his love had now entered into the stew and fretful 
 state. The girl stood in, the hall, and in the dim 
 light he did not recognize her till she spoke. She 
 handed him a small package. 
 
 "What is this?" he asked. 
 
 "It is yours." 
 
 "My what?" 
 
 "Your watch." 
 
 It was some time before he could speak. All 
 ideas were as dust blown about his mind. "You 
 don't mean to say that— you couldn't have taken it 
 —you—" 
 
THE GIRL AGAIN. 223 
 
 "Let me go where I can talk to you — outside." 
 
 He went out with her and together they walked 
 along the street. Looking back, he saw Agnes at 
 the window, and he waved his hand at her. She 
 made a face at him, he thought. ''Now, what is it 
 you have to say?" 
 
 "You know a man named Goyle?" she said. 
 
 "Yes, I have met him at the Judge's house." 
 
 He waited for her to proceed. "I was with him 
 and two others the night you found me. They left 
 me on the sidewalk because I could not go fur- 
 ther, I harvx been told. Goyle went away alone 
 and snatched your watch." 
 
 "But, my gracious, how do you know? Did he 
 tell you?" 
 
 "For some time he has been coming to see me. 
 He was the first man I ever went with to — a place 
 where I should not have gone. I blush to own it, 
 but I was fascinated by him. He asked me to 
 marry him, and I consented. The last time he came 
 after that night was yesterday evening. But you 
 had taught me to despise him. I could not drive 
 him away, however, so I sat in the room with him. 
 His mouth had been hurt — two of his teeth were 
 gone. He said he had fahen ofif a car. He said 
 also that as soon as he got a little better he was 
 
224 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 going to Michigan. He took out his watch, one 
 that I had never seen him have before, and I no- 
 ticed that it had a broken chain. Then I remem- 
 bered seeing a broken chain hanging from your 
 pocket; and the next morning before I left your 
 house I thought I heard you tell someone that your 
 watch had been snatched from you. I asked him to 
 let me see the watch, and in it I found your name. 
 I did not return it to him — I jumped up and ran 
 out. He called after me, and tried to catch me, 
 but I slammed a door in his face and locked it. 
 Then, my mother, who never did like him, ordered 
 him out of the house." 
 
 ''What is your name?" 
 
 "Margaret Frayer." 
 
 "Then, Margaret Frayer, I am sorry you brought 
 me the watch." 
 
 "Sorry?" 
 
 "I did not wish a reward for what I had done for 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, that — the watch is not your reward. You 
 have saved a soul. In my heart I believe that I 
 have found peace. I went to sleep with a prayer 
 on my lips, and I awoke with such a joy in my 
 heart that I was frightened. I called mother and 
 she came running into the room, and there must 
 
THE GIRL AGAIN. 225 
 
 have been a spirit there, for before I said a word, 
 and before mother had seen me, for it was dark, 
 she cried out that I was saved. She had always 
 been worried over me ; she feared that my soul was 
 lost. And she put her arms about me and sobbed 
 in her happiness. That is your reward, Mr. Brad- 
 ley." 
 
 ''Come back to the house with me," he said. 
 
 He led her into the drawing room and intro- 
 duced her to Florence and Agnes. ''I wish to 
 present a young woman whom God has smiled 
 upon," he said, and they looked at him in aston- 
 ishment. He told them that he had found her 
 wandering and had led her home. Florence took 
 her hand. 
 
 "I may not be worthy, yet," said ]\Iargaret 
 Frayer, ''You don't know me well enough to take 
 my hand." 
 
 "I know that you must have suffered, and that 
 is enough," Florence replied. The preacher looked 
 at Agnes. He wondered why she did not come 
 oftener to his church. He wondered what she 
 would say to the young woman. 
 
 "You are my sister," said Agnes, as if inspired, 
 and Bradley clasped his hands and pressed them 
 to his bosom. His heart was full. 
 
 15 
 
226 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 Margaret Frayer did not remain long. "You 
 may meet me again," she said. 
 
 "She is to become a member of my church," 
 Bradley spoke up. 
 
 "My heart and my prayers will be with your 
 church, Mr. Bradley," she said ; "I shall remember 
 you and be grateful to you as long as I live, but 
 my soul tells me to go with the Salvation Army, 
 among girls, and persuade them to work in the 
 street when they have the time. It is not goodness 
 alone that saves us, Mr. Bradley ; goodness may be 
 selfish — it is saving others that saves us. You 
 know how that is. You have saved others." 
 
 "You are right," he said. "Go with the army; 
 you can do more there." 
 
 "And, do you say so?" Florence cried. "I 
 thought you too orthodox for that." 
 
 "Not too orthodox for the truth," he replied, 
 bowing. 
 
 "Then," said Florence, "I think more of you 
 than I did. I thought it was your ambition to build 
 up a church, but I find that you have forgotten your 
 creed to save a woman. I am coming oftener to 
 hear you preach." 
 
 During this time Margaret Frayer stood near the 
 door, waiting, it seemed, for an opportunity to go. 
 
THE GIRL AGAIN. 227 
 
 The preacher looked at her, and mused upon the 
 change that had come over her face since he had 
 first seen her, only a short time, but a great change. 
 The Salvation Army has a countenance and a com- 
 plexion peculiarly its own, serene and pale; and 
 so quick, it seems, is the transformation that the 
 coarse-featured, evil-eyed woman of today may, to- 
 morrow, have a striking refinement. '1 hope you 
 will come frequently to my church," said Bradley, 
 taking her hand. 
 
 ''Whenever I am selfish," she replied. 
 
 "You young ladies have done yourselves credit," 
 said Bradley, when Margaret Frayer had taken her 
 
 leave. 
 
 "Why so ?" said Agnes. "Because we treated her 
 kindly? Did you take us for heathens?" 
 
 "Oh, no, but women— women are so slow to for- 
 give." 
 
 "Forgive? Why, what has she done? She sim- 
 ply wanted religion, and you have helped her. Oh, 
 she might have done wrong, I don't know. But 
 women are more forgiving now that they have 
 taken more of man's privileges. They may be- 
 come quite generous after a while." With Agnes it 
 was innocence; with Florence it was knowledge. 
 She divined the history of the girl ; and in giving 
 
228 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 her hand felt that it was to one who had gone 
 astray, who had suffered, and who had turned back. 
 The Judge came in, to the disappointment of the 
 preacher, who feared that, soon to be followed by 
 William, the old jurist would begin anew to stir up 
 the old straw of family humor. But William did 
 not come, and the Judge was in no mood for jok- 
 ing. He had been brooding, and his brow was 
 dark. "Florence," he said, after exchanging a few 
 words with Bradley, *T wish you would walk out 
 with me." She said nothing, but went out and came 
 back with her hat. They walked in the shade of the 
 elms, and he remarked upon different objects, but 
 she said nothing. 
 
 *'Why don't you talk, Florence?" 
 "Because I haven't anything to say." 
 "You mean that you have nothing to say to me." 
 "I mean that it is useless to say anything to you. 
 Shall I say something? I will. You are an un- 
 natural father." 
 
 "No, I have an unnatural son." 
 "That is not true. Judge. Anyone to see him, to 
 hear him talk, to know him, would feel that he 
 could not commit such a crime. Why, sometimes 
 when I am alone it almost exasperates me to think 
 about it; and to realize that I am in a conspiracy 
 
THE GIRL AGAIN. 229 
 
 against him. It is cruel, and at times I fancy that 
 I am almost as unnatural as you are." 
 
 ''To be bound by an oath ? Is that unnatural ? 
 Is it unnatural to have honor? I told you in the 
 first place to protect you ; I bound you by oath to 
 protect her, his mother. That is simple enough." 
 
 ''But you don't know how near I have come to 
 the violation of that oath. More than once I have 
 had it in my heart to tell him — but I couldn't," she 
 broke off. "I couldn't. But he is going away, and 
 I will write it to him, every detail of it ; and I know 
 that he will forgive me." 
 
 "You make me the criminal when I am the in- 
 jured. Let us go back." 
 
230 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE PREACHER CONFESSES. 
 
 Bradley had argued with himself that at the 
 proper time it would be simple enough to tell the 
 girl that he loved her, and no doubt he was right, 
 but the time did not come. He sat beside her on 
 the sofa, when the Judge and Florence had quitted 
 the room, and he looked into her eyes, and the 
 proper words arose like a graceful flight of birds, 
 rich in bright feathers, but they scattered and flew 
 away. He could have delivered an oration upon 
 beauty and love, and he did ; but he feared to sur- 
 prise her by telling her that he loved her. He did 
 not dream that she had discovered it coming be- 
 fore he felt it. It was not possible for so innocent 
 a creature to know so much. He was a large man, 
 and large men may have sentiment, but sometimes 
 they lack sentimental nerve. 
 
 **You don't believe now that I talked what you 
 termed sweet to that poor girl, do you ?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know. But I don't see why she 
 
THE PREACHER CONFESSES. 231 
 
 should look at you that way even if you did— did 
 lead her. It must have looked nice, you going 
 along leading her. What do you suppose people 
 thought?" 
 
 ''No one — one saw me lead her," Bradley stam- 
 mered. 
 
 ''Oh, then it was in the dark. Led her in the 
 dark." 
 
 ''She didn't mean that I really took her by the 
 hand and led her. I led her spiritually." 
 
 "Is that all? Where did you find her— spiritu- 
 ally?" 
 
 "Going — shall I say?" 
 
 "Why, of course." 
 
 "Going to the devil." 
 
 "Oh, and did she say so, or could you see for 
 yourself?" 
 
 "I could see. Agnes— Miss Agnes, if I were 
 not afraid of lowering myself in your esteem, I 
 would tell you something." 
 
 "Don't tell me anything dreadful," she cried, stop- 
 ping -her ears. "I know it must be something 
 awful." 
 
 He waited for her to unstop her ears, which she 
 did very soon, and then he spoke, but on another 
 subject. She replied listlessly, leaning her head 
 
232 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 on the back of the sofa. He told her about his 
 church and she yawned. He had been deUghted to 
 see her in the congregation, and she yawned again. 
 *'I thought you were going to tell me about that 
 woman," she said. 
 
 "But you stopped your ears." 
 
 "And don't you know that when a woman stops 
 her ears it's the time when she wants to hear?" 
 
 "I dida't know that." 
 
 "You didn't? Then you needn't tell me any- 
 thing." 
 
 "Yes, I believe I ought to tell you — only you." 
 
 "Why only me ?" she asked, her eyes half closed. 
 
 "I don't know, but—" 
 
 "Then, why did you say only me?" 
 
 "Because I — I think more of you than of anyone 
 else." 
 
 "Oh, if you think it's your duty you'd better tell 
 
 me." 
 
 He told her, and she sat up straight, looking at 
 him ; she got up and walked slowly to the opposite 
 side of the room, he gazing at her. He reproached 
 himself for telling her. She was young, lived apart 
 from the great crowd, and could not understand. 
 He could not see her face, for she stood with her 
 back toward him, but displeasure has many coun- 
 
THE PREACHER CONFESSES. 233 
 
 tenances, and he could see that his story had of- 
 fended her. Her head was shghtly bowed, and she 
 was no doubt weeping; he heard her sob. Then 
 she had loved him, and her love was dying. But 
 he did not dare to go to her, to the death of the 
 love he had murdered. Suddenly she turned about. 
 Her face was radiant, and she was laughing. He 
 sitared at her in amazement. 
 
 "It is exactly what you ought to have done," she 
 
 said. 
 
 **And I am not lowered in your estimation?" 
 "For being a truer man than any man I have 
 ever known? Oh, no." 
 
 Yes, she had turned round, laughing, but there 
 were tear stains on her cheeks. He did not know 
 that she had passed through a struggle of doubt 
 to reach laughter. Surely she was a strange crea- 
 ture, worthy of being loved and capable of loving ; 
 but he did not tell her that he loved her. The words 
 were warm in his heart, but feh cool upon his lips, 
 and he did not utter them. He talked in a round- 
 about way, in an emotional skirmish, he afterward 
 said to himself, and then took his leave, as the 
 Judge and Florence had returned. Just outside he 
 met Bodney coming in. ''Oh, by the way, the very 
 man I want to see, ;Mr. Bodney. I want a talk with 
 you." 
 
234 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 Bodney thought that the preacher was going to 
 thank him again for the money sent to the church, 
 to tell him how much good it had done. "I will 
 walk along with you/' he said. 
 
 "This is a peculiar world," remarked the preacher, 
 as they strode along, side by side. 
 
 ''You might almost say a damnable world," Bod- 
 ney replied. 
 
 "No, not quite so bad as that." They walked on 
 in silence, Bodney wondering what the preacher 
 wanted to talk about, the preacher wondering how 
 he could best get at what he intended to say. "You 
 are well acquainted with Mr. Goyle," said Bradley. 
 
 "Why do you speak of him? Why didn't you 
 say I am well acquainted with the devil?" 
 
 "I suppose I might as well. Do you believe him 
 desperate?" 
 
 "In his milder moods, yes; at other times he 
 goes beyond that — he is inhuman." 
 
 "Ah. Do you believe that he would snatch a 
 man's watch?" 
 
 "He would snatch a woman's child. He is a 
 beast. But you have something to tell me. What 
 is it?" 
 
 "I will, but as I do not wish to bring someone 
 else into the glare of scandal, you must keep it to 
 
THE PREACHER CONFESSES. 235 
 
 yourself. The other night, as 1 was going home, 
 a man standing under a lamppost asked me the 
 time. I took out my watch and he snatched it 
 and fled down an alley. I didn't notice his face, or 
 at least I could not see it very well, and I did not 
 recognize him, but I have recovered the watch and 
 have been told that it was Goyle who snatched it. 
 And you do not suppose that there is any question 
 as to his being bold enough to do such a thing." 
 
 "Mr. Bradley, that man would do anything ; he is 
 a footpad or a sorcerer, just as the humor takes 
 him. Now, I will tell you something. He made 
 himself my master, so completely that at times I 
 could not resist him. But the other day he made 
 me an infamous proposition and I struck him m 
 the mouth and knocked him senseless upon the 
 floor. Blood ran out of his mouth, and it was black 
 —black, I will swear. I left him lying there, and 
 when I returned he was gone, but he had written 
 a note to me, a note in which there was not a word 
 of reproach or resentment. He said he was going 
 away and would see me upon his return. That note 
 frightened me, and I have been scared ever since, 
 dreading to meet him, for I feel that Re has some 
 sort of reserve power to throw over me. I would 
 go awa}-, but the thought that he knows all my 
 
236 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 movements is constantly haunting me. You may 
 smile at this and say that I ought to be stronger, 
 that it is superstition, and that we are not living 
 in a superstitious age, but I tell you that in his 
 presence I feel a weakness come over me to such 
 a degree that when I am with him I have only one 
 strength — a passion for gambling. I have let him 
 ruin me, soul and body ; I — " 
 
 "I will pray for you," said Bradley. 
 
 "You might as well pray for rain, and nothing 
 could be more foolish than that." 
 
 "What, you doubt the spirit of God?" 
 
 "I believe in the spirit of the devil. But this is 
 jugglery. If he had left me a note full of resent- 
 ment, or had even left no word at all, I should have 
 felt that I had conquered him ; but, as it is, I know 
 that I am his slave." 
 
 "My dear young man," said the preacher, "you 
 ascribe to him supernatural powers ; you have per- 
 mitted him to take you back into the middle ages. 
 Such a thing is absurd, in this great, progressive 
 city. See," he added, pointing at an electric car 
 rushing by. "There goes the nineteenth century, 
 and yonder," he broke off, waving his hand at a cart 
 shoved by an Italian, "is the sixteenth century. 
 You have let the Italian put you into his wretched 
 cart. Get out— get on the electric car." 
 
THE PREACHER CONFESSES. 237 
 
 "Your illustration is all right, Mr. Bradley ; but 
 he has me in his cart bound hand and foot. But 
 we have both said enough, and what we have said 
 is not to be repeated to others. I'll turn back 
 
 here." 
 
 After knocking Goyle down. Bodney had fully 
 determined to make a confession to Howard and the 
 Judge, but upon finding the note his will resolved 
 itself into fear and indecision. He felt, however, 
 that the gambling germ was dead— ''germ," he mut- 
 tered to himself. "Giant !" he cried aloud. It must 
 be, though, that he would gradually gain strength, 
 and the time for the confession was surely not far 
 off. But he would bring disgrace upon himself and 
 be driven out of the house. He could not bear the 
 thought of seeing hatred in the eye of the Judge. 
 The old man was unforgiving; had not forgiven 
 his son, and would surely send Bodney to the peni- 
 tentiary. "I can't tell him yet," he mused. "I 
 must wait for strength. That scoundrel is thinking 
 of me at this moment, and I know it." In the 
 night he awoke with a feeling that Goyle was in the 
 room, and he sprang out of bed and lighted the gas. 
 Thus it was for three nights, and on the third morn- 
 ing came a letter from Goyle, not a letter, but an 
 envelope directed by his hand, and in it was a news- 
 
238 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 paper cutting, set in the large type of the village 
 press. "Last night, at Col. Radley's, the guests 
 were entertained in a most novel, not to say start- 
 ling, manner, by Prof. Goyle, of Chicago, who gave 
 several feats of mind-reading. Miss Sarah May- 
 hew, daughter of our leading merchant, stuck a 
 pin in the door-facing as high as she could reach, 
 while the Professor was out of the room, and then 
 hid the pin under the carpet. The Professor was 
 brought in blindfolded, amid the silence which the 
 Colonel had enjoined. He took Miss Mayhew by 
 the hand, fell into deep thought for a few moments 
 and then went straightway and took the pin from 
 under the carpet, and then, marvelous to relate, ran 
 across the room and leaping ol¥ the floor stuck the 
 pin in the exact hole which it had occupied at the 
 hands of the handsome Miss Mayhew. George 
 Halbin, one of our leading lawyers, said that the 
 feat would have seemed impossible to even a man 
 with both eyes open. The Professor will appear at 
 the opera house tomorrow night, and our citizens 
 who appreciate a good thing when they see it 
 should turn out." 
 
 "What have you got there?" William asked, 
 standing in Bodney's door. 
 
THE PREACHER CONFESSES. 239 
 
 "Just a clipping from a newspaper telling of 
 Goyle's wonderful mind-reading." 
 
 "Let me see it." 
 
 William read the paragraph and handed it back. 
 
 "I don't beheve a word of it," he said. "Those 
 
 fellows will write anything if they are paid for it. 
 It's all a lie." 
 
 "It's all true," said Bodney. 
 
 "What, have you turned spiritualist ? Is the whole 
 family going to pieces? Howard has ruined him- 
 self with French books and John is so snappish that 
 no one can speak to him. Is that the sort of home 
 I've found ? Give me that cigar sticking out of your 
 pocket. You don't need it. Thank you. A man 
 who believes the stuff you do don't know whether 
 he's smoking or not. Is that John, roaring at 
 Howard ? I want to tell you that there's something 
 wrong here. What do you keep holding that thing 
 for? Why, you shake like a sifter at a sawmill. 
 You are all going crazy." 
 
240 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 UP THE STAIRS AND DOWN AGAIN. 
 
 When Bodney went into the hall he found the 
 Judge walking up and down, waiting for break- 
 fast. His brow was troubled and dark, for How- 
 ard had just announced his determination to leave 
 on the following day. He had acknowledged to 
 himself that there was nothing left to hope for, 
 and yet he had continued to hope that it all mighf 
 be, as Florence believed, a vision, a nightmare, to 
 be relieved by a sudden start. He knew that it 
 was unreasonable thus to hope, but hope was born 
 before reason, and will exist after reason has died 
 of old age. As Bodney approached the old man 
 stood with his hand pressed against his forehead. 
 Bodney's heart smote him, but his fear was stronger 
 than his remorse. The piece of paper, still in his 
 hand, seemed to burn his palm, as poker money had 
 burned in his pocket; and he felt that he was but 
 a pin hidden under a carpet and that Goyle could 
 find him and thrust him back into obedience. The 
 
UP THE STAIRS AND DOWN AGAIN. 241 
 
 Judge noticed the grip with which he held the sHp 
 of paper. "What have you there, George?" he 
 asked. 
 
 '*'A — a — thing cut out of a newspaper." He 
 opened his hand and the Judge looked at the slip 
 of paper. 
 
 ''But why did you grip it that way?" He took 
 the cutting, smoothed it out, and, putting on his 
 glasses, read it. "Ah," he said, handing it back, 
 "that fellow. I have seen him in my sleep — last 
 night. Tell him^ not to come here again." 
 
 "It has been some time since he was here." 
 
 "Don't apologize for him. Tell him that he must 
 not enter this house again." 
 
 William came out and saw the Judge hand the 
 cutting to Bodney. "Is it possible, John, that you 
 believe in that nonsense, too?" 
 
 "I don't believe in anything," said the Judge. 
 
 "That's putting it rather strong," replied William. 
 "That is to say, that when I tell you I elected Gov- 
 ernors and Senators, you don't believe it." Bodney 
 passed on, leaving the brothers walking up and 
 down the hall, shoulder to shoulder. 
 
 "Did I say that I didn't beheve you? What dif- 
 ference does it make anyway?" 
 
 "What difference does any man's record make? 
 
 16 
 
242 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 If a man isn't proud of his record, what should he 
 be proud of? You are proud of your decisions — 
 they go to make up your record. I elected Gov- 
 ernors, and — " 
 
 "Why didn't you elect yourself?" 
 
 "That's a nice way to come back at a man — your 
 own brother. Haven't you heard me say that there 
 is something higher than a desire for office ? Hah, 
 haven't you heard me say that?" 
 
 "Yes, there is something higher — the roof of the 
 board of trade." 
 
 "John, that is an unfair thrust at my speculations. 
 But, sir, at one time I could have closed out for 
 millions. Do you understand, for millions." 
 
 "Why didn't you?" 
 
 "Now, just listen to that. Reproaches me for 
 not being a money grabber, for not joining the 
 robbers to crush the weaklings. I have suffered a 
 good deal at your hands lately, but I didn't expect 
 that stab. It wounds me here." He halted, and 
 placed his hand on his breast. But he went in to 
 breakfast and ate with the appetite of a man who, 
 if wounded, must have marvelously recovered ; he 
 joked with Agnes about the preacher ; he told her 
 that it would be her duty to take care of his numer- 
 ous slippers, presented by women. "And when you 
 
UP THE STAIRS AND DOWN AGAIN. 243 
 
 have a pound party at your house I will contribute 
 a—" 
 
 "Senator," said Howard. 
 
 "Oh, so you have broken out, have you? I 
 thought you were too deep in the study of French 
 literature to pay any attention to such trifles. And 
 you have got on a reddish necktie. You'll be an 
 anarchist the first thing you know." 
 
 "He is going away, William," said Mrs. El- 
 bridge, and the Judge did not look up. The sad- 
 ness of her voice stirred William to repentance. 
 "Going away? I don't see how we can get along 
 without him. He and I joke, but we understand 
 each other, don't we, Howard?" 
 
 "Perfectly, Uncle William ; and when I open my 
 ranch out West, you may look on it as your home." 
 
 "Thank you, my boy; but I don't care to go out 
 there again. I was once a power there, but the 
 country is now overrun with a lesser breed, and I 
 am airaid that I might not get along with them. I 
 want men, such as there used to be. Man will soon 
 be a thing of the past. The scorcher is running 
 over him — and I want to say right here, that if 
 one of those fellows ever runs over me, he'll get a 
 bullet just about the size of a — a — about the size of 
 that." He held up his thumb and measured off the 
 
244 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 missile intended for the scorcher. "You hear what 
 I say. Why, confound 'em, if they see a man, a 
 real man, they bow their necks and make at him, 
 but if one of them ever runs into me, the coroner 
 will have a job." 
 
 Howard and Bodney went down town together 
 and opened the office, as usual, for clients who did 
 not come, and who, if they had come, would have 
 shaken their heads and gone away. 
 
 ''Howard," said Bodney, "I told you that I was 
 financially ruined." 
 
 "Yes, I remember, but afterward you said that 
 everything was all right, that your fit had passed. 
 Has it come again?" 
 
 "It didn't go away. A sort of drunkenness made 
 it appear so. The fact is, I am in need of ten dollars, 
 to pay a man I owe. He keeps harassing me." 
 
 "I need every cent I've got, old man, but here's 
 ten." 
 
 Bodney took the bank note and went out. The 
 poker microbe was not so easily to be exterminated. 
 It had suggested to Bodney that the only way to 
 replace the money taken from the Judge's safe was 
 to play poker. And, why not play? He might 
 win — he had won once, and what the cards had 
 done they would do again. He remembered the 
 
UP THE STAIRS AND DOWN AGAIN. 245 
 
 courtesies that had been shown him at the club, the 
 congratulation of the man at the desk when he 
 won and the sympathy when he lost. "Couldn't 
 make 'em stick, eh ? When a man gets the hands 
 beaten you do, he's got to lose his money. There's 
 nothing to it. But you'll get 'em yet— you play as 
 good game as any of them." A man of sense could 
 see that it was a losing game from the start, no 
 matter how honestly conducted. And Bodney, 
 going to the club before business put on its cheer- 
 ful countenance, had seen them counting the swal- 
 lowings of the ever hungry box, the rake-off, the 
 unsatisfied maw. A fairly active game would aver- 
 age for the house at least eight dollars an hour, 
 so that in the end every man must be a loser. He 
 knew all this as the others knew it, but the microbe 
 squirmed and made him itch. 
 
 He walked toward the Wexton Club, not in a 
 rush, for he was still fighting. Speculation urged 
 him to play one more time, and to realize during 
 the game that it was the last. The hunger for 
 play was surely dying; then, why kill it? why not 
 let it die of its own accord ? Then came the memory 
 of nights of distress, the nervous sweat of anxiety 
 in the street, scanning faces, looking for money. 
 He turned aside, went into a hotel and sat down. 
 
246 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 Two men were talking of a defaulter. "Yes, sir," 
 said one of them, "everybody had confidence in him 
 — the firm trusted him implicitly; but he embez- 
 zled and must go up for it." He mentioned the em- 
 bezzler's name, and Bodney recognized it as that 
 of a gentlemanly young fellow well known at the 
 Wexton. He had come under an assumed name, 
 but had thrown off this weak disguise, to indorse a 
 check. So the players, who gossip among them- 
 selves, knew his real name, but addressed him as 
 Jones. Bodney continued to listen. "I under- 
 stand," said one of the men, "that the place where 
 he went is a regular robbers' den." Bodney knew 
 better than this ; he knew that in the fairness, the 
 courtesy, the good nature of the place lay its great- 
 est danger. Men swore, it was true; cursed their 
 luck and called upon a neighbor to testify to the 
 fact that he had never seen such hands beaten ; but 
 for the most part, the atmosphere was genial, the 
 talk bright and with a crispness rarely found in so- 
 ciety. He resented this misrepresentation, and was 
 even on the point of speaking when the men walked 
 off. Soon afterward he went out, though not in 
 the direction of the club; he circled round and 
 round, like a deer, charmed by a snake ; but after 
 a time he saw the stairway, dusty and grim, rise 
 
UP THE STAIRS AND DOWN AGAIN. 247 
 
 before him. In the hall above, just as he was about 
 to ring the bell, he thought of his short resources, 
 only one ten dollar note, and he took out the 
 crumpled paper and held it in his hand for a mo- 
 ment and looked at it, not to find the ten dollars, 
 but the newspaper cutting. He started as if stung, 
 stepped back and stood with his hand resting on 
 the balustrade. The door opened and a man came 
 out. Bodney spoke to him, and he halted. It was 
 the offensive fellow with the white scar. 
 
 "How did you come out?" 
 
 The man opened both hands and raised them. 
 He was not drunk now. He was sober and des- 
 perate. 'They have ruined me," he said; "ruined 
 me, and I don't know what in the name of God to 
 do. I'll never play again as long as I live — I'd swear 
 it on all the bibles in the world. Are you going to 
 play?" 
 
 "I was thinking about it." 
 
 "I could have quit big winner. Say, have you 
 got enough to stake me?" His eyes brightened, 
 but the light went out when Bodney shook his head. 
 "I've got just ten dollars." 
 
 "Then you won't last as long as a feather in hell." 
 He went down the stairs, and Bodney continued to 
 stand there, fighting against himself, with the news- 
 
248 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 paper cutting still in his hand. Suddenly, with his 
 teeth set and both hands clenched, he ran down the 
 stairs. At the door opening out upon the street 
 he met the master of the game. "Won't you come 
 back and eat with us ?" 
 
 *'No, I am in a hurry." 
 
 The master of the game was astonished. The 
 idea of a poker player being in a hurry to get away 
 from the game was almost new to him — and it was 
 new to Bodney. But he hastened on, not daring to 
 look back lest he might find some new temptation 
 beckoning him to return. Passing beyond the cir- 
 cle wherein the lodestone seemed to draw the hard- 
 est, he felt, upon looking back, that he had escaped 
 and was beyond pursuit. It was now eleven o'clock, 
 and the victory must have been won at about ten 
 minutes to eleven. He had cause to remember this 
 afterward, on the following day, when he believed 
 that the cause of this sudden strength had been 
 revealed to him. 
 
 Howard was in the office when Bodney returned. 
 "Well, did you pay your persistent cr-editor?" 
 
 "There was none. Here is your money ; I don't 
 need it now." 
 
 "But you will, so you'd better keep it." 
 
 "That's a fact, and I don't know how soon." 
 
UP THE STAIRS AND DOWN AGAIN. 249 
 
 *'But you say there was none." 
 
 "None. I'll explain sometime, but I can't now." 
 
 Howard did not pursue the subject further, for 
 his mind was on his own affairs. He had settled 
 upon taking his departure the next morning, and 
 now he looked about the old room with a feeling 
 of sadness. He had consulted another physician 
 who knew his father well, and had been informed 
 that the old man might improve rapidly in the ab- 
 sence of his son. This made the young man wince, 
 but he had told the doctor that his father seemed 
 to have an especial antipathy to him, "It is one 
 of the freaks peculiar to diseased minds to turn upon 
 one who has been nearest," said the physician. 
 Howard had repeated this to his mother, and fre- 
 quently she remarked it as a discovery of her own. 
 
 That evening when the young men went home 
 there was a great hub-hub in the hall. William had 
 just come in, covered with dust and was blowing 
 Uke a hippopotamus. "If I live, I'll kill him ; mind 
 what I tell you." 
 
 "What's the trouble?" Howard asked. William 
 had been knocked down by a scorcher. 
 
250 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 TOLD HIM GOOD-BYE. 
 
 At the breakfast table the next morning the 
 Judge paid no attention to Howard, though he 
 knew that his departure was to take place that day. 
 He had striven to be genial when Mrs. Elbridge 
 was present, and for a time had succeeded, but all 
 effort was thrown off now. 
 
 Howard went to his room to make ready, and his 
 mother went with him. The Judge was walking 
 up and down in hfs office as they passed his door. 
 Florence entered, and the Judge bowed to her. 
 
 "Are you going to tell Howard good-bye?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "That's easy enough," he answered. 
 
 "He will come in here to see you before he goes." 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 "I know because it is not possible for him to 
 prov.e so unnatural as — " 
 
 The Judge raised his hand. "Don't say it, 
 please." 
 
TOLD HIM GOOD-BYE. 251 
 
 She stood looking at him. "Don't you think you 
 ought to tell him why you have hardened your 
 heart against him?" 
 
 "I shall tell him nothing." 
 
 "And is that the part of a true man? Is it not 
 almost inhuman to let him suffer in ignorance?" 
 
 The Judge raised his hand and looked toward the 
 door. "I tell you, it is to protect her. Can't you 
 see?" 
 
 "It is well enough to protect her, but you ought 
 to give him an opportunity to defend himself." 
 
 "There is no defense. Mind, your oath." 
 
 "Oh, I am sick of that," she said. "Every time 
 I say a word in his behah you remind me of a foohsh 
 vow. Judge, I am weary of this senseless and in- 
 sane drama, seeing the others stumble about in the 
 dark while you and I stand in the light. No, you 
 do not stand in the light. I alone am in the light 
 of truth ; and if I did not think that the trip out 
 West would be good for him, I would not let him 
 go; I would stop him short with what you have 
 told me and made me swear by the memory of my 
 mother not to repeat. No wonder you put your 
 hand to your head. It must ache. But, there, I 
 won't reproach you." 
 
 He had sat down. She went to him and put her 
 
252 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 hand on his shoulder. He looked up, and then 
 looked down again. "I believe something is going 
 to clear it all up one of these days," she said. He 
 got up and resumed his walk. Howard's voice 
 came down the hall: ''Has the trunk gone yet?" 
 
 "I think he is coming," she said. 
 
 "Stay with me, Florence." 
 
 "No, you must face him, the injured, alone." 
 
 "I have not injured him ; he has injured me." 
 
 She went out and the Judge stood there waiting 
 for Howard. He came in, more serious now that 
 everything had been made ready. "I am about to 
 start for the West, sir," he said. "I can't stand it 
 here any longer. You frown at me, and when I 
 beg you to tell me — " 
 
 "How long do you expect to be gone ?" the Judge 
 interrupted. 
 
 "Till the day when I am to marry almost in se- 
 cret, or when you send for me." 
 
 The Judge was walking up and down. He 
 turned and replied. "I shall not send for you." 
 
 "Do you still deny us the right to be married 
 in a church?" 
 
 "You shall never marry her at all with my sanc- 
 tion, and if you marry her without it, you marry 
 out West or in there," he added, waving toward the 
 drawing room. "There must be no guests." 
 
TOLD HIM GOOD-BYE. 253 
 
 ''I should like to marry in my father's house, but 
 on the prairie or in the woods will do as well ; it 
 makes no difference." He looked hard at his father, 
 and, after a time, added : "I didn't think that a man 
 could change so much — be so unnatural." 
 
 "None of that, sir !" the Judge exclaimed, turning 
 upon him. ''It is not for you to call me unnatural." 
 
 "Father, if I have committed a crime in your eye, 
 why don't you tell me what it is ?" 
 
 "In my eye! You must have studied long to 
 frame that speech." 
 
 "But why don't you tell me ?" 
 
 "Don't mock me, sir." 
 
 Howard looked at him, as if trying to study 
 out something in his countenance, in his eye. "May 
 I ask you something?" 
 
 "Why should you desire my permission since 
 you would pay no attention to my refusal? What 
 is it that you wish to ask ?" 
 
 "May I ask if there has ever been any insanity 
 in our family?" 
 
 The Judge started. "In our family — in my fam- 
 ily there has been something worse than insanity." 
 
 Howard slowly nodded his head as if admitting a 
 sad fact. "Yes, there has been the death of affec- 
 tion — in your family." 
 
254 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 **Ah," cried the Judge, ''the shrouding of a hope." 
 
 "The murder of a jovial spirit," said Howard. 
 
 "Don't shoot your poisonous arrows at me. Go 
 on, away. Good-bye." He waved his hand. How- 
 ard turned toward the door, but halted, faced about 
 and looked at the Judge with troubled tenderness. 
 "Father, I don't know exactly where I am going, 
 but out in the wilds somewhere to find a place for 
 me and mine. I did not believe — couldn't have 
 foreseen such a moment as this. It seems to me 
 that my father is gone." He paused, and the Judge 
 stood with his face turned away. "Shall I write to 
 you?" 
 
 "No," said the Judge, without looking round. 
 
 Mrs. Elbridge came in and found them standing 
 apart, the Judge still with his back toward Howard. 
 "Howard," she said, "the cab is waiting. Judge, 
 Howard is going away from us." 
 
 The old man turned slightly, looked at her, 
 nodded his head, said "yes," and walked to the 
 opposite side of the room. Mrs. Elbridge touched 
 her forehead. "You must bear with him," she 
 whispered. "You can see where the trouble lies." 
 
 "Yes, and it is a sorrowful thought. I can hardly 
 believe it. And to think that he should select me 
 as the object of his contempt." 
 
TOLD HIM GOOD-BYE. 255 
 
 "He will get over it soon and send for you," she 
 said in a low voice. "A disordered mind turns 
 against the loved one — nearly always." Then, ad- 
 vancing toward the old man, she said : "Jndgt, tell 
 him good-bye." 
 
 "I have," replied the old man, standing with his 
 face turned from her. She went to him and, touch- 
 ing his arm, said: "But not in your old way — not 
 as you would have told him good-bye before — be- 
 fore you were ill." 
 
 "I am not ill," he said, without turning his eyes 
 toward her. "I never was better in my life." 
 
 "But, tell him good-bye, please." 
 
 "I tell you I have!" he exclaimed, stamping upon 
 the floor; and turning with his hand uplifted, he 
 cried : "Can't you see — no, you cannot," he broke 
 off, his hand shaking, and slowly falling to his side. 
 "No, you cannot see, must not see. I beg your 
 pardon for speaking so impatiently, but I am wor- 
 ried, Rachel ; worried, and — " 
 
 "Yes, I know," she said, taking the arm which he 
 had raised from under her gentle touch. "But, you 
 must tell him good-bye." 
 
 The Judge struggled against her, though not 
 with violence; the struggle, indeed, was more 
 
256 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 against himself. She led him toward Howard, who 
 stood looking on, sorrowfully. 
 
 'Tut your arm about him," she said to the Judge. 
 "For me, please." 
 
 "For you," he said, and suffered her to put his 
 arm on Howard's shoulder. She raised his other 
 arm, and now he stood with both arms about the 
 boy's neck. 
 
 "Good-bye, father," said Howard. 
 
 For a moment the old man's countenance was 
 aglow with the light of love and sympathy ; con- 
 vulsively he pressed Howard to his bosom — but a 
 horror seemed to seize him, the light of sympathy 
 went out as if blown by a cold wind, and, stepping 
 back, he said : 
 
 "There. Go. Not another word. Why do you 
 continue to stand there gazing at me? Rachel, 
 can't you take him away? I have told him good- 
 bye to please you — now, why don't you oblige me 
 by taking him away?" 
 
 "But, dear, have you no word for him?" 
 
 "Word, yes. Good-bye." 
 
 "No word of advice?" 
 
 "Advice! Don't mock me. Go away, please. 
 Can't you see — no, you cannot, and why should I 
 expect it? Now go." 
 
TOLD HIM GOOD-BYE. 257 
 
 "We are going," she said. 
 
 ''Yes, but — I beg your pardon — but why don't 
 you?" 
 
 She took Howard's arm and walked out, looking 
 back as if she hoped that the Judge might repent 
 and follow, but he did not ; he resumed his walk 
 up and down the room. Suddenly he turned. 
 "Now, what are you doing, William ?" The brother 
 had entered and was turning over papers on the 
 desk. 
 
 "I am looking for a slip of paper I dropped out 
 of my pocket-book." 
 
 "You didn't leave anything here." 
 
 "That may be," said WilHam, "but I don't know 
 whether I did or not till I find out. A man never 
 knows — " 
 
 "Some men never know," the Judge broke in, 
 going over to the desk and taking a paper out of 
 William's hand. "Go away, please." William 
 stepped back, shocking himself from the storage 
 battery of his dignity. "Oh, I can go, if that's what 
 you want." 
 
 "That's what I want." 
 
 "It is ? All right. John, I'll be hanged if I know 
 what's the matter with you." The Judge was pay- 
 ing no attention. He was listening to a cab driving 
 17 
 
258 JUDGE ELBRIBGE. 
 
 off from the door. "I say, sir, I'll be hanged if I 
 know what's the matter with you." 
 
 "I heard what you said." 
 
 "I don't know whether you did or not. There's 
 no living in the house with you. And last night, 
 after I had been knocked down in the street — and 
 I'm going to kill him if detectives can find him — last 
 night when I merely intimated that something had 
 taken place on the fourteenth of September, you — " 
 
 "William, are you going to begin all that over 
 again ?" 
 
 "I don't know what you mean by again. John, 
 you talk in riddles. I can't for the life of me get 
 at your meaning. Yes, sir, and last night you flew 
 off like a jug handle when I told you that Carl 
 Miller—" 
 
 "Oh, damn Carl Miller." 
 
 "That's all right. I don't care how much you 
 damn him. He deserves it — broke a pair of boots 
 for me and made 'em so kidney footed that I 
 couldn't walk in 'em. But I am positive about that 
 other date, John. It was the tenth." 
 
 The Judge looked at him, drew a long breath, 
 and said: "William, you are an old fool." 
 
 "An old fool, John— old ? Did you say old ?" 
 
 "That is what I said. Old." 
 
TOLD HIM GOOD-BYE. 259 
 
 William sighed. "Then, that settles it. It isn't 
 so bad to be simply a fool — for we may grow out 
 of that as time goes on — but to be an old fool — 
 John, I'll leave your house. I can't stand your 
 abuse any longer. I am without means, broke, you 
 might say, and I don't know which way to turn, ex- 
 cept to turn my back on your ill-treatment of me. 
 I may starve to death or be killed in the street or 
 on some freight car, stealing a ride from misery to 
 misery, but I am going." 
 
 "William, sit down and behave yourself." 
 
 "Never again will I sit down in your house. I 
 
 have joked with you, I know, and have said a great 
 
 many things that I didn't mean, but I am in deadly 
 
 earnest this time. I am going away." 
 
 The Judge put his hand on William's shoulder. 
 
 "Look at me," he said. "Don't leave me. I need 
 
 you. I am mean, and I know it, but I beg of you 
 
 not to leave me." 
 
 "Mean!" William cried. "Who the deuce said 
 
 you were mean? Show the villain to me. Show 
 
 him to me, I tell you." 
 
 "There, nov/, sit down ; it is all right." 
 
 "No, sir, it is not all right, and it never will be 
 
 till I find the scoundrel that called you mean. Was 
 
260 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 it Bradley? Tell me, and I'll choke him till his 
 eyes pop out. Was it Bradley?" 
 
 The Judge smiled. ''Bradley," said he, ''is one of 
 my props. He is the son of my old friend, and I 
 think the world of him." 
 
 "Well, let him congratulate himself on his escape, 
 for before the Lord I would choke him. It is all 
 right, yes, sir — but, really, John, if I tell you earn- 
 estly it was on the tenth won't you believe — " 
 
 "Yes, yes ; let it be the tenth." 
 
 "Let it be! Why, confound it, I tell you it was 
 the tenth." 
 
 "All right. When you go out I wish you would 
 tell Florence to come here." 
 
 WilHam grunted. "Oh, I can go out. By the 
 way, John, Howard asked me a pertinent question 
 this morning. And it staggered me a little. He 
 wanted to know whether there had ever been any 
 insanity in our family." 
 
 The Judge showed signs of coming agitation, but 
 he fought with himself as it was his custom to fight. 
 '■What did you tell him? ' 
 
 "I Hed, I told him no. John, do you remember 
 the night when they came from the mad-house and 
 told us children that father was dead?" 
 
 "Don't, William ; don't. Please tell Florence to 
 come here." 
 
TOLD HIM GOOD-BYE. 261 
 
 William went out and the Judge resumed his 
 walk up and down the pathway of trouble. Yes, 
 he did remember the night when they came from 
 the mad-house, two men in a doctor's gig; he re- 
 membered the lamps on each side of the vehicle, 
 eyes of a great bug, they seemed. But his father's 
 malady had not come of inheritance, but of fever. 
 But other men had fever and did not go mad. 
 Could it be that he himself had been touched with 
 the disease — touched in the eye with a vision? No, 
 for there was Bodney. He had seen it. "My mind is 
 sound, even in distress," he mused. "But wouldn't 
 it have been better if I had talked to him kindly 
 about his crime? I ought to have let him know 
 that I saw him. Xo, his mother would have drawn 
 it out of him — love sucking poison from a wound." 
 
 Florence entered the room, advanced a few paces, 
 halted, and stood, looking at him. "Well, you sent 
 for me and I am here." 
 
 "Yes, sit down, please." 
 
 "No, I thank you." 
 
 The Judge looked at her sorrowfully. "Did 
 Howard tell you where he intends to go ?" 
 
 Florence looked at him with a smile, but in the 
 smile he saw bitterness. "Does it concern you?" 
 she asked. 
 
262 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 ''I am not a brute, Florence." 
 
 "No," she said. "A brute is not unnatural." 
 
 "Don't, please. I am trying not to be unnatural. 
 There can be* a broken heart shielding a heart to 
 keep it from breaking." 
 
 "You were a judge, a man of justice. And was 
 it just to let him suffer in the dark? Was it right 
 to lock your own lips and put a seal on mine. 
 Judge, I ought to have told him in your presence." 
 
 "Don't say that." 
 
 "But I do say it. You presume upon what you 
 are pleased to think is my strength of character. 
 I am beginning to believe that I was weak instead 
 of strong. Yes, I ought to have told him in your 
 presence. I ought to have said : 'Your father, who 
 has been a judge, has passed sentence upon you 
 without giving you a hearing. He says you are a 
 thief.' " 
 
 "Hush," said the Judge, in a loud whisper, mo- 
 tioning toward the door. "Don't talk that way to 
 me. Ah, I have killed all the love you ever had for 
 me." 
 
 "You have choked it and it is gasping." 
 
 "I am grieved — but it cannot be undone — the 
 fingers are stiffened about your gasping love." He 
 walked up and down for a time, and then turned 
 
TOLD HIM GOOD-BYE. 263 
 
 again to her. "When you get a letter from him will 
 you let me read it?" 
 
 "No. His heart will write to mine, and your eye 
 would blur the words." 
 
 "Don't say that. 1 am not without a heart. I 
 had a heart — it is broken." He walked off again, 
 but turned quickly. "Florence, I sometimes wonder 
 if my eye could have deceived me — could have lied 
 to me." 
 
 She moved toward him, her hands uplifted, hope 
 in her face. "A man's mind lies to him, and why 
 not his eyes?" the Judge continued. Florence 
 caught him by the arm and looked appealingly at 
 him. "But your brother, Florence — your brother. 
 He saw him, too." 
 
 "What !" she cried, stepping back. "Brother saw 
 him ! You didn't tell me that." 
 
 "I promised him I would not tell you." 
 
 "Ah, you break your promises and expect me 
 to keep mine. I will go this moment and tell his 
 mother." 
 
 He caught her arm and poured out a distressful 
 imploration, a prayer. "I would rather you'd stab 
 me," he said, concluding. "I would rather you'd 
 kill us both. But I didn't swear, Florence. You 
 have taken an oath." ^ 
 
264 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "Judge, that is cowardly." 
 
 ''Yes, it is. I am a coward — but only for her. A 
 bitter word, Florence." 
 
 "Yes, forgive me. I didn't mean that. You are 
 not a coward, but you are blind." He held forth 
 his hands. She stepped back, shaking her head. 
 
 "All gone," said he, "all respect, all confidence. 
 And you were my daughter." 
 
 "I was." 
 
 "In love and in duty," he said. 
 
 "In both," she replied. "In both, yes, and now 
 love is gasping and duty has become a hard master." 
 Suddenly she sprang toward him. "Brother saw 
 him! I am just beginning to reaHze what you 
 said. I don't beheve it. His eyes lied, too." 
 
 "Oh, beautiful faith, it would move a mountain." 
 
 "It would pluck a mote from an eye. May I go 
 now ?" 
 
 "I am not on the bench to discharge or restrain 
 you. But, just a moment. You feel that I am a 
 tyrant. That could not have been possible with 
 your former self. What is so cold as frozen gentle- 
 ness ? And now it is Only through the frost-crusted 
 windows that I can catch a glimpse of your other 
 spirit." 
 
TOLD HIM GOOD-BYE. 265 
 
 "In the hall, yesterday," she said, ''I thought that 
 I heard a lurking echo of your old laughter." 
 
 He made a gesture of distress. "Don't remind 
 me of it," he said. 
 
 "May I go?" 
 
 "Yes. But let me ask you one more favor. Don't 
 tell your brother that I mentioned him." 
 
 "Another chain," she said. 
 
266 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE LIGHT BREAKS. 
 
 The Judge turned and saw Bradley in the door. 
 His appearance at any moment was not in the na- 
 ture of a surprise. Agnes said that she expected 
 him at most unexpected times. He no doubt re- 
 garded himself as a brave man, and perhaps he was ; 
 it required courage to be so timidly persistent. 
 
 "I hope I don't intrude," said the preacher. 
 
 ''Oh, not at all. Come in." 
 
 ''Miss Agnes is out for a walk, I understand," 
 said Bradley, sitting down. 
 
 The Judge stood looking at him absent-mindedly. 
 "Ah, yes, I suppose so. But I don't know why I 
 suppose so. The truth is, I don't know anything 
 about it. I beg your pardon, Bradley. I am — am 
 greatly disturbed. The fact is, I hardly know what I 
 am about. I am a mystery unto myself. I was just 
 thinking of it as you came in. It does not seem pos- 
 sible for a man, with a mountain of sorrow upon 
 his heart, to turn squarely about and speculate upon 
 
THE LIGHT BREAKS. 267 
 
 trivial things — to jest, if I may say so, and I must 
 for it is a fact. I am glad you came." 
 
 "I am always delighted to come, Judge. Here 
 I find the shade of a palm tree in a great desert of 
 trade. And I came in the hope of finding you 
 better." 
 
 ''Better !" The Judge looked at him almost 
 sternly. ''Better, why I am not sick. What put 
 that into your head, Bradley?" 
 
 "Why, I understood from what you have said 
 that your health was not of the best." 
 
 "But it is of the best, I assure you. But I brood, 
 yes, I brood, and that is worse than ill health — it 
 is the ill health of the mind, the soul." 
 
 "I am afraid you work too hard." 
 
 "Um, work, I hardly know what that is. I am try- 
 ing to rest, but it is like a man seeking sleep on a 
 bed of thorns. Work is all right, for we can put 
 it aside, but worry rides us till we are down, and 
 then sits on our breast, waiting for us to get up." 
 
 WiUiam came in, shying a little upon seeing 
 Bradley, but shook hands with him. "I am glad 
 to see you looking so well, Mr. William," said the 
 preacher. 
 
 "Oh, I'm a pine knot. Ain't I, John?" 
 
268 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 The Judge looked at him inquiringly. "What 
 did you say?" 
 
 "I said I was a pine knot." 
 
 "Did you?" 
 
 "Did I? Didn't I just say I did?" 
 
 "If you did, you did. That's all. But who ac- 
 cused you of not being a pine knot?" 
 
 Bradley chuckled, and William frowned at him ; 
 then, addressing himself to the Judge, the old fellow 
 said: "You did. You disputed it. You call me a 
 liar every time I open my mouth." 
 
 "William, you have often declared that you are 
 not in the plot, but the first thing you know you 
 may break into it." 
 
 "No, I won't!" William exclaimed, shaking his 
 finger. "And I won't break into your intellectual 
 atmosphere, either." He turned to Bradley. 
 "Why, sir, John is a regular professor, browbeat- 
 ing his class. He expects everybody to talk book. 
 I say, damn a book. I beg your pardon. It is the 
 first time I ever said that in the presence of a 
 preacher." 
 
 Bradley laughed. "It's all right, Mr. William, if 
 you feel that way." 
 
 "Is it ? Then, I say, damn a book. What I want 
 is action." 
 
THE LIGHT BREAKS. 269 
 
 "I subscribe to your doctrine concerning much 
 of our literary output," said the preacher. 
 
 WilHam was so deHghted at this that he seized 
 the preacher's hand and shook it with more of vigor 
 than he was wont to put forth. ''Good for you, 
 Bradley. I am half inclined to come to hear you 
 preach." 
 
 A twinkle in the Judge's eye showed that again 
 he was playing in the midst of his sorrow. "You'd 
 never get there, William. You could never settle 
 on the date." 
 
 "Oh, you be confound, John. I have settled on 
 more dates than you ever saw." He arose, went 
 to the table and took up a pair of long shears. "Let 
 me take these to my room, will you? I want to 
 clip out something for my scrap-book." 
 
 "Oh, I thought you damned a book. No, sir, 
 put those shears right down where you found them. 
 You took my mucilage off yesterday and I had to 
 go after it — down wdiere you found them." 
 
 William put down the shears and looked angrily 
 at the Judge. "Oh, I can put them down." 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 "May I have a cigar, John?" 
 
 "Help yourself." 
 
 "Much obliged." He went to the desk, took up 
 
270 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 a box of cigars and walked out unnoticed by the 
 Judge, who had turned his back, following a strand 
 of his sorrow, intertwined with a strand of humor, 
 the two phases of himself which he could not com- 
 prehend. He walked slowly to the wall, and, turn- 
 ing, remarked, as he walked toward the preacher, 
 "Bradley, I feel as one waiting for something — 
 some shadow." 
 
 "Vm not a shadow," Agnes cried, skipping into 
 the room. Bradley arose with a bow. '*No, for 
 shadows may be dark," he replied. 
 
 "Did you hear that, Mr. Judge? Did you hear 
 him say that shadows may be dark ? Of course, for 
 if they were bright they wouldn't be shadows. May 
 I sit here?" She sat on a corner of the long baize 
 table swinging her feet, as if the music in her soul 
 impelled her to dance, Bradley mused. "Why do 
 you people stick in here all the time?" she went 
 on. "Oh, I see," she added, lifting her hand with 
 a piece of paper adhering to it. "You glue your- 
 selves in here." She plucked off the paper, took 
 out a handkerchief, a dainty bit of lace, and wiped 
 her hand. "Have you just got here, Mr. Bradley? 
 What's the news? Who's murdered on the West 
 Side? They have murdered somebody every day 
 since I came, first one side and then the other, and 
 
THE LIGHT BREAKS. 271 
 
 it's the West Side's turn today. Anybody killed 
 today?" 
 
 "1 don't know," Bradley replied, "but I hear that 
 a prominent citizen was sand-bagged last night — 
 in front of a church." 
 
 "Oh, for pity sake. And had he came out of a 
 church fair ? Did the robber get any money ?" 
 
 "Bradley," said the Judge, "as William would 
 say, she is putting it on you." 
 
 Bradley smiled, and said that it seemed so. Bod- 
 ney stepped into the room, halted as if confused, 
 and as Bradley got up to shake hands with him, 
 hurriedly went out. Agnes spoke in an undertone 
 to the preacher. "Mr. Bodney is worried, too. 
 And it makes me awfully sorry to see the Judge so 
 distressed at times. Can't you do something for 
 him?" 
 
 "I can simply advise him not to worry, that's all." 
 
 "Beg him not to be so sad. 1 don't see how he 
 can be. Everything is so bright." 
 
 The Judge went to the desk to get a cigar. "That 
 rascal has taken every one of my cigars. Now, I've 
 got to find him to recover my property." He went 
 out, and they heard him calling William. 
 
 "They have to watch Mr. William all the time," 
 said Agnes. "He carries ofif everything he can 
 
272 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 get his hands on. They say his room looks Hke 
 a junk shop." 
 
 Bradley nodded in acknowledgment, and after 
 a short silence, full of meditation, he said: "You 
 seem still to enjoy your visit. And I hope you are 
 not thinking of going home." 
 
 "Ah, ha, I am having a lovely time. Isn't it a 
 nice place to visit. They make you feel so much 
 at home, snap at each other if they want to, just as 
 if you weren't here. That's the way for people to 
 do; make you feel at home. But they are just 
 as good as they can be, and their little spats are 
 so full of fun to me, only it makes me sad to see 
 the Judge worry. Yes, I am having a lovely time. 
 I went to the vaudeville yesterday, and tomorrow 
 I am going to your church." 
 
 "Oh, you are ?" Bradley laughed. 
 
 "Ah, ha. Oh, do you know what I heard about 
 you? I heard you were seen walking along the 
 street with a drunken man." 
 
 "Yes, a friend of mine. And if a preacher 
 shouldn't support a staggering brother, who 
 should?" 
 
 "Oh, how human. I Hke you for that?" 
 
 "Do you?" 
 
 "Yes, I do." 
 
THE LIGHT BREAKS. 273 
 
 "And for that alone ?" 
 
 '*0h, no, I like you for that and for a good many 
 other things. I think I could have lots of fun with 
 you." 
 
 "Fun with me?" The preacher was thinking of a 
 summer evening in Aldine Square, the music of 
 the fountain, the sweetness of the flowers. 
 
 "Ah, ha. There's something about you that 
 makes me feel like a little girl. And I dreamed that 
 you took me by the hand and led me along." 
 
 "Agnes, let me lead you," 
 
 She slid off the corner of the table and stood with 
 her hands flat together, like a delighted child, but 
 suddenly she looked up with seriousness in her eyes. 
 "But now you make me feel like a woman." 
 
 The Judge came in. Bradley spoke almost in 
 a whisper. "But a woman might be led by a man." 
 And then to the Judge he remarked, striving to 
 hide his annoyance at the interruption : "I see you 
 have recovered your property." 
 
 The Judge sat down on a chair near the table. 
 "Yes, some of it. William is a good grabber, but 
 he gives up after an argument, and there is some 
 virtue in that." 
 
 "What was in the paper that worried Mr. Bod- 
 ney so ?" Agnes asked, speaking to the Judge. 
 
 18 
 
274 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 *'I don't know. Has anything worried him?" 
 
 ''Yes, I saw him grabbing the paper as if he 
 would tear it to pieces." 
 
 "Ball game, probably," said the Judge, and then 
 looking at Agnes he added: "Nothing seems to 
 bother you, little one." 
 
 "No, sir. I won't let it. When I am worried 
 something jumps this way," she said, making an 
 upward motion with her hands, indicating the sud- 
 den rise of spirits, "and the bother is gone." 
 
 The Judge spoke to Bradley. "The heart of 
 youth jumps up and says boo to a trouble and 
 frightens it away." 
 
 "Ah;" replied Bradley, "and couldn't an older 
 heart learn to boo a trouble away?" 
 
 The Judge shook his head. "The old heart 
 crouches, but cannot jump." 
 
 "Make it jump," Agnes cried. "Let me hear you 
 laugh as you used to." 
 
 "The saints laugh with an old man," said Brad- 
 ley. 
 
 "Don't," the Judge interposed, with a slow ges- 
 ture. "Your roses are pretty, but you bring them 
 to a funeral. No, I don't mean that. I mean that 
 I am simply worried over a little matter, but I am 
 getting better and will be all right pretty soon. I 
 
THE LIGHT BREAKS. 273 
 
 shall be my old self in a very short time." Bodney 
 entered, and stood looking fixedly at the Judge. 
 "What is it, George?" 
 
 Bodney nodded to Bradley and Agnes. "I beg 
 your pardon, but I must see the Judge alone." 
 
 Bradley asked Agnes if she would accept of ban- 
 ishment with him. ''Yes," she said. ''Come on." 
 
 "It is not necessary," the Judge spoke up. "We 
 
 }f 
 can — 
 
 "I beg your pardon," Bodney broke in, "but it 
 is necessary." 
 
 "Of co-urse it is," Agnes declared. "As Mr. Wil- 
 Uam would say, we are not in the plot." 
 
 "Xo," said Bodney, bowing to her. 
 
 As they were going out, the Judge called to the 
 preacher. "Don't go away without seeing me 
 again, Bradley. I want you to spend the day with 
 
 me." 
 
 Bodney leaned against the table, stepped off, 
 came back, and stood looking down upon the 
 Judge. The old man glanced up. "Well?" 
 
 It was some time before Bodney could speak. His 
 words seemed dry in his mouth. At last he began : 
 "I carried half of a heavy load. Something has 
 thrown the other half on me, and I can't stand 
 up under it— dispatch— railroad wreck—" 
 
276 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 The Judge jumped out of his chair. "What !" 
 
 Bodney continued. "Yes. Goyle is dead." 
 
 "Oh, Goyle. I was afraid — where ?" 
 
 "In Michigan, at fifteen minutes to eleven, yes- 
 terday. I have cause to note the time. The load — " 
 
 "Well, go ahead. But let me tell you now, 
 George, you have no cause to regret the broken 
 association. I deplore the man's death, of course, 
 but I begun to feel that his influence upon you 
 was bad. I had begun to dream about him, and 
 to fear that he had a strange influence upon me. 
 But go ahead." 
 
 "Half of it was crushing me, and I can't stand it 
 all. I—" 
 
 "Why, what's the matter? What are you trying 
 to tell. Go ahead." 
 
 "Judge, Goyle robbed the safe — Goyle and I — 
 wait — I gave him the combination — he made up for 
 Howard— I—" 
 
 The Judge seized the shears and raised them high 
 above his head, his eyes fixed on Bodney's breast. 
 Bodney did not flinch. The old man raised his eyes, 
 to meet a steady gaze; and he stood with the 
 shears high in his hand. He had uttered no outcry, 
 no sound came from him, no sound that could 
 have been heard beyond the door — only a low 
 
The Judge seized the shears and raised them high above his head. 
 
THE LIGHT BREAKS. 277 
 
 groan, like the moan of a fever-stricken man, turn- 
 ing over in his sleep. 
 
 "Kill me, Judge, I deserve it." 
 
 The shears fell from the old man's hand, and he 
 dropped upon the chair, his arms upon the table 
 and his face upon them. 
 
 "I wish you had struck me." 
 
 With a slight motion of the hand the Judge waved 
 him ofif. Bodney continued : "For your heart 
 there is a cure. There is none for mine. I was a 
 fool, I was caught, I gambled, I couldn't quit, that 
 snake held me, charmed me, hypnotized me. I 
 knocked him down and he bled black on the floor, 
 and I left him lying there, but I could not break 
 loose from him." 
 
 The Judge waved him off. "Don't tempt me to 
 look upon your face again." 
 
 Bodney did not move. "The old laugh that 
 they have spoken so much about may return ; old 
 confidences and an old love will be restored, but 
 there must be a wanderer that can never come back, 
 a fool whom nature made weak. But I feel that if 
 you would give me your hand — I am not deserving 
 of it — but I feel that if I could once more touch 
 that honorable hand, I could go forth an honest 
 man. I would try." 
 
 The Judge slowly raised his head. Tears were 
 in his eyes. He held forth his hand. Bodney 
 grasped it, and — was gone. 
 
278 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 SENT A MESSAGE. 
 
 William went to the office door and found it 
 locked. This was so singular a happening that the 
 old fellow stalked about the house, marveling over 
 it and complaining against an innovation that shut 
 a man out of an apartment that had served so long 
 as a sort of public domain. It was like the closing 
 of a park or a county road. Everyone laughed 
 at him and he snorted. In the vocabulary ot Wil- 
 liam's contempt, the snort was the strongest ex- 
 pression. *Tt is all right to laugh," said he, "but 
 I want to tell you that there has got to be a change 
 here." He returned to the office door and knocked 
 upon it, but his knuckles aroused no heed within. 
 He could hear the Judge walking up and down. 
 Bodney had been gone nearly half an hour. But 
 the Judge had not noted the time. To him, life 
 was but a conflicting, mental eternity, and he was 
 in the whirling midst of it. For a long time he sat 
 with his head on the table, one arm stretched out 
 
SENT A MESSAGE 279 
 
 before him, the other hanging limp ; then he stag- 
 gered about the room, and then sat down with his 
 head in his hands. To the eye turned inward all 
 was black, till gradually a light appeared, seeming 
 softly to shine upon a hideous shape, crouching 
 in a dark corner. He gazed upon it, and it spoke, 
 shrinking further back from the soft light. "I am 
 your injustice," it said. He got up, raised a win- 
 dow, and stood looking out upon the sunlight in 
 the street. But he shivered as if with cold, and 
 his lips moved as if he were talking and swallowing 
 his words down into deep silence. A gladness be- 
 gan to form in his heart. His son was innocent, 
 but in that innocence there was a reproach. He 
 had been unnatural as a father, and might he not 
 many a time have been unjust as a judge? He 
 acknowledged to himself that he must have decided 
 in favor of error while on the bench. His retire- 
 ment was a sort of unconscious justice. He real- 
 ized that his mind had not been sound. He had 
 felt a coming weakness. But now he felt a com- 
 ing strength. The trial through which he had 
 passed must have served as a test. It was to restore 
 or ruin his mental life. But why should there have 
 been such a test, and why should the innocent have 
 suffered? It would not do to reason, and he ban- 
 
280 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 ished the test idea, fighting it off. Still, he ac- 
 knowledged that his mind had sickened and that 
 now it was gaining strength. He remembered his 
 frivolity and loathed it, his jokes with William at 
 a time when his heart was heavy and swollen. 
 ''Unnatural as a father and inconsistent as a man," 
 he muttered. "But who is to judge of man's nat- 
 uralness? One kink in the mind and the entire 
 world is changed." William knocked again, and 
 now the Judge opened the door. The old fellow 
 looked at his brother and exclaimed : 
 
 "Why, what has happened, John ?" 
 
 "Nothing, except that I have been really ill. But 
 I am almost recovered. My mind has passed 
 through a sort of crisis, William. I can now look 
 back and see that I was not right. My present 
 strength tells me of my former weakness. I am 
 soon to be entirely well." 
 
 "Well, I am glad to hear that. It is particularly 
 gratifying to me. And I suppose that you are, or, 
 at least, soon will be, willing to concede that I am 
 sometimes correct with regards to my dates." 
 
 "Yes, but we won't mention that. It is of no 
 importance." 
 
 "What! No importance? Take care, John, 
 you'll get back where you were, for when a man 
 
SENT A MESSAGE. 281 
 
 says that a date is of no importance, he's in danger." 
 "WilHam, I want you to do me a favor. I am 
 almost afraid to trust myself to go out just now. 
 Wait a moment." He went to his desk, found a 
 telegraph blank, and upon it wrote the following 
 message: 'The light has broken. Come back at 
 once." William read the words and looked at him. 
 ''Go to the station," said the Judge, "and send this 
 to Howard, in care of the conductor. It is not a 
 secret, m.ind you, but don't stay to show it. They 
 would delay you with puzzling over it." 
 
 "All right, I'll jump into a cab and go right over. 
 I know the station. It's only a few blocks from 
 here. He didn't go all the way down town. I heard 
 him tell his mother. By the way," William added, 
 "I found one of Howard's French books — " 
 "Put it back where you found it." 
 "What, you haven't flopped, have you?" 
 "I don't know what you mean." 
 "Why, you said that French literature was the — " 
 "It is the civilizing force of the modern world. 
 Go on, please. Just a moment. Tell Florence that 
 I wish to see her." 
 
 When Florence came in her face was radiant. 
 William had spread the news of Howard's recall. 
 "Ah," said the Judge, "you know that I have sent 
 for him." 
 
282 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "Yes, father," she repHed, going up to him with 
 outstretched hands. He took her in his arms and 
 kissed her. "What has happened?" she asked. 
 
 "The atmosphere is cleared, my dear." 
 
 "But, what cleared it?" 
 
 "The truth. You were right. I saw a vision." 
 
 She looked at him. "But what was it that 
 brother saw?" 
 
 "Ah," said the old man, shaking his head, "you 
 are shrewd. You are not willing to let it pass. 
 Florence, we both saw Goyle disguised with his 
 devilish art as Howard." 
 
 She gazed at him. "Is that all?" 
 
 "All? Is not that enough for us to know, my 
 child?" 
 
 "But, why did brother happen to lead you into 
 the office just at that time?" 
 
 "There, I have told enough, and what I have 
 told you must not repeat. If there is anything to 
 come, Howard may tell you, but my wife must 
 never know that I have been so weak and unnat- 
 ural a father." 
 
 "But she can see that something must have oc- 
 curred to change your bearing toward Howard. 
 Mr. William has told her that you have sent for 
 him, and she is in her room with tears of joy in 
 her eyes." 
 
SENT A MESSAGE. 283 
 
 "Florence, I am striving to be calm, the master 
 of myself. I don't deserve to be happy — not yet. 
 How could I have been so blind ? And how at times 
 could I have indulged in levity with such a sorrow 
 upon my heart ?" 
 
 "It was the truth, father, striving to break 
 through." 
 
 He nodded his head. "Yes, and now we must 
 tell her something. Ah, tell her that a man came 
 and brought me word that my br.other is not dead. 
 Keep her from coming to me with any sort of 
 demonstration. I can't stand it. I must recall my 
 old self and become gradually accustomed to it. 
 I must realize that it was all a dream and that it 
 is passing away. Tomorrow, with Howard, we 
 may make a joke of it." 
 
 "It will never be a joke with me." 
 
 "No, my child, I did not mean that. It was a 
 nightmare — a breath-shape breathed upon us by 
 the devil while we slept. But we are awake now, 
 and God's sun shines. Go to her and tell her that 
 my brother is not dead." 
 
 "I will. But, father, do you realize how resource- 
 ful you have made me — how replete with false- 
 hood ? And must I not go into the closet and pray 
 for forgiveness?" 
 
284 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "It was done for love, my dear ; and love, which 
 is the soul of all up yonder, has forgiven already." 
 
 Florence and Mrs. Elbridge entered the drawing 
 room. "Who brought that news that his brother 
 was not dead ?" Mrs. Elbridge asked. 
 
 "A man. He was in a great hurry to catch a 
 train and could not stop long. He brought direct 
 v/ord from Mr. Henry himself." 
 
 "Then there can be no doubt about it." 
 
 "No. And I did not believe it in the first place." 
 
 "Who is in there with him ?" 
 
 "I think Agnes and the preacher have just gone 
 in." 
 
 "This is a happy day," said Mrs. Elbridge, look- 
 ing toward the door. 
 
 "A day when falsehood may be told, but when 
 truth is revealed," Florence replied. "It is one of 
 God's days." 
 
 "All days are His, my dear." 
 
 Florence slowly shook her head. "No, not all." 
 
 The Judge came in. He put his arms about Mrs. 
 Elbridge. "Rachel," he said, "you shall never see 
 my face gloomy again. I will go laughing down 
 into green old age, into the very moss of time." He 
 motioned toward the office. "In there is a beauti- 
 ful picture of sweet distress." 
 
SENT A MESSAGE. 285 
 
 Mrs. Elbridge looked upon him with a trembhng 
 lip. "But, my dear, it is not more beautiful than 
 the fact that you sent for your son and that you 
 yourself have come back to us all." 
 
 The Judge smiled. Florence could see that he 
 was growing stronger, that his mind was clearing. 
 "He returns like a lost child suddenly finding the 
 path home," she said. 
 
 "Faith has its wisdom and its reward," replied 
 the Judge, looking at her. "In the days of the New 
 Testament, you would have been one of the fol- 
 lowers. You would have wiped His feet with your 
 hair." And, looking at his watch, he added: "I 
 wonder why William doesn't come back." 
 
 "It is not time," Mrs. Elbridge replied, glancing 
 at the clock. 
 
 "The minutes are hours, but clearing and 
 strengthening hours," said the Judge. He turned 
 about and began to walk up and down the room, 
 with all the simpleness of his nature in his face. He 
 did not look like a man who had sat in judgment 
 upon the actions of men. His heart had cried for 
 pardon, and a belief that it had come lighted his 
 countenance. A man who has been shrewd in the 
 affairs of the world, sharp in practice, suspicious, 
 sometimes becomes simple and trustful in the love 
 
286 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 of a grandchild. And at this time, the Judge might 
 have reminded one of such a man. 
 
 Mrs. Elbridge stood in the door looking down 
 the hall. The Judge halted to speak to Florence. 
 ''Forgiveness," said he, *'is the essense of all that 
 is noble in life. And do you forgive me?" 
 
 ''Yes," she said. "And I hope that I shall be 
 forgiven all the falsehoods I have been forced to 
 tell." 
 
 "They were for her, Florence, and there is a vir- 
 tue in an untruth that shields a heart." He moved 
 closer to her and added : "I wonder at your 
 strength and marvel at my weakness." 
 
 "You were groping in the dark. It was not your 
 fault, but your nature." 
 
 "And you are my daughter again." 
 
 "Yes," said Florence, "in love and in duty." 
 
 Mrs. Elbridge went out. The Judge and Flor- 
 ence sat down to wait for William. He was a sort 
 of way-station which must be reached before they 
 could arrive at Howard. The Judge told her of 
 the darkness through which he had passed, throw- 
 ing new light upon it, as if she had not seen it, as 
 she stood by, holding a torch. He spoke of Goyle, 
 of his strange power ; he told her of the newspaper 
 cutting that gave account of his mind-reading, and 
 
SENT A MESSAGE. 287 
 
 finally he told her of Bodney's confession. She 
 was prepared, and showed no agitation. But there 
 was sfrief on her face. Then he told her that he 
 could not find it in his heart to condemn him. 'Tn 
 your own words, Florence, it was not his fault, but 
 his nature. I will take him back, and not even 
 Howard must know of his part in — in my dark- 
 ness." 
 
 "Howard ought to know everything," she said. 
 
 "But not now, my dear ; by degrees, as he shall 
 be able to bear it. He is generous, and I believe 
 he will forgive." 
 
 Mrs. Elbridge returned and stood in the door. 
 "Here comes William," she said. The Judge arose. 
 William came in puffing. "We were looking for 
 you," said Mrs. Elbridge. 
 
 "Well, now," replied the old fellow, "you don't 
 have to look long for me, I'll tell you that. I made 
 the driver whip his horses all the way there and 
 back." 
 
 "And are you sure that your message caught 
 the train?" said the Judge. 
 
 "Oh, I always fetch 'em whenever I go after 'em." 
 
 "Are you sure you sent it all right?" the Judge 
 asked. 
 
 "John, I thought you'd get well. But, sir, you 
 
288 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 exhibit the most alarming sign of sickness I have 
 ever seen in you. Sure I sent it all right! What 
 other way do I ever do a thing? Of course I sent 
 it all right. The train wasn't far out, and there's 
 one back every few minutes." 
 
 *'It seems that he has been gone a year instead 
 of two hours," said the Judge. 
 
 Florence smiled at him. "And are we to be 
 married in secret ?" she asked, speaking low. 
 
 "My dear, that shall be as you please. I have 
 only one wish — that it shall be one of the happiest 
 days of my life, and I believe that it will be." 
 
 "What day of the month is this ?" William asked. 
 
 "The fifth," the Judge answered. 
 
 "Are you sure?" 
 
 "I am sure it is not the tenth of June, sixty- 
 three," said the Judge, and was in deep regret at his 
 levity at such a time, when his wife spoke up, 
 "Judge, please don't get him started." 
 
 "Started !" William snorted. "Now— now, that's 
 good. A man races all the way to the station and 
 back, and they talk about getting him started." 
 Suddenly he thrust his hands into his pockets and 
 stood staring at the wall. "Well, if that don't beat 
 anything I ever saw." 
 
 "What is the trouble ?" the Judge asked. 
 
\ 
 
 SENT A MESSAGE. 289 
 
 '*Why, I dated that telegram the fourth." 
 
 "You did!" Mrs. Elbridge cried. The Judge 
 looked hard at his brother. "It won't make any 
 difference." said Florence. "He will know that it 
 was a mistake.*' 
 
 "He will undoubtedly know who sent it." the 
 Judge added. 
 
 'T wonder why ^Ir. Bradley and Agnes stay in 
 that dingy place," said Mrs. Elbridge, always anx- 
 ious to change the talk from William's dates. 
 
 "The place may be dingy/' repHed the Judge, 
 "but there are no cobwebs hanging from the rafters 
 in the abode of love." 
 
 "Judge !" she said, giving him a smiling frown. 
 
 "To some eyes," remarked Florence, half musing- 
 ly, "there may be cobwebs hanging from the rafters 
 in love's abode, but to love they are strands of 
 gold." 
 
 "Let us go out and watch for his coming," said 
 Mrs. Elbridge, taking Florence by the arm. They 
 went out. leaving William staring at the Judge. 
 
 "By the way, what's this I happened to hear 
 about brother Henry being dead? I didn't know 
 he was dead till he wasn't." 
 
 "You didn't?" 
 
 'T mean I heard the news of his death and the 
 
 19 
 
290 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 contradiction about the same time. Why did you 
 keep it from me?'' 
 
 "Oh, I knew there wasn't any truth in the report, 
 and there wasn't anything to be gained by teUing 
 you." 
 
 "Anything to be gained. Do you only tell a 
 man a thing when there is something to be gained 
 by it?" 
 
 The Judge looked at the clock and then at his 
 watch. "He ought to be here pretty soon. I want 
 everybody to keep away from me. I want to see 
 him first alone — in here." 
 
 "But what's all this mystery about? I'll be 
 hanged if you haven't put my light under a bushel." 
 
 "No, William, it is my light that has been under 
 a bushel." 
 
 "Everything may be all right, John, but I don't 
 understand it. There was something I wanted to 
 say. Yes. In case I forget it, tell him the date was 
 a mistake." 
 
 "You won't forget it, William. You never forget 
 a mistaken date." 
 
 "There you go again. Can't a man make a re- 
 quest?" 
 
 "I believe a man can, William." 
 
 "You don't believe anything of the sort, and you 
 
SENT A MESSAGE. 291 
 
 know it. But I won't be left in the dark. I refuse 
 to stumble in ignorance." He started toward the 
 
 door. 
 
 ''What are you going to do?" 
 
 "I am going to get the morning paper and settle 
 
 that date." 
 
 '•All right," said the Judge, as WiUiam went out. 
 "And tell them out there that I must see him here 
 alone. Don't forget that." He walked up and down 
 the room and then stood at the door. "Do you see 
 anything of him yet?" he called to his wife. 
 
 "Not vet. It isn't time. But here's a cab. It's 
 going to stop— no, it's gone on." 
 
 "Let me get there," said the Judge, as if the oth- 
 ers were responsible for the fact that the cab had 
 not halted and put Howard down at the door. A 
 moment after he went out Bradley and Agnes en- 
 tered the room. "They are gone to watch for him. 
 Shall we go, too?" the girl asked, looking at him 
 with a mischievous quiz in her eyes. 
 
 "No, let us stop here a moment. Strange, isn't 
 it, his going away and coming back so soon r 
 
 ' Thev sat on a sofa, looking at each other as if 
 new interests were constantly springing up. 
 
 "We have talked all over the house," she said. 
 "I feel as if I have been on an excursion. Yes, it is 
 strange. Don't you think they have quarreled?" 
 
292 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "Perhaps — but it will bring them closer to- 
 gether." 
 
 '*Yes." she said, "but I wouldn't like to quarrel 
 just to be brought closer together. I wonder why 
 Mr. Bodney went away, too." 
 '*And you ask?" 
 
 "Yes, didn't you hear me? 1 heard him mutter- 
 ing as he went out. And I understood him to say 
 that he wasn't coming back any more." 
 '*I thought you knew why he went." 
 "Thought I did? How was I to know?" 
 "1 could not help but think — " 
 "What did you think?" she broke in. 
 "That he had asked you to be his wife and — " 
 "Oh, he never thought of such a thing." 
 "And if he should?" 
 "I'd tell him no, of course." 
 "You may have to say yes sometime. Agnes." 
 She looked down. "I won't have to — but I may.'' 
 "Agnes, do you know what love is?'' 
 "What a question. Of course I do." 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Oh, it's er — er — don't you know w^hat it is?" 
 "Yes, Agnes, it is a glorious defeat of the heart." 
 "Oh, I don't think so. It's more a victory than 
 a defeat." 
 
SENT A MESSAGE. 293 
 
 "Xo. the heart surrenders.'' They heard the 
 Judge exclaim, "Xo. it is not going to stop/'" 
 
 "Agnes, did your heart ever surrender?" 
 
 ''You must not ask me that."" 
 
 *'\Vhy not ? Did your heart ever fight till it was 
 so tired that it had to give up — surrender?"' 
 
 "You niustn"t ask me that. You'll make me cry.'" 
 She hid her eyes. 
 
 "In sorrow. Agnes?" 
 
 "Xo — no, in happiness." 
 
 He put his arms about her, kissed her, pouring 
 fortli his dream of the fountain and the evening in 
 summer. The Judge startled them. "Don't let me 
 disturb your tableau,"' he said, laughing, "but I 
 must see n>y son in here alone, not in the office 
 where — where the safe is." 
 
 "Come,"" said Bradley, taking Agnes by the hand, 
 "Let us watch with them." 
 
 As they arose the Judge looked at Agnes. "Ah, 
 I see happiness in your face, little one. Keep it 
 there, Bradley, for it is God-given."" He took the 
 preacher"s hand. "God bless you, Bradley. You 
 are a good fellow.'" 
 
 "Don't call him fellow. Mr. Judge,'" said the girl, 
 pretending to pout. 
 
 "Yes, fellow," Bradley replied. "It is closer to 
 the weakness of man." 
 
294 JUDGE ELBRIDGE. 
 
 "Closer to his heart, Bradley," said the Judge. 
 
 "Yes," said Bradley, and then he spoke to Agnes. 
 "Come with me." 
 
 "Anywhere with you," she replied, taking his arm 
 and looking up into his face. They passed out, and 
 the Judge stood, waiting. William appeared at 
 the door. "It's all right now, John." 
 
 "What's all right?" 
 
 "That date — the one that caused so much trouble 
 one night. It was on the tenth." 
 
 "Is it finally settled?" the Judge asked, listening. 
 
 "Yes, sir, finally, and nothing can throw me off. 
 Here comes Howard." The Judge motioned, and 
 William withdrew. Howard's footsteps were 
 heard. The old man stood with his face turned 
 from the door, striving to master himself. He felt 
 that surely he should break down. Howard stepped 
 into the room. "Father," he said. The Judge 
 turned, and, perfectly calm, held forih his hand. 
 Howard grasped it. "My son, let us be masters of 
 ourselves. Let us be strong, for you will have need 
 of strength. I have something to tell you." 
 
 "No," Howard repHed. "You have nothing to 
 tell. George met me at the station and told me. I 
 have forgiven him. I know how he has suffered. I 
 have seen his struggles. He must not be sent away. 
 
SENT A MESSAGE. 295 
 
 I have brought him back with me. He is out 
 
 there." 
 
 "Howard." said the old man, "you are a noble 
 
 fellow." 
 
 Howard stepped to the door and called Bodney. 
 When he entered the Judge said: "George, I am 
 going to rent an office in a modern building. That 
 old place is worn out. We are going to start new. 
 Ah, come in, Florence." 
 
 •'T have simply come to tell you that dinner is 
 ready," she said, vx-ith tears in her eyes. 
 
 "Yes," said the Judge. "Come, boys." Flor- 
 ence led the way. looking back, smiling, and the 
 old man went out between Bodney and Howard, 
 with his hands resting on their shoulders. In the 
 hall stood Agnes, the preacher and William. The 
 preacher was speaking. "If there were but one 
 word to express aU the qualities of God, I should 
 select the word forgiveness," he said. 
 
 THE END. 
 
{JA ^ 
 
 Judge Elbridge^ 
 
 Oud 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 M 1731 en 
 
 
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