IDE L BRARY
3 1210019304813
' : ffl
I : m
m
'-'-'"'''
NHEIM
[See page 307
NOW, WHAT IS THERE FOR ME TO DO?"
THE
OLYMPIAN
A STORY OF THE CITY
BY
JAMES OPPENHEIM
AUTHOR OF
"THE NINE-TENTHS"
COPYRIGHT. 1912. BY HARPER ft BROTHERS
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER. 1912
G M
TO
L. S. G. AND A. H. G.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. ADVENTURE i
II. THE SEA-CITY 13
III. THE OUTSIDER 24
IV. GLIMPSES OF THE DARK 35
V. GLIMPSES OF THE LIGHT 43
VI. BESS: A SHOP-GIRL 54
VII. AN EVENING WITH LADIES 68
VIII. THE BRAIN-BROKERS 75
IX. THE YOUNG NEW-YORKER 84
X. FRANCES 94
XI. CLERKS 104
XII. ALTERCATION WITH A LADY 117
XIII. THE SLOW WAY 129
XIV. TROUBLE BEGINS 144
XV. TROUBLE CONTINUES .156
XVI. THE FAVORITE 171
XVII. THE WOMAN 179
XVIII. THE RIDE 192
XIX. THE RETURN 209
XX. SUCCESS 213
XXI. THE RIVAL 224
XXII. QUICKSANDS 237
XXIII. PENDLETON 246
XXIV. THE SKYROCKET 259
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
XXV. THE CLIFFS 269
XXVI. A FAIRY TALE 286
XXVII. THREE HARD HEADS 299
XXVIII. FAME 313
XXIX. KIRBY YES-AND-NO 322
XXX. THE LAKE ^,, . v 336
XXXI. THE MACHINE .' >.>Xi 349
XXXII. KATIE 361
XXXIII. WIPING UP THE FLOOR 372
XXXIV. A NEW LIFE-WORK .-.-.- 383
XXXV. THE ERRAND 397
XXXVI. THE SKYSCRAPER 408
THE OLYMPIAN
THE OLYMPIAN
ADVENTURE
FINALLY at ten-thirty of the cool October night
Kirby and the New York traveling salesman were
left alone in the smoking-compartment. Kirby was not
pleased at this; it seemed to necessitate either talking or
going to bed, whereas, all he wanted was to sink back in
the leather cushions and let the rhythm of the car-wheels
blend with the rhythm of Mrs. Hadden's voice as he had
heard it the day before the strange and thrilling woman
voice speaking to the man in him :
" Kirby, you are going to be a great man. I expect you
to rise to the top capture the city. And I give you ten
years. Even then you'll only be thirty-four."
Mirrors over the nickeled wash-basins threw back myriad
electric lights, and the air was blue with tobacco-smoke;
in the smoke he wanted to visualize the liquid blue eyes,
the full lips, the light golden hair of this woman who had
awakened him, who had chained on his armor and set
lance in his hand to send him forth on youth's great
modern adventure, the City. Her voice on summer
nights was remembered; the pressure of her hand had
gone into his brain and made him powerful. And the fact
that she was Professor Hadden's wife and all of twenty-
eight years old made no difference: she was woman and
he was twenty-four.
i
THE OLYMPIAN
However, the salesman had that essential humanness
that finds it intolerable to be alone with another and not
speak.
"Say," he exclaimed, pressing his nose against the dark
mirror-like window, "don't miss this quick."
Kirby, flushed with vexation, leaned over the perfumed
fellow, and looked. A vision shone and passed, swal
lowed in night; the sublime spectacle of window-lit
mills at the riverside girdling with darkness the fierce
flaming of the Bessemer converter, whose several swelling
tongues of fire licked at the flaring clouds and crumbled
in showers of golden snow. Against that burning a lone
some one-armed telegraph-post was silhouetted, a voice
in the darkness, passing. Then heaven and earth grew
black again; and Kirby saw merely himself and the sales
man gazing back from the night.
"You know what mills those are?"
"No," murmured Kirby.
"Steel steel, man!"
Kirby felt a wave of excitement pass over him.
"Not the American Steel Company?"
"The same sure!"
"You mean Jordan Watts's mills those?"
"Goodness, they're all his, except the piker inde
pendents."
It was a dramatic moment for Kirby, expected yet un-
looked for. He had known, of course, that the train
would pass the mills; had he been more alert he should
have watched after leaving Pittsburgh. Now he was
shocked out of his reverie, and sat back thrilling. For
in his pocket he carried a letter from Mrs. Hadden ad
dressed to the great captain of industry, Jordan Watts.
Every phrase in it came clear:
"You may remember me; at least your daughter Mary
will. For she and I worked together at Halsey Street
Settlement, and you gave me valuable advice concerning
boys' clubs. But that seems long ago. Since then I
ADVENTURE
have married Professor Hadden, of Trent Academy, Trent,
Iowa. ... I am writing this to introduce to you Kirby
Trask, a young man of twenty-four, the most promising
young man in this Middle Western town. Indeed, he is
most remarkable!" Then followed glowing praise that
made Kirby 's cheeks burn when he thought of it; and
then, finally: "He will be quite alone in the city and must
make his own way. Therefore I am taking the great
liberty of asking Mr. Trask to send this letter to you with
his address, for I know that you will understand his difficult
undertaking. Most faithfully, JANICE WOODS HADDEN."
It was an admirably tactful letter; not a request or
direct suggestion in it, merely a hint of possibilities. In
fact, Mrs. Hadden cleverly put the responsibility on the
shoulders of the steel magnate.
The salesman was still talking.
"Wonderful, ain't it, how those fellows rose to the top:
messenger-boy to millionaire." He chuckled, and blew
out smoke. "But them days are over. It takes pull
now pull! All the push in the world won't help a fellow. ' '
That was it. Kirby nodded assent. But what if he,
lucky mortal, had this "pull" because the woman he wor
shiped was fond of him? Those mills might yet flame
for him, a night advertisement in the skies of America,
and travelers would say:
"Sure! Kirby Trask he owns 'em all."
Kirby felt a little drunk; he pulsed all over with the
young man's dream, and he ached for the morrow.
Four hundred miles down the shining tracks stood New
York with its aspiring millions: what if he, a fresh-
blooded Westerner, attacked the metropolis and took it
by storm? He had exactly a hundred dollars in his
pocket; but he had youth, untried power, soaring ambi
tion and he had been sent out by a woman. No me
dieval youth lusted for battle more than he did, and he
believed that the day of great deeds had not yet passed
over. Mrs. Hadden knew
2 3
THE OLYMPIAN
"I give you ten years. Kirby, you are going to be a
great man."
The steady talk of the salesman broke in again:
"Now, just take fellows like you and me. If we rise to
five thousand a year at forty we're lucky. Ain't it so?
Say, it's your first time in New York, ain't it?"
Kirby paled. Was it written all over him that he was a
provincial? What was it? Perhaps his clothes, his best,
most uncomfortable and looking stiffly new. Perhaps his
shyness and diffidence that made him stammer and
stumble. Perhaps the atmosphere of rawness and failure
that enveloped him. For this man beside him was dif
ferent; there was about him an air of success, a suavity
and ease of manner, a flow of talk, a well-fed, well-kept
exterior, all of which seemed to belong distinctly to a city
of theaters, restaurants, and hotels. Yes, and a city of
many women easily conquered.
Kirby felt a choke in his throat.
"Yes," he began, and found to his horror that a pro
found emotion welled through his voice, something un
canny contrasted with the glib ease of the traveling man.
"Yes I'm just starting out "
"Middle West?" The other eyed him mercilessly and,
as Kirby thought, with amused scorn.
"Yes, Iowa."
The traveler laughed easily.
"Lord, New York has every kind except New-Yorkers.
No one was ever born in that little old town. But all
the kids of creation come there think they're goin' to set
the Hudson on fire. Like as not," he chuckled, "they'll
be glad to clerk at ten per. New York's the frozen
beauty, all right, and has the cold-shoulder game down
to a science."
Kirby tried hard to maintain his twenty-four years,
but every word made him more of a boy. Tears of shame
sprang to his eyes; he felt that speech was impossible;
he had a twinge of homesickness; and, above all, he
4
ADVENTURE
wanted to get away and hide himself. His dreams seemed
to come crashing down about him, and he knew then
that he was a lonely lad going to a place of strangers.
And home, with every turn of the wheels, was fading in
the remote West.
He arose, almost falling with the motion of the car.
His voice was trembling.
"It's late guess I'll turn in."
The mirror gave him a flash of himself a thin,
middle-sized young man with a stocky head; . . .
the heavy hair was black, the lips sharp, the chin
strong, and the eyes were a powerful gray. It seemed
absurd that that imaged youth, that five-feet-nine of
human flesh, should deem himself a coming master of
America. Well, he didn't. He bolted out of the door.
And coming out he stepped into the narrow precincts
of that modern mystery, the "sleeper." For the green
curtains were drawn over the two layers of berths, and
he passed through the hush of sleep, the consciousness
of stretched and sleeping forms on either side. Here
an arm projected through the curtain-slit, hanging idly;
up on the racks were hats, on the floor were shoes, ready
to meet half-way in the morning on a human being, but
now oddly far apart; a snoring came from the distance,
and the weird, smothered speech of some dreamer, babbling
from subliminal depths; and withal, the car swayed, the
wheels thumped, bearing the sleeping and the waking
through the perils "of dark space. Kirby was over
whelmed by the approach of the negro porter, who stepped
like the master of these mysteries, the wand-waving genie
of this passing realm.
"Good night, suh," he whispered under the lowered gas
light. "Pants pressed, suh?"
Kirby was miserable. He didn't want his trousers
pressed, of course; but what would the porter think of
him? He spoke tragically.
"All right yes press 'em."
5
THE OLYMPIAN
Above all things he must show his American equality,
which meant doing what proper and prosperous people
did. And not knowing the formula, he had to follow the
porter's lead.
Kirby had a lower berth. He doubled up to get in;
then he felt blindly and unavailingly for the push-button
that releases an electric light, and in his misery did not
dare call the formidable porter. Instead, he undressed
in a darkness occasionally flash-lit with some passing lamp,
stuffing his clothes in a corner and fearfully secreting his
money under his pillow.
Now, under soft covers, plunging head first through
space, he felt crudely alone. He was nested in peril, the
next swing of a curve might shoot the car over an em
bankment or bring a telescoping crash. Momently he
might be utterly annihilated or caught in burning wreck
age. Or a hand might search under his pillow for his
fortune. Was that keen-eyed salesman reliable? Why
was he staying up? The young man felt penned in a dan
gerous kennel, where even sitting up straight bumped his
head.
He was tired, however, and the wheel-rhythm was
soothing. Strangely, then, he felt the full miracle of
railroading: the red-hearted seventy-ton engine panting
on ahead, releasing its hoarse whistle at bridge and cross
ing and curve, and now and then beating its melancholy
bell; and he, softly on his back under covers, borne
wingedly over a third of a continent. The woodwork
creaked, the wheels sang their clanking monotone, and
right under his ear he could hear space flow. He felt
then as if he were a soul going all alone on its journey
through the infinite, passing from mystery to mystery.
For a long time, through a night of strange romance, he
merely dozed, woke, and dozed again. Once the grinding
of brakes aroused him, and he pulled up the shade; and,
gazing out, he saw cobblestones beneath a blue-rayed arc-
lamp, and on the corner a saloon and three men standing
6
ADVENTURE
before it. It seemed to him that life was very fantastic
those three awake out there and he gliding past on a bed,
all ignorant of the other's destinies. Again he awoke to
gaze out on flowing blankness, and then sharply a lonely
lighted shanty clinging to the hillside something warm
and human stowed away in the night. And then again
he saw a lonesome trolley-car that fled up the mountain
side like a startled animal. Kirby was creedless ; he came,
however, of pious stock, hardy John Browns of the wilder
ness, almost fanatical in their prayer and ritual. Kirby
had been brought up in no belief; save that he was
alive and young and here was life to be lived at top-notch
American speed. Nevertheless, the religious streak per
sisted, and he felt keenly the mystery of being borne living
through the human-dotted night.
His dozing kept shuffling his impressions: now it was
the flaring sight of a train hand passing the stopped train
with searching torch, now the photographed illusion of
the New York sky-line, now a scene of boyhood. But one
sharp feeling persisted namely, that he was breaking
with his entire past and merely by this ride plunging into
a revolutionary future. This night was the vague link
between the two. And that past, of course, was all that
was familiar, homely, tried; it had its pains and miseries,
but they were enfolded in something luminous. His had
been a slow boyhood, with long delays of sickness and
poverty. His father, a high-school teacher, had died when
Kirby was ten, and the three thousand dollars of insurance
had been dropped by his mother in the American lottery,
the get-rich-quick scheme. It was Florida land, "The
land," according to the prospectus, "that will make old
age happy." Instead, it made young Kirby miserable, for
the boy was compelled to bear the double shame of doing
menial work and of seeing his mother do washing in the
kitchen-tub. Later his two sisters became teachers,
somewhat relieving him, but even during the high-school
course at Trent Academy he had kept a cow and peddled
7
THE OLYMPIAN
milk to the neighbors. Besides, he was twenty-two when
he graduated, at least four years older than the average,
and he felt the difference keenly.
Trent had always been puzzled about Kirby. His eyes,
and sometimes his temper, aroused expectations; his
actions denoted listlessness and sloth. He was awkward
and shy and seemingly indifferent. But later they
learned his secret that only a big, overwhelming job
could bring out his power. At the call he suddenly de
veloped a huge, crushing strength, a bull-headedness that
broke its way blindly. There was in the last year of high
school a State debate. Kirby got into it, worked like a
demon, and nearly crushed his audience with his sledge
hammer logic. This seemed to vitalize his whole nature,
so that he made a brilliant academic finish and elicited
from Professor Hadden the remark "His is the finest mind
I have ever dealt with."
The town was prepared for miracles. Instead, there
was a relapse. Kirby became a reporter on the Trent
Blade, and did only fairly. The work was petty and did
not grip him. It did, however, bring him in contact with
commercial travelers and the occasional public men who
passed through Trent from city to city. And from these,
and from the Associated Press despatches and the Sunday
specials, he began to get a vision of that magnet of Amer
ican youth, New York. Out there was something as big
as his desire, as huge as his latent strength; there was the
seat of power. Trent grew too small for him a chrysalis
that hemmed in his wings. But two years passed over,
and he did nothing.
And then came Professor Hadden's new bride, late in
the spring. The strange, shy young man stirred her idle
mind; his powerful head, his amazing gray eyes suggested
possibilities when contrasted with his thin awkwardness.
She ensnared him, drew him close, and "discovered" him.
His fresh and unspoiled emotions delighted her; his pas
sionate speechlessness was thrilling. She knew there was
8
ADVENTURE
a great man hidden in him, hidden deep, indeed, by the
pettiness of Trent. So she revealed New York to him:
Forty-second Street and Broadway flaming by night; the
diamond-sparkling horse-shoe of the opera; the brilliant
tides in and out the midnight restaurants. Her spirit
seemed to have partaken of the ambition of the sky
scrapers and the conquest-courage of the Wall Street pit;
she told him of young men who had come out of the West
and seized on power. New York, to her, through the
meeting of a thousand streams of humanity, had become
a mad human tornado that might suck any one to the top.
There Kirby belonged there in the embattled center of
civilization.
He worshiped Janice Hadden, dreamed of her, loved her.
He was roughly tender with her, whimsically obedient.
She had come down like a flaming star into his night, and
she whispered the way up to those inaccessible regions.
She evoked his full power and gave him the daring self-
reliance of youth. Plunging now head first through dark
ness, his hand under his pillow, he recalled bit by bit their
last night together the walk in the campus under the
elms and the maples. Wind blew leaves over them, and
the rapid clouds let through rushes of moonlight; they
walked close, whispering with sad tenderness. At the
gate came the inevitable good-by. They stood for some
time, face to face, lingering, and then the sudden moon
light revealed Janice, her face startlingly beautiful with
pendant tears. It was too much for Kirby; he put his
hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. In the
swift darkness the woman laughed softly, pressed his hand,
and fled. But he was sure then that he knew what life
is. The last secret had been revealed. A woman had
knighted him and sent him forth.
This memory was exquisite and submerged all others.
And so he fell asleep and dreamed. He was in a palace,
clanking from chamber to chamber in full armor, the
plates of mail clattering like wheels turning. Somehow
9
THE OLYMPIAN
he was flushed with some stupendous victory. He opened
door after door, but in each room there were spangled
women lying asleep on couches, and he sought further.
At last his heart swelled with poignant ardor, for at the
end of a long hall were two great doors of green bronze.
He strode up and pulled at the handles. He sweated and
toiled and groaned, yet thrilling more and more. Unex
pectedly, then, the doors gave inward, and he was dazzled
with white light. He entered. Janice was seated on a
throne, a crown on her head, her robes glorious with the
beating glare of the room. He saw tears in her eyes;
she rose, stepped down, held out her arms. He was
enfolded close, as if his armor were gone, and he felt faint.
She was whispering : ' ' You are the conqueror of the world. ' '
And he replied: "I conquered all to come to you." Their
lips met; he heard her breathe something of love, undying
love. But then there was a shaking of the door and some
thing crawling in sudden darkness. Kirby's heart stood still.
"What do you want, Professor Hadden?" he asked.
"I want my daddy," came the reply.
Kirby rubbed his eyes, rose on his elbow, and blinked.
Something was crawling into the berth. It was quite
horrible, with all his hundred dollars under his pillow.
He watched, unable to move. And then he smiled with
divine amazement.
A tiny boy of three, in a nightgown, was settling down at
the window and peering out. The blur of brown dawn
was in the berth, and he could see the sleepy little face
and the large round eyes gazing on the misty speeding
scenery. The beauty of a shy, wet flower in a rock
cranny was in the graceful pose and the fresh face. Kirby
felt his feverishness leave him; coolness, rather, and un
troubled beauty were in his heart. Smiling tenderly, he
watched the cherubic visitant. But the child was lost
in the queer accidents of the mist the brown crosses of
fences leering out, the green blur of trees, the little farm
houses hugged in arms of vapor.
10
ADVENTURE
Slowly then to Kirby came a noise in the corridor, a
hurry, an agitation, the mix of startled voices.
"Oh no, ma'am; no, ma'am," said the porter, huskily,
"no one could fall off de train. Dis is a vestibule-car.
De little person's done climbed into de wrong pew." The
porter was unsuccessfully smothering his laughter.
A woman's voice came, sharp with terror:
"John, I know he's been killed, I know it!"
Then a man's voice, exasperated:
"Don't lose your head, Dorothy. He was running
right after me when I climbed in."
Mirth rose excitedly in Kirby's breast. He poked head
out and called:
"There's a boy in here."
He was confronted by a disheveled young woman in a
nightgown, and her face dismayed him with its fright.
"Let me see."
She rudely tore the curtains apart, carelessly disclosing
Kirby, leaned over, and, with a cry of relief, seized up the
boy:
"Freddy!"
The boy was amazed.
"I want to stay with my father" was the last Kirby
heard him say.
"I told you not to lose your head," said the man.
The porter leaned in, chuckling, and addressed Kirby as
if Kirby were really a man worth confiding in.
"Yo* see, his dad had him in de wash-Toom and come
back before him, and de little person done got lost. So
he picked you for a daddy. All berths look alike to
him."
He roared with laughter. Kirby felt flattered. Life,
after all, was rather pleasing. He settled himself against
the window and looked out. The landscape of New
Jersey revolved outside, incredibly fast near the window,
exceedingly slow at the horizon; and on the turning land
farms came and went; and now a mill-town with lighted
ii
THE OLYMPIAN
kitchen windows, and now a desolate wood full of the wraiths
of the mist, and now a clanking bridge over the patient
level of a river. Mills were at work, with shadowy forms
in the gas-light ; smoke began to curl heavily from isolated
shanties. Dawn, welling voluminously through the at
mosphere, touched earth with the sweet joy of expectation.
On this day a young knight was to mount horse, set lance,
and plunge into the first mele'e. It was inevitable now;
there was no escape, no drawing back. The train was
plunging heavily through the morning straight to its roar
ing terminal.
"Yes, suh," Kirby heard the porter say to some awak
ened sleeper down the corridor, "we'll be in New York
in jes' two hours."
II
THE SEA-CITY
" \ X TELL," said the traveling salesman, "here we are!
VV What do you think of that?" He pointed over
the gray river at the New York sky-line. "Ain't she the
big girl? Gee! I'm stuck on her."
Thus, like a master of ceremonies, he introduced New
York to Kirby. They were standing at the front gates
of the ferry, which punctually at seven-ten was moving
out of the Jersey slip. Again Kirby wished himself rid
of this glib mouthpiece; yet, in a way, he would have
hated to be alone.
Several emotions clashed in him: there was the sheer
physical relief of being out of the train, of breathing fresh
air and seeing distance all around his head; there was the
sharp exhilaration of the inlander smelling the sea for
the first time, with a dawning realization of the flowing
vastness of the earth; there was the sky-hung beauty of
New York. But, insistently breaking its way through
all, there was a feeling of growing panic, the raw recruit
marching inevitably into the first dread perils of war.
Kirby 's thought was: "Now I'm up against it." He
might have been catching the first whiff of the anaesthetic
as he lay inescapably on the operating-table.
"Where you going first?" asked the salesman.
Kirby's face flushed.
"I don't know," he stammered.
"Breakfast?"
"Yes yes."
Again the salesman took his measure with amused
13
THE OLYMPIAN
tolerance. All he saw was a yokel who was woefully
ignorant.
"Well, you want to cut across to Broadway," he said,
pleasantly, "and try Childs'. Can't miss it white
front, lots of plate-glass, right near the head of Cortlandt.
I'd be with you, but I've got a wife up in Harlem, so I'll
beat it up the elevated line and let her scramble some eggs
forme. Gee! I'm like a fish dropped in water again."
These words went through Kirby as through a sieve.
His emotions were overwhelming. Salt water washed
breakingly against the prow of the boat, and with the cool
sea-wind there was a gray, slow-moving heaven, spilling
between cloud-gaps shafts of luminous sunlight that
traveled slowly, lighting up one scene after another a
passing tug with shining brass railings, a group of red
roofs, a far-seen deep-cut street, the smokes about a red
gas-works, even, a moment, rare sight! flashing the
windowed heights of the World Building and tipping the
top with molten gold. Like shifting scenes the city came
and went, yet ever the gray block of towering buildings,
piled one on another, the pyramidal city of the sea; and
at its base the black wharves and the masts, funnels of
the sea-going liners, low, squalid streets of red, all risen
from the busy gray river-waters. The weave of harbor
craft around the swimming ferry spoke of immense hu
manity in motion; and the sky-hung city under its gray
clouds stood like the very House of Civilization.
It was not what Kirby expected; it was too real, sharp,
and varied. One could not lay hands on it. It seemed to
mean that there were big brains in the world; huge,
powerful dreamers who had projected this immensity and
ruled it from the tower-tops. Kirby's vision of a golden
metropolis of cloud melted away. He felt like a burglar
about to break into a guarded mansion.
The boat nosed into the slip and bumped still; the
gates parted.
"Hustle!" cried the salesman. "Hustle!"
14
THE SEA-CITY
Unconsciously he sounded the keynote of New York;
unconsciously he took up the New York pace and tore
over the cobblestones and up Cortlandt Street as if time
was being cornered by a broker, with the price soaring.
Kirby flew after him through the dingy, sleeping street
until they paused under the Sixth Avenue elevated road.
"Good luck," cried the New-Yorker. "Remember
Quids', white front, right near the head of the street.
Be spry, look where you're going, and beware the 'con'
men." He laughed at his early-morning wit. "You're
all right; just keep a-shoving and a-pushing. S'long!"
And he sprinted breathless into the ghostly limbo of
New York, like foam melting back into the sea. Once
vanished, when does a New-Yorker ever reappear?
Lugging his heavy suit-case past the closed shops,
Kirby was lonelier than ever before in his life. He stopped
at the corner of Broadway to get his bearings: half-
empty cable-cars were passing him up and down the long,
gray canon, skyscrapers towered above his five-feet-nine
of man, the early-morning shadows were dark and long,
and he seemed to stand in the deep pit of a deserted city.
The morning rush had not yet begun. This was the mere
shell of the city, like clothes over a chair-back waiting
the wearer.
Kirby felt as if he had been ensnared by some uncanny
power; he could not cease staring, he could not stop the
throb of fear in his heart. His loneliness was terrific, not
a soul he knew, not even a path he knew out of this
labyrinth. The city was too big; it seemed to extend to
immense distances, infinite spaces. He could not believe
that it was his old familiar self set down in this stone
fastness.
Then he saw Quids', and almost laughed. It was a
friendly haven ; he could go in there and hide. The mere
action brought relief. He purchased a morning paper
and stepped into the shining imitation-marble, glassy,
porcelain-tiled restaurant and sat down at a glistening
THE OLYMPIAN
table. A tired waitress hovered over him, soothing him
vaguely with her femininity.
He spoke with effort.
"A cup of coffee two four-minute boiled eggs
toast."
While he waited he glanced at the newspaper. The
head-lines meant nothing to him, and yet seemed to shelter
him from the ruthless city: "Big Fire in Forty-second
Street," "The President's Message," "Girl Found Dead
in East River," "Danby Wins Divorce." Then he
awoke and turned to the advertising section. "Boarders
Wanted." Evidently there were plenty of places.
64th St., 115 West. Large, pleasant room, suitable for i or 2;
excellent table; moderate.
720! St., 152 West. Cultured surroundings for girls studying
music, art, opera, concerts; references; moderate.
And so it ran for over a column. It was fascinating.
It gave visions of comfort, sunniness, security, somewhere
in the stone wilderness. Somewhere he could find warmth.
Mrs. Hadden had suggested the neighborhood of Twenty-
third Street West as being central and cheap. Kirby
marked a couple of advertisements and ate his breakfast.
He had no desire to leave his haven, but when he ven
tured out he had the amazing experience of stepping into
a different city, as if the sea-city changed like the sea itself.
For now the morning rush was under way; from Brooklyn,
Jersey, Staten Island, and Harlem the population was
coming, coming, jamming the clanging cars, pouring up
side streets, clanking down Broadway, as if some great
hand had opened all the flood-gates. Sunlight traveled
over the bobbing heads; the air was full of bustle and
awakened energy; great deeds were afoot; world labor
was under way; humanity was going to its day's work.
Kirby 's loneliness sharpened; he longed to be one of
these. They were all inside the machine, they all had a
16
THE SEA-CITY
share in the glorious action of the metropolis; but he was
outside, a stranger, without foothold, without even toe
hold. He wedged his way through against the downward-
striving stream; he could have taken a car had he not
been enchanted by this drive of the multitude ; he merely
wanted to go on and on, breaking deeper and deeper
into this tumultuous city. That he could ever find con
nections in this rush and bigness, become a part of it, and
be recognized in it, seemed quite hopeless.
He passed City Hall Park, saw the flags flapping on
towers, the bend of trees in the breeze, beheld faces at
windows, passed endless plate-glass of sparkling shops,
then followed Broadway into the wholesale district.
Huge building operations were under way, great blotches
of the earth torn out, swarming with men and carts, drills
and engines; half -built skyscrapers showed their steel
skeletons against the gray clouds. Despite its largeness,
Kirby could feel that it was a city in process, unfinished,
full of pioneering, with a dream-world before it.
And the peril of it was evident the peril of crossing
the street, of the high buildings, the hollow cellarage.
So that the pride, the stride of these perishable inhabitants
was astounding. They took it all for granted: newsboys
shouted, young girls flaunted ribbons and with poised
heads met the world; men swaggered, smoking, ogling;
drivers swore; policemen breasted the stream of traffic
in mid-gutter.
Out of the heavens like a spider dropping on its own
unraveling thread a man astride a beam, clutching a
derrick-rope, was lowered from the fifteenth story of a
skeleton skyscraper to the street. People paused, looked
up. Kirby stopped, holding himself together, a little
dizzied. Down came the spider, grew into a man, stepped
off on the pavement huge, overalled, grimly smiling
swore gently, and went into the building. His non
chalance, careless courage, familiarity with death, amazed
the young Westerner.
THE OLYMPIAN
Then, as he stepped on, a feeling of unreality possessed
him. All, all was unreal. It was as if, like Alice, he had
stepped through the looking-glass and was wandering in the
depths of a reflected world; or as if he were a pilgrim
elbowing a proud remote people ; or as if he were in a city
hung in the skies with mammoth shadow-depths. It was
hardly real enough to hate ; but he knew that it was cruel
and bitter, and he knew his own atomic insignificance.
That he should have dreamed of conquering the illimitable !
His heart ached as he turned in at dirty Twenty-sixth
Street. There were three-story red-brick dwellings, there
were faded brown-stone houses. All was dingy respec
tability. Suddenly he had a sense of revolt. He felt
that he could not live in this dirty stone honeycomb.
Many labels were over door-bells: "Room and Board,"
"Gentlemen Boarders Wanted," "Rooms for Rent."
But the houses seemed repulsive; all save one, English
basement with brass railings, immaculately neat and cur
tained, and touched with a healing repose that its excited
dirty neighbors lacked. There was no label over the bell,
but there was a flaunting, mysterious red sign in the
window a sign supplementing the label in the other
houses.
"Of course it will be too expensive." Kirby smiled
grimly as he pulled the bell-handle.
To his astonishment a stout, suspicious-eyed butler
opened the door and glared at Kirby's clothes.
"Well!" he snapped.
Kirby quailed.
"I came" he hesitated "to see about renting a
room."
The butler looked as if his ears belied him. The insult
made him tingle.
" Do you take this for a lodging-house?" he cried.
Kirby began to grow angry; his temper gave him
courage.
"You have a sign in your window," he said, hotly.
18
THE SEA-CITY
It was the butler's turn to tremble.
"A sign?"
"Yes, a red sign."
The butler stared at Kirby and snorted a "Huh!" of
relief. Then he spoke tartly to the point.
"That, young fellow, is a garbage sign; it's a sign for
the passing garbage man. Now clear out of here! The
idea!"
And the door slammed in Kirby's face. The amazing
insolence of this New York lackey was a death-blow to
Kirby's American equality. He knew now that a superior
breed of men existed. And yet he was joyous. Lightly
he swung along the street, stopping to glance at the paper
again for the "ads" he had marked.
He tried the first house. It was a four-story faded
brownstone with a high stoop. The fat, unkempt landlady
opened the door half-way and stood guarding it.
"Yes." Her face was flabby, but her red-rimmed eyes
were keen.
"Everybody in this city," thought Kirby, "is suspi
cious."
"I'm looking for a room," he said.
11 With board?"
"Well perhaps."
"It's the only kind we take. How much do you want
to pay?"
She, too, was measuring him from head to foot, a dis
concerting process. He felt his cheeks getting hot.
"Oh about seven." He was ashamed of his poverty.
"Later," he added, but without conviction, "I'll pay
more."
"Eight's our lowest. The skylight room's taken."
He was abashed; she spoke as if eight were the lowest
level of poverty.
" It '11 be all right," he muttered.
"Alone? Just you?"
"Yes."
3 J 9
"You're lucky to come this morning. I've only one
room left. And the demand grows."
She led the way up the faded carpet of the stairs, and
Kirby could see her slippers almost flapping off with each
step. The house smelled damp and dusty, as if there
were no ventilation. It was depressing.
On the top floor, in the larger luminousness of a sky
light, she unlocked and opened a front door and disclosed
a tiny hall-bedroom, with narrow, white-covered iron bed,
washstand, and chair. The walls had a dirty green-
patterned paper; the window was curtained with tawdry
imitation lace. There was not space for a trunk; hardly
space for a shelf with hooks and cotton curtains for the
hanging of clothes.
Kirby thought of his spacious, clean, sweet room at
home, the ample bed, the elm branches swaying outside
the open windows, the spaciousness and peace. A lump
rose in his throat; his eyes dimmed. He had indeed broken
with his past. And was it worth the while?
"This is the room," said the independent woman.
"Eight dollars a week which includes breakfast and
supper on week-days and three meals on Sundays. It's
dirt cheap at that, with the cost of living rising every day.
What are your references?"
Kirby could only say, humbly:
"I'm a stranger here. I come from Iowa."
Something in his voice made the woman examine his
face again. She saw the gray eyes. She spoke more
softly.
"That's all right, Mister. Pay me four dollars de
posit and I'll take you as you are."
He was grateful for the sympathetic tone. He paid,
and she shuffled off, leaving him the room key and a house
key. Then he shut the door and stood in a dream of the
past and present. Hucksters shouted on the street, the
voices of children rose in the air, somewhere a street-organ
was grinding out a melancholy tune, bells of the rag-man
20
THE SEA-CITY
jangled, and in the distance rose and fell the thunder of
the elevated train. Beneath all was the persistent un
dertone of a great city, the muffled clamor, in all
directions life palpitating, and Kirby enmeshed in the
heart of it.
But this was a refuge, this room. He washed the soot
out of his ears and nose and mouth and stretched himself
on the cotton-smelling bed. It was lunch-time, but he
was too tired to go out, and yet he could not sleep. The
streets, the crowds, the sky-line, the swaying sleeper with
its visions of the night, kept beating through his brain like
the endless tramp of a procession. The hours passed, the
afternoon waned.
At last, stiff and cold, he aroused himself, cleared off
the washstand, and used it as a desk. He wrote briefly
to Jordan Watts; he wrote weariedly, feeling impotent
and worn, and that very little help could come from any
man in this immensity:
DEAR SIR, I am taking the liberty of sending you the inclosed
note from Mrs. Hadden. She requested me to do so as soon as
I reached the city, and to give my address. It is given above.
Sincerely,
KIRBY TRASK.
Then he drew from his pocket Janice Hadden's letter,
and gazed at the handwriting. It meant little to him now.
He was too feverish and weary to care.
A little later darkness came, and he glanced from the
window at the gas-lit street and the passing people.
Evidently they were hurrying home after the day's work.
He watched them listlessly, lost in himself.
The supper-bell sounded; he took coat and hat and
descended to the basement. But supper was a blur to
him; merely knife-clanking, tongue-clacking strangers
about the long white table, under flaming gas, and a
powerful lard-and-cabbage smell from the kitchen. He
21
THE OLYMPIAN
bolted his meal, arose, put on hat and coat, and escaped
to the cool street.
Again a change had come to the city. Something
subtly beautiful was abroad, something mysterious, hint
ing of romance. It was the call of the women. Now the
population was freed of its toil, and the woman's time
had come. Kirby was twenty-four again, a young man.
He heard the primitive call and began to glow, to feel his
blood quicken and life surge through him. The work-a-
day world was left down-town, and now the women ruled
the splendors of the night. Kirby, looking to the east,
saw Broadway flaring across the mouth of the street; and,
like a fragile insect driven mysteriously, inevitably, with
out thought, without hesitancy, he hurried toward the
lights.
Swiftly he turned the corner and hastened along Broad
way. A few blocks brought him into the heart of the
theater district, the white-light district. Glowing globes
suspended before theater entrances, sparkling shop win
dows, brilliant restaurants, and on the housetops a blaze
of advertisements, made the thoroughfare a canon of fire;
gold and orange and blue beat upon the pavements, and
through the radiance the laughter-smitten crowd was
flowing up and down. The cars were lit; cabs and
carriages rolled past with glimpse of lace and shining eyes ;
in the restaurants Kirby saw bare shoulders and scintillant
beauty; and all about him, pressing close, brushing his
elbows, glancing daringly into his daring eyes, were the
faces of women and girls.
The display of wealth in garments and buildings was
dazzling; he saw now what the toil down-town meant.
It was all for the women, said his young man's heart.
And here they were, secretly giving him their laughing
eyes. He wandered aimlessly, feeding his starved heart
on these faces; through him and them the night drifted
with mysterious beauty; they were combed by some
uniting miracle. He heard the strange laughter that
22
THE SEA-CITY
seemed about to reveal the secret of existence; he saw
golden hair and blue eyes, dark hair and black eyes, warm-
tinted cheeks and shadowy foreheads. His spirit seemed
to wake and laugh; he felt young, handsome, masculine;
he throbbed with pride, a young man tasting life.
This, then, was the real New York the New York
revealed to him by Janice Hadden and the phantas
magoria of the day was merely an unrolling dream that
awoke into this splendor of the night. This was the
magic city he had come to conquer, the cloud-metropolis
of the Arabian Nights that was his empire.
The theaters swallowed this crowd, and at once another
filled the streets. The underworld was awake, flooding
the empty streets with its strange inhabitants. Vice
stalked the stone pavement, in spangles and crass attire,
with painted cheeks and bold eyes. Again and again
Kirby was accosted by some woman of the dark. Not
now the dart and swift passing, but the slow glide and slow
swerve of the head.
It was late when he groped for his room and unlocked
the door. But, lying in the hard bed, he was only aware of
his youth, his untried power, his boundless dreams. He
imaged Janice Hadden again, all in white light, her arms
drawing him tenderly close. And he heard her whisper
"I give you ten years. Kirby, you are going to be a
great man."
Her soft laughter evoked his own. He thought:
"Wait till I see old Watts."
And again he resolved to go forth and attack the
strange metropolis and take it by storm.
Ill
THE OUTSIDER
AT five-thirty the next morning Kirby was up, writing
letters. First he got the letter to his mother and
sisters out of the way a tedious chronicle of food, shelter,
and health, with an American prospectus of New York as
The Young Man's Friend, The Chance of a Lifetime.
It was necessary to reassure a doubting family. That
done, he drew forth a fresh sheet and smiled. How
should he address her? He wanted to write "Dear
Janice," but he didn't dare. "Mrs. Hadden" was too
formal, "Aunt Janice" made her impossibly old. Finally
he wrote " Dear Friend," but even then he wondered what
the professor might say.
Janice, when she received the letter, thought it was very
"young" and destroyed it before her husband knew of its
existence. The reason was very simple. Kirby felt not
the least bit romantic, yet deemed it necessary to pre
serve the King Arthur atmosphere of the kiss on the
campus. To do this he had to press the loud pedal of
his emotions; he had to pump.
As, for instance:
"You cannot know what your least glance means to
me; I am kept brave in these strange surroundings. I
feel I am a man and can conquer anything. Brave the
stings and scorns of time. I had a dream about you in
the sleeping-car. But I cannot write it out. It was the
most beautiful dream I have ever had. You were on a
throne, and I had just conquered the world "
24
THE OUTSIDER
Surely Kirby was an odd mixture of arrested adolescence
and precocious manhood. For a male of twenty-four he
was at times strangely boyish, unformed, yet at other
times he seemed almost overdeveloped. But this had
always been the contradiction in his character; it ac
counted for his spells of listlessness, his occasional blush
ing shyness, his four years over the average age in high
school; and then again the emotion he had stirred in
Janice Hadden, the daring of his dreams, the power he
occasionally flashed, the ambition that paused at no
limit.
This morning Kirby was in a jolly mood. Opening his
eyes at five he had become at once wide awake, with the
acute sensation of life having become intensified. Tugs
on the river were bellowing against the mist, stray cars
awoke echoes in the unfooted streets, the milkman drew
up and rattled his tin dipper in the can, but otherwise
the roaring tides of the city were still merged and lost in
the level seas of sleep. All that bright life was peacefully
unconscious, as though the stars had not yet been called
into the skies. Yet now at five Kirby could feel the turn
ing of the tides the inevitable resurgence and flood and
it seemed as if the awakening of millions of people added
life to life, till there was a welling of energy that in
toxicated, a telepathic impact that excited each nerve;
a call to action and to work. It was like the adding of rain
drops to rain-drops into a heaven of cloud until the currents
of the morning electrified the mass. Kirby was one of
these drops, and the lightning played in and out of him.
The result was that all his bull-headedness was fully
aroused. He was alert, decisive, clear-eyed. Thought
came easily; courage was natural. He was thoroughly
himself that is, his self had broken through two or three
layers of shyness and fear. He even looked different,
taller, head erect, gray eyes sparkling.
He felt now that he knew the spread of the city; hence,
that he knew how to attack it. Why wait for a remote
25
THE OLYMPIAN
Jordan Watts? He was an American young man, used
to standing on his own feet, fighting his own way. Jordan
Watts had done this himself. Surely the world would
never get too old for the hero, the man who carved his
destiny out of fate and circumstance.
There were a hundred possibilities; notably, there was
reporting. He must build on his experience; make re
porting for the Trent Blade the first step toward reporting
for the New York Sun. And he would take the bull by the
horns go straight to the city editor and ask work. That
was the American way. His pluck would be obvious to
the seasoned and sere New-Yorker, the effete Easterner.
"Grit," he told himself, repeating the current slogan-
words of American youth. "Nerve. Stick-to-it-iveness.
Push. Get-there. Smile."
Of course, all else failing, there yet might descend from
the skies the giant mailed, hand of the steel magnate.
At six-forty he had outgrown his room; he yearned for
more kingdoms to conquer. So he descended light-
footedly through the musty, slumbering house and en
tered the dining-room. Sparkling sunlight was in the
street, driving from east to west, and the low room was
luminious with side-light. Only one boarder was at the
table; Kirby sat opposite him.
This boarder was a bright-eyed youth, cheaply but
smartly attired. A quarter stick-pin was in his scarlet
tie; his collar kept his head high; his blue eyes bristled
and snapped; his tilted nose had an air of delightful
impudence; and the cupid's bow of his 'mouth had scornful
curling ends. Over his low forehead was a thatch of
yellow hair. Besides, he had freckles.
Kirby was for the moment a hearty Westerner.
"Good morning," he said, cheerily, and held out his
hand, which the other took with rather dampening sus-
piciousness. " My name is Kirby Trask."
" They call me Si," murmured the youth, as if he were
bored, " but I am also known by the name of Kelly."
26
THE OUTSIDER
"Fresh morning, isn't it?" Kirby rubbed his hands
and smiled.
Si Kelly nodded, but without much assurance.
Silence fell, while Kirby revolved in his mind the odd
fact that New-Yorkers were icicles. Why was it? Why
could they not be open, warm, democratic? A waitress
with a pudgy, weary face now brought in Si's breakfast.
The latter glanced at her with charming impudence.
"Well, Gert, how was the racket?"
"i was up till three," she answered, wearily.
"Hot time?"
"Oh, fair to middlin'."
He winked at her, and evoked a tired smile.
"You want to go out with me some night. Say" he
waved his hand flatly "I know a swell joint over to
Ninth Avenue where the dames do a regular joy dance.
You and me for that ! How about it? Are you on?"
"Oh you," she laughed, joyously," I wouldn't let my
grandmother go with you."
And out she went. Si leaned toward Kirby with sudden
intimacy.
"Gert's all right," he said, "only they're working her
good looks off of her. Chee! this is a burg for work,
though. Now jes' think of me, a bloke gettin' a measly
dozen bones a week for hittin' stuffed packing-cases on the
ground floor of a Jew's dry-goods store. I'm losing my
youth. Huh! a shipping-clerk! Wait a week. You'll
lose me."
This amazing revelation, and also the implied threat,
so perplexed Kirby that he could only say:
"Where you going?"
Si screwed up his eyes and wiggled ringers over his left
ear.
"An inside tip keep it under the lid. Spot lights."
"The stage?"
"Sure. I met a feller doin' a coon act; said he needs a
buffer. Me for the buffer. Believe me, there's nothin'
27
THE OLYMPIAN
in the shipping-clerk spiel. S'long. Do you hear the
morning whistles all a-blowin' ? Exit."
With one last mouthful, a whisk of the napkin, a "Ta
ta" and hand-wave, he vanished. And Kirby ate his
breakfast joyously. He felt he had a new clue to New
York. These folk were frozen because they suspected
others of being suspicious, but once break the crust and
they were familiar spirits.
Well, Kirby was young, after all. Stepping out into the
buoyant morning, he released a smothered laugh of joy.
People were hurrying through the vitalized air ; he hurried
with them. A Russian news vender at the corner sold him
a paper and gave him directions; and he stood quite a
handsome young man in derby and long overcoat at the
busy street-crossing.
Beyond him the trees of Madison Square Park glistened
freshly, and four-walling the Square rose brownstone
houses and business buildings into the brilliant blue of the
morning. Blue and white twistings of smoke faintly aspired
toward the heavens, and one great wash of sun went
sparkling over every little object on the ground, throwing
tiny cool shadows. The air was fresh, cleansing the lungs
and the mouth.
A car stopped, and Kirby got on, and with the
action he seemed to catch the very spirit of New York.
For the car was black with people, most of them reading
papers the clerks, mechanics, and girls who were the ad
vance-guard of the morning. And Kirby, holding his
paper under one arm and hanging nimbly on a strap,
seemed to merge with this routine of the cars, giving him
self up to the irresistible suction that drew large popula
tions into the red struggle of the metropolis. He was of a
city that went to work. By the gods, he would get some
work himself, know the joy of creating one good thing in
the world production!
Broadway shifted by, crowded scene by scene, and at
City Hall, cutting toward the east, he burrowed through
28
THE OUTSIDER
the human torrent that Brooklyn was gushing over the
Bridge. Tall buildings looked down on the marchers,
waving their tower-held flags as guidons to the host.
Life stirred around and in Kirby. He breathed faster,
felt adventurous, smiled happily. Yes, this was News
paper Row; to these buildings the snapped-up news of the
world flowed through wire-nerves, and the vast drama of
man in the very act was bunched on the clanking presses
and then sown through the sleeping city. He held it
under his arms the miracle ; he held the last twelve hours
of the tragi-comedy of the human race. How wonderful,
then, to become a cell in the nerve-center. That was his
place. Glowingly he entered the shabby red-brick build
ing of the Sun.
Two flights up steep, boxed stairs he came on the large,
dirty room, with its flat desks beyond the entrance railing,
all lit dingily by the dull windows. At once he was back
on the Trent Blade the same lovely odor of printers'
ink, damp paper fresh from the press, and stale tobacco
smoke. He stood looking. The place was quite empty,
save for a boy sprawling under a green-shaded light over
an opened newspaper.
The boy, interrupted, was of course annoyed.
"Who yer lookin' for?"
"The city editor."
"He's out."
Kirby felt unreasonably angry.
"When will he be in?"
"C>h couple of hours or so."
And the boy read on. Kirby turned swiftly and sought
the street. He might have known, of course. Yet he was
dreaming; he was a reporter sitting deep in the night
scribbling in a flood of golden light, or plunging down
perilous midnight streets to look critically on the lurid
gas-lit murder. Yes, he was a soul plunging alone into
the cavernous underworld of sin and death and sleep.
The morning was yet young and glad; so adventurously
29
THE OLYMPIAN
he turned down eastern side streets and wandered deep
into a huge new region. And as he walked he was
amazed. The narrow streets zigzagged into each other;
the squalid five-floor tenements had their fire-escapes
loaded with household furnishings and refuse; the dirty
shop-fronts had street displays of red blankets, strings of
shoes, glass cases of brassware. Mud was in the gutter, and
resting in it were lines of push-carts laden with] food and
cheap knickknacks and hardware and haberdashery. All
was like a little old city out of the wreckage of ancient
Europe. But most amazing were the people a slow,
turgid, intermelting mass, outrageously un-American;
men in filthy clothes, with flowing luminous beards and
greasy faces ; fat women in shawls, a baby slung over the
shoulder; children in red darting between the crowded
legs; beautiful black-eyed girls, well-dressed, pushing
through on the way to work. And there were cries in an
alien tongue, shrill-voiced bargainings, bristling gossip.
Again Kirby had a sense of unreality. The congestion
and poverty were monstrous. How could people live this
way? His notion of poverty was owning a little house,
having many children, and just scraping along. That was
American poverty. This surely was imported. Yet here
a whole world was going on, a mere pocket of New York.
The vastness of the city overwhelmed him. It was the
House of All Comers, and into it poured America and
Europe.
He feared to go on lest again he lose his pride and abase
himself before the startling immensity of life. He re
gained City Hall at ten-thirty.
A dozen men now sprawled, feet up, papers spread, at
the desks of the Sun office, passing affectionate blasphemy
to each other. Reporters, surely. And at once their
warm comradeliness made Kirby feel bitterly outside
again.
"He's in now," said the boy. "What's your name?"
"Mr. Trask."
30
THE OUTSIDER
"Business?"
"Personal."
"Oh, all right."
As Kirby waited, his heart started to thump against his'
ribs. The right word and bearing might land his future;
he must be wary. Then he was motioned in to the roll-
top corner desk of the city editor, and confronted a solid
individual whose eye bored through him.
Yet his reception was flattering.
"Be seated, Mr. Trask. Now, what can I do for you?"
Kirby's voice sounded queer to himself.
"I'm looking for work as a reporter."
"Experienced?"
"Yes out on my home-town paper, the Trent Blade,
Trent, Iowa."
"Oh, indeed!" The words seemed to pat his back, and
hope swelled in him.
"I'm willing to begin Kirby was ready to clean
spittoons, but the city editor cut him off pleasantly.
"Just give me your name and address, Mr. Trask."
He drew out a slip of paper and a pencil and jotted down
the facts. Then he spoke with a finality that terminated
the interview:
"Of course, as you know, we're crowded just at present.
You might drop in again in about three months. Glad
to have met you, Mr. Trask."
Kirby wanted to launch his crushing logic, but somehow
he rose like an automaton, smiled good morning, walked
with cruel self-consciousness past the office-boy, and sped
miserably to the street. Something big and beautiful was
cracking and breaking within him.
So he rushed to the next place, a dark wood-partitioned
interior, creaking crazily to the thump and thunder of
presses and a hurry of men in and out. A red-headed boy
played with him as if he were a top.
"What '11 yer have, anyway?"
Kirby gulped a lump.
THE OLYMPIAN
"I'd like to see the city editor."
"After a job? What?"
"Yes."
The boy rubbed his head and spoke reassuringly:
"Oh, you'll get it in the neck," disappearing on the
last word.
Tears came into Kirby's eyes, and the fear in his heart
went stabbing through his self-confidence. Then an
abrupt, busy man dashed through the swing-doors and
confronted him sharply. The editor seemed to give one
probing glance that showed that Kirby was the lesser man,
and hence beaten, and he did not again look at the applicant.
"You want a reporting job?"
"Yes."
"It's no use. Don't waste your time and mine.
We're choked."
He started to go, but Kirby strained forth one desperate
sentence :
"But I've been a reporter before."
The other wheeled around.
"Where?"
"On the Trent Blade."
"The Trent BLADE!" the editor cried in amazement.
"Yes, Trent, Iowa."
"If such a place exists," said the other, sententiously,
"you'd better go back there."
And he left Kirby hanging, as it were, in mid-air.
Three other papers whisked him out just as rapidly and
effectively, and, standing buffeted by the swift crowd of
Park Row, he felt like lying down and weeping. He got
the first twinge of the misery of the unemployed that
feeling of being cast out, exiled, and then hunted down to
his death. He was not wanted in the tremendous in
dustry of the city; he was a lonely stranger in town.
Suddenly the romance of the city was shattered for him,
and he felt that he was in a huge, dirty, noisy pit of
stone, where greedy animals fought each other.
32
THE OUTSIDER
He was too sick at heart to look further that day. His
self-respect was breaking down, and the disillusionment
was annihilating. After swallowing a tasteless cup of
coffee and a portion of ham and beans in a cellar lunch
room he went back to his room and flung himself on the
bed. A terrible homesickness filled him with self-pity.
It was too hard, too bitter cruel. By contrast the
friendliness of the known people of Trent, the open skies,
the sheltering trees, the sweet routine and amplitude of
his home, the worrying care of his mother, and the eager
praise of Janice Hadden, seemed like the glory of the world
that he had thoughtlessly cast away, the pearl he had
flung to the hog-pen. He had ruined his bright life; he
was a failure. Just outside, bells jangled, children shouted,
wheels hit the cobblestones, horses clanked. His spirit
grew deathly sick.
He did not want to face the strangers at supper; never
theless he took his place, and the plates, the cutlery, the
food, the faces, passed around him like a remote phantasm.
Si's "Hello" went unheeded. He sat and ate of bitter
bread.
Next to him a smooth-faced man tried hard to be
friendly :
"My name is Marston, Freddy Marston. I'm a floor
walker at Marshall's. Say, do you play pinochle,
Mr. ?"
"Trask. No," was all Kirby could utter.
After a little while the unabashed floor-walker came
back at him, whispering:
"You'll want to meet the girl opposite some time.
She's a model in Wall & Hansel's suit department. Cissie
Clay."
Kirby glanced up and saw a shapely woman with a
crass exterior beauty directly across the table. She
looked at him familiarly. He took a last spoonful of
bread-pudding and excused himself.
Cissie watched him go, and spoke to Marston:
33
"The kid's homesick. My! he's almost suicidal."
No Broadway for Kirby that night. He wanted to hide
his head. He walked himself tired through lamp-lit
side streets, and was indifferent to the love-making in the
shadows. And, back in bed, every nerve was jarred by the
ceaseless night noises, the voices, car-thunder, and rattle.
He felt feverish, as a man does in the initial stages of
some devastating disease.
In the morning he came down with a cold in the head,
snuffling, so homesick that he looked self-conscious.
Si's wit was spun to the empty air, and finally in disgust
he leaned forward and snapped:
"Say, you, you look like a stuffed monkey."
Kirby smiled miserably and sought the boundless refuge
of the streets. At least in the crowds he could hide him
self; at least here a perfect secrecy, and no one prying
into his heart. This was the home of all the unfriended
and the ruined; he traveled with them through the cruel
splendors of success.
That morning he tried the monthly magazines, but
though the assistant editors were kindly they held out
no hope to him, and he was confronted with that insoluble
problem of the homeless how to spend his idle time.
There were as yet no nickel theaters, where an afternoon
could be sat out swiftly; there were only the streets and
the hall-bedroom, preferably the streets. So he wandered
the friendless thoroughfares till he was sick in body and
mind and ready to drop with fatigue. And that evening
he ate in a cheap restaurant, for he could not abide facing
the curiosity of the boarders.
IV
GLIMPSES OF THE DARK
IT was the next morning that Kirby thought of looking
through the "help wanted" column of the newspaper.
He ran through the alphabet accountants, bookkeepers,
canvassers, clerks, managers, salesmen, stenographers,
sales-managers but in almost each case previous ex
perience was one of the conditions. He was practically
inexperienced. It was a bitter thing that experience was
demanded, and yet no chance of securing experience
granted. One had to start somewhere.
Only one "ad" looked promisirg. It ran:
CITY SALESMEN wanted by a large typewriting concern.
Experience desirable, but not absolutely necessary. Apply at
10.00 A.M. to MR. CASTLETON, Hadley Typewriter Co., 315
Broadway.
Kirby plucked up desperate courage and applied. At
least thirty other young men were there ahead of him,
jamming the anteroom. And they looked so well-dressed,
smirky, and successful that he felt like a vagrant in the
throng. In and out the front office they went, one by one.
It was after eleven when the office-boy motioned to
Kirby.
Mr. Castleton was a stout, brisk, mustached man with
dark eyes ringed with signs of dissipation. He was much
too affable, much too obsequious. Kirby felt that sales
men must be hard to get.
Mr. Castleton drew a long, black cigar from his mouth
and waved the hand that held it.
4 35
THE OLYMPIAN
"Have a seat, Mr. "
"Trask."
"Glad to know you. Castleton's my name. Well, sir,
I've got an A i proposition to lay before you."
Kirby became suspicious at once, showing the first
genuine traces of New-Yorkism. He listened in stolid
silence.
"You see, our machine's new to the market. But
already it's selling like hot cakes. Ever seen it? Only
machine with back-stop, tabulator-key, reversible ribbon,
and ball-bearing joints." Suddenly he seized on his desk,
pulled, and a lid rose, bringing with it a hidden type
writing-machine. "Ain't she a beauty? Easy action,
durable a quick seller. Never ran a machine, did you?"
"No I didn't."
"Oh, that's all right. We want talkers, not typers."
He laughed briskly, then he turned sharply and laid a
hand on Kirby 's shoulder. "You can make big money
in this. Twelve a week salary, ten per cent, on each
machine, and they sell for a hundred. I've seen men
make sixty, a hundred, two hundred a week. Just takes
nerve and a taking way. How about it?"
All at once that excitation of American business
something of the circus, something of the gambling-table
began to invade Kirby. Anything seemed possible.
"What would I have to do exactly?" he asked.
"Just this. We give you a territory say five square
blocks and you go from office to office and ask for the
boss. Of course, you've got to have a knack it takes
manners, insistence, and you've got to make people in
terested. Want to dress well, of course; be a top-notcher;
joke with the stenographers, take 'em out; worm your
way. How about it?"
That "How about it?" settled the case. Through it
leaked the distressing eagerness of Mr. Castleton, and in
a flash Kirby knew that the work was impossible for him.
He saw himself going into offices, overcome with shyness
36
GLIMPSES OF THE DARK
and rudely ejected. He saw himself changing into an
oily, glib lackey. "By God!" he thought, "I'd rather
break stone. That's honest, at least."
A moment of his concealed decisiveness came to him.
He rose and looked Mr. Castleton in the eye; and when
Kirby really looked, the lookee usually crumpled a little.
"No. I can't take it. Thanks." And out he went.
"The son-of-a-gun," thought Mr. Castleton.
Nevertheless, when Kirby reached the street he was
quite desperate. The cold in his head was worse, making
him feel detached from his body, floating in space; and
the misery of his outcast state became a bitter taste in his
mouth. After a futile afternoon he went home, meditating
on suicide. He could end all, after all. He could drop
the city under him, the city with its insane gesticulations.
However, he would try once more, and he would take
anything. Anything to tide him over, to restore his self-
confidence, to give him time to turn about. Even manual
work, which at least was healthy and honest. So the next
morning he answered an "ad" for a shipping-clerk with
the Curley Manufacturing Company of Green Street.
But when he got there he saw standing in the gray drizzle
of the gray street lined with loft-buildings at least a
hundred men fighting about the entrance and several
policemen trying to preserve order. The sight amazed
him. He drew his coat-collar higher and turned away
like a dog that is beaten.
For now he understood. He belonged to the army of
the unemployed; the vast disorganized army that slinks
through the cold and wet outside the warm, immense, busy
machinery of our industrialism, trying to beat its way in
to get merely bread and a bed the hunted hunters, sink
ing, many of them, down into the easeful slime of vagrancy
and criminality. This, then, was the cellarage of the
beautiful heaven-kissed city, the foul foundations flowing
with bobbing heads and beseeching hands and hoarse
cries for mercy. Monstrous poverty! Monstrous in-
37
THE OLYMPIAN
justice! Kirby could understand now why the papers
were full of suicide, murder, rape, and burglary. It was
the struggle for existence laid bare; yes, thought young
Kirby, it was human nature laid bare ; the claws and fangs,
the animal ancestry revealed.
And he felt now that to succeed one had to be pitiless,
hard, selfish. As for himself, if he ever got in he would
stay in, hook or crook. Necessity made this the only
way. It was the first emergence of ruthlessness in Kirby's
character, the first definite result of the impact of New
York.
Yet he had the grace at that moment to prefer suicide.
What else could he do? To go on much longer would
destroy the best in him the human spirit until he was
a mere whining beggar. Better to die, and an end of it.
It was five that afternoon when he turned in at Twenty-
sixth Street. The rain had ceased, the heavens cleared;
but the pavement was still wet, and all the westward
street glowed with a divine rosiness. Still beauty was in
the evening skies; exquisite light bathed the happy
walkers. But, for all that, Kirby felt the tears of despair ;
the soft beauty of the street-lamp, a bit of luminous gold
lost in the last of the day, made him yearn for arms about
his tired head and the kiss of woman's love. Yes, he
must end it all. His heart could endure no more.
He climbed the steps, unlocked the door. Blinking
through the shadows, he saw the fat landlady waddling
toward him, cutting off escape.
' ' Letters for you, Mr. Trask. ' ' She held out two envelopes:
He took them, glanced. One was an unfamiliar hand
writing, the other that of Janice. At once his heart
bounded; blood rushed to his head.
"Thanks," he cried, and fled up the stairs.
The note from Janice was brief:
DEAR KIRBY, I was delighted to get such a hopeful letter.
By now you must be on your way up. And even if you aren't,
38
GLIMPSES OF THE DARK
dear boy, remember that you and I know what is possible, and
that it is a mere matter of time. Months even oughtn't to
discourage you. If they do, write me write me candidly for
I want you to know that I am your best backer, and that nothing
shall shake my faith in you. All goes well here, though I envy
you the great city. Your friend,
JANICE WOODS HADDEN.
He laughed out loud, he kissed the signature, and a
gust of joy swept him.
"Oh," he murmured, "you came in time, Janice, and I
love you!"
Then eagerly he tore open the other letter. And he read
his fortune in it.
MY DEAR MR. TRASK, My daughter remembers Mrs.
Hadden very well. Can't you come up and dine with us at
seven on Friday night? Yours sincerely,
JORDAN WATTS.
The letter was in one handwriting, the signature in
another. Well, the mailed hand had descended from
heaven to scoop up an unfortunate from the muck of the
city. It was unbelievable. Kirby got up, tore off his
coat, slapped his knees, cried "Hell! hell! hell!" and
danced kickingly up and down. Now he was himself
radiant, powerful, the man of destiny. The cellarage of
the city was forgotten; he was to ascend at one leap to
the high places. Such an invitation could mean nothing
else. One of the masters of America, a man who could
make and unmake human beings by a nod of his head had
asked him to dinner. What a wonderful woman was
Janice.
The cold in Kirby's head seemed to depart, and he came
down to supper with flashing eyes and superb poise
"Good evening," he called to Si, gaily. "How are
you?" to the floor- walker.
"It's cleared up fine!" he announced, to the whole table.
39
THE OLYMPIAN
In fact, he was sharing his joy with these good people,
these excellent housemates.
"Must have struck oil," whispered Cissie to Si.
"Or a dead uncle," quoth Si.
The floor-walker was thrilled to find another Ear in the
world. He now pointed out the other boarders. That
girl there worked in a box factory, poor thing! Had the
skylight-room on Kirby's floor. Next her sat a stone
mason; then the stone-mason's helper skinny, but good-
natured; the middle-aged lady there was a Southerner,
Mrs. Waverley, taught in a school for girls; that fellow
was a carpenter; and the elderly sorry-looking old lady
at the top of the table was a translator.
"Used to do books, made loads of money. Now she
gets five a column translating for the Weekly Digest.
Knows personally a big gun named Howells, feller who
writes books or something."
Kirby was delighted. Under the gas-flames they sat
there so palpably human. It was charming to be breaking
bread with them.
After supper he met Si in the hall.
"Say, Si," he remarked, brilliantly, "come to a show
with me."
"Oil," thought Si, "or uncle." What he said was:
"I'm on. Joy for us."
They became part of brilliant Broadway, and sat
through a comic opera, a thing of tights, kicks, horse
play, rose-lit singing, and vulgar jokes. Gazing down from
the balcony, Kirby watched the apparition of a girl singing
and dancing before a black curtain, the spot-light daubing
her eyes and mouth with gold and the footlights splashing
light up to the fringes of her short ballet-skirt. And he
was a youth gazing on the beauty of woman, the mystery
of that loveliness of ardor and joy and agility that flares
in beating light and vanishes. He felt subtly intoxicated.
Emerging on Broadway, with heads in the swim of
lamp-light and the far darkness up and down and a
40
GLIMPSES OF THE DARK
large October moon looking out of the loneliness of space
on the golden crowding of the street, he was bewitched
by the unreality of life, the bulk of beings pushing this way
and that into mystery and oblivion.
"Let's go somewhere." He pressed Si's arm.
"Say," burst out Si, "I'll show you life!"
That was what Kirby wanted. They stepped over to
Sixth Avenue and down marble steps into a cellar. Smoke
and lights swallowed them, warmth and noise, the smell
of beer and tobacco. At long tables alcoved by leather-
cushioned seats along the wall sat men and women. The
women were a spangled lot, with flaring cheeks and
brilliant eyes. Kirby and Si sat down.
"What '11 yer have?" asked Si.
Now Kirby never drank; but, looking about him, he saw
that every one else did.
"Oh, anything."
"Two Fast Freight cocktails and a box of Natchi cigar
ettes," said Si to the waiter.
Kirby admired the dash and worldliness of that order.
Soon he was sipping the flaming stuff and trying to smoke.
"Gee!" said Si, "but you're a hot sport. Hold it like
this, for God's sake, before any one spots you."
The cocktail gave him a slight sensation of convulsions
around the chest, but he sipped on.
"Oh, hell, take a gulp," cried Si, "don't play with it."
He took a gulp ; and in a few moments his skull began to
feel too tight, and his spirit floated in space. He looked
about him and was aware that all along he had been a boy.
Life was here life! Now he was a man. He was pro
foundly amazed by this spectacle of women; it was
devilish dashing to be here, devilish damned dashing!
Cocktail the second followed cocktail the first. Kirby
began to hug Si affectionately.
"Say, Si, I'm glad I'm glad I'm glad t' meet you."
Si arose.
"Holy smokes," he muttered. "Just as I'm gettin'
THE OLYMPIAN
ready to show him de real t'ing he goes back on me and
gets drunk. Gee! I'm glad I hit the spot-light to-
morrer. Trask, you come home!"
He got Kirby into the street with difficulty ; the moon
lurched with them over the housetops, as, linked, they
ambled down Twenty-sixth Street.
Kirby was solemn.
"You don't want to think I'm drunk," he whispered.
"You are drunk!" said Si.
"Ah, now, Si, don't think I'm drunk. Just a little
just a little just a little happy. Ta-ha-ha!"
"Quit your laughing."
"What 'd Janice say," said Kirby, chucking Si under
the chin, "if she saw me now. Happy? Well yes.
But don't think I'm drunk. Ta-ha-ha!"
" Want to shut up now. We're goin' in the house."
Kirby climbed infinite stairs. At the second landing a
door was open, and he saw the Southern woman glancing
out. Her gray eyes steadied him, and when he fell on his
bed he thought: "Is it so, after all? I, drunk?" and fell
into a heavy sleep.
V
GLIMPSES OF THE LIGHT
WHEN Kirby awoke uncannily in all his clothes, with
a binding headache and a bitter taste, he remem
bered the gray glance of Mrs. Waverley and was horrified.
" I did get drunk I, Kirby Trask. And she knows it."
His headache was bad; he almost shed tears. But he
arose stiffly, flung cold water over his head, undressed,
crept into bed, and slept till noon. Then amazingly he
opened eyes with the singular sensation of having become
more of a man. A profound self-satisfaction filled him
a buoyant and braggart spirit. He stretched himself
luxuriously and laughed softly. No search for work this
day; no humiliations; he was stepping at last into his
natural sphere.
There was nothing to do but wait for the splendid even
ing; then he should ascend into the Fifth Avenue man
sion and commune with familiar spirits. What could be
simpler than an American meeting an American? There
was no reason for feeling nervous. Watts and he were
merely two Americans equals. The only difference was
that Watts had many million dollars. Otherwise he
was a human being. He would go to him as an equal;
doubtless he would be received as an American.
He leaped out of bed and went to the window. The houses
opposite were nearly lost in mist, and the strange change
in the world affected him deeply. Yes, he thought, but
the power of Watts! For four days Kirby had been
swept cruelly around in the drifting chaos of the city;
43
THE OLYMPIAN
and here was a man of the tower-tops with unbelievable
power over that chaos, employing thousands of human
beings, going his way over the world like a king, whose
glance of approval could make a young man. Any mis
step might lose all; but the right word would act as a
charm. Then easily he should realize his big ambitions,
himself seize on huge power, get his hand on the lever,
fulfil his American youth's destiny. He would have
luxury, fame, and his whole nature flowing in stupendous
pulsations. Yes, his empire waited for him; a magic
circle opening at a word.
He was mentally intoxicated again, a young god of
power. He laughed, dressed, went gaily out. But looking
skyward he saw the sun a tiny yellow ball with an aura
of faintest gold infinitely far away in the mist, and a burst
of nervousness drenched him. He kept reassuring himself :
"But he's only a human being."
Thus, pumping up gaiety and courage, he took lunch,
loitered about, bought a new necktie and collar, and
finally jwent into a barber-shop. This worked his undoing.
He could not resist that heart-reading barber:
"Manicure your nails?" "All right." "Shoes shined?"
"Sure." It was most embarrassing, and Kirby felt the
coarse emotions welling from his heart. He was pain
fully self-conscious.
Then came a last blow to his tottering pride.
"Say," cried the amazed barber, "don't you ever get a
hair-cut?"
The insult rankled, yet Kirby feared to offend a bandit
whose razor rested lightly but ominously on his distended
throat.
"I haven't time," he said, weakly.
"It 11 only take ten minutes."
" No next time." His cheeks grew hot, for shame was
in his voice.
The barber spoke threateningly:
"Then you'll have a shampoo. You need it."
44
GLIMPSES OF THE LIGHT
He compressed his lips, shook his head. He could not
trust himself to speak. Whereupon the Spaniard sighed,
and Kirby nerved himself for the slash. He was sin
gularly helpless. He had delivered himself as if tied and
bound into the hands of three strangers. The barber
had his head, the bootblack his feet, and a manicure with
a mountain of yellow hair, partly her own, possessed his
fingers. It was like a three-ring circus a delicious agony.
But the barber only sighed again, his professional pride
in danger of breaking, suddenly sat Kirby up, and desper
ately compromised by soaking Kirby's head with bay-rum
and violet water and plastering the heavy hair down tight
on either side a startling part. When Kirby emerged,
with coat and hat brushed, he looked like an advertisement
of linen collars, and he smelt . . .
The experience had been crushing; he hurried home in a
state of collapse and tried vainly to wash out the perfume
and to get his hair wavy. Then he lay down and awaited
the dreaded hour.
As the long minutes passed he began trying on manners
as if they were clothes. At the least, he now concluded,
he must expect something stern and business-like, some
thing coldly magnificent, coolly keen. He must meet
proud power with callous reserve that is, if old Watts
didn't see how he shook. A cold sweat broke out on him,
his heart began to hop. And everything he did made
him feel worse. Looking m the glass revealed his agita
tion, lying still gave him time to count his heart-beats,
whistling was evidence that his courage needed keep
ing up.
Six came; six ten; six twenty; half past. Then he was
sure he was late, and sprinted out, hurrying blindly and
with ^humping heart through the vaporous mystery of
Fifth Avenue. The swift action gave a delighted relief;
he began to feel that he could rush Watts before the
old man had a chance to thumb him down. The streets
sped, and here was the corner, the big brownstone house
45
THE OLYMPIAN
with the glass-and-iron doors. An excited joy inundated
him, and he gave a last look at his watch. It registered
ten minutes to seven.
Kirby lost his nerve completely. Ten minutes more to
wait! He went trembling up and down Fifth Avenue,
eying the house with sickly terror every time he passed.
His breath steamed; he was aware now that the wet
pavement was necking his shiny shoes and the dampness
wilting his tie; overhead the double-globed electrics were
pouring through the mist, light flowing like a waterfall
through its own vapor; lamps of cabs came staring past;
and the city seemed to sink deeper and deeper into sub
merged depths of mystery. Kirby kept trying to nerve
himself, to key himself up, and, when some hidden church
bell mournfully tolled seven, thrice he approached the
doorsteps and retreated.
He tried to smile, to make his eyes flash. He said out
loud:
"He's only a human being."
And up he went and pushed the bell-button. Now the
deed was done; he was trapped.
Slowly the door opened, and an unexpected butler
barred the way. He had not thought of a butler.
"Mr. Watts in?" he heard his voice rasping.
The butler saw the face and was naturally suspicious.
"Did you desire to see him poisonally?"
"Yes."
"On what business?"
"He's expecting me." Kirby 's voice shook.
"What's your name, may I arsk?"
"Mr. Trask."
"Oh." It was an oh that punctured the young man's
breast. "Step in the hall, and I'll see."
Kirby sank into a hall-seat, helpless and unnerved. As
the murderer, strapped in the electric chair, knows that
struggle is useless and that in a moment there will be a
shock and that the sooner over the better, so Kirby sat
46
GLIMPSES OF THE LIGHT
ready. The butler stepped into a dark room, emerged
again, climbed the curving stairs, and Kirby's hair stood
on end when he found a pair of eyes in that darkness
watching him. If his lips had only been pliable he would
have smiled to think that he was regarded as a burglar
until he could prove his innocence.
Down came the butler and murmured:
"You will step this way, sir, if you please."
He arose, took long, deliberate steps, and climbed. He
was ushered into a large reception-room, glowing in corners
with soft electroliers and center-lit by a glassy chandelier ;
a rug stretched on the highly polished floor; the furniture
was covered with light-pink satin, and heavy curtains
hung over the immense windows. This room gave off
into a music-room that was softly lighted.
The easy luxury of it, after Kirby's hall-room, was over
whelming, but Kirby dashed in. At once the rug slipped
under him and he almost took a header. He was unused to
polished floors, but he gained a sudden respect for them
and trod gingerly. Then he sat down, sure that the
butler had seen the slip that had given him away yes, that
had laid bare his vulgar poverty. If he could have felt
worse, he would have; but he simply couldn't.
He had seen pictures of Jordan Watts that suggested
massive proportions. Instead of that, suddenly, a little
fellow in a dress-suit came shambling in, momently wiping
drops of blood from his underlip with a stained handker
chief. Kirby gave a sickly grin; keyed up for something
tremendous, he was disconcerted by this poor, suffering
mortal.
"Mr. Trask?" The voice was worried. "Glad to see
you."
He offered a hand, his left, and Kirby tried to rise and
take it. It was limp and felt fishy.
"You must pardon me," said Jordan Watts. "I had
a tooth pulled this afternoon and my mouth's bloody."
Then Kirby saw a tear in the magnate's eye. This was
47
THE OLYMPIAN
wonderful that a tear should be in one of the wealthiest
eyes in the United States. That it sprang, as it were,
from the yearning abyss that had held a tooth made no
difference. It was just a human tear, the same as drop
from you and me. Kirby felt like dropping one himself.
This was the worst disillusionment of all. Toothache,
tooth pulled, bloody lip, a tear. And it was for this
that he had come to New York and spent a tortured day of
keying up. It should have made him feel easy and equal;
it only added confusion to his unnerved condition. He
pitied himself now out of the depths of his heart.
"We all come to it sooner or later," Jordan Watts was
saying.
Then Kirby was aware that some one else had entered
the room, a young woman who stepped lightly up. Kirby
could not tell whether she was short or tall ; that she was
slender, that she was young, was patent. He was aware
of dark eyes, and thought she was plain-faced. Her dark
hair escaped him.
"Mary," said old Watts, "this is Mr. Trask."
She nodded slightly. Like Janice, she was affected by
the visible emotionalism in his quivering lips, flashing
eyes, and flushed cheeks, and by his passionate speech-
lessness.
Then quiet reigned. Whereupon Mary said:
" I think we could go down."
And Jordan Watts muttered:
"Yes, let's go down."
They started; Kirby forgot, and the rug slipped; he
balanced himself wildly, loosed an uncanny laugh, and
passed down in a dream. He was desperate now, and
didn't care what happened.
But hardly had they seated themselves at the flashing
table when two others entered, a keen-eyed, smooth-
shaven young man in a dress-suit and a young woman in
an evening gown with only bunches of lace dividing bare
arms from bare bosom. Kirby had nerved himself for a
48
GLIMPSES OF THE LIGHT
tete-a-tete with Watts; remotely he figured on Mary;
he was quite unprepared for a tableful.
He shuffled to his feet, nodding, as old Watts murmured:
"My daughter Alice and her intended, Mr. Cutler.
Mr. Trask."
Their eyes seemed to use him as if he were an opera-
glass and they were looking through at some interesting
spectacle on the wall. And suddenly he blushed to the
roots of his hair, for he was aware for the first time that he
had on a business suit.
"Why in God's world," he cried to himself, "did I let
myself get into this?"
An invisible lord of food shot a plate of oysters down
before him, and he began grinning at an outlay of forks,
knives, and spoons that presented the great puzzle which
for which? Slyly he watched the others, and matched
them. This was followed by his first cold consomme, and
it tasted villainous. Yet eat it he had to.
After that he lost all consciousness of eating, merely
lunging, lifting, chewing. The young couple kept up a
lively talk as if he were absent some vague stuff about a
Mrs. Payson and the dreadful trouble she was enduring in
arranging a cotillion and like a fascinated creature he
kept his eyes on the nakedness of the young lady.
Mary tried to be good to him. She took the first break
in the conversation.
"And how is Mrs. Hadden?"
Kirby almost dropped a knife.
"Oh," he grinned, "she's all right."
A pause. Then sudden cotillion again.
All at once, then, the atmosphere sharpened. It seemed
like a new voice speaking. It was Jordan Watts asking:
"Where did you say you came from, Mr. Trask?"
He turned and confronted a new face. The eyes were
sharp, probing to the secret recesses of his brain, and he
noticed now the big, bulky forehead and the grim mouth
only half hidden in the little graying beard. There was a
49
THE OLYMPIAN
terrific drive of power in the face, something big and
appalling, like a force of nature.
Kirby came to himself. Yes, this was the steel magnate.
"Trent, Iowa," he answered, like a schoolboy, straight
ening up stiffly.
"Large place?" Watts snapped.
"It's yes well, ten thousand."
"A village," said Watts. "What do you manufacture
there?"
Kirby racked his brain. What in the world did they
manufacture there?
"Oh well it's" sweat bathed his forehead "why,
furniture."
He felt that the young couple were enjoying this hugely,
for they were listening attentively. He would have given
his right hand to escape.
"And the crops this year how are they?"
The eyes ransacked him.
"I" he laughed uneasily "I don't know."
"Why, of course they were good," cried Jordan Watts;
"this has been a banner year for crops in the Middle
West."
Kirby knew he was giving himself away, that he looked
ignorant and little before this trained power. But the
questions came crashing.
"What have you been doing?" As if to say, how in
thunder have you, an American youth, been dawdling
around when you should have been mastering your
environment?
"I I've been a reporter since I left the academy."
"Reporter? In Trent?"
"The Trent Blade."
"Republican or Democrat?"
"Independent."
" Didn't stand for anything, you mean. How long were
you there?"
"Nearly two years."
So
GLIMPSES OF THE LIGHT
"Large staff?"
"Three of us."
"I see. And that academy; what did it stand for in
training vocational, or cheap, vague radicalism?"
Kirby looked at him appealingly.
"I really couldn't say."
Jordan Watts gave him a keen glance, relaxed into
misery, said, worriedly, to Mary: "I'll have to see that
dentist again to-morrow," and attacked some Nesselrode
pudding.
The terrible interval was short; Kirby waited in a
trance, quite oblivious of the others and eating nothing.
Then came the eyes again and the dynamic voice:
"Tell me this, Mr. Trask "
But Mary was ready; she saw that Kirby was being
vivisected.
"Oh," she said, lightly, "let's talk of something else,
father."
He turned on her and spoke sharply.
"Please don't break in, Mary. I'm trying to find out
about something." Then he resumed the assault.
"What's the price of a pair of horses in the Middle
West?"
Kirby swallowed a lump.
"I don't know."
"Well, when I was last there it was three hundred dol
lars; here it's four hundred and fifty. You don't know?"
And then the miracle came. Kirby grew red, felt hot,
and all his tremendous temper went to his head. Like a
bull he leaned, his face livid.
"Mr. Watts, I don't CARE what horses cost either
here or in the Middle West."
He put a fist on the table, ready for battle. But all at
once a delighted laughter went up from the young people
and rolled into a shaking roar of mirth from the old man.
"Good!" cried Mary.
Watts leaned and patted Kirby on the shoulder.
5 Si
THE OLYMPIAN
"You're right. Come along to the library, and we'll
have a talk."
Then Kirby laughed, too. It was delicious. He felt
himself again. Proudly he rose, proudly he strode after
Jordan Watts into the leathery, table-lit library, and sank
into a deep chair. Only Mary followed.
And, seated there in the soft twilight, he saw Mary's face
transformed. He had thought her plain, but now it was
as if a light had been turned on inside her. Her eyes
shone with radiance, her cheeks glowed, she seemed
hauntingly beautiful.
"You mustn't mind dad," she said, seating herself on
the arm of her father's chair.
The old industrial captain drew her close, with startling
tenderness.
"Mustn't, eh?" he said, rubbing her cheek against his.
"Mustn't, Meg?"
A rhythm of warmth enfolded Kirby, and the missed
loveliness of home and the old comfort and love became
real again. Mary stirred him profoundly, and not as
Janice had; not as a woman out of the days of knighthood,
but as a lovely girl. Yet he felt that he was younger than
she.
The telephone-bell rang; Mary leaned and picked
up the instrument, half -seated in an exquisite posture
of grace and eagerness.
"Hello. Yes. Yes, it is. Just a moment." Her
voice was musical. She turned to her father and spoke
easily: "Long distance Chicago."
Kirby was thrilled. Chicago, a thousand miles away,
was on the wire, and these people took it as a matter of
course.
Jordan Watts spoke with a magnetic Hit in his voice:
"Hello. Yes. Hello, Jim. The Brandon Works?
Wire Spielmann. Say I order no action on option till I
reach Indianapolis. Get that? Good by, Jim; take
care of yourself."
52
GLIMPSES OF THE LIGHT
That was all. Yet, had the magic carpet lifted Kirby
until he saw America lying like a map beneath him, he
could not have been more amazed. He was hardly an
atom in one great city, but Watts seemed not only to
handle New York but to reach lightly out over a third of
a continent to sway another city, as if he had a universal
mind darting down now here, now there, over the world.
It was a dramatic act of stupendous power; and yet it
was a moment of quiet, one moment in the passing night.
The butler now entered bearing a card on a tray.
Watts picked it up. He was annoyed.
"It's Van Ambridge of the Manufacturers' Association.
Why does he come now?" He glanced at Kirby. "But
show him in."
Kirby rose.
"I'd better go," he murmured.
Watts rose, too.
"I'm sorry this happened. But come again. I'm glad
to have met you."
Mary followed him to the door, helped him into his coat.
"Remember me to Mrs. Hadden," she said. "It was
good of you to come. You must come some other time."
He pressed her hand, and her eyes glistened. Wonder
ful possibilities stirred in him. She was simple; she was
radiant.
"Good-by," he said.
"Good-by."
She herself opened the door, and, stepping out, he knew
that she waited before closing it. He was strangely
thrilled as he stepped buoyantly into the mist.
Then, all at once, horror swamped him. He had not
asked Jordan Watts for a job, hadn't even dreamed of
asking. And a little voice told him that they would
never ask him to call again, he who was so palpably ig
norant and countrified, he who was merely one of the
great swarm that buzzes in the light around a millionaire.
S3
VI
BESS: A SHOP-GIRL
A>L the radiance in Kirby's nature sparkled out the
next morning. Now that he got a backward glance on
his experience he found it funny, a farce in which he had
played the part of unconscious humorist. His nervous
frenzy, his disillusionment, his clothes and his manners
now seemed exquisitely amusing. But most amusing of
all had been the alacrity with which he had been ushered
in and then handed out without even a chance to put his
problem before old Watts. And it was this that had
brought him to New York with high hopes.
"Una!" he thought, sardonically, "the game is up.
K. T. is done for."
And it was really so. He had not "made good"; like
young Parsifal, he had not asked the one question that
would have made the future for him; the great moment
had come and passed, and he was left to work his way
alone. That he could do this with any immediate success
he now doubted; four days of job-hunting had shown him
the difficulty of breaking into the magic circle of business.
Even if he found work it meant drudging along for years
before he could advance. Yes, he was beaten; and ad
mitting it brought a great relief. Matters surely could
get no worse.
He then decided that he would cease corresponding with
Janice Hadden. She had sent him out to conquer, and he
could not write back that he had failed ; it would be better
to go his own way without the weak pathos of showing
54
BESS: A SHOP-GIRL
himself broken. Besides, the image of Janice was fading;
he could not recall her face; he felt that he had quite
outgrown the ardent youth on the campus. And, more
poignant reason, there was the personality of Mary Watts
a girlish loveliness that possessed him and obliterated
all else. He felt that he had met a new type of woman and
henceforth could not be satisfied with any dissimilar kind.
He had no inkling as to wherein this newness lay ; she was
merely different, suggesting marvelous possibilities. It
was as if his mind was amazed with the newly revealed
woman in the world. That he could meet her again
appeared remote; nevertheless, he fed himself on hope.
He now felt distinctly older, rich in experience, and,
hence, more decisive and more callous. There remained
but one thing to do, and he would do it search for work
until he found it, take any job, and peg away until his
footing was firmer, until he made friends and possibly
had saved a little money. With this feeling he now broke
the last tie that held him to the past and ceased to care
what Trent thought of him. He was a New-Yorker; he
could do as he pleased, and New York would mind its
own business and care not a rap for his failure or success.
So that morning at breakfast, when Freddy Marston,
the floor- walker, said to him, "Say, Trask, are you looking
for a job?" he replied, eagerly:
"Sure. Do you know of any?"
"Why," said Marston, raising an interrogating fork,
"don't you come into the store?"
"Can I get in?"
"Oh, I can fix that!" Marston's cut-away seemed to
expand. ' ' Of course it's start low, and toe the mark, with
your insides full of patience. But there's a future; /
started as cash-boy." Then, just as Kirby felt elated,
the floor-walker added: "Now I'm getting eighteen a
week."
"How long were you at it?" asked Kirby, sharply.
"Oh let's see just twelve years."
55
THE OLYMPIAN
Kirby choked over a spoonful of egg and blew little bits
on the table-cloth. Marston felt injured.
"I wasn't suggesting," he said, tartly, "that you start
as a cash-boy. But of course "
"What could I start at?"
"Mentioning my name to Mr. Spiegel, and speaking
bright, you might start almost as anything. But of
course "
" Oh, forget it," cried Kirby, lightly. "Take me along.
I'm spoiling for a job."
So they went together up Broadway until they reached
the big block building of Marshall's, with its enticing
window displays of women's dresses on large-eyed wax
models, men's shirts and ties, books and stationery,
furniture for furnishing a four-room flat, all garnished
with imitation autumn leaves and backed by mirrors. A
stream of shop-girls and salesmen went blackly down the
side street and into the rear entrance. It was just ten
minutes of eight.
There came a humiliating moment for Mr. Marston.
"I I've got to go in the back. But you trudge around
till a little after eight, go in the front, and ride to the
eighth floor. Ask for Mr. Spiegel, and mention me."
That going to the back entrance marked him with
something servile, and he vanished quickly.
Kirby paced lazily along Broadway. He was becoming
enough of a New-Yorker to go through crowds as if they
did not exist, through streets as if there were no back
ground of stony distances; only shop windows and an
occasional fresh face caught his eye. He began to take
it all for granted; the spectacle of the tumultuous city
had ceased to be amazing.
It was eight-thirty when Kirby stepped into the store.
Shop-girls were laughing and gossiping together behind
the heaped counters; floor-walkers paraded the empty
aisles. A quivering expectation was in the air, a sense of
preparation for exciting events. Here and there an early
56
BESS: A SHOP-GIRL
shopper was matching samples or inspecting goods. To
Kirby the crowded display was extraordinarily lavish, as
if all the riches of the world had been gathered together
to be poured out to a moneyed city. There was some
thing Oriental in this gathering of the products of manu
factory and mill, mine and the fields of earth; like a gor
geous Eastern fair when the caravans come together. He
wondered where all the money came from to make these
things and to buy them, for he wanted some himself.
The elevator took him up to the eighth floor, and he
entered a network of partitioned offices. A boy asked
him for his card.
' Oh, just tell Mr. Spiegel Mr. Trask was sent by Mr.
Marston."
A minute passed, and he was ushered into the seated
presence of a singularly tall and attractive young man,
smooth-shaven and hazel-eyed. Mr. Spiegel motioned
him into a chair.
"What can I do for you?" he asked, agreeably.
"Mr. Marston sent me
"Marston? Which Marston?"
There was another swift shrinkage of the floor-walker.
Kirby began to feel nervous.
"He's floor-walker, men's furnishings."
"Oh yes!" But such an absent-minded exclamation.
"And what for?"
Kirby became painfully self-conscious; he was asking
for work again.
"He thought possibly you had an opening a place with
a future in it."
"How old are you?" asked Mr. Spiegel.
Kirby flushed.
"Twenty-four."
Mr. Spiegel looked at him keenly.
"I don't suppose you'd care to sell behind a counter."
"No," said Kirby, eagerly, "not unless I had to. I'd
like a job where there's a chance of working up."
57
THE OLYMPIAN
"Well,." said Mr. Spiegel, "it just happens that I have
some such job. We need a young man in the buyers'
department to meet the outside salesmen when they come
in and make them feel at home; then a little clerical work
for the buyers. It's not hard, and it may lead to some
thing better. But it pays nine a week."
Kirby's heart shrank.
"I pay eight board," he said.
Mr. Spiegel smiled and spoke kindly.
"Would ten do for a while to tide things over?"
So Kirby got his first job. Coming down in the elevator
he had a glimpse of moons of light strung along the ground-
floor ceiling; and down in the mellowness the sparkle of
metal and bright cloth and a fierce intermoving mass of
humanity, a tumult of faces, an interior electric-lit city.
A great hum arose from the multitude, a joyous clash of
sounds the women buying, buying, for the ever-hungry
homes and the splendors of their nights. He was to be a
part of the machinery that decked out the women of the
city in jewels and fine cloth for the joy of men's love. It
was not Utopian, but it was a foothold, and Kirby was
sane after his harsh job-hunting. He bought an alarm-
clock at a loaded counter and went home with an uneasy
sense of responsibility.
At six-thirty, then, on Monday morning his alarm-clock
shot him out of bed; at ten minutes of eight he and
Marston became part of the stream that flowed past the
time-keeper in the back entrance. He now found that
the rear of the store was walled off for the employees,
with special lunch and rest and cloak rooms, and he took
the employees' elevator to the seventh floor. A long
partition made a sort of hallway along the line of the
buyers' offices, and he entered this. Here a glib youth
expounded his duties that he was to meet each salesman,
take his card to the proper buyer, and show him in ; that
he was to add up a column of figures if a buyer so re
quested, or get a box of matches; that he was to run er-
58
BESS: A SHOP-GIRL
rands for his many masters. Oh yes, there were at least
thirty buyers.
In plain English, then, he was to be the office-boy.
Kirby's heart sickened. He, an office-boy, he who had
come to the city to ride it like a galloping cavalry-man.
He waited around nervously till ten-thirty. Salesmen
began to arrive, sleek and unctuous individuals who used
him as a door-knob on the buyers' offices gave him a
twist, and passed in. A great crowd came, elbowing him,
making it impossible to select the new from the old. Thus
came luncheon. He ate across the street and was back in
half an hour. Then the afternoon was infinitely tedious,
with sleepy offices gathering dust and nothing to do but
pace up and down or sit and glance surreptitiously at a
copy of the New York Commercial and the Hotel Register.
Time melted into eternity; six o'clock came and went
a dozen different quarter-hours; and at last when he hur
ried with the eager crowds down the lamp-lit streets he
felt as if he had been released from a jail
The next day was still more hateful. He rebelled
against the routine ; the monster that seized on him at the
rear entrance at eight sharp and swallowed him into
abysmal depths, disgorging him, weary and exhausted by
sheer idleness, at six in the evening. He was part of a
senseless clock-work, a cog. He had his place now in
the toiling city, but got no joy of it. It was cruel, sense
less, impersonal. It treated him as if he were mere hands
without heart or brain.
One buyer sent him on an errand to a floor-walker on
the first floor, and he had the curious shame of passing
bareheaded through the hatted throng a flaunting symbol
of his servility and the fact that he was less than the
least of these. He felt, too, the keen difference between
himself and the other employees. No use to continue the
fiction of equality: they were different; they had not his
sensitive high-mindedness, his emotional richness.
And he had revealed to him a moral breaking-down that
59
THE OLYMPIAN
shocked his heart. Going up and down the elevators,
he heard now and then mere boys and girls flinging
suggestive jibes at each other, a primitive freedom of
language he was unused to. Some of the girls seemed to
make advances, to come three-quarters of the way. At
home it was the men who did the wooing and the courting,
and this reversal of relationships threatened to cheapen his
natural reverence for women. So shocked was he that he
spoke of it to Marston at noon in the cheap and flaring
side-street restaurant.
, "But are those young girls like that?" Kirby asked.
"Some are, some aren't," said Marsten. "There's the
straight ones, just like everywhere; but throw a lot of
young folk together in factory or shop, especially a bunch
of girls who ain't got nothing in the world, and Lord!
what happens ? Why, the older women pass on the word
to the younger, and tell 'em how to have a good time safely.
Can you blame 'em? Look at the life they lead. Lord,
most of 'em can't marry; they've got to have fun at least
once in a lifetime. Miss Wiggins, the millinery buyer, was
right. At a blow-out she got up and said: 'Girls, we
might as well get a little bit of every kind of a good time.'
That's the stuff. Why shouldn't they ?"
"And what did the girls say?" asked Kirby.
"Oh, some got red in the face; but most of 'em giggled.
Gee!" he laughed, "you're the innocent child."
And he went on to tell Kirby of his relationship with
some of the girls until it seemed to the young man that the
sidewalks had slid back and disclosed a cavernous sub
terranean world of bacchantic people, a population ruin
ing beneath the quiet homes. And New York seemed
terrible again pent civilization shattering itself on the
stones, a swirling humanity sinking for lack of work into
vagrancy and crime, and for lack of love into free abandon.
Kirby felt stunned; he could think of nothing else
that afternoon. And then came a new experience.
There was a girl employed in a clerical capacity in one
60
BESS: A SHOP-GIRL
of the buyers' offices; he had heard her called "Bess,"
and he had noted casually that during the idle hours
she would come out and glance at him and then retire.
Now, at four, she came down through the shadow
and light of the open doors, and he saw that she was
pitiably slender and frail, a mere girl of about seventeen.
Her yellowish-brown hair was stuffed out with puffs and
<( rats," her face was faintly powdered; but her green
dress was rather shabby, and her large dark eyes shone
with a starved look. She seemed a desperate, wild little
being.
She came up, trying to amble nonchalantly, in the
manner of the shop-girls.
"Got any elastics?" she asked. She meant to be im
pudent, but failed.
Kirby felt a sharp pity acting like an astringent on his
heart. He looked at her softly.
"No but can I find some for you?"
"Oh, never mind! Say, you're new."
"Yes my second day."
"Rotten, ain't it?"
A warmth of sympathetic comradeliness went through
him.
"Yes, it's rotten."
"Ever go out at night?"
"A little."
She came nearer; her manner was distinctly caressing.
"You ain't never worked in a place like this before?"
He smiled.
"How do you know?"
"Oh, you're not our kind. You're a gentleman, Mr.
Trask." "
His eyes became misty.
"No, I'm not. I'm just a poor fellow who has to earn
his living."
He found it curiously easy to talk to her.
"Oh no," she said, "you're a gentleman. I know what
61
THE OLYMPIAN
they're like. Lots of the girls here have gentleman
friends."
He did not then understand the term, but an impor
tant fact dawned on his slow mind. Through this girl he
got a clue to the starved girlhood of the city manless,
toiling through the long hours, living alone, with hearts
starved for even a shabby imitation of divine love, who
lean from open windows into the summer night and hear
the city passing by and see the sky-line tremulous with
lights and behold youth swirling in the glitter at the
street end; the spirit of youth denied its undying rights;
joy, laughing joy, and sparkling pleasure, and the long
night of love.
He noticed the sudden mantling of her cheeks when she
said "gentleman friends." She glanced away with girlish
shame.
"And you haven't any?" he asked.
"I?" she laughed, strangely. "No not exactly."
She seemed to be waiting as if for an invitation, and
on a generous impulse Kirby spoke.
"You don't get out much, do you?"
"No."
"Neither do I. Let's go to a show to-night."
She laughed, giving him her eyes and their happy radiance.
"You take me to-night," she said; "I'll take you
to-morrow!"
She left him then, and he stood thrilled, yet perplexed
at this new entanglement. Was it possible that he would
be enmeshed in a marriage that would further bind him
to a life of treadmill poverty? Or what did Bess mean?
But he still retained enough of the beautiful generousness
of youth to feel joy in the thought of giving this girl
joy. And he tingled with the romance of an evening with
a strange girl in the strange city.
They met at the rear entrance and went close together
through the happy, swarming streets. The evening was
sharp and cold with greenish skies over the black sky-line
62
BESS: A SHOP-GIRL
and the clear gold street-lights over the black silhouettes
of the crowd. A smoky red was in the west. Bess
shivered in her thin coat. They went into a plushy red
dining-room on Broadway and found a corner table.
Then they faced each other, smiling excitedly. Looking
at her face, he had the illusion then that the city's nights
were gathered in her eyes, that all the tremulous beauty
that drifted down Broadway through the canon of fire
was caught and made intimate, terribly personal, in this
thin, flaming girl. Night had come, and had offered him
a woman.
He learned then about herself; how she had come from
a poor family in Albany and lived alone on West Nine
teenth Street, and the struggle of it.
"There's no use, Kirby," she said. "A girl can't live
on six a week. Two goes for room; and out of the four
comes clothes and food and fun and doctor and dentist.
I've got to walk to work; and I eat ten-cent breakfasts
and lunches and spend a quarter for supper. See this
hat? It meant a couple of weeks without breakfast.
But eating and rent alone come to over five dollars. So
I do my own washing."
"Where?"
"Oh, in my room at night. It takes ages to save up
for a pair of shoes."
And yet, thought Kirby, she worked in a very cara
vansary of luxury; daily she passed up and down among
furs and silks, silver and gold, groceries and meats;
passed through without touching, but with her heart
touching, her heart reaching out and finding that it
remained empty, craving hungrily. "Do you blame
them?" Marston had asked. At least Kirby could not
blame Bess.
They went to a variety show, seated together in the
balcony, and now and then she leaned against him. And
the glamor of the stage awoke in their hearts an enchant
ment they shared together.
63
THE OLYMPIAN
The streets were brilliant with pleasure-seekers afoot
and the whirl of carriages; the restaurants asked them in,
but they went by happily, two lost in an uninhabited
wilderness, just two in the sharp night with the stars
spangling the heights of blue-black space.
West Nineteenth Street was shoddy, dark, after the
radiant avenue. He took her to the doorstep of the
cheap red-brick house. Then he paused.
"But you're coming up?" she whispered. Her voice
was almost frightened.
In the uncertain rays of the gas-lamp beside him he saw
her tremble as she glanced down the gray flagging. Not
a soul was in sight up and down the shadows of the street.
"You'll want something to drink," she added.
"All right," he said, and followed. She unlocked the
door, and the hall-light flickered; they passed up the
creaking stairs to the top floor, and in the darkness she
laughed nervously until she found the keyhole of her
room. Then she lit the gas, disclosing the shabby room,
shabbier than Kirby's, with broken pane of glass and
crumbling, broken walls.
"Take the chair," she murmured. "I'll sit on the
bed."
He sat down awkwardly. He was unused to sitting in
girls' bedrooms, and he felt shy.
Then Bess began humming, got on her knees, leaned
under the bed, and drew forth a bottle. Kirby felt a chill
tingle along his spine.
"What's that?" he asked. "Whisky?"
"No it's a cocktail ready mixed."
He almost choked.
"Oh, none for me."
"Really? Come," she coaxed, "just a little."
"No. Not a drop."
She gazed up at him, her lips parted, her eyes glistening.
She was still on her knees.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know."
64
BESS: A SHOP-GIRL
She rose, then, as if bidding him good night; and he rose,
too.
"Good night," he said, taking her hand.
Her fingers clasped his and held them. They stood
close together.
"But you go with me to-morrow, Kirby?"
"Yes yes," he murmured.
"Good night."
His heart ached; and then she leaned, drew him close,
and kissed him.
"Good night, Bess!" he said, chokingly.
And out he went. He heard her dull sob as he went
down the stairs. Out in the street he walked as if he were
a somnambulist. It seemed as if the city had been a
woman taking off layer after layer of her clothing until
now she stood half naked.
"So this is life," thought Kirby.
It was a sober, almost a sanctified young man who went
to bed on Twenty-sixth Street that night.
And the next night he seemed to see the city entirely
nude. For Bess took him to a dance-hall on Eighth
Avenue spangled, glittering Eighth Avenue, with its
saloons and halls and cheap shops gleaming like an imita
tion Broadway, a jewel of paste, and the young girls
passing in their made-up beauty like ten-dollar-a-week
imitations of the pictures of society women in the papers.
Here in candy-shops youth was drinking ice-cream soda,
and in the shadows of the street a boy's arm went round
a girl's shoulder, and the urge of the race became audible
in laughter and twining speech.
The dance-hall was a flight up, and very large. Several
hundred crowded it shop and factory girls, clerks and
young salesmen and factory hands. A small orchestra
played the lilting street tunes of the day, and there was the
sway of the two-step and the waltz. Kirby could not
dance well ; he did the best he could, however, for
Bess.
65
THE OLYMPIAN
Liquor went about freely, served on side-tables; but
Kirby kept to soft drinks, though Bess had a cocktail.
Then toward midnight a change came over the dancers :
the music grew more exciting, the steps flew faster, and a
new dance began.
"That's the ' Shivers,' " said Bess. "Come on, I'll show
you." Her voice had changed; instead of being timid
and sweet, it now was brazen and loud.
He started down the floor with her and then said he
wanted to watch. Bess flew off with another man. Kirby
was disgusted with the dance, which seemed vulgar, but
it gave way to another called the "Nigger," and this to
a third; and Kirby stood rooted to the spot, aghast,
hardly believing his eyes. A riot of dancing began; the
music was working on the raw nerves of these drudges,
these who had drudged all day until their cravings were
fierce and unquenchable and who needed burning stimu
lants to refresh them; and so they danced until they got
"inside" the music and gave way to its frenzy. Girls
fainted, others seemed in a trance, there were voices sound
ing unspeakable things, and then in the pandemonium
scenes of naked shame. It was like the religious rites of a
savage tribe, an elemental sex dance.
Kirby got a glimpse of a transformed Bess, a wild little
panther, drunken and bacchantic, and he stumbled down
the stairs into the clean air.
He felt a little crazed. So this was civilization, he
thought, this that drove human beings into horrible
savagery! And this was life! The last vestige of his
innocence seemed swept away, the last remnant of his
youth. Now, surely, his eyes were open; he saw the
thing from top to bottom, the mad, fantastic beast-
struggle that seems respectable in the busy streets.
"Now I know the real New York," he said to himself
again.
Yet the real New York slept sweetly in several million
rooms, and on the morrow would arise refreshed and
66
BESS: A SHOP-GIRL
swarm to work, the men to the mills and offices, the women
to the kitchens and the markets, and the little children
crowding at the gates of the democratic school the chil
dren pressing against the gates of light. In their faces
was the real New York. Kirby, surely, had merely seen
New York of the night.
But his soul was outraged. He could have wept for
the lost innocence of the world. And he knew then that
his job was unendurable. Yet in a little while he, too,
would sink with these submerged creatures; he, too, a
victim of the long, dull day, the crushing pacing of the
treadmill.
The next morning he sought Mr. Spiegel.
"Do you think," he asked, "there is really a future for
me here?"
"Do you?" asked Mr. Spiegel.
"I don't know."
"Well, to tell you the truth," said the other, "for a
young man of ability and ambition there's not much ahead.
I'll be frank with you. You might in eight or nine years
be a floor- walker; in fifteen or twenty a buyer. You're
quite right. I can see you're up to something bigger."
So Kirby resigned on the spot, got his hat and coat, went
down the front elevator, and mingled with the hatted
crowd, again a free American citizen. He was glowing
with happiness.
"I'm jobless again, thank God!"
But he was not the same Kirby that entered Marshall's
on Monday morning.
6
VII
AN EVENING WITH LADIES
IRBY now grew painfully thin; he went around with
jaw set, unsmiling, and gray eyes haunted and tragic.
"Gee ! he's the regular magic kid," said Cissie Clay, to the
elderly translator. "Now you see him, now you don't;
up and down, sweet and sour, proud and humble. First I
thought he was homesick; then I thought he struck oil;
then I knew he was looking for a job. But now jilted,
or I'm one bad guesser. He's Mystery; and my heart
is his!"
Miss Peck listened attentively. They were sitting in the
brocade-covered parlor after supper Cissie Clay shining
over the whole sofa with her superb thirty-eight-inch bust
and Miss Peck shrinking on a rocker, a tiny woman with
large moon-face and thin, gray hair.
"You think, then," said Miss Peck, "that it's unre
quited love?"
"Sure," said Cissie, who liked plain English "the go-by,
the cold shoulder, the Broadway stare, the nix-kid, the
wrong number. Well, I'd black his shoes for him and
wash his face and comb his hair did you ever see such
hair on a man, Miss Peck ? and get good cookery for him
all for love. Lord, those gray lights of his!"
"Unrequited love," sighed Miss Peck. "Who's that in
the hall?"
It was a young man looking for his rubbers under the
hat-rack. Miss Peck arose and went out.
"Are you looking for something, Mr. Trask?"
68
AN EVENING WITH LADIES
"Rubbers," muttered Kirby.
"You're not going out in this rain?" she said, sym
pathetically.
"I don't know," he mumbled.
"Mr. Trask!" She leaned near. "Do come up I
want to read something to you."
He wanted desperately to say no, but he was in that
critical, emotional condition where a "no" would sound
like a bull blowing a bad temper through his nose; he
could not trust himself to say it. So he followed her
meekly up the stairs.
Kirby was beginning to be unhinged by the officious
kindliness of the boarders; their stupid bungling merely
made him lonelier. And as for glib Marston, he and
Kirby spoke not to each other. Marston was deeply
offended, for Kirby had actually left the job which Mar
ston had provided for him. So, thought Kirby, that ends
Marston. It was simply unearthly the way people in
New York leaped from nothingness into flesh and blood,
stirred one up, and vanished a city of ghosts. The sales
man on the sleeper was no more; Si was gone; Marston
was in the very act of disappearing; and Bess and Mary,
where were they? These two young women, who in the
space of a few days had overmastered his spirit with
profound joy and grief.
Most of the night before he had lain staring at the
silvery play of the street-light on his ceiling, the faint
luminousness in the lost room, too aroused to sleep, too
shocked to desire rest. It was as if surgery were being
performed upon him, some vivisector sharply knifing
youth out of his heart. His mind was full of echoes of
the Old Testament vanity, vanity, the vale of tears, a
world of perdition and sin. He lay on the midnight bed
breathing with pain beneath the hidden procession of the
stars, earth under him passing on in the rank and file of
the army of eternity. For his young man's heart had
still the purity to ache in his breast with the tragedy of
69
THE OLYMPIAN
Bess the tragedy of young, budding beauty smirched and
broken, of youth with its rich possibilities wrecked in our
swift industrialism.
Over that dance of Bacchantes, that dance that seemed
to go footing on at the base of his brain, rose only one face
of untroubled sweetness, the face of Mary Watts ; and for
the first time Kirby was puzzled by that ancient injustice
that crushes a Bess and shelters a Mary. Thinking, he
sickened of the city; he yearned with homesickness. It
seemed as if he must die if he found no quiet hand to
soothe him, no hushed voice to pour peace into his heart.
That was it; no one here understood him.
And so the boarding-house began to seem very hateful
to him. This heavy-handed kindness bruised when what
he needed was healing. And his money was dwindling,
and there was no hope of work. He was surely in a
desperate plight.
How, then, could he face Miss Peck and say no to her
without storming? What he desired was to go raging up
and down the house driving the amazed boarders before
him.
Miss Peck had a rear room on the third floor. She
turned up the gas over a kitchen table white with manu
scripts, and then confronted the miserable young man.
"Sit down," she said, softly, and then, drawing from the
table a huge bundle of papers tied with a pink ribbon, she
heaved a sigh of sadness. "Do you know, Mr. Trask,
you're the first young man I've read this to."
Not knowing what was coming, Kirby clutched the
arms of his chair and tried to smile. Miss Peck untied
the bundle, straightened the papers.
"It's my epic," she said, breathlessly.
Kirby stared at her.
"On India ' Kalam of India,' " she continued. "My
life-work fifty thousand lines in blank verse."
The blood rushed to Kirby's head. What was she up
to now? Somehow the pathos escaped him; at least he
70
AN EVENING WITH LADIES
did not know that a thousand shabby New York boarding-
houses served as dusty pigeon-holes for countless master
pieces tragedies, novels, epics writ in heart's blood by
pitiable incapables. There was Miss Peck fading before
him, after years of seeing India in blank verse, toiling
alone at her kitchen table to add dust to dust; and all
that Kirby saw was a tedious old maid suddenly become
terrific.
She glanced at him knowingly, and spoke under her
breath.
"It's on unrequited love, Mr. Trask. ' ' Then she rose.
"This is the prologue:
Bombay, the slumberous city by the sea,
Bombay, with towers and turrets in the sun."
Kirby's mind soon grew blanker than the verse, save
that he was aware of quite a bombardment of Bombays.
This was impossible; his heart was breaking.
"Do you care for it?" he heard, and he grew ruthless.
"Yes, and thank you for reading it! Thank you very
much!"
And he stalked out. He was simply starved for lack
of some one to confide in, some human being who vibrated
with him and could release the white passion of his heart.
He hurried down the dim-lit hall to the upward-curving
stairway, but the front-room door was, as always, half
open, and he met the gray eyes of Mrs. Waverley.
"Is that Mr. Trask?" she asked.
Her voice had the magic Southern lilt, like little waters
purling over stones in sunlight. Its charm pervaded him,
and in a flash he remembered how this woman had been
quietly watching him.
"Yes, it's I," he said.
She laughed softly.
"Come in do."
He entered. A folding-bed stood closed against one
THE OLYMPIAN
wall, covered with drapery, and to fight off the chill a little
gas-stove burned cheerfully beside the unused grate. The
room was exceptionally neat and cozy, charged with
' ' atmosphere, ' ' with vital personality. The furniture, too,
seemed very comfortable.
Beside a center-table on which stood a reading-lamp,
Mrs. Waverley sat in a rocker, a book on her lap. The
lamp-light and the little flare from the stove both played
upon her, softening her. Kirby noticed for the first time
that she wore glasses, but her gray eyes shone through
so liquidly that they seemed mere shadows.
"You must pay me a little visit," she said. Again he
was aware that her voice was gentle and low and cool, and
he felt as if scales were dropping from him. "Draw up
that arm-chair; it will just fit you."
His lips quivered as he sank deep in the cushions, close
to her. Then he heard the rain slashing the windows
and felt warm and snug.
She smiled.
"We out-of-town people ought to get to know each
other. I have to read in the evening for lack of com
pany. And that's not easy after a day of teaching and
correcting papers."
A feeling of ease began to soften him. Then she
looked up at him, her clear eyes resting on his, and he
knew that she read him through and that she understood.
He vaguely smiled back; and for the first time in New
York the unconscious intimacy of home returned to him.
He could tell this woman all; she knew.
"You've been looking for work, haven't you?"
"Yes," he murmured.
"And found none?"
Tears of self-pity dimmed his eyes.
"I worked three days at Marshall's."
She laughed softly.
"That was hardly the place for you, was it?"
The idea of this stocky-headed young man cramping
72
AN EVENING WITH LADIES
his nebulous volcanic temperament into a department
store was diverting. He caught the lovely amusement
of it all, and now genuinely smiled.
"I could have blown up the place!" he said.
' ' Indeed !' ' she laughed. ' ' You're quite capable of that !
But have you tried Atwood's?"
"No. Who are they?"
She arose and fetched the morning paper, then opened
it to the advertising pages. Then she smiled at him.
"It sounds too American to be anything but a fraud.
But I know a young man who got work through them.
Here it is: 'Atwood's, Brain Brokers. We Find the
Right Man for the Right Job. Are You Hiring Brains?
Come to Us.' Isn't that delightful?"
He laughed with pleasure.
"What must I do?"
"Well," she said, "there's a five-dollar fee, and then a
percentage of the first year's salary. But it's worth try
ing, isn't it?"
He noticed then her delicate hands and the wedding-
ring on the left, and the fact that she was a widow and yet
remained clear-eyed and strong-fibered affected him pro
foundly. All his inmost thoughts found expression, for
he knew then that she would understand the worst in
him as she divined the best in him. He told her of his
migration from the West, his hunt for work, his evening
at the Watts', his job at Marshall's, and glanced even
with delicate slants at the experience with Bess.
It was nearly midnight when he finished, and he felt
then as if he had cleansed the wounds that were festering
within him.
" It's not a bad start," she said. "You've got to know
life somehow. Now there's just one thing to do, I take
it. Get what work you can to tide you over, give you a
basis of livelihood, and grope your way to something else."
They rose, and she drew near and placed her hands on
his shoulders.
73
THE OLYMPIAN
"Kirby," she said, simply, "I'm glad you came."
His voice was almost inaudible.
"So am I."
They stood so a moment, and her gentle spirit seemed
to envelop him like a spring rain-cloud ; he felt the sweetest
joy faintly stirring through him. Her alien and exotic
charm had not been spoiled by the city; it seemed to re
tain something of sunny woodland and silent meadow.
He felt caught up in arms that caressed, in a spirit that
released his own and set him free.
"Goodnight!"
"Goodnight!"
She laughed again, and he turned and went up. Long
and healing sleep came to him.
VIII
THE BRAIN-BROKERS
/^VERNIGHT the rain changed to sleet, and the next
\^J morning the pavements were coated with thin ice
and the world was dark. Kirby boarded a lighted car that
seemed to bump deeper and deeper into a brown dinginess
of shadow-lost buildings. Getting off at Duane Street
he found Broadway sluffing and slipping by, horses fall
ing in the gutter, and umbrellas zigzagging over curveting
forms. He pushed his way into the twelve-story Miller
Building, treading over the muddy shoe-prints on the
marble floor, and took the elevator to the fourth story.
Opening a door marked "Atwood's" he immediately
found himself running a gantlet of young American
braves. For the entrance-hall, lighted, was lined on
either side by bright young men who took his measure
visibly and audibly ; as, pulling a neighbor's sleeve, "Soft !"
or, heads together, "Looks easy," or, addressed to space,
"Green." Kirby was depressed. By the time a brisk
boy stopped him at the end of the corridor he was ner
vously on edge.
"Write yer name on this slip."
Kirby did so.
"Hold still a minute; I'll fix yer."
In thirty seconds a private-office door was opened for
him, and he stepped into the electric-lit presence of a
Mr. Cobb, a smart and fiery interviewer. He seemed full
of springs, as if he could leap up and down with smiling
strenuosity.
75
THE OLYMPIAN
"Bad morning, Mr. ah ah" he consulted the in
formation slip "Trask. You show the proper enter
prise in venturing out in such weather. ' ' He pounded the
desk emphatically with his fist. "It spells Success. Big
Business is looking for Push and Pluck. For Brain and
Brawn. The Get-There-and-Get-Back Booster. If you
are the right sort we can help you; if not, you are wast
ing your time here."
Now Kirby knew that Mr. Cobb was pulling the usual
string of pearls from his conjuror's mouth, and yet he
began to flush with excitement. Suddenly Mr. Cobb eyed
him and sprang, as it were, upon him.
"What's your specialty?"
"I've been a reporter."
Mr. Cobb seized a pencil and made entries.
"Where?"
"Trent, Iowa."
"Oh, new here?"
"Yes."
"College graduate?"
"Trent Academy."
"References?"
Kirby spoke nervously.
"I have a letter from the head of the academy, and.
from the editor of the paper, and from the head of our
First National Bank."
"Good. Very good. You must put these in our
possession. Now what are you looking for? Remember
that Big Business can get cheap help all it wants; but
Big Business depends for its continuance and expansion on
Brains, and Brains are at a premium, Mr. ah ah
Trask. It is our business to find the Brains, to put the
right Man in the right Place. What is your place?"
"Something with a future; I'd be willing to start on
twelve a week."
"You don't know shorthand, do you?"
"No."
76
THE BRAIN-BROKERS
"A pity, Mr. Trask. I have a rare opening; a private
secretaryship to J. J. Harrington. You know J. J.,
don't you?"
Of ' course everybody knew J. J., for Harrington's
Magazine was the first in a new field the popular ten-
cent monthly. This was Mr. Cobb's star play, to dazzle
the new-comer, for J. J.'s secretaries lasted about a
month, the demand was perpetual, and Mr. Cobb never
lacked a rare opening for his young men. Kirby was
impressed. He nodded.
"A great American," continued Mr. Cobb, "one of the
chiefs of our commerce. Not only the proprietor of the
most popular magazine in the United States, but head of
the New Storage Battery Street Car Company and the
Harmon Airship Company. He is growing like a tropical
plant, and the young man who associates himself with
J. J. Harrington to-day will be a Captain of Industry
to-morrow if he has Brains and Applies Himself! Too
bad you aren't a stenographer. Oh, well ! Perhaps some
thing else. We have openings in every direction." And
just as Kirby got vistas of gigantic industrialism with
step-ladders to the top lofts the contract was pushed under
his nose.. "Sign here," said Mr. Cobb.
It seemed a privilege to sign away ten per cent, of the
first year's salary and to pay the five-dollar fee. Where
upon Kirby was ushered into the hall and told to wait,
that he might not miss the Opportunity when it came along.
So he took his place among the young men, and doggedly
he held it till lunch-time, and then after lunch until the
office-boy briskly put him out.
"Say, you, there's nothing doing. Gee! some folks is
regular plants."
Two more such days followed, and he began to glow
with anger. Thrice he asked for Mr. Cobb and was told
bruskly that Mr. Cobb was busy ; and, finally, waylaying
him in the hall at lunch-time, Kirby was met with an
indignant stare and a sharp:
77
THE OLYMPIAN
"You surprise me. Patience, young man, patience."
He began to have a feeling that he had been duped,
that the brain-brokers had been chiefly concerned in
getting the five-dollar fee and had no intention of finding
a place for him. For not only was there a palpable
scarcity of jobs, but all the opportunities went to quite
a different type of young men. Once again Kirby felt
almost a class-difference in clothes and manners. For
these others were the Ready-Made Young Men, the youth
of the land who heeded the uplifted forefinger of the
Captain of Industry in the advertisement, "You Can
Succeed"; they had about them an air of success, the
alert eye and the strenuous manner, the polished shoes
and fresh shirt, the shaved face and the close-cut hair.
Their brisk exteriors seemed to be saying: "See, we are
subservient, ready, bright, cheerful; we believe in 'Smile,'
'Do it now,' 'I'm a-hustling,' 'Nothing succeeds like the
appearance of success.' " Who could resist these products
of the commercial school and the correspondence course
these cheerful Americans?
Yet Kirby found, through chance words with this man
and that, that many of these fellows kept bobbing up
every few months with the same eternal smile, after being
fired from place after place bright failures that briskly
made a circuit of the low places, shedding an empty
radiance on an office and failing with a cheer that made
their exits like promotions. Thin Kirby and a stout
young man named Latham sat there like dark spots on
the sun while these brilliant evanescent flames played
about them.
Luckily a great snow-storm swept the city on the third
afternoon; and these young men, thinking that nothing
could develop, stayed at home. Kirby was quite alone
in the hall, desolated by the blind rush of snowflakes on
the windows.
All at once Mr. Cobb appeared, glancing eagerly. His
gaze rested on Kirby with exasperated disappointment,
78
THE BRAIN-BROKERS
and he went back to his office. A moment later he re
appeared, desperately scratching his head.
"Say," he began, "there's a hurry call here. You're
not just the man but, say, it's a clerk job down the
Continental Express Company, Broadway, below Wall.
Say, how about making a bluff at it?"
Kirby rose stiffly, his hands nervously eager to throttle
the brain-broker.
"What does it pay?" he asked, suspiciously.
"Oh, ask twelve to start. Here's the slip. 'Phone if
you get it. If you don't, say account the storm we're
short, but to-morrow we'll send 'em a crackerjack."
Kirby thought to himself, "I'll get that job to spite
you," and went out into the whirling whiteness of Broad
way. But few people were on the street, bumping each
other in their hurry. The great snow-sweeper went rasp
ing along the car-tracks, blowing clouds of snow like a
buffalo snorting in the dust; truckmen sat aloft their
trucks in oil-suits; the shop windows were white with
mist and stringy with clots. The winds lifted at the
corners, piling the snow in drifts, and Kirby had hard
footing down the long stretch to Wall Street. There
where the skyscrapers looked down on the dwarfed
steeple of Trinity Church, as if our modern industrial
civilization here showed that it had outgrown the creed
of two thousand years, snow was blowing about the
graves; and Kirby, glancing through the iron fencing,
felt that his own great hopes were buried with the
dead.
A little further on, between two tall modern towers,
stood the express company's five-story building, old,
brownstone, faded, but brilliantly gas-lit. Kirby tramped
over the sawdust of the first floor and climbed the tall
stairway to the third floor.
He pushed open a dim glass door and entered a middle
office, with dark air-shaft and gas-jets burning. Steam-
heat bubbled joyously from a radiator, and the room
79
THE OLYMPIAN
smelt strongly of mop and the brown slop-water of the
scrubwomen. An old clerk was seated next the door.
"I want to see Mr. Bradsley," said Kirby.
The old clerk ran his pen through his white hair and
spoke in a piping voice.
"Through that door there."
Kirby opened a door into a large rear room. Fifty
men were standing or sitting at desks, each beneath
a shaded electric-bulb, scratching at ledgers and sheets
of paper; and in the corner, beside the snow-dimmed pane,
sat the chief clerk, dominating all. Kirby approached
him.
Bradsley was a big, bluff, half-drunken man, with large
mustaches dirty at the ends; egg and ink spots were on
his cheap coat; and he had a soft and rotund belly like
an exaggerated gnome astride a beer-barrel. Bradsley
was jovial; he took the slip, bade Kirby be seated.
"Ever clerked before?" His voice seemed foggy with
liquor, and Kirby got an alcoholic whiff.
Then Kirby lied cheerfully, being now somewhat
seasoned in trade.
"Oh yes, I clerked on a newspaper in Iowa."
Bradsley's eyes lit up.
"Iowa, hey? You hail from there?"
"Yes."
"What town?"
"Trent."
"God damn it, do you know Clayton Jones there?"
Kirby felt a thrill of apprehension; his lie might find
him out.
"Yes," he murmured.
"Man, he's my wife's second cousin! And I why, I
come from Ames. Welcome, fellow Westerner!"
Kirby was engaged on the spot, and finished out the day
at a standing-desk, with a high stool, in the office he had
first entered. His duty "was to transcribe figures in red
ink from one ledger to another, and his salary was twelve
80
THE BRAIN-BROKERS
to begin. He felt thankful and at the same time tri
umphant. He telephoned Mr. Cobb:
"I secured the position easily."
"Amazing," said the resilient brain-broker. "It's a
Start in Life. You can pay us the sixty dollars commission
cash, or we'll take a six-per-cent. note for sixty days."
The last word was decidedly with the brain-broker.
A gong sounded at five, and at once like the heart that
fails a thousand pens dropped from hands in the five
floors of the building, a hum of gaiety hit the walls of the
hall and rebounded up and down the corridors and the
stairs, and Kirby was part of a downward-dropping cas
cade of human jocularity. He .felt gay, triumphant,
secure. Little voices sang in his ear: "Now you're in
at last. Now you have a warm berth. Now you can
live. No more hunting; no more underworld. You
belong. New York absorbs you."
He went out, a five-foot-nine slip of the resistless crowd.
The heavens were clearing, letting through a waning moon
that peered crookedly over the black top of a skyscraper,
a ragged silver passing by; and the people went harden
ing the snow beneath them and loosing a mist of breath
up through the lamp-light. Kirby wedged into the
jammed car, warm with human beings, and it was wonder
ful to know himself alive.
Standing there, his gray eyes sparkling among the warm
faces, he passed with the car through a momentous half-
hour of life. Now the wonder of the work-freed city
going home was his; he had crept inside; he had been
accepted at last and had his place; supper waited for him
and the freedom of the night, and no toil till the morrow.
A weight of worry was lifted from his mind. It was as if
for weeks he had been battering despairingly at the gates
of the city, and that now the gates had opened and he had
entered.
Descending at Twenty-sixth Street, he hurried west,
almost sprinting. The march of men and women under
81
THE OLYMPIAN
the lights suggested comrades; were they not all hastening
to the arms of the women or the faces of the children?
He saw the glow in kitchen and parlor window, and he
loved the busy evening life happy stir at stoves, bright
circles of the tables. It now belonged to him.
Excitedly he climbed the stairs. The door of the third-
floor front was open, and in the rocker, lamp-flooded, sat
Mrs. Waverley. She looked up eagerly. She saw his
bright face. Her own lit up.
"Yes," he cried, with a deep burst of feeling, "I've
got it!"
"A job?"
"Twelve a week Continental Express Company
clerking."
It was glorious to have some one waiting to hear this.
"Oh, good!" she cried, and rose from the rocker.
"Kirby," she said, "we've got to celebrate!"
So they went out and had an amazing table d'hote
dinner in a West Twenty-fifth Street Italian restaurant,
sixty cents apiece, with red or white wine, and a glittering
rush of food oysters and soup, perfect rectangles carved
by some uncanny process from curved fishes, slices of beef,
halves of spring chicken, withered salad sprinkled with
suspicious-looking dressing, ice-cream and demi-tasse of
coffee. They ate straight through with deliberate joy,
and the wine warmed them on. All about them sat a
queer people: the emptyings of studios whose waking
seemed to come with the night young men and women
morbidly absorbed in each other; all those whom need
only has shunted away from steep-priced Fifth Avenue.
And back in Mrs. Waverley's room they sat late, dilating
on the future. And when Kirby got up to go Mrs.
Waverley took his hand in both of hers and said:
"You've started in now, and, oh, I expect much of you."
(How like what Janice had said; how different in its im
plications with the morrow's work hanging over his head !)
"The job's not your size, Kirby we'll neither of us forget
82
THE BRAIN-BROKERS
that. But it's a start; you've gotten in. Now stay in,
and feel your way to something better. You're going to
do it, aren't you?"
His eyes glistened; his voice deepened.
"I am," he said, and hurried to his room. Before
lighting the gas he glanced out at the levels of snow, the
lined window-sills, and, over all, the drop of the jagged
moon, silver among the bristling stars. Then, breathing
deep of happiness, he turned back, flooded the room with
light, and did a dramatic and significant thing he set his
alarm-clock for seven. Without knowing it, by that
small action he brought to an end his initiation into that
civilization that centers in New York; by that he irrevo
cably merged himself with the life of the city. He had
become one of the drudges.
7
IX
THE YOUNG NEW-YORKER
KLRBY became part of a new routine now it was:
up at seven; breakfast at seven-thirty; the ride in
the packed cars at eight; the march into the express
building with a thousand other men at eight-thirty; and
then the long day. At first he rebelled; the hours were
intolerable, the childish work unendurable; he would
slip from high stool to floor and on again, with the back
of his head aware of the clock on the wall. He would
pause to dream or to sharpen pencils. He would pour
out his troubles to Mrs. Waverley in the evening. But
gradually he accepted his lot, and found his work so
mechanical that he could trust it to his hands and leave
his mind free for day-dreaming. It was as if the smooth
belting of business had taken him on like a grain of dust
and had traveled along over the wheels with easy and
endless stride, bearing him round and round with the
dropping days on and on to the end of his life.
The job was petty, and hence his gradual acceptance of
it was perilous. For accepted pettiness always made
Kirby indifferent and listless, quenched his ambition,
stopped his growth. He was really in danger of being a
clerk all his life.
Nothing stirred him; not Mrs. Waverley, not the
memory of what Trent expected of him, not his glowing
expectations of greatness through Jordan Watts. In a
way he accepted Bradsley's favorite phrase: "Time heals
all wounds." Time had certainly healed his wounded
84
THE YOUNG NEW-YORKER
pride. He had become a mere unit among the millions
of drudges, and he came and went dully. It was as if his
spirit slept within him.
Mrs. Waverley would say "Kirby, are you looking
around you? Do you hear of nothing?"
"Oh," he would reply, nonchalantly, "something will
come my way."
He had no faith in this, however, but he didn't care.
All came to death in the end; why should he strive?
There seemed no reason for ambition. During the year he
was raised to fifteen dollars a week, and now he felt inde
pendent, able to keep decently clothed, housed, fed, and
amused; why should he break up this easy security?
He knew only too well the bitterness of being an outsider.
He would never be one again. In fact, he now was in a
mental state equivalent to that of his last two years in
Trent careless and indolent activity with no thought of
the future. His appearance changed again; more neat
ness in clothes and manners, less life in the eyes, and no
large emotions. A certain exterior hardening now showed,
as if he were acquiring a protective shell. He was ex
actly like thousands of other young men in New York.
The months passed. Spring came with Sunday excur
sions with Marston, and sometimes with Mrs. Waverley;
summer followed, with Mrs. Waverley gone back to
Kentucky for a vacation; dull days, hot nights, during
which Kirby learned to dissipate with one of his fellow-
clerks; autumn and Mrs. Waverley returned together.
There was only the two-weeks break of his vacation, and
this he spent in Asbury Park, loafing on the sands and
bathing in the sea. And all this time Kirby was learning
to know New York, her seasonal moods winter, when she
was keen and cold, gemming her white forehead with stars ;
spring, when she pinned wild roses on her bosom and
breathed with restless sweetness down her cool alleys; sum
mer, when her eyes glistened with ardent midnight passion
and her hair glimmered with the lightnings and the northern
85
THE OLYMPIAN
lights; autumn, when she seemed to swing to and fro
in the gale, tossing up and catching reddened leaves, her
cheeks flushed, and singing her children back to work.
And all the time the great sea stirring in her heart. Kirby
began to know it all and accept it as he accepted his work.
It was one of the commonplaces of his life. He did not
see the crowds with thousands of eyes passing him; no
spectacles of gigantic enterprise suggested a city hung in
the skies. He had worn down a few pathways through the
city, and kept to these, shuttling from home to work
and back again and threading his favorite section of
Broadway.
However, several events flashed out like scarlet in the
gray procession of the days. Late one winter afternoon
Bradsley sent him on an errand to the basement. This
was the shipping-department, with platforms stacked
with boxes and crates, opening out on the lower rear street
to the west of Broadway; the huge express wagons backed
into this, the steaming horses stood blanketed, and there
the bitter, husky drivers sweated and lifted and shoved
and cursed in the winter gloom under the warm offices.
Passing through he saw that these great out-door fellows
glanced at him contemptuously, as if they scorned clerks,
and he felt subtly that scratching mechanically with a pen
might not be man-size work. It was a glimpse into a
different world the world of hard labor, of severe poverty ;
the world of mine and mill and the city street, where the
dangerous and dirty work of civilization is done. Under
his light and sheltered work were these bitter, dark
foundations. It gave him a few days of uneasiness.
Of a different sort was another event. It was the be
ginning of the Mary myth. For, glancing through the
picture supplement of a Sunday paper, he found a page of
"Rich Women in Settlement Work"; among them was a
poorly reproduced photograph of Mary. This he cut out
and kept in his pocketbook and often surreptitiously
while he clerked, and nearly every night before retiring,
86
THE YOUNG NEW-YORKER
he took this out and wove a myth about it. He used the
faded picture as a model from which his mind painted
woman. Mary's beauty thus increased from day to day,
till she was a creature of witchery and grace, the dream of
ardent loveliness that haunted him. He thought of her
coming into the office by some divine accident and glancing
at him with tender pity and wistfulness; or, walking in
Central Park when the long line of carriages sweeps up
and down loaded with the filled gowns of the city, he ex
pected to see her eyes lift and gaze yearningly into his own.
Or perchance late at night he would pass up Fifth Avenue
and see fire darting from a window of the Watts mansion ;
whereupon he would scale the wall, smash a pane of glass,
dash through the dead house crying ' ' Mary ! Mary !" find her
lying unconscious on the floor, and bear her through smoke
and flame to the cheer-ringing street. He had, of course,
no faith that he would ever get to know her; she was
worlds away; but was it not exquisitely pathetic to live
in a state of thwarted love? Of course, he really thought
this was love, whereas it was the idle dream of an idle
young man.
And the worst of it was that he actually did come across
her. Passing the department stores on West Twenty-
third Street one free Saturday afternoon he was opposite
Stern's when a carriage stopped and Mary glided over
the sidewalk and vanished among the shoppers. He saw
her distinctly, and the shock was ghastly. After the
Mary of his imagination she was rudely plain-faced and
almost vulgarly flesh and blood. From then on the
Mary myth waned.
And so he worked, a clerk among clerks, keeping to
himself, making few friends. The other clerks paid little
attention to him: they thought him a little unpleasant;
they felt a temperamental difference that jarred on their
worldliness.
There were, however, in the same office two clerks of a
different sort, father and son, the Fergusons Old and
87
THE OLYMPIAN
Young Ferg, as they were called. Old Ferg, white-haired
and nearly sixty, sat next the door; his son Edward sat
beside him. Edward was a silent, lanky fellow, stoop-
shouldered with years of desk- work. His face was mus
cular in its leanness, his eyes a sad brown, his hair stiffly
hung over his high, narrow forehead. And this sad clerk
was a mystery that arrested Kirby's attention now and
then, but he made no effort to meet him.
Edward's secret was that he only lived when he went
away on his two-weeks' vacation. There was something
untamed and savage in his nature, something akin to the
instinct of honking geese in autumn skies; the keen, out
door freshness that animals seem to lap up; the flavor of
berries or sea-winds or sun on pine-needles. He desired
to be a cell in the wild nerve of nature, sharing every
sting and thrill of the life of earth. To put such a man
in the city was to make him acutely self-conscious, re
pressed, shy. It was hard for him to speak a whole sen
tence straight to another human being. He was really a
wild-hearted creature caught in the web of industrialism.
Naturally he felt drawn to silent, emotional Kirby;
there were points where the characters of both met. But
Edward was ordinarily so shy, so deep in his rut, that he
could not make the effort to break into a new relationship.
However, deep in the autumn, coming back from two
weeks of hunting in the Canadian wilderness, he was
brown, and his eyes had some of the light of a wild animal ;
he walked with free stride; he carried a spaciousness of
atmosphere; he smelt gloriously of sunburn and the
woods.
Kirby was just hanging hat and coat in the wardrobe
when Edward came in.
"Back again," he said, gaily. "Back in the mill."
His free spirit was infectious.
"Where have you been?" asked Kirby.
"Canada hunting moose." And his lips seemed
loosened. He told crisply of his experience.
88
THE YOUNG NEW-YORKER
Kirby was powerfully drawn, released some of his
locked-up magnetism, and as a result they went to lunch
together.
"Well, at least," said Edward, "I don't live in a board
ing-house. It's no place for a human being. The food is
like our jobs rut stuff."
Kirby laughed.
"Where do you live?"
"In a place you never heard of Nestwood, just out
side the city. I tell you what," he said, gaily, "suppose
you come up and have a real home meal for a change
come to-night. Frances will be delighted to see a new
face."
So that evening, a perfect evening of autumn, they went
out into the soft light, with the people all about them
swimming, as it were, at the bottom of a sky-well of
floating peace, bright and busy life throbbing on the earth
in harvest-time, and took the Third Avenue Elevated up
through the city and over the gray level of the Harlem
River, and on through the new and half-built Bronx.
Then at 17 7th Street a crosstown car to Jerome Avenue,
and the trolley there north to its lonely terminus at the
city limits 2426. Street passing through open country
and the silent color-splashed woods of upper Van Cort-
landt Park.
The cool breath of the woods, the odors of damp earth
and withering leaves, the sight of shadowy wood-aisles
that were balm to stone-encompassed city eyes, the im
mense quiet after the noise of down- town, brought sweet
and deep emotions to Kirby. He breathed larger, the
pressure of life relaxed, and he felt an innocent happiness.
Then, stepping off the car onto the dirt road, he saw the
hill-perched suburb rising beyond the woods, little frame
houses half lost in trees, and the rectangular blocks with
their little paved gutters and glistening street-lamps.
They cut across an empty lot, brushing through dusty
richness of aster and goldenrod and bramble, and Edward
89
^THE OLYMPIAN
pointed to the neat green two-family house, with its upper
and lower porch, standing over the gutter at the end of the
path. A giant oak-tree shadowed it from the back;
through the high heavens floated crimson and golden
cloud, and the sun spilled a ruddy splendor from the west
on house and tree and glistening blade of grass. Kirby
was amazed by the profundity and richness of his emotions,
and wondered why in this hush of beauty the blue curling
smoke of a chimney brought tears to his eyes. It was
Earth, whose passion and dream and warm soil had created
and sustained him, Earth taking him back, sap of her sap.
And it was harvest, the rich profusion of the life that
flowers out over the wild breast of Nature. Kirby's
deepest instincts vibrated to this; he felt elemental, as if
his roots reached down deep in the passionate ground
beneath him. He seemed to have come to a paradise.
Edward unlocked the front door, and then pushed the
bell-button of the second floor, and at once at the dark
top of the stairs a shadowy form appeared.
"Edward you?"
Kirby was struck by the passionate quality of the voice.
"Yes." Edward began to ascend, and spoke awk
wardly. "I've brought some one home to supper, Fran."
"To supper?" Amazement, almost anger, was in the
tone. "But I didn't expect any one."
"Oh, Mr. Trask will take pot-luck." Edward tried to
put it lightly.
"He'll have to," she said, with some asperity. "No,
don't kiss me."
She stepped back swiftly into the warm-lit shadowy
dining-room; Edward followed; and Kirby, abashed, as
tounded, blushing with angry embarrassment, emerged
behind him.
Edward spoke with annoyed impatience.
"This is Mr. Trask, Frances."
"Oh, good evening," she said, coldly.
Kirby nodded. And Edward had said that Frances
90
THE YOUNG NEW-YORKER
would be glad to see a new face! How would she act if
she were sorry? Lord, what a firebrand!
She turned to Edward again.
"Did you bring my crochet-needle?"
"No," he said, guiltily; "I forgot."
"Naturally" her voice was cuttingly sarcastic and
here I am shut up at the end of the world!"
Her candor before a stranger was almost uncanny. She
stepped back in the light then, and Kirby saw that she
was not tall, but she was lissome, able-bodied, with dark,
thin face very expressive at the eyes and lips. He began
to feel a poignant fascination: and she was a powerful
hater, which meant that she was also a powerful lover.
At any rate, she could never be indifferent, never be un
interesting.
She broke the painful hush with a snap.
"Well, I may as well get supper!"
And out she went in a savage, impulsive way into the
lighted rear kitchen. The two men stepped out on, the
upper porch and saw Earth fading in warm twilight, with
the lighted cars passing on Jerome Avenue and a dog
swiftly stirring through the lost goldenrod of the empty
lot. They were speechless with guilty discomposure.
Then Edward said, awkwardly:
"I'm sorry she'll soon come round."
"Oh, I shouldn't have come," Kirby replied.
"Supper!" they heard her call, and came back and took
their places. But already a change had come over her;
Kirby noticed that she wore a sprig of goldenrod in her
hair and a little sparkling necklace round her throat.
These had not been there before, and might have been a
token of truce, for she was full of excited animation.
Gracefully she waited on the men, passing to and from the
kitchen; and when she sat under the low radiance she
seemed to delight in cross-questioning Kirby, in drawing
out his history, in getting his opinions on New York and
the express job. Kirby felt as if she were casting a spell
THE OLYMPIAN
on him; he, too, grew unusually communicative, and
talked with buoyant gaiety.
He got a clue to the fact that this passionate woman was
childless, that she saw little of her husband, and that only
when he was tired with work; that she had some of
Edward's native savagery; and that, shut away in this
lonesome suburb, she smoldered, an intense rebel, ready
to explode.
"Yes," she said, "it's a dog's life up here. I don't
care what people say; I know it's a shameful thing, but,
oh, I want money, money; I want luxury and servants and
everything. I could loll Edward sometimes," she
laughed, "for being a clerk!"
Edward looked sad and thoughtful, whereupon she came
round and smacked his face maliciously.
They went into the parlor and settled down on the old
horsehair furniture.
"Aren't they hideous?" she cried. "They're a wedding
present from Edward's parents. I hate them. Some day
I'll but, you'll see!"
"Oh, come now, Fran!" murmured Edward.
"Oh, you think it isn't in me but it is. I'm a dan
gerous woman, Mr. Trask. He doesn't know me any more
than he knows Latin."
Edward released a disc on the phonograph, and the
sweet, tragic notes of "Aida" shook the frame house.
Kirby watched Frances. She sat leaning forward, her
face on her two fists, and in her eyes and quivering lips
some dream, perhaps, as of Vikings stealing women.
Yes, there was something of the Norse in her.
"Now, I don't want any more music," she said. "I
want to talk."
She talked with Kirby, and he told wryly of the dis
comforts of boarding-house life.
"Why, that's worse than here," she said. "I once did
it myself, and I know. Why don't you come and live
with us? We have an extra room, and the money would
92
THE YOUNG NEW-YORKER
help, and you and Ed could go to work together and come
back together. I mean it. I'm not joking. Come and
see the room."
Edward heartily seconded this, for he felt that Kirby
would freshen Frances and keep her out of her morbid
moods. It would disperse her loneliness. He showed
Kirby the large neat room off the dining-room which
contrasted vividly with the Twenty-sixth Street place;
and when Kirby stood at the door, ready to go, Frances
gripped his hand hard, with a final:
"It's the thing to do for all of us!"
Edward took him to the car, and treading blindly
through the lot, lost in the charm of this place, with its
immense spread of starry skies, its balmy silence, its sweet
odors, and the little music of wind in the grasses and the far
woods , Kirby felt that it would be heavenly to live here. B e-
sides he felt stirred by Frances as by great, clashing music.
The ride was long back into the human-pulsing city,
which to-night seemed over-bright and crassly spangled,
like a woman of the streets, bold and impudent. It was
nearly midnight when Kirby climbed up through the
boarding-house. Mrs. Waverley was still sitting up, so he
stepped in a moment.
"You look happy to-night!" she said.
" I am, Aunt Annie," he laughed. And then he told her
of the visit and the offer of bed and board. And Mrs.
Waverley thought: "I shall miss him badly, but it may be
best for him. They'll keep him home nights." For she
was worried by his night habits, as she was worried by his
listless indifference to his future.
"I'd go, Kirby," she said. "Try it, anyway."
"I will, Aunt Annie!"
Her eyes gleamed at him fondly.
"Oh, Kirby," she sighed, "when will I ever get to un
derstand you?"
HQ lay awake late in the night thinking of Edward's
strange wife.
93
X
FRANCES
FOR a while, after moving up to Nestwood, Kirby
seemed each night to go back to some far-off pas
toral ancestry. The autumnal torches of the wood were
waved by the wind against the conflagration of the sunset,
and in the circle of singing fire the house stood hushed
among the goldenrods and asters, its windows shining,
and a dark woman leaning over the upper porch and
watching, watching. Homing birds darkened the upper
skies ; belated songsters twittered in the ghost atmosphere ;
some dog barked; chimneys smoked; and the human
being seemed to open and feel the warm flow of Earth's
multitudinous life. After the pent-in clash of down-town,
the commuting toilers came into the easy, undulant
rhythms of peace.
Then, in the dark dining-room, they sat out the last
of the light, two tired men waited on by the woman who
emerged and vanished, a shadow in the shadows. The
simplicity and hush of such life seemed ancient as the
Earth. When their food disappeared in dusk, light blazed
for them, with amazing reality of shining faces; and then
there was the evening in the sitting-room. Frances sewed,
Edward opened a book on American pioneers, and Kirby
sat watching the woman and now and then speaking low
with her.
However, the excited animation of that first night did
not return to her; she seemed perpetually bleak and
desperate. Her burst of interest in Kirby had evidently
94
FRANCES
passed, and he became as another lay figure in the furni
ture of her life. She often spoke with bitterness. One
morning, just as Kirby and Edward stood at the door
ready to go, she suddenly turned from the window,
crossed the room in a strange, impulsive way, almost
dancing savagely, flung her arms about her husband's
neck, kissed him, and then drew back her head and
exclaimed, fiercely:
"My God! Why doesn't it thrill me any more when
you put your arms around me?"
Edward was startled; he smiled grimly. Then gently
he released himself.
"I've got to hurry, Fran!"
"I wish," she said, tearfully, "your old building would
burn up!"
But Edward, too, had swiftly changed. The liquid
freshness of his Canadian outing had faded; day by day
he sank deeper into the rut of the years, and became at last
again the shy, ego-centric clerk, tragically sad. He found
it hard to be pleasant with Kirby, the choke of tragedy in
his throat incessantly making him abrupt. Nor was there
much to say; both shared the same life a life that offered
no surprises, no changes, and, hence, no need of discussion
and planning. And Kirby found that Edward had been a
clerk for eleven years.
It seemed that when Edward was fourteen his father
had bought him his first pair of long trousers, and the
awkward lad by merely plunging his thin legs into cylin
ders of cloth had veritably stepped into manhood. He
became a wage-earner, clerking with a steamship company
till he was seventeen, and then going into the express-com
pany office with his father. And so for eleven years a
wild-hearted creature had struggled feebly with one foot
in a trap.
His marriage had but enmeshed him the more. At
twenty-one, with a salary of twenty dollars a week, the
highest he could hope for in years, he had felt powerfully
95
THE OLYMPIAN
that he should not marry. Marriage meant narrowing
life into a cheap flat, and no children; for an industrial
civilization that keyed up the standards of life in sanitation
and comfort and pleasure, and at the same time grudgingly
paid its servitors the least possible wage, seemed to make
childlessness for many imperative.
He had not wanted to marry; but one day, in a cheap
restaurant, he had met Frances, a girl alone in the city,
and the acquaintanceship had flamed into passion, and,
despite his rebellious struggling, the elemental drive of
love had forced him on, just as the pressure of the city
had pushed him into his clerkship. Naturally the romance
faded in the suburban two-family house, and the barren
wife of the ill-paid clerk had become a thwarted, desperate
woman. She was bitter, full of an intense apathy, hateful
of herself and the stupid neighbors and the lonesome
suburb, sometimes hateful of her husband, a leashed
menace.
So, as the rich autumn despoiled itself, flung its riches
to the dust, and grew nakedly aged and wintry, and all the
country-side was bare, Kirby lost the pleasure of home
coming ; now a chill settled on his spirit, and he felt as if
he were going out to something dead and forlorn. He
grew restless in the long evenings, and wanted again
the sparkling laughter of excited Broadway, the pagan
abandon of the New York night life. He felt, as he put
it, as if he would jump out of his skin.
Yet, nevertheless, he could not bring himself to the
breaking-point. The spell of Frances persisted the spell
of a witch that drew him morbidly to her. He could
easily imagine the eruption of lava and smoke and flame
that would ensue from some passionate precipitation.
And such an event would whirl him into a madness of
passion and love that he had never before experienced;
this woman had it in her to be a terrible lover, ready to
ruin herself and the world for an enchanted hour.
Sometimes, and especially when she was listening to
96
FRANCES
music, he saw the promise in her eyes. Sometimes she
seemed to gaze at him as if she were planning an escape
through him. His heart beat hard, and he was flushed
with swiftened blood.
Yet the routine went on, as if endlessly. And this
routine was hardest to bear on Sundays. On that day
the bell of the alarm-clock was mute; all slept late, and
arose yawning with an extra fatigue; breakfast was slip
shod; and then Kirby and Frances and Edward settled
down on the horsehair furniture and passed several
pounds of Sunday newspaper to each other. There was
the comic supplement, with its dreary primary-colored
repetitions of horse-play; the magazine section, with its
quarter-page headings of "Scientist Claims He Has
Triumphed Over Death," "This Heiress Left Millions
for a Coachman's Love," "Does Your Heart Ever Feel
as if Needles Were Darting Through? Read This,"
"Vivisector Baring a Monkey's Brain" a riot of brash
sensationalism that gave dull throbs of excitement to
dusty hearts. And so they read themselves stupid, and
arose yawning, in their Sunday best, and took the car to
the city. This car was crowded with consciously ap
pareled folk stupid with the same Sunday process, and
they had the fussily dressed and tearful children with them
to give an air of restlessness.
The city seemed queerly dead traffic stopped, the
streets hushed in Sabbath; and one might feel the un
nerving of millions of people who had nothing to do. The
lower city was uncanny, undressed; the tall buildings
empty; the streets bared.
Thus they crossed the Bridge and penetrated to the
mean back street of Brooklyn where Edward's father
lived. It was a tiny frame house ; and there was the stout
mother and the flabby unmarried sister.
Dull greetings passed, and they sat down to the inevit
able dinner a heavy soup, a two-rib roast, a vegetable like
cauliflower or spinach, and pudding or ice-cream. Used
97
THE OLYMPIAN
to light lunches, all felt the enervation of a full dinner, and
at once scattered over the house, stretched on bed and
lounge, and slept heavily for an hour.
Then came the long ride back through the forlorn, dark
ening city. Only supper brought relief; by very reaction
the splash of gay light, the spread of cold meats and cheese
and pickles, brought a wild joyousness.
The only fresh note in these Sunday excursions as the
winter deepened was an outburst of complaints from
Old Ferg. He was nearly sixty, and had clerked for
forty-four years a whole lifetime. Now, after decades of
soundness, he began to ail, to complain of pains in his
heart. The stout mother urged him to see a doctor, and
Old Ferg's opinion was that "once you start with doctors
you're done for."
Every other Thursday Edward got notice of the meeting
of his lodge, but he never went. However, one Thursday
evening toward the end of November, he decided to go.
As a result, for the first time Kirby and Frances were left
alone with each other.
It was a startling night ; a great wind blew crazily around
the house, making it tremble and creak; the night was
loud with clash of boughs and the shrill cries of the gale;
and so the front sitting-room seemed to bubble with
warmth, a glowing and hushed heart in the storm.
So when they heard the front door slam they stepped
back from the hall, acutely aware that they were shut in
together. For several hours now they would be alone,
and the wild night whirled around them like a scarf
winding them close.
"Did you close the door?" asked Frances. >_ The strange
ness of her voice thrilled him.
"Yes. It's shut tight."
"Br-r-r!" she said, "I'm chilly!"
She stepped into the sitting-room and passed over to the
radiator. Warmth rose from it in visible waves. She
stood, her hands held over it, her lissome body erect.
98
FRANCES
From the center-table the Welsbach lamp threw an
intense underlight on empty rocker and Morris chair.
The Morris chair was directly against the table, where
Edward could get illumination for reading; the rocker
faced it.
Kirby paused near the table, looking at her, and sud
denly she turned, and he seemed to see that light of the
first night flashing in her eyes, as if again she was dreaming
of Vikings stealing women yes, as if she longed for such
brutal manhood, such savage mating.
And he remembered a bit out of Norse mythology, the
galloping through the air of the Valkyrs on their black
horses bearing the slain warriors to Valhalla. It was as
if in the whistling wind outside they passed on the wild
last ride, the breastplated women, speared, with stream
ing hair under their helmets, bearing the dead to the
North.
"What a night!" he murmured.
"I like it I love it!" she said, savagely. "It's big
it's splendid. That's the way I'd like to live not this
way!"
Then Kirby felt as if a beautiful peril were overwhelm
ing him, for she advanced slowly toward the table, put a
hand on it, leaned a little, and mused.
Neither spoke for a space, but stood with heads in
shadow and their hands staring with light. The walls
seemed to shake with sudden buffets of wind, the windows
rattled, and Kirby felt his head getting hot.
Then all at once she looked up at him.
"How old are you, Kirby?"
He spoke under his breath, almost stammering.
"Twenty-five."
"Have you ever loved a woman?"
His heart shook like the walls. He could hardly set
his lips for speech.
"No not exactly."
"I wonder if you really could but, no," she said, pas-
8 99
THE OLYMPIAN
sionately, "men don't know how to love they don't know
how!" Her voice changed. "Go and see if the door is
shut."
He tried to smile.
"It is."
"Go and see, anyhow."
He went out; when he returned she stood with her sew
ing in her hands.
"Are you going to sew?" he asked.
She glanced down at rocker and Morris chair.
"No. I'm not going to sit there to-night. For I've
sat there with him until "
She broke off, musing. He had come very close, and
now she lifted eyes that were full of a wild dreaming.
"Twenty-five," she said, hauntingly. "And never
loved a woman." The sewing dropped from her hands,
and she stood as if waiting for some terrible great deed,
as if she watched Kirby to see if he belonged to the Vi
kings. Blasts of wind seemed to rock the house, and their
lonely contact was an exquisite agony.
He reached slowly, inevitably, took her hands, drew
her round. Then, remembering Janice on the campus, he
reached and kissed her forehead. Whereupon, amazingly,
she seized his head in her hands, lifted it, and kissed him
on the lips.
1 ' Frances !' ' he cried.
But she had slipped away and stood looking at him
with tremulous bitterness.
"I wanted," she said, with her brutal candor, "to see
if it thrilled me."
He was aghast and frozen at this revelation of cold
bloodedness.
"And it " he began.
"No," she said, with wonderful tenderness. "I'm a
fool, Kirby, a fool of a woman. I've treated you badly.
I'm going to bed, but, oh" she sighed "I just had to
see!"
too
FRANCES
She left him standing there speechless, shocked out of
his illusions, almost remorseful; for at last the sane
thought came to him that perhaps it was not the noblest
thing in the world to lend himself to the breaking-up of a
friend's home. He was astounded to think how he had
slipped into this entanglement; and he went to bed,
sobered, resolved to return to the city.
Yet he stayed on, and the house became more desolate
than ever. Frances now paid no attention to him; she
seemed to be in a fearful trance; and Kirby felt that
just as her woman's body was barren, so was the house and
their hearts and minds. He began to be a little afraid
of her; the air was charged with the oncoming of some
terrible event. It was probably this feeling of being
caught in a Greek tragedy that kept him from leaving;
it was as if he had to see it out.
On the evening of the ninth of December, a cold and
windy night, Kirby and Edward stepped off the car at
the terminal at quarter to seven. There had been a
block on the line. They stepped silently over the road
to the little eminence of the empty lot, and then stopped.
"That's strange," said Edward.
In the center of the lot a great bonfire roared, scattering
sparks. Almost in terror they stepped forward and saw,
on the burning heap, the horsehair sofa of the sitting-
room.
"Good God!" gasped Edward. "It's Frances!"
And then they were struck stock still by the wild sight
in the December evening, the leaping flames, and the
sudden revealing of a woman new to them a wild creature,
crouching, hair loosened in wind, flame-lit eyes dilated,
lips parted living as she hadn't lived for years.
They felt as if their bodies were in the fire as they came
up.
"But that is our furniture," said Edward, mechanically.
It was too astounding to believe.
"I couldn't stand them any longer, Eddy," she cried,
101
THE OLYMPIAN
fiercely, and yet with strange exultation: "I've seen them
too long."
And he could not be angered, for he understood; she
was burning up the barren years.
And it seemed to Kirby that evening that Edward found
his wife newly beautiful and alluring; a fresh passion went
into their tamed love a gust of joy. Like the mirth of
Christmas morning, which is partly the strangeness of a
green tree and the glitter of lights in over-familiar sur
roundings, so bringing the miracle of new environment,
was the mirth of these three forced to sit in the dining-
room because the parlor was utterly empty, looking, as
Frances put it, as if the flat's six rooms were teeth and one
of them had been pulled out. And she told with excited
laughter how she had come to her sudden decision, how
she had called up Olsen, the Swede, from the floor be
low; 'how she had forced the trembling man to lug the
furniture, piece by piece, into the empty lot, where,
against his terrified protests, she had set fire to the
heap.
Kirby sat watching her like a pupil being taught about
life. Was she human ? For to the young man the spec
tacle of the fire and its reaction on this stale couple
crashed through all his experience and his traditions. It
was unimaginable; it made life fantastic.
But it was as a brand lighting luridly the submerged
depths of his mind, so that he was forced to look inward.
With that fierce flame beating in, he lay awake long that
night; inklings of startling truth came to him. The life
of the treadmill, dream-led adventurous human nature
harnessed for too long a time, led to just this. For eleven
years Edward had clerked. In ten more years Kirby, too,
might be such a thwarted soul. Sharply he knew, then,
that he was a failure, and he felt that for the first time he
began really to see himself and his work. For nearly a year
he had been in a strange trance; but now his eyes were
open, and he decided on the morrow to look with clear
102
FRANCES
vision on the trap that held him. For trap it was;
Frances might burn furniture, but what did that avail
her? Her husband's salary was still twenty a week, and
there was no future and no escape. Kirby's year of in
dolence was being shaken out of him.
XI
CLERKS
IF anything, Edward and Frances felt more bitter than
usual in the morning, but it was a tender bitterness,
shot through by a gentler regard for each other. The
worst of it was that they would have to tell the family
about the destruction of the wedding gift; and such a
recital to people who had no adventure in them would rob
the event of its beauty make it a sordid and ugly, even
a wicked thing. Then there was the cost of new furni
ture; perhaps enough savings to jeopardize Edward's
next vacation. And then, worse yet, the fire had lit
up the tragedy of their lives, so that they had to look it
in the face; this made it all the harder to go on, yet
there was nothing to do, no escape. It would be folly
to leave a position that paid more than he could hope for
elsewhere, and in the cold of the morning they heard
wagon-wheels whistling in the ruts, and the sound of it
set their teeth on edge they seemed, if anything, in a
harder predicament than before. For previously they had
tried to fool themselves; now the truth was in each
other's eyes, and they had to live with it. And not only
the truth of their home life; that whole day Edward saw
his environment with a new and stabbing vividness.
But the dark winter morning began in the most or
dinary way. Olsen had not yet started the hot-water
heater, and when, at six-twenty, the alarm-clock went
off and Edward snatched it from the chair beside him and
stuffed it under his pillow, Frances slipped out savagely
104
CLERKS
on a floor that burned like ice and into air that was
freezingly bitter.
"I'll light the stove," she gasped, inserting her naked
feet into slippers and hustling on a pink wrapper. " Now,
Ed, don't fall asleep."
She dashed from the room which gave directly into the
kitchen, and stood with teeth clicking as she lit the
stove. Kirby was already in the bath-room, shaved, and
nearly dressed when Edward slipped in, gray with
fatigue.
"Cold," said Kirby. He looked at Edward's face
sharply ; he, too, was awake and aware this morning.
They heard Frances muttering "Br-r-r! I think it's
colder in here than outdoors."
Edward took out his shaving apparatus; the clear
water was burning cold. Frances appeared in the doorway.
"The milk's' frozen look."
She held up the bottle, from the neck of which the
frozen cream protruded like a jack-in-the-box.
"I'll heat some water for you, Ed."
He felt too bitter to speak.
"Haven't time!" he muttered. "Get the breakfast."
A little later, facing the naked and uncannily cold
sitting-room, they drank hot coffee and ate hot oatmeal.
Not a word was said. Then, in the creaking silence, the
radiator began to thump.
"I suppose," thought Frances, "the letter-carrier '11
get here around noon, and nothing else will happen to-day.
Lord, I'll die again of the excitement."
They rose, and while the men muffled their throats and
got on coat and hat she strode to the window, shuddering.
"This place," she thought, "looks worse than ever;
it's as lonesome as a toothache."
She breathed on the frosted pane, rubbed a spot clear,
and peered through on the shabby hill-perched suburb
the mean, poverty-stricken frame houses, the narrow lamp-
lit streets, the naked trees.
THE OLYMPIAN
"Nothing but dogs here," she thought "human or the
other kind."
The men now stood at the door, and she suddenly
turned, glided over, reached, and kissed her husband.
"Good-by," she murmured, with despairing sadness.
"Good-by."
He was, she thought, with a pang, exceedingly good to
her. Not one complaint over her wild, unnatural deed.
And he looked so shabby and hopeless.
He smiled sadly, and then he and Kirby went down the
stairs and cut across the empty lot, avoiding little patches
of ice, in a wintry gray world still spotted with street
lights. But they could not avoid the ashes and charred
wood, the heap huddled like freezing beggars keeping each
other warm, a foot of a chair, the blackened sofa-frame,
the runners of the rocker where Frances had sewed night
after night, and bits of upholstery and little scattered
and matted lumps of horsehair. To Edward it was his
inner life lying before him.
They hurried by, speechless. A lighted car was waiting
at^the lonely terminal on Jerome Avenue, and the motor-
man and conductor were inside, with shut doors, swinging
their arms and dancing up and down. The two got in,
but likewise were too cold to sit.
They stood moodily passing weather words with the
conductor down a twenty-minute stretch of bleak Bronx
bareness. Laborers got on, numbers brought the illusion
of warmth, but at 17 7th Street they had to change cars,
waiting six long minutes at the open corner for the trolley
to bear them crosstown. Then at Third Avenue they
purchased newspapers and climbed to the Elevated station,
and in the warm and crowded car they tried to relax and
to read the news as they were borne past thousands of
people eating breakfast.
They got off at Hanover Square, emerging suddenly
small in the bottom of that high region of skyscrapers.
Broadway was still gray and cruelly wind-swept, and a
106
CLERKS
crowd of stenographers and clerks hurried along the
pavements and into the doorways. And they noticed
with new vividness the brilliant gas-lit building and felt
like cogs clicking back into a machine as they joined the
throng of men that tramped across the sawdust of the
first floor and up the tall stairs.
As ever, they pushed open the dim glass door and en
tered the middle office, its air-shaft window reflecting the
burning gas-jets. As ever, the steam-heat bubbled joy
ously from the radiator, and the room smelt strongly of
mop and brown slop-water. And they took off coat and
hat, carefully placed them in the wooden wardrobe,
pulled out their keys, unlocked their desks. And Kirby
sat down, glancing about, his mind scratched by every
one of these little facts; but Edward stood in a dream.
One fierce thought was uppermost in Edward's mind;
he had gone through this whole morning process for
exactly eleven years, day after dull day, just as precise and
unfailing as his alarm-clock; and he hated it, he now knew,
with all his heart and soul. He hated it.
And he knew, more than ever, that he only lived two
weeks out of the year. For fifty weeks he was a machine;
for two fierce summer weeks he was that mystery him
self. That strange fellow who discarded linen collar,
polished shoes, necktie, and all decency and went, in
corduroy and woolen, gun in hand, a free man in the
Canadian wilderness a silent man, with nostrils breath
ing balsam, with heart leaping, tracking the moose in
trails beyond the lights, where a newspaper's best use was
to wrap up a cold lunch, where a clerk ceased to be an
ink-stained cipher and became a careless god for whom the
earth and the heavens were spread.
The anemic, smart-dressed young fellows could never
have divined the wild streak in Young Ferg. They dis
liked his silence, being very voluble themselves. In fact,
a group of these undersized and flabby young men now
entered, quenching cigarettes against the desks, striking
107
THE OLYMPIAN
folded-arm and leg-crossed attitudes toward each other,
and with nimble gaiety passing wit on the Big Three of
Clerkdom gambling, whisky, and women.
"Gee! but she was a pippin how about it?"
"Did y' hear? Brant's got in bad on B. &. F. margin.
The loan-shark for him!"
"Here comes Bradsley; drunk again!"
And this was a fact, for Bradsley came in jovially, foggy
and groggy with liquor.
" 'Lo, Ferg," he said, groping past the dreaming clerk.
" How's yer dad?"
"Not down yet!" muttered Edward.
But just then Edward's father came in, in his light,
tripping way, hopping almost like a bird, with head cocked
to one side, a dry, dry little man, threadbare, with little
grizzled beard and fluffy white hair, and pulpy, colorless
face. His bright, small eyes were bloodshot; he had a
nervous habit of rubbing his hands together, hands in-
eradicably stained with record-ink.
Openly Edward tolerated his father; secretly this morn
ing he despised him. "He has the soul of a slave, he's a
cog. Eleven years," he thought, darkly, "I've been like
him but he's been at it forty-four."
And suddenly he saw himself clerking on and on for
thirty-three more years and gradually turning into this dry
little thing, his skull stuffed with tariff schedules, his
fingers black with ink, running his pen through his hair,
whenever he was puzzled, till his scalp itched. Why, hav
ing squeezed all the humanness out of himself, had his
father forced Edward at fourteen to go clerking likewise?
Poor automaton, thought Edward, bitterly, so meagerly
educated that he plopped at every stranger this revelation
of genius in the family:
" I have a daughter, sir, who can play things right off
by ear!"
They called him Old Ferg; he was a fixture in the busi
ness; he would be here to-day, to-morrow, and then again
108
on Monday morning. Carefully reaching his coat over
a nail, he turned to Edward and spoke perfunctorily.
' ' How's Frances ?"
"Oh, all right!"
But Edward's temples began to throb; he had half a
mind to tell his father immediately of the fire and have
it over with. How should he word it? how give sane ex
pression to such a bewildering event? And, as he stood
bursting with vague speech, he saw again those wild
flames lighting up not only the tragedy of his life, but
revealing a new Frances. His heart grew small in his
breast; he was cruelly realizing, as never before, what it
meant to Frances to remain barren, to stay childless, to
have an empty house and vacant heart to brood all day
over a discontented clerk who did not thrill her when he
kissed her. But, he asked himself for the millionth time,
how could they have children on a salary of twenty dollars
a week? And the one solution seemed impossible. How
could he give up his two weeks' hunting-trip that is,
how could he give up his real life?
Marcellus, the Spanish clerk, once confided to him how
his wife had broken her health by ridding herself of the
unborn; yet Marcellus deemed it wise to smoke a certain
domestic brand of ten-cent cigar "to keep up with the
bunch" and be a "sport." Was the hunting-trip more
justifiable?
Then he noticed his father opening his desk, and
decided that he could not tell the impossible news now.
Instead he remembered family courtesy.
"How are the folks?" he asked.
Old Ferg spoke lightly:
"Mother expects you and Frances and Mr. Trask over
Sunday to dinner, as usual, but she told me to tell you
she's ordered a two-rib roast. She's all right, but I guess
I'm a bit upset."
"What's the matter?" asked Edward, carelessly, sitting
down and pulling out a bunch of printed tariff sheets.
109
THE OLYMPIAN
"Pain in the back of my head and in my heart."
Edward had heard this so often of late that he paid no
attention. But Kirby, forced to listen, turned round now
and looked, as if for the first time, at the white-haired
father. He had just seated himself, a large ledger open
at his right, loose sheets at his left, and a blotter spread
before him. This blotter, Kirby noticed, was simply
crusted with ink-spots. The old clerk set a pen between
his teeth, then suddenly grabbed it, struck it into the well,
lifted it, slung off a flash of ink on the blotter, leaned to
the right, and wrote. Each dip in the ink-well repeated
this process. The machine, thought Kirby, which had
run smoothly for years and would doubtless run on for
years more, had begun its day's work. Kirby felt an
intolerable pity for this man, and for Edward, and for
these others, and for himself. Acutely he saw the life
of clerks.
Now a gong sounded; idle clerks scurried to desks,
hands arranged papers, and over all the five floors of the
building an army of pen-points began the march of their
measureless routine across the clock-paced hours. In
evitable this: a host of grown men submitting to child's
work long-drawn-out, work that wore the nerves raw, so
that at night they craved strong drink, the game of chance,
and the dive-met woman.
Edward, more than Kirby, knew why they did it, even
as he knew why he did it. The public schools had made
them too respectable for manual work and unfit for
anything else. That was it! Genteel! genteel! That
was the word that directed their lives, that kept them
from sinking into the working class, down among the
people who are honestly poor, who make no pretense of
prosperity, that made them cling like a faded fringe to
the dust-dragged skirt of the middle class. A faded
fringe, with manicured nails, shaved and perfumed face,
smart clothes, a "flat," not a "tenement," and a general
veneer to hide their bitter poverty. What was the future
no
CLERKS
for them ? Look at Old Ferg at sixty getting forty dollars
a week!
An icy sleet smote the rear windows behind Bradsley's
desk, wind howled down the air-shaft, but the steam
bubbled through the radiator-valve; and Edward and
his father, side by side, worlds apart, and Kirby and the
dim others, toiled busily in the ever-increasing warmth.
Illimitable time seemed to engulf them, broken only at
ten-thirty by cheerful Howard, secretary to the traffic-
manager, a robust young Westerner. He tapped Old
Ferg on the shoulder.
"What should the rate on fourth class be, Chitiwa
to Greensdale?"
Old Ferg leaped up, still the automaton, thumbing off
each phrase on his right-hand fingers:
"If," Kirby heard, dimly, "the rate from Chitiwa to
Paxley is forty-three cents, then Chitiwa to Greensdale
ought to be forty-five. The Interstate Commerce
Commission '
It seemed endless, but at last Howard went, and illimit
able time engulfed them again.
The sleet smote, the radiator bubbled, the pens
scratched. Then queerly, without warning, there came a
hitch, as if an earthquake had swallowed the building.
It was only Old Ferg uttering one syllable, but it held
something so startlingly intimate and unbusiness-like that
Edward felt the blood leave his cheeks. His father had
merely cried low:
"Ed!"
He wheeled, looked sharply. The pen dropped from
his father's hand, and slowly the wizened clerk crumpled
in his chair, face purple. The convulsed hands seized the
chair-arms. Edward felt his own feet harnessed to the
floor; he could not rise for a moment.
' ' What's happened ?" he muttered. ' ' Look look out !' '
He expected his father to go into convulsions, and tried
to hold him back with words. The old clerk gasped:
in
THE OLYMPIAN
"My head fetch me home, Eddy."
The "Eddy" brought an unexpected bitter sob to
Edward's throat. Clenching his fists, he leaped up, con
fused. And a thrill went subtly over the third floor; the
human drama halted the army of pen-points; clerks began
to rise here and there; there was a crowding-in, a startled
whispering, exultant and fearful: "It's Old Ferg! He's
got a stroke!" Kirby looked up, half -crazed with a
strange delight; but only half -drunken Bradsley acted,
first forcing a pocket-flask between the clenched teeth,
then sending Marcellus to 'phone for a taxicab.
The flabby faces suddenly became intensely human,
tariffs and schedules were struck underfoot, and a lovely
girdle of grief and exaltation was put about the old
clerk. It was all "Eddy, get him home; Eddy, get a
specialist; Eddy, this and that."
The silent son had taken on new manhood in that
place.
Old Ferg smiled back at their eager remarks: "How
d'yer feel? Better, eh? You're all right! It'll soon
pass! See you Monday!" But they did not fool him.
As four lifted him up, " Good-by," he murmured. "Good-
by."
In a flash his meaning to the office became apparent
the fact that he was the future of these young men, that
this was life for them. Some of them cried strangely
as he was borne away. The machine had run down after
forty -four years of service. Old Ferg's clerkship was
over.
As the taxi fled up the skyscraper-canon and over
Brooklyn Bridge, softly bumping, sleet streaking and
dimming the windows, and the icy wind breathing sharply
through the door cracks, Edward held his father in his
arms, Kirby sat opposite in the strange gloom, and none
of them spoke. Pity and love for the poor thing swelled
the son's heart. What a life! What an end to it all!
This poor worn-out drudge, whose grizzled beard tickled
112
CLERKS
his fingers. What was it all for? Just that tariffs and
schedules in intricate thousands might die in that head?
Poor, worn-out clerk !
They were in Brooklyn. Up the mean back street in
the tiny frame house the stout mother, the unmarried
sister who played tunes right off, were waiting. The
wheels grated against the curb, the chauffeur, dripping ice,
jerked the door open, and sleet fell with his words.
"Want to come quick!"
Swiftly they bore him, slipping on icy pavement, and
up ice-sheathed steps. The chauffeur rang the bell.
They waited, and the stricken man groaned, and Edward
felt faint, for the door opened on a crack; it was his
mother.
" Mother, dad " he began.
"John!" she shrieked.
Kirby sat in the cold parlor for hours, now exalted, now
feeling stunned. It was unbelievable that this thing had
happened ; the mystery of events overwhelmed him. For a
year he had sat in a seemingly endless routine, and now at
once an earthquake-upheaval had changed life into some
thing exciting, dramatic, wonderful. And last night there
was the fire! By what coincidence could two such
catastrophes come to one family overnight? Were there
prearranged miracles in the world? Or was this life, a
smoldering in a family for years, breaking out now here,
now there, at the moment of combustion ? How lucky that
Edward had said nothing to his father about the furniture !
He was spared that, at any rate! But what would come
of all this? Did it not mean merely the pinch harder, the
misery keener? What if the old clerk died? At any rate,
he, Kirby, was done with such an existence; the world
tragedy that underlay its smooth pettiness seemed to
explode through his heart.
Several times, chilled to the bone, he decided to slip
away; he did not belong here. Yet he felt caught in
"3
THE OLYMPIAN
strong currents that bore him against his will. He stayed
on; darkness came. Then some sobbing female shuffled
along the hall, fumbled, lit the hall gas - jet, and passed
on. The light fell across the dingy parlor, and Kirby
watched it illuminating the faded pattern of the carpet.
All at once he heard doors opening and shutting and
muffled sobbing. For a moment his lips twitched bitterly
and his heart overflowed painfully in his breast. Then he
heard steps on the stairs. Could it be Edward?
He went out in the hall. Edward was descending; and,
looking up, he saw the lean face transformed, lit, the
eyes wonderful. A blaze of power was in the features.
, "My father is dead," said Edward.
And a sob escaped Kirby ; but he did not know then or
later what had lit up the lean clerk's face.
It had been a simple, a universal matter. Edward had
sat out the afternoon in a dark corner of the dim, familiar,
bedroom, with center-jet burning low, double bed and
threadbare furniture; and the room had seemed strange
and new to him. He sat as if through endless time.
The windows shook and rattled, wind whistled in the
chimney, and spurts of smoke came through the open
register. The doctor had been leaning over the bed.
Edward could only see the humped covers over his father's
feet. The doctor rose, turned softly, and nodded. Ed
ward knew what it meant. He pulled out his watch and
saw the time clearly it was seven minutes after six.
He rose gently and tiptoed across the room.
"Yes," whispered the doctor, "it's over."
"Tell my mother," said Edward, quietly.
The doctor stepped out. Edward was alone. He
leaned over the bed. This was his father, and yet not
his father; he was amazed that he had felt pity before.
Suddenly his heart was lifted with awe and reverence.
Whence came this majesty to the face of a common clerk ?
Was it possible that his wizened father had carried about
114
CLERKS
with him, under schedules and ink-stains, something mar
velous and benign ? Had his son never known him? Was
there not something great in an old clerk slipping away
from his desk and the measured hours to go on this
impossibly wild adventure?
He looked, he leaned, he touched dry lips to the cold
forehead, and he cried softly like a lonely child.
Yet even then an odd exultation began to rise in his
heart If this is the fate of man : to break loose from
all things, and risk all on the tremendous peril of the
Unknown, why wait till death to do it?
Through slanting sleet, over the black lot, and toward
lonely street-lamps and the lights of Olsen's house,
Kirby and Edward made their way; and Edward was
brimmed with the excitement of bearing great news.
" Oh, Fran," he thought, " you'll open your eyes at this !"
They tramped up the stoop, stamped on the mat,
opened the lower door, climbed the steps. She heard them
coming, flung wide the upper door, and cried:
"You're late, Ed!"
Her dark, pale face in the half-light was passionate with
relief.
"Yes," he said, quietly, "but I've got something to tell
you."
''What is -it?" she snapped, sensing something tremen
dous in his tone.
"It's father"
"Father?" She had expected something else.
He almost smiled.
"Got a stroke."
"And now now?" Her voice thrilled with a sort of
tragic pleasure. After months of gray days, at last some
thing red and bleeding. What though it was tragic?
Then to Edward's amazement and Kirby's and hers
Edward gave a lurch forward, buried his head on her
shoulder, and sobbed hoarsely.
9 H5
THE OLYMPIAN
"Dead, Frances he's dead!"
She hugged him convulsively, her throat choking her.
She helped him into the warm dining-room. Then he
turned, seized her, whispered, strangely:
"Frances."
"Yes?"
"I'm not going to wait till I die."
"Eddy," she cried, "what do you mean?"
They stared at each other, exultation in their eyes.
Again he saw the woman who crouched over the flaming
furniture.
"You mean" she was breathless "we'll leave here
go West?"
"Yes lumbering, anything man's work."
And so eleven years and a barren future were set on fire
and sent blazing to the four winds For they had
learned from death to take risks.
And Kirby saw all, heard alt. Like a great knife
slashing, his bonds were cut; he was free; power filled
him. He was human, and before a mighty deed he became
mighty. He could have laughed and cried with joy, for
he was done with drudgery.
" YOU MEAN WE'LL LEAVE HERE GO WEST?"
XII
ALTERCATION WITH A LADY
KIRBY had a vivid dream that night. He was on the
sleeper again, coming to New York, and the traveling
salesman was saying:
"Wonderful, ain't it, how those fellers rose to the top
messenger-boy to millionaire."
And Kirby, looking out of the window, saw the fire of
the steel-mills. And he was thinking over again that those
mills might yet flame for him, a night advertisement in
the skies of America. His excitement grew tremendous.
He saw the great city lying below him in the night, the
irregular building-humped darkness showered with glit
tering lights, miles of lights beating against the vast star-
flecked sky. He was to take that teeming metropolis by
storm, for Janice had said:
"Kirby, you are going to be a great man. I give you
ten years. Even then you'll only be thirty-four."
.And he went into the dazzling room of the throne, and
Mary Watts enfolded him, whispering:
"You are the conqueror of the world."
He awoke, pulsing with exultation. He leaped out of
bed, his whole being crying out for achievement and
action. Now he was himself again, powerful with a huge
crushing strength and the bull-headedness that broke
blindly through opposition. The demon of greatness
danced through his brain.
"I know I've got it in me," he told himself. "I could
rip up the whole city this morning."
117
THE OLYMPIAN
And he thought of New York again as a waterspout
lifting into the clouds, and he a drop sucked precipitously
to the top. Where had he been this whole year? How
absurd to accept an easy defeat. Well, he was wiser now,
he was older, he knew more of lif e, he was ' ' onto the ropes ' ' ;
once again he would plunge in, and, beating down the
opposition of others, seize upon power. These other men
had as many weaknesses as he; and if he were armed with
his will-power, how could they withstand him? He was
only twenty-five; he was fresh and new. The moment
for action had come.
And the morning seemed to bear out his impulsive
anticipations. For when he reached the office he found
that he was a popular hero. The third floor mobbed him.
A death-notice had appeared in the morning papers, and
the clerks divined that Kirby had had the rare luck to
be in at the finish.
They surrounded him with funereal gaiety, and his gray
eyes flashed, his head was erect, his arms folded.
"Yes," he said, speaking from independent heights to
the drudges, " the old man's dead. Died at seven minutes
past six. Ed was in with him at the time. No, didn't say
a word; fell asleep."
"Well," said Bradsley, with all the grace of half an hour
in the company of Scotch whisky, "let's take up a collec
tion, boys, and buy Old Ferg a whopper of a wreath."
He waved his hand expressively. '"We Mourn Our
Loss' roses and lilies and forget-me-nots."
In the thrilling silence the company indulged in pro
found and original thought, which, at last, leaped into
utterance :
"We all come to it in the end," said Marcellus.
"Of course," said Bradsley, sagely, "he couldn't expect
to live forever."
"At that," murmured another, "sixty years is a life
time."
A fat round boy spoke:
118
ALTERCATION WITH A LADY
"As long as a fellow must die, he couldn't pick an easier
way than that. Quick and clean, and no fussing and no
rotting."
"Gee!" said another and everybody concurred in
this "life's a funny thing."
"Wonder who'll get his job!" murmured Marcellus.
But Bradsley sounded the deeper note:
"He was always the same worked hard, knew his
business, never was unkind to a cat. Sober and honest and
saving. He was good, was Old Ferg. This place will seem
different without him."
And indeed it did. The closed desk, the empty chair
gave the dull ache of loss, the tragedy of change. Fan
tastic mystery engulfed the tariff department, and after
the first heartiness of morning, induced by sleep and
breakfast, there was a bewildering sense of a wrong world,
of an inevitable and cruel process against which the caught
soul struggled vainly. Clerking, gambling, dissipating
might be petty things, but clerks were marvelous creatures
emerging from infinite darkness and passing on to infinite
darkness. The brightness of New York was but a flash on
the way, as if a starry hand dipped them in the flash and
took them out again. Yet they had to go on penning the
rate from Chitiwa to Paxley, from Council Bluffs to Dead-
wood. Did the unillumined Darkness hear their pen-
points scratching?
This dull feeling of amputation, this social pain, as it
were, threatened Kirby's self -enlargement more than once
during the morning; but when the noon gong sounded he
buttoned up his jacket, straightened his tie, patted down
the wavy hair over the right temple, and went through the
crowding clerks to Bradsley's desk.
Bradsley was lighting his noon cigar, half of which he
smoked before lunch and half after.
' 'Lo, Trask !" he said. Then Kirby's bearing impressed
him, and he looked up.
"I've been wanting to tell you something," Kirby
119
THE OLYMPIAN
began. He stopped and blushed. In spite of every
thing, the moment grew ominously important; he was
about to snap the smooth belting of a year.
"Always glad to hear," Bradsley muttered, uneasily.
"You see," blurted Kirby, "I've got to leave here."
Bradsley's forehead wrinkled.
"What do you mean? Leave your job ?"
"Yes."
"What's up? Pay too low?"
"Well, no"
"Got some other job?"
"Not just yet, but"
"Treated you right, haven't we?"
"Yes."
"No kick coming?"
"No"
Bradsley leaned toward him, beaming.
"Then don't be a damn fool. You're good for eighteen
by spring latest, fall. Bellows, General Traffic-Manager,
started as a clerk. Great chance for the unusual man.
Just take another think,. eh?"
Kirby's eyes flashed, and he caught his man in the
pupils, whereupon Bradsley looked away quickly. Kirby's
voice was as decisive as ten-pins dropping.
"No, Mr. Bradsley, I'm leaving."
"Sure," murmured Bradsley, nervously.
It was a test of power. Yes, Kirby had it in him. He
rose gaily and went to lunch. He felt now an inde
pendence that was delightful. There was something
heroic in leaving warm security and plunging into the
bitter 'dark a sublime foolhardiness; but he was going
to do it. With his year's savings they ran to less than
sixty dollars and with the hard-shelled strength that now
seemed his, he felt that he could beat down a hundred
Bradsleys.
Effort that afternoon seemed a waste of time, so Kirby
didn't over-indulge. He would begin to-morrow morning
120
ALTERCATION WITH A. LADY
by bullying the Brain-Brokers; they would find that he
was not the young man of a year ago. Besides, he him
self would advertise; and in the broadcast pen-scratching,
which seemed already to have forgotten Old Ferg, whose
loss meant merely one pen-point the less, Kirby secretly
wrote samples, as:
A Young Man of education and native power who wants a
job that is big the bigger the better
which words set him dreaming, until he mentally added:
"This young man is a born master of men; he craves the
chance to swing some big enterprise in the American con
quest of the commerce of the world; he wants to organize
industry into an Empire of the West." Finally the magic
word "Napoleon" came to him. He leaned against the
desk, drunk. He saw himself sitting at a mahogany desk
in a splendid office, such as the express-company President
had; a stenographer sat at his left, a high official at his
right; reports and mail were stacked before him; he was
telephoning Chicago. On the wall hung a map showing
branches of the industry all over the world; and there were
photographs of the mills. A hundred thousand men were
under his generalship, and he had a power of life and death
over these and remote populations.
He could imagine what these clerks would say then
yes, and what Trent would say then. But he would be
as inaccessible to these as a star.
He took a down-town supper that night, for he was
bound for Mrs. Waverley. He needed to tell some one
who would share his vision, and back him with belief.
Aunt Annie knew; yes, she alone knew. His supper ran
to seventy cents more than he had ever spent before;
and when the waiter wisely brought change of the dollar
in dimes, Kirby felt so capitalistic that he waved his
hand and said:
"Keep it!"
121
THE OLYMPIAN
Whereupon the waiter helped him on with hat and coat
as if he were an invalid.
The night was soft, the air wet with the melting of the
snow, and a faint mist went up and gave halos to the
lamps. Emerging at Twenty-sixth Street, Kirby found
a heavy slush slapping under his rubbers, and upper
Broadway was a fairyland of vaporous fire. There was just
the beginning of the night stir glide of cab and the slosh
of little feet with skirts held high. After two steady
weeks of the suburb he heard again the calling of the
women, an added excitement. He was not joyous, he was
not happy; it was a spirit of hard triumph and dizzying
enterprise. And the city under the mist seemed like a
brilliant gem to be fastened in his shirt-front.
The landlady opened the door for him.
"Well!" she said, wiping her red-rimmed eyes with her
apron. "You're a stranger. Must be two weeks now."
"Is Mrs. Waverley in?" he asked, with hard excitement.
The abruptness cut her off.
"She's been in a week waiting for you I guess."
He hurried up the stairs, stepped with manly pounding
stride down the hall to the open door.
"Aunt Annie!" he called.
The gas-stove burned at her feet, the lamp at her side,
and in the softening radiance she sat, her gray eyes lifting.
Relief and happiness were in her voice.
"Kirby?"
He came in; and she rose, taking his hand. She was
going to ask him where he had been this fortnight, but
she saw his hard, flushed face, his brilliant eyes, his new
erectness of carriage. He was a new Kirby.
"Why," she murmured, "what has happened, Kirby?"
"Aunt Annie," he cried, squeezing her hand, "I've
chucked my job!"
She felt the tingle of a new excitement.
"Your job? Really?"
"Yes. I'm through. Sit down, and I'll tell you!"
ALTERCATION WITH A LADY
She sat down with mingled emotions. There was
something unpleasant about Kirby this evening; besides,
the news was unexpected; and she reflected, too, that he
had not thought it worth while to consult with her in
advance.
"I suppose," she said, "you've found something else,
then."
"No. But I'm going to."
Her heart pained her.
"Then why did you leave?"
He was aware now that she was vaguely displeased;
and he thought: "There's the woman of it. Just at the
moment I need her most she flunks." It made expression
hard.
"Oh, you see, it's like this! You know Old Ferg
Edward's father well, he got a stroke yesterday and died ;
and so Ed and his wife are leaving for the West. If they
could leave, I could."
Mrs. Waverley looked at him, amazed. He had spoiled
his case in the stating of it. All the grandeur behind the
last two days was belittled into something sordid. Mrs.
Waverley had been told more than once of the old man;
this brutal statement of his death shocked her inexpres
sibly. But she only murmured, with forced tranquillity:
"What has that to do with your leaving?"
"Oh," he said in an off-hand way, "I made up my mind
to quit and go out after something big. I'm ripe for it.
And I know I can do it."
"But there's nothing in view."
"There will be."
"You tried that a year ago."
"I'm a year older now. I know the game."
"And what sort of a job can you get with your
experience?"
"I don't know."
"Neither," she said, with a strange tremor in her voice,
"do I."
123
He glanced at her then, and saw that her cheeks were
pink, her eyes dangerously flashing. It nettled him; it
all came down to the fact that women were unreliable.
Then this gentle woman spoke with an anger that was
astounding.
"Kirby, I don't like you when you talk and act this way.
It's not like you."
He felt hot all over.
"Does any one expect me to be a drudge all my life?
I've got to make a break some time."
" I've told you that right along. But this isn't the
way."
"What's the way?" Involuntarily rudeness crept into
his voice.
Her eyes grew moist, but she spoke sharply.
"Just as I told you you must train for something else.
You can't expect the world to be anxious to get incom
petence and inexperience. You've got to acquire some
specialty to lift you above the level of the clerks."
"Edward and his wife " he began.
"What's good for them," she interrupted, "may not
be good for you. Besides, you're not leaving New York ;
you're just one among thousands of untrained young
men."
He winced; she had never spoken before with such
directness. It made him angrier.
"And what can I train for?"
"Well, even why, even shorthand. Didn't you tell me
a year ago that if you had known stenography you could
have become secretary to Mr. Harrington?"
He started up, plunged his hands into his trousers
pockets and walked up and down.
"Oh," he exclaimed, exasperated, "I was green then.
There's nothing in it."
' ' What of it ? Many men start that way. It's a handle,
at least, to some of the big things."
' ' Now, when ' ' he paused ' ' could I find time for that ?' '
124
ALTERCATION WITH A LADY
"At night. Your work doesn't tire you, and you might
do it instead of She was going to add "running
around," but she desisted.
He understood, however, and grew a little pale.
"I gave up my job to-day," he said, in a hard voice.
"So we might as well think of something else."
She spoke slowly:
"I think you could get it back."
"Ask Bradsley, after to-day? No; I'm not a beggar."
She rose then.
"Kirby," she said, "it's a big thing to admit you're
wrong when you are wrong."
"But I'm not wrong."
Then there was a desperate silence. He could not
imagine himself leaving the room without saying good
night and shaking her hand. Yet he could not bring
himself to do it. He stood there, head high, face hot
a powerful belligerent. She looked at him, and then she
suppressed a smile.
"Think it over," she said, quietly. "Now it's getting
late, and you won't be home for over an hour. Good
night."
He took her hand limply, tried to say something and
failed, stumblingly seized on hat and coat, and left. And
he felt that he had dealt her a blow in the face, that he
had been inexpressibly rude to her. Pride fell clattering
around him; dreams of conquest crumbled; he was
merely an ordinary fellow who had lost his temper.
And Mrs. Waverley was thinking:
"Goodness, if he ever gets going, nothing will stop
him! But I'd be sorry for him and those about him. It
would make him monstrous."
Yet she laughed delightedly, for she remembered how
he stood there too high and mighty and too angered to bid
her good-by. She was very fond of Kirby
Kirby, in the mean time, got no further than Broadway.
It was only a little after nine, and he remembered a " Guth-
125
THE OLYMPIAN
rie Commercial School ' ' on West Twenty-third Street. He
hurried over. The school was on the second floor of the
corner building, a plate-glass loft above the flaring shop
fronts. He ascended the wooden steps and entered the
little office. A girl with a golden pompadour and discon
certing blue eyes looked up from a flat desk.
"Mr. Guthriein?"
"Do you want to enter the school?"
"I'm inquiring."
" He's dictating in the next room. You can step in and
wait for him."
Kirby went in. Five gas-jets burned, the air was stuffy
and slightly perfumed with the cheap cologne of the
students, and the plate-glass window was misty. At two
long board-tables, supported by wooden horses, sat
fifteen or sixteen girls and boys on kitchen chairs busily
penciling note-books. Often they stuck the pencils in
their mouths, and when he entered a phalanx of girl-eyes
wheeled round on him. But Mr. Guthrie, walking with
long-legged strides up and down the bare floor, never
noticed. He was a tall Englishman, with flowing
mustaches and mild, blue eyes. His left hand held a
watch, and his right a text-book. He was dictating slowly
and studying the second-hand.
"HOLBROOK & Co.,
"Indianapolis, Ind.
"GENTLEMEN, In reply to your favor of the isth
inst., we beg to say that car-load lots of lumber at this
season are quoted in the market at an advance of, etc."
At the end of the letter Mr. Guthrie looked up and
spoke sadly:
"That was only at the rate of fifty words a minute."
Kirby now noticed that the girls stuck pencils in their
artificial hair and that many were strenuously chewing
126
ALTERCATION WITH A LADY
gum. They eyed him curiously and gossiped together.
He saw, too, on the wall a placard:
On the Great Clock of Time there is but One Word Now.
And another:
NAPOLEON ON CONFIDENCE
Be happy. Do not allow yourself to be easily affected.
Take care of your health. Fear nothing, and never doubt
success.
This American optimism made him uneasy. It was
getting altogether too commonplace for him.
Then Mr. Guthrie approached him.
"Did you want to see me?"
"Yes about entering the school."
Mr. Guthrie turned to his students.
"You can transcribe now."
They shuffled out noisily, laughing and chatting, and
Kirby heard in an adjoining room the immense clatter of
typewriting machines. He sat down beside the sad
Englishman.
"What are the terms?" he asked.
"Ten a month."
"And for how long?"
"It depends on you. We have bright pupils who do it
in four or five."
"You get a position for each graduate?"
"Try to. That, too, depends on the pupil. You've
got to be up to the mark."
"And when could I begin?"
"Anytime. I'll give you a circular."
Kirby 's heart had been sinking; now it seemed to drop
out of his diaphragm and vanish into an abyss. Clerking
was bad enough, but to shut himself in with these gum-
chewing, cheap-scented girls and these slangy impudent
127
THE OLYMPIAN
boys was asking too much of him. The pettiness of such
dictations, such mass-typewriting! And that afternoon
he had imagined the mahogany office and the Napoleonic
leadership.
Yet the next morning a haggard young man came
humbly to Bradsley.
"Mr. Bradsley," he said, "I made a mistake yesterday.
I shouldn't have given up my job. Is it too late to stay ?"
Bradsley jumped up and thumped him.
"Glad to hear it. Glad you came to your senses."
And (that evening a timid fellow came into Mrs. Waver-
ley's room.
"Aunt Annie," he said, with quivering lips and liquid
eyes, "I'm keeping the job, and I'm going to learn short
hand."
She rose, laughing strangely. She seized his hand in
both of hers.
"You've done a big thing, Kirby. And it means you
are going to be really a great man."
Joy came to them, fresh, reconciling joy; they over
flowed with tender and wistful comradeship. And Kirby
never forgot her words.
XIII
THE SLOW WAY
FOUR or five months, Guthrie had said. But when
Kirby asked for a diploma at the end of the fourth
the sad Englishman laid a hand on his shoulder.
"But, my dear boy, you're not fit yet. I couldn't
possibly send you out for another month."
At the expiration of the fifth he heard the same news,
and so at the end of the sixth. He grew suspicious, he
felt that Guthrie was making money out of him ; but he
needed a diploma. It was autumn before he got it.
These months were a burden to him. He now loathed
his clerkship with the same bitter intensity that Edward
had shown; it was a daily torture. He could only
scratch away savagely, sustained by a feeling that in ten
days or a couple of weeks he would be free. And he
became irritable and bad-tempered, an impatient, growling
young man. The other clerks began to fear him, espe
cially after one hot morning. Bradsley had not yet come ;
but Tom, Bradsley's big athletic son, was sitting at his
desk, and the fifty others lounged near. As Kirby passed
the desk Tom muttered audibly:
"Trask would be all right if he didn't have a swelled
head."
Kirby turned on him and thundered:
"Get up, and I'll beat you."
Tom arose with alacrity, and in a second they were at
it all over the floor, knocking down stools, dislodging
clerks. Then Kirby closed in bull-headedly and knocked
129
THE OLYMPIAN
the big fellow down. He stayed down, ominously.
Frightened clerks administered whisky; but Kirby stood,
fists ready, glowering at the roomful.
Luckily Tom came to before his father entered, and
nothing was said. Marcellus, however, summed up the
general attitude:
"Gee! that Trask is a savage."
Kirby felt relieved for several days. He had shown
publicly his feeling for the whole place. And after that
the clerks left him alone, a proud, impatient, haughty
fellow, dropping venom from his pen. The pity was he
couldn't write in red ink or blood.
Fortunately he was very busy five nights a week at
school. Ardently, then, on Saturday night he went to
theater and the Tenderloin, and on Sunday roughed
around with tedious Marston; for he was now back
at the boarding-house. The Fergusons had long since
departed, striking out for new Oklahoma, where by
lot they secured a bit of ground in a projected town and
lived gaily in a tent with thousands of other settlers while
the frame houses went up. Mrs. Waverley, too, had
gone. It was most unexpected, but she had been offered
the position of principal in the girls' seminary in her
Kentucky home-town, an offer too good to refuse. She
and Kirby corresponded.
Worst of all, Kirby's mother became seriously ill in
the summer, and finally he was summoned. But when he
reached Trent she was already dead, and he followed the
coffin to the little cemetery. Trent seemed a pitiable
place, amazingly shrunken and provincial, full of small
gossip and prying eyes. The Haddens were away, the
newspaper had changed hands, and the people who knew
him greeted him without ardor; he walked among them,
a failure, a "bad lot." Even his sisters seemed petty.
The eldest had married and now lived in Chicago; the
youngest planned to teach in Pueblo, Colorado.
He was terriblv shocked at the sight of his mother's face.
130
THE SLOW WAY
He had always thought of it as round and comely, the eyes
full of smothered power. Now it was a mass of wasted
wrinkles, and he could not imagine that those lips had
once kissed him. Life seemed sharply tragic; all came
to this. And he knew she had died disappointed in him,
that he had brought her only heart-sickness and trouble.
He scourged himself because his letters to her had been
cold and perfunctory.
And so he returned to the city, dressed in black, re
morseful, restless, lonesome. But as he worked on he
began to be absorbed by the school. The bright, thin life
of these girls and boys seemed pitiable. It was here as
in all the commercial schools. A lot of school-children
who were ignorant of even the primary requirements of
commerce, such as arithmetic, spelling, and grammar, were
here ground through a rapid mill that gave them skilled
ringers without skilled minds. So the city was flooded
with cheap workers, most of whom sank into the ranks
of copyists earning, by the tedious and lengthy toil of typ
ing addresses on circulars or filling in typewritten blanks,
a salary of not more than a dollar a day. A thousand
addresses, for instance, brought a dollar. The type
writer employment agencies were crushed with applicants
who daily sat herded together waiting an opportunity,
or pounded the streets desolately, looking in at shop
windows, or mobbed any office that had advertised. In
the end many had to go into the department stores.
Like the clerks, they were raised to something higher
without the education to sustain them. But a swift, half-
baked commercialism cheerfully ground them out and
took their ten dollars a month.
He got to like them in a way, but he thought that a talk
on manners, gum-chewing, loud talking, clean nails, tidy
hair, might have helped.
The atmosphere of the school was cheerful. He was
taught that "Specialization is the trend of the times";
that ' ' the fingers must be trained until they become supple,
10 131
THE OLYMPIAN
I
strong, efficient"; that you must "never miss the big
chance, yet never lose sight of details"; that in typing
"inflexibility is stagnation"; and there was a wealth of
poetry in this:
"Have you ever noticed how the master violinist holds
his bow? The wrist is so flexible that it might be hung
with a single silken strand yet there is power there, but
it is controlled power."
He liked to think of violin-playing in hanging his fingers
over the keys in speed practice, when over and over again
at a speed of one hundred words a minute he typed this
famous line:
"Paul hit the yellow cur a whack on the head."
A sentence, according to Guthrie, that tunes the typist
up to the speed key.
Or the classic: "Now is the time for all good men to
come to the aid of the party."
Or this masterly composition, which holds amazingly
every letter of the alphabet:
"The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog."
These sentences ran through his head at night; ever
afterward, looking at a typewriter, his lips mumbled them.
And as to the stenography, he got a habit which never
left him, of tracing with his finger, on desk or table, short
hand characters when he heard people formally speaking.
Yet, withal, the noisy typewriter-room, the stuffy
dictation-room exercised subtle charms over him. He was
fascinated by the typewriting machine, which seemed, as
indeed it was, a wonderful thing : painful pen-scrawling of
ages back to hieroglyphs on stone now superseded by
the light touch of keys and the swift emergence of neat
and line-locked print; but, stranger still was shorthand,
which made the fingers nearly as fleet as thought, surely
as fleet as speech; the words dropped from the dictator's
lips to the stenographer's note-book, caught on the fly, as
it were, and saved in their very arrangement. Out of this
grew the speed of modern business, which made it possible
132
THE SLOW WAY
for an executive to weave gigantic correspondences be
tween himself and the world and yet be free for other
work And the typed screed flew from sender to
receiver, a permanent record Kirby was to be one
of the flying shuttles in this miracle. It seemed to add
to business a touch of the Arabian nights part of the
new mysteries of transportation and telephone and
telegraph and all the instruments that draw earth's ends
together into a common council-room, a sort of town-
hall-meeting of the world Space was shrinking,
time extending, and a vague brotherhood loomed through
the crass interweaving of buy-and-sell
And so the months passed. Finally, in September,
Guthrie gave Kirby a diploma with an affectionate pat
on the back.
"Mr. Trask," he said, "you're the finest mind I've met
on this side the Atlantic."
It was reminiscent of a remark by Professor Had-
den.
On the next morning Kirby got leave of absence from
Bradsley and went to the Brain-Brokers. The same
gantlet of Ready-Made Young Men lustrously brightened
the entrance-hall; there were faces there he had seen
before; the same office-boy barred the way, but Mr.
Cobb had departed. In his place was a superb young
man of the Gibson type.
However, the phonograph-record was the same; only
the horn was changed.
"Atwood's," he said, "is a clearing-house for Brains
the link between the Job and the Man. You see, what we
try to do is find the Man "
As the bright formulas were reeled off by this com
fortable mouthpiece Kirby felt, with a new thrill of power,
how he had grown since he sat here in this same chair two
years since, a young man, shy and heart-sick, overwhelmed
with cheap talk.
He broke in with cold impatience.
THE OLYMPIAN
"Mr. Dwight, I know that, but I've come here for a
job. Have you anything open?"
The record stopped as if the needle were stuck. Mr.
Dwight felt uncomfortable before the gray eyes. He
puffed on his cigar, thwarted.
"Eh, you've been a clerk, then?"
"Yes. But I want something better."
Then Mr. Dwight brightened, as if sudden light soaked
his brain-cells.
"Know shorthand?"
"I do," said Kirby, grimly.
"Lucky, that! We have a rare opening a secretary
ship to J. J. Harrington, proprietor of Harrington's
Magazine, the New Storage Battery Street Car Company,
the Harmon Airship Company. You know J. J., don't you ?"
Kirby had a feeling of unreality, as if time had stood
still. At the same time he smelt a rat. What was this
perpetual bright secretaryship that dangled before each
applicant?
He grinned at Mr. Dwight.
"You had the same job open when I was here last."
The Gibson face lacked human expression. There was
a cough and a hasty,
"Surely. The man who went in then has by now
gone on, gone up who knows?"
Well, Kirby didn't know, and neither, of course, did he
know that one couldn't throw a stone in New York with
out hitting a J. J. secretary.
"Oh, I'll try it," said Kirby, with grim condescension.
He began to think that J. J. was a modern myth gener
ated by commercial hysteria.
So he tried it, ferrying that morning to Long Island City
and getting a train out to Inwood. He bought a copy of
Harrington's at the station news-stand and spent the three-
fourths-of-an-hour ride in studying possibilities. The
magazine was cheap, crisp, popular, sprinkled with
illustrations, a lean slice of reading-matter between thick
134
THE SLOW WAY
chunks of advertising. There were five short stories with
titles and underlines indicating love, adventure, horse
play, and "problem"; several bright articles, garnished
with photographs, on musical comedies, how shoes are
made, the conquest of the air, women geniuses; some
nondescript thumpety-thump love- verse; a serial of au
tomobile love ; and a picture section of stage beauties. It
was all clever, readable, and slightly sensational, and it was
indubitably American ; the reading-matter merely a flashy
excuse for that great modern institution of Advertising
whereby the manufacturer displayed his wares in obscure
corners and over the immense distances of the States.
Each copy of the magazine was a clever salesman, and
Kirby understood that Harrington's had a circulation of
four hundred thousand. Four hundred thousand sales
men creating and stimulating appetites and needs. For
these advertising pages were gay and terse, pungent with
excitable newness. It was a joy to bathe in such endless
optimism and enterprise and to know that the whole
world was eagerly begging to serve you for the sake of
your health and happiness. It inspired confidence in
a country palpably hustling, alive, groaning with wealth
it wanted to share with the reader, secrets it desired to
impart (at two or three dollars per), advice it languished
to give.
"Were it not for Acid Mouth your teeth should last 100
years. . . . Dentacore."
"The John Mattress smile in the morning means a day of
clean work and clear thinking."
"Cheer up! Get a SOG. bottle of Kleenit anywhere."
"Just ask your doctor what he thinks of Jaundice-Juice."
"Don't Meddle with a Corn. Don't Pare it."
"Why Kill Yourself by Smoking a Strong Pipe?"
"A sheep wears his wool on the Outside. That's where it
is in Warren Underwear."
"Tell me your foot troubles. It will ease Your Mind; / will
ease Your Feet."
135
THE OLYMPIAN
"Woman's Fight with Dirt has always been an Unequal One."
"There is nothing so stimulating to jaded nerves as the weird
strains of impassioned martial music."
And then the clothing advertisements with clean-shaven,
shoulder-padded, perfectly fitted wax figures, and the get-
rich-quick schemes with their opium-dreams of opulence
and ease, and the patent medicines. All these were the
modern embodiment of ancient lures the fountain of
youth, alchemy, the tree of knowledge, Aladdin's lamp.
Emerging from a half -hour bath in the lambent pages, one
felt that luscious beatitude had been for years ignorantly
missed; but it was not too late, however; six postal-cards
and a few money-orders would bring the bliss of angels
or millionaires by fast freight or swift express.
And presiding over these lures, gathering them from
far cities, binding them and showering them on four
hundred thousand homes, sat J. J. Harrington. It was
like sitting unperturbed in the core of a scarlet cyclone,
accelerating the whirl of color by divine command.
Kirby felt intoxicated and perturbed. He was ' ' up against
the real thing" again not a Jordan Watts, an Olympian,
but a near-Olympian, a power raised above the multitude.
Like a man with the flames of whisky running through
him, craving a greater stimulus, so in Kirby grew a hard
excitement, a spirit of trampling enterprise. But he
quivered with subdued fright at the thought of facing
the great J. J.
Inwood was revealed in mild September sunshine.
To the left of the station, bisecting the tracks, ran a dusty
village street of cheap, dim stores and paint-peeled
boarding-houses; but to the right rose an eminence on
which stood the model factory of Harrington's a long,
narrow, three-storied cement building with superb, pillared
porticoes at either end. Far up the track stood the red
brick, three-acre factory of the storage-battery street-cars
and the airships. Smoke ascended in the soft liquid
136
THE SLOW WAY
light of early Autumn, and facing the factories, over the
tracks, a deep and tranquil wood was fading into brown
and crimson.
Peace and silence; the station was empty save for a
sleepy ticket-seller; wooden cases were stacked before the
closed door of the baggage-master's room; the rails
flashed and tremulated with sun; and the shadow of the
cement building lay coolly on its green, sloping lawn. Then
a buckboard clattered over the railroad crossing, and the
impact of hoofs died in the dust beyond. Kirby felt as if
he had reached the Undisturbed the profundity of rural
peace. And Harrington's became unreal again, the weav
ing shadows of windy trees, the St. Vitus' dance of
phantoms.
Smilingly he approached the portico, entered a cool
hall, ascended a broad flight of steps to a large center hall
on the top floor. Shadow and coolness were here, and
shafts of moted light from opened office doors. A boy sat
at a desk dreamily counting the number of words in a type
written manuscript ; save for the mumble of his lips, the
stillness all but obliterated the faint rumblings of a
printing-press in the basement.
The click of Kirby 's heels echoed through the place;
the boy glanced up, fatigued.
"Mr. Harrington in?"
"Which Mr. Harrington?"
This was disturbing.
"Mr. J. J."
"Gone to the city."
Kirby had a tendency to collapse. He had nerved him
self for an ordeal. The withdrawal of the moment of
climax left him weak.
"Whom can I see, then?"
"Well, there's Mr. Martin Harrington, the Managing
Editor."
The boy trudged lazily into a corner room; and Kirby,
waiting, heard dull voices, and then from another room
THE OLYMPIAN
the low drone of dictation to some stenographer. The
fact that soon he, too, might sit at the feet of some master
and be dictated to and have to go out then and transcribe
painfully at a typewriter was unpleasant. He knew, too,
that he was inexperienced; that Atwood's had sent him
out without even testing him, that he had "nerve" to
try for so high a position, that probably he would flunk
when it came to the scratch. For he had found in school
that it was one thing to write shorthand and quite another
to read what he had written; those gentle little curves
could tease the mind stupid. Hearing that dictation-
drone, his blood froze with bad omens. He would have
to "bluff" superbly to hold his first job.
"Well, then I'll bluff," said the American in Kirby.
" It's a game of bluff from start to finish. They all do it
they have to."
The advertisements of Harrington's had been working
while he waited.
The office-boy now appeared.
"All right," he said, and Kirby followed. He entered a
cool corner room, with open windows on two sides. Mar
tin Harrington sat at the flat center desk, manuscripts and
letter-files heaped before him. He was an exceeding tall
and thin individual, with large, dark, suspicious eyes and
a nervous manner.
"Atwood's sent me," said Kirby.
There was a slight aristocratic contempt in Martin's
voice.
"Oh, a stenographer!"
Kirby winced. There was a cruel difference between
being a stenographer and being a secretary. ,
"They said Mr. Harrington wanted a secretary."
"He does. What experience have you had?"
Kirby was ready for that.
"I've been two years with the Continental Express
Company, and I've worked on a newspaper a couple of
years."
138
THE SLOW WAY
He did not say that shorthand was a fresh acquisition.
"Well," said Martin, "I might try you."
He pushed a button, the office-boy appeared, and a note
book was secured. Kirby stretched it on the flap of the
desk, and sat, pencil in hand, waiting. He went hot and
cold by turns, acutely aware that he was alone in the
world, that nothing could help him that the soul of man
passes through life in utter naked loneliness. "Bluff"
would not make legible confused notes. But so much
depended on his success; it would open up such a tre
mendous chance! Sitting there, it seemed that this es
tablishment swung in the circle of the mighty, and the
gates might open if he won through this test. At one
stroke he would be lifted into the world he had dreamed
of, far out of the ranks of the drudges, with countless
possibilities a step ahead. And his consciousness of this
magic opportunity made him exquisitely nervous.
Luckily Martin was slow at composition ; the letter was
brief, covering the rejection of a manuscript, and Kirby
scrawled it down blindly, with the cold sweat on his
forehead.
"You'll find paper and a typewriter in the next room,"
said Martin.
Kirby went into the little office, which was bare of all
save a desk and the machine, but it was some time before
his trembling fingers could tap the keys, and thrice he
spoiled a sheet. Finally he desperately thumped out the
letter, and took it, flushed and hot, to the Managing
Editor.
Martin sniffed at it.
"It'll do, I guess," he said, vaguely, whereon Kirby 's
heart gave a leap of triumph, but he added: "Of course,
you'll have to see J. J. I haven't anything to do with his
secretaries."
This was painful; so was the tinge of contempt about
his secretaries.
"When can I see him?" Kirby asked, chokingly.
THE OLYMPIAN
"Couldn't say."
"Is he in mornings?"
"Sometimes sometimes not."
"Will he be in to-morrow morning?"
"I wouldn't dare predict. You'll have to take pot-
luck."
Evidently J. J. was the wind that bloweth where it
listeth. Kirby went home crestfallen.
However, in the morning he decided not to report to
Bradsley at all, but to camp out on the trail of the Captain
of Industry. But in the vacant hall the boy said, cheer
fully:
"Just left for the city. No, won't be back to-day."
There was nothing to do but vanish gracefully and come
again on the morrow. He took the eight-o'clock train,
and the office-boy was gleeful at his reappeararice.
"Nothing doing. J. J.'s in New York."
Kirby got wildly hot. What high and mighty folk were
these that made the race dance attendance on them, spend
ing time and money on train-trips? What did old J. J.
think that he, Kirby, was?
"But" he spoke sharply "he's coming back, isn't
he?"
The boy was abashed.
"Well," he said, meekly, "if he comes he'll be on the
eleven-forty train."
Kirby went out and cooled himself in the woods, crash
ing through the undergrowth, startling squirrels, breaking
in on the liquid notes of birds. He was aroused, deter
mined, mad as a bull. He'd show old J. J.!
He exhausted the woods by ten, and tried the village.
Its heavy tranquillity goaded him ; he was for shooting it
up, Western style, the dead 'burg' ! A cobbler was tapping
shoes; a harness-maker mending harness; a shoe-store
was dustily idle; a general store quavered with the passing
voices of loungers; the post-office was asleep; the restau
rant dirty and empty; the drug-store in a trance. And,
140
THE SLOW WAY
oh, the boarding-houses with shut windows and the label
"Boarders Wanted" on the porch-post!
He went back to the dead station. Sun glanced blind-
ingly along the endless rails, and heat throbbed upward
fromUhem in metallic waves. He sat down on a packing-
case, moodily waiting, and little gusts of warm air blew
in his face. All nature was in a Sabbath doze. A sparrow
preening himself on the glistening telegraph-wire was an
important visitant.
Then the telegraph-key began clicking, the baggage-
master strolled up from the street and unlocked his door,
and a commercial traveler, with valises in both hands,
ambled onto the rusty-red platform. The rails now began
to hum, a whistle blew in the distance, and at the tracks'
end a diminished locomotive appeared, belching convolu
tions of gray smoke. Momently the engine grew, with
thunder and clang of bell, until it loomed, a rushing one-
eyed dragon, rolling immensely and hotly by with swift
revealing of passenger-cars, and stopped. The conductor
swung off the steps, watch in hand; the engineer tinkered
at the huge wheels. It was the rushing spirit of the
modern world, the distances telescoped in its speed.
And the whole continent was weaving with the winged
carriers, that made one city the suburb of another.
Kirby had arisen, and stood grimly, his excitement hard
and taut.
A bulky, healthy, middle-aged gentleman swung off,
valise in hand, nodded genially to the baggage-master, and
passed swiftly. Kirby fell into step with him.
"Mr. Harrington?"
Then sparkling little black eyes were turned to him,
and with them a charmingly gracious smile on the smooth-
shaven, slightly wrinkled face. The smile, the glance,
were disarming. Kirby felt a sunny warmth of pleasure.
"Yes," said J. J., in a voice full of enchanting rhythms,
a voice wondrously alive, rich, and unique, "what can I
do for you?"
141
THE OLYMPIAN
"Atwood's sent me for the secretary position."
"Indeed. Well, walk along with me!"
J. J. walked swiftly; Kirby had to energize to keep
up. And J. J. plied him with questions:
"Where were you born, Mr. "
"Trask. Kirby Trask. I was born in Trent, Iowa."
"Middle Western town. American family?"
"Yes. New Englanders that pioneered in the West."
"Anglo-Saxon stock," said J. J. "That's the kind we
need. It's the backbone of Western civilization. Do
you mind telling me your age?"
The polite grace of this was healing and lovely. "After
all," thought Kirby, "the great men are simple; it's only
the underlings that are holier-than-thou."
""I'm twenty-six."
"And you've had what experience?"
Kirby told him briefly ; they now swept past the cement
factory and took a gravel path that led up the slopes
behind the building to a large Colonial house at the top.
"Are you married?" asked J. J.
"No not yet," Kirby smiled.
"Excellent. Not afraid to use your brains?"
"I hope not."
"Nor of hard work and long hours?"
"No, indeed."
"There's only one type of man I can use. One who
could rise to the top."
Kirby 's soul dilated ; was he not this man ?
"That's the only kind of job I want."
"Have they tried you at the office?"
"Mr. Martin did."
"Satisfactory?"
"He said so."
They reached the steps of the porch. J. J. turned,
beaming at him.
"Suppose we try, beginning to-morrow morning, at
twenty a week?"
142
THE SLOW WAY
Kirby's heart took a flier.
"Yes."
"Of course, you'll have to move to Inwood at once. I
begin early. How early could you start in the morning?"
"Any time you say," gasped the drunken fellow.
"Seven even?"
"Surely."
"Be at this house, then, seven A.M to-morrow. Good
day, Mr. Trask."
He vanished, smiling. What could be easier? what
more natural? what more satisfactory?
"This is glorious," thought Kirby, "glorious."
He trod on air; he exulted in every fiber. Yes, he had
broken in; he had "nailed the job." The gates, at last,
had opened. Genius was to have its fling. J. J., like
all great men, had probed by a mere glance of eyes his
power and his possibilities. It was an unbelievable
miracle. Yes, he'd begin work at dawn if necessary, or
at two in the morning.
He looked down on the express job as from a mountain-
top. Down there were the poor drudges, the humdrum
existence of the petty crowd.
"Glorious," he laughed, "glorious, and twenty a week!"
As for the pesky shorthand and typewriting well, what
was the use of thinking of unpleasant things?
XIV
TROUBLE BEGINS
MORNING and Kirby got up together, and both were
a little gray. When the alarm-clock scalped Kirby
of sleep at four-thirty, the room was still dim with the
street-lamp, and Kirby had to light the gas to dress.
Then he stuffed pajamas and comb and brush in the suit
case, snapped it shut, took a last look at the room, and went
down through the halls, under stains of light, with hard
excitement. He felt a bitter strength sustaining him, as
if he were nerved against a charge of murder or a surgical
operation.
A light burned in the dining-room, and from the lighted
kitchen, where poor Gertie, the waitress, was up an hour
ahead of her time to get some breakfast for "the young
gentleman," came a penetrating, pungent odor of coffee.
"All right, sir," she called in, desolately, and brought in
a tray of breakfast. He glanced at her and saw that the
last two years had despoiled her completely of what
beauty she had. Her stringy hair was matted about the
temples; rings were brown under the faded eyes; her form
was unshapely; and she slouched about, a broken house-
slave taking to herself, as it were, all that dirt of life
which, cast off by the strong and lucky, yet engulfs
humanity.
"So you're leaving us." She sniffed a little. It meant,
plainly, "You are going on to glory, but for me there is
neither success nor love ; merely day after day of the mop,
the towel, the broom, the dish, and the bed." Just for a
144
TROUBLE BEGINS
moment Kirby felt that modern moral squirming which
makes the poor a Banquo's ghost at the feast of the
fortunate. He felt an unpleasant twinge at the mon
strous inequality; but, after all, he had not made the world.
Besides, he had enough troubles ahead.
So, dragging his heavy suit-case, he went out through
the gloom of the street. In the first dim heave of dawn the
street-lamps flamed sharp; here and there an all-night
restaurant flooded the pavement with an oblong of light,
and he felt as if he were stealing through sleep like some
plotter of the Underworld. On the ferry were laborers
muffled up against the cold sea-wind, and as the boat put
out on the waters, dawn of the saddest, most delicate
gray and white was tremulous on the two misty cities and
the hurrying tides. The ferry whistled hoarsely, per
sistently, against the low fog, and tugs passed like phan
toms with eyes of vaporous fire.
The lighted train was filled with silent, fatigued la
borers who sank luxuriously in the bubbling, steamy
warmth. Kirby, his nose on the closed window, felt
that life was hard and fearful. He got glimpses of toiling
night-shifts in the illumined factories, saw dim canals
emerging as on a photographic plate in the growing light,
and^eheld bare fields and shabby suburbs. Again he was
breaking irrevocably with the past, and plunging through
the dawn to a vague and troublous future, to a self-pre
cipitated destiny that might involve destruction and
death. At least it would involve transcribing shorthand
notes, and at the moment he could think of nothing more
horrible.
A grim, nervous, excited young man, then, lugged a
suit-case past the cement building and up the gravel path.
Sleep possessed the blank-windowed house, and Kirby
pushed the bell-button lightly. Then in the silence a
chain clanked, a key turned, and the door opened. A sad
old butler, with cheeks covered, as it were, with a red
frost, looked down at the intruder.
MS
THE OLYMPIAN
"Are you the new secretary?" he asked, as if he were
compelled to put this melancholy question every morning.
"Yes," said Kirby.
"Well, then," said the butler, "you're to leave your hat
and coat on the rack here and take your note-book and
pencil them was Mr. Harrington's orders and go to the
second floor to the last room to the right and knock on the
door."
Kirby froze.
"His bedroom?" he murmured.
"Oh yes, sir."
"You're sure?"
"Oh yes, sir. All his secretaries go to his bedroom.
This way, sir.."
Kirby suppressed a hysterical laugh. Note-book and
fountain-pen in hand, he ascended the soft-carpeted stairs
and tripped guiltily along the hushed hall. It was five
minutes to seven. What was going to happen next in this
mad-house? He studied the door for several throbbing
minutes, then precipitously knuckled it.
A sleepy voice murmured, "Well?"
" It's Mr. Trask," he said. His tongue felt par
alyzed.
"Oh yes, come in!"
Just as he pushed in the door, just as he got a vagKc,
swift glimpse of an enormous corner room, with four high
windows, roll-top desk in the far corner, bureau, revolving
cabinets full of books and papers, a screen hiding another
corner, and in the very middle a single brass bed with
J. J. in it, just as he took his first step and flashed this
outlay, J. J. reached his hand to a wall-rack stuffed
with manuscripts and papers right above his head and
began talking crisply. In horror Kirby realized that he
was dictating, and he just had enough presence of mind
to stagger across the room jotting with his pen on a bob
bing, palpitating note-book. But of what he wrote or
how he wrote it he had no least sane inkling.
146
TROUBLE BEGINS
"My dear Mr. Cuivilier" J. J. was bolstered up in
his white nightgown, his hair mussed, his cheeks un
shaven "I sat up till one-thirty this morning absorbed
in your charming story, 'The Unequivocal Woman.' It
quite took my breath away. It has power, grace, style.
There is, I feel, no American writer who can so charmingly
set forth the complexities and alluring romance of women
as you yourself. The narrative, too, has all the qual
ities of modern fiction it is brisk, brittle, entrancing. I
notice that by some untoward accident I have kept the
manuscript four months, thereby delaying a happy half-
hour. And so I regret all the more that we can find no
place for it in the magazine. Believe me, with best
wishes . . . ."
Poor Mr. Cuivilier, soon to glow and expand over the
opening of this letter, and then to collapse over the end!
There was drama here worthy of Kirby's attention, but
that young man sat doubled up as if he had the gripes,
and on his sweat-dripping face was blank horror, as one
who, having emptied a medicine-bottle, suddenly cries:
"But I've taken poison; I'm dying." Words, words,
words, and here and there one of them in drunken short
hand!
"My dear Mr. Terhune," J. J. was going on, totally
oblivious of such mechanism as a private secretary.
But Kirby gasped weakly:
"But I didn't get down that first one I mean, all of it."
J. J. looked up with eyes blazing. Where was the
gracious gentleman of yesterday?
"Now you've smashed a whole train of thought," he
snapped. "You've choked my subconscious flow. Learn
not to interrupt ; leave a blank space and fill in afterward.
My dear Mr. Terhune "
A wave of nausea threatened Kirby's body; swift death
were preferable to this. But J. J. had stopped, wild with
exasperation.
"I've lost the whole hell -roaring business. Really,
THE OLYMPIAN
Mr. Trask, this won't do. Do you object to my dress
ing?"
Kirby switched on a ghastly grin.
"No," he whispered.
He foresaw a breathing-space. Whereupon J. J.
leaped out of bed in his bare feet and began athletic
exercises in the center of the room, arms out, over head,
hands down till they touched the floor, leg up, foot
kicking; but just as Kirby was getting hysterical over this
spectacle the Cuivilier letter poured over him again with
all its swift, cold beauty. Something snapped in him;
a gymnazing J. J. who could combine business with
athletics, making his body do one thing while his brain
did another, was too much for Kirby 's young mind; he
became callous and desperately blithely careless, letting
his pen dance as it would.
J. J. now pulled a tub of cold water from under his bed,
set the screen about it, and, while a crazed Kirby heard
the water splash, the swift speech of this amazing man fell
like rain over the screen-top.
Next, Kirby, glancing up, felt like shrieking, and looked
away to save himself. For J. J., clad only in woolen
underwear, was leaning toward the mirror over the sink
and busily shaving himself. And still the subconscious
flowed, flowed forever. Ha, thought Kirby, is this then
Big Business? And blithely his pen careened. The man
in the death-cell may as well enjoy himself before the
execution.
He was dimly aware that J. J. was fully dressed, when
there was a knock on the door.
"Come," cried J. J. "And yet you ought to train
yourself in style. Master English, young man, before
you attempt to create art
The butler entered with a tray of breakfast, and J. J.
abruptly wheeled on him.
"Pound on Mr. Martin's door!" he shouted, in a rage
to the old man. "That stinking son-of-a-gun has got to
148
TROUBLE BEGINS
learn to rise early. I've been using my brain for an hour
already. For, as Emerson said, you may be a god with
the divine afflatus, but you've got to know grammar,
too
He sat down and broke his eggs, but broke not the
flow of eloquence. Then Martin came in, rubbing his
eyes.
"Father," he murmured.
J. J. was just in "what our literature needs," and
also his cup of coffee, but he turned with savage grace:
"What the hell you want?"
Martin was just as hot-tempered.
"You said you wanted to see the staff at eight-thirty.
Shall I bring them in?"
"My God, Martin, you'd make hell stink! Do I want
what I want, or don't I want what I want? What do
you think of that, Mr. Trask?"
Mr. Trask was devoid of thought; he sat there like a
hen with its head off, a sick collapse.
"Well, you know," cried Martin at the door, "you're
always wanting something else
"Get out of here!" roared J. J., and, as the door
slammed, "Needs fresh vigor, Western snap; our public
is getting tired of flabby wish wash. It wants red blood,
punch, vim, stuff with the guts
And still the nimble pen careened. J. J. now sat at
his desk and started, myriad-brainy man:
"Change of systems for manufacturing departments.
A. Bracket."
"What?" burst from Kirby.
J. J. turned on him and pounded fist in hand.
"Learn this at once bracket everything; a-b-c every
thing; one-two-three everything. It's the only way to
clarify the brain. You must learn to analyze, to divide
a subject into its parts. You can't think otherwise.
Good idea! Take this: 'Instructions to the staff
I want all employees to learn to analyze. Make no
149
THE OLYMPIAN
reports hereafter except in this form.' " He helped Kirby
by a map on pad paper:
GENERAL SUBJECT
{i. First minor heading
2. Second " "
3. Third "
4- Fourth "
"'In this way we may by some miracle coerce you to
use your brains.' '
He laughed now delightedly, and confided in his
secretary.
"They're waste-baskets, that's what they are; not
editors and managers. They go round and round like a
whirlwind of slop- water. I expect something else of you."
Came then a timid knock on the door. "Come in,"
cried J. J., and in filed seven expectant men Martin,
managing editor; Edgar, the younger son, manager of
the storage-battery street-cars; Boyd, business-manager;
Hurley, associate editor; Campbell, assistant editor;
Jonison, art editor; Meggs, head of subscription depart
ment.
J. J. never turned from his desk, but sat pulling at a
bunch of reports, glaring and muttering. The seven
formed a semicircle behind him. Kirby was incapable
of any new emotions, but he thought grimly that this was
a scene in a comic opera, and not life. And the seven
seemed a little frightened.
Silence; then a terrific pounding on the desk, and the
bellowing of a bull :
"Whose report is this?"
The seven craned their necks.
"Mine," muttered Boyd, guiltily.
Without turning, J. J. flung it to the floor behind him.
"Pick that up!" he thundered.
150
TROUBLE BEGINS
Meekly Boyd stooped and picked it. Then J. J.
wheeled round, an insane light in his eyes, flecks of sali
vary foam on his lip corners:
" What's in your skull, Mr. Boyd? Mush? If a boy of
seven wrote such driveling damned rot, I'd spank him.
Minor expenditures! Minor pus! Rotten! Rotten! It
stinks!"
"I'm sure, Mr. Harrington," said Boyd, gently, "I do
the best I can. Every one knows that!"
"My grandmother knows it!" roared J. J., and turned
to the next. One after the other the reports were flung
to the floor; one after the other the seven stooped and
picked them up; one after the other received a profane
explosion. Were these men or dogs? thought Kirby.
A saving anger leaped in him; he'd just like to see J. J.
talk to him like that!
Then all at once J. J. leaped up, danced in a small
circle, shook his fist in the faces of the seven, and gave
what seemed to be a series of smothered shrieks.
Beginning with a slow glide of "cuss words," taking a
slant with choice and surprising obscenity, and beauti
fully, by gently ascending curves, rising up and up to the
most elemental word in the English language, J. J. bathed
the seven in the most amazing profanity of the Western
world. Kirby felt the life leave his body, reason de
parted, and then he felt a primal joy. He had never
witnessed a mind more completely relieved of its feelings;
speech could go no further; J. J. was the one man who
could totally express himself.
And for the first time in his life Kirby felt the tiger joy
of seeing human beings trampled. There was something
of the jungle in this rending of limb from limb; the sight
evoked the baser instincts. It was as if Kirby had tasted
blood for the first time in the brute, primitive battles of
American business; he got a mouthful of the ruthlessness,
greed, rapacity of modern commerce. The fighter awoke
in him, the hard, glittering, tigerish hunter, and he lusted
THE OLYMPIAN
to get into the world-scrimmage himself. He, too, had
it in him to trample his way over the fallen bodies of the
weak.
Without argument the vanquished and cursed seven
departed, whereupon J. J. turned to Kirby with a ravish
ing smile:
"What do you think of them, Mr. Trask? But come,
I must catch my train. Put on your hat and coat and
walk to the station. I must dictate on the way!"
Kirby heard these words, but there was no reason for
believing them. Yet in ten minutes he was a gymnast
himself, desperately driving his legs along the gravel path
to keep up with his cyclonic boss, in one hand near his
nose the note-book, in the other his pen. The pen and
note-book seemed to keep jumping at each other. Some
times they met; sometimes they didn't.
Earth rotated about him, a green blur that gave to the
red of the station, and suddenly to the red of the train.
Subconsciously he was aware of J. J. hanging onto the
steps and the conductor crying "All aboard."
"This process of making a storage-battery is new
discovered by Fenwick not six months ago its use '
B-z-z! the words died, and Kirby, glancing up, saw
J. J.'s head projecting from the car platform ten feet
away, passing like foam out of earshot.
Kirby stood there mentally dismembered. He felt as
if he were a nervous wreck; all his strength had left him,
and he quivered in every muscle. His brain was like a
hollow drum.
"Holy mackerel!" he muttered.
What manner of mortal was this J. J. ? Was he human
at all? Did he keep up this whirlwind speed and energy
every day? Where did he get his vitality? Was it
necessary to be like this to succeed in business? There
was no strenuous President as yet to acquaint the youth
of America with the powers of man ; hence, Kirby was dum-
founded. Yes, he was dizzy.
152
TROUBLE BEGINS
And those shorthand notes what should he do with
them? It was a ghastly predicament.
Suddenly, then, the noon whistle blew, and out of the
building poured a stream of pressmen and the girls of the
subscription department. It struck Kirby that he had
better find a boarding-house.
He turned and staggered up the dusty street and en
tered a labeled house.
The landlady showed him a little room on the second
floor, but he didn't like it. He surmised that the walls
were merely laths covered with paper; the whole house
had a tremulous fragility. Yet he took the room; he
knew of nothing better.
Then he went down to the noon meal. About the long
table sat a gang of powerful pressmen in overalls, with
oily, grimy arms bare to the elbows .... huge chunks of
men, roughly jesting; big, elemental comrades with primi
tive hunger and health. They looked at Kirby as if he
didn't belong, came there by accident, and he felt asham-
edly embarrassed, just as he had before the husky express
drivers in the Broadway basement. There was some
thing small in his fineness, his sensitiveness; something
large and of the Earth in their primal roughness. He had
come without appetite, but now the sight of food dis
gusted him.
Huge bowls of large boiled potatoes with the skins on
were placed at either end of the table by an iron-muscled
Amazon, and then in the center a great platter in which
red slabs of beef swam in gravy. At once the pressmen
leaned, half rising, forked all they could jab, and began
eating like ravening animals. Slop! slop! went their
mouths. Kirby, overwhelmed by the morning and by
glowing anticipations of note-reading and by this primeval
spectacle, sat there like some poor, sick thing left to die
by a cruel world.
And at one the grueling began. He sat in the bare
office at the typewriter and tried to read his notes. He
THE OLYMPIAN
racked his brain over the curves and angles, the vowels
and consonants. Sweat dripped down his white face.
All that he made out was "Cuivilier one-thirty morn
ing story grace no American writer women your
self"
"Yes," he thought, "something about rejecting a
story; oh yes, liked it, but it couldn't go."
Suddenly he laughed, and the room echoed.
"I'm not going to lose without a fight," he thought.
"I'm going to bluff itl If I don't I'm lost; if I do, well
by Jingo! J. J.'s bluff; so am I!"
And so through the long afternoon he picked legible
scraps from the garbage of his notes, and composed letters
with all his ingenuity and imaginative power.
Brent, the manuscript-clerk, came in at four o'clock to
give him a story for J. J. He beheld the wreck of young
life.
"Where you stopping?" he asked.
Kirby told him.
"Oh, you want to come to my boarding-house. It's
mighty nice."
Kirby eagerly agreed, and Brent promised to wait for
him that evening.
At six o'clock, still toiling under electric light, he
was staggered by the office-boy entering and saying,
glibly:
"J- J- wants you. Bring your note-book."
He went up to the room, and for an hour took dictation.
Then he went out. Brent was waiting for him, but
Kirby was beyond fresh sensation. As they walked, he
heard, dimly:
"J. J. is the most godless man I've ever met. He
ought to be stood up and shot with a Gatling gun."
To this sentiment he heartily subscribed. Then he was
aware of a neat dining-room, a hovering family, food, and
a room at the head of the stairs. He went straight to bed.
It was eight o'clock.
TROUBLE BEGINS
The day had been a nightmare of excitement, strenu-
osity, insanity, terror, toil, and exhaustion.
"A little more," he thought, "and I'll go out of my
mind. What's that man, anyway? No wonder he can't
keep a secretary."
He had never been so tired in his life; he had never
worked so ruinously. And as he fell asleep two demon
shapes glared at him from the foot of the bed one was
Seven A.M. To-morrow, and the other was Typewritten
Letters which J. J. is Going to Read.
XV
TROUBLE CONTINUES
TWICE the next morning Mrs. Allison awoke Kirby,
and finally she had to summon her powerful husband,
who pulled the private secretary out of the jaws of sleep
as if he had been a tooth.
Kirby sat at the edge of the bed and looked with mercy-
begging eyes on his tormentor.
"Yes," he yawned, "be with you in a minute!"
And back he plunged to the balm of the pillow. Mr.
Allison, however, was a Son of Duty. He shook the young
gentleman vigorously.
"J. J.'ll be waiting, Mr. Trask. And you know what
that means."
The phrase magically brought him to. He felt his heart
trying to escape through the prison-bars of his ribs. And
as he swiftly dressed he thought :
"I've lost my nerve. By now he's read that stuff.
But, even if he hasn't, another day like yesterday will
drive me mad."
There was a smell of burning leaves in the air, per
vading the house .... a crisp, searching smell, exquisite, the
Earth's incense floating up to the Lord of Harvests. Some
where in remote gardens the tranquil gardeners were
gathering the bough-lost leaves to send the smokes of
peace through the transparent sunshine. For such
dreamy quiet, the hush of the hours over the fruitful
Earth, the changes of the sun on pasture and hollow wood,
Kirby's shredded spirit was aching. J. J. now seemed
156
TROUBLE CONTINUES
merely a circus-performer riding the three horses of
storage-batteries, airships, and the magazine; a troubled
pinch of noise and dust spinning vainly in the silence of
engulfing skies. And Kirby thought of his lost clerkship,
the calm, unchanging days, the complete mastery of the
work in hand, the freedom of the untired nights, and
wished himself back in the gliding ease of the rut. He
had the weak and dissolving tiredness of the convalescent
who tries to walk for the first time and swiftly crawls
back to bed.
Brent's work did not begin until eight-thirty, so Kirby
ate alone at six-thirty with Allison and his stout son. Both
were excellent carpenters, tanned and sinewy, fresh with
their unhurried outdoor work; they seemed to have
absorbed into their fiber the stout grain of oak and maple
and pine; they seemed almost odorous of the sun-soaked
sawdust that gushed as the teeth bit through the wood.
Kirby envied them their sound labor, their powerful
handling of things, their healthy, complacent minds.
To drive a nail straight, to dovetail moldings, to plane a
shingle seemed to put these men into the rhythm of
growing Nature.
But though he envied them, they in turn showed keen
admiration and respect for the secretary of the great
J. J. He found that J. J. obsessed Inwood; more, that
he was Inwood. The place was but his appendage, the
inhabitants either his employees or those who thrived by
their presence. J. J. was like a feudal baron with a
whole township of peasants dependent upon him.
"He's a great man, is J. J.," said Allison. "He's made
this place. But he's a queer one. Trouble all the time
over to the factories, and he's run up bills with the trades
people something amazing hundreds of dollars. They
do say he's in financial deep water, what with those crazy
airships " He paused, and both he and his son laughed
rackingly. "Oh, Lord! When those airships try to fly!
For I've noticed God didn't put wings on our shoulders.
THE OLYMPIAN
And them storage-batteries dreams, as you'll find, Mr.
Trask. But now it's twelve minutes of seven."
As Kirby hurried through the perfect morning his un
quiet was sharpened by these unpleasant tidings. Air
ships! How absurd! For the newspapers at this time
were blithely ridiculing and helping to kill poor Langley
of the Smithsonian, whose assistants were persistently
swimming and sinking in the Potomac instead of flying
over it. And in such insane enterprise J. J. was engag
ing airships and storage-batteries. Kirby had the first
dull glimmer of the notion that the whole J. J. institution
might be merely a quicksand swallowing money and men
and brave ideas. Financial deep water! Was this, then,
Big Business, and did its emergence in American life mean
merely the ruin of investor and toiler and the blighting
of love and hope and quiet joy ? He felt that already some
thing good had been killed within him.
There was not much time, however, for such reflection.
A more immediate terror pressed.
"By now," thought Kirby, again, "he's read that stuff.
Anyhow, I'm up against another day."
He began to feel physically sick as he approached the
house; he had a tremendous desire to rid himself of his
breakfast. The front door was open, and he entered and
hung up coat and hat. Then, quivering with raw excite
ment, he mounted the stairs. A low, thin whimpering, as
of a soul being tortured to death, came from the shadows
of the upper hall. It was a thin, bitter thread of agony,
and the sound made his heart stop. Aghast, he took a few
steps forward. Then he saw a huge mastiff circling with
his teeth the wrist of one of the office-boys. In that
clutch the boy could not move and did not dare cry out.
The big animal stood quietly, with shining eyes. Kirby
was overmastered with horror.
"Can't you get loose?" he whispered.
"No." The boy breathed hard and whimpered again.
"He's Mr. Edgar's this is his door."
158
TROUBLE CONTINUES
"Keep still, then!"
Kirby knocked, and heard the dog breathing sharply.
It seemed hard to knock again.
"Yes?" came a sleepy voice.
"Come here a moment," said Kirby.
The door opened; Edgar was in his nightgown.
"What is it?"
"Your dog's got hold of one of the boys."
Edgar laughed keenly.
"He's a dandy watch-dog, all right. Blunt," he called,
"come here!"
The dog brushed by Kirby and disappeared with his
master, and the frightened child scuttered away. Kirby
found that his face was bathed in sweat and his limbs
trembling as if his muscles were trying to break from the
bones.
"What a ghastly house!" he thought. "And how
cruel!"
The little incident seemed like a sudden searchlight
turned on J. J.; it was a symbol of this Big Business.
Terrorism, force, cruelty. Kirby grew hot with anger.
"To thunder with them all!" he thought, and knocked
on J. J.'s door.
"Come," said J. J., and again, as yesterday, the hand
reached up to the rack, and dictation sped Kirby across the
room. He had no time for anger or defiance or dread; he
could only desperately scrawl and scratch all through the
weird process of athletics, bathing, dressing, and break
fast. But when, after breakfast, J. J. sat down at his
desk and began to finger the typewritten letters which
lay there in a neat heap, Kirby felt unnerved again and
strove vainly to muster up defiance. He sat there watch
ing the fingers dandle the convicting evidence as if he were
a cat in the clutch of a snake.
"They seem rather crude," said J. J., and looked hard
at Kirby.
Kirby blushed and swallowed a cough.
THE OLYMPIAN
"You said," he muttered, "I should leave blank spaces
and fill in afterward."
J. J.'s eyes twinkled; his voice had the lilt of lovely
melody.
"I'm afraid, then, that your whole note-book is blank,
Mr. Trask."
He laughed; Kirby laughed, too. This was delightful.
It was generous, intuitive in understanding, merciful.
Indeed, through all the rush and drive of work and the
profane explosions, J. J. seemed in a golden mood this
morning, and Kirby felt that he could almost love this
magnetic, charming, terrible, profane, wicked fellow.
"I ought to go slower; I ought to remember that you
aren't accustomed to my way, Mr. Trask," he said.
"But I forget my manners in my work. At such times
you must pardon me."
Kirby felt that he was liked, and his heart gave a leap
of joy. It was intoxicating. The dream of swift domi
nance filled him again, running through him like an arous
ing liquor. It was as if the tightening pressure of the last
twenty-four hours, straining against a trap-door in his
mind, had now suddenly broken through, releasing a
reservoir of strength beneath that gushed up, wiped away
his fatigue and gave him the alert confidence of position
and the brilliant joy of success. He was holding down a
big job, his employer liked him; so thought came with
brittle snap, his eyes glittered, and he jotted down his
notes with savage keenness. In fact, the relentless
speeding-up that J. J. enforced upon him was already
bringing a more rapid perfecting than months of the
school. And so, with a growing lustiness, he watched
the antics of the industrial captain.
The wonder of the place was that each event that came
along was unexpected, pulsing with the quality of mystery,
romance, adventure. The day was a series of explosive
surprises, and the constant stimulation keyed life to an
electric tenseness. No drudge-work here, no dull repeti-
160
TROUBLE CONTINUES
.tion of the days as in his clerkship. It was all the differ
ence between being a ferry captain and a pirate.
At nine Martin came in.
"Here are five letters about Faversham's story."
"Faversham?" cried J. J. "Who the devil's Faver-
sham?"
"Don't you know? We printed his first story in the
September number you know, the story about the
drunken father."
" That piffle? Well, don't stand there all morning with
the juice dripping. Use your brains; be terse."
"Aw, cut it!" cried Martin. "I've been trying to tell
you for ten minutes ; five people, one in Indian Territory,
one in Chicago, one in New York, and two in Ohio have
written in praising the story."
"Let's see." J. J. glanced at the letters. Then he
jumped out of his seat, his brain glowing.
"He's the coming man!" he cried. "Take this, Mr.
Trask: 'My dear Mr. Faversham, Your story seems to
have stirred the animals in great shape. We are hearing
about it on all sides. But that does not surprise me;
I have felt right along that you sounded a new note the
note of social sympathy. I feel that you have a great
future before you, that your genius will yet make you a
darling of the American people. Come up and take
lunch with me. I think we could arrange for a story a
month."
Thus blithely and easily could this man touch with his
finger the trembling skepticism and obscuration of strug
gling talent, and evoke, at one light contact, an exultant
soul. Kirby thrilled at this modern use of magic. Rub
the lamp and, presto! atomic Faversham, doing hack
work in a hall bedroom, becomes the great, popular
author Everett Hardy Faversham. Of course, if five
letters somehow erred in judgment, then a balloon was
inflated dangerously, and a Faversham, called to do some
thing greater than his power, was doomed to annihilation.
161
THE OLYMPIAN
Such instances were common ; the mail was full of them ;
but that very morning brought one into the room. J. J.
was just in the thick of an amazing article he was dic
tating, an article headed "Why Women Can't Ride
Astride," and Kirby was just seeing a great light through
the words "Women's legs are round, men's flat; hence,
only men's legs can get a firm grip on a horse" when J. J.,
glancing up accidentally, became aware of the old butler
standing at the door. He had been there five min
utes.
J. J. clapped a hand to his head.
"My train of thought!" he roared. "Too late. What's
the message?"
The butler brought a card, and J. J. glanced at it.
"Knox! Knox! Has to bring a stink up here. Oh,
show him up!" He turned to Kirby. "That fellow will
give my whole morning a bad taste."
And he stood, facing the door, hands clasped behind his
back, chin nestling in his high collar. Kirby looked at
him and wondered of what he was reminded .... Yes,
Napoleon, a bulkier-bodied Napoleon. It was like a
flash in the dark. Now he knew what J. J. was up to.
And, in fact, over J. J.'s desk hung a large picture of the
Little Corporal.
Then a sorry-looking fellow of thirty-five entered.
"Good morning, Mr. Knox," said J. J.
"Good morning. Mr. Harrington, I came up to see
about the stories why you don't take them any more."
J. J. spoke eloquently in a hurt voice.
"Is there any need to ask? I can't say how disap
pointed I am in you. After such high expectations ! You
haven't made good, Mr. Knox " And as Knox started
to protest J. J.'s hand went up and his voice deepened.
"No, no, you haven't made good "
"But, Mr. Harrington"
"Let me finish. I gave you every opportunity. I
singled you out and raised you up. I'm deeply disap-
162
TROUBLE CONTINUES
pointed. I expected you to develop, grow, hit harder.
But you've lost your punch. You've gone back on me.
No, don't break in, please. I'm convinced, Mr. Knox,
that you weren't cut out for a writer; some other work
you'd better try something else."
"But my last story, 'The First-Born'"
"That," said J. J., damning it completely, "isn't a
story at all. It's a sketch."
"It's the same stuff you always took."
"Come, come, don't do my thinking for me. Sordid,
your writing is sordid. And the public is tired of reading
unpleasant things. The tired business man needs re
freshment, romance, optimism."
Knox spoke quiveringly:
"Mr. Harrington, you raised my expectations so in the
beginning that I took my wife and child brought them
to New York. And now you're throwing me over.
What is there for me to do?"
J. J.'s voice became soft, melodious:
"Why, I'm sorry, Mr. Knox, I'm sorry. This is a hard
world, and we all get sandbagged in the end. What more
can I say? We all make our mistakes. And if I could
put your personal affairs before the good of the magazine,
believe me, I would. But you yourself, as a fair-minded
man, know that this is impossible."
Knox gave him one despairing look, turned, and
shambled out, a broken man. Thus neatly and with an
easy gesture J. J. stuck a pin through the balloon he him
self had inflated, and one of his former great men was
blithely dumped into the garbage-heap of the failures.
But he did the deed so convincingly, and with such sure
touch, that Kirby entirely missed the tragedy of a blighted
career and exulted in the free, big power that made or
marred little human beings. J. J. seemed some sort of
a god who could call a soul into life and then smite it.
Kirby was made drunk with the feeling that he shared
the power of this god, that he was J. J.'s good right arm,
12 163
THE OLYMPIAN
or at least his pen, that he was on the side of the Thunderer
and helped to wield Thor's hammer.
This feeling was sharpened, and, in fact, all the domi
nance and fierce lust of authority was evoked in Kirby
by an order J. J. now dictated:
TO THE STAFF AND HEADS OF DEPARTMENTS
Hereafter all reports and requests will be handed in to Mr.
Trask, and come through him to me.
You will also consider any orders that he gives as emanating
from me.
"You see," said J. J., smiling, "I want my secretary to
be a real one."
So Kirby went down to the factory with a new haughti
ness, a new spring in his walk, a new fire in his eye. He
typed the order and took copies of it about. The seven
received it ruefully, but before the gray eyes of this bull-
headed young man they maintained a discreet silence;
all save Martin and Brent.
Martin muttered:
"The old man's crazy. You've only been here a day."
Brent looked at Kirby sharply.
"Ha!" he laughed. "I wouldn't be surprised if you're
going to be the next favorite."
"What do you mean?" asked Kirby.
"Oh, he's always got one. Boyd was his last. Now
look at him. He's leading a dog's life. Watch out, Kirby !' '
Again the notion of quicksands. But Kirby laughed it
away; now that he was aroused and had power, he felt that
in a pinch he could even flatten the strength of J. J.
"I'm not like these others," he told himself. "J. J. is
up against something new this time."
So he went back to the room of the Superman. But
when he reached the open door he heard a string of hot
filth and profanity punctured by the angry comments of
Edgar. Father and son were damning each other.
164
TROUBLE CONTINUES
Kirby entered on the words:
"Ought to kick you put. You've not even got the
guts of Mr. Trask."
This was obvious ; but Edgar, seeing Kirby, grew white-
faced, and sputtered:
"I won't have you putting him over me. I wouldn't
take a hello from him."
"Wouldn't . . . you hell-roaring," etc. "I'll make you!"
Whereupon Edgar rushed out and slammed the door.
To Kirby's amazement, he saw tears trickling down
J. J.'s face. The Captain of Industry seemed broken, and
in his voice was quivering pathos.
"I shouldn't have spoken that way before you; but"
he paused and could barely speak "you can't know
what it is to be a father."
This was wonderful. It showed that the great man had
his human weakness, that as a father he failed as most
mortals do.
But a little later he was dictating a letter to Langley,
that " No matter what ridicule and abuse we must endure,
I shall go down to everlasting ruin with you to establish
your great truth. Man is destined to fly; every element
must give before his spirit of conquest; Earth is his . ..."
Such were the kaleidoscopic changes of this magical
man. He seemed to be everywhere at once, slaying here,
upraising there, weeping, laughing, cursing, scheming.
Now he was heart and soul in the campaign against child
labor, now risking his fortune and his life in pioneering
some great new project. Surely, thought Kirby, he was a
genius, or at least a near-genius; big enough to fight battles
for democracy, to send fine dreams among the drudges,
to shed his charm on lonely farms and shabby slums,
to stand by a Langley while all the world scoffed, to toil
terribly, to swing aggregations of men. Yes, he was
typically a big American, not struggling merely for power
and money, though he wanted both, but also engaged in a
spiritual enterprise a desire to do large and ample deeds,
165
THE OLYMPIAN
to create a greater America, to educate the people, to
further science and what he thought was democracy.
But still, was he truly great? There was a Lincoln who
could loaf and invite his soul, be undecided, worried, and
wait and wait for the hidden truth, and who had gentle
pity and helped men by taking on his own shoulders a part
of their guilt and their grief. No, J. J. was not a Lincoln,
but a restless half-genius, impatient, cruelly swift, lacking
poise.
His charm was that of an imaginative boy with a king's
power a sort of boy-poet. And this made him a perfect
popular editor the magnetic needle deflected by every
faint change in the popular current giving up his heart
and soul ten times a day to each new scheme that sprang,
full-grown, from his heated mind. He could grasp the
straw of an idea, and out of this flimsy and sordid material
build a glorious cloud-world of vision and color ; and then,
like a boy, after the passage of hours or days, when the new
scheme began to stale, he flung it petulantly away, already
lost in something else. Unreliable, easily promising, rarely
performing, lovable, hatable, unique. Talent might suf
fer, but his swift responses kept his magazine salable
a revel of new sensations for a jaded and overworked
people.
AndKirby exulted in it; he felt that he now lived where
life was hottest, where the speed was greatest, where
power went forth changing and manipulating the world.
Here he belonged, for just this he had come on his lonely
pilgrimage from Trent. And Kirby, inexperienced, felt
sure that this violence was a part of greatness. He did
not know, of course, that before the financial troubles
began J. J. had been one of the sweetest and gentlest of
men. The lack of money was poisoning him.
But the proof of his power came again and again.
Martin stopped in at eleven-thirty and said that Hank,
the foreman of the press-room, was raising trouble. He was
a little drunk and was going around swearing that he was
166
TROUBLE CONTINUES
going to "do" for J. J., knock him down when he met him
next.
"Tell him to come here at once," snapped J. J.
Twenty minutes later he came, an ugly giant slouching
through the doorway. He had a great head, black eyes,
and unshaven cheeks; he was in overalls, and his bare
arms undulated with serpentine muscles; his big fists
were clenched, and he kept muttering ferociously. It
seemed to Kirby that J. J., who was by far the smaller
man, was in real danger.
"What the devil you want?" growled Hank, ominously.
J. J. merely turned, without rising.
"I want you to be a man, Hank, and not a big beast."
His voice was sharply quiet.
"Jes' get up," muttered Hank, "and I'll make a floor-
mop of yer; jes' get up."
He advanced slowly.
"Hank," said J. J., with wonderful sweetness, "three
months ago I called at your house and saw your wife and
children."
Hank paused at these words, his curiosity aroused.
"Your wife is a lovely young woman," J. J. continued,
"and the children are as fine as a man could want. They
love you, I could see that. You ought to be proud of such
a family, yes, instead of breaking their hearts by acting
like a big beast. What will your wife say when you come
home in this condition ? And what will your own children
think of their father?"
Hank stared at him, and, being elemental in his emo
tions, this primitive appeal stabbed him in his heart.
Suddenly his shoulders heaved, and he began to sob
heavily.
"Beg pardon, Mr. Harrington," he muttered.
" Hank, you're a good man at heart. Now you go back
to your work and behave yourself. That's all."
And out Hank went. J. J. had known exactly the
right thing to do; unerringly he touched the central nerve.
167
THE OLYMPIAN
Kirby's brain was hardly quick enough to react on all
these revelations, but again he felt that he could almost
love this man.
Lunch-time came.
"It's late," said J. J. "Come down and have a bite
with us."
Kirby did so, and at once wished he hadn't. About the
table sat six of the cursed seven; J. J.; Kirby; Mrs. Har
rington, a stout, faded-faced, silent woman; and a young
couple, friends of the family. This was bad enough ; but
worse, the table had not the familiar table-cloth, merely
doilies under the plates. This made Kirby nervous the
table seemed so vulgarly naked. He blushed, and sat
with sealed lips, again the outsider.
Then, glancing up between courses, he was horrified to
see the young lady smoking a cigarette. He had seen
women of the streets do this, of course, yet the sight was
inexpressibly shocking. It but sharpened his speech-
lessness.
A discussion was going on about hypnotism.
"I've practised it, " said Martin. ' ' Want to see a test ?' '
They did.
"Wait till William comes in."
William was Martin's valet, and also waited on the table.
There was silence while they waited. Finally the kitchen
door opened, and pale-faced, servile William came in, a
platter on his upraised hand.
He had not taken ten steps before Martin murmured:
"Sleep, William," and made passes with his hand.
William stopped as if brought up by a bullet, platter
still upraised, eyes vacant, stiffened into a trance. Then
Martin released him, and William went on totally uncon
scious of his dramatic act.
Kirby felt again that this house was ghastly. He de
cided never to eat there again.
J. J. started for town after lunch, and Kirby was left
alone for the afternoon. He toiled ferociously, and,
168
TROUBLE CONTINUES
though by six o'clock he was so fatigued that he thought he
should sink asleep over the machine, and though his back
and his fingers ached unendurably, he felt brightly happy.
He had the feeling that he was coming on.
Out in the lovely twilight he and Brent walked home
together. The woods were ghostly, and in the orange-
colored sky the evening star sparkled alone.
"Well, how do you like it?" asked Brent.
"Oh, it's great," said Kirby.
"I hope you keep on thinking so," said the plain-spoken
manuscript clerk.
The side street was shaded like a lane by large maple-
trees, and they stepped softly over the fallen leaves,
clicked the gate, entered the quiet house, and went up and
washed. But Kirby's excited mind kept beating on in
this nest of peace, this soil-deep harvest-hush. The great
evening laid no cool finger to his lips, folded him with no
garment of oblivion and homely joy.
He went down to the supper-table, buoyant, eager to
brag a little. A jolly spirit ruled the room, and Kirby
now became thoroughly conscious of its occupants. Last
night he had been dimly aware of being introduced to a
daughter; to-night, almost with amazement, he noticed
her, a girl of eighteen Myrtle Allison.
Her brother was teasing her.
"You're not dressed up to-night, are you?"
Her laugh tinkled delightfully, and she blushed quickly.
"Mr. Trask," said Fred Allison, "why do you suppose
Myrtle is dressed fit to kill to-night? Can you guess?"
"Fred!" cried Myrtle. "Please don't."
' ' Leave the girl be, ' ' said Mrs. Allison, laughing. ' ' Your
turn will come next, Fred, if you're not careful."
Fred roared with laughter.
" Don't you believe it ! Well, sis, what are you blushing
about?"
She became confused, and looked away.
"You're too mean," she whispered, ready to cry.
169
THE OLYMPIAN
For she had met Kirby's eyes, and she saw that he saw.
Her simplicity and shyness could not bear this candor.
Her father swiftly changed the talk to shield her :
"Well, what do you think of J. J., Mr. Trask?"
But Kirby's desire to boast had faded in this homely
atmosphere.
" I think he knows how to make people work, ' ' he said,
and they laughed with delight.
They had barely finished supper when a young man en
tered, and Myrtle rose to meet him. And Kirby had
revealed to him the exquisite glory of her girlhood. She
seemed to hold, for her few moments, the light and vanish
ing wonder of youth; in her silvery laughter and the wild-
rose coloring of her cheeks, in her slender grace, in her
softened hair and the rainy freshness of her eyes, there was
gathered for a brief hour the dreams of the fields in
April, the float of the clouds at sunrise, the transient
and tragic loveliness of the spring.
Watching her, Kirby felt the day fall from him; ambi
tion, blood-tasting, the mad chaos of J. J., the ruinous
power, passed like a dissolving cloud over this young girl.
Not since Mrs. Waverley had left him had Kirby felt so
cleansed and free. It was as if he had two natures one,
the fighter; the other, the tender comrade and lover;
and as if it needed a woman or a girl to keep the more
gracious one alive.
XVI
THE FAVORITE
KIRBY now rapidly developed that dual personality so
common in American life. He was, to use the popular
phrase, one man in business, another at home. In the fac
tory he was haughty, secretive, decisive, loving to see his
will break down the wills of others; he exulted in sheer
strength and sly fighting; but when, at the day's end,
he stepped down the lane of maples, he was willing to have
a young girl take, as it were, his heavy armor from his
bruised shoulders, helmet from his head and lance from
his hand, and then envelop him in tenderness and song.
She had a sweet, clear voice, and often in the crowded
front parlor, with the family lounging about, she played
on the piano and sang negro songs and some of the senti
mental American balladry. George Westcott, her lover,
went out to Chicago shortly after Kirby's arrival, and for
a time Kirby saw much of her.
She would consent to Sunday-afternoon walks along
the roads around Inwood, and they would loiter pleasantly
along, with the automobiles dusting by them; or some
times take a trolley to the sea and spend a few hours on the
sand. At such times Kirby was liquid-clear in his emo
tions, chivalrous, charming, full of mirth and wistful
tenderness. But she was very loyal to Westcott, and their
companionship developed little further. Her innocence,
her emotions as changeful as the sea, her elusive and quick
beauty, her soft voice and gentle manners, brought all that
was beautiful in Kirby to the surface and kept it from
dying.
171
THE OLYMPIAN
"I wonder," said Allison once, "how such a nice,
thoughtful fellow ever gets on with J. J."
But he did get on, and went with amazing rapidity.
Kirby always needed something big to bring him out,
and his new job was, in a way, gigantic. It aroused his
whole nature and developed one resource after another.
It was not long before he was an expert in stenography and
typewriting, easily outdistancing the speedy J. J. But
he was not content with merely secretarial work and the
fun of watching the chameleon changes of the business;
he went about, poking in here and there, and mastering
this and that detail, the secrets of this and that depart
ment. His brain grew active with schemes, and almost
daily he had some vital suggestion which J. J. eagerly
seized upon, expanded, and put into action. In fact,
J. J. found him stimulating.
"Mr. Trask," he said, "there's something in you
receptivity, sympathy, imagination that gives me fresh
ness."
And Kirby found that J. J. was a master in absorbing
other brains, draining them of their best, and using the
fresh strength in his own work. But Kirby, instead of
being drained by the process, used the same method
himself and drew from others, and even from J. J., ideas
and manners and ways of work.
It was not long before he became known as J. J.'s
favorite, and hence feared. Once or twice he carried
tales back that resulted in explosions in the editorial
office. Besides that, he showed a native power of his own
a haughty hardness, an abrupt speech, a flash of eyes,
and overbearing carriage that provoked timorousness in
others. He was typically American in the swiftness with
which he acquired a whole new set of manners learning
a way of eating by watching the staff at table, a way of
ridding himself of questioners from Martin, this gesture
and lilt of speech from J. J., and that walk from Edgar.
As a result, he began to dress more fastidiously, getting
172
THE FAVORITE
his clothes made to order, wearing a stick-pin in his tie,
and picking colors and cut with expert eye. He also
began an acquaintanceship with Hurley, the associate
editor, and through him learned how to play golf, a game
he didn't much care for in itself, but which brought him
in social contact with successful men. In fact, Kirby had
no use for games; business was the real game, after all,
for it touched all life, whereas a little play game did
nothing but bring out a facile skill and ended in a few
points either way. Besides, he could never bear to lose.
He always lost his temper with the game.
The staff was jealous of him, naturally. His rise was a
matter of a few weeks; he was young, and they found their
years of experience overridden by this haughty young man.
But his power was too real to be conspired against, and it
grew from month to month. J. J. trusted him implicitly,
left much of the correspondence to be answered by his
secretary, and, when absent, allowed Kirby to carry on the
routine with full authority. He got in the habit, too, of
having Kirby investigate various departments and re
port on how they worked and what results they showed;
and the silent, abrupt, hard young man made the em
ployees quail.
As, for instance, ringer on report sheet, he might say to
Meggs, head of subscription department:
"You show two hundred less subscribers this May than
last. Why?"
Meggs would try to be pleasant.
"Lots of reasons, Mr. Trask. Hard times "
Kirby would break in:
' ' Wendell's Magazine shows an increase, I'm told. Hard
times, Mr. Meggs?"
Meggs would color up.
"Well, if I must say so, the magazine hasn't been up to
the mark lately."
"Exactly where?"
"Well, human interest "
THE OLYMPIAN
"That's guesswork. Let me see the circular you sent
out this month and also that of last May."
Kirby would then study these.
"I thought so. Nothing new; same old drool; you'd
better have a talk with J. J. Do you think people will
bite the same bait twice?"
And Kirby would light a whopping big black cigar, for
he was learning to be a great smoker now, and a great
drinker. First, the terrific drive of work required the whip
of stimulation to keep it going, and, second, drinking put
him "next" to his associates and the newcomer, and
smoking gave him a guard against intrusion. Cigar in
mouth, he could take a puff when he was embarrassed for
an answer, or when he wanted to stand off an encroaching
power. Five quiet puffs would disconcert an unruly or
angry man, and they gave Kirby a great air of reserve and
aloofness and stored strength. He soon became known
by his cigar and the way he twisted up one whole side of
his face to keep it in place.
There were nights, too, when he reveled in New York to
" blow off steam," as he put it. For at times the compan
ionship of gentle Myrtle did not rid him of his frenzied but
repressed excitement. He fell also into a habit of eating
big meals and eating with thoughtless speed. And as a
result of the drinking, the food, the more luxurious habits
of life, he gradually began to get a little stout, his face
filled out, until he looked like a sleek, dangerous fellow,
with bristling gray eyes. He was always, however, very
handsome in his way, and women invariably were at
tracted to him.
His power over J. J. was very real. One morning,
about three months after Kirby's coming, J. J. was in an
unusually tempestuous mood. He found a bad error in
one of the letters. Quick as a flash he turned on his
secretary.
"You damned young " he began, but he got no
further. Kirby rose abruptly, his cheeks hot.
THE FAVORITE
"I resign my job, Mr. Harrington," he snapped, and
started for the door.
J. J. arose at once.
"Mr. Trask."
Kirby turned. He saw J. J.'s face, agitated, wistful,
almost tearful.
"I want to apologize to you," said J. J. "You're
quite right. I respect you for your feelings; I think all
the more of you."
And so Kirby came back, and remained, amazingly, the
only uncursed man on the premises.
He was kept supremely busy. Sometimes he accom
panied J. J. to New York and took dictation on the train;
sometimes he was sent alone to the city to interview some
author or placate some creditor. When summer came,
and J. J. had to be away for several weeks, Kirby was
allowed a free hand with routine work ; and in the follow
ing summer he was even allowed to put into effect a system
he had originated for handling the mail-bags. Naturally,
each time he asked for a raise in salary he received it,
until at last he had forty a week. Out of this he saved
only ten, however, for he was a liberal spender.
And all the time he gloried in the work. He had little
use for the editorial side of the magazine; he reveled,
rather, in the audacity and imaginative greatness of
the business, the storminess of J. J., the subjugation of
employees by that terrible man, the hand-to-hand con
flicts he engaged in with every human being that appeared.
There was continual storm and stress in the place; hardly
a week went by without J. J. uprooting the methods of
work and instituting some new system.
"Won't give them time to cake," he said. "A caked
thing is dead."
And men came and went in swift careers, raised by this
magician at one season to be dropped at another. And
there were all sorts of problems to be met : there was a vast
sum owing to the paper company ; artists and authors were
I7S
THE OLYMPIAN
clamoring for checks, and certain banks refused to make
further loans. But Kirby persistently shut his eyes to
the fact that he was apparently treading perilously on
quicksand.
No other man had been a secretary so long ; but Kirby,
as he himself knew, was out of the ordinary run. He had
no weak kindliness, no qualms of conscience, no woman's
intervention to hold him back. He argued that life is a
fight, and the victory is with the hardiest fighter; that
this is the law of nature, and that it behooves men to live
within the law.
And so came the autumn of the second year, and then,
one morning in October, an unusual occurrence. Kirby
was typing in his little office when he heard shouts and a
scuffling noise. He went out in the hall just in time to
see the door of Boyd's room slam shut. A cowering
office-boy greeted him, and the staff and other employees
were emerging from the other offices.
"What is it?" asked Kirby.
"Mr. Boyd and Mr. Martin are scrapping."
It was so, really so, and it was delightful. A thrilled
group stood there while furniture crashed, glass was
shattered, and elemental English pierced the air.
Hurley and Edgar took bets.
"Ten to five on Martin," said Hurley.
"Take you up," cried Edgar; "Boyd knows jiu-jitsu."
"Aye," said Hurley, "but Martin has a solar-plexus
left."
Meggs held the stakes, tittering.
"It ain't jiu-jitsu or lefts, "he mumbled; "it's chairs and
ink-wells."
Crash, bang, and then the impact of bodies on the
straining door.
"You little English pup," they heard from Martin,
"put down that paper-cutter!"
"Not till I've jabbed you," said Boyd.
"Murder," mumbled Meggs.
176
THE FAVORITE
And Kirby felt that now the real spirit of the place was
asserting itself in its most normal way; just this was done
daily, though without fists and bloodshed.
Just then J. J. came swiftly up the stairs. He came
rarely, but had a most unfortunate way of coming at the
moment of crisis. The group turned pale.
"What is it?" asked J. J.
They told him, and he knocked vigorously on the door.
"Martin," he shouted, "come out of there!"
A hush within ; the door opened, and the group, craning
their necks, gaped in on a scene of desolate ruin. Chairs
lay broken, Boyd's desk was naked, paper strewed the
floor, and the walls and floor ran black and red ink.
There stood the two combatants, breathing in gasps,
clothes torn, fists clenched, like two caught school-boys.
J. J. spoke hoarsely:
"I can't speak for inexpressible shame two grown men
heads of this business to indulge in this disgraceful
row. Martin, go up to your room; Boyd, I will see you
later."
He turned and passed out, Martin following like a
whipped dog, and silence returned. But the room had
to be rekalsomined, and when Boyd put in a bill for
seventy-five cents for having a black eye painted the
amount was paid by the cashier and the bill duly entered
by the bookkeeper on the books.
The next morning Boyd was summoned to J. J.'s
room. Kirby was there getting dictation. The former
favorite, with his painted eye, came in very quietly. J. J.
turned on him:
"Have you anything to say?"
"Yes," said Boyd, in his low, English voice, "when I
came to you I was a decent fellow. Now I'm little less
than a beast. I beg to resign my position."
"I accept," said J. J. "You can go to-day. Good
morning."
And, swallowing tears, another broken man passed out
177
THE OLYMPIAN
from the room that was a very rack for the cracking and
rending of the human soul.
J. J. sat in thought a moment, then looked at Kirby.
"You could get a stenographer to help you out with my
work," he said, "and so be free to carry Boyd's work for
a while, until we see whether you are big enough for it.
I think you could do it. At least we'll try, at three
thousand a year Acting Business Manager. If you make
good you get that job."
And so Kirby rose. He was twenty-eight. It was
another case of a young American put into power without
much real foundation of training or experience. In his
drunken triumph he carefully forgot the making and
breaking of Boyd, as men on the make are apt to do.
XVII
THE WOMAN
A^TER two years of being dictated to Kirby now had
the luxurious joy of dictating to another. He would
tell the office-boy to ask Mr. Loughlin to come in, and a
pale young man, just as tremulous as ever Kirby was,
would come in deferentially, pull out the flap of the desk,
adjust his note-book, and wait for the terrible Business
Manager. Then Kirby, rocking back in his revolving-
chair, pulling on a cigar, a letter in his hand and thought
knitting his brow, would say:
" Take this dictation. Jackson Press Company, Nyack,
etc."
He felt now that he was a man of standing in the world,
and so did the factory; for a man who could run the
business on the one hand and on the other keep in the
secret counsels of J. J. was a man to be deferred to.
The staff was raw with jealousy, but could not even
show it.
However, there were two yellow streaks in Kirby's
triumph. One was the fact that he was only Acting
Business Manager; that he was on trial, and that if he
failed to make good he would be veritably reduced in rank
in the eyes of all, a shame he could not tolerate. The
other was the palpable flimsiness of the whole institution.
Now that he had control, he could really see the financial
undertow, a fierce back-wash of increasing debt that
threatened at any moment to drown the entire business.
He could not delude himself longer; at short notice the
13 i79
THE OLYMPIAN
enterprise might cease, in which case he would be out of
work. And he was sane enough to know that with his
superficial experience he would not be able to get a
position of this kind elsewhere. It meant sinking back
to the drudges ; it meant eventual failure.
He made his brain sweat over this problem: how to
escape upward before he was dragged downward. For
some time there was no clue. Then finally he evolved a
Machiavellian scheme.
It so happened that J. J. had begun a new series of
articles in the magazine, on "Captains of Industry," one
each on the head of each trust, as sugar, beef, tobacco,
wool, oil, and steel. This naturally brought in Jordan
Watts. A letter was addressed to him, informing him
that the magazine already had material in hand for the
article, but preferred to get it from him direct. The
answer came from Mary Watts. It ran briefly:
" My father, as you know, is opposed to giving informa
tion to the press. However, it would be unwise to pub
lish an uncorrected statement. If you will send the
article to me I will pass upon it."
J. J. replied that it would be to Watts' interest to
furnish the basis of an entirely fresh article, one convincing
in its straightforwardness, and finally Mary answered that
the matter had been left in her hands. "I handle at
present all the publicity work for my father," and if Mr.
Harrington would send a question-blank she would see if
it were wise to fill it out.
At this point Kirby asked that the matter be put in his
hands. J. J. was deeply involved in an airship meet and
had little time for formulating question-blanks, hence, in
his usual way with Kirby, he consented.
Kirby now pushed his scheme, thereby entering the
ranks of those fortune-hunters who, like a black swarm,
buzz around the hive of the millionaire. And this was the
not unnatural outcome of the teachings that had nourished
his youth; the cheap American get-there -you-can-succeed
1 80
THE WOMAN
philosophy; and the man who but a few years since had
wept over a ruined Bess now, by the pressure of savage
business, became himself one of those tramplers who make
what they are the shop-girl and the drudge. Yet the
outcome was so logical that not once did he wince. It was
himself against the world; it was crush or be crushed.
It was quite natural, too, that he should meet the
Watts; they were the peak of the mountain, and no
matter which side he climbed they stood there before him.
Then what more simple than, having aimed at them once,
he should now aim at them again? He had missed the
first opportunity through inexperience and ignorance; he
was different now; he was a power himself; he was a
vital part of the power of the press, a power that could
equal at a pinch the power of a millionaire. Clothed with
this authority he could speak face to face with Mary or
her father, and they who had so charmingly turned him
out-of-doors four years ago would have to take cog
nizance of him to-day.
He remembered Mary as plain-faced and girlish and
very lovely in the way she had tried to shield and comfort
him. At that time he had felt younger than she; now
he felt immeasurably older. If he met her now his de
veloped masculinity would overshadow her, and he knew
the tricks whereby he could dominate. He surely knew
now how he attracted women.
Once there had been an explosion in the photograph-
room, and Kirby, running out to the end of the hall with
fifty others, saw the pall of smoke in the sky-lit room.
With splendid incaution he dashed in, crawled on his
stomach, and dragged the unconscious photographer out.
And the huddled girls of the subscription department
wept, not for a burned and overpowered photographer, but
for a singed Kirby Trask. He knew this, and, walking
out on a warm noon, he could not help but be aware of
these girls, lounging in the grass of the railroad embank
ment, eating their lunch and gazing after him. He re-
181
THE OLYMPIAN
membered, too, Janice and Bess, Mrs. Waverley and
Myrtle, even Mary though he tried to forget Frances
Ferguson.
In fact, Kirby was becoming, in a way, a Richard-the-
Lion-Hearted bold, cold, haughty, and yet with such a
reckless dash that weaker men followed him and women
loved him.
"A young devil," said Meggs, and took a certain
fearful pride in being ordered about by him.
There was curiously some of this reckless splendor even
in this new plan, this attempt to rush a millionaire. He did
not know, of course, whether Mary was affianced or not
he had seen no newspaper report on the subject yet he
imagined that she might be. And he was sane enough
not to expect anything so extraordinary. What he hoped
for was that he might meet Mary, win her friendship,
through her insinuate himself into the life of old Watts,
show his power, and secure some place in the machinery of
the Trust. Once in, he had no doubt of himself.
In short, he hoped to escape through Mary up to the
top before he was draggged down again to the bottom.
The situation was critical and needed desperate action;
he was doing nothing dishonest, no, nothing more than
thousands of men were doing daily in one way and an
other political hangers-on, office-seekers, social climbers,
professional men, employees. Yes, it sometimes seemed
as if the whole world were doing it; as if all recognized the
truth which the commercial traveler on the sleeper had
put so bluntly:
"It takes pull now, pull. All the push in the world
won't help a feller."
And this "pull" could only be secured through per
sonal alliances. Acquaintanceship, friendship, were the
means of rising.
So he wrote to Mary:
"Mr. Harrington has placed the matter of the 'Cap
tains of Industry' article in my hands. We feel that the
182
THE WOMAN
question-blank would be unsatisfactory both to you and
to us; it might necessitate a lengthy correspondence. It
might be wiser, as it would be quicker and easier, to have
an interview of twenty minutes. And if you will name
a place and date we can dispose of the matter at once."
This was a chance shot; if it carried home he might
meet her. If he met her she might remember him. Much
might follow.
He sent the letter on a Saturday; the following Tuesday
came the reply, typewritten on note-paper, and signed
in Mary's large hand:
"I understand that Inwood is a short automobile ride
from the city. I will be out there, unless I hear from you,
on Wednesday afternoon at three."
He could have leaped up and shouted with victorious
exultation. Then he had misgivings; he would have pre
ferred to meet her in the city where he could see her
alone. J. J. might be on the scene to absorb the young
woman as he absorbed everything; or the staff might
intervene. He decided then to tell no one about the
interview, and to leave orders that if on Wednesday after
noon any one asked for Mr. Trask he (or she) was to be
sent up to the house. The plan was not without its merit,
for J. J.'s library on the ground floor needed overhauling,
a job that had been deferred from time to time. He could
go there and watch from the window and intercept her
before she reached any one else.
So on Wednesday morning this cheerful, premeditating
young man shaved and , dressed with fastidious care,
gave his hair the highest excellence of waviness, and went
to work feeling like a powerful, smooth-running dynamo.
Lunch came, one o'clock, two. He went up to the library.
"Where's J. J.?" he asked the butler.
"Gone to the city."
Fortune smiled upon him. Wonderful, indeed, he re
flected, what made for success in this world. There was
Brent, for instance, the manuscript clerk, just as fearless,
183
THE OLYMPIAN
just as big-brained, just as hard a worker as Kirby. Yet
Brent stayed low, couldn't rise, couldn't work out of the
rut. Was it that he lacked recklessness? Recklessness
ruined as often as made a man, and all the recklessness in
the world was impotent against locked doors. It must
be then a matter of luck. Kirby was lucky lucky that
he went to Atwood's, lucky that the J. J. opening was
there, lucky that J. J. liked him, and now supremely
lucky that Mary Watts was adventurous enough (or was
it curious enough?) to come out to Inwood on a chance
letter.
The library was a long, dusky room, with high ceiling,
with old-fashioned sooty white-marble fireplace, and with
many-folding brown shutters on the storm-stained Gothic
windows. Unprotected books cluttered wooden shelves to
the ceiling; the furniture was old, and the corners care
lessly filled with dusty heaps of manuscripts, with stacks
of old file-boxes, with creaking revolving-cabinets. The
room had no library atmosphere, no inviting radiance of
warmth and comfort for the browsing reader. It was more
like a cold, forbidding store-room, shadowy and tinged
with purple gloom.
Yet to-day an atmosphere of romance and secret ad
venture pervaded it, like some dark stone tower-room of
the Middle Ages where a man and woman whispered to
gether in the twilight to keep their voices from echoing
through the perilous halls. Charmed and expectant,
Kirby fingered gingerly the dusty file-boxes, and ever and
again went to the windows and glanced out. He had half
a fear that she would not come.
The day was gray, silent, as if snow were in the air, and
an intimate melancholy lay like an enfolding spirit on the
bare slopes, the gravel path, the model factory with its
plume of steamy smoke, and the bare woods beyond. A
precipitation of sadness and loving gloom lived down
wardly on all things, the gray-bosomed, gray-haired
ancient sky laying her desolate breast on the wintry
184
THE WOMAN
earth. And traced against the gray were the bare
branches of the frozen trees.
Kirby's spirit was touched by this melancholy, and some
of his excitement died in it like a hot flash in its own gray
smoke. For a moment he wondered at his own hardness
and self -absorption, for the day touched him like a woman,
and the hidden beauty of his spirit quivered at the touch.
He went back to the file-boxes, and then back and forth.
The light seemed to be waning in the growing gloom.
"She may not come at all in this weather," he reflected.
Then, in the silence, he heard the far chug-chug of an
automobile, and glancing out saw a big brown French car
stopping before the portico of the factory. A chauffeur
got out and went lightly up the steps. Kirby grew hot
about the temples, an unexpected feeling of timidity
palsied him, and vivid memories of four years ago came
back. Then he had nerved himself, and at the crucial
moment lost his nerve. After all, he was the same human
being. He wished almost angrily that the day had been
of a different temper sharp wind and sunshine, storm,
anything that could keep a man hardy. This weather was
dissolving.
Then, as he expected, the chauffeur came down and re-
entered the car, which started with a snort. He felt as
if his doom were coming toward him; as if unescapable
Nemesis were overwhelming him; his blood rushed to his
head and he trembled. Now the car was lost under the
slope of the hill, now it took the long curve of the carriage
road, now it was hidden beyond the house, and now,
abruptly, it swept up to the porch and stopped. He got a
glimpse of a muffled woman in the rear seat, veil over
head, and heavy automobile coat.
But he bolted for the door, to intercept the butler, and
flung it open. The chauffeur came up, a powerful, clean-
faced man, in leather boots, great fur-lined gloves, and
heavy coat.
"Mr. Traskin?"
185
THE OLYMPIAN
"Yes. Miss Watts? Show her in."
His voice came in unfamiliar accents.
The chauffeur went back, and in the eternity that fol
lowed Kirby knew himself for a bold fool. He was glad
that he had not the gray eyes of a Mrs. Waverley upon
him.
Now the woman descended from the car and came with
firm tread up the steps. He had the fleeting impression
that it was not Mary Watts at all, but some entire stranger.
She stood before him, and her voice had a sound, healthy
ring:
"Mr. Trask?"
"Yes," he said, a little huskily. "Miss Watts? Step
into the library, please."
He closed the door and followed her. With a graceful
motion she was unpinning and taking off the veil, and he
helped her off with the coat. Then she glanced round and
sat down. There was a freedom and health in her mo
tions that was sharply, pleasantly perceptible.
And then, as Kirby saw the face and the simple black
dress for she was in mourning for her sister's death
he experienced an unhinging shock. He had made no
allowance for the four years that had changed him from a
disorganized youth to a powerful man; but these same
years had changed Mary. The pleasant, impulsive girl-
ishness had fled; she had matured, she was rounded, and
her face, which he had thought now plain, now blushingly
radiant, was superb; soft, simply waved dark hair over a
powerful forehead; large brown, honest eyes; a strong jaw.
And yet she appeared very young, as if she knew men, knew
manners, knew the ways of the world, but seemed, with
large eyes, trying to wonderingly peer into the mysteries of
life. It was as if she knew nothing of her own unfolded
nature, the generations that were sealed up in her, the
woman-mate that lay within her, tranced, waiting the kiss
that should waken not only her, but the whole palace of
the woman. She had the face and bearing of a woman
186
THE WOMAN
who thought, who felt, honest before all things emotion
ally, intellectually honest. There was no lie in Mary
Watts. And yet through all ran the cloudy wistfulness of
an unmated woman.
Kirby's abrupt silence, painful with this flood of revela
tion, caused her to look up and examine him. She bent
forward a little.
"I must have met you somewhere."
It was half a statement, half a question. He turned red.
"You did," he faltered. "Four years ago. I came to
your house for supper."
She seemed to be reading his soul with those honest eyes.
"Four years ago. And what was the occasion?"
"I had just come to the city Mrs. Janice Hadden had
given me a letter to your father."
"I remember." Her soft laughter was clear. "And
father was rude to you, until you exploded on him. I've
never forgotten that; it was unusual." He began to
breathe easier and feel elated. She went on, earnestly:
" I really meant to ask you up again, to make up for that
night, and I know it's no excuse that I've been simply
swept along all this time."
He could say nothing. He smiled, and sat down.
"And now you're here, interviewing people."
"Yes," he said, and he could not help adding, "I'm
Acting Business Manager."
"In four years. Splendid!" she said, enthusiastically.
Then she looked at him and spoke in a probing way:
"But does the Business Manager get up articles?"
He squirmed inwardly. Her honesty was getting un
pleasant.
"No," he murmured, trying to smile, "but I'm still
doing some of Mr. Harrington's secretarial work."
"I see."
Speech evidently was at an end. In the waning light
he saw her face glistening out of the black shadows.
Beauty and life were there, shining in the engulfing
187
THE OLYMPIAN
dark, the beam of a lightship on stormy seas. Something
profoundly devout was stirred in him, and he felt in the
clutch of a huge, exquisite power.
Then, to snap the silence, she began a rapid questioning
that reminded him strangely of her father.
"How long have you been here?"
"Two years."
"And you started as secretary?"
"Yes."
"And before then?"
He could hardly speak for shame.
"I worked with the Continental Express Company."
"As a stenographer?"
She would have the truth, and out it came:
"As a clerk." The words seemed to burn his lips.
"Now," he thought, "she'll despise me."
"Clerk to Business Manager in four years," she said,
meditatively. "That shows power."
And there was a hint in her voice that possibly she
thought of Kirby as a man inherently great, and, like
Janice Hadden, she would have enjoyed projecting him.
It showed, too, though Kirby could not glimpse this, that
she was looking for real values; that she put crude strength
before the weak-spined polish of some of the men of her
set. The daughter of a messenger-boy had not grown
very far from the common soil.
Again there was silence, and Kirby scourged himself
because he was proving so unexpectedly the same old
two-and-sixpence. He left all the responsibility of com
munication with her.
She spoke in a changed voice:
"Well, we may as well get the business over with, Mr.
Trask. What can I tdl you?"
This was tonic; the man of action was saved from
drowning.
"Just this," he said, abruptly. "We want the plain
facts of Mr. Watts' life."
188
THE WOMAN
" But you have those already."
"We may have them wrong."
"All right," she said.
He got a note-book and took it in shorthand. He had
hesitated about doing this, for it would put him in an
inferior position ; when he did it finally it was on impulse.
But Mary admired this lack of ceremony, this businesslike
simplicity. He sat near the window, and now a change
of clouds sent on him a pale, whitish light that brought out
all the bull-headed strength of his head.
She dictated limpidly, slowly, out of a clear mind. And
she showed far less false pride than Kirby had. He did
not want to admit clerking; she seemed to delight in
picturing her father as a poor boy of humble origin, as a
messenger, a telegraph operator, a secretary, a superin
tendent, a manufacturer. And before she finished Kirby
felt definitely how slight the real wall is between the
different classes in American civilization, the real wall,
for the wall of manners and power and position and
comfort was tragic enough, as he knew.
There was one part of the narrative that she slurred over,
however. It had to do with her father's business methods.
He asked a probing question or two, but finally she said,
in a quivering voice:
" No, publicity hasn't any right there. People wouldn't
understand, as I do. Besides, we're giving away millions
of dollars to set some things right."
This moral viewpoint was new to him.
"She's too honest," he thought. "I'd hate to have her
investigating me."
A blank silence again followed the ending of the inter
view. He felt that she was watching him, and, looking
up, he saw her face with its cloudy wistfulness.
She smiled at him very sweetly, he thought.
"Have you ever seen an automobile at close range?"
she asked.
"No," he replied.
189
THE OLYMPIAN
Automobiles were still enough of a novelty at that time
to warrant inspection. He helped her into her coat, she
put the veil over her head, and they went out. The
chauffeur began cranking up the machine, but she showed
Kirby the parts. Finally she said:
"Get in; I'll run it for you."
The chauffeur looked up sharply.
"You hadn't better, Miss Watts. You've not really
learnt yet."
She laughed. "Oh yes, I'm going to do it," and leaped
in and took the driving-seat. "Come on, Mr. Trask."
He got in beside her, the chauffeur grimly jumped out of
the way, and at a twist of her wrist the car leaped from
under them and glided easily along the curve of the drive.
The action seemed to reveal all her power to Kirby; it
appeared to him that it was a powerful human being who
so lightly and easily sped the huge car along. And her
presence was beginning to fill him with a painful glory
his growing emotions threatening to overmaster him.
"It's glorious, isn't it?" she exclaimed, as she made a
swift circle and the car flew back to the house again.
"Some day I'm going out all alone and let out the speed
and simply jump the hills. It's a sort of freedom."
The car stopped and they stepped down. Darkness
was now devouring the world, and here and there a pro
testing light appeared in house and factory window.
She stood very close to him, and as she said good-by she
took his hand and seemed to study him at close range.
He felt faint and dizzily happy. Suddenly her personality
seemed to invade his, so that he was lost in the tides of her
spirit. It was as if the trembling mystery of existence
was laid bare for a brief flash, as if the hurried and muffled
destiny of humanity revealed its primal light and the far
glory that it yearned toward. There was something un
dying in the moment; out of the dark a man and a woman
emerging, touching hands, glancing in each other's eyes.
And all the realities made it more poignant and touched
190
THE WOMAN
with wonder the darkening heavens, the clash of the
chauffeur's boots on the pebbles, the breathing of the
machine, the lights in the growing night.
She, too, felt the presence of that remote and far
Romance that leaned for a brief moment and lit their faces
and passed.
"Good-by," she said, wistfully. "You're to get that
delayed invitation now, depend upon me. It will come
soon. In the mean time, if you must see me any more
about the article, come to the city." Her voice seemed
like a cloud passing through the cloud of his own spirit.
"Good-by," he murmured, breathless.
She stepped in, the chauffeur climbed to his seat, she
smiled dimly, and then the night took her.
He stood, as if his soul had been stripped naked, a
quivering human being in the dark. The great primal
force of life, the limitless systole and diastole of that
power that makes the suns and planets ebb and flow and
penetrates the atoms and the mated animals, the pulsing
of that swing of all the world which Kirby had thus far
felt in dim throbs, but always rid himself of, so that he at
last thought he was free of it and could go his hard way
untroubled, now clutched him, drenched him, possessed
him, and his little vain works crumbled in that Tremen-
dousness. He marveled that he had thought of fortune-
hunting. He marveled that his little brain had busily
schemed. It was as if an earthquake had shattered his
career.
" That's what a woman is," he told himself with blinding
amazement. ' ' And I yes, I 'm a man. She's a woman. ' '
And he felt as if he were the most unfortunate fellow in
the world. He had planned without reckoning on Nature.
He had thought himself a free master; he was merely an
atom in the fury of the suns.
AV1U
THE RIDS
HAD Kirby been told that his honored father had
secretly fived a fife of dissoluteness and murder the
erode shock would have dazed him less than the dis
covery that he was merely that little white animal matt
nailed to the flying debris of the stars. Stunned, he saw
fife afresh. It was not happiness, there was no rapture
in the thoughts th?* Mary evoked, there was merely
realization. Her personality spf-med to have saturated
his, and the obsession was almost painful.
It was exactly as if his work, his schemes, his plots were
a lot of Kttle strings he had been tying together, each
string leading to some new power out of sight, until fiasdljr,
impatient, he had dropped a spark on them, to find, to his
honor, that they were fuses that burned rapidly down to
mmf that CTpV*dkd a ^ In*. Kf He f elt that somehow he
t^fi fumed liiiitMMi * tpmt by "^^MH^HM* twj whole * ** * v^*t)QTi
from business success to the following of a woman he had
became a helpless slave.
Natures such as Kirby's, when once aroused, are hard to
quiet. He did his best to putt out from his heart tins
woman's power. He told himself that he was adding him
self to a whole swarm of suitors; that Mary was too keen
not to see through hik fl"d*t'ioii? a*id pretensions; *h^*t
even if she favored him she was fike a king's daughter,
bound to a high nuMiiagp* ttert he hfU^ nothing to offer
such a woman but Ms tmpl^a^fftit self; thpt he ^a<l ttffn
an unfortunate fool in trying to use a woman as a handle
THE RIDE
to success; and yet, despite this feverish reasoning, he
could only go about as if he were drugged.
He lost the zest of his work; he felt in the morning a
distaste for the heaps of letters and reports; the buzz of
J. J. and his employees was a petty noise of gnats in his
ear, and as a result his work suffered. The staff were
quick to see this, quick to tell J. J., and J. J. found it was true.
"You're falling down, Mr. Trask," he said in all kindli
ness, "just at the moment when I am expecting you to
make good."
Kirby murmured some excuse, and decided to try
harder. It was useless; he showed moodiness, pettish-
ness, absence of mind. Sometimes he lost his temper and
railed and stormed in the manner of J. J. Besides, he
lost sleep at night, and came to his work fatigued, at war
with himself and all others. It was a most unfortunate
time to develop such qualities. He was on the very
brink of promotion, and a few weeks of intense drive and
hard, brittle action would have carried him over.
" Pretty soon," he told himself, " I'll lose the job, and go
to thunder in New York."
vSuch cases were not uncommon; hardly a week passed
without some newspaper report of a successful man com
mitting suicide, or disappearing, or disgracing himself.
Many of them doubtless had vanquished all things save
sex ; when they met that primal force they dissolved like
summer clouds.
Mary had opened the way for visits at the Fifth Avenue
house, and he soon found reasons enough for consulting
her further about the article. So he ran in to town and
saw her. He found no opportunity for intimacy, however.
She was extremely busy, and in the atmosphere of her own
home seemed distant and strange to him. It was as if
she were a different woman almost a business woman.
So these trips made him more feverish than ever; he told
himself each time he would never go again, but again he
went, drawn irresistibly.
i93
THE OLYMPIAN
However, on the third visit, he found her deeply ab
stracted and troubled by a problem in philanthropy.
Should she turn over half a million dollars for medical
research? There was so much waste in this work, the
processes so slow, while the immediate needs of the poor
cried out for relief. Kirby urged medical research.
"Better get at the roots of our troubles and prevent,
than try merely to ameliorate."
And he spoke with such sure logic that, as he no
ticed, her interest in him reached a new pitch, as
if she found not only crude force in him, but executive
power, high mentality, larger vision. She grew unusually
animated and detained him for two hours. Naturally,
he had to come twice more, and each time he felt that she
leaned more trustingly upon his power. Yet it was too
much like one business partner depending on another, too
impersonal; not once did she speak of herself or of him,
not once question him as she had done that first day, and
so he went home each time in a fresh turmoil, a man
drugged. However, as he left the last time, just at parting,
she spoke in a new way :
"You know that invitation It's coming soon."
It fired him with strange hopes, but it was ruinous to
his work, and it now seemed clear to him that he was
making his future with J. J. impossible. His first desire
each morning was to sort out his mail; he would run
through the stack looking for Mary's handwriting; that
lacking, his chief interest died. In this way a feverish
week went by.
Then on a Thursday morning, sitting down at his desk,
he had the feeling of receiving a reprieve just as the noose
fastened round his neck. He saw a little envelope. The
letter ran:
MY DEAR MR. TRASK, This time I am keeping my word.
But if you come you will have to make a week-end of it, for I
am taking a fortnight at our High Hill place, Pactic, New York.
194
THE RIDE
You could come Saturday, of course. The train leaves at g A.M.,
Grand Central Station, and reaches here at 11.45. But. that
would lose you in a crowd. Why don't you come Friday morn
ing? In that way we could have a real visit.
Sincerely, MARY WATTS.
He was not elated. It was more like flame consuming
him. But it was a complete relief to get into action again,
to cut the leash and scurry away. And he reflected that
Mary was more than good to him; she was heavenly to
offer a day of herself alone.
He went straight to J. J. and asked for two days off.
J. J. was very fond of Kirby.
"Yes, go by all means," he said. " Perhaps the rest and
change are what you need. You've been driving too
hard." But to himself he added: "He's involved with
a woman at last. That explains it."
So the next morning he rose at six, and, suit-case in
hand, caught the seven-thirty, easily making the nine-
o'clock train in New York. At eleven-forty-five the swift
express stopped at Pactic, and he got off. Beyond the
pretty wood-and-stone station stretched a little tree-
shaded country village with a square of stores and a
soldiers' monument. Kirby stood, hesitating. Then the
big chauffeur approached him:
"This way, Mr. Trask."
He was relieved of the suit-case and ushered into the
brown automobile. Swiftly the car crossed the tracks,
swept through a street of cottages, and then through a
back country of hilly farms. Kirby was struck by the
resemblance of this day to the day when Mary had first
come to him. A snow which had fallen recently had now
nearly vanished, leaving mere fragments and patches along
the roadside and on the brown and barren fields; the
skies were cloudy, the air soft and expectant, and the
wintry landscape passed like a sad and brooding vagrant
that was lying face down on the aching Earth.
14 195
THE OLYMPIAN
Ineffable melancholy came to Kirby's heart, a soft
vapor of tears, of longing, of child-like emotion. Past
bleak and empty woods they sped, past gray barns and
lonely farm-houses, past bare orchards with the gnarled
trees standing in rows like tattered Bread-Lines, past
streams that went thinly and with bitter complaining
among the cold stones. Finally, over the pastoral slopes,
Kirby saw, above engirdling woods, a far house on a hill
top.
"High Hill," muttered the chauffeur.
They lost it at once under the breasts of heaving pas
tures where the cattle were out in the soft weather trying to
pull nourishment from the soaked and matted ground.
Again Kirby was aware of the strong Earth-passion, his
true and primal mother reabsorbing him. A touch of
sad wildness was in his heart, of going back to the perilous
open skies and the vast untracked Earth.
A mile brought the car to the high stone wall, the great
gate, the keeper's stone lodge. It passed through that
gateway and was lost at once in primitive wilderness.
The ancient woods seemed untouched, full of rotten logs,
fallen branches, and the debris of centuries; the gloomy
depths suggested powerful beasts roaming for prey. This
forest, in turn, gave way to pastures and huge stables, and
these again to smooth-shaven golf-links stretching endlessly
to the right. More woods then, and a little natural lake,
with boat-house and trimmed banks, and finally a cleared
woods full of paths and rustic benches, and at last, up the
slopes, graceful lawns with the house in the center. He
had half expected a transplanted European castle, moated,
turreted, barred, a forbidding and cold barracks. In
stead, the great gray-stone house spread comfortably,
with sun-parlors and porches and large windows, hos
pitable, inviting, warm.
But the whole estate spoke of boundless wealth and
power; every inch of it humiliated Kirby, who had only a
suit-case, his little body, and his feverish mind. It was
196
THE RIDE
monstrous that he should go so naked on earth, while these
people clothed themselves in cities and wildernesses,
houses and stables. A gust of his old diffidence threatened
him.
He got out stiffly, and the chauffeur rang for him. A
man-servant relieved him of hat and coat, and, dimly
aware of a big hearth fire in the large hall, he was led up
carpeted stairs to a corner room. Then he found himself
alone.
The room was comfortable, almost cozy. The radiator
filled it with warmth, the large windows looked out on
stretches'of far pastoral country, the ceiling was wainscoted,
the furniture heavy and easy. On the bed lay a bath
robe; under it, slippers; a writing-desk held note-paper,
envelopes, pen, and ink; a table was stacked with an assort
ment of books picked for various tastes, as Shakespeare,
Byron, William Vaughn Moody, Aristotle, Dante, Darwin,
Robert Chambers, Dumas, Nicolay and Hay, Anthony
Hope, Mark Twain; a cabinet held whisky and cordials
and cigars; and adjoining the room was a bath-room.
Thoughtf ulness could go no further; neither could luxury.
There was the painful contrast between this and his
little room at the Allisons; there was the feeling that he
was allowed to taste the sweets of the world, only to be
hurled back to poverty; there was the sense of intruding,
of not belonging. And thinking of a Mary to whom these
things were commonplace and expected, it seemed ter
rible that she should have such power. It all made her
that much more remote and uncompanionable.
When he came down to the great hall again, down the
winding stairs, he heard curtains rustle, and out into the
firelight Mary stepped with her firm, easy stride. All this
week he had, curiously enough, been conjuring up a ter
rific regal empress; now he was amazed by her simple
appearance, her directness. She was not even the business
woman any more; she was personal, intimate, feminine.
She seemed to have on the same black dress she had worn
197
THE OLYMPIAN
that day at Inwood, and again he saw the soft, wavy brown
hair, the large, honest brown eyes, the powerful forehead.
She gave him her hand and spoke sincerely, warmly:
"I'm glad you came." Then she went straight to
business. "We must get lunch over with right away."
She laughed with enthusiasm. "I've learned to run the
car since I saw you, and we must get out early and jump
those hills. You won't mind if I wreck you?"
Her power, her command was indisputable, yet he felt
care and diffidence dropping from him. He_felt even a
little happy; it was comforting to be with her.
They entered a soft-lit dining-room, and sat facing each
other, alone at table. And currents of confidence went
warming through him. What could be more natural than
lunching with this honest-eyed woman?
"Well," she said, "how is the article coming on?"
That put him on solid ground.
"Well, I put all the stuff together, with the corrections
you made, and then turned it over to Mansfield, our
special-article man. He'll send you a copy for final cor
rection before we set it up."
Again the probing glance that seemed to cut through to
his secret soul.
"I thought you were going to write it. Why not?"
" Oh, that honesty !" he thought, and inwardly squirmed.
"I?" He tried to laugh. "I can't write a word."
She looked at him squarely. He thought she was going
to ask, "Then why didn't I see Mansfield instead of you?"
and sickly apprehension seized him. But she was silent,
a little puzzled. Then mercifully she changed the subject.
"Do you like your work at Harrington's?"
"Oh yes," he laughed.
"Then you don't really."
" Well," he muttered, " it's splendid in a way."
" And in another way?"
The truth was pulled from him.
" You see, it hasn't much future."
198
THE RIDE
" On account of the sons?"
" The whole business."
" I see. And clerking that must have been a bore to
you."
He tried to resist this searching probe; it was hard be
cause she was so vitally interested and so warmly sincere.
"What makes you think so?" he laughed.
She laughed, too.
"It would be like putting a pirate in a china-closet."
Pleasure filled him; she could spot his strength as well
as his weakness. Yes, she could read him right through.
And soon he found himself telling her of the boarding-
house and Mrs. Waverley, of the express company and the
Fergusons, and even of Trent. Her face had all the
cloudy wistfulness he had noticed before.
" I wish I had a real job," she said, "and earned my own
living. I envy you. I go around seeing things instead
of doing them."
This note of discontent was surprising; it put her, in a
way, on his level. And he felt that she had boundless
admiration for any one who struggled and really achieved.
As if her heart hankered for the coarseness and dirt and
red pains of broadcast life; the things her father and
mother had known; the ancient bondage of the race.
Then immediately after lunch they wrapped up and
went out to the car. The chauffeur was waiting; all was
ready.
"It's not good weather for an open car," said Mary,
"but I can't stand being cooped in outdoors."
"It looks like snow, Miss Watts," said the chauffeur.
"So much the better!"
"But you hadn't better go far. It might be hard to
come back."
"We'll make an adventure of it, Mr. Trask," she
laughed. ' ' Come on. ' '
He took the seat beside her, and the car with light grace
bore them fleetingly down the macadam road, past links
199
THE OLYMPIAN
and stables and woods, and out through the gates. Then
Mary turned to the left.
"I'm going to take you to the top of the Giant. I feel
most at home on cliffs."
The winged wheels flew them over the hills and down the
hollows, past the farms, the pastures, and the orchards,
and again Kirby felt the driving power of this woman.
She sat there mature, eager, glad, and yet healthily young.
Ever after his most vivid image of her was against gray
backgrounds. For the heavens stooped toward the Earth,
and the smokes from farm-houses seemed bowed with age
and could not straighten; a divine melancholy brooded
on the dead stubble of the fields; the bitter cry of waters
was crossed by the wheels on the jumping planks of
bridges, and the woods stood like grieving old women at
the graves of their buried youth. It was as if the Earth
were in pain and the clouds were about to administer the
gentle anesthetic of the snow.
"Somber and beautiful," was Mary's comment. "I'm
glad you came to-day."
He felt drawn to her, faint, helpless. He thought of
her at the moment as a mother of men, a strong, placid
soul who could enfold him and heal him.
She seemed meditative.
"You met my sister, didn't you?"
"Yes," he murmured.
She gave him a stricken glance.
"Alice died three months ago in childbirth and the
baby, too. There's nothing sadder in life than that."
He said nothing; he could only think, "She's a great
soul, a great woman," and he shrank beside her.
Now the car began climbing a seemingly endless hill,
each level bringing a new rise and the woods shutting
off the top. Now and then, at the right, the earth fell
away to a far valley, that, as they rose, spread farther,
leaping now one range of hills, then another.
They came through to a sort of upward tableland, a
200
THE RIDE
large, cleared tract of pastures and fields; stone walls
stretched beside the road, and a snug little farm-house,
with barn and outhouses, stood to their right. In the
field opposite they saw two young girls both together
astride a running, unsaddled horse. It was a pretty sight
the hair of youth flying, the bodies lifting and falling, the
arms of the rear girl hugging the other. All at once the
horse reared, the girls slipped, shrieked, and came boun
cing down on the ground in a sitting position.
It was ludicrous but alarming. Mary stopped the
machine, Kirby was about to leap out. But they heard
the girls laughing merrily, and at once the youngsters rose,
gesticulated their joy, and raced after the galloping horse.
Kirby and Mary laughed.
"Wasn't that lovely?" she said, and on they went.
The road now became steep and rocky, with here and
there patches of grass and here and there level rock;
a wild, stunted forest engulfed them, and they could see
nothing but the rising road ahead. There seemed miles
of this, until all at once they emerged on a grassy plateau
in the heavens, and to the right gray rocks reaching
roughly up.
j "Here we are," said Mary.
She led the way, and they scrambled up the rocks,
clinging to sharp corners, getting a foothold in crannies
and cracks, until suddenly they stood erect on the rim of
the world. The cliff was stupendous; below them the
world lay, an unrolling map of valleys and ranges of hills,
lakes, and a misty, heaving horizon. A bright wind blew
in their faces out of boundless space.
"I have a favorite seat here," said Mary, and with sure
agility she reached from rock to rock along the dizzy edge,
and seated herself in a secure cranny, her feet hanging
over space. Kirby could do nothing but awkwardly follow.
The slope of the rock brought them close together.
Mary leaned forward as if, wings spread, she was about
to swoop through the air.
201
THE OLYMPIAN
" Oh," she said in a disappointed tone. " We can't see
the railroad tracks there's mist along the valley."
But as they looked they saw mushrooms of fire bobbing
along the mist, which turned from white to black.
"It's a freight- train," said Mary.
That lost train accentuated their loneliness, and Kirby
felt-that they were alone in the wide world; that now, in
an emergency, they had only each other on the whole
Earth. An elemental rapture stole through him; this
woman had him, and he her, and the swirl of J. J. and
the tumult of the city and the walls of caste and class fell
away to the valleys. On this height they were two equal
souls the Edenic pair, the man and the woman held, as
it were, in the upraised hands of the Earth, who showed to
the heavens this divine product of her eons of struggle and
experiment. They were the first and last of things;
through them Earth reached fruition.
"There's only one thing to do," said Mary hi an exultant
voice. " I ' ve brought my pocket Coleridge with me. ' '
And she pulled from her coat a well-thumbed volume,
and read, softly, thrillingly, in the low light, "Hymn before
Sunrise in the Vale of Chamouni." Kirby had never
cared for poetry, and he had a contempt for men who
could sit around gushing it; but now from her lips he
heard the rocks and the hills expressing themselves:
Who, with living flowers
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?
God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God!
Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost!
Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest!
Ye eagles, playmates of the thunder-storm!
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!
Ye signs and wonders of the element!
Utter forth God and fill the hills with praise!"
202
THE RIDE
The poem seemed to free something in her; she breathed
big, exulting.
"That man," she said, "was born with a star on his
forehead!"
He could only say, banally :
"You're fond of poets."
"Yes," she answered, smiling. "But there are poets
of action, too. I sometimes think my father was one.
You know Kipling's
'Dreamer devout by vision led
Beyond our grasp and reach,
The travail of his spirit bred
Cities in place of speech.'
That's it, isn't it? Father has written epics in steel and
skyscrapers; possibly," she mused, "in brotherhood."
"I must get Kipling," he told himself. She was in
terpreting life anew for him. He saw Watts and J. J.,
even himself, in a new way.
The light now began to wane rapidly, a great wind arose,
and gusts of soft snow fell on them, swiftly blotting out
one range of hills after another, until the valley was
lost too, and they were closed in, in a world of whirling
white.
"Isn't this glorious?" said Mary.
But Kirby was fully aroused, executive.
"We'll have to get out of this quick if you want to get
home."
She obeyed him with lovely spirit, and he felt a new
elation, a new masculine strength. He could command,
too, when the time came.
She had some trouble in cranking up the machine, and
laughed grimly over it. It seemed impossible to light the
lamps, and finally she gave it up and climbed in, and did
not object when Kirby wrapped a buffalo-robe about her
shoulders and his.
203
THE OLYMPIAN
"Good sense," he thought. "She knows it's no time
for fooling."
The air was getting darker momently, the wind in
creasing, and a fierce storm smote them, blinding them.
Through the oppressive silence they started, then stopped.
"We'll have to feel our way," she said, quietly. "You
don't mind?"
"No," he replied.
They were very close together under that robe; it
stirred with their breathing and the motions of her arms.
She stopped often; tried a bit of bumpy ground;
searched for wagon-ruts; strained through the snow.
And for a long time they said nothing, but to Kirby it
was inexpressibly sweet and wonderful to be out with her
in the storm. It seemed now as if they could never leave
each other hereafter.
The darkness now deepened into an appalling snow-
swirling night, moist and intense, and, though the wind
began to fall as they reached lower levels, they were lost
in engulfing blackness that seemed to stick to them like
pitch. But Kirby felt that in all space only she and he
throbbed with life; dim atoms pulsing in the primal dark.
Suddenly she whispered:
"There's a light!"
A dim, watery gleam shone to the left, and, approach
ing it, they saw snow falling before a lighted window.
"Then there's one thing to do. We'll have to put up
here," said Kirby. f%
Again she obeyed him silently; they felt the wheels
bump as the car climbed on to the lawn.
Kirby leaped out and found a door, and knocked. It
opened, and a tall, large-framed woman peered at him.
"We're caught in the storm," said Kirby. "Could we
have shelter here till it's over?"
She seemed distrustful, but then spoke cheerfully:
"Come in."
Mary followed him. They entered a warm, low kitchen,
204
THE RIDE
with worn planks on the floor and the rafters showing bare
above. A lamp was on the table, and in the shadows a
kettle bubbled on the stove. The room had the purring
comfort of a dozing cat.
"Oh, you came in an auto," said the woman, glancing
at Mary. "Well, you'll never get to the valley in this."
"Yes," said Mary, "we were up on the Giant."
"Well, the men folk'll have to get the auto into the barn
that is, when they come back. They're out after the
cows. I thought they were foolish to let the cattle out
this morning," she laughed, "but there's no telling men.
They've been after them a couple of hours, and I guess the
snow caught them."
Mary reflected.
"Couldn't we run the car in the barn if you show us
where?"
The woman took a lantern, and they went out. Then
she opened the barn doors and held the lantern high while
Mary ran the car in. A heavy smell of dried hay, of
cattle and pigs and horses, was in the place, warm, steamy,
elemental.
,' As they came back to the house they heard shouts and
a heavy trampling.
"They're coming," said the woman.
At once in the solid blackness a lantern gleamed, and
they saw the coat of a man and the flash of a cow's flank
and the shadows of heavy animals in the gloom. Now
two large cow's eyes stared mysteriously, now the profile
of a man's face flared and died. Kirby could hear the
beasts breathing, and smelt the warm odor of cattle. It
was all mysterious, and went back to the dim pastoral
ages of the race.
They went in then, and were welcomed. It was very
sweet to sit in the low dining-room, at the great table,
Mary and he together, and the family about them.
Colwyn was a Welsh farmer, with a wrinkled, but
hardy skin, a spare, tall, smiling fellow; there were two
205
big awkward sons, with fair faces and large hands, whose
main quality seemed a ravening hunger; and then there
were the two giggling girls who had fallen from the horse.
Mary seemed radiant with joy, and began questioning
Colwyn, as the beef and beans and large cups of coffee
and high stacks of home-made bread were set down by
the mother. And Colwyn was the only one who spoke.
The boys, addressed, blushed and stammered; the girls
giggled nervously; the mother was busy.
"Yes," said Colwyn, "it's lonely up here, but it's the
life I like out in the open. He there" he pointed his
knife at his eldest son "don't like it, though. He's like
the rest; crazy to go to the city."
The son blushed and buried his fair face in a coffee-
cup.
"Why doesn't he go?" asked Mary.
"Well, he's trying to. He's been down to the Com
mercial College last summer. But I'd hate to lose him.
He's my best." Pride rang in his voice. "I've watched
him among the stock."
Colwyn was all for spoiling the Giant by putting a
summer hotel on the top of it.
"Oh," he said, in answer to Mary's protest, "I'm not
strong on the scenery. I never notice it. When you live
with a thing it's just work, and that's all."
Peace came at last to Kirby, a soft and wonderful
tranquillity. It seemed to him that Mary showed at her
best in these surroundings, that her simplicity and sin
cerity fitted into this warm family life, this primitive
crudeness. She was tender, animated, sparkling. Some
thing of the girlishness he had noticed four years ago re
turned to her. It seemed a woeful pity that wealth and
position forced her into the artificial Hfe of estates and
cities.
Now and then she glanced at Kirby, sharing her joy
with him. He laughed; he, too, sparkled; he entered
into the talk with abandon. And when Colwyn lit his
206
THE RIDE
pipe, Kirby lit a cigar, and they had good gossip on hunt
ing, and on the differences between the Western farms
and the Eastern.
Colwyn spoke of agricultural colleges and the Depart
ment of Agriculture at Washington.
"This science," he said, "is changing the life of the
farmer. I was brought up without it, but he there"
and he pointed his pipe toward his eldest son "has
taught me different. First thing you know we'll have a
telephone, an automobile, a steam-plow, a harvester, a
model dairy, chemistry of the soil, government tests,
Burbank-business " he gave a great laugh "and heaven
knows what."
That same science that had built up industrialism and
the skyscraper city was reaching back to revolutionize
the farm foundations of civilization everywhere a draw
ing together, steam-and-steel bands of tightening progress.
Not even the pastoral escaped the Jordan Watts'. Kirby
was impressed by this rapid organization of the world,
which harnessed forest and prairie, peak and sea, to the
central cities. There was no way of escaping from
civilization.
It seemed already midnight, when, in the hush of the
snow, the clock struck nine. The tired boys were yawning.
Colwyn arose.
"Seems to me," he murmured, "the wind's dropped."
He pushed aside the shade and peered out.
"Stopped," he said, "and there's moonlight."
"Then," said Mary, "we can make the valley."
The Colwyns were for keeping them overnight, but
Mary was undissuadable. And so, wrapped warm, the
family followed the pair in the intense stillness of the night.
The snow was packed firm and crunched under foot.
"We can surely make it," said Mary. The words
floated from her lips on faint steam ; all the landscape was
violet-shadowed with the immense expanse of snow; trees
were laden; fences buried.
207
THE OLYMPIAN
Kirby paid Mrs. Colwyn, and that urisophisticated
woman refused more than twenty-five cents each for the
meal. Then Mary ran the lamp-bright car from the barn ;
Kirby climbed in; they exchanged good-bys; the wheels
ground the snow, and the car curved into the road.
The family waved and called, Kirby fluttered his hand
kerchief, Mary nodded and smiled, and they were off
down the long, still slope.
Mary spoke with haunting wistfulness:
"Oh, if one could only stay here!"
Kirby looked at her; his heart was full ; a vital moment
seemed at hand. Again the night contained only these
two, the speeded wheels, the light on snow ahead, the
gleaming moon. The world grew still as if to hear them;
Kirby felt that if he lifted his voice he could send his cry
over the horizon; and he dreamt of ecstasy undying. All
that he might say was, "I love you," and that surely he
could not say.
And so neither spoke. The car flew; the cold grew
intense, and there rose in the moonlight the faint wisps
of their breath. Lower and lower sank the car until it
speeded up the valley, turned in at the gate.
"We're here," breathed Mary.
That meant "It's all over." But it was not over yet;
entering the fire-dancing hall, standing alone at the foot
of the stairs, clasping hands over their good night, they
still felt in the tugging tide of ineffable Romance.
"Good night!" they whispered.
"And aren't you glad," said Mary, "that you came
to-day?"
He climbed the steps, getting a last glimpse of her
upturned, radiant face; he sought his room; he laid him
down in a world utterly hushed in snow. And he thought
it would be sweet to take Mary to some low dwelling in
some remote country and live all life with her against, the
warm heart of Nature.
XIX
THE RETURN
WHEN Kirby awoke the next morning the room was a
splendor of sunlight. Then, as his breath steamed
in the keen air, and he began to dress, the thought occurred
to him that possibly Mary was dressing, too. This ele
mental and necessary ritual they were both engaged in
under the same roof -tree seemed, more than anything
else, to put them on the same footing; she was just a
woman, he a man, putting on clothes. They were the
same naked children of the earth. And somehow this
homely proximity, this delightful arising together as if in
the heart of a family, made him want to sing his joy.
It was the invasion of Kirby by that stranger ecstasy ;
that up-welling of flaming music through all the body;
that pure and soaring joy that puts the wings of the sun
rise On commercial clay. He would have envied the wood
cutters sawing between them an oak in the forest while
they sang with clean, strong voices. He was like a cup
overrunning with the wine of life. It was health, youth,
the morning; and it was love.
Going down the steps with lusty tread he reached and
opened the door and stepped out on the side porch. The
day blinded him; the air was almost a fire of clear cold,
and, blinking, he saw the world an undented whiteness,
shimmering with sun, the trees cottoned over to the
last twig, and the vast downward-sloping landscape one
splendor of snow. A mile off he saw the pines in the
forest, green shadows through white. The skies were a
209
THE OLYMPIAN
blazing and melting blue, and the air was thrice-washed,
thrice-rinsed, and sparklingly transparent.
His lungs seemed to dance with the inrush of this living
air, and he stood half dreaming that he and Mary had
gone off to the heart of a forest, and that while she was
gathering wood for a fire he was using hammer and saw
to build a cabin out of pine, and that in the early light
they were both singing together at their tasks. And while
he was lost in this dream there came a light touch on his
arm; turning, he saw her there, her cheeks mantled with
red, her eyes flashing. She laughed from her heart,
clearly.
"Good morning!" she said.
"Good morning!" he answered.
This was the ancient duet of human youth on the
Earth; pity was they couldn't put it in song like the wood-
thrushes.
"Did you sleep well?" she asked.
"Solid. And you?"
"All right."
What they meant was, "We glory in being alive."
They leaned, in comrade silence, and gazed on the
landscape.
"How I envy the Colwyns!" she said.
But he didn't; Mary at his side, he merely envied a
moment that was passing and that wouldn't return.
They went in then, and in the bright room, alone to
gether, they ate, like sound, healthy youngsters, a great
breakfast. Afterward Mary took him to see the live
stock. The spirit of adventure was still upon them.
But wandering toward the house at eleven they heard
behind them the approach of an automobile, and suddenly
Mary said in her incisive way:
"There's the world coming back to us!"
And with those words the adventure was over; that
Edenic interval of their primal companionship faded into
those bright memories which seem of visions too wonder-
210
THE RETURN
ful to have existed. She was the king's daughter again,
and he the Acting Business Manager of Harrington's
Magazine.
In fact, the guests were upon them, and soon the house
buzzed with strangers.
From then on Kirby's stay was a dreary nightmare.
He was introduced to a senator, a judge, brokers, bankers,
corporation heads, a couple of lawyers, and an assortment
of van-aged women. The successful men passed him over
as negligible; a few of the women were attracted by his
face and bearing, but they bored him raspingly with petty
gossip; and Mary was lost in the center of a flattering
circle. His one relief was that sharp Jordan Watts was
not there.
Lunch over, there were sleighing-parties ; supper over,
they endured the music of some near-Paderewski imported
from Bavaria; night over, they had late breakfasts and
lounged or inspected the stables; dinner over, and Kirby
departed.
But Mary took him out to the automobile, and in the
soft, melting weather she stood and smiled; yes, almost
smiled back Eden.
"It's good you came Friday," she said, and then paused
as if wanting to say more. Finally she spoke in a changed
voice: "Father and I are going West in a few days a
business trip for him; we won't be back till spring. As
soon as I get back we must ride out again."
He saw the cloudy wistfulness in her strong face, and
he felt as if the light of the world was out. West until
spring ! He could only murmur :
"I hope it will be a good trip."
He climbed into the car, and she leaned over the dash
board. Her voice was tremulous:
"Here," and she handed him a worn little book. It was
the pocket Coleridge.
He gazed at her, unable to speak, merely smiled sadly
and nodded.
15 211
THE OLYMPIAN
"Good-by!" she whispered, and, as the car sped, he
turned and saw her standing there, unmoving, looking
after him.
On the train he read "Hymn before Sunrise in the Vale
of Chamouni," and he said to himself, "What a fool I am!
What a fool I am !" and he thought of the circle of flatterers
that engulfed her. Yet she had given him Coleridge,
"the man who was born with a star on his forehead."
XX
SUCCESS
DURING the ensuing months Kirby's main occupation
seemed to be waiting for the spring, killing time,
pulling days off the calendar. January kept May eter
nities away and went at snail's pace; February went
slower; March didn't seem to go at all.
And all this time was one of capricious moods. Now
remembering the snow-storm and every little word and
gesture of Mary, he would be insanely happy, come to
work whistling, hum at his desk : then suddenly he would
develop a dark languor, which might give to a tragic
despair or a frenzied fit of temper.
In other words, Kirby found himself doing what he had
heartily condemned in others. He had always said, "No
man of common sense would do such things," and yet, at
the pinch, he, notably a man of common sense, proved
madder than the rest. For in the still watches of the
night he made the horrible acquaintance of a queer and
squirmy assortment of hobgoblins, demons, sprites, devils,
and beasts, which all this time, like conspirators waiting
the witching hour, had remained secreted in his skull,
thoughtfully deposited there by an evolutionary process
of a few hundred million years. In other words, Kirby
was in the hands of his ancestors, the snake, the fish, the
tiger, the dove, and the cave-man, and they seemed to
delight in making a monkey of their descendant.
"Dance, son," they said, "crawl on your belly, howl,
caper, cavort, climb trees, and make a spectacle of your
self. The ages are looking down on you."
213
THE OLYMPIAN
And while the ages watched, the Acting Business Man
ager joined the light-footed, cracked-brained host who
lisp iambics in the face of the moon, the fantastic madmen
who heave sighs, conjure the stars, abhor food, and become
the bedfellows of bat-winged insomnia. It was that sweet
insanity of being in love.
Myrtle alone understood the strange symptoms, and
pitied him. But Allison made the comment:
"It's J. J. The old devil's got him at last. J. J.'s is
a lunatic factory; they all go nutty over there."
And Brent felt that Kirby had a "swelled head," and
was withdrawing from the vulgar herd, including himself.
For there were times sometimes once a week when
Kirby was a pale, melancholy young man eating his supper
as if he sat on the moon and was angling for lamb chops
with a rod and line, he "wasn't there at all," he was dis
tinctly "missing," and right after the meal he bolted for
his room and locked himself in or rushed out of house
to consort with the winds of the night and the complain
ings of the naked trees.
At such dark intervals he became involved in poetry,
starting on the pocket Coleridge which he kept under his
pillow. But Coleridge wasn't the real thing. He tried
Kipling; Kipling was brutal. He tried Shakespeare, and
seized by heart whole passages of Romeo and Juliet,
mouthing blank verse along the lonely night roads, as:
But soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun;
or, better still, with modern improvements:
More validity,
More honorable state, more courtship lives
In carrion-flies than Kirby: they may seize
On the white wonder of dear Mary's hand
And steal immortal blessing from her lips.
214
SUCCESS
This Italian fervor palled in time, and he discovered Keats
and St. Agnes Eve, "Ah, bitter chill it was!" And when
this ceased to make sense he became the murderer in Tenny
son's "Maud":
Then let come what come may,
What matter if I go mad,
I shall have had my day.
Or, "Come into the Garden, Maud," or, better still,
"Courage, Poor Heart of Stone!"
And finally nothing would do but to write a poem him
self. It was one of a March night, with winds buffeting
the house, and he sat, half-dressed, at the lamp-lit table,
with staring eyes that saw the rock cranny on the top of
the Giant, the falling snow, and his love sitting beside
him. Her eyes rested on his, her white hand lay on her
lap, her lips trembled, and achingly he reached nearer,
drew her close, and in the ecstasy of that kiss he almost
swooned. To almost every soul on the earth there come
once, and once only, the four great things of life birth,
marriage, death, and a poem. And now came the poem
to Kirby.
Perhaps the watching ages, unlike hard-hearted mor
tals, didn't even smile at his effort, knowing that when a
Kirby bursts into verse the rocks themselves are uttering
music. Even if he didn't have a Shakespeare's power of
expression, he had, for that supreme moment, the mood
and urge of a Shakespeare, and proved that the divine
elixir moistens every lip of the race. He went to sleep
glowing over the immortal fragment he had penned, but
when he re-read it in the morning light he was vaguely re
minded of lyrics impudently published in the newspapers in
breach-of -promise suits when some hard-headed business
man forgot himself in rhyme. It was Kirby 's first and
last poem, and he resolved to shun the solace of the poets
for the medicinal virtues of bartenders and theatrical
managers. But it relieved his feelings for a week.
215
THE OLYMPIAN
He became known now in the business for his silences
and his smokes, his ups and downs. There were times
when, buoyed up to an irresponsible pitch by the bright
memories of the night at Colwyn's, he led the office a merry
race of brilliant toil, and then other times when this
gaiety was dashed to bits by sane and calm reflection.
"Don't let me fool myself," he told his heart, bitterly.
He was nothing but a poor young man who at any moment
might become a job-hunter in New York. Even if Mary
loved him, even if she had the courage of those men and
women who broke from their class and made low mar
riages, thereby getting a newspaper notoriety that put to
shame incest, murder, and Presidential messages, as a
decent fellow he could not consent to have her ruin her
self. Worse than that, he could not consent to have her
give up luxury and freedom and live such a life as Frances
Ferguson had endured. Imagine Mary sweeping floors,
washing dishes, drudging in a dreary suburb ! It was im
possible, no matter which way he looked at it. He must
live it down, forget, bury himself in work.
At times he did this with some success. His drive at
the office then would become bitter, relentless. He would
be more savage than ever with his inferiors; he would con
centrate with inhuman pressure on the tasks in hand.
Pale, bright-eyed, haughty, he would speed up himself and
the others, until they called him "the slave-driver."
J. J. was pleased. There had never been such a storm of
energy in the factory before. But the staff inwardly raged
with jealousy; they waited like a wolf-pack watching for
the first slip.
And yet, withal, even at such times he carried about
with him an air of bright attraction, so that the girls of
the subscription department sighed and gazed after him.
There was something wonderful in his desperate speed:
the sky-flung scarf of a meteor that burns its way. And
then came the intervals of lucidity and light sweet-hearted
joy. At such times he saw lovers everywhere, and shared
216
SUCCESS
the thrill of eyes meeting and hands touching; and he was
very good to women because Mary was a woman; and
very gentle with children.
One noon he and Brent found a poor woman trying to
drag home an impossible armful of gathered kindlings.
'f. "Here's a job for us," said Kirby, and he and Brent
relieved the amazed woman, who followed them dumbly
up the village street to her little house.
Another time Meggs told him that one of the girls was
in a bad way.
"She loved a man that took advantage of her."
"She did it for love," thought Kirby and tenderly
shielded this girl, and himself furnished the money to send
her to a sanatorium.
And once, on a bright March day, he so convinced
J. J. that he was allowed to arrange an outing for the
girls and the pressmen in the woods, and he himself was
the bright spirit of the undertaking, dancing with favored
young women, helping to serve the ice-cream, the sand
wiches and cakes, and proving himself the darling of the
whole business. For, he reflected, there must be lovers
among these men and women, and such a day meant
paradise for them.
But such moments were rare enough, like the last
feeble lightning-glances of a departing storm. More often
his splendid unruly spirit was in a bitter plight; he found
himself at odds with life, and ceased to care what hap
pened. At such times it seemed to him that the main
thing was to pull this barbed arrow of love from his heart
even if he were killed. And he felt that he knew the
slipperiness of achievement, the surge and sweep of primal
forces that engulf human life and make of a man a little
world of passing vision. To make one's way through life,
he reflected, was to balance on one floating cake of ice
after another, merely to be drowned in the end. He
wanted to still the restless fever, the idiot dreams and
doings of his brief hour.
217
THE OLYMPIAN
And so at such times J. J. and all his enterprises and
schemes, and the gay, fat magazine that was scattered like
a blaze of Roman candles over a drudging people, and all
the rottenness of debt and routine and strenuous toil,
seemed like the delirious images of a diseased mind. They
had no meaning; they led nowhere. Dust to dust. Then
it was only to keep himself from being lost in morbidity
that he struggled fiercely, drove hard. Work was an
anodyne.
As a result of all this pressure and the clashing divisions
of his soul this powerful young man began now and then
to exhibit strange lapses of temper, almost in the manner
of J. J. It led him to understand that Captain of In
dustry; to know how great must be the stress, the pain,
the weight of life to make a human being rave like a caged
animal. For so in extreme moments he became himself.
Twice he discharged on the spot erring office-boys, and no
one, save himself, questioned his right to do so. But at
length came a sharp trouble with Meggs.
He had given an order that Meggs install new addressing-
machines which would do away with the labor of thirty
girls. Meggs received it on a rainy April morning, when
the woods were lost in mist and the open windows breathed
with moist and blossom-scented air. Looking out on the
world, which lay like a baby in its swaddling-clothes, a
faint venture of new life softly wrapped by the musing
mother, his heart was touched with pity and love. He felt
the frail beauty of life which bluebirds on the telegraph
wires were freshly uttering forth.
He turned and went through the empty center hall,
which, hushed, was yet invaded by the wet, sweet air, and
was restless with the quiver of awakening life.
"Surely," he thought, "he'll listen to reason on a day
like this."
Timidly he knocked, and Kirby called:
"Come in."
He entered. Kirby sat at a center flat desk, the mild
218
SUCCESS
light of the windows back of him leaving his face in
shadow. He did this on purpose. It threw the light on
those who came to him, and hid him at the same time
from their gaze; it gave him the advantage of reading
expressions without showing any.
Meggs stood smiling, a little man with a knobby head,
sunken eyes, and narrow jaw.
"What is it?" asked Kirby.
"This order about the new machines
"What about it?" Kirby broke in.
" I hear they don't work right
Kirby had the queer sensation of having no control of
himself. It was as if he were a tool seized up by some
great invisible hand.
"Snap judgment!" he said, sharply. "Just you leave
that to me."
Meggs hesitated. He adored Kirby, but feared him
also. Then he spoke in a quavering voice, that yet had
a certain luminous courage in it.
"I was thinking this morning I've known these girls
for years, Mr. Trask, and if they lose their jobs "
Kirby felt himself rise, heard his lips speaking coldly:
"That's the argument that Labor has always used
against the introduction of machinery. Don't senti
mentalize, Meggs."
But Meggs persisted:
" I haven't the heart to fire those girls, I really haven't.
Put yourself in their place."
Then Kirby, almost against his will, put the matter
in a fatal way:
"You'll do it anyway," he commanded.
The phrase pitted the two against each other, and in a
silence, broken only by the liquid lisping of the blue
birds mating out in the mist, they faced each other, man
to man, in final and deadly antagonism. It was now one
or the other; there could be no compromise.
Meggs was brave, though his voice trembled and
219
THE OLYMPIAN
sounded odd; for from a petty body and brain, a little
dried-up drudge, proceeded something solemn and
beautiful:
" If those girls leave, Mr. Trask, I go with them."
Kirby felt the grandeur of this, and winced. Then he
said, hotly:
"Why, then you'll go, too."
Meggs was ghastly pale. He smiled.
"Ah, no, now; the girls can stay, can't they?"
"You're mistaken," said Kirby in a dreadful voice.
"For I discharge both them and you now"
"Discharge?" breathed Meggs. "No, I spoke first.
This is a sorry day for both of us, Mr. Trask."
And he went out and saw Martin. Martin had been
waiting for just such an opportunity; it certainly put
Kirby in a bad light.
"We'll see my father about this," he said. "Come on.
I'll put a stop to this maniac."
Meggs shook his head, but they went up to the house
together. Kirby, however, had preceded them. With
out waiting to take coat and hat, and smiling bitterly,
he went down the stairs and up the gravel path in the soft,
sweet rain. His face was white, and his heart beat with
amazing rapidity. Nature enfolded him in infantile
loveliness, every tiny blade of grass, every touch of fresh
green on glistening twig bringing news of the mating
season, the birth season, the season of renewal and love.
And he knew that he liked Meggs, that J. J. liked him,
and that this busy detail-man was one of the assets of the
business. And he knew that he had handled the matter
grossly. But he felt curiously impotent like a man
fallen into a cataract against which he cannot swim and
which bears him fatally along. He had done a foul deed,
he had committed the one unpardonable sin that of
breaking the erect spirit of a human being, that of tram
pling a living soul underfoot. He was ruining a straight
man. He could dimly glimpse the cause of most crime,
220
SUCCESS
the process of months of brooding and scheming and bitter
ness at last heaping up a power that used the man like a
mere mechanism to do an unnamable deed. He did not
feel that it was himself at all.
Nevertheless, when J. J. called him into the large room,
he went up rapidly and made his report of the incident.
"Isn't that a little hasty?" asked J. J.
"Hasty or not," said Kirby, "that's the way matters
stand. It's a question of maintaining discipline now. If
I give in on this my power over the men is broken."
Just then the door swung open, and Martin rushed in,
followed by Meggs. Martin's face was a study in exultant
hate.
"Father!" he cried. "See here!"
J. J. jumped up.
"What the devil's this?" he roared.
"What?" cried Martin. "Just this: Trask has gone
a little too far, and I won't stand for it."
This was an unfortunate way of putting it; J. J. had
been in a pacific mood, but now he exploded with rage:
"You won't, you damned pup? We'll see. Do you
mean to say, Mr. Meggs, that you refuse to put in these
machines?"
Meggs looked on the floor and spoke softly.
"I never thought it would come to this "
" Then go and put in those machines, you dirty whipper-
snapper."
Meggs said nothing, but Martin broke in:
"Now, see here, are you backing Trask in this?"
Kirby felt something snap in his brain. He'd show
Martin, and all of them, the jealous fools ! But the cold
words amazed even himself before they were half spo
ken:
"He's got to go or I've got to go."
There was a painful silence. J. J. stared at the rebel
spirit he himself had evoked from the "vasty deeps."
But he understood a man so much like himself, and he put
221
THE OLYMPIAN
Kirby before all the others. Nevertheless, he purposed
to argue, when Martin exclaimed:
"It's time, then, that Trask got out of here."
J. J. became furious.
"Shut up, Martin! Mr. Meggs, you've heard what
Mr. Trask has said. I can add nothing to it."
Meggs gave a whimpering "Yes, sir," and stood a mo
ment paralyzed and dumb. It was all unbelievable; years
of service frustrated at a blow; his future gone; his family
to be informed. Then he smiled feebly, rubbed his hands,
turned, and went out. Years older, too, with head bowed,
another of the room's broken men.
But Martin almost shrieked his rage:
"You old fool, this is going too far. You're setting
up Trask to be a little tin god. I won't stand for it. I
won't have him strutting around here any more. He's
just a common clerk, an upstart. He's worked you for
all he's worth. I won't stand it
"You won't?" yelled this father to his dearly beloved
son. "All right, you Mr. Trask, after this you're
Business Manager at five thousand a year. Now get the
hell out of here, the whole lot of you."
Thus did Kirby reach the peak of success. He had made
good, and over the body of a humble detail-man he stepped
into power. But he did not exult. The moment of his
triumph was bitter. He knew now that he held dark and
terrible things in his nature; he knew how near a man is
to crime and sin and infamy; and he was amazed at his
own helplessness before these crushing powers. He had
a dull desire to cry, to put his head 'on a woman's shoulder
and weep his heart out. What would Mary say if she
knew this secret Kirby? He felt now more than ever
that he was unworthy of her the muddy slime beneath
her feet. And was it not strange that love which calls
out of a man an angel and a god should at the same time
evoke a devil and a beast? His remorse was over
powering for some time .... a sweet thing to say of Kirby.
222
SUCCESS
And even when, a week later, the news, sent on to his
sister in Chicago, was blazoned in the Trent newspapers
with flaring headlines "A Trent Young Man Rises to the
Top," "Our Foremost Citizen in the East" there was no
sweetness in this fame. Having all, he had nothing.
The business was a quicksand, Mary was unattainable,
and he had forced himself up over a broken spirit. Be
sides, one of the home papers contained a crudely unfor
tunate phrase: "Mr. Trask," wrote the hasty reporter,
"has gone right up like a skyrocket."
A skyrocket! Up like a skyrocket, down like a stick!
How most inept!
Thus was his travail at the end of April. Spring at last
was here, after an infinite winter. He did not know how
he had lived through it, and he felt that he could not bear
to wait longer. The strain was too much. Every night
he looked toward the West and sent out a silent cry:
' ' Mary ! Mary ! Come ! Come ! I 'm waiting. ' '
XXI
THE RIVAL
ONE morning early in May Kirby's protracted fever
fell from him like scales. For he held in his hand a
little note a fresh, sweet note:
DEAR MR. TRASK, We are back back at High Hill and
spring has come, too. Won't you come on Saturday? I've
taken pains to limit father to two or three men and only two
women. I remember the snow-storm and Coleridge and Colwyn's :
what if we slip away and see how the Giant is in springtime?
Faithfully, MARY WATTS.
He got up, locked the office door, kissed the note, and
wiped the tears from his eyes. The relief was blessed.
He felt as if all tragedy and sordidness left him, as if he
were a radiant youth again. It was divine; it was
exquisite.
A soft gayness went into his manner. He was gentle
with his inferiors, pleasant at the Allisons, faintly animated.
They wondered at the change.
Then on Saturday, at eleven-forty-five, he got off the
train at Pactic. Again the brown automobile and the big
chauffeur waited. He got in, the car started with a jolt,
crossed the tracks, made for open country.
"Spring weather!" said the chauffeur. He seemed de
sirous of expressing himself at this expressive season.
"Late in coming, but now everything's green. Looks
like business again. And mud! I spend hours cleaning
the car after a run!"
224
THE RIVAL
Kirby murmured a "yes" and sat back, lost in wonder.
For the barrenness, the coldness, and melancholy of Earth
had turned at the touch of the wand of May into a garden
of enchantment. The breasts of the hills were patched
with squares of van-colored green, the woods were tinted
with young foliage, the orchards snowy-white with frailest
blossoms, and the far landscape lay steamy new under the
soft blue heavens. The air was mild and fresh and full
of the lures of little winds.
Every item of the scene, each motion and action of life
had exquisite meaning. Here was glancing sun on pud
dles, here children shouting as they waded with bare feet
in tinkling creeks, and here in the long pasture the mare
whinnied, wheeled, and loped with her colt up the stony
slope. Calves lay in the sun with the dreamy-eyed cattle,
and up in the orchards whole choruses of mating birds sent
sprays of melody on the flaming air.
Wondrous activities were afoot. Men were mending
plows, sharpening tools at the grindstone, slufnng back
and forth in the mud, carpenters were at work on a new
house in a reverberant music of hammers and saws, and
the pale farm-women were out with tubs of vegetables
on the doorsteps. Kirby saw on the bright green of one
lawn a baby in a wash-basket flinging up little hands and
feet and cooing like a wild, tiny bird. Doors and windows
were open.
Then, as the car sped, it passed a young girl, who
stepped aside with the lithe grace of a fawn and, glancing
up, met Kirby's eyes. Her own were a sparkling blue, her
hair was light and filmy. She was the Spring, passing.
All at once he thrilled with the restless sweetness of the
world, the miracles in process in bough and bird's heart
and the new green earth. He thrilled; he heard the
birds crying melodiously for their loves, he saw the chip
munks chasing each other, and the dogs' spring-running;
and he knew that man, too, must hunt over the hills and
through the woodlands for his mate.
225
THE OLYMPIAN
He was to see her; i-that was the supreme miracle among
these divine splendors of the day he was to see her. And
he knew, at last, he knew the sweet glory of his young
blood, the sweet glory of hers. Unashamed, he desired
her to press her to his heart; to go with her to the edge
of the world ; to spend the day on the new grass and under
the sky watching the motions of her body and the sun-lit
colors of her eyes, and listening to the light music of her
speech and laughter. He could have spent hours bab
bling with her, two frisking colts in the pastures, two young
thrushes fluttering in the green trees, two young eagles in
mid-skies. It was the primal urge; now the sun clasped
the earth in his skies and she gave birth to myriad life;
now all life was as sun and earth clasping; now man
sought woman, with the ecstasy of divine spring hurling
the hunter and the hunted. Yes, he was a hunter, she,
the hunted, both glorying in the chase.
Surely this fire that flowed through him must flow
through her. For a while his unfaith died; he knew;
he saw her soft eyes of welcome, soft eyes full of desiring
dream, arms aching for him. Had they not been mere
man and woman up on the Giant? Before this miracle
wealth and the world fell clattering, leaving them re
vealed to each other, equals, and more; one soul divided
and yearning to reunite. The birds, the beasts, did not
put questions as to respectability and propriety; they
felt the rapture of their sex and followed followed; they
met and built their nests and their lairs. Why should
human beings, the divinest of animals, not do likewise,
letting the world crumble if need be?
Their blood was young and pure and ran sweetly for
each other's sake; surely the heavens would smile on such
a mating.
And as the wooing bird puts on fresh plumage in the
spring, so ardent beauty came to Kirby's face a light
in his eyes, a color in his cheeks, and curves of strength
in arch of neck and poise of head. Mud splashed under
226
THE RIVAL
the running wheels and a spring-music strewed garlands
on the gliding car; hum of honey-bees, tinkle of sheep-
bell, pleasant barnyard noise of clucking hens and downy
chicks, the crash of a boy through the roadside briers, the
jog-jog of a country cart with the lazy farmer dreaming,
and the push of the plow after the great-flanked horse and
before the muscular hired man up the gleaming furrow.
"Mary, I am coming!" was the meaning of all this
music, and it seemed then that all nature was merely the
setting for the love-story of man; for that mating that
makes of Earth the dream, the vision, and the wonder of
the skies.
The car went through the gateway. "In a few mo
ments I shall see her!" beat Kirby's heart. It went past
ancient woods, the old women trees holding little green
babies in their arms. "She is waiting!" sang his pulses.
It sped past the stables, where the boys were airing the
nimble trotters. A whirl of fire began to spin in Kirby's
breast, up and up, until he lost breath, and flame was in his
eyes. "Mary! Mary!" sang the heavens and the earth.
And then glancing aside he saw a little old man talking
with a gardener at the road-end of a new-plowed field.
As the car passed, the little man looked up and nodded;
Kirby nodded back. It was Jordan Watts.
"He loves to get out in the mud," said the chauffeur,
"and set things to work. And he knows this business
from the ground up."
Kirby had a sudden feeling of exhaustion like a sponge
squeezed dry he felt weak. What had Jordan Watts to
do with the spring and with Mary? All the glory gave
to moroseness and irritation.
"This weather is enervating," he thought. "It fools
you; puffs you up and then sticks a pin in."
The car stopped before the house, the door opened and
Kirby was led to the same room. The house felt cool and
airy, but Kirby ached with fatigue and unpleasant desire.
Mary was not in sight. Up in his room, through the open
16 227
THE OLYMPIAN
windows, came the little winds, and he saw the restless
landscape. He lay on the bed, worn out.
"I guess I need some sarsaparilla," was his immediate
thought.
Then finally, much perturbed, he went down to the hall
again. Four men stood at the open door, three of them
smoking cigarettes; the fourth was Jordan Watts. Kirby
advanced, and before he came into earshot he saw that
Jordan Watts was talking terrifically, pounding fist in
hand, and he noticed again the sharp, probing eyes, the
big bulky forehead, and the grim mouth only half hidden
in the little white beard.
Kirby joined the group, but they paid no attention to
him; old Watts didn't seem to see him at all, and all at
once he felt unnerved. Should he step aside or stay?
Was he intruding, or would it be insulting to leave once he
had joined ? So he trembled back and forth in a twilight
zone, enervated, unhinged.
."The export trade this year has surpassed all records.
This country is on the upward curve of a wave of prosperity
that will put it first among the commercial nations. Take
steel, for instance, our basic trade "
Just then there was the swish of skirts in the cool air
and three women came along the hall, and Kirby, glancing,
saw Mary and two stout ladies who seemed stuffed in
their corsets like the luggage of a large family in a small
trunk. He had visions of sweating man and wife and
several children standing and jumping on the lid to slam
it shut.
Then he saw Mary; she seemed a little oppressed, and
did not recognize him in the faint light. He was struck
by the fact that her eyes were so like her father's. And
then looking closer she seemed strange to him; it was
possibly the dress, olive-colored and lacy, which did not
become her as well as black. He had a flash of doubt
about his love for her; had he not been indulging in
smoky visions?
228
THE RIVAL
Then she saw him, and her face lit up, her eyes sparkled.
He felt the bite of something wonderful in his heart, but
it died as soon as it was evoked, and he began to go through
the motions and trance of a somnambulist. For Mary
had gone up to the men, and murmured "Father," where
upon talk ceased, and he heard her calling his name:
"You remember Mr. Trask."
Again he felt the limp and fishy hand, and at once he
heard "Senator Cullom," and saw a stout, big-headed
man with side- whiskers who grunted at him; "Rev. Dr.
Banks," a lean and black individual with a smirking
manner; "Mr. Henry Pendleton." At this point Kirby
had an unpleasant shock. He felt instinctively that he
had met an enemy.
This Henry Pendleton was a superb young man; he
might have posed for a magazine cover or passed as a
matinee idol ; he had broad shoulders, he was built like a
model foot-ball player, muscular and graceful, and he had
a mighty head. His unusually large eyes were a marine
blue, his nose was straight, his lips curled richly, and his
chin was large and rounded. About this smooth-shaved,
well-fed, well-kept animal was an air of distinctive success,
of easy dominance, of brisk power. Beside him Kirby
felt messy and futile, over-emotional, under-developed.
He had the feeling that he had better shun this man's
society; that merely standing next to him put him in a
bad light, and that Mary could not help but notice the
difference.
Then he saw the glance that this fellow gave Mary a
glance that seemed to Kirby's disordered mind to say
plainly, "Hello! my woman!" And he was amazed to
feel an unreasoning rage possess him, a desire to leap at
Pendleton 's throat and roll him choking around the floor.
He was called off, however, for now the fat ladies joined
the group, and he was introduced to Mrs. Cullom and
Mrs. Banks.
Mary now murmured to him:
229
THE OLYMPIAN
"Perhaps we can run off for a little spin after lunch."
But within he was still boiling so hotly that he merely
grinned inanely, and before he could speak Pendleton
took Mary's arm.
"Let me take you in, Miss Watts !" said that domineer
ing fellow, and off Mary went. Kirby could have torn
out his own hair; what an ass he was! He had had the
chance to do the same thing, and now this easy master
of women had gobbled her up.
"And the worst of it is," he thought, "women like just
that kind of man. They eat out of the hands of a brutal
master!"
In swept the group, brushing by Kirby as if he were a
servant, and all he could do was to wish himself anywhere
but here, and go stumbling over Mrs. Banks' dress. The
trains were long that year.
He found the only vacant chair between the reverend
and the senator, and right opposite sat Mary and his dis
gusting rival. Conversation cleverly slanted away from
him or flew past over the table; Mary was absorbed by
the keen-voiced young corporation lawyer, and Kirby was
left desperately alone to eat the sourest and bitterest meal
of his existence. He was in a cold sweat.
Then suddenly his hair felt like jumping off his head,
for the Steel Magnate, who had seemed oblivious of his
dark young life, now crushed through him with a spearing
question:
"Do you play golf, Mr. Trask?"
The truth was out before he knew it, before he had time
to read Mary's appealing glance.
"Yes," he said.
" Good !" said old Watts. "Then we'll get out early, two
pairs I and the Doctor, you and Senator Cullom."
Kirby froze; he was caught in a trap. He saw his rival
smiling.
"Then I," said Pendleton, "shall stay with the ladies.
I don't know golf from hara-kiri."
230
THE RIVAL
"Ha!" thought Kirby, "you liar! You do know golf,
but you're just plotting to keep Mary from me!" The
spin up to the top of the Giant was gone, and the visit
ruined. And that young devil would so completely absorb
her that he couldn't come near. Or if he did come near
the contrast would be vivid; every moment of this visit
was making him smaller and pettier in Mary's eyes. He
loathed himself for coming, and for the whole business.
Served him right for meddling with a millionaire's daugh
ter! Of course he did not admit to himself that such a
vulgar thing as jealousy was gouging him; he was only
for meeting Pendleton in personal combat and blowing his
brilliant brains out.
"Lord, wouldn't he look pretty," he thought, "kicking
the dust."
Lunch over, he found his way to Mary barred by big
shoulders, and next, like a colt that is broken in and hate
fully ridden by its master, he was trotted out to the golf-
links. The pairs matched, and Kirby and the senator
led off.
There was still perfection in the rolling green slopes and
the blue dip of skies; birds were still busy in the trees;
gardeners were running lawn-mowers over the smooth
sward; but all this loveliness sounded like a vain tinkle
in Kirby's ears. He played poorly and slowly, and the
stout senator was vexed.
"Take it easy the easy stroke it's all in the wrist,
the twist."
" It's all in your fat belly," thought Kirby, and caught
the earth a good round whack, wishing viciously that it
was the senator's red ear.
The minister and Jordan Watts pressed close behind
them, and, after interminable ages, the two pairs came
together. They stood about waiting for Kirby to play.
At this point the hole was near a tangled woods.
Kirby, in a funk before these watchers, struck viciously,
and the ball shot up, made a wild curve, and fell in the
231
THE OLYMPIAN
woods. It would take possibly twenty minutes to find it.
He turned to the caddy.
"Let's have another," he muttered.
Jordan Watts turned to him sharply:
"Aren't you going to look for that ball?"
"No," saidKirby.
"Young man," said the multi-millionaire, "that ball
must have cost seventy-five cents."
Kirby felt hot in the head; he pierced the old man with
his gray eyes.
"Mr. Watts," he said, coldly, "when I have as much
money as you perhaps I can afford to waste the time
looking for a golf -ball."
The senator and the reverend unexpectedly smothered
giggles, but old Watts looked black; such extravagance
was bad enough, such an insult was bad enough, but, after
all, it wasn't Kirby's ball, it was Watts' ball. Yet some
how Kirby had shut him up.
Whereupon Kirby made the shot of his life, playing like
an expert in a tournament. And he thought exultantly:
"Now I've done it made a life enemy of Mary's father;
this improves my chances."
And as he and the senator went on,he muttered, savagely :
"I'm not using any of his money, and I needn't be nice
to him."
The senator was threatened with apoplexy.
"You're impulsive, young man," he murmured. But
the stout man enjoyed the rest of the game very blithely ;
he was framing up the story to tell at the club. A new
Jordan Watts story!
It was almost dinner-time when the game was over and
they trudged back to the house. The women had gone
to their rooms to dress, but young Pendleton, already
in his evening clothes, sat on the porch, puffing at a pipe,
and looking insolent.
"He sits here," thought savage Kirby, "to show me
he's had a good time."
232
THE RIVAL
The men tramped up to their rooms, too. Kirby rushed
his dressing, almost crushing his stiff shirt in the effort
to button on the collar; then tore down-stairs to intercept
Pendleton. But he was too late the brute had Mary in
a corner, and soon led her to dinner.
At the table he was a nonentity again, and the way
Jordan Watts ignored him was perceptible. At one point,
just as he was seeing red and breathing blood because
Mary laughed at one of Pendleton's jokes, he heard these
words of wisdom from the Steel Magnate:
"But I say that the young man of this time has just as
many chances as I did that is, if he has big vision, the
direct drive, unfaltering courage, and is thrifty. Thrift !
Save your pennies and they grow to dollars! I myself
hesitate to this day to invest in a new hat."
"Thanks for the sermon," thought Kirby, "you damned
old miser. And I bet you have so much money you can't
count it. Golf -balls! As for Pendleton, some day I'll
mash him to a pulp. There he goes again!"
They trooped out to the fire-lit hall, Mary and Pendle
ton just behind him. Then an amazing thing happened
he heard Mary's incisive voice:
"Just pardon me, Mr. Pendleton, I want to see Mr.
Trask a moment."
"Certainly," said Pendleton, in a tone that meant (to
Kirby) "Run off and amuse yourself with the pretty
thing; I can spare you a moment."
But what divine courage, divine womanliness. She
confronted him:
"So," she said, ruefully, "our ride was spoiled."
"Yes," he smiled, childishly happy, a rush of dreamy
bliss pouring through him. ' ' And it was my fault. I hate
golf."
" Oh, these people !" said Mary. " But I know. We can
take a row together now."
And she cleverly led the company out into the cool
night, and along the shadowy walks. She and Kirby
233
THE OLYMPIAN
walked in advance; and she spoke like an eager con
spirator.
"You'll have to do it quick to escape them. I'll jump
in, you give the boat a push, and off we'll go."
This was heavenly; he throbbed with a sudden rapture,
and when they came to the lake and found, on the dim,
pebbly shore the light Canadian skiff, Mary leaped in, he
gave it a shove, stepped over the stern and almost foun
dered it as it hit the water and swam out.
Mary laughed excitedly; he stepped past her and took
the oars, fitted them, and pulled hard. They faced each
other.
"Free!" cried Mary. "Free at last! The villains are
foiled!"
It was exactly as if they were eloping together.
The stars were restless and lustrous in the serene skies,
as if their glistening hearts were white with the mating-
passion, and over the dark bulk of the trees lay a sliver
of new moon. Beneath this beauty, the waters, girdled
with woods, were so tranquil that moon and stars gave
them heavenly depth; they heard the liquid gush
around the prow, the cool drip of the oars, the straining
of the oar-locks, and there glided past a pair of ducks, one
swimming after the other.
It was a night in Spring; one could almost hear buds
opening and the forest floor heaving before the push of
life; and from those stars down through the Earth to the
stars beneath it everything seemed touched with throbbing
life. The whole universe was drenched with this divine
awakening the call of the Spring, the call of love.
Kirby glanced up. In the faint dark she sat there like
a sweet shadow of rounded shoulders and upturned face.
He saw the tremulous outline of her hair, little wisps
floating. He seemed to hear her deep breath. And again
he felt that they had left the world, that they were man
and woman the pair in Eden, and yet with a difference.
Life had become intenser; they were enfolded in it;
234
THE RIVAL
their hearts throbbed exquisitely with the throb of the
Earth and the trembling of the stars. Ecstasy came to
him; it seemed as if they must rush together like risen
Spring waters dashing down rocks. He wanted to sing to
her, and to hear her woman's voice echoing back music
under the living night. The great moment was at hand;
the moment he had awaited through all the winter; the
moment denied him this afternoon. She had come back
to him from the remote West, their young blood was in
tune, and in the symphony of the Spring they were struck
together like a final melting chord of music.
He rested on the oars, leaning forward. His voice
trembled :
" This is something like the Giant," was all he could say.
She, too, leaned forward, speaking with trembling
wistfulness :
"What a night that was. And yet it seems only
yesterday."
He grew bold; he had come like a hunter over the hills.
And then, like mud falling, came a voice:
"Mary! Mary!"
"That's father," she said. "Shall I answer?"
"No," he commanded.
" Mary !' ' The voice pulsed harsh.'i
This was tragic; this was agonizing.
"Aren't you in that boat out there?"
"Yes, father."
"We've been looking for you."
"I'm coming."
Kirby rowed back to shore, Mary was gobbled up, and
he trod after, the blackest heart in the night.
The next afternoon, after a fierce repetition of Pendleton,
Pendleton, and Pendleton, Kirby left. Pendleton very
gallantly came with Mary to say good-by.
All he had then was her cloudy, wistful gaze as the car
bore him away in a weather of dust and wind and clouds.
It was as if winter were returning. Spring lay dead.
235
THE OLYMPIAN
And Kirby cursed the fates that had given him human
birth. He felt that he was disillusioned that between
Jordan Watts, Pendleton, wealth, position, and society he
was a mere outcast.
"Fool to aim so high. Yes," he told himself, "I'm the
original skyrocket."
And he resolved to live down this ruining passion.
XXII
QUICKSANDS
FOR a little while, whenever the days of Spring had
fresh and restless beauty, Kirby had the strange
feeling of the world passing, a golden cloud fading, and all
the lovers on Earth fading with it. A light stole from his
heart and transformed all things, touching them with a
dying radiance. In that light he saw the swift faces of
the finger-busy girls at the long tables, or the emergence
and vanishing gleam where the shadowy presses clanked
and spewed their shining sheets, or the rush and smoky
flash of the locomotive the green woods, the blue skies,
the busy life. Surely some Aladdin in a deep sunset-
wondrous gorge of the Arabian Nights had rubbed his
lamp, and called into being this world of magic and him
and this shadow-play of business and love.
Business and love ! What else was there in this dream
of being born and of dying?
And sometimes when he saw J. J these days, noising
his way through the visionary world like a meaningless
dusty storm, he thought that J. J. was an Aladdin him
self. For where men were idle and the ground barren,
freight-trains empty and farms and slums untouched by
brilliant dream, this bulky creature had come along and
rubbed that invisible lamp his brain and at once the
factories smoked, men labored, artists and authors brought
gifts, the trains were filled, and bright imaginings entered
in remote doorways. He had evoked a cloud-metropolis;
he had performed a modern miracle. The wires sang of
237
THE OLYMPIAN
him, the wheels bore his dreams, the newsman scattered
his enchantments, marriages were made because of him,
children were born, men raised among the mighty or sent
down among the dead. Or so it seemed to Kirby.
But the lamp was losing its power. Though J. J.
rubbed and rubbed, the cloud-metropolis faded from
around him in the last of the light, the turrets crumbled,
the faces dimmed, the dreams were scattered on the wind.
The amazed magician rubbed desperately, cried to the
heavens; he had t thought he was a god, but he was merely
one of these children that wawl when they come hither
and pass into darkness.
And Kirby was like a shining soap-bubble blown from
the lips of youth and floating upward through that cloud
and to the top, only to vanish in the gathering night.
It was unbelievable, but it was true. It was the way
of all things human. Here was an American civilization
surging tempestuously on a breast of earth between two
oceans, and out of the fierce grind of drudges arose these
dreamers and schemers building their worlds of men; the
waves rose from the sea, flashed and foamed in the sun,
and sank back to the engulfing deeps again. Did they
rise of themselves or did the sea lift them?
If, then, the brief moment in the sun held not the love
of man and woman, what was it worth ? Those bluebirds
out there knew, those butterflies knew, and boy and girl
walking in the fields knew.
But these spasms of unreality passed with languid
weather; when rain fell, or dust rose, Kirby felt the harsh
ness and red bitterness of the solid world.
J. J. called a meeting of the staff in his office and spoke,
almost in tears:
"By heavens, we must make a last desperate rally.
Do you want to see the whole thing go? I tell you, you
don't know how bad things are. Where's the money to
come from? There's only the hope of every one of us
sweating our blood cheapening the magazine, increasing
238
QUICKSANDS
circulation, and hustling for ads. We must retrench,
drop every needless expense, every needless employee."
So two editors were dropped, and men and women
struck out here and there all through the place. Much
of this work of economy and campaigning fell to Kirby.
He had to overhaul each department, cut out waste,
systematize, stint. He had to evolve new publicity
schemes, he had to fight off creditors. It was his sugges
tion that closed the other factory and sent to the scrap-
heap battery cars that refused to run^and air-ships that
refused to fly.
Worst of all, the new head of the subscription depart
ment, a fat Falstaffian fellow named Rouse, showed him
self jovially incompetent. He dramatized his irksome
job by making the girls giggle, drawing cartoons on pad-
paper, and devising pleasant advertisements, such as,
"Can't You Sleep? Try Harrington's."
Hence Kirby had to shoulder much of the fat man's
work, and he was swamped with crowding occupations.
Lunch-time found him smoking, dictating, rushing around ;
supper was a mere bite, and then back to his desk in his
shirt-sleeves under the electric drop-light till the mid
night train shrilled in his brain, and he looked up at the
strange walls and felt the ghostly emptiness of the black
building. Then he would slip his feet along to the stairs,
hurry down, and out into the intense and starless dark.
In bed he lay awake with cold, clammy feet and beating
brain, or slept with dreams of dancing arithmetic and
jumble of systems.
He looked pitiable these days a bright-eyed wreck,
sometimes with growth of beard on his face and clothes
unbrushed. He was forced into J. J.'s last desperate
rally, and the worst of the pressure came on him.
This in a way was lucky, however. It gave neither the
time nor energy to brood over Mary. He was a mere
protoplasmic machine, turning out his day's work, and
then snatching sleep and food for a new stretch of toil.
239
THE OLYMPIAN
It was like Napoleon's retreat from Moscow; a routed
army beating back terrifically to escape. And Kirby was
one of the haggard captains, hustling his men.
Then a change came for the worse. Kirby, now no
longer secretary, was entirely detached from J. J. and saw
little of him. Naturally he ceased gradually to be in the
counsels of the great man. It was an eventuality he had
not figured on, the effect of such a separation on J. J.
And next, Loughlin, who had been transferred from the
factory to the house, was discharged and a new secretary
secured. At first Kirby laughed secretly over this new
man, and from his haughty heights looked down with dis
gust, almost hatred. For Cropsey was a stumpy, sawed-
off fellow, stout, dwarfish, lame, who dressed fastidiously,
dangled a heavy gold watch-chain, flashed rings on his
reddish fingers, and was barbered to perfection. He had
a mustache at which he loved to pull. All this was a red
rag to bullish Kirby; but, monstrous and culminating
outrage, the man stank. It was something musky,
Eastern, clinging.
"And it must be something cheap," thought Kirby.
"Greases his hair, slops his handkerchief, anoints his
vest, drinks it."
One could tell that he was coming before he hove into
sight the invisible advance agent preceded him. And so
this bright smell went gaily wandering up and down the
factory, and Kirby did not see the dramatic grandeur of it.
It was man triumphing over the elements; for out of his
fierce infirmities, his shriveled legs and bended back,
Cropsey wrought with a few drops of essence a victory
of unspoiled and lush laughter, rushing activity, and per
fect self-assurance. It was as if he said:
"You can't notice me plain, so I've discovered the per
fume that makes a dwarf a giant, whereby I stink you all
down."
Sprinkled with greatness, he went then, odious, odorous,
and obvious. He escaped littleness through a smell.
240
QUICKSANDS
The girls called him "Mr. Peewee," after a cartoon
character in the Sunday papers. Kirby called him worse
names than that.
"But he won't last a week," thought Kirby. " J. J.
can't stand it."
What was his amazement, then, to hear rumors that
Cropsey was becoming a favorite.
"Kirby," said honest Brent, " Cropsey 's the next one."
Kirby could not believe it ; it meant that he was follow
ing the long line downward; another Boyd; another
favorite on the wane. That his success implied immediate
failure was monstrous; he fought against the idea. But
the proofs grew on him.
First came the typed statement that hereafter all
orders would come through Cropsey, and all communica
tions for J. J. ascend by Cropsey; then Cropsey came
around to investigate Kirby's office.
The bitterness of this was ghastly. Not so long ago
Kirby had exulted in watching men broken; it was so
good to be strong, to use power, to trample. Now he
suddenly felt stripped of authority and had to endure what
he had made others endure.
Cropsey seemed to delight in showing Kirby the new
status. He would break into the room, smell and all,
sit on Kirby's desk, lean, lay his hand on the quivering
Business Manager, poke him in the ribs, laugh in his face.
"Say, J. J.'s great, eh? The old devil! Did you ever
get thick with him, like me? Think of it he 'likes me;
I'm his alter ego, or vice versa. Latin's Greek to me.
Give me the sly kind; J. J.'s sly; you ain't an idea how he
spies on the bunch of you. I'm his right eye. Ha! ha!
I'm watching you!"
"Not interested," said Kirby, coldly, "and I'm a bit
busy."
Cropsey winked.
"Don't bluff, Trask. You ought to see the report I
made on you. J. J. saw little red devils."
241
THE OLYMPIAN
Kirby rose.
"You'd better cut that short," he said.
"Oh, come now, come now!" laughed Cropsey. "All's
fun between friends. Did I ever tell you of my prospects ?
Well, I've got a widow in Weehawken stuck on me; I'm
her little man, and she's got a bunch of the coin. Let J. J.
smash, let the magazine blow up, there's a big woman to
pull me out of the wreck. How about you, Trask?
What'll you do if you're out in the cold?"
He was out in the cold already. He raged over the
fact; he stormed through his heavy work. How could
J. J. be such an ingrate; how forget so cruelly? And,
bitterest of all, his enemies, hitherto subdued by fear, now
saw him stripped of power and immediately joined in the
fun of kicking the man who was going down. Any one
could defy him now, for what strength had he save the
power of his voice? And with this feeling of breakage
within and without him, how could he muster up enough
self-confidence to command others?
He could of course leave, but to leave in disfavor was
practically to be blacklisted, to find all doors shut. He
could only get some poor job as a stenographer, and join
the ever-present and bright failures at Atwood's. It is
in the nature of man, too, to disbelieve in a sudden change
of fortune for the worse. Kirby desperately clung to the
idea that this was a passing phase, that to-morrow or the
next day conditions would revert. Cropsey might be
forced out, or the business, pulling through by some swift
miracle, might turn successful and soften J. J.
But if Kirby remained, if he fought it out to the last
ditch and his bull-headedness made him blindly go on
and on unflinching then he must endure the worst. A
man in power can resist insult, calumny, degradation; a
man out of power must uncomplainingly receive the kicks.
To complain meant to be dropped altogether. And now
that his grip was being loosened/his position, his waning
authority seemed very sweet to him. To tremble with
242
fear, to feel punishment, to know the heart-break and self-
depreciation of being trampled on began to be Kirby's
portion, and his whole nature cried out on the injustice
and savagery of the world. It was a snarl and clawing of
wolves; let but the strongest fall and the whole pack
exultantly devoured him. Kirby was sick of life, and
yet never had life seemed so fatally sweet.
And so he had fits of his old shyness and speechlessness;
he wanted somewhere to lay his head, to escape this
gathering disgrace. Up like a skyrocket, down like a
stick how bitter this phrase had become to him. He
remembered his experience with the Army of the Unem
ployed, and he felt his kinship to those souls that gnashed
teeth, and wailed, and begged in the outer darkness. This,
then, was life the brief glory of a few, the cry of the
multitude. And he had had his brief glory and now they
were beating his head down in the bitter floods. Surely
some devil, some divine vivisector, had created the world.
; Then one morning the office-boy came in and said:
" J. J. wants to see yer at once."
Kirby went out; he saw the rest of the staff marching
grimly up the gravel path, and suddenly he remembered
his first day with J. J. and the seven men he had con
sidered mere dogs. It was ironical to join this procession
of mongrels, and to have in his heart the throbbing fear
of the others. He felt positively sick; he glimpsed the
notion that this morning would publicly symbolize his
broken power.
The day was sticky and warm, unpleasantly humid,
and a glare of light gushed through the searching atmos
phere; the railroad tracks shimmered with heat, the grass
swarmed with buzzing insects, mosquitoes sang in his
ears, and he felt itchy all over.
Up the cool stairs the staff climbed silently, Kirby with
them. Then they knocked on the door. Kirby's heart
began to pound, his temples to throb.
"Come," cried J. J. They entered. Cropsey was sit-
17 243
THE OLYMPIAN
ting facing them, grinning maliciously, and Kirby won
dered how often the staff had seen him (Kirby) doing the
same thing and longed to strangle him just as he longed
to strangle Mr. Peewee.
And just as on that first morning, J. J. was bent over
reports, muttering. The staff made the old semicircle
behind their master and stood, silent. Through the open
window came the noise of a passing train and the lazy
hum of flies and the shrilling of crickets.
Then Kirby seemed to be an actor in an old dream,
something that had happened ages before.
"Is this Trask's report?" thundered J. J.
Kirby craned his neck.
"Yes," he murmured.
J. J. swiveled round, his eyes flashing insanely, flecks
of saliva on his lips.
"Now you young son-of-a-gun," he roared, "you
whirligig of slush, is this what you give me after all my
work with you? Pick that up!"
The report lay on the floor, and Kirby hesitated. The
world danced round him, a swirl of red; a lunatic rage
tore through his brain; he was ripe for murder at that
instant. J. J. curse him? He, too, one of these dogs?
"Pick that up!" shouted J. J.
A long moment passed. Then Kirby turned and walked
from the room.
By that act he narrowly saved himself from a complete
breakdown; yet he felt that he had somehow bent if not
surrendered his erect spirit; he was broken; he was
trampled. Publicly, too. He knew it, but what could
he do ? One word would have lost him his position. And
to lose that now seemed equivalent to suicide. Irony of
life! What a difference to sit in the secretary's chair,
feeling the tiger-joy of seeing men stepped upon, and to
stand here, in the same room, in the same drama, and be
one of the trampled !
And Cropsey had grinned maliciously.
244
QUICKSANDS
In this way, then, Kirby went up, went down. Down,
but not out yet. No. Now he would fight on, just as
his predecessors had done, to the last gasp. It was, of
course, merely because he was being forced out that this
position began to loom so large, to be so sweet to him.
But large and sweet it was, and to endure curses, to be
long to the herd that was profanely used, seemed less
important than once it was. He had not picked up the
report, but nevertheless he had not resigned his position.
And now in these mid-days of May, Mary and the Giant
and high finance seemed far away and unreal. Kirby
was making a fight for his life; it was the instinct of self-
preservation, even more elemental than that of sex.
XXIII
PENDLETON
IT was the next morning that Kirby received a note
from Mary.
DEAR MR. TRASK, We must try once more. Would this
week-end do? I am going to spend a week at Cameron Bay,
Maine. Maine is wonderful in June, and there are cliffs along
the sea.
It is a long journey, but possibly you can come.
Faithfully, M. W.
And Kirby, reading this, was amazed that he had ever
thought love so important. Engrossed in his work, the
interference of a woman was annoying; the interference
of Mary was almost tragic. Easy enough for her to run
him about the country, but to be away four days was
physically impossible; and even if he were free to go it
would only deepen his troubles. He was in no mood for
love-making ; he was nervous and broken ; he would only
be a bother to have around; he could not brook meeting
any more Pendletons, and, besides, he had given up Mary.
He had no more right to aspire to her than as if he had
tuberculosis or insanity. Completely disillusioned, fight
ing for his very existence, he stared the brute facts in the
face, and he concluded that the matter must end. He was,
in truth, in a neurotic condition, and saw life black.
So he wrote:
MY DEAR Miss WATTS, It is kind of you to invite me. I
am sorry that it is impossible for me to come.
Yours sincerely, KIRBY TRASK.
246
PENDLETON
He little knew, of course, where this javelin, hurled in
the dark, was going to land; nor did he in any way guess
what had prompted Mary's letter.
She had given the New York address, and it was here,
for the time being, that she was living. Her father was
here, too. Both were exceedingly busy.
Jordan Watts was in his down-town office most of the
day. He was just engaged in the joyous occupation of
creating rivalries and jealousies among underlings, man
agers, and partners in New York, Pittsburgh, and Chicago;
by such a method he divided the powers of the business
into fractions which he could easily control; they never
could coalesce against his authority. Besides, every few
months, after a period of absence, he reveled in checking
up the work of each department and then writing post
cards brutally slashing his people right and left.
"Let 'em know the Big Eye is on them," he said.
That, however, was not the major part of his day's work.
He was financing new enterprises through Wall Street
combinations, and he was likewise involved in a campaign
for fame and in politico-social schemes for greater power.
So he dashed off articles and lectures and after-dinner
speeches and he attended dinners and went to opera and
concert and meeting, to foregather with all the legislators,
judges, scientists, and other outstanding people that he
could, thereby strengthening his grasp.
Mary was equally busy; they were as obverse and re
verse sides of the same coin.
"I make," said old Watts; "she spends."
To do this wisely she had a private secretary, a woman
who at one time had worked for the Charity Organization
Society. Daily came hundreds of begging letters from
societies, schools, universities, libraries, and individuals;
daily there were a dozen projects to consider. And, be
sides, Mary worked in a Settlement; went down several
times a week and managed a club of girls, and was also
on the board of trustees. Down there she was slightly
247
THE OLYMPIAN
feared, for she asked piercing questions, and drew sharp
conclusions much in the manner of her father.
Then, in a way, she supervised the house, checked up
accounts, O.K.'d large orders. In addition, there was
often shopping to do.
But what she liked least and had to submit to most was
a ceaseless round of social engagements this and that
dinner or dance, theater-party or public meeting, and she
had a number of young women friends for afternoon calls
and outings.
Thinking back, she could not remember a time when
she had not met almost daily people of power or position.
As a girl she remembered sitting at table, at home,
on shipboard, in private car, in Europe or New York or
the West, with all sorts of imposing personalities. And
her father was constantly bringing a fresh supply. He
had an eye out for rising and risen men in all walks of life,
pounced upon them, and brought^them home in his jaws.
She was so used to it that it was as natural to her as
dressing in the morning, and her father was such an excel
lent talker that she had early disposed of any native
constraint. The process left her quite natural, unspoilt;
she had never ceased being her simple and sincere self.
In fact, she had a reputation for saying unconventional
things, for talking with uncomfortable directness, for
being unpleasantly honest.
This social intercourse brought one excellent result
she got to know men ; she could size and assort them with
swift certainty; they could not baffle her. And time and
again she sent some suitor about his business.
Naturally she was the bright star for the gilded and half-
gilded or half-tarnished youth of America. Foreigners,
too, approached her, many via her father. Climbers, ad
venturers, successful men of every stamp buzzed about
her. As one of Pendleton's friends put it to that wealthy
corporation lawyer :
"She's the best match in America."
248
PENDLETON
The result of this ferocious cloud of males ascending
the heavens toward their queen bee was that at times old
Watts believed that Mary would never marry. She was
twenty-six and had turned down a regiment already.
"You're getting," said her father, "so that a man makes
you suspicious."
She laughed; but there was truth in this. She suspected
a crude motivation and was wary. Besides, she almost
never met a man who appealed to her imagination, none
"with a star on his forehead," as she had said of Coleridge.
The neurasthenic young idlers who had valets dress them
in the morning, and spent money so fast that it flowed
after them like a comet's tail, and who, weary of existing
methods of dissipating, invented new orgies, landing
finally in the insane asylum or the sanatorium, hardly
struck her as coming up to any honest ideal.
Neither was she taken up with "hard-headed business
men." She was one herself, and knew the limitations of
the type. Nor did luscious senators and amiable judges
excite her; neither was she stirred by the author of the last
novel that sold two hundred thousand copies.
Kirby stood out from this masculine lock-step like a
camp-fire on the side of a mountain. His first coming,
the poor lad, shy and passionately speechless, the awkward
ness and sudden splendid temper, was remembered. Even
then she divined in him a thousand magic possibilities.
He came, she felt, near to being a genius, and on the
mountain-top she thought of Kirby as much as of her
father when she quoted:
Dreamer devout by vision led.
The way, too, that he had met her at Harrington's
stirred her imagination. She had had the sudden desire
then to seize on him and project him almost a maternal
instinct. It meant adventure, risk, the unexpected
Kirby was so undependable. She knew these other men;
249
THE OLYMPIAN
they were as like as peas, year after year; their reactions
could be predicted as the astronomer predicts an eclipse.
They were law-bound. Kirby, she felt, was lawless. He
might end in anything greatness or obscurity. In short,
he was desperately interesting, and to follow him meant
real risks. She, like her father, loved risk. Better pain,
defeat, death, she thought, than the gliding smoothness
of the beaten road.
Then on the top of the Giant her feeling for Kirby had
developed to a new point. She felt the man in him there,
the powerful young mate. His gray eyes, his trembling
voice, the strength with which he had taken charge of
her, were all thrilling; pervaded her with a mood she had
never before known. And that whole adventure was a
new element in her life; never before had she been thrown
into such personal intimate contact with a man.
At the moment she had felt willing to follow where he
led, to cast aside the world and go with him, two comrades,
man and woman, in the wilderness; to be to him what her
mother had been to her father.
And finally, in the interrupted row in the skiff out on
the dark lake, she had been moved almost to tears by
beauty and wonder.
There was no way of reasoning what it all meant.
Kirby in many ways was raw, crude, untried; he was
clumsy and unmannered; he was, comparatively speaking,
unsuccessful. Not one .big thing had he done. She knew
his weaknesses, too; glimpsed his ambitions, his false
pride, his unfounded haughtiness. He was even ignorant
of poetry; probably even more ignorant 'of the other
arts; woefully ignorant of the world.
All this she knew. Why, then, did her heart throb
under his influence ? Why did she seem to be more alive ?
Why was she so happy to be alone with him? Was there
something primal in him that called out something primal
in her ? They seemed to set fire to each other.
The memory of the snow-storm was ineffaceable. It re-
250
PENDLETON
turned to her mind time and again like a rush of music.
What had made it so sweet? Why did she feel so young,
so free, so much of a woman, recalling his eyes or his
voice or his gestures?
And then she forgot his faults and thought of him in the
light of possibilities.
"Oh," she told herself, "he's somehow the greatest man
I've met. He has it in him to rule the world. All he
needs is the chance. If I wanted to," she thought and
what a wealth of the woman was in the phrase! "I could
make him a great man."
That was the temptation. Just as her father had
gloried in developing Steel, so she could have gloried in
developing Kirby.
"Day-dreams!" she told herself. Her practical head
was at odds with her instincts. Pooh! how could she
marry a man so much beneath her? It was too much like
charity; it went against the social conventions; it would
be opposed on all sides; and then there was her father.
He would not hear of such a thing.
"Yes," said a little voice, "but it's been done before.
There's the millionaire who married an East Side Jewess,
the rich woman who ran off with her chauffeur. It's
happening all the time; it's the theme of half of the
romances of the world."
"Ah," she replied, "but the newspaper notoriety, the
social ruin. True, I have stocks in my own name; but
would a man live on me like that? And could I, with my
lack of training, live on his level?"
The thought made her cheeks burn. What a wild ad
venture it would be ! All the grooves, the ruts of her life
smashed open. It would make all life a ride in a snow
storm! And, after all, this is the true romance of life
to reverse all the conditions: if poor, to be rich; if rich,
to be poor.
"But I don't really love him," she told herself. "I'm
merely fascinated."
251
THE OLYMPIAN
If this was so it put another young man in a favorable
light. This young man was Pendleton. Mary had to
admit that he fascinated her. She knew beyond doubt
that he was trying to make a brilliant match; and yet
Kirby might, in bad moments, not be above such a wild
thought.
It was Pendleton's easy power, overwhelming mascu
linity, poise, and finish that attracted her.
"He's finished; Kirby unfinished," she reflected, there
by making Kirby appear all the more entrancing. A
finished product has no future; a crude Kirby is so in
teresting!
But Pendleton would make a mighty husband. Be
tween them they would flash in the round world at the
very pinnacle of society. And she could exult in the
domineering man, the big polished brute, the careless
master of women and men.
It was a match, too, that would be strongly endorsed by
her father. He liked Pendleton, overlooked even the
fact that he didn't play golf. And 'Pendleton already had
great power, was the mainstay of several gigantic corpora
tions, and could easily become one of the masters of Steel
if Watts opened the door. In short, Pendleton would make
a good heir when Watts died. For the sake of the business
and the inheritance, was not Mary bound to consider his
suit?
Not that she feared her father's interference. Hitherto,
on such matters, she had treated the old man as if she were
his wife or mother, not his child. And when he indignantly
said, "Then I suppose you'll never marry!" she replied,
"Why should I? I'm independent. It's only the de
pendent woman who has to marry. An independent
American woman can live the best sort of life without
having an unpleasant man in it."
But one rainy May night her father called her into the
library. In the deep quiet he sat there in his leather arm
chair, the low light of the electrolier shining in his musing
252
PENDLETON
eyes. She came in and sat on the chair arm and put an
arm about him.
" Urn, Meg! Meg!" he muttered, and rubbed his crumply
bearded cheek against her cheek. She hugged him tighter.
They were very fond of each other, these two hard-headed
people.
"So," he said. "Sit over there. I'm going to talk to
you, Mary, like a father not a toy."
She took the seat near him, never dreaming what was
coming. He drew some papers toward him.
"Mary," he said, looking at her sharply, "who's this
fellow Trask, anyway?"
Her heart gave a jerk, her cheeks warmed, but she met
his gaze unflinching.
"He's Business Manager at Harrington's."
"What do you think of him?"
Mary began to get better control of herself.
"He has possibilities."
"What sort?"
"Business social."
He leaned toward her, and his words seemed to slash
her heart.
"Enough to warrant a night's outing and secret rides
on the lake?"
Her eyes blazed, and she leaned toward him; their
faces were near together.
"Why do you ask that?"
"Why, Mary, do you do such things?"
"If," she said, with sharp anger, " you think it necessary
to spy on me, why, that ends it. I won't have anything
more to do with you."
"Just a moment," he said, and picked up a typewritten
sheet. "Listen to this:
REPORT ON MR. KIRBY TRASK
On investigation, through Mr. Harrington, Atwood's Agency,
and people at the address furnished by the latter (a cheap
253
THE OLYMPIAN
boarding-house on West Twenty-sixth Street), I find that
Mr. Trask came from Trent, Iowa, where he was an unsuccessful
newspaper reporter. After coming here he worked for less than
a week as a sort of office-boy at Marshall's, and then for two
years was a clerk at the Continental Express Company. He
left this position without formal notice.
He studied shorthand at the Guthrie School and became
private secretary to Mr. Harrington. On the day of his arrival
at In wood he engaged a room and took lunch in a workman's
boarding-house, but found another place the same day, and
never paid for the lunch.
At Harrington's he was raised rapidly and finally became
Business Manager. But Mr. Harrington tells me that Mr.
Trask proved very disappointing. A case of conceit, of au
thority without training. Without cause, and in a fit of temper,
he discharged the head of the subscription department, a man of
standing and of long experience an invaluable employee. And
now he is proving unfit in every way.
Among his faults are: heavy drinking and smoking, dissipat
ing, overbearing manners, insolence to inferiors, ruthlessness.
There was some rumor among the clerks of an affair with a
clerk's wife; also at Marshall's, a floor-walker told me of an
affair with a shop-girl.
Mary was overwhelmed. In this brutal light Kirby
was revealed as something crass and horrible. She felt as
if a knife had been run through her heart.
She sat stunned, speechless, in pain.
"You ask me why I question you, Mary," said old
Watts, in a kindly voice. " Do you wonder now?"
Her face was very pale. She could barely speak.
"But is it true? I can't believe it."
"Yes," he said, dryly, "the Pinkertons get the truth
as I've found in the mills."
Then she leaned forward again.
"Do you mean you set a detective on him?"
"Naturally after seeing him with you at High Hill.
I think enough of my daughter to protect her from
adventurers."
254
PENDLETON
"Why," she said, "it's really setting a detective on me,
too." Her color rose. "I think I can take care of my
self, father. Good night."
And out she went. But Jordan Watts was satisfied.
Her immediate reaction didn't matter. He knew, master
of two hundred thousand men, how to stab the soul.
And it was really so. Mary lay that night unable to
sleep, one revelation after another flooding her mind.
Why had Kirby interviewed her that time instead of
leaving it to Mansfield? But how could she be so mis
taken? Never before had she been misled by a man.
Why, she asked herself, should such a devil be so beautiful,
so stormily attractive?
So finally, with all her strength, she shut her heart to
him. She decided to squeeze him out of her mind, and
this could only be done by concentrating on something
else. That something else, in this juncture, was Pendle-
ton, corporation lawyer.
She told herself she was terribly angry with her father.
There was something snaky in using a spy. It was an
insult to her, a humiliation. And yet this anger melted
in her grief and shock over Kirby. Never before had she
appeared before her father and herself as a weak fool.
Had she known how to cry, she would have that night.
But Mary never cried.
' That next day she quite feared to face her father; she
felt shamed and abased. Luckily he was away, did not
even come home for supper. Then that evening, sitting
in one of the upper parlors, she had brought to her Pendle-
ton's card.
, She grew strangely excited.
"Show him into the music-room," she said, and then
waited.
Her feeling was that the crisis of her life was upon her,
and that she was curiously weak and emotional. She felt
as if she had no control of herself, could not concentrate
her thoughts, could not abate her excitement.
255
THE OLYMPIAN
"I can't go to him not to-night," she told herself, and
rose at once to do it.
She had been proposed to many times; it was a painful
matter, but one she could handle with assurance. Why,
then, this disconcertedness to-night? Why did it seem to
her that she was changing her whole existence by merely
walking to the music-room?
All at once Pendleton seemed close to her, personal,
absorbing her. She was responsible for him, for herself.
Her one word would unite them for all time, would end
her single life, end Kirby, end all. But Kirby had to be
ended the sooner the better. A "Yes" from her would
free her of the impudent adventurer. His affairs with
clerk's wives and shop-girls ! The shame of it !
But as she stepped along the softly lighted hall she told
herself she couldn't speak to Pendleton. Why didn't he
leave her alone to-night? She made a desperate effort
to collect, control herself, and failed miserably. It was as
if she were drugged.
"I'm going to my fate!" was her thought.
For a woman such an occasion is tragically vital; it
means uprooting life and transplanting it to a strange soil.
It is terrifying, even when it is glorious and uplif ted by love.
And so she stepped through the parlor, walking firmly,
her pale face uplifted, her large, brown eyes full of doubt
and dread. She entered the music-room. The window
was open, and all the mildness of the May night entered,
with the noises of the city. Intimations stole in of the
dark cross-streets, the enchanted avenues, and the secret
undercurrent of romance beneath the lights. Mating
everywhere in the crowded city; shy laughter of girls and
boys; ardent glances of men and women.
Pendleton was sitting in a chair, fingers of both hands
touching as if in a thwarted attempt at prayer, legs
crossed, and face also pale. And as she entered both
seemed caught in an atmosphere of flame, and both acted
as if in a trance.
256
PENDLETON
"Good evening," he murmured, rising.
" Good evening," she said, at once sitting down. He re
seated himself.
There was a dreadful moment of silence. Then in
measured tones Pendleton began:
"I came for one thing, Miss Watts just like lots of
others."
She caught his burning glance and looked away. Her
heart leaped.
He leaned forward.
"I want you to be my wife."
There was a whirl of fire in her head. She half saw him
moving a little toward her. Then she was amazed at what
she said:
"Oh, I'm sorry, deeply sorry." She rose, trembling
fearfully. "So sorry. Forgive me, Mr. Pendleton."
And looking neither to right nor left she hurried from
the room. And she never found out what happened to
Pendleton, whether he wept or laughed, sneaked out or
held his head high.
She made straight for her room, locked the door, went to
her mirror, and looked in. Her face was white.
" Now, why in the world did I do that ?" she asked of her
image.
But happy! she had never been so happy in all her
life. She laughed herself to sleep. It was glorious; it
was a ride in a snow-storm.
It was a foolish, an unreasonable happiness.
"Is Kirby a scoundrel?" she asked herself in the morn
ing. "Well, then, he is' a scoundrel. Father, I'm going
to give you a new job for your Pinkerton man."
And she sat down and invited Kirby to come to Maine.
When the reply came she went up to her room, locked
herself in, and began to sing. She almost danced, too.
Such a foolish joy had never been in that house; her
father must think her mad.
And why was she so happy? She could not have told
257
THE OLYMPIAN
herself then, as she held that unopened envelope and
studied his handwriting.
"So, you come from the scoundrel!" she said, her cheeks
flushed. "All right, scoundrel, what have you to say to
me?"
And she tore it open and read:
MY DEAR Miss WATTS, It is kind of you to invite me. I
am sorry that it is impossible for me to come.
Yours sincerely,
KIRBY TRASK.
She read it twice before she realized. Then she felt
as if she had been lashed across the face by a whip. She
went white, and crumpled up on the bed. And the truth
was hers at last she loved Kirby Trask!
1W
xxrv
THE SKYROCKET
[EANTIME the "scoundrel" had troubles of his own.
For if the Harrington business had seemed to him
before like a routed army retreating, it now suggested a last
desperate stand, with the darkness descending through
the bloody smoke. There was a mad last rush of work,
a new and terrific speeding-up, a going and coming of
messengers and heads. For several nights the whole
building rocked with labor up to eleven o'clock, and even
after that in the lighted editorial rooms the coatless staff
perspired and toiled. i .,
Men shook their heads, meeting each other.
"Looks bad!" was the comment.
"J. J.'s Waterloo," said Brent, in a poetic mood. "He
wrought an empire, and now he is losing it. He's like one
of his own favorites, only he was a favorite of the gods.
Heaven must have found a Mr. Peewee to replace him."
"Yes," said husky Hank, of the press-room, "but he
won't never starve. What's to become of the bunch of us ?
Them girls up-stairs; these men of mine?"
It was as if the toilers were caught in a ship that was
sinking: they must sink with it; there was no escape.
Many of them saw no future; they had builded their lives
on great J. J., and what they thought was solid rock was
merely quicksand.
As Hank put it: "Take a job from a workman and you
take his life."
Some of these girls would doubtless sink into the under-
18 259
THE OLYMPIAN
world; some of these men, in their enforced idleness,
doubtless become drunkards and vagrants.
And there was the great sorrow of a family breaking up.
They were all used to the routine, the particular machine
or desk, window-view and slant of light, and the comrade
faces so familiar. Now they were about to be exiled from
each other, they had to part for lonely pilgrimages in the
outer dark.
Not until this was apparent did they realize their at
tachment to their failing and fighting captain; he had
oppressed and driven them, he had been cruel and foolish,
but they had followed him too long to remember these
things. They felt that he had been the force that held
them together, and now he was saying farewell to them
and leaving them to the chaos of the world. The bright,
stormy leader was vanishing from their lives.
But dominating these mingled emotions was the sharp
terror of unemployment the scurry of beggars clamoring
for a place in the world, the empty cupboard at home, the
unpaid rent, the gloom and pitiable struggle of an im
poverished family. The little savings would vanish, the
ambitious plans of slow years be dropped, the boy in school
be pulled out and set to work, the burden of the drudging
wife swiften the coming of old age. Many of these men
grew pale and bleak when they thought of the future.
Now they knew that business is merely a form of war
that it has its victories, but also its defeats, and that in
these men are wounded and killed as surely as if bullets
pierced them.
And it seemed to Kirby that it was a strange world
where the destinies of so many souls were tied up in the
delirious dance of a J. J. Did J. J., he wondered, ever
realize how these lives were woven in with his own, so that
his every joy, every anger, every success and failure, went
through them as through the nerves of his own body?
He saw practically nothing of J. J. these days, but he
heard a rumor that there were daily conferences up at the
260
THE SKYROCKET
house between the Captain of Industry and three big
New-Yorkers.
" He's making alast play for aloan, " was Kirby's comment.
And on Wednesday afternoon he had a glimpse of J. J.
hurrying to the station, satchel in hand. He noticed the
face of the bulky Napoleon, discolored, sleepless, perplexed,
and he was not comforted. It was maddening, this wild
work, this assurance of failure, this despairing fight for
life. He could think of nothing save the swift approach
of that moment when the pillars would be pulled out and
the house fall over his head. And what then?
It 'seemed impossible that so much effort could come to
suclran end; that his years of clerking and his splendid
rise could lead only to this annihilation. Already he was
stripped of power; he went through all the motions, but
the life had departed. It was like a frog's leg kicking
after it is amputated, or half of a snake's body writhing
in the grass.
It was bitter enough to be a drudge with no future, but
it was far more bitter to get a taste of power, to escape
for a moment to the free heights, and then be thrust back
to the dungeon below.
Then on Thursday morning a strange change was ap
parent in the factory. As if the battle were already over,
and the silent night gathering over the slain. There was
a stillness, a lull, and Kirby saw Edgar and Martin going
about like ghosts of themselves. Somehow they had
become silent and gentle. They spoke in low voices;
they spoke sympathetically. There might have been some
one dead in the house. It was curious to see these snarling
young men transformed, as if for the first time they were
aware that they, too, were subject to the ills and mis
fortunes of life; that they, too, were merely these human
things that pass and die and are no more.
A hushed expectation fell on the factory; the heavy
pressure was suddenly eased, and the pale-faced men asked
each other;
261
THE OLYMPIAN
"Have you heard anything?"
"No, but we'll hear before night."
Kirby felt that he was enduring an endless trance;
the moments were all too slow for him.
"If it must come," he thought, "let it come quickly."
But it did not come that day.
Friday broke cloudy and gray, with the air still and
melancholy. Brent and Kirby had breakfast together.
"Mark my word," said Brent, "the ax falls this A.M."
"Oh," muttered Kirby, "perhaps he's got the loan."
"Tut," laughed Brent. "Loan nothing. In a day or
two I'll be going back to Atwood's."
They said no more. A dull pain was in Kirby's heart, a
heavy expectation; his skin felt like warm wool, and his
lids hurt his eyes.
Then they stepped out into the maple-blooming lane;
but a few birds twittered feebly in the drooping boughs,
and as they stepped down the hushed street, past the
gloomy stores and boarding-houses, and then past the
station and up along the lawn, they had the sensation
of taking this walk for the last time.
There stood the factory with a few men entering the
doorway, and a thin smoke curling from the chimney; it
stood steeped in the searching sadness of the gray weather.
They passed under the portico, up the steps, gained the
empty and shadowy hall, made for their rooms.
Kirby opened the windows, and was bathed in warm,
wood-flavored air. Then he turned to his desk and sat
down. He had no desire to begin on those stacks of
black-marked papers. His despair made him impotent.
What was the use?
He heard and felt the faint rumble of the presses starting
in the basement; now and then footsteps echoed in the
hall; a boy along the railroad embankment whistled and
passed; and he remembered that first day when he had
seen the dusty sunlight streaming from open doors and had
interviewed the lazy office-boy who was counting up words
262
THE SKYROCKET
in a manuscript. That seemed ages ago a happy time.
And he had thought, then, that he had seized on success
and that henceforth life was to be dazzling achievement
and dizzying power.
He smiled grimly and fingered his papers; tried to
busy himself. It was useless. He felt that he lacked
even the energy to smoke a cigar. So he arose and glanced
from the window and looked on the gray-tinged woods and
the ashes between the railroad ties. It seemed to him that
his own life was ashes.
An office-boy now entered.
"Mr. Trask "
He turned as to a dreaded summons.
" J- J- wants to see you up at the house."
So it had come. Well and good. He took his hat and
went out. His heart was beating dully, and he felt a little
smothered.
Up the gravel path he went, and others were walking
there, too a motley, silent company, like mourners fol
lowing the dead. Hank was there, Cropsey and Rouse,
the editors, the photographer, the art-man, the proof
reader, the advertising manager, the head office-boy, the
chief compositor, the head bookkeeper, the engineer, and
the janitor.
Awe seemed to hush them. There was something
majestic and mighty in this last council of the doomed host ;
these human beings aware that, though the iron skies cared
little for the fate of man, yet man could meet his own
passing with solemn grandeur, and thus as ever put to
scorn the supernal powers.
They filed through the open doorway and up the stairs
into the room. Edgar and Martin were there, one lean
ing against a revolving cabinet, the other stooping over
a chair-back. Both nodded to the men; the men nodded
back. This unexpected kindliness, this sudden discovery
of human equality, touched the moment with something
ineffable and somber.
263
THE OLYMPIAN
They stood about awkwardly. Then Kirby saw that
J. J. was looking out the east window, his shoulders stooped
a little, his hands clasped behind his back It was Na
poleon at St. Helena, brooding on vanished empire
the illimitable waters between him and the Eagles of the
irrevocable Past.
In the stillness Kirby heard push of shoe, strain of
chair, slip of hand, and looking on these faces he saw that
they were composed and tranquil. He thought of a court
room where the jury had brought in a verdict of guilty and
the judge was about to pronounce sentence the grave
moment when a human being disposes of the destiny of a
human being.
Now the man at the window turned and faced them;
they looked at him, stricken. For the face that had
flashed and been convulsed with dream and scheme and
tempest was now frozen with grief and despair. It was a
terrible spectacle, a soul showing naked, the one unendur
able sight for men. And the man they had looked upon
as a demi-god was, after all, by this showing, a poor, weak
human being who knew the bitter taste of misadventure.
He spoke in a low, changed voice:
"You know why I brought you here. I've made an end
of things. I've had to sell out the business to Boswell,
of New York, and he will move it to the city. He has, as
you know, a plant of his own, and not many of you can go
with him. I wish I could have arranged it differently; I
wish I 'could have provided for you, but I am a ruined man
myself."
He paused; the silence grew intense. Then he went on
in a breaking voice:
"Some day you may understand how I was driven and
harried these past six years, and then perhaps you will
temper your harsh judgment of me with a little mercy.
Possibly I was a victim of this enterprise as well as you.
If matters had gone otherwise you would have found me a
different man."
264
THE SKYROCKET
Thus was a quivering soul laid bare; and now they could
look no longer at him, for tears were trickling on his
cheeks.
His voice had its purest melodic quality.
" You know I pioneered a tremendous enterprise for the
people; now I must drop my work, now at the moment
when others will come in and gather the harvests I have
sown. I must relinquish my power and begin all over.
You will not hear of me again."
He paused; then he continued:
"And you you I must leave without recompensing
your bare service, without lighting a little your hazardous
future. You will not believe me, I can't ask you to, but
this is the hardest to bear."
He turned back to the window then, overcome. Not a
word was said; many were smothering sobs. Then slowly
one by one they turned and filed out. They knew the
worst; the period of waiting was over; now each went
forth to fight out a lonely destiny
Kirby, deeply moved and entirely forgetting himself,
hurried from the house and struck out along a lonely
dusty road. He wanted to get away, to be under the
skies, where there was breathing and thinking space.
And so he walked on, the soft dust rising in clouds and a
moist grayness settling over the fields at either side.
He only knew that his emotions were profound; he was
not thinking at all. Then large drops of rain began to fall,
boring tiny wells in the dust, and he held out his hand and
felt the cool splatter. Next he took off his hat and let the
pure rain heal him.
He walked faster; mist crawled along the fields and the
fences, and suddenly the landscape was sheeted with gray,
the arrowy tempest dancing over the slopes and drenching
him to the skin. The burnt smell of the moistened dust,
the sharp, wet odor of the grass, were exquisite inhis nostrils.
All at once he had a sense of release, a feeling of quiet
joy.
265
THE OLYMPIAN
"I've lost my job," he thought, "but I've found my
self."
It was true. Dominion over employees and printed
sheets was gone, but in its stead he felt a new dominion
over that larger empire self. It was as if a world had
slid from his stooped shoulders; he could stride erect
again, without cringing or being sworn at or being en
tangled in hate and jealousy and peril.
The tragedy of the fall of the house of Harrington
seemed less bitter.
"J. J. won't stay down," he thought. "He's bound to
bob up later elsewhere. Of course some of the men, the
girls will go down. Most will get other jobs. But it's
all life."
He could not have explained why his unsuccess meant
so little to him; in that phrase, "It's all life," he showed,
however, a larger maturity. Not that injustice was less
in the world, but that he, Kirby, could stand it as well as
others, that he had that growing imperviousness to events
which is the fiber of manhood. And this new hardihood
had been acquired only by fighting to the bitter end, by
allowing those trainers of men work, pain, humiliation,
fear to develop day by day his thews and sinews.
They had only seemed to hurt and humble him; now
suddenly he stood forth with a mantle of strength. And
he seemed to have new insight, too, to be able really to
understand J. J. at last. Surely, thought Kirby, J. J.
had never been a free Aladdin conjuring worlds into
existence, but an adventurer who leaped into the river
of business and thought he was generating the tides,
whereas he was merely being swept out by them, until the
undertow caught him and dragged him down. At best,
like the fish that jets a protective black fluid, J. J. had
ejected a series of scarlet spurts, discoloring the waters
about him.
"It's he," thought Kirby, "that is the skyrocket."
And so he was, leaping up in a fire that consumed men,
266
THE SKYROCKET
dropping charred through the dark on wastes of lonely
sand. But he was not alone ; all over America these bright
rockets were rising daily, a perpetual Fourth of July.
Some were mere swindles, get-rich-quick sluicing of the
savings of the drudges into the night-whiteness of Broad
way. But constantly from the multitudes there was the
rise of wild-cat business attempting the great leap to the
Olympian heights. Of such was J. J. one of the guerrillas
of business. The real generals with their trained armies
tarried above on the secure heights; up there sat the
Jordan Watts', the real masters of the machinery of civili
zation. How could the J. J.'s, alone, unorganized, forced
to be financed by these same masters, break through the
walls of the gigantic and unified industries?
So thought Kirby, and with that thought came another
he would prefer to go to Oklahoma rather than work for
a skyrocket or be a drudge.
"I'll stand on my own two feet hereafter," he told
himself.
And he knew, too, that the Jordan Watts' were inacces
sible folk.
Now the rain ceased, a few far arrows glancing in sudden
sun. The blue, widening rifts of sky were freshly washed,
the wide grass sparkled and glittered, the muddy road
steamed, and the whole world rose from the rain like a dog
from a brook, shaking himself and panting with freshness.
In the sharp light women came out on doorsteps, look
ing about them, and excited children tested the puddles
with their feet. A flock of ducks went quacking over the
road.
Kirby paused at a little bridge and looked down over
the rail at the muddy waters; on either side willows
with pendant raindrops leaned glitteringly. His clinging
clothes began to steam, and from his matted hair drops
rolled down his freshened face. And all at once a sweet
intensity of painful glory came to his heart. How he
loved Mary Watts!
267
THE OLYMPIAN
He had not thought of her for weeks, it seemed; he had
been submerged in the growing process ; but now with the
pressure gone and the rainy earth breathing with June,
and with wood-violets, buttercups, and daisies about, how
could he help but think of Mary?
And all at once he knew that he was going to see her.
There was no future for him; he had lost everything; he
had a bare five hundred saved up; and Mary was worlds
above him. No matter; he would go to her once more and
for the last time; he would clear that matter as he had
cleared the matter of his job; he would tell her honestly
what had happened and that he loved her, and hence that
his relationship with her could not continue.
For he argued that he was wrong in breaking with her
without an explanation. She was undoubtedly good to
him, even a little fond of him; then was it not a wrong to
her to run off without a reason?
Thus he argued, remembering that she was in Maine, and
that it would take a visible slice of his savings to see her.
Thus he argued, but all the time his fully aroused love was
driving him. There is always a "once more" for a lover.
XXV
THE CLIFFS
IT was not the happiest of young men who took the
five-thirty Fall River boat that afternoon; he stood
there in the open sun, hand on rail of the topmost deck,
powerful enough, with set and certain face. So may
John Brown have looked when he led his men into Harper's
Ferry.
And yet a tingling fluid of expectancy ran up and down
him; he was like a starved cat offered a saucer of milk;
there was only one night between him and Mary. He
could see her, perhaps take a ride with her, perhaps be
happy with her, then say nothing, come back, with the
way open for another visit. Why not? That was all
that was left him in the world. He belonged to the un
employed; he had no real friends, no real home, and yet
had he had all these things he would have sacrificed them
for Mary. Why then give up this one poor joy of seeing
her?
A few weeks, at most a month or two, would bring the
J. J. business to an end, close up the unfinished work, shut
the factory. After that, the deluge. Luckily, for a day
or two, the confusion and disorganization of the working
force allowed Kirby to get away, but then, coming back,
he would have the twofold work of winding things up and
of finding a new position. In the mean time, Mary.
He had felt that afternoon, walking along rain-washed
Broadway, that the city was a radiant young girl floating
in the wild, fresh light and the glory of the sun. She was
269
THE OLYMPIAN
like that Mary in the morning after the snow-storm; and
all at once he had become faint with yearning. If in them
flowed the same young blood, if they were attuned to each
other, two natural mates, why should an artificial civiliza
tion keep them apart?
But as the mighty white triple-decked boat, with flags
streaming, band playing, and whistle roaring, detached
itself from New York, and with one tremor following
another met rush of sea-wind and dazzling sun in mid
stream, and rounded the Bay at the south, Kirby's agita
tion increased. He almost wished himself on land again ;
but now resistlessly he was borne along, while the crowded
shores looked on the wide waters overrun with shipped
humanity, and the city rose like sky-hung cliffs in the sun,
no longer a young girl, but a strange woman of the nights
with hair full of stars, hallooing her lovers in the shining
air.
Kirby clung to the rail, wind-blown, and his heart
pounded with excitement. On went the boat up the East
River, hemmed in by the two great climbing cities who
leaned toward each other and joined hands of bridges
above the swimming monster, and Manhattan stood to the
west, a giant shouldering an urn of sunset from which
gushed gold on the waters. And the long city, flushed
with sunset, unrolled, swarming with human life, until it
passed like a vision in gray twilight on the floods of the
limitless Sound.
It passed; it was gone; only remote green islands now,
and fading fields, and twinkling lights on the lost head
lands. And with it went clamor and the modern world,
the red cyclone of the drudges roaring with its J. J.'s and
Jordan Watts', dying to the south a mere point of troubled
light on the profound breast of the Earth.
It seemed a fateful passage to Kirby; a journey of the
soul again through the infinite, from mystery to mystery.
And after supper, leaning in the darkness, he heard the
lush cool, half -echoing break of waters, sweep after sweep,
270
THE CLIFFS
along the shipside, and saw the far ray of the lightship
wheel, blink, vanish wheel, blink, vanish under a
heaven of watchful stars.
Untroubled, and with long breaths of trembling, the
great boat held on; but right beside Kirby, against the
rail, a man and a woman, soft shadows in the night,
girdled each other, whispered, pressed their lips together.
And he thought:
"I am going straight to her; she is mine, but I cannot
have her."
But why why not ? Here were these two, born of the
Earth, to mate; and he heard those whispers that sounded
of the destined coming together, that rippled the deathless
music of the planet, that wafted the sharp glory of human
mating out to the expectant stars, and he knew that this
glory had come to him.
Somewhere under this night she breathed and lived;
the whole woman was there, and through the night he was
being carried to her. He stood, aching, trembling with his
passion; he felt that man, the hunter, must go forth and
break through a civilization, if need be, to seize on his mate.
"Why not do it?" he asked himself. "She is mine;
why not demand her?"
It was his new honesty that hindered him. Looking
back on his relationship with Mary he was disturbed to
recall his Machiavellian scheme to meet her, his cold
blooded fortune-hunting; and he could not be sure that
at least unconsciously he had not been a fortune-hunter
ever since.
" Did I not have a secret hope of getting her?" he asked
himself.
There was revealed now the lurid evil of the Harrington
business. It was this that had worked upon him, made
him a trampler and a schemer, so that he was ready to
make a profit out of sacred things. But now, freed of
this influence, he could be honest again ; he could measure
by other standards,
271
THE OLYMPIAN
There was only one manly thing to do to square him
self with Mary, to tell her all from the very beginning, to
mislead her no longer.
"She has always been honest with me; and what is
this love of mine worth if it does not make me honest with
her?"
That was it to act in the open. She must know that
he was ruined; that he was not a fortune-hunter; yes, and
that he loved her. And that, first of all, he could not
stoop to take advantage of her interest in him, her evident
fondness for him. Even if by some miracle she loved
him, it was for him to renounce her, not drag her down
to his own level.
But why tell her of his love? Because, said his heart,
she must know why he could never come to her again.
And why not come to her again?
His body trembled, he felt faint with love. He felt that
even seeing her the next day was a peril that might ruin
him. He remembered the skiff on the lake, and how he
had leaned toward the shadowy head and shoulders, about
to do something unbelievable attempt a word of love, a
kiss, maybe. Surely if he saw her alone again all his
brave resolves would go up in smoke. He might do that
which he would wish undone.
But surely she was not alone. Fat corset-squeezed
ladies, juicy senators, and insolent Pendletons were
probably at this moment darkening, like moths, his light.
He raged for a moment with insane jealousy. If that
Pendleton pup were there well, there were cliffs in Maine.
He might hand the brilliant beauty over a convenient
one and snicker while he heard the bones break be
low.
He was amazed at this feeling. He had thought him
self freed by the J. J. collapse of all that was evil in him.
And yet the old demon was there.
At once he lost his nerve, his confidence gave. He
should never have come; he was plunging straight into a,
272
THE CLIFFS
shameful crisis. He knew now he could not reckon on
himself that he would do the unexpected.
"Why," he said, "I don't think I have the courage to
speak to her."
And lying in his berth, with the wrench of the engines
making him like a pulsation in a blood-vessel, he could
not sleep with misery and desire. What was there in love
that made it at times so evil a thing? And yet the boat
was bearing him to her there was no doubt of that; it
was inevitable that he should see her now. And the
thought made him shudder with swift joy and starved
expectancy.
In the morning he was calmer, but felt fatigued and dis
illusioned. Gulping hot, insipid coffee at the railroad
station, chewing tough and lardy fried eggs, he kept re
assuring himself that this visit would prove like the last
a busy, gossiping house, a game of golf, a Pendleton that
belittled him. That ride on the Giant was a Ijucky acci
dent ; such circumstances would not group themselves again.
In the gray mist of the cool New England morning he
took the train for Boston. The boy went through it cry
ing the Providence and New York papers, and sleepy
people lounged against the plush cushions. Kirby went
through Boston bitterly; in glancing sun the toilers were
hurrying to work here, too, a city arousing itself like the
metropolis to the south; but Kirby, trolleying to the
North Station, felt chilled and tired and emotionally ex
hausted. He had written her he couldn't come; he
should have stuck to his word.
It was about half past one when, stiff, crass, and in an
ugly mood, he stepped off the train at Cameron Bay. He
half expected to see the brown car and the big chauffeur;
but they were not there. No automobiles were there;
only a broken-down buggy and a low-headed horse and a
grizzle-bearded native, whip in hand.
Beyond the station was a row of stores and a commer
cial hotel, all badly weathered, rusty and old.
273
THE OLYMPIAN
"Can you drive me out to the Watts' place?" asked
Kirby.
"Sure pop," said the native.
"How much?"
"Fifty cents a head."
So he bore down on the step and swung in, the buggy
creaking under him. The driver took the seat beside
him, wrapped about him a blanket, produced a squeezy
sound with puckered lips, nicked the whip, and set the
horse jogging. Kirby smelt the stable-odor of carriage
and animal not unpleasant, mixed as it was with breath
of clover and the sea.
They passed down the elm-shaded street of the sleeping
New England village, with its immaculate green-and-
white houses, and out along the board-walk of Cameron
Bay. The blue waters were breaking white on the firm
crescent of beach, and alongside them stood overgrown
gardens and shut mansions, waiting for the summer rush
from the city. Here and there a great hotel looked down
on the sea.
"Little early yet," said the driver. "You'd oughter
come a month later; see high life. Parties and auto
mobiles, and bathing and sailing, and motor-boats and
carnivals."
They left the Bay then and went along an old seaward
road, flanked by lovely fields of blowing daisies, flaming
old-fashioned gardens full of hardy blooms, and snug vine-
clad farm-houses, and right and left, in the distance,
woods of pine.
And all at once Kirby was aware of the Maine weather
the brilliant, shining air, the blazing blue sky, the salt winds
blowing up out of the ocean and snatching on the way the
sweetness of the grass, the clover, and the pine an in
toxicating mixture. The hardy gusts stung Kirby's
cheeks into color, and putting his hand to his lips he
tasted the sun-flavored salt.
The great weather, the tough sea-country, the tang of
274
THE CLIFFS
the sea gave him a feeling of masculinity and of hope.
Then this hope was dashed by an appalling doubt. Curi
ously he had not thought of it before. But was Mary
here after all? Could she not have altered her plans, as
he altered his? His insides seemed to drop together,
leaving him blank and hollow.
"Do you happen to know if Miss Watts is here?" he
asked, tremblingly, of the driver.
"Miss Watts?" The native gave his beard a pull.
"Now come to think of it I don't know. She come all
right; but she's a great one on disappearing. A regular
woman, all right."
This was harrowing. A hard excitement pervaded him.
"By God!" he burst out, amazingly, "that horse of
yours is slow."
The driver was justly indignant.
"Oh, I don't know," he said, tartly; "she's as good as
any in these parts. Of course she warn't brought up to
be a darned race-horse."
A strained silence fell between them. Kirby was on
the point of getting out and walking. Sitting still in a
jogging, crawling buggy was making him wild.
But before the strain reached this point the horse
swerved and passed through a stone gateway and went
down an avenue of stunted pines; almost at once the pines
gave to a cleared space, overshadowed with tall hemlocks,
in the center of which, shadowy through the pine boughs
and above the reddish-brown, needle-carpeted ground,
stood the house. It was commodious, two-story, covered
with weather-gray shingles, and it seemed tight in the
plunging sea-weather. The overpowering smell of the
pines was searching and delicious.
Kirby got down, paid his fare, strode round to the front
door on the little porch. He listened; he looked. Not a
soul in sight, not a sign of life; only below the hemlock
slopes a stretch of open marsh, a tumble and welter of
rust-red rocks, a boat-house, and beyond all the blue, dark
19 275
THE OLYMPIAN
sea under the bright-blue sky. In the hush he heard the
boom of the breakers, and, all at once, the whole pine-lost
place was steeped in a magic enchantment.
He rang the bell. Was the house empty? If Mary was
not here he felt he would do something desperate. Then
suddenly the door opened, and a maid confronted him.
"Miss Watts in?" he asked, in an unnatural voice.
This pleasant-faced young woman, he felt, could strike
him down with a word.
"No, sir," she replied; "she's gone out for a walk by
herself. You can wait for her."
He grinned at this lovely person who poured the horn
of plenty for him. He could have kissed her for lunatic,
unreasoning bliss.
"Which way does she walk?"
"Oh, lately," said the maid, "she does nothing but sit
on the rocks alone."
He grew bold with mounting hope.
"Isn't there any company here?"
"Only her father and a minister. But they're out,
too."
He laughed wildly. He had lost his wits.
"I don't care. Where are the rocks?"
"Right down there."
"I'll go look for her."
"Leave your satchel here?"
"Yes. Thank you. Thank you."
He turned then and plunged along on the needles.
Wild bursts of sunshine swayed about with the blowing
pines, and, eyes on the sea, he broke his way. No one
else here the old man didn't count, of course! Had she
meant, then, to have him alone? Was that what she
meant when she wrote, "We'll try again"? And she had
spoken of cliffs that meant the snow-storm ride! A
music seemed to go singing here and there like an uneven
chorus in heart and brain and along his blood. A fire
rose in him and swept his breast.
276
THE CLIFFS
Now, looking on the rocks, he saw a woman climbing
over them, leaning, her cape and uncovered hair blowing
in wind. Could it be she? The woman reached the
marsh, straightened, came swaying toward him; he ad
vanced in the same stride toward her. Yes, it was Mary.
On and on she came, on and on he went ; and all at once
the great rhythm of their drawing together was set up in
him; an increasing glory, flame running toward flame,
leaping into one a surge and mounting in the air. He
was hidden by the pines, she out in the free sunshine; he
saw her; she did not see him.
Closer and closer they drew, nearer and nearer, and at
every step the quickening of the rhythm, the mounting
of the flame, as if a soaring rush of music was swinging
them together. They seemed in tune, the meeting was
inevitable, and Kirby felt that nothing could stop her
from leaping into his arms.
And then he saw her near, and coming nearer; saw that
her face was tanned with the sun and salt, that her eyes
were darker, as if she were a sea-wife watching sails, that
she swung with a lovely outdoor suppleness. She seemed
more alive, lusty, earthly beautiful than he had ever be
held her, as if the grace and stretched strength of a sloping
wave had gone into her. Wind blew her dark hair into
sun-lit strands about her face, and she was desperately
near, a woman of the coasts, a sea-woman with wistful
and sea-weary eyes.
He wanted to shout her name, but how could his rapture
give^voice to a " Miss Watts" ? The word Mary was beat
ing on his lips. And now the music and fire reached their
dizzying climax, and he stepped out of the shadow into
the sun.
She was not fifteen feet away; she saw him; stopped
short, with a stricken motion; gave a low cry. Pain and
wild joy were in that cry.
"But you weren't coming!" she gasped.
Was it intensity of happiness or intensity of displeasure?
277
THE OLYMPIAN
He could not tell. But all at once the music and flame
died in him; he felt somehow that she was reading
something evil in him.
"I came, anyway," he murmured, limply.
He saw that her eyes were filled with tears, and that
she flushed with shame. Was it joy or pain? He had
not dreamt that Mary was capable of such passion; she
seemed to be struggling with herself.
Then she said, in a cold yet uneven voice:
"Let's go up to the house."
They turned and walked back in silence. Never was
lover more perplexed. Misery overcame him. He could
have torn out his heart to understand. He was speech
less with despair.
The walk seemed long, and all through it he felt that she
was secretly upbraiding but was it him or herself? She
opened the door for him, and he had a glimpse of lovely
face quivering with reproach and relief, and puzzling him
the more.
"What have I done?" he asked himself. "Or what has
she done? Oh, what's the matter?"
In they went; the large, wide hall had a second-story
gallery running around it, with room-doors showing above,
and from the middle of the right side a wide stairway
curved up to it. A piano stood in a corner, a writing-
table in the center, and lounge and chairs were grouped
about a great, open fireplace. The light in here was dim,
with now and then a wave of sunlight from blown boughs.
The whole house partook of the elemental qualities of the
sea and the pines, wild-flavored, as it were. Kirby wanted
to hug Mary close, warm in the bluster and the draught.
They stood a moment in silence. Then Mary spoke
coldly again:
"You'll want to go up to your room the one up
there."
He picked up his bag and started up the stairs. "She
hates me," he thought, darkly.
278
THE CLIFFS
Then all at once she called after him:
"Have you had any lunch?"
He looked back; her face was tremulous with tender
ness.
"All I wanted," he said, miserably.
"Oh," she said, in a voice full of anxiety. "You must
be starved. But, go on up."
He went; the unpainted wooden room looked out of
low windows on pine boughs and the sunlit sea; and the
smell of the walls was rude and good. But, washing him
self, he was aware of a tumult of mixed emotions.
"Lord!" he ejaculated. "Women! women!"
When he came down he found himself alone in the hall,
but suddenly Mary emerged from a side room.
Her voice was commanding, even a little harsh.
"There's some lunch for you in here."
As if she said, "Why should I bother about you?"
He feared to say anything, lest she get worse. Limply
he followed her, sat down, and under her watchful scrutiny
ate deliberately, though every mouthful was bitter and un
interesting. She sat at right angles with him. He felt
like a naughty boy whose mother allows him to eat but
waits, watching, so that she can spank him after the last
mouthful.
"She's queer; she's a terror," he thought. He was
most unhappy, black with misery, gulping dry mouthfuls.
She did not even seem to notice how unconventional it
was to sit there, frozen, watching her guest eat.
Suddenly she spoke simply, almost sweetly:
"One lump or two?"
"Two," he muttered, hardly believing his ears.
She mused, gazing at him, as if this matter of sugar-
lumps were of the profoundest importance. Then she
sighed.
"I only take one."
"Well, what of it?" was on his tongue. He was be
ginning to get angry. She was playing with him.
279
THE OLYMPIAN
He finished his cup; together they rose and, without a
word, went into the center hall.
She spoke almost sharply :
"Well, what do you want to do now?"
"Anything you say," he answered with just a flicker of
temper.
"Oh," she said, carelessly, "anything you say!"
Could this be Mary, the strong, the tranquil, the
worldly wise? Why was she acting this way, anyway?
Why didn't she tell him what was the matter?
"You wrote about cliffs," he said.
" I did." Her voice was colorless.
He was almost rude.
"Then I'd like to see them."
She shrugged her shoulders, opened a side door, called
in, "Fred, bring the car round!" and came back, slipping
on her coat before Kirby had a chance to help her.
Rather confused, he put on his own. Suddenly she
came to him and felt of it.
"It's not warm enough, motoring," she said in a strange
voice. ' ' Wait ! I '11 get you my father's. ' '
"Oh, I don't want it anyway " he tried to detain
her. "Let me go!"
But she flew up the stairs like a girl, and looked down
at him from the top almost mischievously. Then she
disappeared through a doorway. The poor man was now
totally out of his mind; she was caring for him so per
fectly, and she hated him so completely. Yet he could
not help but feel that it was wildly sweet to be with
her in this house.
Now she came down, sagging with a fur coat under her
arm and looking beside herself with anger.
' ' Here, ' ' she said, ' ' turn round !" And she helped him in.
He felt monstrously swollen, and, turning, met her
laughing eyes.
' ' You look like a polar bear, ' ' she said, ruefully. ' ' Father
will kill you if he sees you in it."
280
THE CLIFFS
This last had not occurred to him ; he was amazed at her
audacity.
"Come on," she said.
"Aren't you going to cover your head?" he asked.
"No," she replied, "I'll let it blow off. Come ahead
now."
She led the way in the rush of wind, they sat side by side
in the low, red racing-car, and at once she let out speed,
dashed down the pine road, out, and to the right through
the open country. It was a mad ride; Kirby expected
every moment to be flung into the heavens or hear the
last blood-curdling yell of some innocent passer-by.
Never had a young woman treated her lover so shame
fully.
"What is she taking out of me, anyway?" he asked,
clutching his new slouch hat and the door of the racer.
He experienced almost fear of this wild creature, and,
glancing at her, he was appalled by her face, which looked
straight ahead, and was passionate with a blend of joy and
pain. One mood after another wavered over it now
breathless ecstasy, now struggling despair, now shame,
now triumph. One thing was sure she was divided
against herself.
The mad woman now shot the car down a seaward
road, a lonely road, with wide marshes on either side, then
ran it, without diminishing the speed a whit, right straight
over a sandy, grassy rise, up and up. The car stopped
so suddenly that Kirby doubled and felt seasick.
"We're here," said Mary.
She was out before him; he could only follow, glad that
he was alive. The sandy tract gave to a long field bloom
ing with tall grass and white daisies; at its edge were
great rusty rocks, and only the heavens beyond.
The untrammeled sea wind blew upon them, gulls
wheeled over the cliffs and were blown away, and the un
clouded blue skies rose immense and brilliant above them,
the westering sun pouring a dazzling light through the
281
THE OLYMPIAN
stirring air. Something glorious was released in Kirby;
he saw Mary swinging on through the daisies, treading
them down, her skirts brushed together, her cape flying,
her hair blowing wildly, and she seemed like a goddess
of the coasts on the free heights, moving triumphantly
against the skies. His desire now forgot everything else
her moods, her suspicions, her caprices. She was the
glory here of the sun, the sea,' and the wind.
They reached the rocks, clambered from one to the
other, and again Mary seemed to have a favorite cranny.
She sat in a little seat, entirely shut away from the field,
several feet below the level of the cliff.
Kirby sat beside her. He was a little dizzy, for the
precipice fell sheer at least seventy feet to the sea. They
were in an eyrie, with the blue deeps below them, the blue
deeps above them. The ocean was one huge semicircle
of brilliant blue, that broke, near by, into one great roller
after another, pounding on the rocks, smashing, swirling
a snow, and receding. The boom and roar rose to them,
the music of ten million years uttered in unvarying
repetition.
And out over the glorious eastward - shining seas a
little smoke-plumed steamer was sinking over the hori
zon.
Sun streamed on their bare heads, the gales blew, a
daring blue swallow skimmed beneath, gulls circled, and
they were alone again in the whole world. He had his
mate now with him up in the cliffs above the sea; he had
her; the moment was his.
His mood mounted and he gained courage. This was
the supreme moment to speak. He looked at her; she
was leaning over, cheek on hand, lips parted, breathless,
as if about to fling herself down.
Kirby spoke close to her:
"I want to tell you why why I came up here."
She turned, looked at him sharply, almost with fear.
"Why?" she gasped.
282
THE CLIFFS
"To tell you some things. The Harrington business
has smashed up."
' ' Smashed up !" she echoed. Her eagerness was terrible.
" Yes," he smiled, miserably. " I belong to the Army of
the Unemployed."
"Surely?"
"Utterly. He's sold out; we're sold out with him."
She gave him a lovely glance, almost of protection.
"And what will you do now?"
"Hunt for work."
"Nothing in view?"
"Nothing."
She looked out to sea again, and he saw her shoulders
trembling.
He had to muster up sublime courage then. Only by
forcing his lips to speak could he go on to sacrifice himself.
Her brief pity would be demolished at a word, and his
visit ended. The sea seemed to roar in his ears, but he
nerved himself, thinking, "Only thus can I show my love
for her."
His voice was harsh, strange.
"There are some other things. I I want to make a
clean breast."
She glanced at him with quick suspicion.
"Other things? What?"
He looked away, muttering :
"I I shouldn't have met you that first time. I ar
ranged it on purpose. I thought getting to know you and
your father would give me a chance."
It was done; he sat, crumpled, wishing himself dead.
He had doubtless struck her a fearful blow.
There was a silence, then her voice, frozen:
"So it's true."
What true? Had she suspected this all along?
There was another silence. Dimly he saw Mary's hand
pulling at a stone that was caught in a cranny. Her voice
was cold and even.
283
THE OLYMPIAN
"Now tell me about the rest."
He spoke in a low, agonized tone :
"I will. I came here to say it. I told you that other,
to be honest with you, so you'd know me before I left
you." He paused. "I came here to say good-by; I'm
not going to see you any more after this ; I have no right
to."
In the bitter pause he hardly heard her whisper:
"Why not?"
He looked away.
"Because because I I care for you too much."
She had dislodged the stone; now she flung it into the
sea.
Her voice seemed like a smothered ecstasy.
"And you're out of work?"
"Yes."
"And everything's against you?"
"Yes."
"Why, then," she murmured, "you need me more than
ever."
Flame and music swept through him again; swept
away all scruples, all plans, all doubts. He turned; her
hands were on his shoulder, her strong face close to his.
"Kirby," she cried, "I love you."
He drew her close, closer; their lips met; and now the
whole heaven shone on this Edenic pair, on these young-
blooded mates, clasping above the booming sea. It was
unbelievable yet natural all too natural. Civilization
with its layers, its conventions, broke about them; she
was a woman, he a man, both young, both attuned to each
other; like healthy young animals they found each other.
The hunter had come over the hills and found his mate.
And to Kirby it seemed as if he were starting life all
over again, as if he understood now this mystery woman;
and he breathed the exquisite, salty tan of her cheeks, and
tasted the sea on her lips, while his whole being was
rocked in tides of tearful glory.
284
THE CLIFFS
"Mary! Mary!" A sob broke from him.
"Oh," she said, "I'm so glad you told me that. Now
there's nothing between us. I was wild with joy when
you came, but I I suspected such things." Woman
like she didn't say what, though the words "My scoun
drel" were on her lips. Instead, her laugh was cool and
exquisite. "And I've treated you treated you vilely.
Mine, Kirby, you're mine!"
Was it the maternal instinct roused that brought her
surrender? Was it because she saw that Kirby was
ruined and needed her? She looked at the sea beneath
her.
"Why," she laughed, with sudden realization, "we
almost fell off the cliff!"
XXVI
A FAIRY TALE
HE helped her up over the rocks in a protective way,
though she was well able to scramble up herself.
But it was sweet for both of them; one to help, the other
to be helped. Then out in the blowing daisy field they
stood close together, the only bits of human life in the
world. They saw the road in the distance lost in the
shadow- waving woods; they saw the marsh and the
daisies at their feet. The rest was blue sky and passing
sun, with three young swallows circling them.
They mused, holding each other's hands, on the mystery
which was theirs. It was as if there had been poured
into them a life richer than their own, a brilliant intensity
of life, reddening the blood, suffusing the emotions,
clarifying thought. They could think with wonderful
clearness, joyful lucidity, and in the passing moments
they bathed the world in their own light. Each little
thing caught rays from these twin stars; they could watch
the swallows skim and see in those winged curves the
rhythm of the suns. It was as if they had extra senses.
Was it not the flood of the race, dammed up in each one
of them, now beginning to flow from one to the other,
Nature opening a new channel for a new generation?
Bathed in this flood, they reached their perfect human
bloom, their final radiance, and had in a brief hour that
glow of body which is spiritual, that sense of being raised
from the deeps to create in a world of enchantment, a
world of reality, that glow that brought clear laughter and
swift words and a weaving harmony between them.
286
A FAIRY TALE
They looked about and saw themselves alone and em
braced clumsily enough. But how natural to clasp hands
and watch each other's eyes and laugh in each other's
faces, and know that the world reached a moment of per
fection in them.
"For us the world has sown the generations, through us
the world reaches the rich harvest." It was this they felt.
All the cumulating drive of the last months, wherein
they had felt that this could not be, fell away, and now
this miracle was, and they shared it as a natural thing,
theirs from birth. Their talk was merely a music, the
words nothing, the intimations divine. It was a dwelling
on each other's name and on the word love and on tiny
personal things, as:
"Kirby, your hands are cold!"
"Your head this way, Mary. Do you know, in the
sun, your eyes get gradually black toward the center?"
"Let me see yours!" She laughed and kissed him.
"I see two of myself in them."
"I see one of you; that's enough."
Such gossip is heard when new stars are launched in the
skies.
They picked daisies and she made a wreath and crowned
her hero ; so he twined red clover in her hair. Then, lying
at her feet, he told her how she had set him to reading
poetry, confessed to the poem he had indited, and they
laughed nearly to tears when he recited it:
"Thou, my heart, my soul, my love."
"And you loved me all this time !" she said. " My poor
boy!"
The sinking sun cast shadows over this human duet;
the grass became a forest of ruddy-lit aisles, each daisy
rose as from a sea of light, and the ocean beneath sounded
more clearly. They stood up, and the world claimed them
again.
287
THE OLYMPIAN
"We must go home," she sighed.
Home! That meant father; that meant a civilization
that mates by measure and not by nature. The very
thought put something between them and made them
conscious of each other. She again became a daughter of
Steel, and he one of the waifs of the street. Their ele
mental equality on cliffs and in daisy fields melted in
the hard light of the human world.
Kirby was the first to feel it, to "come to his senses,"
as he would have phrased it. Or, more accurately, to
return to conventions. A blackness poured through him;
he seized her hands, drew her close.
"Mary!"
"What is it?" She felt the impending trouble.
"Can't you see," he burst out, "this whole thing" he
laughed with sudden bitterness "why, it's impossible!"
"Why?" she asked with ardent tenderness. "What's
impossible about it, Kirby? Don't we love each other?"
He seemed to change, to become harder.
"It's this crazy social difference. I can't ask you to
marry me. I haven't a thing in the world."
She voiced her deep and amazing faith:
"You're not afraid of our love that it isn't bigger than
everything else?"
" But I can't ask it of you."
"Ask what?" And she spoke as women in love speak
in their total surrender. "Kirby, if you asked me to
come and live in a tenement with you I would. It would
be sweet to make the struggle with you, to win our own
way. I'll go off to a new country with you."
"Follow you, my lord, through all the world," was in
the rhythm of her voice.
Then she reasoned with him, in her old incisive way:
"You're out of work and it's no shame to work for the
Steel Trust. If you didn't know me you wouldn't hesi
tate to ask father for a position. Well, he shall give it to
you. It's your chance, Kirby. I know you, I've known
288
A FAIRY TALE
you all along; you can become a great man; if father only
knew it you could take over his work when he is through
be at the head of all. I'm going to stand by you, Kirby,
keep you to it, and make you great."
It was the maternal in her; it was also her father's
passion for developing raw material. She gloried in seizing
on this young man and making him.
"Mary," he said, "I told you why I first met you.
Won't your father think just that of me?"
She was as obstinate as he, wilful American woman!
"I don't care what he thinks or you." She laughed.
"I'll have to knock your heads together and pound in a
little sense."
He laughed weakly.
" It would raise a storm all over the country."
"Oh," she said, roughly, quoting her father, "the public
be damned! Come on home; I won't listen to you.
Dear Kirby" she suddenly took his head in her hands and
kissed him "you can't get rid of me so easily. I'm a
very determined person."
He knew that the decisive moment had come, that if he
persisted now he could have his way, and yet he let it
slip by, and followed her to the racing-car. It was his
natural weakness when his own interests were at stake;
and as they glided along past the farm-land, with the west
a smoky, purple-tinged red and the world standing against
the low sun with sharp shadows, the lover in Kirby, the
angelic being which only women called out in him, shrank
back, and the ambitious worldling emerged. He could
not rid himself of the unbidden but thrilling thought that
he was being wheeled up the slopes of Olympus, that he
was to take his seat among the American gods. It was
a miracle, this woman's hand that reached down to the
dust and sweat of the drudges, just as he was sinking back
among them, and lifted him at one sweep to the highest
heights. Kirby's luck! When had he ever set his heart
on a thing without getting it? Surely it came in ways
289
THE OLYMPIAN
unexpected, and sometimes after weary intervals of strug
gle; but come it did. He could easily forgive himself,
laying the blame on destiny. That was it. He was a man
of destiny, a genius discovered first by Janice Hadden,
and moved irresistibly and swiftly to the kingship of a
world.
All things excused and prompted him: he had told
Mary candidly of his sordid purpose; he had bravely
renounced her; now could he break her heart by resist
ing? She loved him, after all. For her sake he ought to
accept her help. Besides, what wrong was there in getting
a job from Jordan Watts? Watts needed just such young
men; it would be a service to the old magnate. And,
after all, why kowtow to stupid conventions? They loved
each other that was the supreme thing.
Perhaps it is in the nature of the man to know a briefer
rapture than the woman. Her suffused glow persists,
coloring daily life ; his ceases when he has seized on what he
wants, and now he puts it to practical use.
The miracle of it all intoxicated him, too: the crude
and penniless young man looking out of the train and see
ing the flames of the steel mill, and dreaming that some
day those fires should blazon his name in the night; and
now the consummation of that quixotic adventure. Was
he the same Kirby that had entered New York with
breaking heart? And yet life is dotted with such miracles
President and magnate, artist and scientist the long
list of the great were they not most of them just such
obscure Kirbys?
He looked at Mary beside him, and spoke with sudden
animation :
"You didn't put your father's coat on me for nothing."
She laughed.
"Wait till he catches you!"
The mantle of the god had fallen upon him; it was a
symbol of the miracle.
They both became strangely excited; Mary's eyes
290
A FAIRY TALE
flashed, her strong jaw was set, her powerful forehead
seemed like a battering-ram of purpose. She was pre
paring to fight for her man, her mate, as the lioness for
her cubs. And her sublime love blinded her to Kirby's
new manner; it seemed right and natural that he should
accept her protection. She exulted to think that she
could do him such service.
How would her father take it? She did not care. She
thought she knew that "dreamer devout by vision led."
Yet neither Kirby nor she had an inlding of the real
man.
What was he, and what could be predicted of him?
All that Kirby knew of Jordan Watts was that his life-
story was the American fairy tale messenger-boy to
millionaire.
He did not know, however, the details of that life story ;
neither did Mary. She knew the brilliant master-mo
ments, and had given these in her interview with Kirby;
she suspected dark and hidden things, but she had no
knowledge of the round of the daily hours. Yet it was
in these that the secret of Jordan Watts' supremacy lay.
He was born at a time in America when the doctrine
was perfectly true that if a man had ability, was "prac
tical," and was willing to work he could succeed; he
could break his way out of the wage-earning class, have
his own business, his own property, his independence.
This was our bright individualistic democracy.
At the time of Jordan's birth the Watts family lived
in Pittsburgh, then a little town in the two-pronged fork
of the Ohio River. They were very poor, the father
working in a glass factory, the mother taking in washing
and mending shoes at night for a nearby cobbler. Jordan
had a taste of public school, but when he was thirteen his
father died and he had to go to work. He became a
messenger, a news-runner in blue bright-buttoned uni
form, a thin, little, big-headed boy, wonderfully quick,
attractive, shrewd. And thus, at a few dollars a week,
20 291
THE OLYMPIAN
without education, and in the clutches of obscure poverty,
one of the American dynasts began his career.
He learned to telegraph, he became an excellent opera
tor, he was transferred to a railroad, he rose by swift leaps
through clerkships to a superintendency. And he became
the darling of his superiors.
From this experience he culled the maxim, "Do more
than your job calls for, thereby creating a bigger job."
At the same time he would walk miles to a little library,
sped by a passion for knowledge; here he absorbed
Shakespeare, the writer he loved best. Here he read
history and science. He took no time for recreation, for
the light-hearted side of life. Work, study, save, were
his disciplinary self-mandates.
He did save, and through his superintendency and the
favor of friends he made little investments here and there
and acquired a small capital. But he was shrewd; his
rule, in his own words, "Pioneering don't pay," making
him wait till others had made the costly initial experi
ments, had caught themselves wrecked at the moment
of promised success, and then letting him step in and
gather the harvests.
Then came the Civil War, and when the smokes cleared
the moment of industrial expansion for America was at
hand. It was a wonderful moment; America turned
away from Europe and began to gauge and use her own
resources. These were stupendous; chains of moun
tains rich with ores, oil gushing from the ground, tracts
of prairie awaiting the plow and the herd, primeval
forests of seemingly limitless lumber, and a push of popu
lation into new areas, demanding the building of new cities,
new railroads, new telegraph lines. Besides, Science was
daily releasing some new force, or some new method
of harnessing an old force; all the mechanical and investi
gative genius of the nineteenth century was at work : new
processes, new machines, new inventions. It was literally
as if gold lay on the ground for the picking up. A young
292
A FAIRY TALE
man could easily borrow a little capital, or expand his own,
and be the first, or among the first, in a new field.
As for Jordan Watts, he hardly knew which particular
opportunity to take; Fortune kept knocking at his door
every other day with a persistence that would have amazed
the author of "There is a tide in the affairs of men."
He could have gone in for Oil an oil-farm was offered
cheap ; he could have gone in for Beef. There was Lumber,
Transportation, and a dozen other enterprises. Acci
dentally he went into Iron. Two partners, one of them a
blacksmith, had a little forge; they quarreled and called
in Jordan as peacemaker. He cleverly made peace by
ousting one of them and getting control himself. At that
time the inventory of the business was simple:
"One frame building; i steam engine; 2 hammers; i fur
nace, sundry tools and merchandise; i small frame house and
lot."
Jordan at once turned over the orders of his railroad to
the business, and it grew under him while he held his job
of superintendent. Other partners came in, most of them
already with some corporation that needed iron. The rail
roads, for instance, were beginning to build iron bridges;
Jordan got the orders; built new plants, put in new ma
chines. Yet all the time he held the dominant interest;
it was here that his wonderful ability showed itself the
manipulating of men against each other and into his own
hands. His rule was, "No business for me unless I con
trol it."
Then came the Bessemer process of converting iron
into steel; one of Jordan's managers compelled him to
instal it, and all at once, by wondrous strides, the business
grew to ungraspable size; there was a string of new mills;
Pittsburgh was enmeshed by the smokes of a thousand
pipes, the flames of a thousand furnaces.
Yet, curiously enough, Jordan tried to sell out time and
again; it seemed to him that steel-making was "pioneer-
2 93
THE OLYMPIAN
ing," and hence too hazardous. Accident alone kept him
in.
There were lean years to reckon with, when the expen
ditures for new machines and buildings outran the profits.
Sometimes even wages had to be held up, and so often did
the treasurer have to go for loans that he could not drive
his buggy down the business street without the mare
stopping of her own accord at each bank. But these lean
years passed, the golden flood began, and, as the surplus
overflowed again and again, Jordan could only invest it in
other plants or other industries, and before long he had
his hand in railroad and bank and real estate and a dozen
other activities.
Then came the day of forced amalgamation. Compe
tition, now no longer the nearly equal chance of young
men in a land of unused riches, but the throat-cutting
of huge corporations, was found too costly, and there were
huge combinations. One of these was in Steel, and, as
the Watts interest was the largest, Jordan became the
real head of the Trust.
That, briefly, was the secret of Jordan's rise, but not the
only secret. In a large way, as he himself said, it was as
much the pressure of circumstances as foresight or shrewd
ness. There was now this thing to do, now that, one
measure after another; he would have called it being
practical. Another would have called it industrial
evolution.
But his real genius was the genius of using men both
inside and outside the business. Of course he never
worked in the mills, never mastered the processes, never
even directed a department of the work, but he was clever
in gathering about him what he called "young geniuses"
who installed new methods, who invented machines, who
imported laborers from Europe more tractable and train-
able than independent Americans, and who finally started
what has come to be known as Scientific Management.
That is, each machine, each process, each material, and
294
A FAIRY TALE
each man was closely watched and studied, waste cut out,
effort economized, the laborer and the tool speeded up,
the product improved. No item was too small for this
scrutiny, and the result was the creation of a tremendous
smooth-running machine, the brains of which met weekly
as a Board of Managers.
This was inside the business. Outside Jordan was the
star publicity man and salesman. He frisked about
Europe and America in a growing fame that brought him
in contact with the men he could utilize politicians,
financiers, corporation heads, public people and he be
came involved in politics, dickering, trading, and tricking.
Tip off a legislator on a profitable investment, and will
he not naturally vote for his benefactor? Put a judge in
right and is it not natural to expect wise decisions ?
Jordan's genius over men was amazing. At one time
there was a strike in a rival mill. Jordan rushed to
Pittsburgh and invited all the heads and master workmen
to come to his own new mill. Thus he secured one of the
best working forces in the country.
Part of this power came through what he would have
called democratic manners, as, addressing his associates
by their first names, patting them on the back, listening
to their advice, letting them at times overrule him. He
also thought he was democratic with his employees, and
one of his favorite pastimes was writing articles on the
dignity of labor and the fortunate lot of the toiler, whose
honest life was preferable to the state of kings and the
worries of emperors. Here, too, he patted men on the
back, devised wise schemes for making them loyal, as,
accident funds, gifts for unusual work, and company's
stock at par value. But he did not flinch to work them
twelve hours a day, and many of them seven days a week;
he did not hesitate to smash their union and break their
strikes with troops and imported labor; to set spies on
them; to dictate politics; to let the accident list swell
yearly to the proportions of a battle. Nor did he object
2 9S
THE OLYMPIAN
to giving the employees as small wages as possible, while
he and his partners took yearly out of the business sums
so enormous that they had to seek new investment.
His was the American dual personality in all its per
fection: the business man, no better and no worse than
the rest, using an ethics which found "All's fair in love
and war and business." It was industrial warfare, a
host of tribes fighting each other. If one could gain
control of a railroad and give himself cheaper rates than
he gave his competitor, thereby forcing the competitor
to the wall, so much the better. Shrewdness, ruthless-
ness, the willingness to trample on others were necessary
American qualities. Jordan Watts possessed them all.
But on the other hand he was that "dreamer devout"
that Mary knew. As the Steel enterprise grew into the
"basic trade" of the world, the builder of Cities and Com
munication and Machinery, Jordan Watts began to see
it large. He began to vision "the commercial supremacy
of America," "the American conquest." He saw the
growth of American business much as Napoleon saw the
unrolling series of victories and the new glory of France.
And he felt that he had done much to make America
great. He began to dream of a great brotherhood of
business, world-wide organization, a machine running
rhythmically from continent to continent, with the masters
in one council and the workmen cheerfully at the wheels.
Why not? In such a brotherhood the humblest man
could work to the top, as he himself had.
More glorious was his twofold vision of universal peace
and universal education. Millions of his money went
into these causes. And he even dreamed of the abolition
of disease in the world through his benefactions.
On the one hand the crass business man, on the other a
new Providence come to the world scattering Peace and
Truth and Medicine and Advice to the hungry and op
pressed generations. He was that wonderful American
the millionaire philanthropist. Out of the chaos of a
296
A FAIRY TALE
slowly organizing civilization he rose to the top, with
the power to make or mar life.
And yet he had no clear notion of this power, nor even
the extent of his wealth. A king has a visible throne and
a map. A Watts has an office, a safe full of stocks and
bonds, and a Board of Managers he can bully. He knew
approximately the worth of his holdings, which ran up
into the hundred millions, but long ago his brain had
balked at any image of such a monstrosity. He simply
couldn't think so big.
Of course he was using power all along, but he did
not see its direct effects. Napoleon, razing a town or
massacring ten thousand, could see with his own eyes what
he could do ; but Watts, squeezing railroad rates an eighth
of a cent, 'could get no conception of the human misery
ensuing, the smash of enterprise, the pressure of an in
creased cost of living. Taking a rebate when his competi
tor got none was very simple; so was the sudden suicide
of that competitor.
His philanthropies, however, were more satisfying
proofs of his empire. Much of this work he turned over
to Mary, and her chances were puzzling.
She could dot the world with new educational centers;
she could start scientific researches that might abolish
pain; she could endow splendid universities for the
training of American youth; she could set aside old-age
pensions for the company's employees; she could search
for and develop timid genius, feed the starving, clothe
the naked, heal the sick.
As a matter of fact she was a careful spender. But
what king's daughter ever had such opportunities for
remolding the world nearer to the heart's desire?
She saw mainly this splendid front of her father; she
saw little of the background. She knew that where some
of his associates had been so stunned by their sudden
wealth and power that they had become insane or de
generates, wreaking themselves on extravagance and
297
THE OLYMPIAN
women, her father had remained the same simple, forceful
man, the same terrific toiler, the same lover of literature
and music, the same dreamer and benefactor. The fact
that to this day he would debate as to whether he ought
to buy a new pair of shoes or not seemed to her a proof of
his genuine greatness.
So, here he was, a small, slight man, nearly sixty, way
laid at every step by sycophants and flatterers, by news
paper reporters and fortune-hunters, receiving the homage
of kings abroad, dominating politics and society, neither
drinking nor smoking, and in the full flush of his fame
one of the real rulers of America.
He frankly loved publicity. He was glad to be known
as the Great Steel Magnate, the Great Philanthropist; he
was glad to stand as a model for American youth, the self-
made man; he was glad to give advice on how to succeed.
And he thought what he had done others could do.
And here was a Kirby Trask of a new generation who
found the way up only through luck and chance position
and the love of a woman. Between him and Kirby was
all the difference between the old and the new America
the America of riches lying loose, the America of rigid
organization with the masters in control.
And now the two generations were to meet face to face,
the master who was a wonder of the world and the pride
of his nation, the young man who was nobody in par
ticular just you or me.
XXVII
THREE HARD HEADS
IN the last of the light they made the gateway, and as
the car went slowly grating along the enclosed road
they heard a great sea-roar go from pine to pine, wild
rushing gusts of ocean music, boughs clashing, needles
showering. The weather had turned piercing cold, and
Kirby felt grateful for the seemingly needless fur coat.
In the wind Mary's unprotected hair began to fly wild.
She laughed with excitement and exhilaration.
" I'm raining down hair-pins and turning into a Maenad."
Kirby had forgotten what a Maenad was, but seeing
that burst of hair over her head and shoulders in the gray-
tinged twilight it seemed to him that she was the modern
spirit of Speed, the spirit of the wheels. However, all he
said was:
"You shouldn't have come without your veil."
This little incident was like that moment of relief while
the dentist is fitting a new drill to the machine that has
just been boring through a tooth. With all their might and
main they were merry for those few seconds ; but at once
they reached the garage, Kirby stepped out, ducked,
and fought the gale, opened the double doors, and in
rolled the car.
Mary stood beside him in an instant, pinning her hair
up as best she could. The little building shielded them
from the wind. Her face was daubed here and there with
the glistening gray of the twilight, but he saw the fire in
her eyes, the snap of her jaw. She drew him close, as if
he were her child.
299
THE OLYMPIAN
"Kirby," she said, thrillingly, "we've got to fight
shoulder to shoulder now. Don't fail me; I won't fail
you. Remember, I'm fighting for all I have in the world;
oh, for my whole life. It's you, Kirby; you're mine,
you're mine!"
If there was any last doubt in his mind it now dissolved.
He was awed at this revelation of the woman-grandeur
of her love ; this eternal woman-soul that engulfs the hard-
set compactness of a man's life; this primal unreasonable
flame that consumes conventions and practicality until
the world is led by it to new levels. It was the ancient
miracle of woman following love though it meant destruc
tion and misery. He was awed, thrilled; he became more
than a man, flooded with her feminine greatness. Hands
on her shoulder, face close to her face, and the ocean leap
ing, as it were, on the land through the pines, he felt holy
with sublime love.
"Mary," he said, "trust to me. And if all fails I'll
take you away, and we'll fight our fight together!"
They sealed this oath with a kiss, and grew pale before
the life-and-death sacredness of this bond. It was as if
they were married at this moment. They felt completely
one; their lives now interwoven with network of nerves,
the two-hearted, the perfect human being. What father
could cut down between them now without killing both?
She was breathing hard, clutching him closer. "Come,
then," she whispered. "Nothing matters now." They
turned. Between the waving boughs they saw the gleam
of the hall windows; inside, doubtless, the great Steel
Magnate was waiting; in a moment they would break in
on him. His last mention of Kirby had been the reading
of the detective's report. Doubtless their reception would
be warm.
Then, in spite of their high-keyed emotion, hardly had
they taken a step when overwhelming fear descended on
them like a poisonous gas. It was silly, but it was so.
Mary took Kirby's hand, and like the Babes in the Wood
300
THREE HARD HEADS
they tried to cheer each other; but they were merely two
naughty scared children going home. If there is any
terror in this world beyond that of facing a parent in such
a predicament it is yet to be discovered.
They said not a word, but their breathing was short,
their steps uncertain. Both felt icy cold. The fearful
thought came that possibly the old man wouldn't be
alone; that a strange and church-empowered minister
would sit beside the judge. This was followed by the even
more fearful thought that he might be alone.
They stepped up on the porch and paused at the door.
Then, evidently thinking that to wait a moment longer
would completely unnerve them, Mary turned, gave Kirby
a little kiss, pushed the door open, and they entered,
staggered, one behind the other. Kirby forced the door
shut with his back, and a gust of wind smote the lamp
and made it flicker and rattled the hangings.
Now, Jordan Watts had heard of Kirby's coming from
the servants; he was not unprepared; he had sent the
minister to his room, and he sat by the flaming fireplace
in a little low arm-chair, hands folded. But he also had
been searching feverishly for his coat, and so when he
saw the twofold apparition of his coat and Kirby all in
one he was divided between love of his child and love of
his property.
He stood up, and his sharp eyes were little steel gimlets
that bored swift holes through the last shreds of Kirby's
self-possession. At this supreme moment in the lives of
three this was the remark he uttered :
"I'd thank you to take off my coat."
The two stricken children looked pained, and stood
silent. Wise little Watts! With one commonplace re
mark he threw the grandeur of love and marriage out of
doors, and he pinned these young persons to so practical
an issue that they could only feel submissively guilty.
It is by such strokes that a Watts manipulates men.
In the silence he repeated his request sharply.
301
THE OLYMPIAN
"I'd thank you, I say, if you'd take off my coat."
Was this standing by Mary or failing her? Kirby
didn't know. He took off the coat and laid it tremblingly
over a chair. At once he felt as if he had taken off his
armor. But Mary was taking off her coat, too.
"Now," said Jordan Watts, incisively, "sit down."
They preferred to stand; sitting meant bending the
knee a sure sign of submission. But sit they did, Mary
on a rocker, Kirby on a backless stool that made him
squirm with discomfort. But under those eyes the first
chair handy was a heavenly haven.
Then Jordan seated himself, looked in the fire, brought
his hands together with the fingers touching.
He spoke in a low, purring voice, as a king might speak
when he contemplates beheading a man.
"Mary," he said, "I'd thank you to tell me the whole
truth in this matter."
Kirby glanced at Mary; her face, half washed by fire
light and rich with flowing colors of the hearth and the
shadows of the room, looked desperate.
"Yes," she whispered, "we're engaged to be married."
Jordan gave her a strange, swift look, as if for a moment
the father peered through his face. Then calmly he took
out his watch and gazed at it steadily, using it as a focus
to gather his dizzied thoughts. There was something
terrible in this silent, unshaken power; so the sergeant,
wounded to death, could stand serene and make a report
of the battle to Napoleon.
When next he spoke his voice was thin and cool.
"Granting that for the sake of argument, how do you
propose to live?"
Her eyes seemed to beg him for mercy.
"Any way Kirby does."
That "Kirby" was a fresh stab, but the pierced man
merely studied his watch again.
"And what if this fellow is out of a job?" asked Jordan.
Kirby was stung into quivering speech.
302
THREE HARD HEADS
"I am, already. The Harrington business is sold out."
Jordan ignored Kirby, but not what Kirby said.
"Then that's why the fellow has come here." An
almost imperceptible tremor of awful passion went into
his voice. "Mary, have you lost your senses?"
Her eyes flashed dangerously; so did Kirby 's. Three
bull-heads were now gathered together. Mary rose, the
fierce lioness again.
"Father," she said with splendid anger, "Kirby and I
love each other and we're going to marry. Now make
the most of it."
Human nature could not endure this; Jordan rose pre
cipitously, a little old father crushed by his ungrateful
child. Serenity had vanished.
"Mary" his voice broke "you know what this
means." He gave a bitter, whining laugh. "Tut! after
all these years of trusting in you. And I thought myself
a successful man."
He was discovering that fathers, whether paupers or
princes, are failures all. The spectacle was terrible, the
world's superman seemingly above the frailties of the
flesh, the master of multitudes, the smiling Providence of
America, shaking there like an agonized little vagrant.
Kirby felt abashed; Mary was frightened.
"You forget," he went on in a whisper, his face twitch
ing, "that I only have you. And I had such plans for
you. You could have had the greatest, the highest."
He tried to master himself, aghast at his own breakdown.
"Think once again yes, before we are done with each
other."
Suddenly he sank back in his chair and shook with
silent, wrenching sobs.
Mary's face was tragic with grief and love. She turned,
and with one hand on the mantel looked into the fire. In
the silence they heard the sizzling of sap in the flames, the
dull dropping of charred wood, and the blows of the sea-
wind on straining doors and windows.
303
Kirby felt now that all was lost; that he had better
take his things and go. He had not dreamt that Jordan
loved Mary so overwhelmingly, and he realized now that
this proposal of a low marriage would seem to the father
like the ruining of his life. Was it that this man had
built up his towering life-work just to set Mary on the
top, and that he found now that he had only the meaning
less pedestal? Was there no satisfaction in worldly suc
cess, then, save in wrapping it up in some personal love
in carrying it over to a wife or a child? Was all vanity,
then, save love?
Jordan was suddenly stung into a new outbreak.
"Our years together, our work they mean nothing to
you? The trust I put in you it means nothing? Why
do you stand there? Have you nothing to say?"
Then she spoke in a melancholy, lovely, low voice:
"You have never really trusted me, father. When
have I judged of men wrongly? You are not trusting
me now. I have learned from Kirby's own lips his
faults worse than any you told me. But not so bad, my
father, as your own."
This well-balanced thrust hardened his anguish 'into
anger; he spoke bruskly:
"His faults! What of it? Look at him unsuccessful,
penniless, a mere clerk. Why, it's shameful that I must
argue this thing with you!"
Mary's eyes flashed again. She looked up.
"A clerk? And what am I, then? Kirby is the son of
a school principal; I am the daughter of a messenger-boy."
This master-stroke made him glare, struck speechless.
It was as if his daughter were himself striking back at him
self.
She went on, incisively:
"When you were twenty-eight you had a little money,
but you were just beginning. Kirby in four years has
done wonderfully. And I know what he could do if he had
the chance. If you were wise you would trust me, father,
34
THREE HARD HEADS
and give him a position. He and I would see to it that he
made good. You know me. And you have no son to
carry on your work. I am bringing you one, father, one
that I believe in more than in these fat and disillusioned
men you seem to favor." She paused, then she said,
convincingly, in a voice that meant that her decision was
irrevocable: ''However, I won't force you to argue.
Kir by and I are ready to go our way alone."
He sat there knitting his brows, as if his father-passion
was dwindling in this hard Watts atmosphere. Her
methods were so like his own, and so telling, that he
bristled with his business temper.
"I see," he said, keenly, making mere slits of his eyes;
"so you think you could live in poverty you?"
She seemed to change almost into a man then ; her face
hard, her powerful forehead drawn with thought, her eyes
glittering. And she used a bludgeon, after the manner of
the Watts.
" Come, come, father, why do we waste time in fine talk?
You know the truth of this matter. So far as I'm con
cerned, I own a hundred thousand in stock, and I own this
house. We won't starve. And as for you, the plain fact
is that you can't disown me. Why, if people knew that
you objected to my loving a poor man what would become
of your fame as a philanthropist and a democrat?"
He was cornered, no doubt of that. He had never had
any real authority over her, and now the matter was com
pletely out of his hands. He could not help but know that
he was beaten. But there was the strained silence of a
deadlock.
In this silence Kirby was feeling a new excitement.
This heated argument had crystallized the issue for him
and had taken it out of the realm of his love for Mary.
It was just a hard fight between hard-headed people.
Swiftly he saw the matter as his one supreme chance
the final opportunity. The stakes were an empire; at
one stroke he could force himself to the very top, seize on
305
THE OLYMPIAN
dominion, attain greatness and power and wealth. There
was nothing beautiful in this mood of his; neither, per
haps, was there anything beautiful in this wrangle between
father and daughter. It was the old property fight: the
issue that divides families and lovers and comrades; that
goes back to the battle of wolves over a carcass the
hunger instinct, as opposed to the love instinct.
And as a great issue always educed from Kirby his full
strength, he began to feel power, crushing might; he felt
himself a match for Jordan Watts or any other. Fully
roused, he now stood up. His powerful head was erect,
his gray eyes sharp.
' ' Mary, ' ' he said, ' ' would you mind leaving us ? I want
to speak to your father."
Jordan turned on him; had revealed to him the other
Kirby; caught the direct glance of the eyes; quivered
with a new realization. Could Mary, after all, be right
about this young fellow? Jordan was quick to appreciate
power in men.
As for Mary, she turned, gave the two men a proud look,
as if to say, ' ' See ! There's your man !" then spoke firmly :
"No, I shall stay here. But you needn't mind me;
say everything, Kirby,"
He understood; all three were too fully roused now to
be delicate with one another. So Kirby plunged in as
if Mary were not there. He drew the rocker close to
Jordan and sat down, facing him. It was the two genera
tions locking horns the tried and successful man, getting
a little old, soon to pass; the youth, fresh, harsh, deter
mined to dispute dominion, to break his way in and in
herit the empire. Jordan could only listen to him as to
an equal such was Kirby's power.
"Mr. Watts," said Kirby, "you and I have got to speak
with each other. I have some rights in this matter, and
if I wanted to I could take advantage of your daughter's
love. But I am going to lay the whole matter before you,
as I see it, and you can judge for yourself."
306
THREE HARD HEADS
With clear and convincing candor, then, he told of his
coming to the city with Janice Hadden's letter; of his
hopes; of the evening at the Fifth Avenue house; of his
struggle; of his rise at Harrington's; finally, frankly, of
his plan to break into the Watts business.
"It wasn't a pretty thing, Mr. Watts, and I make no
excuses. But you may understand me; for, doubtless,
you, a successful business man, have used similar methods
yourself."
Finally he wound up:
"Now, what is there for me to do? I admit I want,
with all my heart and soul, to rise, to have power. What
of it? So did you in your time. You won't blame me
for that. But when it comes to your daughter, this is
the simple fact she loves me; I love her. In this my
motive and hers is as clear and honest as your love for
her as a father. We love each other; the best reason, I
take it, for a marriage. I know I can make her happy;
I know that she won't starve. Now what, as a man, can
I do? Because I'm ambitious shall I give her up? You
wouldn't do such a thing yourself."
Jordan had been watching closely; he was impressed;
he was forced to believe, forced to realize that Kirby had a
tremendous future. Yet his dilemma was painful: as a
father he wanted to give Mary her way, as a magnate he
desired to use her as a flag to set atop his skyscraping
steel.
Through all this Mary watched the two, as a woman
watches her lover in a duel; her face was pale and set, and
blazed now and then with triumphant admiration for
Kirby. What a man he was ! How he responded to her
trust in him, came up to her expectations! How proud
she was to be loved by him, how proud to be able to help
make him, evoke his greatness, put him in his natural
position in the world! At the moment she had no pity
for her father.
She met Kirby's eyes when he finished, flashed him a
21 307
THE OLYMPIAN
"Well done! Splendid! You have stood by me!" But
just then the minister came down the stairs.
Jordan rose stiff, fatigued, care-worn.
" 111 think of what we said and tell you later."
It was the declaration of a truce, and first Mary and
then Kirby went up-stairs to make ready for supper.
They met again in the Hall just as Jordan and the minister
started for the dining-room.
Mary pressed Kirby's hand.
"We must make him decide to-night," she said.
At the table there was constraint and silence. The
minister, glancing with puzzled expression from one to the
other of these three obstinate people, tried now and then
to begin conversation. No one noticed him. Jordan was
in a black study, now and then a tremor of pain in his
face; Mary seemed suddenly tired and desperate, as if
the glory of the day had somehow vanished; Kirby had a
hard, tremendous excitement. He did not know what he
was eating, and overate with unpleasant speed; his cheeks
were flushed, his temples throbbing. A dozen magnificent
possibilities danced in his brain, and he felt that it was
impossible to wait for Jordan's decision. Now he saw
himself one of the heads of a world business; now he saw
himself taking Mary away for an obscure existence wherein
their love might break down. All his future was bound
up behind the sharp eyes of the little man at the head of
the table. He longed to read the thought in that brooding
face.
He thought of other things, too that Mary had a
hundred thousand dollars, that she owned this house.
But then, could he bring himself to touch her money?
He tried to push the dreadful thought from his mind.
Property! Up on the Giant, out on the lake, sitting on
the sea-cliff, he and Mary were merely two human beings,
divine and young. Nothing sordid there; no crass con
siderations; love was everything. But as soon as they
came back to the human world civilization touched them
308
THREE HARD HEADS
with its Midas-hand and put a hard gilding on their pas
sion; made them calculating, base, lustful. It brought
the rude excitement of the gambling-table, the cockpit,
the prize-fight.
But the miracle in it all fired his imagination the poor
boy coming from Trent to take the metropolis by storm,
and already seizing on its chief hostage, its Helen of Troy,
and using her involuntarily as a means of breaking down
the gates. Either way he had Mary; and Mary was an
only child ; had money and property of her own already.
Supper over, Jordan calmly took the minister to a
lamp-lit corner of the room and played checkers. Mary
and Kirby could only sit down before the open fire, facing
it, legs stretched and feet crossed. They gazed at that
fire like dogs at the day's end after the chase. This gazing
at fire is one of the rituals of the human race, coming up
from the days of the cave-man until it was cut off by hot-
air furnaces and steam radiators. And some of the dream-
heritage of the long ancestry comes back at such a mo
ment, rousing the primitive again.
They had barely passed a word together, both feeling
that their love was somehow tarnished; but now, as they
watched the blue rise into red and gold, saw the white
heart of the fagots, beheld the rearrangement of cinder-
dropping logs, heard the blaze and draught of the chimney,
and the bluster of the sea about the house, they drew
closer again, a man and woman come into their cave from
the howling night to dream sleepily together before the
flames.
They looked at each other and smiled sweetly.
"Ah, Kirby," whispered Mary, "we shall have a life
time of this."
A rhythm of loving content was set up in them; a
strange home comfort; the richness and sweetness of a
lonely fireside. Now and then they heard the low voices
of the checker-players, a hum in their ears.
Then through their tranquil expectancy ran the quiver
309
THE OLYMPIAN
of the event; they straightened, their hearts leaped.
For the minister was saying good night and passing up
the stairs.
In the silence Jordan came shuffling over, stood looking
at the fire, drew up a chair between them. Glancing at
him apprehensively, they saw something pathetic and
broken in his mien, something new in his posture, as if
he was suddenly aware that he was an old man.
He talked quietly, as from his heart:
" I shall never be able to hold my head quite high again.
You have brought me to a pretty pass, Mary; you have
humiliated your father. For though personally I might
approve of your choice, you and I have little right to our
personal happiness; we are public people; everything we
do is in the glare of publicity, and this step of yours will
blaze from coast to coast, a red notoriety. It is a spot
on me I can't ever erase. There, they will say, goes one
of the richest men in the world, yet his daughter married
out of her station. Pardon me, Mr. Trask, if I am
candid; this matter is too momentous for politeness."
He paused; Kirby and Mary were children, chided,
gazing downward. Then he continued:
"It might be just as well to disavow you altogether.
Yet this I don't propose to do. I am sane enough to see
that no good would come of it. After all, you are all that
I have."
He was forced for a moment to stop ; then he went on :
"At the same time you can't expect me to rejoice and
celebrate and pour riches over you. You can't expect a
handsome wedding, a present of a few estates, and a vice-
presidency for your husband. No; if you persist, if
nothing can make you reconsider your rash action, why,
you will have to go on short rations. Think it over well.
Mr. Trask will have to work for me just as if he were any
outsider. He has been getting five thousand a year.
I'd be willing to try him on a Pittsburgh job at that salary
and give him a chance to make good. If he fails he will
THREE HARD HEADS
have to expect a cut in wages, a reduction in rank. If he
succeeds, something better may offer. And you, who have
been used to a golden flood of money, will have to share
your husband's lot. This is unalterable. Think it over."
Again he paused; then ended:
" You have amazed me, Mary. You have made me feel
like an old man. I was unprepared for such things. But
I see I never understood you; I ranked you too high; I
made the mistake that every parent makes thought my
child was different from all others. You have brought
me only ingratitude and bitterness. But then a father
has no right to expect anything else of his children ....
I ask you once more to think well."
Kirby felt stricken by this ancient failure of fatherhood ;
Mary's lips twitched. Then, after a painful silence, she
said:
"I am sorry. But there is nothing I can do."
"Very well," said Jordan, and rose. "Good night,
then."
And without the nightly kiss he turned and went slowly
up the stairs. He seemed bowed and broken.
Kirby and Mary arose then, and in a tearful silence
clasped each other tenderly.
"Oh, my Kirby," said Mary, "you mustn't fail me in
this world now."
"I won't," he whispered, "I won't."
They kissed; went to their rooms. And as Kirby sat
on the bed in the dark listening to the wind he felt a
strange oppression. Felt now that he had undertaken a
staggering responsibility; felt almost as if he had com
mitted some unspeakable crime. He was awed and
humbled.
Why was it that success, when it came, held so little
sweetness for him?
And there was Mary a wonderful woman who had
fought for him and won him. How could he ever be
worthy of her? How make up to her this break in her
3"
THE OLYMPIAN
life, this sacrifice of the world? Godhood almost was
demanded of him, and he knew that he was merely a weak
and bullish young man.
He felt prayerful; he felt like going on his knees and
communing with some power greater than his own.
Finally he swore that he would protect and love her to
the end of his days, and do the utmost in his power
to prove worthy in her eyes".
XXVIII
FAME
WHEN Mary came down the stairs the next morning
she felt younger than she had in years ; she felt like
singing and dancing, and sharing her joy with others.
Her light-heartedness made her light-footed she wanted
to take a five-mile run in the open air along the beach.
All her life seemed in transition; her early womanhood
was over and her marriage had not yet begun, so she felt
free of all bonds, and yet excitedly expectant. The
change about to take place was a revolution ; every habit
and responsibility, even her heart, her brain, and her very
body, were to be subjected to mysterious things. She
was on the threshold of the inner temple of a woman's life.
No wonder her exhilaration had something breathless and
fearful about it, a transiency of beauty, a feeling that she
would not live to see her dreams realized.
Like all sound women she craved the rich and tragic
experiences of her lot, but it seemed to her that her love
was too exquisite to last, and the thought of death made
her tremble.
"Some day Kirby must die; some day I must die; one
of us will be left alone."
The sadness of this made the world beautiful and
precious; made Kirby and her love so precious that she
hated to spare a moment from him. And yet, through
all, bubbled this sparkling, care-free exhilaration, this
laughing light-heartedness.
Two thoughts were in her mind to find Kirby and kiss
THE OLYMPIAN
him good morning, to dispel with a caress any last doubts
he might harbor, and then find her father and be very good
to him, soothe him, fondle him, and coerce him to share
her overflowing happiness.
In the bright early light of the clear Sunday morning the
maid was dusting about the hall. Mary felt like embrac
ing the young woman ; she, too, was human and knew love.
"Mr. Trask down?" she asked.
"Yes, and gone for a walk," said the maid, coming up.
She handed Mary a note. "Mr. Watts told me to give
this to you."
Mary looked at the envelope, her forehead wrinkled. A
fear clutched her heart. Then she read:
DEAR MARY, I find it necessary to go back to New York,
so Dr. Weston and I are catching the early train. I take it for
granted, of course, that Mr. Trask leaves at noon to-day to make
the night-boat. Let me know when you return.
Hastily, J. W.
Then she really understood what a terrible blow she
had inflicted on her father. He had not felt able to face
her and Kirby; beaten and broken, he had run away. A
tragic blackness engulfed her; stunned, she groped through
the doorway and started off under the pines.
In the intense silence, wherein no twig stirred, she
heard bird-notes and the soft booming of the sea; the
heavens were a mild, silvery blue, the ocean even more
silvery, and the air was fragrant and balmy. Then she
saw Kirby climbing over the rocks and ran toward him,
her heart bursting.
He saw her, waved, shouted "Mary," and ran also.
They met in the marsh, and he drew her close.
"Oh," she panted, "I'm so glad glad you're here."
She handed him the letter, and he read it, one arm still
protecting her. She felt as if she were a child finding
shelter on his breast.
FAME
" I see," he said, and turned and kissed her. She clung
to him.
"Kirby," she whispered, "Kirby."
And suddenly joy overflowed in her again. They
laughed with each other. Impossible that her father was
badly hurt; impossible that any tragedy existed in this
love-rich world.
"He'll come round," said Kirby.
"I know he will!" she exclaimed.
At once thought of her father was blotted out; their
youth was too glorious to see beyond itself.
They went back to the house and had breakfast alone
together. It was wonderful.
"Our own house," said Mary.
They were playing house; the fresh strawberries were
delicious; the eggs mellow; the coffee pungent. Then
Kirby refused more than one lump of sugar. She de
murred over this sacrifice.
"No," he said, "we must both have the same."
They walked about the beach all morning, picking shells,
digging in the sand, and finally sat on the rocks together
and looked out on the shimmering sea. And Mary
planned and planned. Woman-like she worked out a
million details as carefully as a bridge-builder, and wrought
a practical future. Man-like he listened amusedly, won
dering why a bridge couldn't be crossed when they came
to it.
She decided for early August for the wedding. As it
was to be small, and as her father would only be pained
the more by crowds of friends, August was an ideal time.
"Everybody" was away; the city deserted; their en
gagement would not be made unpleasant by callers and
calls and social functions; Kirby would be spared these
unaccustomed details; and besides, they would thus
have a summer vacation together before the new job
began.
"We've a place in the Adirondacks," she said, "where
THE OLYMPIAN
we can go camping live in a tent. Isn't that the ideal
honeymoon? Miles from every one just you and I and
the wilderness. Ever since we were on the Giant I've
wanted to go off like that."
"With me?" asked Kirby.
She looked dreaming at the sea, then at him.
"I wonder," she murmured, "I wonder .... maybe
maybe I loved you even then and didn't know it."
"I knew I loved you," he said.
"I'm glad we can't have a big wedding," she mused;
"I'm glad all the red-tape is to be cut out. Imagine you
involved in such things!" She laughed merrily. "My
big savage!" And she whispered, pulling back his hair
with one hand, "Do you love the messenger's daugh
ter?"
It was romantic to pretend that she was a poor girl and
was marrying a great five-thousand-a-year man who was
going to make her mistress of a real house in Pittsburgh.
What an adventure!
"Shall I have a servant?" she asked.
"Two, if you like."
"And will you take me to theaters once a month? And
buy me candy on my birthday?"
Then she kissed away every shadow of mockery, and
said:
" If you knew what it meant to me to go out there with
you, and know I must really work, and that we must
struggle! I've been craving this all my days real life;
to feel and do what most people feel and do to do what
my mother did to grow with you, and not be stopped
the way I have been !"
She seemed to realize that engagement and marriage are
the woman's time of life; Kirby 's emotions paled beside
hers.
Then after dinner, after she had motored him to the
little station, they stood, with precious last words. She
was to write or telegraph him when she left for New York,
316
FAME
and he was to come to supper the evening she arrived.
He was to write her the moment he reached Inwood.
The train loomed nearer.
"Oh, Kirby," she whispered, looking almost pale for a
moment, "please don't die please be careful of your
self!"
He mounted the rear platform and they waved each
other out of sight. He was excited and carefree himself,
and had the singular notion that he would never know
again what pain and misery were like. It appeared that
all he needed to keep him happy was Mary, and it was
just a question of how to kill the next few days until he
should see her.
Again Fortune had overwhelmed him with favors
Mary, a splendid position, and a future as great as he
could make it. What more in the world could a young
man ask? There was only one word to describe his con
dition bliss. Kirby was blissful.
So when he appeared in the office on Monday morning
he was a radiant, benevolent, healthy young man, in a
golden humor. He ceased to have enemies; he even went
in and asked Mr. Peewee how the widow woman was
coming along.
"Oh," said Cropsey, "we'll be spliced in a week or two."
"Lucky man!" cried Kirby, and to himself he added
later: "After all, this fellow isn't so bad. Suppose he
does use cheap cologne? He's a hard-working, cheerful,
industrious man; he doesn't mope because he's a dwarf;
and he's going to marry and probably have a family."
This last thought gave him pause. A family! What
would it be like to be a father, to have a child of his own?
A chill ran over him. All at once the masculine notion
that he was giving up a free life and putting his head
in a yoke pervaded him. Frightful responsibilities loomed
ahead.
Besides, he had still to "make good." In a sense, he
was on probation; what if he flunked in the Pittsburgh
THE OLYMPIAN
job? Old Watts was enough of a Nero to give him some
thing impossibly hard.
He might have been troubled a bit had he not received
a letter from Mary the first love-letter. He read it a
hundred times, approximately, and was enchanted with
her use of English.
And so for four days golden peace brooded on the
Business Manager. Then on the fourth a perplexed
office-boy entered.
"There's six men out here to see you."
Kirby was amazed.
"All together, or each alone?"
"All together."
"Show 'em in."
In they came, bright-eyed youths. A spokesman ad
vanced.
"We're reporters from the New York papers. We un
derstand that you are reported engaged to Miss Mary
Watts."
Notoriety Fame! How had it happened? Who had
dropped the word in the ear of that monster Publicity?
He had a vision of eighty million people throbbing with
feverish concern over his young life. He felt suddenly in
the sky with America under him, the population gazing
raptly up at this new star. " You're a great man, Kirby,"
cried his heart, and he became a little drunk, his chest
expanded several inches, and he was proud and insolent.
He almost babbled the truth, with a sudden desire to
take the loving public into his confidence. What an
adventure to share his joy with the expectant millions,
to know that on the morrow black head-lines would
be printed on newspapers all over the continent, and
many a bleak breakfast made bright by descriptions of
gray eyes, powerful head, strong jaw, the man who would
inherit the Watts millions!
Kirby rose.
"I have nothing to say," he remarked in a tone that
318
FAME
indicated that he knew they knew, and they knew he
knew.
"That means you are, then," prompted the spokesman.
"Nothing to say," smiled Kirby; "I can't speak for
publication."
Of course not to say no meant yes, and the six went out
with fired imaginations.
Kirby was up before the newsman the next morning and
rushed to the station to catch the first sheet. He tucked
it under his arm and went into the woods. Then he
feasted on the food of the gods.
" Miss Watts Reported Engaged " on the front page, at
that "A Romance in High Life Millionaire's Daughter
to Marry Poor Young Man Jordan Watts Refuses to See
Reporters."
The greatest excitement prevails in New York society circles
over the announcement that the beautiful daughter of the Steel
Magnate is to marry against her father's wishes a man of com
parative poverty. This romance is considered the greatest
sensation in recent years, and is the outcome of a remarkable
love-story. The young man has held a position with Harring
ton's defunct magazine and is believed to be without resources.
His name is Kirby Trask, and he is twenty-eight years old.
When seen he did not deny the reported alliance.
So it went, and then:
Mr. Watts refused to see the interviewer, but one might
surmise from his care-worn expression as he passed out to his
automobile that he does not relish this match. It is as yet too
early to say whether he will disown his daughter or not.
And there was Kirby 's own history in full the debate,
the reportership, clerkship, secretaryship. Joyous Amer
ican journalism! Industrious reporters! Surely the na
tion would not die for want of mirth and the playful fiction
of reported facts!
Now, if Kirby had been in his senses he would have raged
and spit blood. But he was not. He bought as many
319
THE OLYMPIAN
other papers as he could and gorged himself on his name in
print. There it was "Kirby Trask." At one bound he
had leaped into the ages and belonged to history!
"That Kirby Trask you are writing about," he told
invisible reporters, "shall make history, too. Wait!
Watch!"
And was it possible that he had once walked the streets
of New York in search of work and been denied right and
left? Why, these very newspapers that celebrated him
had once turned him down. If they only knew, how they
would kick themselves !
The only sobering thought was that old Watts would
now be madder than ever and it even struck him that
Mary, used to publicity, might wince over these per
sonalities.
But when he returned to the office he knew that he was
really great. The staff came round and congratulated
him, flattered him, every one who passed the door ogled
in, wide-eyed with wondrous curiosity. He had been
raised to the seats of the mighty. Even J. J. stepped in
to shake hands:
"My young men always rise," said J. J. "I am proud
to have met you, Mr. Trask. I am only sorry our con
nection must end."
Kirby bore it all with remarkable patience. In fact,
he was wreathed in smiles. This notoriety was fame to
him.
And a debauch in journalism followed; day after day
whole columns of gossip and conjecture, of affirmation and
denial, with a lurid climax on Sunday, when he saw his
beloved and himself pictured on half a page with a Cupid
beneath piercing a money-bag, and old Watts looking
sour on top. He never forgot the green-and-red head
line: "Cupid Unites the Rich and Poor: An American
Romance."
A paragraph in one of Mary's letters gave him pause:
"Isn't it unspeakable? Why can't they leave us alone?
320
FAME
What business is it of theirs? Our press is the shame of
the world. But remember that our love is worth it all;
we can endure even this. How you must suffer by it,
poor Kirby!"
For a sufferer Kirby had carried it off pretty well.
Neither appetite nor sleep had failed him. He had been
pretty well inflated with his new station in life. But now
suddenly he saw himself in a new light, and felt slightly
nauseated. He had been cheap, conceited, a cad. For a
while he was profoundly ashamed of himself, and ceased
to watch the papers. And he could never afterward
explain why the notoriety had charmed him, had intoxi
cated him.
XXIX
KIRBY YES-AND-NO
DURING the two months that followed Kirby divided
his time between Inwood and New York. Luckily
for him, the business wound up slowly, and he was allowed
to retain his position under an easy pressure that per
mitted him to come and go as he pleased. Thus, at least,
his days were filled and passed rapidly. And for the sake
of the nights, and because he began to feel too keenly the
social 'distinction between his changing self and the Allisons
and Brent, he took two rooms in a small bachelors' apart
ment-house up a side street near the Watts.
As for Mary and her father, they came and vanished
like summer storms now away for a week, now off for a
night or two; and Mary's excuse for these absences, and
in fact for all the actions Kirby disliked, was:
"This is the first summer we haven't been abroad;
you see, you and I have forced my father to stay home.
And as he doesn't like me to be in the city at all the least
I can do is to compromise, and come and go."
As a result there were times when Kirby saw nothing
of Mary. Then the nights were dull ; he could go up on a
roof -garden to snatch a little breeze, see the stars over the
city, watch a dreamy whirl of color and light on the stage,
listen to music, and drink and smoke. Or he could tramp
the glittering streets, with the city like a ringing in his
ears, and the people eddying around the lights or fanning
themselves on shadowy stoops beneath a hot moon. Or,
with perspiring effort, he could play cards a game he
detested with an amiable young lawyer in the house.
322
KIRBY YES-AND-NO
But there were other times when he saw much of Mary
feverish times, to his amazement. He had expected the
natural intimacy and freedom they had known on the
cliffs ; instead, it seemed, as a rule, impossible to be alone
with her. In spite of her assertion that the city would
be "deserted" there seemed, not counting the negligible
millions, abundant curious people who broke in if only
to eye these three notorious persons, to study the mystery
of this triangle, to anticipate the next move, and to watch
the bold young adventurer who had stormed Olympus.
Such people, and many others, paid no attention to
Jordan's attitude, but invited Mary and Kirby together
to week-ends, house-parties, fetes, and sports, and they
began to accept these invitations, motoring out to near-by
places in all directions. Kirby demurred at first; he
thought he was wanted merely as a freak, and he felt raw
among these people; manners were an impossible acquisi
tion for him, but Mary coerced him. It was for her
father's sake, and, she said, laughingly, "You might as
well begin now; it's part of the price of marrying me.
You can't escape altogether."
So he went, involved in a new whirl of life. This ter
rific drive made his relationship with Mary feverish and
excited; the glory of their love seemed tarnished by this
speeding-up and publicity. It seemed as if a civilization
of steam and steel and electricity was annihilating intimacy
and sweetness and love. But the freedom of this scurrying
about was wonderful motors skimming the hills, motors
glancing along the waters, the dance of pony-polo, the
blare and glare of the carnival; these people were like
beetles darting over water. There was the shock of
stimulation at each moment the tasting of this and that,
the sipping of experiences, as if they thought they could
have the cream of life without the milk beneath.
A new world for Kirby; he had seen it in slanting
glimpses at High Hill; but then he was preoccupied with
Mary. Now he became part of it a curio in a corner,
22 323
THE OLYMPIAN
with apathetic men and babbling women getting "his
views," as if his naivete were a new sport. In short, he
now moved about at the top of the social pyramid of
America, and while in many houses he met a High Hill
crowd, business and professional men, the leaders in
thought, the really great in various walks of life and
there were many such at others he saw an admixture of
types he had only read of in newspapers. Gradually he
thought he understood.
This society at the top, then, seemed to him like a net
work of sharp nerves laid over the raw flesh of the race:
down there muscle and sluggish blood ; up here sensation,
speed. Down there the toiling thews ; up here the guiding
brain. Jordan Watts was a very nerve-center in this net
work, with radiations of fine nerves enmeshing a whole
city like Pittsburgh in one ganglion, and darting here and
there to tips in all parts of the world a fact brought
home to Kirby when, toward the end of July, wedding-
presents began to arrive from kings and nobles, statesmen
and professional men, financiers and artists in remote
corners of the globe. The nations paid tribute to the
American dynast.
And just as at the bottom he had seen our industrial
civilization break down into sex-abandon and vagrancy
because of want, so here at the top he saw the same break
down because of excess. What difference between Mrs.
Costigan and the orgies at her house, the sex-dance and
drunkenness, and Bess with her gentlemen friends and the
dance-hall, or between the vagrant on the park bench and
the gilded vagrant who never soiled his hands with work
or his brains with humanness? The idle poor, the idle
rich parasites both.
And in the average life of rich and poor there was the
same contrasting similarity; the poor dulled by monotony,
the rich made neurasthenic by too fierce a variety. At
the bottom an Edward Ferguson, at the top the man who
overworked, overworried, labored stupendously to run
324
KIRBY YES-AND-NO
enormous industries and pile up power and wealth. And
the wives of both were dissatisfied, neither seeing much
of the husband, both left idle and obscure.
The social cleavage he now began to glimpse was
monstrous. Here was a financier buying an old master
for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Here was
he hesitating over a ten-cent cigar. There was himself a
few years back extravagant when he bought a five-cent
package of cigarettes or paid a quarter for his lunch. And
his ten or five cents was more in proportion to his income
than the one hundred and fifty thousand dollars to the
financier. What lunatic arrangement of the world was
this ? Millions of weak bipeds scrambling for a bite, and
here and there some big man corraling the others, seizing
on huge slices of the general wealth, and by this wealth
able to buy power, able to turn these others into employees,
and coasting about the world above them like the cloud-
borne gods of Greece. And yet these gods were human;
after all there was a limit to natural expenditures, as hous
ing, food, clothes, and amusements. Part of their rush,
part of the reason for their sipping at a thing and dropping
it for another, like a child with too many toys, was then the
mere need of finding new outlets for their wealth.
And such folk set the pace for all others, so that it
seemed, looked at from this angle, as if the whole United
States was money-mad, a million-rush for money.
But this vision, instead of steadying him, made him the
more eager to rush after money himself. He knew what
it meant to be a drudge; he might as well be among the
high. Besides, he belonged here; he could doubt no
longer that he was out of the ordinary; that his power
over others was remarkable; that his foresight, shrewd
ness, and luck were extraordinary. And as a Machiavel
lian scheme had brought him to these heights he concluded
that Machiavellianism paid; he, too, could use the un
clean tools of success.
So he adapted himself swiftly to this upper world.
325
THE OLYMPIAN
Walking the same streets now that had once seen him shy
and poor, atomic in his insignificance, he felt the gulf
between himself and the nameless population; he believed
that this rush of humanity would soon be subject to him,
albeit they knew it not, and that he was the heir-apparent
walking incognito in his capital city. Finally, walking
seemed a bit plebeian; he got in the habit of taking taxi-
cabs instead of street-cars, of wearing expensive clothes,
smoking expensive cigars. He must live up to his new
station in life.
Yet all this time Jordan and Mary remained the same
simple people they were. Kirby, the new-comer, was
more aristocratic than they. Mary smiled at him, under
stood, thought of it as natural in an initiation; and knew
his power and strength too well to do more than let him
indulge himself. So a mother watches her son's antics
in the adolescent period.
There was another marked change in him; his sensitive
exterior needed some sort of protective shell, and as it was
impossible for him to acquire "manners," he acquired
a manner. This was his remarkable habit of silence, of
moving about erect, alert, but speechless, giving a yes
or no to a question with the impression of immense re
serves of power.
Butlers, waiters, and other flunkies served eagerly this
well-dressed successful man, who passed them as if he
were unaware of their existence. And this manner was
the making of him in the drawing-room. Not graced in
small talk, he stood about grim, straight, and preoccupied,
as if he were lost in gigantic thought.
"Did you see 'Tristan und Isolde' last season?" a
young woman might ask.
"No," said Kirby, and that "no" implied that a man of
such stupendous affairs had no time to trifle with music.
The lady would be much impressed.
"He's terrible," she said. "He'U break in Mary yet.
She's found her match,"
326
KIRBY YES-AND-NO
And she half wished she was Mary herself.
The men saw power in him. "He'll gobble up the
business," was their impression. Watts saw this, too,
but his grim thought was, "He's got to show me first."
Mary was pleased, if anything; she did not have to feel
ashamed in taking him anywhere. It would be evident
to any one that she had picked the most powerful man she
knew.
"My Kirby yes-and-no," she called him.
There were times, however, in the publicity and ex
cited rush of these days, when it seemed to Kirby that
Mary had her doubts, that she possibly thought her love
was a fancy of other times, that she might have been wrong
in opposing her father. But if such doubts existed they
vanished on the rare evenings and afternoons when the
two were alone with each other. Then each became the
old self, the man and woman who had stood in the blow
ing daisy-field, purified and holy with their passion.
On one such evening Mary grew very intimate, as if
they were already married, and showed him a new dress,
a frail affair of blue and gold, holding it up at arm's length
for his inspection.
"Well, my master, how do you like it?"
He was puzzled.
"I can't tell till I see it on you," he said.
So she flew to her room and came back dressed in it,
smiling with radiant expectation.
He regarded it critically.
"Shall I tell you the truth?" he asked.
Her smile faded.
"Of course."
"Well, I I don't care for the flouncy thing over the
shoulder."
" Oh, you haven't any taste," she said, ruefully.
She never wore the dress again, and he was dum-
founded to think that she cared so much for clothes. She
was more feminine than he had imagined.
327
THE OLYMPIAN
Another night there was an amazing occurrence. Mary
had been at the old planning, pad on lap, pencil in hand.
"But what," she mused, "if our money gives out?"
This was a serious question ; he was beginning to know
the slippery quality of money. Though he still drew his
salary he spent every cent, and his savings with it. But
he answered, promptly:
"We mustn't let it."
She drew closer, took his hand in both of hers, gave him
her tender gaze, and spoke beautifully, as if she wanted
him to know how totally she was his.
"There's my money, Kirby. After this it's yours."
There was nothing base in Kirby at the moment, so he
replied quickly:
"No, no I couldn't think of that."
"But I want you to, dear."
"I couldn't, Mary; really, I couldn't."
"Why not?"
Why did she insist? Couldn't she understand? He
was vexed. His thought was clear enough, but he ex
pressed it crudely:
"A man oughtn't to take money from a woman."
She was hurt; began to tremble.
"That's an old-fashioned notion."
"Well, it's mine," he said, bruskly.
At once she rose, a woman of direct power; jaw set,
eyes flashing.
"Why, you put me to shame, Kirby. I thought we
were equals; you make an inferior of me."
He rose, too, hot all over. He spoke without thinking.
"Why in the world do you take it that way? Can't
you see?"
Her face grew hard.
"Why? Am I simply to take from you, and you never
to take from me? I won't be a parasite, Kirby."
"Just like a woman!" he thought.
"Call it anything you like!" he snapped.
328
KIRBY YES-AND-NO
There they stood, two stubborn people, suddenly
glimpsing in their relationship abysmal depths full of
terrible things. It was inexpressibly shocking, as if their
souls stood naked before each other, raw with hate. What
was this divine love that yet Revoked the snarling tiger
in them? What sort of a marriage would be theirs?
She became pale, as if her heart were broken.
"It's not too late, Kirby, you know."
"Yes, I know," he said.
There was a silence. Then she gave him an anguished
glance.
"Good night," she murmured, and walked out un
steadily. He rushed for his hat, and went through the
streets like a madman. It was all over, he felt, and he
had broken her heart, trampled out the light of the world.
Remorse consumed him; he writhed in it; could not
sleep, could not eat the next day, and finally, in the after
noon, could not stay away from her.
Then when she came into the sitting-room, looking
broken and sick and sleepless, and stood glancing at the
floor, he muttered in an agonized voice:
"Mary! Mary!"
"What?" she asked low. "What more, now?"
He almost wept.
"For heaven's sake, forgive me! I'll do as you say."
"No," she murmured; "forgive me. I shall never ask
such a thing of you again."
It was the last surrender of her free spirit, as if she knew
that her reason was beaten down by this overmastering
love. He drew near, held out his arms, and they rushed
together, clinging to each other in despairing love.
"Kirby, Kirby," she whispered, "never quarrel with me
again. It degrades us both."
Their love became wonderful then; they shone before
each other in a whiteness of light that transfigured them.
They touched a height of passion new to them. But
thereafter their natural candor was slightly blunted; they
329
THE OLYMPIAN
knew that they walked together on the thin crust of a
crater. Curiously enough, this made their love more
precious; like the thought of life's brevity and the death
that would rob one of the other, this peril made intensely
sweet the time that was granted them.
And so, as the day of the wedding drew near, their love
mounted and mounted until it became a glorious and
terrible thing. There were moments when they hardly
dared kiss each other, when they stood breathless and
trembling, when it seemed that they would never be
married, that this love was too exquisite to last a flame
that wrapped them together and passed, leaving ashes of
their lives.
Now they began to really realize that soon their two
lives, coming out of the diverse past, were to mingle in an
awful intimacy of body and soul, and go on inextricably
interwoven, each pain and joy inevitably visiting both.
It meant a new birth, a new life, a new world. Never
would they be these same two people again. And so the
minutes grew long.
"Five more days, four more nights," Mary counted
with him.
An age elapsed. Then, "Four more days, three more
nights." So it went. They now stayed at home. Kirby
wound up his work. There were no more outings, no more
functions. It was a sacred preparation for each other.
It seemed to Kirby at this time that he was hounded
by reporters and magazine writers; the newspapers were
full again with the "romance of millions"; but by now
he had an aristocratic contempt for publicity. He shared
Jordan Watts' decision "The public be damned," also
"This is my business." He was annoyed, too, by an in
creasing number of letters from cranks and charities, as if
they thought he already was a member of the Watts
family. Other letters came, too letters, as it were, out
of the past, making him pinch himself to see if he were
still Kirby Trask. One came from Mrs. Waverley, a
330
KIRBY YES-AND-NO
placid and tender "good-by" note, saying he was "fit for
any station, " but must remember what splendid traits he
had shown her; one from Frances, who "knew he was
out of the ordinary," but seemed more anxious to tell
him of a lovely girl-baby and the growth of Edward's
business; one grandiose letter came from Bradsley in
behalf of the tariff department; and finally one from
Janice":
"The Professor and I are in wild raptures. You sur
passed my dreams of you. But did I not know? ' I give
you ten years,' I told you. Why, it's only four. To
think that my letter to Mr. Watts brought such a result.
Give my love to darling Mary. ..."
"Social climber!" muttered a rather forgetful social
climber. But he was entranced with the mysterious
changes of life. Ghosts of the past! With these people
he once lived and suffered, obscure as they, but swiftly the
miracle was being consummated, the absurd dreams of
youth realized, and the waif Aladdin was being wafted
to his palace. Now, all this dark past seemed ages ago,
a blackness behind this radiance of the present. He was
on the eve of his dominion over love and power.
Almost exhausted with expectancy he took supper with
father and daughter on that last night, that night of
August 2d. Because of the throbbing and sultry heat the
windows were wide open, and the clash and feverish hum
of the great city swept like an exciting undercurrent
through the hum of the electric fan that blew hot draughts
of air in their faces. The room was shadowy with the
late day, and the three sat, hot and silent, in a nervous
clatter of plates and cutlery. Each was self-absorbed,
though now and then Kirby and Mary whispered some
thing meaningless to each other. Not once again could
Mary take dinner in this home as a mere daughter; to
morrow she was to become a familiar stranger; the strange
ness of this, the unreality of it, the sense of loss and part
ing and death, moved her almost to tears.
THE OLYMPIAN
Then Jordan began to whine about the weather, in
timating that if it hadn't been for Kirby and a disloyal
daughter he might be away on the ocean and up in the
North. Then in a still more meaningful way he an
nounced that he had hired a young man, a social worker,
to take over the philanthropic work which Mary had
handled.
"This means," he said, glancing at Mary, "that I'll
have to give my time and strength to it, too."
It implied that the marriage was not only robbing him of
Mary and breaking his pride, but also casting new burdens
upon his already overtaxed shoulders.
They sipped the coffee in silence. Then Jordan spoke
again, glancing sharply at Kirby:
"I'd like to see you in the library, please." He never
addressed Kirby by name; it was impossible to call him
Mr. Trask, more so to call him Kirby.
Both Mary and Kirby felt that some dramatic moment
was at hand; they glanced apprehensively at each other,
then, with some precipitancy, Kirby followed to the
library. Jordan turned on the desk-light, took off his
coat; they sat facing each other, silent, almost sullen.
Then Jordan spoke as employer to employee, in a hard, im
personal voice:
"I may not see you alone for some time, so I must give
you directions. You're to be Assistant Superintendent of
Supplies in the Pittsburgh office, the American Steel
Building. Report there, please, on or about September
ist."
Kirby nodded coldly; he did not like this return of
the old feeling of being an employee; he had outgrown
that state, he believed. A silence followed. The old
man seemed engaged in a struggle with himself. Then
suddenly he drew out a pocket-book and pulled from i1> a
check.
"Here," he said, bruskly. "Expenses and furniture."
Kirby was stunned. In a swift glance he saw the figures
332
KIRBY YES-AND-NO
ten thousand dollars. He had never seen so much
money in his life; it was proof of his new standing. His
temples began to throb. Of course ten thousand was
not a munificent present from a multimillionaire, but
from an outraged father, who was also somewhat econom
ical and sermonized on seventy-five-cent golf-balls, it was
a remarkable gift. There were things in the old man
Kirby couldn't understand. It was as if Watts were
compelled to be fatherly in spite of himself.
Kirby was embarrassed, as well as dazzled, by this
expression of kindliness.
"Thanks," he said, awkwardly.
Jordan rose.
"Never mind," he snapped. "Just remember Septem
ber i st. Of course great things are expected of you. And
you know our compact. No help from me. Stand on
your own two feet and make or break yourself and your
wife," he added, sharply.
Kirby nodded again, passed out and up the stairs. He
was profoundly stirred. Mary was probably in the front
sitting-room. But the room was in darkness as he
entered. Then a voice called:
"Kirby?"
"Yes."
" Don't put up the light. Come here."
He saw her dimly then at the open window. He went
and placed himself opposite and took her warm hands.
His voice was trembling with emotion.
"Your father's given us ten thousand dollars."
In the silence at once something tragic and yet benign
swept from her to him, and when she spoke her voice was
strange, trembling with fear.
"I almost hate to leave father now that the time has
come."
And he began to understand, began to realize the
solemnity and majesty of marriage; the momentous hour
when his beloved was to leave home and father, and all
333
THE OLYMPIAN
free and familiar tilings, to give herself up to the doom of
woman, to the pains, the agonies, and the fulfilments of
a woman's life give herself up utterly, soul and body, as a
sacrifice to creative Nature, so that the race might roll on
through her and the generations continue, even as her
mother before her, and all the mothers of the receding
past. The silent mystery that had evoked these two so
that they sat here, man and woman, perfect growths of
brief passion and dream, was to use them now that like
creations, real and living as they, might emerge through
them to carry on the flame and light to the unpeopled
Future.
Tides rose in their hearts, tides of love and unselfishness,
of reverence and humility. Even at the moment they
began to detach themselves from the free life of self, to be
set as a loom in the weaving of the destinies of Earth.
They were about to become a part of Creation slaves of
the Unborn.
And through the open windows came the profound
hum of life fugitive voices, vanishing footsteps, the
rattle of the wheels. In all directions life palpitated under
the white night of August, and they had a feeling that
it was all in process, that these millions born of woman were
in the throes of a new creation, new millions crying and
babbling in the night. At once the city, which had
seemed to Kirby a workshop of labor and a garden of
wooing, changed into a vast home of families, of fathers
and mothers and children. And they were knocking at
the door of this home. In them the miracle of the genera
tions was about to be fulfilled.
In their silence, their hands clasping, they heard the
music of existence; they became holy to each other;
and rising then softly, Mary drew him to her breast.
"Oh, Kirby," she whispered, "Kirby."
They knew then that this marriage of theirs was a
sacrament. They spoke sacred words.
"My husband," she whispered.
334
KIRBY YES-AND-NO
"My wife."
Glorified they went hand in hand down the steps,
kissed, and he left left only to return for her and take
her for life.
Then, overflowing with this painful glory, she hurried
to the library. She confronted her father.
' ' Father !" she whispered. ' ' Father !"
He looked up, stricken; she held out her arms, and he
rose, and they embraced.
" Oh, forgive me," she murmured, fondling him. " For
give me. I can't help what I am."
The tears trickled down his cheeks.
"Meg," he whispered for the first time in months.
"My Meg."
They were married the next evening at six o'clock.
And at that moment their youth passed from them; their
mature manhood and womanhood began.
XXX
THE LAKE
AT 4.30 A.M., at the little lamp-lit station in the Adiron
dack foothills, the heavy Canadian Express, with its
ten vestibuled sleepers, pulled in with roar and blinding
headlight from the South, and as the porters set foot
stools under the steps, a man and woman, all too
unmistakably a bridal pair, emerged from the car "Na-
coma." The man was well built, with smooth, gray-eyed
face, straw hat, gray spring overcoat, suit-case in one hand,
satchel in the other ; the woman was almost of his height,
supple, free in her actions, in gray traveling suit and
soft gray straw hat that curved like a helmet to the superb
shape of her head.
"Fresh from the bandbox," muttered a porter to the
impatient conductor.
Three stage-drivers were shouting the places they
touched over the hills, and held lanterns in their gloved
hands to light their passengers; a small group of miser
ably sleepy and frozen people were pestering the baggage-
master; and, save for the spots of lamplight and a golden
splash from the panting engine, heavy night engulfed the
station, the dawn delayed by clouds. The thin, bracing
mountain air swept from the cold storage of the hills.
A sleepy, grinning chauffeur approached the couple.
"Mr. and Mrs. Trask? Right over here. Yes, the
trunks came all right; went up last night. Weather's
been stunning, but we sleep under double blankets at
night. Cloudy to-night, though. "Warm enough with
that robe?"
336
THE LAKE
They shivered ; the robe was cold to the touch, but they
wrapped close in it, and drew together under it for warmth.
The chauffeur climbed in, the car jerked forward, and at
once the blackness swallowed them. Up and up they
went, borne with mysterious certainty until the dawn grew
splendid above them; then on through the wild ways
between the sky-hung blue ranges. It was finally noon
when the car passed through the gateway of the estate
and wound through a forest of cathedral pines to the
hunting-lodge a rambling log building at the brink of a
blue lake. Here, stiff and fatigued, they alighted, ate
lunch, rested a few moments and dressed, and when they
emerged they were strangers to each other. For Kirby
was in khaki, with woolen shirt, scarf about his neck,
high boots, and soft cap; and Mary, also booted, had on
full bloomers of brown and a sweater over her sailor
blouse. They were delighted with each other; both ap
peared more natural and beautiful ; they fitted better into
the wild environment.
"This is the only way to dress," said Mary; "now
I'm free!" And she attested the fact by running like a
young boy to the canoe on the lake-shore. Grace, agility,
the fluent curves of a wild animal were in her motions.
Surely Eve had this beauty on the first morning.
A hardy guide, a mountaineer overrunning with life and
high spirits, but silent as the hills, now offered to paddle
them.
"Everything ready for you up to Moose Lake. And if
you run out o' things you know where to find more."
But they preferred to go alone; so, like Indian and
squaw, they knelt in the light craft, and sped it with easy
strokes over the still waters. An inverted canoe, with
an inverted man and woman hanging down toward blue
skies and wooded shores, winged along with them.
In twenty minutes they reached the eastern end, beached
the canoe, carried it on shoulders through a short cut in
the woods to the waters above, paddled over these, carried
337
THE OLYMPIAN
it again, and came out on Moose Lake a level sheet of
blue, locked between enormous mountains, with forests
on either shore mounting like waves to the peaks.
They shot past inlets, under overhanging pines, round
rocky headlands, and at every boat's length the scene
grew wilder, more remote, and the grandeur of the moun
tain tops engulfed them in the ages. It seemed as if the
powers of nature stood overshadowing them like august
presences, that life and majesty and inarticulate might
that man calls God.
They felt reverent, open, divine; the ebb and flow of
these tides passing through them, as the flame and light
of the sun soaks through a tiger-lily, or as the instincts
of mating and hunting sweeps through a leopard or the
lustrous fish in the waters. Life overflowed them, love
for this earth and for each other, and joy that they were
beautiful fragments of this beauty and radiance and power.
"There it is our home, my husband," whispered Mary.
Behind a smooth, pebbly shore on a little cleared space
between pines stood the white army tent, and a little rough
shack behind it with wood-stove and provisions.
They beached the canoe, leaped out, drew it up safe on
the shore, and they ceased by that action to be Kirby
and Mary Trask, becoming merely any two creatures of
the wilderness, human only, seemingly, in their gifts of
speech and laughter, their power to use tools and inter
pret the scene, and those memories of the past locked in
them.
They entered the large tent with its cots piled with
army blankets, its utensils hanging on hooks, its guns and
hunting-knives, its wash-stand and chairs, and the trunks
in the corners, and the damp smell of the earth. Then
fifteen minutes later they tripped out, waded into the icy
water, gasped, cried out, and flung themselves into the
lake. Side by side they swam in that fluid fire, turning
their heads toward each other, laughing with exhilaration,
making sunny splashes with their hands.
338
THE LAKE
When they emerged, shocked, as it were, by health and
new life, and glowing all over, Mary loosened her long,
brown hair, they gathered soft pine boughs, and lay down
on these natural beds, basking from head to foot in the
sun. They seemed beautiful and fresh to each other,
natural as the pines and the rocks and the far eagle soar
ing in the blue heavens; their kisses were moist and new;
and, fatigued after the long day and drowsy with happi
ness, they fell asleep.
It was Kirby who awoke Mary with a kiss, and when
they sat up they saw that the early twilight had come, the
sun shut off by the bulging West. The air was cool, the
waters silent and gray, but on the far shore orange and
black and yellow lay on the rumpled lake, and a reddish
glory bathed the shaggy mountain-side.
They discovered, then, primal hunger they could have
eaten herbs and acorns. It was an adventure to prepare
supper, to coax a blue smoke and a woodsy smell from the
dry brush, to open cans and roast potatoes, to experiment
with spring water and ground coffee. Mary cooked like a
true woman, absorbed in a very ritual of busyness, and
Kirby glowed watching her; she was a perfect mate for
the backwoods. The daughter of a messenger-boy, the
granddaughter of a washwoman, was in her natural
element. Was it because she had found some of this
primitive strain in rough, sensitive Kirby that she had
fallen in love with him?
Then, sitting on the ground, they performed the first
sacred rites of family life the secret breaking of bread
together. It was a miraculous performance; their mere
eating a sacrament, sign of their ever-recurring union with
Nature, with life, that flowing through them which was to
become dream, thought, love, and action, as water turns
to steam. What could bind them more in one?
After supper they washed the tin plates in the lake,-
and as the rapid darkness gathered and the woods began to
whisper and moan, to creak and crack, and a wood-owl
23 339
THE OLYMPIAN
hooted plaintively in the distance, they built a fire, and
in the jumping gold, which made vivid the crinkled bark
of trees, and under the lost swaying tree-tops they leaned
through the shadows together, arms round each other, and
watched the flames, pushed on fresh branches, silent,
enchanted, savage. The stars, like watchers of the uni
verse now that the blue veil of the sky was withdrawn
from Earth's face drew in their millions to eye these
dreamers; lake water lapped the pebbles; the juicy
firewood snapped and sparked; the mountains whispered
across the waters; the peaks dropped dew through the
moaning branches.
And what was civilization now but a drop of excited
whisky fallen on that pellet, Earth, that winged serene
among the rolling stars? They two had escaped; one
with the star-waves of the skies, hugged close to the
breast of their Mother, Nature, inexpressible things
mounted to their lips and changed into Silence. Silence
alone could express the mountains and the stars and their
beating hearts.
The fire burned low. They became drowsy again in
the thin air of this high altitude.
"We must sleep under the stars," whispered Mary.
And so their couch was dew-drenched pine boughs,
their walls the mountains, their roof the stars, their floor
the Earth ....
The days that followed were the happiest in their brief
life. Restless things were put by, the world erased, and
there was in all space just these two, the naked Adam
and Eve facing the universe. The primal things brought
ineffable joy the finding of food, the cooking and eating,
the lying flat on the ground and lapping up sparkling
spring water, the pure sleep of starry nights, the swimming
in the lake, the shelter in the storm. Then there were the
changing visions of the day sunrise over the eastern
woods, cloud and sun at noon, the orange and black of
340
THE LAKE
sunset, with perhaps a lonely deer come to the lake to
drink, the run in the woods in the bracing morning, the
still afternoon when they read together on a rocky head
land.
They fished and hunted. Kirby was awkward with a
gun, but Mary was a crack shot, and brought down
partridges with ease. The fresh meat and fish added a
delicious variety to their canned goods and potatoes.
One afternoon they climbed the mountain behind them,
carrying blanket-knapsacks over their shoulders, and after
four hours they stood on the bald peak and had a view that
seemed to span half the world mountain ranges, hill-
locked lakes, wooded valleys. Here they slept and the
winds of dawn awoke them, and in the gale they saw the
splendor of the sunrise.
Another afternoon, cloudy and blowing, they were out
on the lake when a squall blew up, waves lashed, and they
nearly upset. Then Kirby took charge, as in the snow
storm on the Giant, showed his man's strength and Mary
her woman's obedience and trust, and they came ashore
safely. There was something glorious, however, in this
peril which made the man protect the woman.
A few mishaps occurred, like rinding the matches wet
in the morning and having to spread them on a rock to
dry; or the evening Mary spoiled the supper; or the
sultry night when mosquitoes and a large variety of other
insects kept them tormentedly awake; or the time when
they heard a rumble in the night and thought of panthers ;
and the evening when Kirby cut his thumb and Mary
ministered to him.
One afternoon Mary suggested as a lark that they go
back and dress in city clothes and motor over to Warren's,
a ten-mile distant summer resort. They did this, feeling
stiff and confined, and when they passed golf-links and
tennis-courts and drew up at the fashionable hotel, and a
friend spied them and brought others, they felt black with
unhappiness. Nature had evoked in them a love for all
THE OLYMPIAN
things, and given them a natural manner, but enclosed
by these artificial gossipers, scandal-mongers, and this
glib-tongued gaiety they felt diffident and constrained.
"Oh," whispered Kirby, "let's get back."
So they fled back to paradise.
What amazed them these days was the newness they
continually found in each other. Kirby sometimes
flashed into wit, a thing he seemed incapable of; once he
sang out loud; and at rare moments he showed chivalric
tendencies truly alarming in such an unmannerly fellow.
He also developed ability as a cook.
But these newly discovered attributes were as nothing
to the changes in Mary. She became a chameleon of
magic variety. She might sit down in mock despair, rub
her eyes, and wawl and howl like a baby ; or she stood at
sunrise on the rock imperial, regal, a frozen queen ; or she
grew tender and grave, a large-hearted mother for her
wild boy; and then at times she was the light-footed girl
running along the beach. But most amazing of all was
the revelation of a Bacchantic streak in her.
She had found that by some accident a long string of
pearls had been packed in the trunk. She took these
out one afternoon and studied them.
' ' Rubbish !" she said. ' ' Kirby, see the baubles ! Shall
I drop 'em in the lake?"
She arose as if she really meant to do so. He stopped
her.
"Mary!"
"Let me go!" she cried. "Into the lake with these!
Down with civilization!"
They struggled, she broke loose, ran out on the rock
and held them high over the lucid waters.
Kirby shouted:
"Quit that, Mary!"
Then she turned, laughing:
"But savages wear pearls, don't they? Wait. Some
342
THE LAKE
day I'll show you that I'm a savage, too. Or maybe one
of the dancing-girls of the Sahara. The blood of the East
runs warm in my veins."
That night was exceptionally windy, unusually dark.
Boughs clashed ; they heard the rending of dead branches ;
all up the mountain-side they could imagine a massacre of
the Indians that once paddled these waters, footed these
hills. Cries, groans, shrieks echoed over the lake, and
their camp-fire blew back and forth with a demon-dance
of shadows. They sat huddled together, feeling, in spite
of their proximity, an elemental fear.
"B-r-r-r! how black it is!" said Mary. "The primal
night. I think I've never seen darkness before."
There was only the shadow-dance, with a ghostly arm
of a tree here and there waving its leafy hands, and each
other's strange firelit faces and shadowy forms. Wild
animals or savages seemed crowding beyond the light,
waiting and watching. Their loneliness was terrifying.
"Eyes in the night, eyes everywhere!" wailed Mary in
a sudden singsong voice, as if she were one of the Three
Weird Sisters in "Macbeth." Her own eyes seemed wild,
glittering as they were with the blowing flames. She
shivered; Kirby felt haunted. Not only the night, but
this woman, made him creepy.
"Come," he said. "We'd better sleep in the tent
to-night."
They went in; the flap smote against the canvas side
like a sail in a storm ; rushes of clamorous air eddied about
their feet, and the loud night smote and smote again.
But when they were ready for bed Mary suddenly seized
Kirby by the shoulders. She laughed strangely.
"Go out and pile up the fire; make it blaze blaze,
and wait for me."
"Mary!" he exclaimed. "What's the matter with you?"
"The East!" she cried. "Oh, caliph, do as I bid you,
or I shall cut your throat when you sleep at my side
to-night."
343
THE OLYMPIAN
Her voice and manner were blood-curdling. He stood
dazed.
"Now, see here "
"Oh, caliph of Bagdad, pay heed to your favorite."
And she began to push him out. Then she whispered,
excitedly, "For my sake, Kirby."
He went, aghast. He was a three-dimensioned man,
and here was a woman going off suddenly into the fourth
dimension. Most natural for a woman; yet Kirby, the
man, was appalled. Besides, he was frankly frightened
by this night, and to step out into the naked dark was a
fiendish adventure. He rushed to the fire, and, looking
neither to left nor right, piled it high and poked it into a
leaping blaze. He felt as if the night were jumping on his
back, especially when he squatted and tried to strain
eyes toward the tent. Solid blackness that way, and
every other, too. There was no Mary.
Then above the night noise he heard her chanting a
fierce love-song, and from the blackness leaped a glorious
Eastern apparition. Her long hair was down her back,
over her shoulders, and blew wild; the necklace of pearls
was bound about her forehead, fell over her breast;
a tinted silk scarf streamed, and she had on only the white
nightgown and moccasins on her feet.
He sat, enchanted; and then the night passed into her,
and she began to chant and dance in utter abandon, the
fierce flames flashing now and then her dark eyes, her
wonderful face, and changing the nightgown to some
thing flaming and undulant, wrought of soft, white fire.
The whole body the waving arms, the curving hands,
the striding, lifting, leaping feet, the fluid robe and blow
ing hair all blended into one wild harmony of fire and
beauty, as if the wildness and windy glory of the Bac-
chantic night had come together in this passionate dancer.
He was entranced, bewitched; he had not dreamt that
he was married to Bagdad and Beni-Mora. They seemed
to return to some other incarnation, when
344
THE LAKE
I was a king in Babylon
And you were a Christian slave.
Only this wasn't Christian; it was Mohammedan or
Hebraic.
Then passing from shadow to fire, from fire to shadow,
chanting loud and louder her fierce song, bowing before
him, and dancing with head thrown back and arms aloft,
she gave a great cry, and vanished in the night.
He followed, a little demented, a little delirious per
haps, but when he came into the lamp-lit tent she was
already sitting before the cracked mirror combing her
hair, and her face was grave, almost tragic.
He stood, looking at her, more dazed than ever by this
new change. Then she turned to him tearful eyes.
"Oh, Kirby, Kirby," she said, tragically, "and in two
days we go back. We go back I wish I knew how to cry."
Two days later then they broke camp in Eden. Mary
was sorrowful.
"Why," she said, "must this be? Slaves! that's what
we are! Slaves!"
It was true. The world, after all, enclosed even Eden,
and those angels of the flaming sword Necessity and
Convention drove them out of paradise. Possibly to
Mary, more than to Kirby, had come a glimpse of what
life might be for untrammeled human beings, of what
could happen on this earth if love ever really had a chance.
She never forgot this; it became part of her faith for the
future, her vision of the new world to be.
But Kirby, alas! was a man. Having come over the
hills like a hunter and seized his mate he found that he
could not live on love; that he began to weary of long
days and nights of woman; that he feared that his nature
was softening under this drench of feminism. He began to
crave action, work, the world; he wanted once more the
hard masculine, the excitement, and the lights.
345
THE OLYMPIAN
And now again among the dead mountains he began to
dream of empire, of the dominion he was to carve out
for himself; of the living people he was to manipulate, the
great creative world he was to make greater. He was,
after all, Kirby Trask; he had his work to do; he was a
creator and lusted to sweat from his brain and build with
his hand some new miracle. Recreated by this return to
Nature, his brain flushed with new energy, he felt ready,
primed for the fight.
And yet when these two left the wilderness they were,
both of them, clear-eyed and gentle, kindly and patient
human beings. So much had Nature and love done for
them. But swiftly civilization shut these spiritual pores
and changed them again to the mannered, abrupt, domi
neering people they had been before. It was inevitable,
if only to protect themselves; railway-cars, conductors,
candy-boy, screaming children, scolding parents, curious
strangers, dirt, smoke, speed, grated against them, shocked
them, cut them off.
"I hate it all!" whispered Mary. "It's a dusty, dirty,
noisy world!"
New York was worse a thunder and glare and rush
of humanity that made the nerves raw. Both lost their
temper in the hotel that night.
But the next night, boarding the Pittsburgh Express,
they were thoroughly civilized again, eager and alert,
ready for defense and offense, the powerful citizens of old.
And Mary again was eager for the great adventure of
running a family on five thousand a year, and Kirby for
the supreme battle of his life.
They sat late in the little state-room, an excited couple.
Kirby spoke with fervid power.
"New York is the financial center of our civilization,
Pittsburgh the industrial center. Pittsburgh is the flare-
back of New York; behind the skyscrapers the fires of
steel; behind the office and factory drudges the laborers
in the mill; behind the metropolis her flaming background.
346
THE LAKE
"Yes," he went on, and Mary listened raptly, the wife
eager to see her husband following a great vision. " Pitts
burgh is the industrial mother; it's she that's given birth
to our steel and steam civilization. And we're going back
to her vitals, where, in smoke and flame and sweat, Steel
is born."
And they fell to dreaming wonderful dreams : Mary, how
she was going to run the house, be a real wife, and keep
Kirby to his best; Kirby, how he was going to smash
into the business and make it hum about his father-in-
law's ears. These two young people tried hard to see into
the mysterious future, to get a hint as to whether that
tornado of life that had swept them to the top and clashed
them together was to go on lifting them or drop them in
the dust. Real peril confronted them they knew; real
work, real pain; they must go through fire and water
together; sickness might delay them, death betray them.
They felt almost fear, and embraced each other, the
brown and gray eyes close together.
"Whatever comes," said Mary, "we're together, Kirby;
we have each other."
Swiftly the mighty train rolled over a third of a conti
nent in the night, bearing these two to their supreme tests
whether their love could outlive dusty life; whether this
man could be one of the few who become masters of the
world.
And shortly before dawn Kirby pulled up the shade and
looked out. At once he was shot with thrilling triumph.
He was back in the smoking compartment with the
traveling salesman. They were speaking of the mills, and
the salesman said:
"Goodness, they're all his .... except the piker in
dependents."
And a lonely adventurer dreamed then that those mills
might yet flame for him, a night advertisement in the
skies of America, and travelers would say:
"Sure .... Kirby Trask . ... he owns 'em all!"
347
THE OLYMPIAN
For right out there again that vision shone and passed,
swallowed in darkness ; the Bessemer converter showering
up a swirl of golden snow, while all the waterside flamed,
and the smokes were lit the sublime fire-spectacle of
America. Could he be that same Kirby? For, behold!
the miracle then dreamed was already beginning to be
accomplished, just as those mills had once been conjured
into existence by the dreams of Watts and his associates.
Kirby thrilled; felt drunk; his heart leaped.
"I am going to my kingdom," he told himself; "I am
going to my kingdom."
XXXI
THE MACHINE
THEY took a brick house in the East End, about
twenty minutes' ride to the office on Pittsburgh's
atrocious trolley system. As one of the conductors told
Kirby:
"It don't go by electricity at all; it goes by fits and
starts."
Roughly speaking, the map of Pittsburgh looks like an
exaggerated profile of a man's face, with the Allegheny
sloping over his forehead and the Monongahela running
around his chin. His nose, then, at whose fine tip the
two rivers merge into the Ohio, is the skyscraper district,
and it appeared to Kirby that the trolley-cars, running
in over the bridges and from the back country and meeting
in a mlee, caused a congestion in this nose, as if the city
had a cold. Then, besides, the whole town sneezed and
snuffled soot. Soot! Lace curtains, table-linen, collars,
cuffs, ears, mouths, noses, hair, the houses, and the side
walks received daily their delicate coating.
"It looks like rain," said Kirby on the third day after
arrival.
"No," said Mary; "it's only Pittsburgh."
Yet, like a man, he nevertheless carried an umbrella.
At first he changed his collar thrice daily, and washed him
self every half-hour. Then he agreed with Tomlinson,
the Supply Superintendent:
"It's a waste of time to wash in Pittsburgh."
On some days a ghostly haze was in the air, making the
349
THE OLYMPIAN
cliff-like streets fade into vague distances, and the build
ings loom disconsolate. Kirby found that it was only
the Steel City trying to smoke herself out.
Sometimes at night the blackened heavens flashed with
lurid glare, as if a near-by city were afire. Kirby dis
covered that it was only the mills flaming with the night
shift.
Girdled with mills and mill-towns, Pittsburgh labored
day and night, and it seemed to Kirby that work was in
the air. Everybody worked in Pittsburgh. Coal-barges
floated on the oily rivers under the dirty suspension
bridges; freight-yards pre-empted the shores; two rail
roads cut through the heart of the town; and from every
height one could see stacks of pipes, rolling smoke, flutter
ing steam. On these numerous heights stood sooty man
sions; in the hollows beside them clung shanties and
shacks on the hillside, with garbage and tin cans and dirty
children rolling down to the bottom. And the people in
the mansions and the people in the shanties labored at
an unearthly pace.
Why? Because, thought Kirby, there was nothing else
to do. Old Jordan and his competitors had evidently
not been intent on building a Coney Island city; they
had tolerated churches, they had insisted on libraries, even
a public park, and four theaters had crept in with road
companies that had ceased to amuse New York. If it
hadn't been for the saloons and the red light district,
Kirby thought, down-town would have died the death
every supper-time.
It appeared to him, too, that many of the people he met
worked themselves stupid and got little joy out of seeing
one another. At least such social life as he and Mary at
first penetrated was remarkably like the atmosphere the
men smoked, the women inhaled.
This, then, was the bright paradise that he and Mary
entered.
Kirby was the first to feel the shock. His superior
THE MACHINE
officer, Tomlinson, was a skinny, black-eyed fellow, with
black hair, black mustache, and black broadcloth clothes.
He was a tartar of a boss. At nine sharp the eighth-floor
offices were set humming, and Kirby sat in a shadowy
corner and became a clerk again. He could not dodge
the fact. His job was to compare estimates, check up
lists of needs sent in by the mills, and do all the dirty
figuring while Tomlinson did the brain-work.
Then Tomlinson would ask him to write letters like this :
"Please ship, f. o. b., carload lot, etc."
It reminded him of melancholy Guthrie in the shorthand
school with his interminable :
"In reply to your favor of the 26th ult. we beg to say
that carload lots of lumber, etc."
Supplies! supplies! This was great work for the son-
in-law of a multimillionaire, for a young aristocrat who
had been silent and terrible at house-parties, broken the
will of a Jordan Watts, been on the front page of news
papers, and lived in taxicabs! He saw now; the old
fellow was shrewd, was punishing him, forcing him down,
preparing to break him. His feeling of outraged dis
illusionment was not softened either by Tomlinson, who
treated him like any green employee, saying, sharply, for
instance:
"Brace up on your addition, Mr. Trask. This won't
do at all. Primary-school mistake. Don't you know how
much nine and seven make?"
A powerful, silent manner was of no help; not all the
silence in the world could make nine and seven nineteen.
He noticed, too, that while the other employees eyed him
curiously they seemed aware of old Watts' displeasure,
and accepted the fact that they could treat him as one of
themselves. It was the bitterest day he had spent in
months. He agreed with the statement of one of the local
ministers :
"Children are damned, not born, in Pittsburgh."
"And they stay damned," added Kirby, "and damn
35i
THE OLYMPIAN
every one else. It's a one-horse provincial, blue-law,
filthy, sweaty town, and I hate it."
After the great free life of his loved sea-city, with her
nights and her lights and her changeful immensity, this
manufacturing town seemed sordid and petty enough.
He had been tricked, defrauded, like a police officer sent
from Broadway to some lonely suburb. There was no
future in this work. He might almost as well have stayed
with the Continental Express Company. Here at the
top he found an underling was just an underling, as much
a part of the routine and the rut as the meanest laborer.
Only the owners were exempt, and they lived in New York.
In fact, as he shortly discovered, Pittsburgh was in some
ways a hired city a city peculiarly of employees.
Bankers, business men, newspaper editors, mill managers,
skilled workers, common laborers many of them were
in the employ of the Jordan Watts who had gone to New
York. These absentees had hired a city to turn out their
dividends.
This, then, was the matrix city of civilization a ma
chine of metal and flame geared to human machines and
all running together smoothly and turning out Steel.
He went home that night in a hot temper, and when he
unlocked the door, and Mary came tripping down the
stairs to kiss and welcome him, as a new wife should, he
greeted her almost furiously.
"By heaven," he said, "I won't stand for it!"
"For what?"
" This job of mine. It's clerk's work. Your father has
played us a low-down, dirty trick."
She spoke a little sharply:
"Run up and wash, Kirby. We'll talk this over at
supper."
When he came down he found her waiting in the little
dining-room. The cloth shone with wedding-present
silver; pictures of the same brand hung on the wall;
everything was elaborate save the furniture, which was
352
THE MACHINE
severely simple. And Mary had put a bunch of sweet-
peas on the table. Evidently she had spent much time
to make this meal sweet, to please and soothe her spent
business man. Now she stood there looking at him
gravely, her heart hurt by this failure on his part to make
the home-coming tender and beautiful.
He sat down with a jerk, ate nervously and distractedly.
Suddenly he put down his soup-spoon.
"Now see here, Mary," he exclaimed, "you know I'm
simply bursting. Why don't you say something? You
sit there as if I didn't exist!"
And this was the Kirby of Moose Lake ! Her forehead
seemed to stand out with power, her eyes met his, and she
spoke with her masterful incisiveness.
"Tell me, then. What is this job exactly?"
"What? I sit there like a common clerk eight hours a
day and do figuring addition, subtraction, multiplication.
That's a fine job for a man like me!"
Her face was unpleasant.
"What of it?" she asked.
"What of it? Did I come here to Pittsburgh for this?
Why do you talk that way, Mary? My Lord, women!"
She spoke almost angrily:
"You know what father keeps saying you must make
your job bigger than you find it, and so outgrow it."
"Make? There's nothing to make. It's made "
"Then," she interrupted, "make a new job. That's
what I expected of you. Study the business, get to know
it from the bottom to the top, go through the mills, learn
the processes, make yourself invaluable. Why, I'll do it
with you."
"Yes," he said, sarcastically, "in my spare time." His
voice became loud. "Now, by God '
She cut him short in a low, piercing voice:
"Please don't talk that way before the servant. I
won't have it, Kirby. It's bad enough that you do it to me.
Don't make me sorry I " She paused, and became pale.
353
THE OLYMPIAN
He stared at her.
"Are you going to sentimentalize? I tell you this is a
dirty little town; there's nothing to do, and I'm going to
get out of it."
"No, you're not," she replied. "We've made a com
pact with my father and we're going to stick to it."
He began to eat chicken savagely then; not another
word was spoken during the meal. Mary remembered the
quarrel they had had over her money, and again she saw
herself involved in a coarse, domestic tragedy, and felt the
intense pain of young wifehood. Was she, too, destined
to be disillusioned, to have a husband who came home to
let his harsh temper out on her because he could not rid
himself of it in the office, to find hate and heartache
instead of love and comfort? She felt that much that
was beautiful and erect in her nature was being bent and
beginning to break.
Yet she half blamed herself. Possibly she had not yet
learnt the wife's first lesson how to handle and manage
her husband; when to be silent, when to scold, when to
soothe.
Supper over, she went into the parlor and looked out of
the open window at the mill flare on the horizon which
gave her the black silhouettes of a plain of roofs and
chimney-tops. The night was hot and moist and smelt
bitter-sweet with the smokes.
Kirby came in softly ; he had cooled off, and remorse set in.
"Mary?" he murmured, tremulously.
"Yes," she answered, coldly.
He went and put an arm round her shoulder. She
pushed it off.
"Ah, Mary," he said; " I just had to let it out."
"That's it," she said, bitterly. "You only think of
yourself. And after all the work I've done" her voice
broke "you never even noticed the sweet-peas; no, nor
the chicken. I went down specially and cooked it myself
to please and surprise you."
354
THE MACHINE
It did surprise him. It proved how thoroughly she had
entered on her adventure; how completely she had left
her position in life to be his mate. It was a real, not a
pretended sacrifice. She had pitched in and taken a job
far more menial for her than a clerk's job for him. It
made him shrink beside her a selfish and pettish man.
He could only humbly beg forgiveness; she could only
grant it. Their love grew glowing and splendid; their
evening was charged with bright talk and affection.
Nevertheless it was a bad beginning.
So he kept his job and became a bitter clerk. But in
Mary there was no bitterness at all. Like a pioneer
woman she had come to this city of soot, and because she
was engaged in a great feminine enterprise she paid but
casual and half-humorous attention to smoke and dirt,
provincialism and stupidity. This enterprise was the
splendid manufacturing business of producing a great man
out of a raw Kirby. She went at it as her father went at
Steel, and her love and vision made it engrossing, rich,
dramatic.
First she organized the animal basis of life sanitation
and the commissary so that her man might have a sound
body. She gave the house periodic tremendous cleanings,
wrapping a towel round her head, donning an apron, and
dusting and sweeping.
"The mistress must work with the servants," was her
rule, "if she wants efficiency."
Then she made herself at home in the kitchen, and, after
much study, laid out a three-weeks' menu, so that au
tomatically they might have variety in the food and
practise economy as well.
She was strong on economy a Watts trait, to be sure,
but welcome in a five-thousand-a-year home. Several
people in the United States have lived on less than this
income, but not, as a rule, daughters of Steel Magnates.
So she did much of the marketing herself, all of the shop
ping, and kept Kirby down on extras, such as theater
24 355
THE OLYMPIAN
and liquor and clothes. She indulged him in tobacco,
but she cut out automobiles altogether.
He would laugh over this.
"How can you stand it you, Mary Watts?"
"I'm not Mary Watts," she replied; "I'm Mary
Trask. Leave me in peace ; I'm having a good time."
Another sacrifice was to do without a lady's maid,
but she professed to enjoy even this. And her letters to
her father were full of these delightful details, though the
scribbled response was usually :
" I'm glad to hear that you're sticking to your compact.
But I expected as much. Very busy; engrossed, in fact.
Some day I'll run in on you."
So much for the animal basis. On this foundation,
however, she built a remarkable superstructure. Shortly
after that first evening she paid a secret visit to Franklin,
Secretary of the first Vice-President, a powerful young man
who reminded her of Pendleton, and the conference lasted
an hour and a half. Nothing came of it, however, for
several months. Then one evening she said excitedly to
Kirby:
" Go in your study. I want to show you something."
He went into the little room, wondering. It held a
flat-top desk, book-cases, a few pictures, a few chairs.
Mary entered, staggering under armfuls of books and
documents. These she dropped on the desk.
"Now, what in the world " began Kirby.
She laughed and spoke breathlessly:
"Kirby, I've just put in three months' studying. Now
I'm ready to begin on you."
He was nonplussed. His job already had had the
usual effect of monotony on Kirby. It had given him the
false security and content of the rut; it had put him in
danger again of losing ambition. As it was not big enough
to call out his power it tended to put him to sleep. It had
become an easy routine, and home life was pleasant. Why
disturb things?
356
THE MACHINE
"What is it?" he asked, suspiciously.
"Look!" And she handed him The History of the
American Steel Company, Story of a Thousand Millionaires,
High Finance: Its Secrets, Steel: the Process, several
annual reports of the company, and a bunch of statistical
pamphlets.
"Well, I'll be hanged," he muttered; "have you been
digging in these?"
It put him to shame.
"Yes," she cried. "And it's absorbingly interesting.
Here's your way out, Kirby. You know," she said with
her head-high pride, "we're to make a great man of
Kirby Trask."
He was shocked out of his sloth. It would have been
unmanly to resist her. So she set him to work, and they
spent many evenings together in the study, reading, dis
cussing, digesting. She held him to it, too. If he com
plained of tiredness she compromised on a ten-minute
session, and usually the ten minutes expanded to two
hours. And as he plodded on, there came a time when
he began to get a grip on it, to see it big, to get the vision
of Steel, until all his latent energies were aroused. He
began to understand how steel is made, how the industry
grew to its huge proportions, the methods of the business,
the details of management, until, fired with fresh ambition,
he started in on a study of the different departments
manufacture, sales, labor, finance, etc.
And he began now to show his power to Mary: his
amazing grasp ; his sharp analyses; his inventive faculty.
For instance, he noticed that in Germany the scrap-iron
was stacked in heaps twice as big as those of the company.
Why? He figured out the problem. Evidently the com
pany considered a larger heap unsafe. But if Germany did
this, so could America, and the economy in time would
save much money.
He worked out another project, bold indeed. There
were two mills turning out the same product, and Kirby
357
THE OLYMPIAN
figured that by selling one he could make the other twice
as big at one-third the selling price and saye the company
twenty-five thousand dollars a year.
Naturally if he could successfully carry out such proj
ects he would become a high-price man. He was for
sitting down and writing to Jordan Watts at once.
"No," said Mary. "Father won't have faith; he'll
turn the plan over to some manager, who will twist it
around and make it his own and take the credit. Wait a
bit. Wait till you have more authority."
To carry out a part of her plan she forced Kirby to in
spect the mills with her and see the processes with his own
eyes. So one winter night they went out to Macleod, on
the Monongahela. The cinder-dead and smoke-blackened
mill-town rose up the heights; at its base lay the vast
acreage of mills on both sides the river. The sharp, frosty
air was thick with smoke and soot, and loud with metallic
thunder.
They had to cross a railroad bridge to get into the
ground, first showing their pass to the gate-keeper and
waiting for a guide. On the bridge they stood then, and
had unfolded to them the Vision of Steel.
For over the vast acreage they saw the shadowy out
lines of a dozen immense buildings nested in a network of
switches and tracks. Over those tracks clanked yard-
engines with rattling trains of flat cars; red and green
signal-lamps winked and glistened; and laborers, swinging
lanterns, hurried to and fro.
Some of those looming buildings glowed at the windows
as if they were eaten by fire; some the converter sheds
were like craters with waving manes of flame and rolling
clouds of luminous vapor. Everywhere they saw sheets
of fire, leaping white tongues, glare and smoke and steam,
while lightnings flashed the cloudy skies. And over it all
a hundred black chimney-pipes looked through the
changing lights.
And it seemed to these two as if there had been bared
358
THE MACHINE
to them, in this amazing spectacle of men and flame and
machinery, the very birth-throes of the anguished In
dustrial Mother. Her ingots roared in the "wringers,"
her engines shrieked and clattered in the yards, her rolls
and wheels and mighty furnaces crashed and clanked and
screeched.
They beheld then the birth of Steel. Guide-led over the
peril of the switches, engine-wafted from one mill to an
other on either side the river, they stood first in this pit,
then in that, flamelit midgets in Vulcanic sheds.
With staring eyes they saw the huge and sweating
laborers like midwives assisting the mother; these scorched
and blinded in a glare of fire, those steaming at their
levers in the outer or upper gloom, all passionately intent,
desperately speeded, while the black arms of roof-lost
cranes or the white-hot ten-ton ingot or the splash and
vapor of fluid iron or the bumping of the dinky engine
writhed round them monstrously.
Like Dante following Virgil these two invaded circle
after circle of this lurid, beautiful Hell the blast-furnace
releasing fluid iron that fell with shower of white flakes
and cloud of white smoke glaringly into the ladles; this
sputtering iron poured into the egg-shaped Bessemer con
verter that blew air through it till it changed into steel,
while the heavens above flamed and shuddered; the fluid
steel caking into ingots in the molds and carried like a
row of little men on the flat cars to the next mill ; the hand
of the crane seizing ingot by ingot and lowering them like
lost souls into the withering- white soaking pits in the floor ;
the same electric crane lifting them when they were re
heated white-hot, pushing them on the rolls that swung
them back and forth through the "wringer" until they
were pressed into steel sheets, while the hot metal roared
like hungry lions. Change by change they saw it; the
great machines doing superhuman work, gently and un
falteringly lifting and hauling, placing and shaping the
whited tons and the immense containers.
359
THE OLYMPIAN
They were thrilled.
"This, then, is father's work," said Mary, as if she
meant, "This, too, is to be yours; yours to make greater."
He throbbed with new vision. From such mills as these
our modern civilization sprang like a new god on Earth,
son of flame and the machine, and of men like Jordan
Watts.
This massive manufactory astounded him; the fact that
no human hand touched the metal from start to end, ancj
the fact that men and machines, and the diverse depart
ments and processes, were as perfectly assembled and co
ordinated as a human body; the heart and the stomach,
the blood-vessels and the brain, toiling together without
hitch. Day and night this labor-body flamed and worked,
ceaselessly, unrestingly, through the years.
"And the brain of this," he thought, "is Jordan Watts."
He felt ready now; he had studied the industry; he had
seen its body at work; he must now break in and become
a part of its brain that brain that from the remote top
somehow could speed or slow, break or make, lessen or
increase the weighty body. It was up there that he
belonged.
"Kirby," said Mary, "you must join the Board of
Managers."
XXXII
KATIE
QTARTING with that night Pittsburgh laid her spell
O on Kirby's spirit. He could not help but think of
her as a Siren among American cities a smoky beauty,
whose hair by day drifted gray over the darkening streets,
and by night was gusts of fire flaring a lightning along the
rivers. Lit by the flare of Steel, the desolation of the
streets and the industrial grime of the hills and hollows
became a thing of dark enchantment. The cars were
still slow, the evenings almost empty, the folk he met
absorbed in work, and the soot was almost ceaseless; yet
these things were as the wind, the thunder, and the barren
heath in "Macbeth" merely the setting for miraculous
things.
Pittsburgh was flaming that was the secret of it. The
element, fire, which has always been a magnet for man,
whether flame of camp at the trail-end or light of ship or
home, warmed the crass town almost into a radiance of
romance. Kirby got so that he liked the taste and smell
of the smoke, and told such strangers as he met that it was
"healthy."
Part of his new reaction on the grim city was his growing
importance in the company. This made him one of the
influences of Pittsburgh, and he could feel his hand manipu
lating the body of the mill. Mary had suggested that he
join the Board of Managers. Of course this was not an
immediate possibility; one had to be a Manager to belong
to the board. However, occasionally on Saturdays the
361
THE OLYMPIAN
managers lunched with the superintendents in the private
dining-room at the top floor of the building, and these
lunches constituted a semi-managerial meeting.
Kirby had discovered that sometimes these meetings
were attended by some of the foremen and some of the
assistant superintendents. He went to Tomlinson.
" Is there any reason," he asked, " why I couldn't attend
the next Saturday lunch?"
"I'll find out," said Tomlinson. Evidently some one
"higher up" thought this advisable, for ever after that
Kirby was at the meetings.
From thirty to thirty-five men sat about the immense
table, and while they sipped coffee and smoked cigars the
meeting was called to order, the minutes of the previous
meeting read, and absorbing discussions arose plans for
changes in management, conferences on wages, labor, and
prices, suggestions on buying new properties, installing
new systems, or anything else the members had in mind.
The attempt was made to get the best out of each
man.
And it seemed to Kirby that these thirty-odd men were
the great gray brain of that flaming industrial body, that
what they thought and dreamed to-day to-morrow became
living facts in the reality of machinery and sweated labor.
It was a miracle to Kirby to be a throbbing cell in this
quivering mentality, to utter forth words that might roll
into action through the mills and over the continent,
to feel this power and supremacy, and the excitement of
brittle thinking.
But if these men were the brain, they were, after all,
only the brain. If the analogy could be carried so far,
behind this brain dwelt the guiding spirit of the industry,
the supreme ego. Surely this Jordan Watts was a marvel ;
for though he was never present, yet he overshadowed each
meeting like a great bird of prey hovering over them,
ready to swoop. Every project was subjected to the test,
"Would Mr. Watts approve?" Little notes from him
362
KATIE
were read and action taken accordingly. He seemed to
watch them at the table like a ghost.
The workers and the mills, then, were the body, the
department heads and managers were the brain, and
Jordan, the guiding spirit, rose above them, one of the
great of the world, spreading the power of the industry
over the earth and sluicing the golden profits of the ma
chine into massive philanthropies. Could he have stood
so high in heaven, however, without this mighty pedestal
of Steel? And on a like pedestal would not any man
appear great?
So Kirby thought, and he added, "When he topples off
I shall take his place." This vaulting ambition became
almost an insanity with him; he was half-crazed again
with the dream of empire. He saw himself raised above
the millions, panoplied in the publicity and power of
a dynast, the Man of Destiny, the Napoleonic Amer
ican.
So he became again the man of silence, and sat at the
first three meetings, dark and stolid, as if he heard and
saw nothing, the big black cigar continually in his mouth.
But at the fourth meeting he arose, and with crushing,
clear logic presented the scrap-iron scheme. The men
were almost amazed at the apparition of this new power;
in the hush that followed he knew that he had made him
self felt. The scheme was referred to a committee and
adopted the following week. It worked exactly as he had
planned.
With this triumph stiffening his self-assurance, he arose
at the following meeting and outlined his plan for the sell
ing of one mill and the reconstruction of another. It was
a bold and dazzling project, and took away the breath of
the experienced managers. They could doubt no longer
that another "young genius" had been added to their
number. The plan went to an investigating committee
and then to Jordan Watts, who promptly O.K.'d it, and
within ten months Kirby saw it put into execution.
363
THE OLYMPIAN
Twenty-five thousand dollars a year was actually saved
to the company.
The reward came late the following autumn. Tomlin-
son called him in one morning:
"I've been transferred to the shipping department.
You're to be Superintendent, beginning Monday."
So he ceased utterly to be a clerk, and showed himself
a terrific department head, speeding up the work, con
stantly experimenting, a master of yes and no. All his old
habits as Business Manager returned to him, and several
more were added. Requests and reports had to be made
to him in writing; orders went from him on little type
written slips signed " K. T.," and out of this grew the nick
name "Katie," which clung to him thereafter.
"Katie's new order" was the word that went round.
" Tell it to Katie, " was the department slogan.
During the following spring he made another bold
project. It had been felt by the managers that the
transportation rates on steel rails were ruinously high;
but the railroad company refused to consider a reduction.
Mary and Kirby spent weeks drawing up a thirty-page
document of facts and figures. Then he sprang the
audacious plan. It was nothing else than to force down
the rates by building, if necessary, a rival railroad to
parallel the other one. The mere plan would probably
have the effect desired, but if it didn't he could show a
profit in such an enterprise.
The managers found it necessary to take him into their
secret consultations; again an investigation was made,
and finally Kirby was authorized to deal with the railroad.
Vested with this power he conferred with officials all
through the summer, and convinced them again and again
that the company would not hesitate to build the rival
line. In the fall the railroad capitulated.
Three days later Kirby found a pencil-scrawled note
from Jordan on his desk.
"Dear Kirby," it ran, "You become Traffic Manager,
364
KATIE
beginning the isth. Office on tenth floor. I see you are
beginning to make good."
He slammed the desk shut, stood up, and trembled with
drunkenness.
"I've done it!" he told himself. "I've landed!"
And he went straight home. Mary was dusting the
study, and when he broke in like a madman she thought
he must be ill.
"What is it?" she cried, flinging down the dust-cloth.
"Read this!" he commanded.
She read.
"Oh, Kirby!" she exulted. "Our dreams are coming
true. I wasn't mistaken in you. Didn't I tell you to
join the Board of Managers?"
It was a great moment for both of them. Yet the old
rascal had written, "You are beginning to make good."
If this was only a beginning, what then was expected of
him? Surely the wise old man was subjecting him to a
supreme test. Yet there was no doubt now that the old
man was "coming round," was beginning to approve of
him, was making ready to give him a place at the top.
Nevertheless, no other miracle occurred for over a year.
During that period Kirby was engaged in large activities,
and became known as one of the great men of the company.
He was in all the secret councils of the Board, a dynamic
member who continually swept the others into new ex
periments. His recklessness knew no bounds, yet, held
rigidly down by Mary's practicality, his plans were usually
found highly feasible.
"Have you shown this to Katie yet?" was a usual
question with a doubting manager.
The summers were fiercely hot in Pittsburgh; during
the first and second the Trasks had only a two weeks' va
cation in the Maine house, but the third they took off
entirely and went to Europe. Why not? As Superin
tendent his salary had been ten thousand, and Mary had
carefully put aside the surplus, allowing no unusual extra
365
THE OLYMPIAN
expenditure in the household. Now he was getting
fifteen thousand a year, so the savings could go into a
tour. She even agreed now to an automobile and a lady's
maid.
These three years were happy ones for Mary. She had
surrendered herself completely to the making of her hus
band, and so long as he made strides she felt that she had a
great life-work. Their studies and scheming together in
the evening and on holidays consumed her whole nature.
And nothing could be more dramatic and absorbing than
seeing her plans being realized step by step.
However, as she went on, her housekeeping ceased to
be an adventure; the joy of making a little go a great
way became less stimulating ; and finally she performed her
domestic duties merely as a necessary and irksome part
of her life's routine. There were times, even, when she
wished for the old freedom and luxury, the swift change
of scenes, the arrowy flights back and forth over the
world. She was too strong-natured, however, to give in
to these moods, and went deliberately ahead, so that
Kirby never suspected a dissatisfaction.
There were times, too, when this dissatisfaction crys
tallized into a new yearning. At such moments she had
a great desire to have a child. Once she broached the
matter to Kirby, but he felt that a child would saddle
them financially at this time, and she finally came to agree
with him, that during these perilous years of growth she
must give her whole time and energy to Kirby. The child
must wait.
After that first night her relationship with her husband
became an untroubled harmony; they never quarreled
again. But once she delighted him by making a tiny fight
for him. He was home with a bad attack of tonsillitis,
the first illness in years. The doctor had come twice in the
day, and finally said :
" It looks like diphtheria to me. I'd better get the anti
toxin."
366
KATIE
So in the morning he appeared, prepared to plunge a
hypodermic needle into Kirby's arm and inject the yellow
liquid. Mary' watched, actually pale with vicarious suffering.
"What's the effect of the antitoxin?" she asked.
"Oh, it '11 make him a little sick, probably; give him a
bad headache for a couple of days."
"But he's sick enough already," said Mary, sharply.
"Besides, I've heard that sometimes the injection brings a
bad attack. Are you sure he has diphtheria?"
The doctor looked again.
"Well," he said, "the spots look better. But you
never can tell. We had best be on the safe side."
"Let me see," and forthwith Mary looked down her
husband's throat and made him say "ah." Then she
turned on the doctor. "I'm sure it's not diphtheria; it's
just tonsillitis, and it's getting better."
The doctor had the hypodermic ready, and he lost his
temper.
"Really," he remarked, "I can't take a lay opinion. I
must do as I think best."
Kirby meekly offered his arm; but all at once Mary
interposed, facing the doctor with all her magnificence, her
face white, her hands shielding her husband.
"You are not going to give it to him," she said.
"Why, this is absurd "
"Absurd or not, you sha'n't give it to him."
The doctor could only beat a hasty and awkward re
treat, and enchanted Kirby grew well in a day.
"No," said Mary, fondling him, "I wasn't going to let
my man suffer for a theorist."
Kirby concluded that she was the most wonderful
woman in the world. At this time he began to grow
patently stouter, and Mary tortured him with a restricted
diet and dumb-bell exercises at night. Nothing, however,
stopped the corpulent tendency, and the grave-eyed
woman could only dolefully mourn the passing of his good
looks.
367
THE OLYMPIAN
' ' A middle-aged husband ! ' ' she sighed. " I ' ve been tak
ing too good care of you."
"Middle-aged!" he laughed. "Middle-aged at thirty-
two."
However terrific he might be in his work, at home he
could be a playful boy, a tender lover, a charming com
rade. They both felt that their marriage had been unusu
ally successful.
During all these three years Jordan Watts only ap
peared in Pittsburgh twice. He spent the night each time
with the Trasks, was very agreeable, but not once hinted
as to what he thought of Kirby and his future.
But one evening in the fall, at the beginning of the fourth
year, while Mary was dressing for dinner, the maid came in.
"Your father's down-stairs."
"Then hook up my dress quick!" cried Mary, flushing
with delight. Impatiently she broke loose and flew down
the stairs. Jordan was still waiting in the hall.
"Father!" she cried.
"Meg!"
They embraced eagerly, and he patted her cheeks and
kissed her with an unusual display of fondness.
"This is great! great!" he exclaimed. "My old girl."
Then he lowered his voice: "Is Kirby home?"
"No."
"Due when?"
"Any minute."
"Then hurry me into some hiding-place. I want to
talk with you."
She looked at him sharply, her heart beginning to pound
with expectation. Then, laughing like conspirators, they
stole up to Kirby's study and locked themselves in.
"Now sit down, Mary," said her father.
He took Kirby's desk-chair and she the arm-chair beside
it.
" I've made up my mind," he said, "to give you folks a
new chance."
368
KATIE
"What is it?" she asked, breathlessly.
"Well, you own a hundred thousand in stock, don't
you?"
"Yes."
"Then if you'll make it over to Kirby I'll see that he's
elected a director, so that he can attend the New York
meetings and learn the business from the top."
This was a typical Watts proposition ; Mary was rudely
disappointed. Always fresh obstacles in the way!
"I'm afraid," she mused, "that Kirby won't do it.
He's always refused to touch my money."
"He has?" Jordan chuckled. "Well, it's up to you.
As you two rise and fall together I don't see why he should
cut off his future with his priggish pride."
"It's not pride," she said, stoutly. "I admire him
for it."
"Fiddlesticks! If a man wants to succeed he's got to
use everything he can lay hands on. He's done pretty
well; now he's got to show if he's big enough to overcome
such personal scruples."
Her face darkened.
"I think you might help him, father."
"No," he said, bruskly. "I've stuck to my word; he
must stick to his. I offer him the chances; it's up to him
to make good. I wouldn't value him at two cents if he had
to be helped. You don't seem to understand that he has
the chance to become a great man."
"It seems to me," she said, sharply, "that he's proved
himself already."
"Tut! a mere beginning. But do as you please." He
seemed a little chagrined. "Take it or leave it. Only
such a chance won't come again in a hurry."
"I'm afraid," she mused once more, "that he won't take
it. Yet I'll ask him."
They went down to the dining-room then. Mary was
confused; she knew that this was the opportunity Kirby
had been seeking, that it would throw him into direct
369
THE OLYMPIAN
contact with her father, and that he could not help but
rise rapidly when he could fight his fight man to man ; yet
in her heart of hearts she almost hoped he would refuse.
She had accepted his attitude on the money, and thought
it manly of him to struggle single-handed, to labor along
the line of most resistance instead of taking the easy
short-cut.
At table Kirby saw that something was "up" and grew
excited himself. But for some time he remained unen
lightened; Mary was silent and old Watts was very jocular.
" You're a fine modern couple!" he cried, indulging in
his favorite theme with them. " Always think, you
young folks, that there's time enough for children."
Mary blushed, looked down.
" But not for me," he babbled. " If you don't hurry,
the little fellow won't have any grandparent .... Mod
ern corruption! In my time "
He talked for ten minutes, until Mary cut him short
with, " What are you talking about, father? You only
had two."
It brought the thought of dead Alice. Silence fol
lowed. . . . Then, in the hushed expectancy, Mary spoke
to Kirby.
"Father has made us a proposition. He'll put you on
the Board of Directors if you become a shareholder by
taking over my stock."
Kirby glanced at her, his eyes glittering; he felt his
blood rushing; dazzling prospects opened up to him; this
was success indeed.
"What do you think?" he asked.
"You know what I think," said Mary. "It's for you
to decide."
She waited, trembling; she saw that look of steely
triumph, that bristling air of dominance. The whole man
seemed to pulse like a powerful dynamo.
"Why," he said, "it's just a formality, isn't it? If it's
the only way it would be a shame to refuse."
KATIE
Jordan laughed.
"That's the talk!" he exclaimed. "How now, Meg?"
But to Mary came a black emotion akin to despair.
Her reason said: "Of course he must do it. Be very
happy," but her heart insisted, "There's something in him
you don't fully know yet. He's thinking of his success
while you're thinking of him." However, such thoughts
must be banished. She smiled lightly at her husband.
"Yes," she admitted, "it's only a formality."
25
XXXIII
WIPING UP THE FLOOR
ALMOST monthly now the Trasks of Pittsburgh came
to New York for directors' meetings and made a
holiday of the jaunt. It was delightful to drop house
keeping routine and go from the murky mill-town to the
chiseled brilliance of the metropolis, whose abrupt build
ings rose sharp in the vigorous blue skies, and whose sunny
air was rinsed by the sea. They found a different rhythm
of the streets here, a richer, swifter pulsation, an atmos
phere trembling with vivid activity. And by night they
felt as if they were bathing in the lights. Surely Pitts
burgh was a mere lurid pocket of this world-center, this
magnet-city that drew the great of every enterprise and
profession.
As Kirby put it: "You meet all the heads in New
York."
These holidays meant theater, opera, possibly some
public dinner or social function; and for Mary there was
shopping in the department stores and visits to the
tailor, and for Kirby the meeting with great names.
Uniformly Jordan took his lunch in a club at the top
of one of the skyscrapers, and here in the private rooms
Kirby met many men of wealth and power. He was
impressed and amazed by the fact that many of these
appeared to have the time to sit for hours together, smok
ing, drinking, and telling stories; he had always imagined
that the top men were the hardest worked. He also
met a new viewpoint, put forth almost passionately by a
372
WIPING UP THE FLOOR
scion of an old New York family namely, that in America
there were two divinely ordained classes: those God had
chosen for obedience, those God had chosen for rulership.
"And," said this man, "the lower classes are better off
than we. Their hard work and poverty is good for theni.
Look at their wives and ours: theirs are strong and can
work; ours are nervous wrecks. It half kills them to bear
children."
A "self-made" man protested vehemently that the
wives of the workers were hardly fortunate.
"Some of them," he said, "instead of caring for their
homes, have to go out and work; and they work up to the
day the baby is born, and then return to work ten days
later. It's inhuman."
"You're mistaken," said the scion; "I understand they
go back to work in a week."
This amazing viewpoint, coupled as it was with another,
that "you can't keep a good man down; those with native
ability rise straight up to our class," set Kirby thinking.
Possibly, he thought, there was something in it. It
warmed him with comfort to think that God had plucked
him for power.
He could never get enough of these New York excur
sions; he waited impatiently for each call of a meeting;
for not only did he move about here like a free god among
the pleasant Olympians, but at the Board table he felt
that he had traced back the whole gigantic steel industry
to the one little skull that dominated it. Jordan's direc
tors were echoes of Jordan, and it was wonderful to see the
little man sending out thought-waves through the gray
brain and flaming body in Pittsburgh, or catching, as it
were, the thought-waves of the Siren City and radiating
them over the world. He might find that Europe's demand
for rails was slackening; out went his word to close Mill 7.
Or Pittsburgh might inform him that there was a rumor
that the Senate contemplated lowering the tariff on armor-
plates; Jordan would speak to a secretary:
373
THE OLYMPIAN
"Get Senator Stillman on long distance."
Then he, sitting in his leather arm-chair, sped his mind
to Washington, and possibly blocked legislation. *
The first meeting that Kirby attended was held late in
the autumn, a dark and drenching day. The twenty-two-
story Frost Building stood at the corner of Rector Street,
just below Wall, and when Kirby emerged from the taxicab
he saw, only three doors away, the gas-lit five-story build
ing of the Continental Express Company. He stood a
moment in the rain, and, among the hurrying umbrella-
lost people, in a shock of the Past. He was eight years
younger, a thin and troubled clerk, going down-town in a
crowded cable-car, tramping over the sawdust floor and
climbing to the third story; the radiator bubbled, the gas
flamed above his desk, rain smote the air-shaft window,
and there in the corner were Old and Young Ferg; a gong
sounded; pen-points scratched in ceaseless monotony.
He was caught seemingly in a lifetime of obscurity.
"Extra! Wall Street extra! Paper, mister?" A drip
ping newsboy pushed against him.
"No," he snapped and came back to himself. Three
doors away? No, eight years, eight ages away. He
looked down and saw his ample girth; he felt the heaviness
of his jowls; his clothes smelt of a Havana cigar; his stickpin
held a rare pearl; he was a Traffic Manager and Director
of the American Steel Company. A miracle, indeed; and
yet one hundred and fifty feet away, at that very moment,
possibly, half-drunk Bradsley was still fussing with tariff
sheets. What was real in life?
With a grim snort he entered the Frost Building and
took an express elevator to the twenty-first story. The
offices were large and simple, furnished in an expensive
but unobtrusive way. All the furniture was of golden-
oak and leather, the walls were papered tan, the carpets
plushy brown, a few maps and pictures of the works hung
here and there. The entrance held telephone switch
board and office-boys; to the left were large rooms full
374
WIPING UP THE FLOOR
of busy men and women; to the right Jordan's suite.
First, an anteroom where people waited; next, the private
office with immense flat desk, empty of everything but
blotter, glass inkstand, pen, elastics, and pins; and last,
the Board-room with its long table and leather chairs.
From the wide windows Kirby could look directly down
on the old crumbling graveyard of Trinity Church. The
tall, brown steeple leaned far below him, and Broadway
went up and down with little toy-people and little toy-cars.
On this same graveyard looked the walls of other skyscrapers,
cutting off the view on all sides save the west, where
Kirby saw a stretch of low, red roofs along the water
front, masts of ships, steamer funnels, and a patch of busy
river. It was a typical commercial view of New York
the church swallowed in finance, industry, and water and
rail transportation. Steel it all meant Steel: Steel lifted
him twenty-one stories high; steel tracks were on the
street; steel sewers beneath; steel steamers lay moored at
the docks; steel wires enmeshed the city with telephone
and telegraph; steel bridges spanned the rivers.
"And Jordan Watts," thought Kirby, "is Steel. And
some day I may be Steel."
He was very much interested in Jordan's methods of
work. He very soon perceived that the old magnate
was surrounded by extensions of himself namely, law
yers, accountants, secretaries, engineers, draftsmen, and
specialists of every sort. He was evidently a great be
liever in putting each type of work in the hands of a
specialist, thereby leaving himself free for the large super
vision and the major initiations. He kept fresh this way;
he could begin things and end them, the harassing details
all worked out by others.
"Yes," he said, "I leave the particulars to others.
How, then, do I get results? Simple enough. I pick
only the right men."
It was his genius in finding and using human material.
Among the secretaries one of them, a woman, interested
375
THE OLYMPIAN
Kirby deeply. In a superficial way she resembled Mary;
a well-built, mature person, dressed all in black, with brown
hair and black eyes. Her voice was soft yet direct; her
lips small; her jaw tightly set; there were lines about the
eyes and over the broad forehead that indicated over
work and overstrain, but she came and went lightly,
commanding, pervasive, watchful. It was her duty to
interview and pick from among the callers the lucky ones
who would be allowed to see Watts ; she also did much of
the telephoning, arranging appointments, or turning away
trouble. Between Jordan and the vulgar world she stood
like a soft buffer. Evidently he was wise in choosing a
woman for this delicate task, for the soft answerer could
turn away wrathful mortals in a way that was comforting
indeed.
This, then, was the outlay. Add to it the seven or eight
complacent, rotund, cigar-smoking directors who attended
the meetings and this Inner Sanctuary of Steel was
complete.
For quite a number of meetings Kirby found himself
merely an ear and a vote. Jordan did the talking; the
directors listened with evident enjoyment, and then bliss
fully gave their yes or no as the little man indicated.
This annoyed Kirby considerably.
"Some day," he vowed, "I'll set off a stick of dynamite
here."
But the opportunity was long in coming.
Jordan treated him in a genial yet impersonal way,
introduced him as "My son-in-law, Mr. Trask"; went to
the opera with his two children; showed glimmers of his
old-time affection for Mary; but never once spoke man
to man with Kirby. He was evidently too busy, too en
grossed to do so; and, besides, he was almost never alone
for more than a few minutes.
In this way the winter passed. The next summer Mary
and Kirby made a tour of the West, saw America, and
everywhere in poppy-flooded California, in the Grand
376
Canon of the Colorado, in Yellowstone and the immense
Northwest, in Salt Lake City and the great American
Desert, and in all the new throbbing cities of the Middle
West Kirby was stirred profoundly by the presence of
Jordan Watts. His name was in every newspaper, on
every tongue; his steel was the tough muscle of every
town and hamlet. And evidently the nation was proud
it had given birth to him.
As Kirby touched here and there the immense three-
thousand-mile spread of this new civilization the sweet
insanity of his ambition roused him again. Some day
Jordan Watts would be forgotten; then it might all be
Kirby Trask.
Full of new power, determined now to bring matters to
a swift issue and break his way up without further delay,
he returned to Pittsburgh in the fall. His thought was,
"I won't be a mummy director any longer; I'll show the
old man."
Then in October came the call for a meeting. A year
had passed; Kirby was nerved for action.
Standing at ten-thirty at the window of the Board
room Kirby had a vision of golden October in the city.
The Trinity trees were yellow and red, and the fresh wind
was stripping them and blowing leaves over the trolley-
cars; dust eddied in the streets; and over the brilliant
blue skies patches of clouds hurried along, passing swift
shadows on graveyard, over the skyscrapers, and down
on the sunlit people. Sun and shine came and went;
it was a vigorous, brittle morning that reddened the blood
and roused to action. It was sparkling and joyously
exciting. Kirby felt strong, clear-brained, ready.
Directors came in and encircled the silent Traffic Man
ager. They felt his reserved power, as did every one these
days. He stood there in his dark-gray suit, just beginning
to suggest massiveness; his head looked bigger than ever,
his eyes more piercing.
"How are things Pittsburgh-way?" asked one.
377
THE OLYMPIAN
"All right," he snapped, and was silent.
"I hear," said another, "you're having a little labor
squabble over there."
"Yes," said Kirby.
"Anything serious?"
"No."
Conversation sagged.
Then Jordan came in with a bright "Good morning,"
and took his place at the window-head of the table. The
directors seated themselves about him and began to light
cigars; Kirby lit his and, in his usual manner, sat hunched
up, eyes on the table, seemingly vast distances away.
The minutes of the previous meeting were read by the
secretary, then Jordan began swiftly to put propositions,
read communications, and get the votes. Nothing de
batable appeared in these transactions. But finally
Jordan started to speak of the labor trouble and Kirby
felt a strange tremor in his breast.
"This isn't an ordinary trouble," said Jordan. "It's
not a question of labor-union or strikes. The men of the
blooming mills merely want the right to present their
grievances by committee instead of personally. They say
that personally they are not listened to."
He paused, then continued:
"Ordinarily I would say no. But lately I have been
making so many public utterances on the just treatment
of the worker that I think it might be good policy to follow
it up by this definite action. Later on we could reverse
our decision if necessary. Hence, if no one objects, I take
it that it is the sense of this meeting that the demand be
accepted."
He went through the formality of waiting for an objec
tion. Kirby rose slowly. His voice was hard and vibrant,
hammering through the room.
"I wish to object," he said.
The dynamite had exploded; the directors grew pale
at this apparition; Jordan was annoyed.
378
WIPING UP THE FLOOR
"Mr. Trask," he said, tartly, "will state his objection."
"I object," said Kirby, " to giving in to labor. I object
to a soft policy. I object to weakness. I know the
Pittsburgh situation; I have been living in it. Grant
this to the men and you open the door for the walking-
delegate and the union it is only a step beyond. I know
these men; they are speeded and worked under military
discipline. No other method will keep the mills running
like a smooth machine. You propose to break this disci
pline, but I say if you do so you will find that when they
have a finger they will want the whole hand. There can
not be more than one master in a house. Either we are
the master or they. I call for a secret ballot on this
question."
He sat down. The directors moved about uncomfort
ably; Jordan's eyes were glittering.
"Well and good. We shall have a secret ballot."
The secretary prepared and passed slips and pencils;
the ballots were marked ; the secretary opened and counted
them. An intense excitement was in the room; a strange
suspense.
The secretary's voice shook:
"The proposition is lost unanimously."
Jordan stared. This was unbelievable. His voice was
low and hard.
"Very well, gentlemen, just as you wish. New busi
ness."
A swift reaction came to Kirby; he had beaten the old
man on a show of strength; he had broken down the
despotic rule; he had evoked a revolution in the board.
But was it well? After all, Jordan still had full power
over him; could easily hurl him back to the darkness.
His thought was:
"All is up now! Every time I argue with him I make a
deadly enemy of him."
And why had he argued? Up to the very moment he
had risen to his feet he had never had any definite opinions
379
THE OLYMPIAN
on the labor problem. He knew that several hundred
thousand human beings worked for the company like so
many cogs in the machine, many of them in the withering
heat of flames, in the grime and gloom, for twelve hours
out of the twenty-four, many of them seven days in the
week. He knew that the ever-swiftening machinery paced
the men, speeded them up, made them old before their
time, and released them at night to their smoke-blackened
homes in the squalid mill-town, fit only for food and sleep,
weary drudges in the pit of society co-creators of this
glory of the top that Jordan and Kirby enjoyed. And he
knew that these men were spied upon, that any attempt to
better their conditions by forming unions was suppressed
by discharging the malcontent. All this he knew, and
much more; for looming over the times like a black
shadow was this immense struggle between the Olympians
and the Drudges as to how the power and wealth should
be divided. Kirby, once a drudge, knew the griev
ances of the men. Why, then, had he taken his harsh
stand? Was it merely because he had been waiting for a
vital argument with Watts and took the opposite side like a
school-boy debater?
He went home in a cold sweat, and when Mary returned
from calling late in the afternoon he told her.
"And I've ruined us, I'm afraid, Mary. He won't put
up with me any longer. Just you watch."
She laughed.
" I'm not so sure. But were you right in your position?"
"I don't know."
"Oh, Katie, Katie!" She fondled him. "How you
love to beat your head against stone walls! Never mind;
I'll speak to father."
They went to their rooms to dress for supper, and when
Kirby came down-stairs and passed the library door he
heard Watts calling:
"Kirby!"
"Yes."
380
WIPING UP THE FLOOR
"Come here a moment."
He entered sullenly; he was prepared for a brutal scene.
The old man sat meditatively at his desk, his eyes mere
slits in the electric light.
"Sit down."
Kirby sat; he thought of that moment when J. J. had
begun to curse him, and his heart dropped into his shoes.
Then Jordan spoke slowly:
"Kirby, I'm going to make you a Vice-President."
Strange lightnings played through the bewildered man.
He could have risen and yelled. He straightened up.
' ' Vice-President ? ' '
"Yes. Your office in the Frost Building, and you and
Mary will have to live in New York. You might live here
the house is big, and I'm alone. Maybe Mary would
run it again for me."
Kirby was breathless; he sat staring at this amazing
man.
"Oh yes," added Jordan; "your salary will be twenty-
five thousand dollars a year."
Silence followed. Could Kirby believe this? Then
Kirby leaned near.
"That's a big thing to do but why?"
Jordan turned suddenly, clapped a hand on his shoulder,
and smiled affectionately. His eyes were twinkling.
"I'll tell you why," he exclaimed, joyfully. "Any man
who can wipe up the floor with me as you did to-day I need
as a partner. Besides, you were dead right."
And so another miracle had been performed for the hero.
Now he had truly risen up on the steps of the throne. But
in the wild burst of glory he felt a curious twinge of un
pleasantness. He thought of Meggs, and how by tram
pling on that detail-man he had become Business Manager.
Now again by trampling on obscure men the toilers in
the mills he had seized on success.
But Mary glowed over her two men: her really great
father, who was too large-minded to indulge in personal
THE OLYMPIAN
feelings, but raised power wherever he found it; her
splendid husband, a Vice-President at thirty-three. She
was realizing her life-work; it was her triumph. Her
father had to admit now that her choice had been perfect;
that she had brought him a partner and a son possibly as
great as himself.
"Yes," she said, hugging the old man, "I'll keep house
for you -just like old times, only better."
xxxrv
A NEW LIFE-WORK
IT was not long before any one day out of Kirby's life
might have seemed like a week of the nineteenth cen
tury or Europe. He was turning into that mass of nerves
of the twentieth century which might be limbless so far
as its activities are concerned. It moves mainly on wheels ;
it is hoisted up and down buildings; it can rest in a chair
and argue across a thousand miles, penetrating, mentally,
Chicago, St. Louis, Washington, or Toronto; it utters
sounds, and the sounds are caught, typed, and scattered
by carrier and mail-car; it hungers, and food is brought to
it; it desires clothes, and the tailor appears; it craves
music, and a pressed electric button floods the room with
Wagner. Such was Kirby an American Big Business
man.
Promptly at seven his valet entered and cut down the
labor and time of dressing, shaving him besides. Going
down-stairs, breakfast appeared at once. His motor
waited at the door, and he rushed through half a dozen
newspapers on the way down-town, absorbing with jerking
eye a colored wash of the world London, St. Petersburg,
Hong Kong, the Isthmus of Panama, Wall Street, and
Chicago.
Arrived at the office the opened mail was scanned, letters
from everywhere. Then came dictation, long-distance
'phoning, interviews, telegrams, callers, lunch, two or three
meetings in various parts of the city, more callers, more
'phone calls. He might speak to a man a block or a hun-
383
THE OLYMPIAN
dred miles away, a man he had never seen, yet project his
personality crisply over the wires.
Evening saw him home dressing; then possibly a public
banquet or a meeting with a financier or a rare evening of
music or drama. Then bed.
At other times he traveled in a private car from city to
city, hurried trips back and forth.
In short, he became a strenuous Brain. He did almost
no walking; he was eternally sitting in a motor, a boat,
a train, or an office; and the swift variety of problems and
people demanded thinking, thinking, and thinking through
all the waking hours. And all that thinking demanded
to turn into action was speech over the 'phone or to
secretary or conferee.
There was something unearthly modern and American
in this cerebral life, and Kirby's very appearance began
to conform to this inner violence. He began to get a
trifle fat, sat dumpy, with big head bowed, and eyes in
tensely alive. Mental power breathed from him, a very
atmosphere. The employees, as they put it, could "feel
when he was in his office."
He was, truthfully speaking, a social nerve-center;
every fine little wire or line of tracks or sea route the nerve
radiations that brought him the world, that winged forth
his power.
The speed, variety, and romance of this life were rich
indeed; he probably lived at, say, a hundred man-power.
Yet the ceaseless process seemed to make him cynical and
hard ; he had little trust in human nature ; less in Nature ;
his faith seemed mainly in power, in what he called
"results."
Jordan Watts stood in awe of this man, who seemed
rather like forty than thirty-three. He almost felt as if
he had begotten a monster. But daily his admiration
and respect increased, gradually he opened up to Kirby his
secret plans and thinking, and soon the two men formed a
habit of daily secret conferences that lasted an hour or more.
384
A NEW LIFE-WORK
In short, the aging man began to lean on the younger, and
this increasing dependence seemed to emphasize the now
palpable fact that he was an old man. He still toiled
terrifically, schemed, plotted, and struck bargains, but his
whitening hair, his wrinkled face, his stooping shoulders
were evidence of a wintry decline. Mary and Kirby
hardly noticed this, though Mary said:
"Father doesn't seem so well lately."
In fact, sometimes he complained of feeling dizzy. She
urged him to see a doctor, and the doctor advised him to
retire.
"You can't depend on that heart of yours," he said,
"unless you ease up. Live quietly, and you have years
ahead of you. Don't go to pieces like our business
madmen."
Jordan was not much impressed.
"I'll die in harness," he announced.
Nevertheless, from time to time he seriously contem
plated retiring from active life to devote the rest of his
days to philanthropic work. He felt that in Kirby he had
found his natural successor.
"Yes," he would ehirp proudly now, " Kirby 's my son
and heir."
And he would proudly point to Kirby as an example
of democratic America.
"In nine years he" rose to the top broke through
everything."
Kirby was becoming, indeed, part of the bright color and
romance of the life of the United States. He grew to be
a well-known figure in Wall Street now, and his picture
began to penetrate the country. There was a wide-spread
feeling that he was the brains behind Watts, and that
Watts was passing out of power.
Men generally feared him a little, the atmosphere of
power that surrounded him, the cruel stab of his eyes, the
silence and attentiveness while he chewed his cigar back
and forth, the final unalterable yes and no.
385 "
THE OLYMPIAN
"When he says no, "'said a broker, "it's all over. You
couldn't change him with an earthquake."
Naturally this crowded life made Kirby a typical
American husband. Mary saw little of him, and when
they were together there was either the hurry of getting
somewhere else or the presence of strangers. However,
at rare intervals, when she begged and finally coerced him
to run off with her to High Hill, he was tender, generous,
and simple. Yet even then she could not feel that he was
"near" her; under his playful exterior ran an under
current of preoccupation, a subtle worry. It was like a
troubled woman playing with her child; answering yes or
no, patting, kissing, laughing, even building a block-house,
and yet all the time lost in another world.
She persuaded him also to see a doctor, believing
that he was overworking.
"If you don't exercise," said the doctor, "pretty soon
you'll have to be carried about all the time."
But Kirby paid no heed. The most dramatic life on
Earth, that of American business, had caught him in its
speed and spaciousness. The blame could be laid on
modern Communication and Transportation, which, mak
ing the world like one house, brought each master in daily
contact with a thousand interests.
But however the blame might be disposed of, the real
burden fell on Mary. She joined those tragic Americans
the idle wives. It was a pitiable fact that her life-work
with Kirby was done. She had sacrificed the world and
her wealth to become obscurely domestic in a murky city
that she might develop a great man ; she had known the
maternal joy of seeing her man-child grow under her hands,
and the heavy task had brought her a rich happiness.
Now, however, he had passed out of her hands, like a
boy who has reached manhood and leaves his mother's
house. There was nothing she could teach the Vice-
President; events themselves were educating him far more
richly than she could even fathom, and, besides, he had a
386
A NEW LIFE-WORK
new teacher her father. From daughter to father this
fascinating human dynamo had passed, and all the
daughter had left was an occasional half -hour with a pre
occupied husband, an evening of opera, a rare vacation
that made her feel like a doll more than a wife.
And yet, what else had she in the world? She felt
widowed; she felt that her lover was dead. Her married
life seemed to end when they moved to New York. Of
course she could not but know that she was one of many
wives in a civilization that overworks its men and makes
them unfit for home relationships. But this knowledge
was cold comfort to her aching heart.
Before her marriage there had been excitements of court
ships, care-free travel, the running of the household, and
the philanthropic work. She had now, however, no desire
to set up relationships with the young men who would
have been glad to woo her; her love for Kirby ran too
deep. Travel now was full of the care of her brooding
husband, or separation from him made her lonesome.
The running of the household after the first joyous weeks
of heading again a well-oiled machine became too easy
and monotonous. And as for the philanthropic work,
that was being so well handled by the social worker,
in fact so much better organized and directed than
she had dreamed of, that it was totally beyond her
now.
In short, she found that she had sunk her whole existence
in Kirby, and Kirby had run off with it. What was left?
She was a woman out of a job.
As a result she became a restless American woman, test
ing and flinging aside one fad after another now it was
a Hindoo prophet; now a new system of medicine; now
a new beauty cult; or the craze for a freakish artist.
She contemplated trying woman's suffrage activity; she
thought of learning Grecian dancing. Yet she found that
there was really nothing to do but be idle, to dress well,
to make a good showing. And as she went on she ac-
26 387
THE OLYMPIAN
quired a positive hatred for social functions and the
people who circled round her.
Now Mary was a woman of native power ; she had much
of her father in her. Hence, to compel her to live a
trifling life was to clog and stop her up so that she seethed
with restlessness and broke out every now and then in
some queer way. She had been used, both before and
after her marriage, to rich days of hard work and hard
play; idleness was killing. She became neurotic, keeping
her doctor busy diagnosing her, tried electric treatments,
Christian Science, osteopathy, water-cure, and knew in
her secret mind all the time that only two things ailed her
she wanted the satisfaction of the two primal instincts,
those concerned with love and work.
The desire for love in this strong, upright woman was
pathetic. She would never have admitted to Kirby what
it would mean to her if he kissed her and fondled her as
he had done at Moose Lake.
Naturally there were many times when she thought
again of a baby the matter she and Kirby had discussed
in the early Pittsburgh days. But her feeling then was
that she must give her time and strength wholly to Kirby;
that in those crucial years of development she had to be
mother as well as wife to him. Kirby had felt, besides,
that a child would saddle them with financial problems
that would endanger their home on his small salary.
"Besides," he argued, "a child anchors a family down.
No more traveling; no more freedom."
There was a more subtle reason, a woman's reason, that
troubled Mary. This was the vividly remembered death
of her sister Alice. She had said to Kirby once, "There's
nothing sadder in the world than that." She had a
strange, unreasonable feeling that she was to meet the
same fate; that the little new life would emerge in the
world only to kill her and itself. The mystery and terror
of the process appalled her; it seemed like the imposing
of a death sentence: "After nine months you must meet
388
A NEW LIFE-WORK
this day of doom inescapably. There can be no pardon,
no reprieve. Once let the process start and it will in
evitably fulfil itself."
Now in these desperate days the thought recurred to
her. Here was a natural work calling her; here was a
woman's functioning which possibly she had no right to
deny herself. The sacred gift of life is, in a sense, only
given that it might be passed on. She recalled the night
before her marriage, when she seemed to be a glorified
gate of the generations; a slave to the Unborn. Was there
not something wrong and unnatural in damming the racial
flood? For what else, fundamentally, was she created a
woman ? And if her mother had suffered to give her birth,
how could she refuse to meet the ancient doom of woman
herself?"
"Am I a coward?" she asked herself. "Am I unsexed?
Cannot I endure and suffer as well as the meanest and
lowest of creatures?"
Certainly, if to be a modern woman meant neurotic
horror of the most elemental thing in her nature, then it
might be better to abjure mental growth, social activity,
and become a domesticated dullard.
So she reasoned at times, thrilling at the thought that
she had the power to reject or create a new human being;
that if her mother had rejected her she, Mary, with all
her energy and dream and clear-blooded womanhood,
might never have existed. A dream-world surely!
So she reasoned. Yet many thoughts checked her. She
was not sure that a baby would satisfy her.
"Possibly," she thought, "if I had had one ten years
ago."
Perhaps it was too'late. She felt mature, sober, too old
to domesticate herself. A woman of thirty-one or thirty-
two appeared to her almost on the verge of old age. And
then there was the haunting vision of her fair young sister
lying dead. They had told her such ghastly tales of that
fiendish night that night that had driven the young
389
THE OLYMPIAN
husband away to Europe to recklessly squander his life
in dissipation.
Nevertheless, by the following summer her desperation
had increased to the point where agony and death seemed
preferable to an idle life. There was absolutely nothing
else to do; it appeared a part of the duty of an American
husband to keep his wife from engaging in anything
useful.
And Kirby at last agreed with her. He began to see the
necessity of having an heir; he could not, of course, live
forever. Besides, he figured that child-bearing "would
keep Mary quiet." Her outbreaks of irritation, her com
plaints, her languors and strange excitements, her nerves,
all interfered with his comfort.
And so they entered into the profound and thrilling
mystery of life, and even to Kirby came the thought that
no creation of steel industries could touch even the hem
of this natural miracle.
And that strange winter revolutionized Mary. To begin
with, she simplified her life cut out society and feverish
activity and fads, and gave herself up to the life of life that
was now using her as a channel. Swiftly through her ran
the tides of the race, and she awoke to find that she had a
new life-work.
She could not have explained the quick change in her
spirit ; there was no reason now why child-bearing was any
more important than it had seemed before. And yet she
glowed with life. When she thought of the seed that was
growing in her into a human being she went about fraught
with large destinies, as if she were a mother of the State.
She was glorified by this union with Nature, with the
generations, with the eager rush of the floods of life ever
beating against the walls of her body.
She felt now that everything else in her experience
receded into pettiness; why, she could not tell. Her joy
was pure. She refused to import a layette from Paris,
as her delighted father urged, and sat down like her mother
390
A NEW LIFE-WORK
before her and stitched the darling little baby-clothes
herself. Over these she cooed and laughed and sang little
songs, putting love and joy into every flash of the needle.
It was a sight in the evening to see her in her sitting-room,
the white filmy stuff in her lap, her eager head bent, her
fingers flying. Jordan grew amazingly tender. He re
called his wife, who had once been young and expectant,
too.
"Meg," he would whisper, "I can't believe it's you."
And she would lift a blushing face and brown eyes that
were luminous with the inner light.
"You're getting more and more beautiful every day,
Mary Madonna."
"Oh," she laughed, "I'm getting so that I can't appear
in public. Beautiful!"
Kirby felt uneasy; he didn't know how to treat this
miraculous love-overflowing wife. He tried hard to be
gentle and tender.
"Say," he would break in, gruffly, "aren't you straining
your eyes?" Or, "Let me get that for you; you ought to
keep quiet."
Then she would pat his cheek and laugh merrily.
"Oh, Kirby, when you try to be polite you're, absurdly
funny."
His uneasiness increased with the months. Spiritual
matters, miracles irreducible to business, made him squirm.
He resisted their softening effect. Swelling emotions ap
peared incompatible with running a steel industry.
At this time Mary was firmly convinced that every
thought of hers, every mood and every action, were regis
tered on the growing child. She felt that in this innocent
blank she was writing ineradicably her passing moment.
The responsibility of this was overwhelming; she could
produce, then, a weakling, a criminal, or a genius. Hence
the necessity of leading a miraculous life.
So she took long daily walks to fit herself physically,
and marveled, as she passed through the streets, that she
391
THE OLYMPIAN
had never before noticed how many women were in her
condition. She was convinced that half the population
was busied with this process, and she pitied or shared her
joy with these others.
"All of us," she thought, "are sentenced."
She also kept fit mentally read good books, heard good
music, gave herself up to poetry and nature and tried
desperately never to lose her temper and always to think
noble thoughts. Besides, she constantly dreamed of what
her child should be: if a girl, a creature of light and fire;
if a boy, some kind of a genius. And in order to even have
a hand in its physical formation she kept constantly before
her and studied devoutly an old photograph of Kirby,
taken before he had become fat.
"Like this you must look," she said.
If there had been anything in her theory, that child
would have been the wonder of the world. It would have
risen from its swaddling-clothes and spouted Browning
instead of sour curds; it would have played Beethoven
with its tiny waxen fingers; and its beauty would have
stricken the watchers with dumb amazement.
Nevertheless, this feeling of responsibility forced her to
be active, body and brain, gave her delicious occupations,
made her new life-work vital. There were at rare intervals
invasions of the old fear, memories of her sister Alice. She
laughed them away.
"What do I care," she asked, "if I die for my little
one?"
Human life became infinitely precious and miraculous
to her. It simply seemed wildly impossible that there was
to issue from her body a living child, this sensitive complex
of vision, dream, passion, and trembling possibilities. She
had the mood of the Psalmist:
"When I consider the heavens, the moon and the stars
thou hast made . . . ."
It thrilled her unspeakably to think that she was a
vehicle for the flame and the glory of the world.
392
A NEW LIFE-WORK
As the time approached April she became truly a
holy creature; awesome and lovely, standing in the
shadows of agony and death. She was gentle, sweet,
grave; into her face went a large thoughtfulness, a suf
fused and placid beauty that had not been there before.
She was one of the common, every-day sacrifices of the
race; what roof has not covered such a heroine?
She was fully prepared, tranquil, brave. Life was little
to give in exchange for this partaking of the mystery and
miracle.
But Kirby's uneasiness became acute agitation. Jor
dan, too, was "on pins and needles." Both were forced
to face the fact that in a few days Mary might die. And
thus rainy, sunny, windy April set in.
"What's the matter with Katie?" was the question that
flew about the Frost Building and went mouth to mouth
down Wall Street.
"Losing his grip?" asked one.
"Oh, I guess he's going insane. The business is wreck
ing him," suggested another.
"Looks as if he were preparing to commit suicide."
For he went about positively haunted and crazed.
He lost all interest in his work, labored mechanically, sat
sometimes chewing an unlit cigar, head sunken between
his shoulders, eyes bulging. The ringing of the telephone
racked his nerves. He was dazed, impotent, useless.
"Take a week off," suggested Jordan.
"Can't. Too busy."
"But, man alive, you're accomplishing nothing. You
spoil everything you touch."
"Oh, leave me alone, dad."
So he came each day, a demented man. He had made
the disquieting discovery that he loved Mary over
whelmingly. How in the world had he forgotten this
primal fact?
The fifth of April was reminiscent of that long-lost
May-day at High Hill a perfection of mild blue skies,
393
THE OLYMPIAN
little winds, suggestions of mud and blossoming and the
mating of birds. He opened his office window and heard
the restless city yearning for the hills.
At four that afternoon the 'phone rang. He picked it up.
"Hello!"
"This is Mary."
He almost dropped the receiver; her voice was quiet,
yet it intimated things terrific, the end of the world.
"Yes," he murmured.
"You'd better come home, dear. Oh, I'm all right.
But come home."
Like a maddened bull charging he smashed out of the
office, went down the elevator, leaped into a taxicab, and
yelled to the chauffeur to ' ' run like hell or I '11 But the
door slammed.
He was out of his mind on the way up, but, arriving at
the house, he dashed up the steps, unlocked the door, and
flew to the second floor. A doctor and trained nurse were
already in the bedroom, and Mary stood there in her blue
dressing-gown, very pale, her eyes shining brilliantly.
"She's beautiful," he thought. "Why must she go
through this?"
They kissed each other.
"I'm all right," she said, in a queer voice, for she was
trying to keep from him the strange fact that she was
terrified beyond all reason. "I'm all right. Now you
go down. I just wanted to know you were near."
" Mary," he whispered, "what can I do for you? What
can I do?"
She smiled faintly.
"Please don't worry, dear. I'm all right."
But she was not all right; already Nature was seizing
her and swinging her to and fro in a frightful abyss, making
her know of a surety that never had a woman suffered like
this before. How long could she stand it? Her body was
being wrenched in two. And suddenly she seemed panic-
stricken.
394
A NEW LIFE-WORK
" Please go," she said, in a voice that shot him out of the
door. The nurse closed the door on him firmly, and fran
tically he lunged down the stairs and rushed into the
sitting-room. There stood Jordan in the dim light, and
both knew they were men miserable, wicked men and
the most helpless and paltry creatures in the universe.
Poor old Jordan stood there, twisting his hands, scared
into old age.
"Has it begun?" he asked.
"Good God!" cried Kirby, "why did I get her into this
trouble?"
"You'd better take some whisky," suggested Jordan.
"Yes; and what can she have? Lord, I've been brutal
to her. Oh, dad, dad, I can't stand it."
And then the long wait began. Time and again they
tiptoed out into the hall, and stood on the lower steps,
listening. No sound was heard, and yet up there in
anguish and terror a new soul was being born into the
human world. Kirby went to the window, flung it open,
heard the soft, restless April night, the hum of the careless
city, marveled that this tragedy was lost in the seething
and laughter of New York. Then Jordan sat down, and
Kirby began pacing the floor, flinging off his coat, tear
ing open his collar, running his hand through his hair.
The only break was when another doctor and another
nurse hurried up the stairs.
"Why another doctor?" asked Kirby.
"Oh," said Jordan, "to give an anesthetic if it's neces
sary."
A harsh new fear possessed him, and the tense minutes
passed one by one. Now they heard the door open and
shut and the hurry of a nurse in the hall. Now only a
dead and infinite hush. It seemed that they could wait
no longer; as if their heart's blood was being wrung out
drop by drop.
"And she looked so beautiful, so pale, and her eyes
shone so," thought Kirby.
395
THE OLYMPIAN
Seven o'clock came eight nine. Again and again
they went and listened. Then at nine-fifteen Kirby grew
white as a sheet and tottered.
"Was that Mary?" he asked.
"Yes," whispered Jordan.
Kirby could not believe it; Mary would never give
way like that.
"Oh!" he whimpered, "oh!"
A knife was stuck in his heart and twisted round while
those screams of the creation-moment rang through the
house. Then terrifying silence followed. Was she dead?
Kirby clung to the stair-post.
The door opened above; a nurse appeared shadowy on
the landing.
"Mr. Trask?"
"Yes."
"It's a boy."
Strange, convulsive tremors attacked Kirby's chest,
reached through his throat, and the hard fighter of steel
changed into a weeping father. He sobbed; his heart
melted; divine love and tenderness and relief swept
through him. He climbed the stairs; he paused at the
half-open door.
"May I come in?"
"A moment," whispered the nurse.
He entered. There on the bed lay Mary, her face white
and bathed in sweat, her lips smiling sweetly, her eyes
almost shut. Her beauty was complete; the ineffable
wonder of motherhood lay on the dreamy face. And all
at once a strange sound, like the noise of a fighting cat,
rose from the foot of the bed.
"What's that?" asked Kirby.
And the nurse lifted it the queerest, knobby-headed,
red little boy-baby that had ever been supremely ugly.
"It's your son," she said.
XXXV
THE ERRAND
TO Mary there came now the marvelous moments
when she was merely a tide of love that went out
and enfolded the little life that fed on her. In her ecstasy
she could not sleep that first night, but lay laughing softly
whenever she heard a stir in the bassinet or that strange,
squawking cry.
"Ah," she breathed, "the poor little thing."
Once she dozed, and waking suddenly exclaimed:
' ' Where is he ? I can't see him. ' '
Such was her stretched weakness that the raising of
a hand was no mean enterprise. The nurse put the child
beside her where, by turning her head, she could gaze at
it. Never had she seen such tiny perfection; such foam
of fingers, such utterly little lips, such wonderful deep eyes.
To be sure, the head was frightfully misshapen, so much so
that Kirby knew secretly that the boy was deformed and
was badly frightened. But to Mary the baby was in
effably beautiful.
The fact that it lived, breathed, cried, opened and shut
its eyes, stirred about, that its heart, no bigger than the
tip of a thumb, beat against her, was to her an impossible
miracle. Had the heavens opened and the child descended
to her through flames she could not have been more
divinely amazed.
"And I'm his mother," she thought, "and Kirby is his
father."
All life had changed; she and her husband had joined
397
THE OLYMPIAN
a receding generation, and this helpless seven pounds of
baby raised in the night the cry of the future. From hand
to hand the torch passed, and the light in the eager chil
dren's faces cast into the shadow the aging parents. But
were the parents not living all over again in the children,
vicariously experiencing a new existence? At least for
the present Mary lived so; her whole being in the hunger
and sleep and stir of the babe.
Kirby entered in the morning with awkward, soft tread;
his gentleness with her was exquisite.
"Ah, Kirby," she murmured, while he fondled her
delicate, blue-veined hands, which seemed bloodless and
weak, "you love me again, don't you?"
He leaned to hide the tears.
"I always have," he whispered, hoarsely.
"And our son," she went on, "don't you think he's
beautiful?"
"Oh, yes, yes," he lied, devoutly.
"Did you ever see such a cunning little fellow?"
"Never."
" Go and look at him again."
He lumbered over and gazed on the malformed thing.
"You haven't held him yet, have you?"
"No," said Kirby, in a fright.
"You must, then. He's so little. Miss Wilkins, let
him have the baby."
So the bundle was lifted and a paralyzed Vice-President
held it out as if he expected it to explode.
Mary laughed.
"Son, what do you think of your clumsy father? Oh,
take it away from him; he'll drop it."
The nurse accompanied Kirby to the door, but out of
ear-shot he spoke eagerly:
" Come in the hall a moment."
She stepped out. He put the fateful question:
"Say, is the kid's head all right?"
She laughed merrily.
398
THE ERRAND
"Surely. It '11 come round in time. Most of them are
that way."
He swore with relief, and went down to breakfast.
The child made a great change in the house. All life
revolved about it; the servants, the callers, and the two
men became gentle and eager servitors of the divine
visitor. A sweet spirit reigned that seemed to evoke in
each something benign and kindly.
Kirby now understood how grossly he had failed as a
husband, how little time even to say nothing of affection
and comradeship he had given his precious wife. He
recalled remorsefully how she had wrapped her whole
existence in him in the Pittsburgh days, given him all,
inspired and checked him, kept him to his career.
"Yes, Mary made me," he told himself. "Mary made
me."
His debt to her seemed almost as great as the debt of
life the new baby owed its mother; and yet the only pay
ment she had asked of him was his love and fondness and
a little of his time and strength. He had failed even to
give these trifles. And now she had endured agony and
risked death to bear him a child, and by this one sacrifice
belittled to pettiness his strenuous life and growing great
ness. For what were steel rails and telephones compared
with that tiniest babe, that helpless littleness crying for
arms to hold it tight, which by its mere appearance made
a dusty household overflow with tenderness and mercy?
Of course civilization had still to be captained, else it
might collapse. The people must be fed. Machines and
commerce must continue. And he, as a captain, could not
desert his post. His responsibility was overwhelming;
he was, in a sense, performing great services for the world;
all his genius and power were harnessed to a basic industry.
He was, after all, so he argued, one of those great execu
tives who help to keep the world going, help to get the
world's work done day by day, help this production and
distribution which builds cities, feeds, clothes, and grows
399
THE OLYMPIAN
the populations. By such reasoning he could condone his
falling off as a husband; he, too, in a way, was a sac
rifice.
Nevertheless, he decided to follow Jordan's wise example
and delegate large portions of his work to picked special
ists; this would allow him greater mobility. And as a
result he fell into the habit of leaving his office early and
stopping in on the way up-town to get flowers or a delicacy
for Mary. Then the twilight hour was hers, and they
would sit together at the open window and chat affec
tionately.
Her changed personality affected him profoundly, for
now that rarest human wisdom of all, the wisdom of
old wives, was hers. She seemed to have a new patience,
a larger understanding, a mellowness of spirit, a richer
intonation of the voice. She looked older, her face fuller,
with beautiful lines of pain and experience and darker
tints of life in the eyes. It was the ripening process of
primal functioning. She was a woman now who knew
life, who had lived, seasoned by pain, purified by love. She
was that star of the race the mother.
And so once again a woman evoked the angelic in
Kirby, and for a while the lover in him was balanced
against the schemer and fighter.
"You're changed," said Mary; "you're my old boy
again."
"That's because I'm jealous of the new boy."
"Jealous!" She laughed with the soft delight that
always came when she thought of the baby. "Why, he's
getting to look more like you every day."
"You mean his hands and feet."
"No; everybody says so. The doctor said so this
morning."
"Then I'm sorry for him," said Kirby. "But why was
the doctor here?"
Mary laughed brightly.
"I won't stand for that scientific nurse. She tries to
400
THE ERRAND
bring him up as if he were a machine. I guess my in
stincts know more than her old maid's brain!"
These things amused Kirby vastly. That baby was
evidently the most sensitive organism that ever tried to
weather the blows of this world. Wrangles went on as
to whether he should lie on his right side or his left;
whether he should be allowed to cry until his heart broke
(or he fell asleep with tear-drops on the filmy lids) or his
mother should snatch him up and cuddle and spoil him.
"Ah," murmured Mary, "I can't let him cry. He's so
tiny."
And every time the infant sneezed she insisted on tele
phoning the doctor. She endured a series of divine terrors
over the most amazing trifles; leaping out of bed at one
in the morning because she had a feeling that a safety-pin
was open and would stab him to death, or running up
two flights of stairs to see if he was in a draught.
For a while she nursed him, and lived very strictly
again, lest temper, or salad, or weariness should give him
colic. But when he was put on a bottle her new problems
staggered her; every formula that disagreed with him
causing her to torture herself. And of course daily she
weighed him and was ecstatic or miserable over the
scales. It was a very little business, maybe, taking care
of one child, yet she found it an enterprise that exhausted
her.
Kirby of course was fiercely proud that he had a son;
he bragged about the small man whenever he had a
chance. But his joy was as nothing compared with the
happiness of old Watts. That white-haired grandfather
found his second childhood with the baby. He insisted
on bringing home a new rattle every day, and it was a
sight to watch him crowing and laughing and playing with
the placid youngster. He would seize it up and go thump
ing up and down the room, making ridiculous noises. He
would blow a horn for it and ring bells in its ears. Or he
would keep building up fires in the grate because the baby's
401
THE OLYMPIAN
face lit up whenever the flames gurgled. His delight knew
no bounds, and his pride was insufferable. Naturally the
baby had been named Jordan Watts Trask, and what
greater joy could there be than in petting and playing with
his namesake?
Mary delighted in watching the two together the old
and the new child; but she had to admit now that her
father was an old man. That first pathetic agedness she
had witnessed on the night in Maine when she had broken
his will over Kirby had now reached the point where it
was daily in evidence.
That summer the family was moved by motor up to
High Hill. It was a season of simple happiness; yet for
Mary there was one ominously tragic event. This was
the discarding of the baby's long clothes for shorter ones.
She mourned over the fact.
"He's a baby no longer," was her thought; "he's
growing up."
And now it seemed to her that life was cruelly brief;
the child in arms turning into a man overnight, the man
growing old at once like her father. Soon, she felt, she
would be out of a job again; her new life-work over. But
then she would be old herself.
The two Jordans had become great chums ; each day saw
one in the arms of the other borne over the grass and out
to the stables, to the wonders of cows, horses, and pigs.
But the old man often ailed; he had recurrences of his
dizzy spells, and when the family returned in the autumn
he went again to his doctor.
The physician spoke very emphatically.
"There's only one thing to do retire at once. Other
wise I won't be responsible for you. You've lived a dozen
lives already, and the body won't stand for it."
Jordan laughed.
"Oh, I'm good for a little fun yet. However, give me
till the first of the year."
He certainly was good for "a little fun," as events
402
THE ERRAND
proved. In November he was sixty-seven years old, and
the approach of this birthday brought a spontaneous rally
of the metropolis around the old man. There was a
general understanding that the time had come to celebrate
a great American.
A banquet then was held in his honor in the ballroom
of one of the great hotels; three hundred of the nation's
high and mighty, men and women, sat at the glittering
tables in floods of soft light and under streamers of black
and gold, and the balconies were crowded with visitors.
On the raised platform, fronting the brilliant audience, ran
the long speakers' table, and in the center sat a little
white-haired man smiling radiantly. No dizziness to
night; he felt clear, strong, powerful one of the dynasts
in a young democracy.
Speaker after speaker eulogized him. "More than any
other living man he has helped to make a world-empire
of America." He had proved in his own life how the low
become high in a republic; he was compared to Lincoln
and Washington; he was analyzed as a man who had
brought prosperity to millions, given the workers employ
ment, built cities, and yet in his latter days had risen to
the supreme heights of philanthropy, scattering his mil
lions with a lavish hand to heal and bless and bring
knowledge and peace to the people.
"And yet," said one speaker, "demagogues of discon
tent have arisen who would seek to defame him with cries
of plutocracy. But the sober sense of the American
people will crush these malcontents, these anarchists and
enemies of the republic. If Jordan Watts is a plutocrat,
let us have millions such!"
This was a new note at a banquet; possibly the first
public appearance of the shadow of a new national struggle.
The audience applauded wildly, rising and shouting.
Jordan was deeply stirred by this. Of late he had been
forced to become cognizant of a new cry that was being
raised. He had always looked upon himself as a benefac-
27 403
THE OLYMPIAN
tor and an inevitable dynast, skipping, perhaps, many
pages of his life-story; yet here was a young politician in
Ohio making a speech that echoed over the land, wherein
he warned the people that their power was passing into
the hands of the few, and that the monstrous Trust was
an Octopus, whose tentacles spread over America and
sucked the life-blood of the people; and here in a popular
magazine a sturdy offshoot of Harrington's there was
appearing a series of articles on "The History of Standard
Oil," wherein it was shown that that corporation had
risen by slaying, crushing, and defrauding men, and an
appeal was made for a new moral awakening. Kirby, of
course, had also been made aware of these things, and the
shock had been rude. He had thought that the great
industries were based on a rock, that here at last, above
the drudges and skyrockets, was security and lasting
power; and yet for a quivering moment he had the feeling
that they were merely larger growths of a J. J. business,
based upon quicksand. But the thought that his power
and wealth might sink under him was too monstrous to
entertain; besides, he had daily proofs of the rigidity and
endurance of the machine, and the strength of his will.
So he put the thought by as idle.
Nevertheless, when Jordan arose at the banquet and
raised his clear voice, which carried through the hushed
hall, he began his address with a warning:
" I am glad the last speaker denounced the demagogue.
Every time a man succeeds a dozen fail, and the failures,
in their bitterness, are willing to wreck the whole social
order, that they may gain by violence what they were too
weak to gain by honest labor. Beware the failures! If
they should mislead the people, the splendid machinery
of civilization we have reared in the Western world will be
stopped and smashed by anarchy, and America will meet
the doom of ancient Rome. Better than agitation, new
mills; better than discontent, the smoke of factories, the
hum of cities, the crowding of schools; better than dem-
404
THE ERRAND
agogy, unclogged industries that bring peace to the
world."
Then he went on to repeat his famous and naive
"advice to young men"; such scattered pearls as
these:
"It is not riches that matter: they alone don't make a
man happy. It's knowing 'I wronged no man.'" "You
can have a happy home on fifteen dollars a week. Young
men, marry. Own a bit of land, and be a free king in our
victorious democracy." "I consider a man who helps
himself as ten times better than a man who requires help."
"If I have shown one thing in my life, it is that any one
of ability, who is willing to work and to save, can rise to
the top."
They applauded him vociferously; they rose and drank
a birthday toast; and surely, gazing at the flower of
civilization below him, he could not help but feel that he
was a successful man. Messenger-boy to multimillionaire,
obscurity to this sweet fame, years of struggle to this su
preme hour of world-recognition; what life had ever
been more romantic than his? And this surely was the
crowning moment in his career; for not alone the three
hundred faced him and heard his words and applauded.
No, he spoke straight to the eighty millions of America
and the hundred millions of Europe; for in a few hours
the newspapers from the tip of Florida to utmost Oregon,
from London to St. Petersburg, would scatter his message
and his triumph among the nations. The whole civilized
world would exult in him.
But when Kirby and Mary got him at last into the
automobile they found him so exhausted that he could
not speak. They had to help him up the stairs to his bed
room and he had to be undressed.
"I'm afraid," said Mary, "the dinner was too much for
him."
And in the morning, when he came tottering in to
breakfast, Mary was genuinely alarmed.
405
THE OLYMPIAN
"Oh, it's nothing just a dizzy spell let me see the
papers."
The headlines pleased him: "Public Banquet to Jordan
Watts"; "A Speech of National Importance"; "Amer
ica's Richest Man at the Height of His Career"; "Warn
ing against Agitators"; "Advice to Young Men."
His hand trembled over his coffee.
"Father," said Mary, "please don't go down-town
to-day."
"Oh, I'm going," he said, obstinately.
She argued with him, but it was useless, and her heart
trembled with dread when she saw him helped across the
sidewalk by the chauffeur. But he turned and smiled at
her.
"Don't worry, Meg."
She was constrained to run out in the raw, blustering
weather and herself wrap a robe about him. Then she
kissed him.
"Come home early, anyway."
"I will," he said, smiling. "I've made a date with
little Jordan."
He dozed a little on the way down, but at the Frost
Building insisted on the chauffeur leaving him at the
elevator. He entered the offices with uncertain step, but
nodded brightly to the employees, then stepped into his
private office and shut the door. At once he plunged into
his work, as usual; secretaries came and went; letters were
dictated; notes scribbled on postal cards.
Kirby stopped in a moment.
"How are you, dad?" he asked.
"Chipper and happy. Don't I look it?"
He looked, thought Kirby, unusually old, but Kirby
said nothing, and went back to his work.
The old man was alone for some time, mainly telephon
ing. Outside the hard, gray heavens went gustily by, and
the wind smote the windows, but Jordan paid no atten
tion. He was toiling terrifically, as usual.
406
THE ERRAND
Then at a quarter to eleven the 'phone bell rang.
Jordan leaned over to the instrument.
"Hello!"
"Long-distance Washington; Senator Barlow on the
wire."
"Yes, hello, Senator!"
"Hello, Mr. Watts! It's this matter of appropriation
for the Wyatt Bridge"
"Yes, John. Now, see here." His brain worked
busily. "That project has got to go through before the
end of the session. My Pittsburgh people tell "
That was all. Simple as the simplest of things, and
hence profound and terrible. An old man merely sank
back in a comfortable chair, and at a snap all that busyness
of thought, of empire, of dream and command, vanished,
and left behind a bundle of skin-wrapped bones. The old
messenger-boy had gone on an errand for a bigger magnate
than himself.
XXXVI
THE SKYSCRAPER
"/'""CENTRAL" warned the telephone operator, and the
\_^j young woman, sensing catastrophe, rushed into
the private office. She saw the gray face, the wide-open
mouth, and ran out shrieking.
"Mr. Watts is dead," was the terrible cry that sped
through the place; and the pale-faced, panicky employees
and Kirby crowded into the room. It seemed impossible
that that tremendous life could stop.
Kirby felt his heart bursting within him. The tragedy
moved him inexplicably. He had the body placed on the
lounge, and sent for doctor and private ambulance. Of
course these were foolish formalities, yet his whole being
cried out for action. Something must be done.
Then, standing, looking on the dead clay, he remembered
Old Ferg. The worn-out drudge, the worn-out magnate,
had both come to the same thing. He himself was hasten
ing through his excited years to the same end. All came
to this. And of what use were empire and glory and the
pageantry of the world?
He felt the foolish tears rise to his eyes; tears not alone
for the dead man, but for himself and for all human beings.
A brief glitter in the sun and the cruel mystery engulfed
them. Life was bitter, he felt, fiendishly bitter, and all
his greatness fell from him, and the dead man and himself
were atoms in the night, one still troubled, the other
evidently passed beyond trouble. And this personality
that once had struck fear and admiration in his heart, that
408
THE SKYSCRAPER
once he had envied and aped and fought with, was now
an armful of ashes. It was heart-breaking.
He hurried home ahead of the body and found Mary in
the nursery, holding the child. His quiet, his pallor, when
he entered the room, as well as the unusual hour of his
return, made her quickly put the baby down. She stood
up, wide-eyed.
"What is it?"
"Father," he began, and a hoarse sob choked him.
Her face turned white; they hugged each other desper
ately.
"So it's come," she whispered. "Father! Father!"
And later, when she beheld the form that once she had
seen young and sprightly, the busy father who had fondled
her and called her "Meg," the inevitability of beautiful
and proud youth becoming aged and wintry, oppressed her
heart. A few months back the sweet blossoming new life
had emerged through her; now a similar life, after the
swift process of the years, passed into death, withered,
sapless, and decaying. Her father, too, had once been a
baby, a sweet, fresh thing at his mother's breast! And
was her baby now to become this this misshapen and
worn-out thing ? All in a few years ! She and Kirby first,
but day by day the change in that young and dewy babe!
She felt as if these thoughts were killing her, mingled as
they were with her powerful love for her father.
But the body was laid away; the baby laughed and
cooed; shopping and marketing had to be done; friends
called and sympathized ; the husband returned to his work ;
and though the old house knew a blank in itself, as if its
old spirit had departed, or as if one of its limbs had been
amputated, yet the routine of life, the clamorous needy
day and the busy night, swept the family on, until Jordan
Watts was more of a memory than a presence. He had
come, shaken the world, and gone; but the world moved
on as if it did not miss him, as if no man is indispensable.
After the first swift panic in Wall Street, which Kirby
409
THE OLYMPIAN
stopped by making an official statement that the industry
was continuing without abatement, business and life in the
metropolis took the old stride, and the world revolved
about other names.
One of the strangest experiences was to sit at table every
night without Jordan there; but even this strangeness
wore off the vitality of these human beings overflowing
all tragedy, all loss, just as April covers the barren
pastures.
However, there was one change which became per
manent. When the will was read it was found that nearly
a hundred million dollars went to philanthropies, much of
it funded in a Watts Foundation, which was to make a
business of working toward World-Peace and higher forms
of education. The rest of the estate descended to Mary
and Kirby and the baby, with a few personal donations
excepted ; and thus Kirby stepped into absolute power.
"The king is dead; long live the king!" And the new
king became at once one of the international figures of
America. Now a newspaper might flash a heading:
TRASK SENDS STEEL SOARING
His power was unbelievable. He sat now in Jordan's
office like a monstrous brain with his nervous system
spreading out over the continent; truly now the mills
blazoned the sky with his fame; and where before the
name of Jordan Watts had been sown over the cities
until every tongue echoed it, so now for the time being the
name of Kirby Trask. The day of that curious slogan,
"Nobody loves a millionaire," had not yet dawned.
"Katie" he was called popularly, after the democratic
fashion of calling a President "Bill" or "Teddy," and, like
Jordan, he became the model of youth, the example of
American success. Such chance phrases as he dropped
were apt to be sold on placards for twenty-five cents
apiece, and had he stepped into the Guthrie Shorthand
410
THE SKYSCRAPER
School he would have been surprised, perhaps, by a new
legend on the wall :
"I have found stenography a stepping-stone to commercial
supremacy." KIRBY TRASK.
He was a multimillionaire now; and as honey draws
flies, so he attracted a buzzing swarm of the great and
would-be great. Senators and Representatives became
his friends; the President of the United States called him
into consultation; the mighty heads of other Trusts, and
those powers behind all the other powers, the great Wall
Street financiers, asked him into their homes and their
clubs. And his freedom was unlimited: he could dress,
act, do as he pleased; come and go; be more silent than
ever. The king could do no wrong !
Curiously enough, this final triumph did not make him
any happier. It had come gradually, and it had come
through death, and in his meditative mood he felt only
the crushing burden of a world-responsibility. Now there
was no Jordan to spur or check him; no teacher. He
had to look for all strength and wisdom in himself. He
was, in his business hours, the loneliest man in the world.
Naturally cut off from others by his unsociable manners,
he was further cut off by his feeling that every man
he met was trying to best him, to get "something out
of him," and that most of them were secret enemies.
Even the other officers of the company affected him this
way: were they not all eager to seize what he held?
There was another disturbing element the rising of a
tide of popular discontent all over the country, directed
against great accumulations of wealth and power. Daily
this tide rose, expressing itself in "muck-raking," in
Presidential messages, Congressional investigations, in
strikes of labor, and in governmental suits to dissolve the
huge trusts. This was disquieting; but Kirby paid no
serious attention to it. Every age has its "calamity-
411
THE OLYMPIAN
howlers," its "agitators," he argued. In the first flush
of success he could not be expected to find much of a
menace in a wrathful democracy.
He felt secure; he owned the major interest in a basic
industry that must last as long as civilization lasts. It
was absurd to think that this power, risen from the people,
would flow back to them. All he had to do surely was
to hold on, and neither enemies from within or without
could budge him from the throne. But the bright wonder
of conquest he had expected was not here. As a young
man he had felt that unlimited dominion would plunge
him into ecstasies; but here were both he and Mary
taking it all as a part of the day's work, a part of
life.
There was, however, a fresh and thrilling element. This
was his unhindered power to put into execution the new
and dazzling schemes he had in his head. Such was his
successful project to absorb the only large rival of the
Trust; and his other to triple the exports to the European
markets. He engaged also in much rebuilding of the mills,
and in the final installation of scientific management.
In this field he was a pioneer, half a dozen years ahead
of the world.
He also instituted relief work among the workmen,
doing excellently in protecting the men from dangerous
machinery, in rebuilding mill-towns, in giving medical
attendance, funds for accidents and sickness, old-age
pensions; but he went no further. Though he saw the
menace of that black shadow of a struggle between the
Olympians and the Drudges that might yet imperil the
rule of the magnates, though once he had been a drudge
himself, he continued the Trust policy of spying on the
men to prevent their organizing, of working them a twelve-
hour day.
"There shall be only one master in this house," he
thought, and left this peril to the future.
For some time he and Mary conferred over the problem
412
THE SKYSCRAPER
of what monument to build to her father's memory.
Finally he hit upon an original plan.
" It must be down where he lived and died," said Kirby ;
"down in the business district. And it must have steel
in it, and tower over the metropolis."
In short, he projected the Watts Building, the tallest
in the city. Some of the newspapers made merry over
this. One jesting reporter wrote: "Making a Mausoleum
Pay. . . . Here's a tomb that is going to pay rents and
profits. A modern pyramid that isn't going to go to
waste; it's to be steam-heated, electric-lit, and have ex
press elevators, vacuum-cleaners, mail-chutes, and a few
corporations. ..."
Possibly Kirby saw his error in publicly calling it a
monument, but he held on grimly, and while it was in
process often he had the chauffeur run the car past it,
or pause before it, while he leaned out, and with his pierc
ing eyes gazed at the yawning rent in the ground, the
laborers swarming like flies over the rocks and dust, the
drills thumping and steaming, the steam-shovel "eating
up the 'dirt."
And as he saw it rise, a great rust-red skeleton of steel,
and the red-hot rivets were flattened with the clamorous
air-hammer, and the derricks hoisted and placed the
beams, and the hardy iron-workers balanced dizzily on a
foot- wide flooring, he thought: "I am changing the sky
line of New York; I am topping the metropolis with a
statue to Steel; I am showing my power before the
people. At night my tower-light will be seen through all
New York."
It was probably as much a monument to living Kirby as
to dead Watts. But it rose, and there it stood at last,
in the autumn, forty-five stories of granite and marble
and steel.
Kirby had planned to have the top floor and the tower
set apart for the company, with the circular room at the
tower's top fitted for himself. Windows were to rir-
413
THE OLYMPIAN
cumscribe it so that one could see the whole circle of the
city beneath, that city terrifically, beautifully alive in
rush of white light, in great blowing of smokes.
Kirby had to go West in September; he reached home
again in October, late at night. Mary's first word was:
"The building's finished. It's wonderful."
Kirby had the curious sense of coming into his kingdom.
Then the next morning a divine surprise awaited him.
As he entered the hall to go down to breakfast Mary called
him from the next room:
"Come into the nursery, Kirby."
He went in. The snug room, with its brass crib and tiny
white furniture, shone with bright morning, and on the
lap of that mature woman whose beauty now was ma
tronly (how Mary would have hated the word!) sat the
little boy, already, with his large head and gray eyes,
a replica of Kirby.
Kirby leaned and kissed his wife.
"What is it?" he asked.
Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, her eyes
shining. She stood the little fellow on the floor between
her knees.
"Stand over there and wait," she said to Kirby, and to
her son, "Go to daddy!"
And the miracle happened. The little feet stumbled
along, and in a wild rush, with lusty shouts, the boy
staggered into his father's arms. It was the spectacle
of that moment when the human race left the quadrupeds
by standing erect. And Kirby was thrilled almost to
tears; for an instant he divined the wonder of human
life, and his kingdom vanished in the white light of hu
manity. And he only wished, with his heart and soul,
that this boy might grow to be a splendid man, a wise
man, a good man; and for a moment he was stung by a
sense of his own responsibility to the people, his sacred
trust.
But he went to breakfast and read the papers. Here
414
THE SKYSCRAPER
was news of a steel strike in Germany. Excellent that!
The exports for a while would be doubled. He took out
pad and pencil and began to figure. He entered his au
tomobile. The chauffeur leaned in :
"To the new building?"
"Yes."
The car shot the length of the brilliant city. The
morning was lusty and blue; the tides of humanity were
still racing workward; activity, joy, health were in the
sparkling air. Down Broadway the automobile sped, held
up here and there at a crossing, winding in and out among
the trucks and cars, blowing its horn, speeding deep into
the heart of the city. And then it stopped; the chauffeur
opened the door, and Kirby stepped out. People jostled
about him; Broadway up and down was in cool shadow, a
mighty river-roaring canon. He looked up. He saw the
rise of the Watts Building up and up till it broke through
the skyline and held the heavens alone with its white,
fluttering flag. He passed with curious excitement
through the arched entrance. The marble arcade was
golden-globed, and on the left were brilliant shops and
on the right the bronze doors of the elevators. He could
smell the mortar, the paint, the fresh dust; workmen in
overalls still went to and fro; the elevator-starter, in his
bright uniform, bowed to him. He entered an "express"
elevator, the signal-lamp glowed red, the doors shut easily
by compressed air, and the steel car mounted the shaft
like a rising eagle, noiseless, swift, resistless, with the
quiver of pinions. Up and up it went for a whole minute.
Then it stopped, doors opened, and he stepped out on the
top floor. Already the clerks were moving in, a bright
bustle of vanmen, of disarranged furniture; the telephone-
girl at the switchboard smiled on him. He glanced
swiftly, then climbed the circular stairway to the tower.
Yes, he was passing above even these. Brilliant light
flooded the round room; on the green stone floor was a
rich rug; the large desk stood in the center. And there
THE OLYMPIAN
he stood, with sharp, gray eyes, graying hair on the
powerful head, massive jaw, a bulky creature at the city's
top, looking out. He was utterly alone in the skies.
Below him rose the skyscrapers, giving slanting glimpses
of deep streets busy with tiny black people and darting
traffic, and from their tops curled white smoke in the
boundless swim of sunlight. He saw the waters that
circle the city like a hugging arm of the sea, and on the
level stretches harbor-craft and ocean-liners. He saw the
bridges suspended between Long Island and Manhattan,
Brooklyn beyond; he saw the Jersey heights and inlets
swarming with houses and smokes; and he saw north the
sweep of New York to the gleaming Bronx, homes and fac
tories, schools and churches. All the mighty metropolis
stretched like a map below him, crowded to the circling
horizon with millions of human beings.
And he remembered the day he had come to this city
and stood in the deserted canons, an atom. And all at
once he exulted in the miracle that had lifted him to the
topmost tower, with all the city under him. He was
dominating; he saw his empire starting below, a little
sea-fragment of the Western Hemisphere. He had been
merely a poor American boy in an obscure town; now he
dominated: now on his actions and his thoughts hung
panics that might send a swift ruin on the land, hung
enterprises that might lift it to higher levels of happiness
and health. His words went forth like merciful or devas
tating armies. He could overthrow in bloodless battle
like Napoleon.
He was not awed this morning before this power of his;
the terrific burden at this moment did not trouble him;
he merely exulted. And he remembered the process that
had brought him here, and understood what it implied.
First he had been among the multitude of drudges, then he
had risen into the skyrocket class, the adventurers trying
to break to the top and ever in danger of falling back,
and finally he had risen to the Olympians.
416
And he began to understand what had brought about
this three-layered civilization. It was Science tearing off
the crust of earth and releasing the powers and riches of
Nature. Busily the race seized on these, a chaos of rough
enterprise mines, manufactories, laboratories, exchanges.
And in the swift trade that followed three mighty gods
began to roughly organize the chaos Steam, Electricity,
Steel. The railroad came, the post, the mill and farm
machinery, the typewriter, the telegraph, the telephone,
the automobile. And all these were like nerves and blood
vessels laid out through the chaos till it began to coalesce,
the parts aware of each other, the Earth gradually shaping
into one body.
Geniuses had risen from the people and accelerated the
process, cut out waste, combined industries, until the
mighty Trusts emerged, and the new rulers, the Trust
Magnates. The power of kings had crumbled before these
new dynasts: theirs was a military power based on applied
force; the new power was the power over the necessities
of life based on inherent force. Hence, the new dynasts
had a power transcending that of any previous race of rulers.
And Kirby had become one of these and exulted. It
seemed right that he should be so, it seemed democratic.
It seemed right that in a democracy the men of genius
should break to the top and manipulate the power.
Some one had to manipulate it; heads were needed;
who could do it better than those who had shown
the native ability to succeed?
It was, he knew, unlike a king's power; it could not be
passed on to the son unless the son had the genius of the
father; lacking that, a great fortune swiftly broke up and
passed to new hands.
And so he felt righteously crowned. And he throbbed
with pride to think that he belonged to a great country
that could automatically hand its geniuses to the top.
Out of the millions Kirby had emerged, and now, at last,
he dominated.
417
THE OLYMPIAN
It was a dramatic moment. This building was a throne;
this hour his coronation. And he did not doubt that his
power was as tough and durable as the steel sinews, the
stone-flesh of this mighty skyscraper. He was a sky
scraper himself, risen in the heavens of America. What
agitators, what popular discontent, could shake this
dynasty of Steel?
THE END
DATE DUE
GAYLORD
SITED IN U.S.
_
1 .35 net
UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY
AA 001 223 527 1