THE CUES 
 OF HONO1 
 
 
 .LIAM HODGE
 
 The 
 Guest of Honor 
 
 WILLIAM HODGE 
 
 1911 
 
 Chappie Publishing Company, Ltd. 
 BOSTON
 
 Entered at Stationers' Hall, London 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 COPYRIGHT 
 
 Chappie Publishing Company, Ltd 
 1911
 
 DEDICATED 
 
 To My Wife 
 
 and My Mother 
 
 2136035
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A FADED carpet, worn through in many 
 places, covered the floor of a little room 
 at the top of a tenement house on 
 Twenty-ninth Street, near Third Avenue, in 
 New York City. The walls were decorated 
 with cheap faded paper unframed sketches 
 and drawings such as one artist would give to 
 another. 
 
 The old book-case with its double glass 
 doors, covered with faded clean curtains, 
 showed by its cracks and scratches that it had 
 been moved about carelessly for many years. 
 The color of the chintz used to make a cozy 
 corner harmonized with the curtains that hung 
 at the tiny window. The plastered ceiling 
 which slanted on each side and both ends the 
 banister in the center of the room that sur- 
 rounded the rickety stairs the broken bed- 
 couch and a few wooden chairs seemed to 
 
 i
 
 2 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 possess an air of dignity that gave a pleasant 
 quaintness to the scene. A tot between four 
 and five years of age sat on the floor playing 
 with his blocks in a ray of sunlight. The 
 clumsy patches on his blue and white gingham 
 dress, and the little knees sticking out through 
 the black cotton stockings suggested a boy 
 who might see better days. He jerked his 
 curly head into the air and listened when he 
 heard the sound of feet on the creaking stairs, 
 and greeted Mrs. Murray with a polite good 
 morning as she appeared with one hand on her 
 stomach gasping for breath while she leaned 
 against the banister. "Hello Jackie phat- 
 air-ye-doin'?" she grunted between the heavy 
 puffs. 
 
 "I'm building a hospital," and he leaned 
 back while he surveyed the toy building care- 
 fully. A feeble smile crept over her thin face. 
 She puffed her way to the old bed-couch and 
 dropped on it with a sigh of relief, gave her 
 black straw bonnet a push with both hands and 
 after a few long breaths grunted, "An' phat air 
 ye buildin' a hoshpital fer?" 
 
 "My jumping-jack has broken his leg."
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 3 
 
 "Moy, but that's dridful! Where's ye ye're 
 father?" 
 
 "He has gone to get some groceries." 
 
 "Ain't ye had anny breakfast yit?" 
 
 "Yes, I've had my breakfast and two eggs," 
 he shouted as he reached for another block. 
 
 "Ain't ye're father workin' yit?" 
 
 "Yes, he's writing all the time." 
 
 "Well, if he don't do somethin' besoides 
 wroite, ye'll not ate eggs long at the proice ye 
 have to pay fer'm now." 
 
 The stairs creaked as Jack was reaching for 
 another block he drew his hand back and 
 listened they creaked again his big blue 
 eyes opened wider, and wider, and wider at 
 each sound. Mrs. Murray stared over the 
 banister and gave her black skirt a pull at the 
 knees that brought the bottom down closer to 
 the tops of her congress shoes. She folded one 
 hand and held it in the other placed them 
 both in her lap and sat erect on the edge of the 
 couch. 
 
 A heavy, pleasing voice called, "John." 
 
 The tapping of a cane was heard on the 
 stairs, a wrinkled hand clutched the banister.
 
 4 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 The end of a cane appeared and tapped first 
 one spot then another. 
 
 Jack knew the sound he did not turn, but 
 reached for another block and yelled, "Good- 
 morning, Mr. Warner." 
 
 Warner rested the weight of his heavy 
 body on his cane a few seconds, then used it to 
 feel his way to a chair and said "Good-morn- 
 ing, Jack." He removed his black slouch hat, 
 hung it on the handle of his cane, ran his 
 fingers through his snow-white hair and 
 heaved a sigh that almost shook the little room. 
 
 Mrs. Murray's eyes wandered from his clean 
 shaven face to the black shiny vest that but- 
 toned tightly around his fleshy figure, then to 
 the ragged edges of his trousers that hung over 
 a shabby pair of laced shoes and a look of sym- 
 pathy came over her face as she looked at the 
 old man run his fingers between his neck and 
 the celluloid collar that was buttoned with a 
 bone button to a figured soft shirt. "Where is 
 your father?" 
 
 Jack informed him with a great deal of pleas- 
 ure that his father had gone to the grocery 
 store and that Mrs. Murray was present.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 5 
 
 Warner greeted her with a "good-morning." 
 
 "Good-morning," replied Mrs. Murray, and 
 her voice seemed a trifle softer and she relaxed 
 into an attitude of unconscious sympathy as 
 she listened to the pleasing tone of the man 
 who was good-natured in spite of the fact 
 that he had to feel his way about and look at 
 the world through an old wooden cane. 
 
 "You haven't been around these last few 
 weeks, Mrs. Murray." 
 
 She resumed her erect attitude on the edge 
 of the couch and replied in a sharp, quick tone, 
 "Oi've bin busy." 
 
 Jack sat with his elbows on his knees, his 
 face resting on his hands, studying the diffi- 
 cult problem of building a roof on his toy hos- 
 pital with blocks. 
 
 "Aren't you going to make my bed any 
 more?" 
 
 "Not till Oi see e father," was the quick 
 reply. 
 
 "And aren't you going to wash my clothes 
 either?" 
 
 "Oi can't work fer nothin'." 
 
 Jack started for the stairs. He forgot his
 
 6 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 hospital and his jumping-jack. He paused as 
 he reached the banister, raised his little head 
 with the dignity of a king and a politeness 
 that made Warner swell with pride: 
 
 "If you will excuse me, I'll go down stairs 
 and see if father is coming." 
 
 The old stairway didn't creak as his little 
 feet hurried down over its steps, but each step 
 seemed to greet the little toes with a welcome 
 and wished he would stand still and not glide 
 over it so lightly. 
 
 An air of loneliness came over the little room 
 and the narrow stream of sunlight on the old 
 rag carpet seemed to flitter and fade. A swal- 
 low lit on the sill of the tiny window and chir- 
 ruped as if calling for an old acquaintance. It 
 hopped to the center of the window, looked in 
 and seemed to chirrup a good-bye, as it flew 
 away and left the two characters sitting there 
 in silence. 
 
 "Mrs. Murray, have you gone back on 
 John?" inquired Warner in a friendly voice. 
 
 She gave her funny little shawl a pull which 
 brought it tightly around her sallow neck and 
 bent forward to make sure her sharp tone 
 would hit Warner's ear.
 
 ' Informed him that Mr. Weatherbee had not paid her a cent 
 in over a month"
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 7 
 
 "Oi've washed and cleaned and made bids fer 
 John Weatherbee as long as Oi'm goin' to till 
 he poys me." 
 
 "How long have you been doing work for 
 John?" 
 
 "Three years." 
 
 "And does he owe you much?" 
 
 Mrs. Murray hastened herself to the edge of 
 the couch and informed him that Mr. Weath- 
 erbee had not paid her a cent in over a month. 
 
 "He hasn't had it to pay you." 
 
 She pulled herself out a little nearer the edge 
 of the couch. "Oi'm not to bloim fer thot." 
 
 "Nor is he." 
 
 "Yis, he is to bloime. Sure whin he first 
 come here to live he had to rint the pairler on 
 the very first fluer, an' he spint his money loike 
 a fool." 
 
 "He spent it like a thoroughbred, and loaned 
 it like a white man." 
 
 "Why don't he go to work?" 
 
 "He does work constantly." 
 
 "Yis, he wurks, foolin' his toime away 
 wroitin' a lot of trash that no one would waste 
 their toime r'adin'."
 
 8 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "John Weatherbee is an author and a clever 
 one; his novels will be published some day and 
 he will be a rich man. All great authors have 
 been led to fame by the hand of poverty." 
 
 "Why, he owes iverybody that's iver had 
 annythin' to do wid 'm." 
 
 "But he'll pay them all, every cent he owes 
 them. I am an old newspaper man myself, and 
 I've been associated with authors all my life. 
 I've watched them and I've studied them. I've 
 seen them climb and fall, only to rise and 
 climb higher. John's down now, but he is tak- 
 ing the count with a smile, but watch him 
 just keep your eye on John Weatherbee." 
 
 Mrs. Murray remarked, with much sat- 
 isfaction as she threw one knee over the other, 
 that until she received what John Weatherbee 
 owed her, she would keep both of her eyes on 
 him. 
 
 The slow tread of footsteps on the uncarpet- 
 ed stairs caused her to look anxiously in that 
 direction. The pounding of heavily soled 
 shoes grew more distinct as they reached the 
 top step. A small boy appeared. He held a 
 package under an arm which had grown many
 
 inches too long for the sleeve of a brown 
 checkered coat. The peak of his hat which 
 covered his large head was pulled well down 
 over his right eye. He placed his elbow on the 
 banister, stood on one foot, threw the other 
 carelessly across it, permitting the latter to 
 rest where it landed, gave a large piece of 
 gum a few vicious gnaws that seemed to tax 
 every muscle in the face that was almost hid- 
 den with the marks of soiled fingers and in a 
 voice which resembled that of a young rooster, 
 yelled: "Is Weatherbee in?" 
 
 Mrs. Murray smiled as she inquired of the 
 boy what he wanted of Weatherbee. 
 
 "I've got his laundry one shirt and two col- 
 lars. Fourteen cents," and he emphasized the 
 fourteen cents with all the power his voice 
 possessed. 
 
 "Mr. Weatherbee is not in," replied Mr. 
 Warner in a polite tone. 
 
 "Well, does any of youse want ter pay fer 
 it?" retorted the boy. 
 
 There was a short silence. Mrs. Murray 
 watched Warner nervously tap the floor with 
 the thin, worn sole of his shoe. She tossed her 
 chin in the air and remarked, "Not me!"
 
 10 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 The boy centered his gaze on Warner and 
 shouted: "Do you?" 
 
 Mrs. Murray watched him as he gripped his 
 cane tightly with both hands. 
 
 "I haven't the change." 
 
 Mrs. Murray grinned and moved back nearer 
 the center of the couch. A smile of disgust 
 came over the boy's dirty face as he looked 
 from one to the other and remarked in a voice 
 which didn't betray his disgusted smile: "Gee, 
 there ain't fourteen cents in the bunch." He 
 shook his head, turned toward the stairs and 
 started down one step at a time, whistling in a 
 high, shrill tone: "Gee, I wish that I had a girl 
 like the other fellers have."
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 AS the whistling youngster left the last step, 
 and the air of "Gee, I Wish That I Had a Girl 
 Like the Other Fellers Have," died away, the 
 old stairway seemed to give a creak as if for 
 good luck and good riddance. 
 
 Mrs. Murray strolled to the little window, 
 but there was nothing to see but the rear of 
 the houses on Twenty-eighth Street and the 
 fire escapes which were hung with drying gar- 
 ments, so she decided she would rather look in 
 than out. She seated herself and gazed stead- 
 ily at Warner, who was still sitting in the same 
 chair he had chosen when he entered the 
 room. 
 
 She removed a large white handkerchief 
 from her skirt pocket, picked out her choice 
 corner and used it in a manner that caused 
 Warner to raise his head quickly. She moist- 
 ened her forefingers with her tongue and gave 
 her hair several pats on either side, drawing it 
 down on her temples and back over her ears. 
 
 11
 
 12 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 She cleared her throat and looked at Warner 
 out of the corner of her eye : 
 
 "Ye're such a fri'nd of Weatherbee's, whoi 
 didn't ye pay the fourteen cints?" 
 
 "I said I hadn't the change," was the gentle 
 reply. 
 
 She pushed her feet as far forward as her 
 limbs would permit, carefully laid one hand on 
 the other, and grunted: "Fourteen cints is a 
 lot of money if ye ain't got it. I guess the 
 laundry boy knows Weatherbee." 
 
 "If the laundry boy knew him, Mrs. Murray, 
 he would have left the laundry." 
 
 "And if Weatherbee knew annything and 
 had anny sinse, he'd put that kid in an orphant 
 asylum." 
 
 "He adopted the child to prevent it from be- 
 ing sent to an orphan asylum, and when its 
 mother died, he took money that he needed 
 himself to bury her." 
 
 He paused and then marked each word with 
 a firm tap on the floor with his cane: "And he'll 
 be rewarded for it." 
 
 Mrs. Murray jerked her feet in so quickly 
 that her ankles hit the rung of the chair and
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 13 
 
 yelled : "A foine home he's given the choild. 
 Sure it's nothin' but a bundle of patches, and 
 half the toime it don't have half enough to ate." 
 
 The quick nodding of her head made her 
 bonnet slide down until it rested on the back of 
 her neck. She untied the ribbons, took the 
 bonnet with both hands and brought it down 
 on the top of her head with a vengeance, and 
 tied the ribbons so tightly that it drew the 
 bonnet well down over her right eye. She had 
 more to say and was prepared to say it, but the 
 stairs spoke and she listened. 
 
 A puffing sound was heard. The top of a fat, 
 bald head appeared, decorated with closely 
 clipped mouse-colored hair. A red, fat face, 
 with a pug-nose of the same color, was buried 
 between a pair of heavy, sandy side-whiskers 
 that came down to the corners of his mouth. 
 The fat hand clung to the banister and stead- 
 ied the small, round, puffing figure. 
 
 A twinkle of delight came into the small 
 gray eye. 
 
 "Good mornin', Mrs. Murray, his Mr. 
 Weatherbee hin?" 
 
 "No, Oi'm waitin' fer'm. How much does
 
 14 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 he owe you, Mr. Wartle?" And she glanced 
 at Warner to see what effect his reply would 
 have on him. 
 
 ' 'E howes me nearly three months han ha 
 'alf rent for this room, hand hif 'e don't pay me 
 Saturday, Vs got to get hout," and the swift 
 nod of the fat head caused the side-whiskers to 
 think the wind was blowing. 
 
 Mrs. Murray smiled with satisfaction. 
 "Does 'e howe you hanything, Mr. Warner?" 
 
 "No," and his heavy voice filled the little 
 room. 
 
 Wartle stepped from the end of the banister 
 as Warner tapped his way there on the floor 
 with his cane. "On the contrary, I owe him. 
 I wish he did owe me. I would consider it an 
 honor to have John Weatherbee in my debt." 
 
 The stairs creaked loudly as his heavy 
 weight hit each step and the tapping of his cane 
 was heard guiding him along the hall of the 
 floor below. 
 
 Wartle was amazed. He hung his head over 
 the banister and watched him until he was out 
 of sight. He turned to Mrs. Murray and ex- 
 claimed with much surprise: "Hi wonder what 
 'e howes Weatherbee for."
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 15 
 
 "Fer grub. Sure Weatherbee has fed him 
 and kept him out of the poorhouse fer the last 
 three years." 
 
 Wartle gathered his mouth into an "O" 
 shape and whispered: "Ho! Ho! Hi didn't 
 know that." Then a smile broke over his 
 countenance, he tiptoed forward and whis- 
 pered: "Hi knew Weatherbee wasn't hat 'ome. 
 Hi came to see you, Mrs. Murray." 
 
 She threw her head back and glanced at him 
 from the corner of her eye. "Don't flatter now. 
 Ye didn't cloimb up four flights of stairs to see 
 me." 
 
 "Ho, Hi did. Hi'd climb ha telegraph pole 
 to see you, Mrs. Murray." 
 
 A broad smile crept over her face when she 
 thought of the little fat figure climbing a tele- 
 graph pole. 
 
 "Sure ye couldn't get yer hands near a tile- 
 graph pole, ye're stomich sticks out too far." 
 
 "Hi could hif you was hat the top." 
 
 The smile left her face as she continued in a 
 reproachful tone: "Faith and ye'll wait a long 
 toime before ye'll see me at the top of a tile- 
 graph pole."
 
 16 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 Wartle crept a step nearer and he poked his 
 little fat face forward. 
 
 "Hand before the world comes to han hend, 
 Hi 'ope to see you 'igher hup than that, Mrs. 
 Murray." 
 
 "Away with yer flattery," she replied w r ith a 
 wave of her hand, but the satisfied twinkle in 
 her eye betrayed the words and showed she 
 was enjoying his efforts. 
 
 "Hi mean hit," he pleaded, as his fat feet led 
 him a little nearer. 
 
 "Sure ye don't mean annythin' ye say," and 
 she pretended to gaze at the ceiling. 
 
 "Hi mean hevery thing Hi say to you, Mrs. 
 Murray, hand Hi wish Hi wish" his voice 
 seemed to leave him for a second, as he nerv- 
 ously reached for one of his side-whiskers and 
 twirled it around his finger. 
 
 "Hi wish you'd consent to be my wife, hand 
 live 'ere with me, hand take care hof my 'ouse." 
 
 She took him in from the top of his bald 
 head to the toes of the carpet slippers. 
 
 "Faith and if Oi had charge of yer 'ouse (as 
 ye call it), Oi'd clane some of these dead bates 
 out that ye have livin' here."
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 17 
 
 The remark gave Wartle new courage. He 
 advanced another step. 
 
 "Hand that's just what Hi'm goin' to do, 
 hand Hi'm goin' to do hit hat once, too, hif 
 Weatherbee don't pay me Saturday, hout 'e 
 goes." 
 
 "Well, if ye take moi advoice that's what 
 ye'll do." 
 
 "Hi'll take your hadvice, hand Hi'd like to 
 'ave you take me hand my 'appiness." 
 
 He stood with his fat hands stretched out 
 with just the fingers showing from under the 
 long flannel shirt sleeves. 
 
 The picture amused Mrs. Murray, though 
 she concealed her smile and grunted somewhat 
 sarcastically and dropping some of her h's in 
 order to imitate him, "Sure and what 'appiness 
 have you? Yer so stingy ye won't hire a cook 
 er a chambermaid, but try to do all the work 
 yersilf." 
 
 He pushed the carpet slippers a few inches 
 nearer, with his hands still reaching out as far 
 as he could get them. 
 
 "Hif you'd 'ave me, Mrs. Murray, Hi'll 'ire a 
 cook hand ha chambermaid, too."
 
 18 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "Ye can bet ye would. Sure, ye have money 
 to burn an' Oi'd make ye set fire to it. Oi had 
 one husband that was so stingy he wouldn't 
 give annyone his full name." 
 
 She watched the little round figure stealing 
 closer to her. His face and head were like a 
 ball of fire. 
 
 "Hif you'll 'ave me, Mrs. Murray, Hi'll give 
 you hanything you want." 
 
 She moved away a few inches, and in an 
 affected tone, which showed she was having a 
 good time at Wartle's expense, remarked: 
 "Oh, this is so sudden !" 
 
 The little gray eyes opened wide. "Sudden, 
 why, Mrs. Murray, Hi've been hasking you to 
 marry me for hover ha year." 
 
 "Oi know ye have," and she placed the ends 
 of her long, thin fingers over her mouth, "but 
 ye look so desperate on yer knees." 
 
 "Hi'm gettin' desperate." 
 
 "Ye're gittin' foolish." 
 
 "Hi can't 'elp hit, Mrs. Murray," and he 
 seized her hand and kissed it. 
 
 "Stop aitin' me fingers," she yelled. "Are ye 
 losin' yer head entirely?" 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Murray."
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 19 
 
 "Ye can't fool me. Ye make love to every 
 woman that looks strong enough to do house- 
 work. Ye want a housekeeper, ye don't want a 
 woife." 
 
 He crawled along and rested his elbow on 
 the couch. 
 
 "No, Hi want ha wife, hand hafter we're 
 married, Hi'll give you hanything you want." 
 
 "Ye'll give me whativer ye're going to give 
 me before Oi'm married. Oi'll take no 
 chances." 
 
 He took her hand, looked up into her eyes 
 and gasped, "Then you'll 'ave me?" 
 
 "Oi didn't say Oi would, did Oi?" 
 
 "You said has much," and he stepped on her 
 foot with his knee. 
 
 "Git off me feet," she screamed. "Sure Oi 
 ain't said half as much as Oi'm goin' to say." 
 
 Wartle's knees were beginning to ache and 
 after considerable grunting and puffing, he 
 struggled to his feet and seated himself on the 
 edge of the couch. 
 
 "Go hon, Mrs. Murray, Hi love to 'ear you 
 talk. Hi love the little Hirish touch hin your 
 voice."
 
 20 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "Sure I'll give ye an Irish touch that'll do yer 
 heart good," she chuckled as she glanced down 
 at the little fat head that was reaching up 
 toward hers. 
 
 "Hanything you'd do hor say would do my 
 'art good, Mrs. Murray, hand hif you'll con- 
 sent to be Mrs. Wartle 
 
 As he said Mrs. Wartle, she threw up both 
 hands and exclaimed: "Wartle! Hivins, what 
 a name. I'd feel as if a toad had bit me." 
 
 "What's hin ha name, Mrs. Murray?" and he 
 crawled along until his chin touched her 
 shoulder. 
 
 "There's nuthin' but money in your name," 
 and she gave his chin a push with her shoulder 
 that sent his head away several inches, but it 
 traveled back a short distance with each word. 
 
 "Hand hif you'll be Mrs. Wartle, Hi'll put 
 hit hall hin your name." 
 
 There was a short pause. Her left eye 
 closed as she looked down at him and spoke 
 seriously: "Ye will?" 
 
 "Yes," was the quick reply, and his chin 
 touched her shoulder again. 
 
 But she didn't brush it awav this time. She
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 21 
 
 brushed a little imaginary dust from the sleeve 
 of her waist, looked away in the opposite direc- 
 tion and spoke in a careless manner. 
 
 "Under thim conditions, I might be in- 
 duced." 
 
 "Then you'll 'ave me?" 
 
 "Ye say, if Oi'll have ye, ye'll put iverything 
 into moi name?" 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Murray." 
 
 "And Oi'm to have charge of the house here 
 and have a cook and a chambermaid?" 
 
 "Yes, dear," and he moved up to her side 
 and took her hand in both of his. 
 
 She looked steadily at the little, fat, be- 
 whiskered face, and after a few seconds 
 spoke firmly and deliberately: "And the first 
 thing ye do is to have thim lilacs cut off yer 
 cheeks." 
 
 A bewildered look came over Wartle's face, 
 he felt with each hand each side-whisker that 
 had been hanging there for nearly thirty years. 
 He gazed longingly at Mrs. Murray, but her 
 thin face was serious. He gave each whisker 
 another pat and exclaimed: "Hi'll cut them 
 hoff myself!" 
 
 "Han' when will we be married?"
 
 22 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "Not till ye have everything made out in moi 
 name," she answered quickly. 
 
 "Hi'll 'ave the papers made out in the morn- 
 ing. Can Hi see you tonight?" he asked as he 
 crawled up close to her side and put his short 
 fat arm around her thin waist and gazed up in- 
 to her face. 
 
 "Ye can take me to some show." 
 
 "Hi'll call for you hat 'alf past seven." 
 
 The fat face was on its way to her cheek, but 
 she pulled aside. 
 
 "Cut thim lilacs off yer face afore ye come 
 near moi house." 
 
 "Hi will," and his hands wandered uncon- 
 sciously to the whiskers. 
 
 "What hopera would you like to see?" 
 
 She thought a second, while she fumbled a 
 few sheets of manuscript lying on Weather- 
 bee's table. "Oi'd like to go over to the Third 
 Avenue Theatre and see 'Why Women Sin.' ' 
 
 Little Jack stood at the bottom of the stairs 
 and yelled: "Mr. Wartle, Mr. Wartle." 
 
 Wartle ran to the banister, crying impa- 
 tiently: "Yes, yes, yes!" 
 
 "There's a gentleman at the door who wants 
 to see you!"
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 23 
 
 He hung his head over the banister and in- 
 structed Jack to inform the caller that he 
 would be down at once. 
 
 "Perhaps hit's someone looking for ha room. 
 Hi'll see you when you're goin' hout," and he 
 waved his little stubby hand at Mrs. Murray 
 as he started down the stairs. 
 
 "Oi'm goin' to wait fer Weatherbee." 
 
 Wartle stood at the head of the stairs and 
 tapped the palm of his left hand with the first 
 finger of his right and nodded his head as he 
 uttered each word: 
 
 "Hif hit's someone for ha room, hand they'll 
 take hit, Hi'll give 'em this one." 
 
 He heard Jack laughing heartily on the 
 stairs of the floor below. Wartle listened. He 
 heard a kind, heavy voice say to the child : 
 
 "One more flight after this, and it's better to 
 go up than down." 
 
 He recognized the voice and said to Mrs. 
 Murray, in a tone that would suggest the com- 
 ing of a burglar: " 'Ere's Weatherbee now!" 
 and stationed himself at the head of the stairs. 
 
 Mrs. Murray walked to the corner of the 
 room and seated herself in the wooden rocker,
 
 24 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 crossed her legs, determined to have a reckon- 
 ing with John Weatherbee, who was slowly 
 approaching the top step of the old stairs, car- 
 rying little Jack over his shoulder.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 AS JohnWeatherbee's tall, thin figure, clad in 
 a dark blue suit which had done summer and 
 winter service for many seasons and worn 
 threadbare in many places, reached the top 
 step, he stood Jack on his feet and patted each 
 cheek affectionately, saying in a low, cheerful 
 voice: "There you are. Dad is a pretty good 
 old elevator, isn't he?" 
 
 He bade Wartle a polite "good-morning," 
 and an amused expression came over his clean- 
 shaven face when he turned and saw Mrs. Mur- 
 ray sitting in the crippled rocker. 
 
 "Oh I good-morning, Mrs. Murray." 
 
 "Good-mornin'," was the quick reply in a 
 cold, hard tone. 
 
 There was a short silence. The twinkle 
 crept out of Weatherbee's kind blue eyes, and 
 an expression of sadness stole into his face as 
 he turned to hang the faded derby on a nail in 
 the wall. 
 
 "Hi'll be back in ha few minutes, Mr. Weath- 
 
 25
 
 26 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 erbee. Hi want to speak to you," and Wartle 
 grunted his way down to the ground floor. 
 
 "I wonder what he wants to speak to me 
 about?" he asked playfully. 
 
 "It's about his room rint," ejaculated Mrs. 
 Murray. 
 
 "Mrs. Murray, he talks about it in his sleep." 
 His long well-formed hands found their way 
 to his trousers pockets. He heaved a deep 
 sigh and tried to hide its cause by remarking: 
 "It's a hard climb up those stairs." 
 
 "It takes ivery bit of wind out of me," Mrs. 
 Murray replied, and the serious tone of her 
 voice showed she was not trying to be funny. 
 
 But Weatherbee's sense of humor teased him 
 and he saw a chance to carry on a conversation 
 for a few moments that wouldn't injure any- 
 one and might postpone the subject he knew 
 Mrs. Murray was there to talk on. He always 
 found her ready to accept praise, especially 
 about her youth; in fact, she was quite con- 
 ceited about her strength and often told how 
 she could outdo her twenty-six-year-old 
 daughter "washin'." He looked at her pleas- 
 antly and his voice possessed a slight tone of 
 reproach:
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 27 
 
 "O Mrs. Murray, you have wind enough to 
 climb to the top of the Flat Iron Building." 
 
 The remark hit her bump of conceit. She 
 rocked herself slowly in the old wooden chair 
 that squeaked at every move. "Faith, Oi ain't 
 got half the wind Oi used to have," and then 
 she added with a great deal of pride, "but Oi 
 can go some yit." 
 
 Weatherbee saw that he was safe from being 
 dunned for money as long as he could keep her 
 mind centered on herself, so he continued: 
 "Why, I always thought you were just full of 
 wind." 
 
 "Sure, Oi used to be. Oi used to could be on 
 the go all day and it niver bothered me," and 
 she swung herself in the little chair from one 
 end of its short rockers to the other. 
 
 Weatherbee turned to hide his smile and 
 fumbled with some sheets of manuscript on the 
 table. 
 
 "It bothers other people though, doesn't it?" 
 
 "What does?" and she brought the rocker to 
 a sudden stop. 
 
 "Why, their wind." 
 
 "Well, other people's wind don't bother me,
 
 28 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 unless they gab too much with it. Mr. Weath- 
 erbee, Oi'd like some money." 
 
 The sheets of paper fell from his ringers. He 
 was called upon to answer the question that 
 was put to him so often each day and he re- 
 fused to answer them with promises, fearing 
 he would be unable to fulfill them. He tried 
 to face his embarrassment with courage, but 
 he had resorted to it so often that it was grow- 
 ing weak, and though his voice was firm it 
 lacked confidence, but was always hopeful. 
 
 "Is that the reason you haven't been around 
 for the past few days, Mrs. Murray?" 
 
 "It is," she replied quickly. "Oi've bin mak- 
 in' up yer room and doin' yer washin' and walk- 
 in' five blocks to git here and fer the past 
 month ye ain't showed me the color of a tin 
 cint piece, and Oi'll do it no more 'til ye pay 
 me." 
 
 "Mrs. Murray, I can't ask you to do any 
 more until I pay you and I shall pay you just as 
 soon as I possibly can. I am very grateful 
 to you for trusting me as long as you have and 
 I am extremely sorry that I have had to keep 
 you waiting."
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 29 
 
 "Yer not half as sorry as Oi am," she grunt- 
 ed sarcastically. "If ye'd go to wurk at some- 
 thin' instid of foolin' yer toime away wroitin' 
 a lot of trash that no one would waste toime 
 raidin', sure that mess of stuff that was writ in 
 toipewritin' that ye give me to raid would make 
 annyone sick to their stomich. The two love- 
 sick fools chasing each other around the coun- 
 try, an' no humin bein' could raid it fer the jaw- 
 breakin' wurds ye use in it. Oi don't see how 
 ye invint such wurds as is in that thing. Can 
 ye let me have a dollar?" 
 
 "Mrs. Murray, if I had a dollar I think I'd 
 forget myself and pawn it!" 
 
 She paused a second as she watched him 
 with his hands in his empty pockets gazing at 
 the floor. 
 
 "Well, whoy don't ye go to wurk? Ye can 
 wroite and spell and figure. Whoy don't ye 
 git a job on a street car or git into a store as a 
 clerk? There is plinty of things ye could do if 
 ye wasn't so lazy! 
 
 "Ye ought to be ashamed of yerself adoptin' 
 a boy and then keepin' him lookin' like a rag- 
 bag."
 
 30 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 She walked to the banister and found 
 Wartle's face sticking up over the railing. 
 
 "Hare you goin' 'ome?" he whispered. 
 
 "Yis, Oi'm wastin' me toime here," she 
 answered as she started down the stairs. 
 
 "Don't forgit tonight." He ran his fat 
 fingers up among his side-whiskers and rested 
 his red face on both hands, as he eyed Weath- 
 erbee severely. 
 
 "Mr. Weatherbee, Hi'd like to know what 
 you hintend to do habout the rent?" 
 
 "I intend to pay you, Mr. Wartle." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "Just as soon as I can." 
 
 "You've been tellin' me that hevery day for 
 hover two months!" 
 
 "Not every day, Mr. Wartle." 
 
 "Hevery day." 
 
 "I thought there was one day that you for- 
 got to ask me." 
 
 "No, sir," returned Wartle. 
 
 "Perhaps I'm wrong." 
 
 "You hare wrong," snapped Wartle, "hand 
 Hi'm sick hand tired working this way for
 
 "Wartle eyed Weatherbee severely with his small gray eyes"
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 31 
 
 my rent, hand Hi'm not ha goin' to hask you 
 hagain." 
 
 "Wartle, do you mean that?" 
 
 "Hi do mean hit." 
 
 "Hurrah !" exclaimed Jack from the other 
 side of the banister, where he was studying an 
 old torn picture book. 
 
 "Jack!" Weatherbee called in a mildly repri- 
 manding tone. 
 
 "Hi want my rent hor my room Saturday," 
 and he pounded his fist on the railing. 
 
 "Mr. Wartle, I'd like to be able to give you 
 both." 
 
 "Ho, hif you pay your rent you can stay, but 
 hif you don't pay me Hi must 'ave my room 
 Saturday, hunderstand, Saturday," and he 
 muttered to himself going down the stairs. 
 
 Jack peeked at him from around the edge of 
 the banister and made a face that sent his little 
 nose high in the air. "Dad, if we have to move, 
 where shall we go?" 
 
 He asked the question that Weatherbee 
 was silently asking himself and couldn't 
 answer, but he had never failed to find a cheer- 
 ful reply to Jack's many, many questions and
 
 32 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 they were growing more numerous and more 
 difficult each day. 
 
 "Oh, we'll find a place somewhere," and he 
 supplied his voice with a note of cheerfulness: 
 "Perhaps we'll go camping." 
 
 Jack's eyes opened wide and his face broke 
 into a happy smile. "Under a tent?" 
 
 "Yes, under a tent, or a tree or something. 
 Won't that be fine?" 
 
 Jack yelled as he hung to his father's hand 
 jumping up and down with delight. 
 
 Weatherbee drew him close to his side and 
 pressed both cheeks affectionately. 
 
 "I tell you we'll have a great time, won't 
 we!" 
 
 "And we'll cook under a tree like the In- 
 dians?" 
 
 "Yes, we'll catch frogs and have frog's legs 
 for breakfast and we'll shoot wild ducks and 
 cook 'em for dinner." 
 
 "I wish I had some now." 
 
 " You play with your blocks. I've a big sur- 
 prise in store for you for your lunch." 
 
 Jack took his seat on the floor by his toy 
 hospital and studied its construction carefully.
 
 "Jack took his seat on the floor by his loy hospital"
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 33 
 
 Weatherbee sank into an old wooden chair, 
 and his mind traveled from one end of his situ- 
 ation to the other, without finding any way of 
 improving it. 
 
 The sun peeked in through the little window 
 and seemed to dance on Jack's light curls as he 
 held his elbow in one hand and rested his chin 
 in the other. 
 
 ''Dad, what does God do with the old moon 
 when he sends the new moon out?" 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "I say what does God do with the old moon 
 when he sends the new moon out?" 
 
 Weatherbee pretended to clear his throat a 
 few times while he searched for a reply. 
 
 "Why a why, he just stores it away in the 
 clouds." 
 
 "I thought you said the clouds were made of 
 water." 
 
 "They are." 
 
 "Well, I should think the moons would fall 
 out and down on the earth." 
 
 "Well, you see you see a the moon floats 
 the moon floats like a cork yes the moon 
 floats like a cork." 
 
 "On this side of the clouds or the other?"
 
 34 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "On the other side, of course, on the other 
 side." 
 
 Jack's eyes grew more quizzical and the 
 wrinkles in his little forehead deepened as he 
 pulled his brows together. 
 
 "How is it that the new moon floats on this 
 side?" and he drew his little feet close under his 
 limbs and his bare knees stuck straight up in 
 the air. 
 
 Weatherbee "ahemed" a few times and 
 finally started to speak, not knowing just what 
 he was going to say. 
 
 "Well, I guess the moon doesn't float until 
 it's full and a when it is full it becomes a 
 so full of cork that it just floats right up to the 
 other side." 
 
 "I guess the other side of the clouds must be 
 full of moons, mustn't it?" 
 
 "Oh, yes my, yes the other side is all cov- 
 ered with moons it's just full of moons." 
 
 "How many moons do you think are up 
 there?" 
 
 "Oh, thousands and thousands and thou- 
 sands," and he peeked over his shoulder to
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 35 
 
 find Jack still sitting in the same position and 
 his eyes dancing with wonderment. 
 
 "Can they talk to each other?" 
 
 "Oh, my, yes, yes. They can talk and laugh 
 and sing and dance !" 
 
 "Can they really dance?" 
 
 "Yes, they dance and kick up and have a 
 lovely time." 
 
 "How can they dance and kick up? The 
 moon hasn't any legs!" 
 
 "Well-a-you see the moons are round and 
 they roll around like balls and 
 
 "You said they kicked up!" A disappointed 
 look came over Jack's face as he lifted his head 
 and looked at his father reproachfully. 
 
 "Well," continued Weatherbee: "They 
 bound up like rubber balls" and he moved his 
 hands grotesquely to illustrate their bounding. 
 Jack placed his chin back in his hand and in- 
 quired more seriously than ever: "What do 
 the stars do?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "What do the stars do when they are not on 
 this side of the clouds?" 
 
 Weatherbee rested his elbow on the table, 
 crossed his legs and sighed in despair:
 
 36 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 ''Don't you want to go down stairs and play 
 with the cat?" 
 
 Jack jumped to his feet with a shout and 
 started for the stairs. 
 
 "Don't make a noise and don't go out on the 
 street." 
 
 "No, I won't," he cried, then stepped aside 
 and bowed politely . 
 
 "Good-morning, Mr. Warner." He took the 
 end of Warner's cane and pulled him to the 
 center of the room and ran down the stairs 
 yelling: "I'm going to play with the cat, Mr. 
 Warner."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 WHEN Jack's voice died away in the dis- 
 tance, it left two smiling faces in the little 
 room. Weatherbee leaned against the edge of 
 the door that opened into a small closet, and 
 dreamed back over the child's life until he saw 
 him sitting on the floor of the little hall bed- 
 room, playing with a piece of old rubber doll, 
 and he heard him clap his tiny hands as he 
 watched Weatherbee pouring milk into his 
 nursing bottle. He saw his mother's frail 
 figure lying on the bed and heard her pleading 
 to him to care for her babe. He heard the 
 friendless woman praying for her child and 
 wondered if she could see him now with the 
 cat. 
 
 Warner knew that Weatherbee's visit with 
 Mrs. Murray had been anything but pleasant 
 and he tugged at his mind for something en- 
 couraging to say, as he tapped his way to the 
 crippled rocker with his cane. 
 
 "John, you haven't told me about that enter- 
 
 37
 
 38 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 tainment you went to, given by that 'Ten Club.' 
 Who recited your poem?" 
 
 "The most beautiful girl I have ever seen. I 
 got dizzy when I saw her and heard her speak 
 dark hair tall slender and her voice 
 
 "Why didn't you introduce yourself?" inter- 
 rupted Warner gruffly. 
 
 "Well, I don't mind telling you that I 
 thought of it, but I took a peek at the fringe on 
 these trousers and said to myself, if she sees 
 me coming, she'll give me a nickel and ask me 
 to turn over a new leaf." 
 
 "John, any girl who likes poetry loves rags. 
 Whose poem won the prize?" 
 
 Weatherbee informed him that his was the 
 favorite poem, and Warner jumped to his feet 
 shouting "Hurrah" in a voice that could have 
 been heard a block away. 
 
 "What was the prize, John?" 
 
 "I don't know. I haven't received it yet. 
 The club wrote me stating that it would be pre- 
 sented at a luncheon to which they invited me." 
 
 Warner swung his cane in the air. "Hurrah 
 for Weatherbee," and his face was quite red 
 with excitement.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 39 
 
 "But, Warner, I had to decline the invita- 
 tion." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "If you could see me, Warner, you wouldn't 
 ask. I look like a December leaf on a chestnut 
 tree." 
 
 "Those people won't look at your clothes." 
 
 "They won't," replied Weatherbee humor- 
 ously, "for I won't give them a chance. Why, 
 Warner, I wouldn't have that girl see me 
 why she's she's I wish I could describe her 
 to you." 
 
 "John, I never heard you try so hard to talk 
 about a girl before you are in love and I bet 
 my life if she knew you as well as I do, she'd be 
 in love with you!" 
 
 "Warner, if that girl spoke to me, I'd fall 
 down !" 
 
 "You'd get up again and the fall would do 
 you good," and he rested himself in the little 
 chair and rocked contentedly. 
 
 "You never know where love is going to 
 light, John." 
 
 "Warner, I'm ashamed of myself for even 
 thinking of that girl." 
 
 "Why?"
 
 40 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "Why, a pauper like me, with every stitch of 
 clothes I own hanging in the pawn shop, and I 
 owe money to everyone I know and no chance 
 to pay them." 
 
 "John, you have every chance in the world 
 to pay them. Here you are twenty-five years 
 old and you have written half a dozen books 
 and every one of them is clever, and they'll be 
 published some day and you'll be a rich man. 
 Each book is original. You have a style of 
 your own. There is no writer today writing in 
 the vein you are writing in." 
 
 "Maybe that is the reason I can't get any of 
 them published." 
 
 "Patience, John, patience. I wish my 
 chances were as good as yours you're young! 
 You have everything before you ! Look at me, 
 an old newspaper reporter out of a job and 
 can't get one because I'm so blind I can't see 
 to write a word. 
 
 "John, I can't see anything. I can't see when 
 the sun is shining, but I can walk and not very 
 good at that, for my old legs are so full of rheu- 
 matism and age, they can hardly carry my old 
 body, but I make them. I won't give up and
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 41 
 
 I hobble over to Central Park where I can 
 smell the green and feel the breeze from the 
 trees and hear the birds sing. I can't see them, 
 but I can hear them sing, and there is an old 
 robin up there, just inside the Seventy-second 
 Street entrance, that seems to know when I 
 come in and he sings and sings and when the 
 carriages drive by and make a noise, he seems 
 to grow jealous, and he sings louder for fear I 
 can't hear him and when I start to come away 
 he seems to sing good-bye and I can hear him 
 until I get away out into Broadway, and I'm 
 happy, damn it, John, I'm happy. I won't be 
 sad. I'm happy, they can't make me sad, John, 
 they can't make me sad," but his smile would 
 have been moistened if he hadn't sneaked the 
 tears from the corners of his eyes with his bare 
 fingers, and Weatherbee stood in silence while 
 his heart applauded the man who smiled at the 
 world he couldn't even see. 
 
 He sauntered over and slapped him on the 
 back, and then gave his ear a slight pull and 
 placed his hand on Warner's head and shook 
 it affectionately. 
 
 "Warner, I'm proud of you. I am proud to
 
 42 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 know you," and he gave his ear another little 
 affectionate twist. 
 
 "You mustn't get discouraged, John." 
 "Why, Warner, I am not discouraged." 
 "Don't you bother your head about what you 
 have hanging in the pawn shop. You are go- 
 ing to look back at these days and smile." 
 
 "Warner, I smile at them now, bless your 
 heart! When I see a funeral I laugh because 
 I'm not in the hearse," and he seated himself 
 on the table and swung his feet to and fro as 
 he described to Warner the humorous picture 
 he had of himself leaving the small town of his 
 birth and starting out to set New York City 
 afire with his literary efforts. 
 
 "Whenever I am in need of a laugh, Warner, 
 I look at myself driving up to this house in a 
 cab, renting the parlor on the ground floor, and 
 as my bank account shrunk, I moved one flight 
 at a time until I have reached here." 
 "It's easier to go down than up, John." 
 "I think I was the most conceited pup that 
 ever struck New York!" 
 
 "You don't know what conceit is. You gave 
 away more money than you spent. You helped
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 43 
 
 the sick and you fed the hungry. You have 
 worked earnestly and you will be rewarded 
 and you should be proud of your poverty." 
 
 "Oh, I don't mind poverty, Warner. Hon- 
 est poverty has stolen wealth sitting up nights 
 taking sleeping tablets and if I don't do some 
 hustling, I'll be sitting up nights myself," he 
 remarked with a dry smile, and picked up a 
 small photograph in a wooden frame that was 
 standing on the table. 
 
 "That girl who recited my poem is the im- 
 age of Jack's mother," Warner smiled as he 
 swung himself gently in the little rocker that 
 squeaked at every move, but its squeak was 
 soon buried by the sound of Jack's voice. 
 
 "Rub-dub-dub. Rub-dub-dub. Rubidy dub- 
 idy dub-dub-dub. Rub-dub-dub. Rub-dub- 
 dub. Rubidy dubidy dub-dub-dub." He 
 pounded his little feet on each step of the old 
 stairs until he reached the top and stuck out 
 his chest and yelled: "I'm a soldier," and con- 
 tinued the rub-dub-dub as he marched down to 
 his father's side and saluted. 
 
 "What did you do with the cat, Captain?" 
 
 Jack saluted again, and held the edge of his
 
 44 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 hand to his temple as he replied in a deep tone: 
 "I pulled its tail, General, and it ran down into 
 the basement and out of the back door." 
 
 Weatherbee ran his fingers through Jack's 
 curls and shook his little head as he squeezed it 
 tightly between his hands. 
 
 "Mr. Warner, we are going camping." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "When are we going, Dad?" 
 
 "I think we are liable to go about Saturday." 
 
 "An' we'll take Mr. Warner, won't we?" 
 
 "If you don't take me, I won't take you over 
 to Mrs. Turner's for any more of her nice jelly 
 cake." 
 
 "We wouldn't go any place unless we took 
 Mr. Warner, would we, Dad?" 
 
 "You bet we wouldn't," and he gave his head 
 another little affectionate shake. "You run 
 down stairs and ask Mr. Wartle what time it 
 is," and he was almost to the next floor before 
 Weatherbee had time to get to the banister and 
 warn him not to call him "Wartie" and he 
 yelled back a promising "no" from the second 
 floor below. 
 
 "Does he know you are going to send him 
 over to Mrs. Turner's for lunch, John?"
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 45 
 
 "No, I haven't told him yet. I've kept it as 
 a surprise for him. Warner," he continued as 
 he folded his arms and leaned against the ban- 
 ister, "you have been holding out on me for the 
 past two days." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Have you grown tired of my cooking?" 
 
 "How can you ask that after the way I ate 
 here the other night?" 
 
 "Where have you been eating since, then?" 
 
 "At Mrs. Turner's." 
 
 There was a note of doubt in Weatherbee's 
 voice as he walked down to Warner and re- 
 marked slowly: "You haven't been over to 
 Mrs. Turner's for your meals for two days in 
 succession ! You have been staying away be- 
 cause you thought I didn't have enough to go 
 around." 
 
 He placed his hands on the back of the rock- 
 er and leaned down over Warner and after a 
 short pause whispered in a voice of determina- 
 tion that startled Warner, for he had never 
 heard the note in Weatherbee's voice before! 
 
 "Warner, before I'll see Jack hungry, I'll 
 steal, and when it comes to that, I'll steal
 
 46 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 enough for the three of us, so you come here 
 and eat until I cry quits." 
 
 "It is five minutes to twelve," Jack shouted 
 as he ran up the stairs. 
 
 Weatherbee clapped his hands together and 
 exclaimed in a jovial tone: "By jove, I almost 
 forgot something. Come here till I wash your 
 hands and face," and he picked him up and 
 stood him on the table and ran to the closet 
 and got a sponge and rubbed his little hands 
 and face quickly. 
 
 "What is the matter, Dad?" and his big eyes 
 were wide open with surprise. 
 
 "Why, Dad almost forgot that he has to go 
 out on business, and Mr. Warner is going to 
 take you over to Mrs. Turner's for luncheon, 
 what do you think of that?" 
 
 "Oh, that is dandy," and his words were in- 
 terrupted by the sponge. 
 
 "Dad has got to go out on business, under- 
 stand, regular business." 
 
 Jack shut his eyes and held his face up as 
 Weatherbee bounced the sponge against his 
 mouth when he tried to talk and after a hard 
 struggle finally asked: "What business?"
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 47 
 
 " Oh, regular business," Weatherbee 
 answered, and ran for the towel and covered 
 Jack's face when he tried to talk through it. 
 
 "A boo o ok?" 
 
 "Yes, that's it a book. Where is your hat 
 -quick!" 
 
 "Dad's in a hurry, an awful hurry." Jack 
 ran and got his little faded straw hat and 
 Weatherbee tied the blue streamers under his 
 chin and gave him a kiss that made the child 
 gasp for breath. 
 
 "There you are!" He put his little hand 
 in Warner's, who was waiting at the banisters. 
 
 "Good-bye, and give my love to Mrs. Tur- 
 ner," he yelled, as Jack led Warner down the 
 stairs. 
 
 "We will. I hope they print your book, 
 Dad," he shouted, pulling Warner around the 
 corner of the hall below.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 "DO you wish to stop here?" inquired the 
 chauffeur in a doubtful tone, as he brought the 
 large touring car to a stop and looked with 
 much disgust at the dirty windows which 
 Wartle had not washed for months. 
 
 "Have you driven to the address I gave 
 you?" Miss Kent asked gently. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 "Then we would like to get out, please." 
 And the chauffeur opened the door of the car 
 quickly. 
 
 Wartle's face became a study of wonderment 
 as he peeked from the basement window and 
 saw the two beautifully gowned young ladies 
 assisted from the automobile by a smartly 
 dressed young man, whose hands were covered 
 with bright chamois gloves, a necktie of the 
 same color and a walking stick almost as large 
 as himself. 
 
 "What can they want 'ere?" Wartle mut- 
 tered to himself, as he ran up the stairs and 
 opened the door. 
 
 "Does Mr. Weatherbee live here?" 
 
 48
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 49 
 
 And the music of Miss Kent's voice startled 
 Wartle, bowing profusely as he went down the 
 hall, exclaiming: "Yes, ma'am, right this way, 
 Hi'll show you," until his heels struck the 
 lower step of the stairs and he sat down with a 
 thud. 
 
 Neither Thisby nor Helen Kent made any 
 effort to subdue their laughter, while they 
 watched Rosamond assist Wartle to his feet, 
 as he mumbled: "Hexcuse me, Hi thank you. 
 Right this way," and started up the stairs. 
 
 Rosamond found it difficult to conceal her 
 smile as she shook her finger at Thisby and 
 Helen, who were giggling at Wartle puffing 
 and grunting at each step. 
 
 "An automobile doesn't make so much noise, 
 after all," Thisby remarked. 
 
 "Hi think they're hawful things," retorted 
 Wartle. "Hi'm hafraid hof my life hof 'em!" 
 
 "Have you ever ridden in one?" inquired 
 Helen, whose voice showed that she was not 
 accustomed to climbing stairs. 
 
 "No, ma'am. Hi likes 'orses, but Hi 'ates 
 hautomobiles." 
 
 Helen giggled as she replied: "But 'orses 
 run away."
 
 50 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "Ho, Hi don't like them kind. Hi likes the 
 kind they 'ave hon the cabs." 
 
 "Do you like donkeys?" inquired Thisby. 
 
 "Hi likes to look hat them, but they're haw- 
 ful kickers." 
 
 And Rosamond shook her hands at Thisby, 
 who was trying to smother his laughter with 
 his chamois gloves. 
 
 "Right hat the top hof these stairs his Mr. 
 Weatherbee's room," and he bowed low as 
 Miss Rosamond thanked him politely and pro- 
 ceeded up the stairs. 
 
 "In all my life I have never been so high 
 up." 
 
 "You may never be again, Thisby," re- 
 turned Rosamond gently. 
 
 Weatherbee had been cheerfully doing the 
 work about the room. He had swept and put 
 everything in order as best he could and was 
 sitting at the wooden table he used for a writ- 
 ing desk, with his head resting on his hand and 
 wondering if Warner was right in his opinion 
 about his books. He repeated to himself the 
 words Warner had so often spoken : "Your 
 books will be published some day and you'll
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 51 
 
 be a rich man." He tried to make himself be- 
 lieve that Warner was right, but he was afraid 
 his opinion was controlled by friendship and as 
 he sat there wondering and dreaming, the 
 sound of Miss Kent's voice fell upon his ears, 
 as gently and softly as some wonderful strain 
 of music he had once dreamed of, and he 
 thought he was still dreaming, and he was not 
 surprised, for he had thought of her constantly 
 since the first time he saw her and heard her 
 voice and he closed his eyes and he smiled and 
 raised his head slowly and imagined he saw her 
 standing on the stage reciting his poem: "As 
 the Sun Said Good-bye to the Moon." 
 
 When she reached the top step she rested 
 her hand on the quaint little banister and took 
 in the room with a glance; the atmosphere of 
 artistic poverty it possessed fascinated her. 
 She felt as if the room belonged to the poem 
 and the poem belonged to the room and both 
 were a part of the author. 
 
 "Does Mr. Weatherbee live here?" she asked 
 softly. 
 
 Weatherbee raised his head quickly, then 
 jumped to his feet, and gasped, "I beg your 
 pardon!"
 
 52 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "Does Mr. Weatherbee live here?" she re- 
 peated. 
 
 "No," he mumbled in a quivering voice, as 
 he pulled his cuff down below the edge of 
 his coat sleeve. "This is Mr. Weatherbee's 
 studio, but but he doesn't live here," and 
 he gave the other cuff a sudden jerk and 
 pushed the ends of his streaming tie under his 
 waistcoat. 
 
 "Oh, I see," and Miss Kent took a few steps 
 toward the center of the room. "Is he in?" 
 
 "No he he hasn't been here this morning, 
 yet." 
 
 "Do you represent Mr. Weatherbee in any 
 way?" 
 
 "Yes, oh, yes," he replied, "I I am Mr. 
 Weatherbee's secretary," and he bowed 
 politely. 
 
 "I am Miss Kent of the 'Young Women's 
 Ten Club' and have called to thank Mr. Weath- 
 erbee for the beautiful poem he sent us and tell 
 him what a great success it was." 
 
 "That is indeed kind of you I" and he 
 corrected himself quickly, "Mr. Weatherbee 
 heard you recite it."
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 53 
 
 "Oh, was he there?" Miss Kent inquired 
 eagerly, as she advanced toward Weatherbee 
 quickly. 
 
 "Yes, he and I went together. He was kind 
 enough to take me; in fact he takes me most 
 every place he goes." 
 
 "And you say he really liked it?" Helen ex- 
 claimed as if she thought such a thing were 
 really impossible. 
 
 Weatherbee bowed his head slightly, and 
 placed his hands behind his back. 
 
 "I never knew Mr. Weatherbee to enthuse 
 over anything as he has over your delivery of 
 his poem. He talks to me every morning about 
 it." 
 
 Miss Kent clasped her hands together and 
 she looked from Helen to Thisby, then ex- 
 claimed with much enthusiasm, "How charm- 
 ing!" 
 
 Weatherbee smiled and bowed gracefully. 
 "Yes, indeed, he doesn't talk of anything else. 
 He breaks out every once in a while in a most 
 enthusiastic manner and says: 'J ac ^/ Tom 
 Tom his name is Jack and my name is Tom- 
 he always calls me Tom, yes, he'll say, 'Tom,
 
 54 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 what a beautiful voice Miss Kent has,' and I 
 agree with him; we always agree." 
 
 "You should have heard some of the compli- 
 ments the ladies paid him as an author," inter- 
 rupted Helen. 
 
 "I'm sure it would please him," and he 
 bowed again. 
 
 "Especially Miss Kent," she continued, then 
 looked at Rosamond and laughed. 
 
 "That's jolly well true," put in Thisby, who 
 was bored with the conversation. 
 
 "I don't think it possible for Miss Kent to 
 admire the poem as much as the author ad- 
 mired the way she delivered it." 
 
 "We admire the author who can write 
 such beautiful things." 
 
 And Helen laughed while she threw a quiz- 
 zical glance at Rosamond and exclaimed, 
 "We!" 
 
 Thisby fanned himself with his hat, and 
 gazed from one to the other. "A mutual ad- 
 miration society. As for myself, I don't care a 
 rap for poetry!" 
 
 "Why, Thisby!" and there was a note of re- 
 proach in Rosamond's voice. 
 . "I jolly well don't."
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 55 
 
 "Well, I wouldn't boast about it," she re- 
 plied, then turned to Weatherbee. "When do 
 you expect Mr. Weatherbee in?" 
 
 "I really couldn't say. He might come in 
 any minute and he might not be here today 
 at all." 
 
 "This is just our luck ! We are very anxious 
 to see him. The Club is having a luncheon at 
 my home tomorrow. We wrote and asked Mr. 
 Weatherbee to come, but he declined, so we 
 were appointed as a committee to call and see if 
 we couldn't persuade him to come. We always 
 present the prize to the authors at the luncheon 
 which we give in their honor." 
 
 "Is he out of town?" Thisby asked in a 
 snappy tone. 
 
 "No no," returned Weatherbee quietly. "I 
 think he is in the city; in fact I am sure he is. 
 He told me last evening he was going to re- 
 main in town all day today." 
 
 Helen suggested that he might be home and 
 Weatherbee nodded his head, replying in a 
 tone of forced surprise: "Perhaps he is!" 
 
 Thisby thought he had solved the problem 
 and raised his voice with admiration at his 
 own thought. "Why not 'phone him ?"
 
 56 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 Weatherbee leaned forward quickly, pre- 
 tending the words had escaped his ears. "I 
 beg your pardon?" 
 
 "I say, why not 'phone him?" he yelled, and 
 Weatherbee smiled, then glanced about the 
 room and raised his voice as if he were address- 
 ing a deaf person. 
 
 "Oh, yes, but we have no 'phone. He did 
 have one, but he had it taken out because it 
 proved an annoyance when he was writing. 
 I'm sorry we haven't a 'phone, very sorry 
 indeed." 
 
 "That is simple enough," remarked Helen, 
 turning to Thisby. "You go out to a drug store 
 and call him up." 
 
 "Yes, if you give me his number, I'll go out 
 to a drug store and call him up." 
 
 Weatherbee's hesitation made it very appar- 
 ent that he was in an embarrassing position. 
 
 "I'm extremely sorry but I am not at 
 liberty to give his 'phone number." 
 
 "Is he such a crank?" snapped Thisby. 
 
 "No, really, Mr. Weatherbee is the most 
 charming man I have ever met." 
 
 Rosamond interrupted as if she were de-
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 57 
 
 fending an old friend: "I suppose he has to 
 protect himself from newspaper reporters and 
 publishers?" 
 
 Weatherbee smiled grimly, and whispered: 
 "Especially the publishers," then forced a 
 faint cough as he continued: "All the publish- 
 ers chase after him. It's really laughable some- 
 times to see them fight among themselves to 
 get his stories and books and things." He 
 watched Rosamond glancing about the room. 
 
 "Are any of his books here?" 
 
 "No, there isn't; in fact there is hardly any- 
 thing left here at all now. He usually sends 
 his valuable things home, before he goes away 
 for the summer." 
 
 "Oh, is he preparing to go away?" 
 
 "I think he is." 
 
 "When does he leave?" 
 
 Weatherbee smiled, and replied with a 
 great deal of assurance: "From what I heard 
 him and the proprietor of the house say this 
 morning, I think he'll leave about Saturday." 
 
 "It is rather early." 
 
 "It is a little earlier than he expected to go, 
 I think."
 
 58 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "Where does he go?" asked Thisby bluntly. 
 
 "I think he'll go camping this summer." 
 
 Helen glanced at Rosamond, then turned 
 and winked at Thisby. 
 
 "Is Mr. Weatherbee a young man?" 
 
 "Mr. Weatherbee and I are about the same 
 age." 
 
 "Now, Rosamond, you ask if he is tall," and 
 Rosamond obeyed with a fascinating smile 
 that became still more fascinating when 
 Weatherbee informed her that he was about 
 six feet. 
 
 "Light or dark?" she asked eagerly. 
 
 "Rather light quite light." Helen laughed 
 heartily and seated herself in the rocker. 
 
 "That settles it. Now we will wait until he 
 comes," and she laughed still harder when 
 Rosamond replied: "Oh, hush," and turned to 
 Weatherbee quickly. "Does he do all his writ- 
 ing here?" 
 
 "Most of it." 
 
 "What a quaint spot! What a dear old 
 library!" Weatherbee followed her to the 
 old bookcase and spoke in a voice that trem- 
 bled with admiration: "He is very fond of 
 antiques."
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 59 
 
 "May I open it?" and she stepped back with 
 surprise as he threw the doors open. 
 
 "Oh, he has taken all his books away!" 
 
 "All but this set of Dickens, and he left those 
 until the last. I think he'll have me take these 
 away this afternoon or in the morning." 
 
 "Well, I am not going to wait any longer, 
 Rosamond; I'll have the chauffeur drive me 
 home and come back and get you and Thisby." 
 
 "No no, I'm going with you. If I write Mr. 
 Weatherbee a note, will you see that he gets it 
 today?" 
 
 He arranged the pen, ink and paper, and 
 assured her in promising tones that he would 
 deliver the note to Mr. Weatherbee without 
 fail. 
 
 "That is a very good portrait of you," Helen 
 remarked while gazing at a small painting of 
 Weatherbee hanging on the wall. 
 
 "Do you like it?" 
 
 "Very much." 
 
 "One of Mr. Weatherbee's friends painted 
 that and gave it to me." 
 
 Thisby didn't hesitate to say that the nose 
 was too long, but Helen disagreed with him
 
 60 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 and inquired if there was a picture of Mr. 
 Weatherbee in the room and Weatherbee tried 
 to save another lie by looking in the opposite 
 direction, remarking quietly: "I don't see 
 any now." 
 
 "Do you write at all?" 
 
 "A little, I've been studying for some time 
 with Mr. Weatherbee." 
 
 "Are you going to be a poet?" 
 
 "I would like to be." 
 
 Thisby looked at Helen with a little re- 
 proach, and remarked in a firm tone that he 
 would jolly well like to write a poem that 
 would drive all the ladies daft, and he laughed 
 good-naturedly when she replied quickly that 
 she hadn't any doubt that a poem written by 
 him would drive anyone daft. 
 
 "What on earth are you doing, Rosamond, 
 writing a book?" 
 
 As Rosamond reached for an envelope, 
 her elbow hit the picture of Jack's mother and 
 it fell to the floor. 
 
 "You'll be sure and give Mr. Weatherbee 
 this note today, won't you?" 
 
 "Positively," he replied, taking the note and 
 turning to conceal his smile.
 
 "Rosamond looked at it quickly and gasped, ' M arguerettt
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 61 
 
 "I'm ready," exclaimed Rosamond as she 
 turned to Helen, who was holding the picture 
 in both hands. Her face was pale and she 
 staggered forward and gave the picture to 
 Rosamond, who looked at it quickly and 
 gasped: "Marguerette !" She tried to control 
 her frightened condition, and turned to see 
 if either of the men were watching them. 
 
 Thisby was resting on his cane gazing at 
 Weatherbee's painting and Weatherbee stood 
 studying the strong, characteristic handwrit- 
 ing on the envelope addressed to himself. 
 
 "Pardon me, but may I ask who this is?" 
 Rosamond inquired in a voice that did not con- 
 ceal her excitement. 
 
 Weatherbee gazed at the picture a second 
 and replied tenderly: "A friend of Mr. 
 Weatherbee's." 
 
 Rosamond glared at the picture again, and 
 whispered: "I wish he were here." She want- 
 ed to make further inquiries, but decided she 
 would wait and ask Weatherbee himself. She 
 placed the picture on the table and turned 
 toward the stairs to hide her tears. 
 
 "Don't forget the letter, will you? Come,
 
 62 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 Helen. Thank you very much. I hope we 
 haven't taken too much of your time." 
 
 "No, indeed," he replied, and followed her 
 to the banister trying to catch a glimpse of her 
 face, but she kept her head turned. 
 
 "It has been a great pleasure to me. Can you 
 find your way out?" 
 
 "Yes, thank you," but he stole after them 
 and opened the front door just wide enough to 
 peek out and see her drive away.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 AS Miss Kent's automobile rolled up 
 Twenty-ninth Street, Weatherbee stood on the 
 steps and watched the picture fade into 
 memory. He unfolded her letter that he had 
 nervously squeezed into a small ball and sat on 
 the stone steps and read it through many 
 times. 
 
 The stone steps, which the scorching sun had 
 made hot enough to fry an egg on, seemed like 
 cushioned chairs to him. He forgot he was 
 sitting he forgot everything but the dream 
 he had dreamed so many times he finished 
 the letter again, then raised his head and 
 wondered if he were still dreaming. 
 
 He thought a few seconds and started to 
 read the letter again and would have read it 
 many, many times had not the tapping of War- 
 ner's cane on the stone walk interrupted him. 
 His good judgment told him he was not quite 
 in his right mind and he tried hard to pull him- 
 self together and greet Warner in a natural 
 tone of voice. 
 
 63
 
 64 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "Hello, Warner, where is Jack?" he re- 
 marked carelessly. 
 
 "Mrs. Turner wouldn't let me bring him 
 away. She insisted on him staying until three 
 o'clock anyway, and I left the little rascal 
 there eating his head off." 
 
 "Warner, who do you suppose called on me 
 while you were away?" 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "You couldn't guess in twenty years." 
 
 "The publisher!" exclaimed Warner, and his 
 voice trembled with excitement. 
 
 "Guess again." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "No, you're still wrong." 
 
 "Who was it, John?" And when Weatherbee 
 informed him that it was Miss Kent, he stood 
 as if he expected Warner to fall, but he only 
 grunted, "Who the devil is Miss Kent?" 
 
 "Why, the beautiful girl I told you of who 
 recited my poem." 
 
 "Ah-ha!" responded Warner in a low tone. 
 "In love with the author." 
 
 "No, no, just called to " 
 
 "Oh, rot," interrupted Warner, striking the 
 walk with his cane. "What did she want?"
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 65 
 
 "Insisted that I attend this luncheon given 
 by the 'Ten Club' at her home tomorrow 
 actually insists the club sent her to insist." 
 
 "Bully for you, John, bully for you." 
 
 "Sit down, Warner, and I'll tell you all 
 about it." 
 
 They were hardly seated before Warner 
 jumped up and inquired if that was the hottest 
 spot in New York they could find to sit on, and 
 on Weatherbee's suggestion, they started arm 
 in arm for Madison Square, and Warner shook 
 with laughter when Weatherbee told him how 
 he had succeeded in passing himself off as his 
 own secretary. 
 
 "John, that is a good joke on her, and I'll bet 
 the society will enjoy it when you tell them." 
 
 "When I tell them?" and he gave Warner a 
 searching glance, for he really thought he was 
 jesting. 
 
 "You don't think I am going, do you, 
 Warner?" 
 
 "Certainly you're going," he growled. 
 
 "Warner, would you really have me go to 
 that girl's house looking as I do?" 
 
 "By all means. Do you suppose she thinks
 
 66 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 your poems -were written by a fine suit of 
 clothes? No, for a girl who would look for a 
 swell suit of clothes wouldn't have a mind 
 broad enough to appreciate such a poem." 
 
 Weatherbee listened attentively to Warner's 
 remark and sauntered along in silence, buried 
 in deep thought. 
 
 "Our bench is vacant, Warner," he said in a 
 low tone, as he led him to the seat they always 
 sat on unless it was occupied by others who 
 sought Madison Square Park for outdoor 
 recreation. 
 
 Both sat for several minutes in silence and 
 Warner knew there was something out of the 
 ordinary on Weatherbee's mind. He was sure 
 it was one of two things. Either room rent or 
 Miss Kent, but owing to the fact that Weather- 
 bee had never given any thought to ladies, he 
 was somewhat puzzled as to which it was, but 
 he was silently betting on Miss Kent. 
 
 "There's a little breeze here today, Warner." 
 
 Warner smiled faintly, for he knew from 
 Weatherbee's tone that he was not thinking of 
 the breeze. 
 
 "There's always a breeze here, John, you get
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 67 
 
 it from the east, west, north and south, with a 
 double cross. This should be called the X of 
 New York." 
 
 "That would be a good name for it," Weath- 
 erbee replied slowly, when he noticed the sug- 
 gestion of the X made by Broadway crossing 
 Fifth Avenue. 
 
 "You've helped me thresh out a good many 
 ideas for my novels in this Square, Warner." 
 
 "I hope I'll be able to help you thresh out a 
 good many more," Warner replied kindly. 
 "What are you worried about, John?" 
 "I'm not worried about anything." 
 "You're doing an awful lot of thinking." 
 "I guess it's up to me to do a little thinking, 
 isn't it, Warner?" 
 
 "Well, John," and Warner dragged his 
 words out in a soft, low tone and put his hand 
 on Weatherbee's knee. "Think, but don't 
 worry worry is what keeps the undertakers 
 busy. You have done all the thinking and all 
 the figuring and all the guessing there is to be 
 done about your books, and I have guessed and 
 thought and figured with you. I have advised 
 you because I feel that I am capable of advising
 
 68 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 and I know you are going to win out. I feel it. 
 I'm sure of it. It's only a matter of time. I 
 can't see, but I can hear and I'll bet both of my 
 ears that I am right. I won't bet on the exact 
 date of the publication of your novels, but 
 someone will recognize their worth and pub- 
 lish them, but you can't hasten the publication 
 by worrying, so why not give time a chance for 
 a few days and see what it will do? Time has 
 done a great deal in the last six hours," and 
 he patted Weatherbee's knee affectionately, 
 leaned closer to him and whispered: "It has 
 opened up an avenue in your character that I 
 had never heard of before!" 
 
 "What do you mean?" Weatherbee asked 
 gently. 
 
 Warner paused a few seconds, then leaned 
 toward Weatherbee and whispered: "You're 
 in love!" 
 
 A long drawn out "What" forced Warner to 
 repeat the words, and he reached for Weather- 
 bee's hand and squeezed it tightly and con- 
 tinued in a voice that trembled with emotion. 
 "It's beautiful, John it's beautiful. I never 
 loved but once, and I have never been unhappy 
 since."
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 69 
 
 "Warner, I wouldn't allow myself to think 
 of love." 
 
 "We don't have to think of it, John, it thinks 
 for us. You say in one of your stories that 
 'Love knows no law, it favors no place, it has 
 no home, until it dreams, and wanders, until it 
 meets a soul that it clings to and either sings or 
 sobs its life away.' 
 
 "John, I never heard you give a love chirp 
 until today and I would have given the world 
 to have seen your eyes when you were telling 
 me about this lady. There was a note in your 
 voice that I never heard before." 
 
 Weatherbee knitted the fingers of both 
 hands together and gazed steadily at the walk, 
 and Warner only became more amused when 
 Weatherbee earnestly insisted that he had not 
 even thought of love. 
 
 "Warner," he went on in a low, sincere tone, 
 "if I started to fall in love in my present posi- 
 tion, I'd lose all respect for myself. When Miss 
 Kent walked out on the stage to deliver my 
 poem I was somewhat frightened because she 
 was the living image of the girl I had described 
 in the poem, the girl I dreamed of when I was
 
 70 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 writing the poem stood before me. I admired 
 the natural, sincere way she read it and I would 
 have liked to have gone to her and thanked 
 her." 
 
 "But instead of that," interrupted Warner, 
 "she came to you." 
 
 He drew the end of his cane back and forth 
 on the cement walk a few times and then con- 
 tinued in a kind but somewhat amused tone. 
 
 "John, did she state in her invitation how 
 she wished you to dress?" 
 
 "Certainly not," Weatherbee replied quickly. 
 
 "Then how do you know she wouldn't like 
 to have you come dressed as you are?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "Then why don't you go and find out?" 
 
 "Because she might feel offended." 
 
 "At your appearance?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "But you are not positive." 
 
 "Not absolutely." 
 
 "John, in my eyes you are doing this girl an 
 injustice." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Perhaps I can explain it more fully by re-
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 71 
 
 versing the situation," and Weatherbee placed 
 his hat on the bench and listened attentively. 
 
 "Imagine you have read a poem written by a 
 lady whom you have never met your club or 
 your society invite her to a luncheon. She 
 accepts the invitation she appears in a dress 
 that isn't in style; it is a little worn we'll say 
 it is quite shabby. You or any club or society 
 that you would be a member of wouldn't be 
 offended, would you?" 
 
 "Certainly not." 
 
 "You would be a lot of cads if you took 
 offence at the girl's dress, wouldn't you?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "Well, then, if this girl, or her club or society 
 invites you to their luncheon and takes offence 
 at your clothes, they're what we would call 
 snobs, aren't they?" 
 
 "I think in a general conversation they 
 might be referred to as such," Weatherbee re- 
 marked in an unsatisfied tone and reached for 
 his hat, placed it on his head and pulled it well 
 down over his eyes. 
 
 "But it is hardly fair," Warner continued 
 slowly and deliberately, "to accuse them of be-
 
 72 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 ing snobs without giving them a chance to 
 prove it, is it?" 
 
 Weatherbee gave Warner a smiling glance 
 from the corner of his eyes and acknowledged 
 he was right. 
 
 "So far so good," Warner went on. "Did 
 Miss Kent impress you as being a girl who 
 would take offence at a man she admired (we'll 
 say from a literary standpoint) that circum- 
 stances had dressed in an old suit of clothes?" 
 
 "No, she did not." 
 
 Warner sat in silence waiting for Weather- 
 bee to continue, but he was gazing at a pale 
 blue cloud that was journeying on its way 
 across the sun, and there were two large brown 
 eyes looking down through the pale blue cloud 
 which caused the sun and the cloud to fade into 
 nothing but a mere background. 
 
 After Warner had waited some time, he 
 came to the conclusion that Weatherbee was in 
 one of his listening moods and it was up to 
 him to do the talking. 
 
 "John, there is an acquaintance, doubtless a 
 friendship, and perhaps something deeper and 
 sweeter, knocking at your door and because
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 73 
 
 you haven't a nice suit of clothes, you refuse to 
 open the door and let it in. The same knock 
 may never come again, John." 
 
 The pale blue cloud had crossed over the sun 
 and Weatherbee focussed his vacant stare on 
 the earth's green grassy carpet and the two 
 large brown eyes had also shifted and were 
 gazing up at him through the soft green 
 threads. 
 
 "In reversing this situation, John, do I make 
 it clear to you that you are wrong?" 
 
 "You haven't yet, Warner," and he smiled 
 faintly at the gentle, fatherly way in which 
 Warner was chastising him. 
 
 "If the situation were reversed, Warner, do 
 you think Miss Kent would accept the invi- 
 tation?" 
 
 "I'm sure she would." 
 
 "Why are you sure?" 
 
 "From what she has already done. You de- 
 clined their invitation, then she called on you 
 and urged you to accept. Is there anything 
 else she can do? Do you think a girl with a 
 poetic mind who is courageous enough to go 
 to a man and tell him that she admires his
 
 74 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 work, is going to take offence or even notice a 
 shabby suit of clothes?" 
 
 "I'm sorry I didn't have the pluck to tell 
 her who I was," Weatherbee grunted in a dis- 
 gusted tone as he removed his hat that he had 
 unconsciously been pulling at until it almost 
 covered his eyebrows. 
 
 "You go around and get Jack and I'll go 
 home and start the dinner." 
 
 "It isn't dinner time, is it, John?" 
 
 "It will be by the time you get there," he said 
 and he peeped up at the sun, which was crawl- 
 ing down over the roofs and seemed to be tuck- 
 ing itself away in the Jersey foliage. 
 
 When Jack and Warner entered the little 
 garret room, they found dinner waiting and 
 after Jack had surveyed the table carefully, he 
 placed both hands on his little round stomach 
 and exclaimed with a great deal of discomfort 
 that he couldn't eat any dinner because he was 
 too full of cocoanut cake and lemonade. 
 
 "I had three glasses of lemonade and four 
 pieces of cocoanut cake," he groaned, then 
 seated himself in the little rocker. 
 
 "Did you only eat four pieces?" Weatherbee 
 inquired with a forced sincerity that made Jack
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 75 
 
 think he had committed a great wrong and he 
 jumped to his feet and replied in a most apolo- 
 getic way that he just couldn't eat any more. 
 
 "But I brought all I couldn't eat home for 
 you and Mr. Warner." 
 
 "And didn't you bring home any lemonade?" 
 
 "No, I drank it all," he said in an injured 
 tone as he took his father's hand in both of his. 
 
 "We don't like lemonade anyway, do we, 
 Warner?" and he gave one of the child's curls 
 an affectionate pull. 
 
 "You cut the cake for Mr. Warner and me." 
 
 Jack served the cocoanut cake, and nothing 
 in the Weatherbee household tasted so good 
 that night. 
 
 When Warner bade Weatherbee good-night 
 at the head of the stairs, he held his hand firmly 
 and whispered: "John, I'll bet I'm right about 
 that girl, a new suit of clothes might grate on 
 her." 
 
 As Jack lay in the old couch bed and watched 
 his father climb in, he reminded him that he 
 had forgotten to blow out the candle. 
 
 "You are forgetting everything tonight, 
 Dad you haven't pulled down the window 
 curtain."
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 WHILE Weatherbee and Warner were sit- 
 ting in the Square, figuring out their financial 
 situation, Wartle was trying to plan the 
 easiest and less painful way to remove his 
 little round face from between the two side- 
 whiskers that had been hanging on his cheeks 
 for so many years. He knew it was going to be 
 a painful operation for he was not very handy 
 with his razor and he was quite nervous at the 
 thought of shaving himself anyway and his 
 hand was very unsteady but to pay fifteen 
 cents to a barber was entirely out of the ques- 
 tion ; that would be a form of extravagance for 
 which he would never forgive himself, so he 
 placed a small mirror on the window, sat before 
 it and twirled the belov'ed whiskers around his 
 fingers for many minutes. 
 
 "Hit's hall foolishness," he mumbled to him- 
 self as he ran his fingers through them and 
 pushed them back until they almost covered his 
 ears. But Mrs. Murray's word was law. She 
 
 76
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 77 
 
 had ordered them off and off they had to come, 
 and off they came in sections. 
 
 He attacked them first with a pair of dull 
 scissors, and then with a razor that hadn't been 
 near a hair for so long that it studdered when 
 it saw one. 
 
 After he had succeeded in stopping the many 
 nicks and cuts in his face from bleeding, he 
 covered each cut and small scratch with a liber- 
 al amount of white sticking plaster and after a 
 long disgusted look at himself in the glass, 
 shook his head and gasped : "Hi looks like 'ell." 
 
 His feeble, frightened knock on Mrs. Mur- 
 ray's door wasn't heard until he had repeated 
 it several times. 
 
 "Merciful Hivins," she exclaimed as she 
 threw up both hands and stepped back from the 
 door. "Have ye bin into a dog foight?" 
 
 Wartle removed the old-fashioned moth- 
 eaten silk hat that had sheltered the missing 
 whiskers for so many years and placed it on 
 the table. 
 
 "Ere Hi ham just has you hordered me." 
 
 "Faith an' Oi didn't oder ye with yer face all 
 covered with whoite labels, did Oi?"
 
 78 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "Hit's stickin' plaster," he returned meekly. 
 
 "Ye look as if ye had been run over by some- 
 thin' did ye try to commit suwecoid?" 
 
 "No, Hi was just hexcited, that's hall. Don't 
 you want to go to the hopera with me?" 
 
 "Sure, Oi'll go anny place with ye no wan'll 
 see me, iverybody'll be lookin' at ye." 
 
 "Hi looks hawful, don't Hi?" 
 
 "Ye do, ye look as if ye had been through the 
 battle of Bull Run. Go ter the glass there and 
 fix yerself some of yer labels are comin' off." 
 
 "Hi guess the sticking plaster his no good; 
 hit's some ha peddler give me for some break- 
 fast one morning," and he tried hard to make 
 the curling corners stick to his face, but found 
 it impossible. 
 
 "Shtop pushin' on ye face, ye'll have it all 
 pushed out of shape. Faith and ye look as if ye 
 had yer face done up in curlin' papers. Have 
 ye the tickets?" 
 
 "Yes, Hi got them hin the front row." 
 
 "Oi'm glad of that, fer Oi loiks to watch the 
 drummer. Come on or we'll be late." 
 
 " 'Ave you hever seen the hopera of 'Why 
 Women Sin'?" inquired Wartle as he gazed at 
 the program.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 79 
 
 "No, but Oi knows it's good, fer they always 
 have foine operas here at the Third Avenue 
 Theatre. The usher'll be after ye if ye don't 
 take yer lid off." 
 
 Wartle removed the silk hat that had fur- 
 nished amusement for those near enough to 
 see the moth-eaten spots, and placed it under 
 the seat. 
 
 "Now, don't talk to me," Mrs. Murray 
 ordered as the curtain arose. 
 
 "She's lame, hisn't she?" he whispered after 
 the heroine had been on the stage a few 
 seconds. 
 
 "Shut up," Mrs. Murray replied in a voice 
 that was heard by everyone in the theatre. 
 
 "She's supposed to be lame didn't ye hear 
 her say that she was pushed out of the villain's 
 airship?" 
 
 "But she's dressed in ha hevening dress." 
 
 "She didn't 'ave this dress on when he 
 pushed 'er out. Shut up now." 
 
 "Hi can't hunderstand hit," Wartle grunted 
 after the curtain had fallen on the first act. 
 
 "It's as plain as the stickin' plaster on yer 
 face. The limpy woman is the villain's wife
 
 80 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 and he is troyin' to kill her off so he can marry 
 his young toipwriter that's what he pushed 
 her out of the airship fer. 
 
 "Stop pickin' yer face it's bleedin'," and she 
 pulled Wartle's hand away from his chin and 
 warned him to keep quiet as the curtain arose 
 on the second act. 
 
 "Hif 'e poisons 'is wife," Wartle whispered, 
 " 'e can't marry 'is typewriter 'cause 'e'll be 
 'anged." 
 
 "Don't ye see that he's goin' to poison her 
 and blame it on the hero?" 
 
 "But 'e didn't put hanything in the glass." 
 
 "But he made believe put somethin' in it 
 there there she's goin' to drink it. No she 
 says she isn't thirsty thank God ! thank God !" 
 and Mrs. Murray heaved a sigh of relief and 
 sat back in her seat as the curtain fell. 
 
 "The Divil will kill her yit. "Hain't she got 
 the foine 'ead of 'air? It's just exactly the 
 color hof gold She's hawfully fat, though, 
 hisn'tshe?" 
 
 "Oi think she's beautiful," Mrs. Murray ex- 
 claimed, clasping her hands together in ad- 
 miration.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 81 
 
 "She has two lovely gold teeth roight in the 
 front of her mouth, and doiamonds in her ears 
 an' on ivery finger." 
 
 "She's got some hon 'er thumbs too, hand 
 haround 'er neck." 
 
 "Yis, and doiamond buckles on her slippers." 
 
 "She 'as hawfully big feet." 
 
 "Well, she's a strappin' big woman Oi'll bet 
 she weighs over two hundred pounds. Oi wish 
 Oi had some of the fat that she don't need." 
 
 "Hi wouldn't 'ave you has fat has 'er fer 
 hanything hin the world. Hi don't see 'ow 'er 
 'usband hever pushed 'er hout of the hairship 
 she his two times has big has 'e his, hand 
 when 'e went to choke 'er 'e 'ad to stand hon 'is 
 tip toes to reach 'er neck. 'E doesn't look ha 
 bit well, 'is voice his so weak. When she said 
 to 'im 'Ho, for God's sake pity me, Dalmore,' 
 Hi couldn't 'ear what 'e said hat hall." 
 
 "Sure, an' he is supposed to be nothin' but a 
 wee shrimp keep quiet now, here she is." 
 
 "She his much holder than 'e his, hain't 
 she?" 
 
 "He is her second husband ain't ye listenin' 
 to what they're sayin'?"
 
 82 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "Hit's mean hof 'er to want 'im to discharge 
 the typewriter, hisn't it?" 
 
 "No, she knows he is stuck on her." 
 
 "But she hain't stuck on 'im; she's hin love 
 with the Doctor Dick Darow." 
 
 "Shut up, he's goin' to give her the poisoned 
 box of bonbons ; see ! see ! she's takin' them, the 
 fool, and she's thankin' him for 'em. The brute, 
 he's goin' away and 1'ave her there to ate 'em- 
 she's undoin' the box hush, here's the toip- 
 writer the little fool is asking her fer some 
 and she's atin' 'ern. Look! look at her eyes! 
 See ! see ! there she goes, she's fallin' on the 
 buffalo robe. Bless her heart, the big fat one 
 is telephonin' fer the doctor." 
 
 "How many more hacts hare there?" 
 
 "One it's dridful excitin', ain't it? I 
 thought I'd scream roight out when the toip- 
 writer et the poisoned bonbon." 
 
 "She didn't heat hit, there wasn't hanything 
 hin the box." 
 
 "Ye dough-head, this is only a opera. She 
 made believe ate it, didn't she? Wake up!" 
 
 "Hi'm so sleepy Hi can't keep my heyes 
 hopen."
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 83 
 
 "Faith and Oi'll not sleep fer a week after 
 watchin' this." 
 
 "The Doctor his hawfully young to be ha 
 doctor, hisn't 'e?" 
 
 "Sure and the hero has to be young Oi 
 think he's foine, he has such nice long, curly 
 hair." 
 
 "Hi likes 'im better than Hi do the type- 
 writer she talks through 'er nose so." 
 
 "L'ave that stickin' plaster alone sure yer 
 face'll niver git well if ye kape pickin' at it." 
 
 ' 'Ow many more hacts did you say there 
 was?" 
 
 "One, they're gittin' ready for it now the 
 loights are goin' out. I'll bet if Oi had that 
 young brat by the neck, he wouldn't whistle up 
 in that gallery ag'in fer awhoile. 
 
 "There's the poor little toipwriter in bed 
 moy, but she's as pale as a sheet and see the 
 young doctor's over there in the corner exam- 
 inin' the bon-bons wid a spy glass and God 
 love, the big fat blond is bringin' in the little 
 sick toipwriter clam soup." 
 
 "What his that glass rod the Doctor his 
 puttin' hin the typewriter's mouth?"
 
 84 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "It's a thermomitor that tells if her fever is 
 gittin' hot or cold. He sez she has one chance 
 out of a million. He's pale, too, the poor divil. 
 
 "Here's the pup that poisoned the bonbons." 
 
 "His false mustache his comin' hofr, hisn't 
 hit?" 
 
 "I hope it does. Bully fer the fat one she 
 told him to go, and niver look her in the face 
 ag'in." 
 
 "Yes, but 'e says 'e won't go." 
 
 "Wait a minute, there's goin' to be a scrap 
 the doctor is goin' to fire him out there they 
 go good! good! hurray! fer the Doctor. Do 
 ye hear that noise? That's the villain fallin' 
 down the stairs." 
 
 "Hit sounds like broken glass, doesn't hit?" 
 
 "Sure, it's somethin' they use to make a 
 noise loike a man fallin' down stairs. 
 
 "The Doctor says the toipwriter is goin' to 
 be her own swate self in a few days see, he's 
 kissin' her." 
 
 "His hit hall hover?" 
 
 "Yis and Oi'd loike to come ag'in tomorry 
 noight." 
 
 "Hi'll take you 'ome hin ha street car hif
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 85 
 
 you're too tired to walk," Wartle chirruped as 
 if he thought the generosity of his offer would 
 surprise Mrs. Murray. 
 
 "Ye'll take me home in nothin' 'till after I go 
 to Sweeney's 'All Night Lunch' and have 
 somethin' to ate." 
 
 Wartle tagged along in silence until he 
 recovered from the shock and then inquired 
 meekly where Sweeney's was. 
 
 "Oi'll show ye," Mrs. Murray replied in a 
 firm tone. "It's a foine place some people say 
 that it's almost as good as any of Childs' 
 places." 
 
 "Hi've never been hin one hof Childs' places, 
 har they hexpensive?" 
 
 "Not very, Sweeney's a foine man I know 
 him well I used to wash fer 'em before the 
 Chinaman moved next door." 
 
 "What do you think you'll heat?" 
 
 "I don't know 'till I see the bill-o-fare." 
 
 "Hi'd like a bottle hof good hold Hinglish 
 hale, but hit's so hexpensive." 
 
 After Mrs. Murray had listened to the waiter 
 read over everything there was on the menu 
 several times, she decided she would try an
 
 86 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 oyster stew. "An' ye can fetch me a shupper of 
 dark beer 
 
 "What are ye goin' to ate?" 
 
 "Hi don't want hanything Hi never heat 
 hin the middle hof the night." 
 
 "Ye want a bottle of ale, don't ye?" 
 
 "No, Hi don't think Hi'll drink hit, hit might 
 hupset me." 
 
 "Drink it, sure ye can't be any worse than 
 ye are now. Bring a bottle of Dogs Head it's 
 good for what ales him." 
 
 After Wartle drank his bottle of ale, things 
 on the menu began to look cheaper and Mrs. 
 Murray smiled when he ordered the second 
 bottle and was somewhat astonished when he 
 ordered the third, and she cancelled the order 
 for the fourth. 
 
 "Ye'll drink no more, sure ye're blink-eyed 
 now. Give 'im his hat, waiter." 
 
 "Hi hay hay hain't 'ad ha bo'le hale hin 
 two years." 
 
 "Faith, an' ye have enough now to do fer 
 two years more come out of there, that's the 
 kitchen." 
 
 "Do you want a cab, Mrs. Murray?" the 
 waiter asked.
 
 "Hi hay hay hain't 'ad bole hale kin two years
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 87 
 
 "No, sure he needs the walk he'll be all 
 roight whin he gits outsoide." 
 
 "This 'as been ha lovely hevening," he mum- 
 bled as they stopped at Mrs. Murray's steps 
 and when he bent over to kiss her hand, the 
 moth-eaten hat fell off and rolled out onto the 
 pavement, and to make sure that it would not 
 fall off again until he reached home, Mrs Mur- 
 ray pulled it well down on the back of his head 
 until it rested on both ears. 
 
 "Ye're all roight now, ain't ye? Ye know 
 where ye are, don't ye?" 
 
 "Sure, Hi'm hin 'Eaven." He chuckled as he 
 waddled up the street, waving his chubby hand 
 back over his shoulder.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE silk shades in the large drawing-room 
 windows of the Kent mansion, which looked 
 out on Fifth Avenue, were drawn, and the ele- 
 gantly furnished room was delicately lighted 
 with a large chandelier whose small electric 
 bulbs were hidden under the soft sun-colored 
 globes, that matched the golden tinted damask 
 which covered the walls and gave the large 
 room a glow of peaceful summer sunset. Rosa- 
 mond sat in a large silk upholstered chair read- 
 ing a book whose hero reminded so much of 
 the man she thought was Mr. Weatherbee's 
 secretary. The big sliding doors of the adjoin- 
 ing dining-room that looked out into the con- 
 servatory were open, and the servants had 
 finished arranging the table for the elaborate 
 luncheon for the man they little dreamed was 
 sauntering along on the opposite side of the 
 street locating the house from the corner of 
 his eye wondering if he would have the cour- 
 age to enter when the time came. 
 
 "I think the table is as you wish it, Ma'am," 
 
 88
 
 THE GUEST OK HONOR 89 
 
 the servant remarked politely, and after he had 
 repeated the words the second time and waited 
 for a reply, he stepped in front of Miss Kent 
 and forced a low cough that gained her at- 
 tention. 
 
 "I say, I think the table is as you wish it, 
 Ma'am." 
 
 After she had glanced over the table care- 
 fully, she inquired how many brands of cigars 
 were at the "Guest of Honor's" plate, and the 
 servant smiled when he informed her that he 
 had obeyed her orders and bought two of every 
 good brand he could think of. 
 
 "You may close the doors, if you will, 
 Henry." She resumed her seat in the large 
 plush chair and wandered off among the pages 
 of her book. 
 
 After Helen had entered the room and re- 
 mained silent for almost a minute, which was 
 an exceedingly long time for her, she inquired 
 of her father's whereabouts in a voice that was 
 somewhat suppressed with fear and didn't dis- 
 play any great desire to be informed that he 
 was within a hearing distance and when she 
 learned, through Rosamond's half-unconscious
 
 90 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 reply, that he was up in his room, she spoke in 
 a natural tone, which usually brought a reply. 
 
 "He is always home when the club meets 
 here and it makes him wild." 
 
 After she had given Rosamond sufficient 
 time to reply and decided that her presence was 
 not as important as the book, she seated her- 
 self on the arm of her sister's chair and peeked 
 over her shoulder long enough to become inter- 
 ested in the title. 
 
 "What are you reading?" 
 
 " 'An Author's Life,' and the character of the 
 author reminds me so much of Mr. Weather- 
 bee's secretary." 
 
 "Is it good for anything?" 
 
 "Yes, it is a beautiful story and the character 
 of the author is so quaint and witty. I love 
 those droll, witty types." 
 
 "You are always admiring some freak. I 
 wonder if Mr. Weatherbee will come?" 
 
 Rosamond's eyes wandered from the book 
 as she unconsciously lowered it to the arm of 
 the chair. 
 
 "He said he would in his note. What time is 
 mother coming?"
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 91 
 
 "She 'phoned that she was on her way over. 
 I can't wait until she comes." 
 
 "Why, you big baby, she has only been away 
 one night." 
 
 ; 'Oh, it isn't that, but I want to tell her about 
 us rinding Marguerite's picture in Mr. Weath- 
 erbee's studio. Isn't that the strangest thing 
 you ever heard of?" and even Helen's fluttering 
 mind rested on the strange coincidence long- 
 enough to remain silent for some few seconds. 
 
 The sound of their mother's voice greeting 
 the servant in the reception hall brought the 
 two girls to their feet. 
 
 "Here is mamma now," and Helen was the 
 first to be folded in her mother's arms, though 
 Rosamond's slight figure was held tightly in 
 the same two arms for many seconds after and 
 one might have thought from the affectionate 
 greeting, that the mother had been absent for 
 many weeks instead of but one night and only 
 a few squares away in the same city. 
 
 "What is the trouble with father?" 
 
 "Nothing much, I guess he just wanted a day 
 off. How is Grandma?" 
 
 "In perfect health," and Mrs. Kent's voice
 
 92 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 simply bubbled with affectionate enthusiasm. 
 "Why, she is just the healthiest old dear you 
 ever saw. How is your luncheon coming on, 
 Rosamond?" 
 
 "All right so far." 
 
 "Going to invite me?" Mrs. Kent asked with 
 an inquiring smile. 
 
 "I wish I could." 
 
 "Who is the guest of honor today?" 
 
 "Mr. Weatherbee, the gentleman who wrote 
 the beautiful poem I recited at the entertain- 
 ment." 
 
 "Oh! is he coming?" 
 
 "He promised to." 
 
 "Rosamond hasn't seen him yet and she's in 
 love with him." 
 
 "Helen, please don't be so smart." 
 
 "What does he look like?" asked Mrs. Kent 
 in a tone of girlish curiosity. 
 
 "We haven't seen him," Helen whispered 
 mysteriously, "but his secretary described him. 
 He is tall and has light hair, so that settles it." 
 
 Mrs. Kent bent forward in her chair and imi- 
 tated Helen's mysterious whispering tone. 
 "Where did you see his secretary?"
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 93 
 
 "At Mr. Weatherbee's studio," Helen re- 
 turned, opening her eyes wide and lowering 
 her voice as if she were telling a child a 
 ghost story and a gentle note of surprise crept 
 into her mother's voice as she spoke after a 
 short pause. 
 
 "Did you go to his studio?" 
 
 "Yes, the club asked me to," Rosamond 
 answered in an unsteady, puzzled tone, which 
 changed the atmosphere of humor that Helen 
 had created to one of mild excitement. "I could 
 hardly wait until you came home to tell you of 
 what we found there," and her lips twitched 
 with nervousness as she paused and looked in- 
 to her mother's wondering eyes, for she knew 
 she was not prepared for the mysterious news 
 she held in store for her. 
 
 "What is it?" Mrs. Kent asked in a gentle, 
 firm tone as she took Rosamond's hand and 
 looked at her with a smile of love that would 
 make a bitter confession seem like child verse. 
 When Rosamond informed her that it was 
 a photograph of Marguerite they had found 
 she stepped back and her eyes journeyed from
 
 94 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 one girl to the other several times before she 
 spoke. 
 
 "Are you sure it was Marguerite?" 
 
 "Positive." 
 
 "I saw it first!" Helen exclaimed, and her 
 unconscious pride displayed the absence of any 
 deep interest in the subject, and she was some- 
 what grieved when her remark was passed un- 
 noticed. 
 
 "Did you find out where she is?" 
 
 "No, Mr. Weatherbee was not in we saw 
 his secretary but I didn't want to converse 
 with him on the subject. I thought it better to 
 wait until I saw Mr. Weatherbee himself." 
 
 "Was it an old photograph?" 
 
 "One of those she had taken just before she 
 was married." 
 
 "I was at boarding school when Marguerite 
 was married, wasn't I?" Helen inquired in a 
 more thoughtful, reminiscent tone than she 
 had ever been known to speak in before. 
 
 "Yes, you were only eleven years old then, 
 my dear," and Mrs. Kent sighed, her mind 
 back through the eight years which had turned 
 her hair from soft brown to a silvery white.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 95 
 
 Helen sat in one of the large chairs and 
 wrinkled her little white forehead in deep 
 thought for several minutes. She knew her 
 mother and sister were not aware of the infor- 
 mation she had gained regarding Marguerite's 
 husband and while she wasn't proud of the 
 method she used to enlighten herself on the 
 subject, she was not at all ashamed. 
 
 "Is Marguerite's husband still in prison?" 
 she asked quietly and deliberately, then gazed 
 somewhat reproachfully at her mother and 
 Rosamond, who were so shocked by the ques- 
 tion that they sat speechless for many seconds. 
 
 "Why, Helen!" Mrs. Kent gasped; "who 
 said he was in prison?" 
 
 "Rosamond." 
 
 "Why, Helen !" 
 
 "I heard you and mother talking about it." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "Oh, a long time ago." 
 
 "You listened?" 
 
 "Certainly I listened," she remarked calmly. 
 "You or mamma never tell me anything, so I 
 have to listen." 
 
 The forced note of gentle reproach in Mis.
 
 96 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 Kent's voice failed to conceal her great love 
 which she unconsciously showed in spite of her 
 attempt to be severe. 
 
 "Helen, I am ashamed of you!" 
 
 "Well, I don't care if you are, I'm tired of 
 being the baby in this house. You and Rosa- 
 mond have more secrets and when I come into 
 the room, you both cough and start talking 
 about the weather. You never tell me any- 
 thing." 
 
 "Because you can't keep anything to your- 
 self, my dear, that is why we never tell you any- 
 thing, and you're old enough to know better. 
 I have often felt it my duty to tell you about 
 Marguerite, but didn't because I was afraid of 
 you repeating it." 
 
 "Well, I should know. She is my sister and 
 it is your duty to tell me. I know that she ran 
 away and married against father's wish and by 
 listening I learned that her husband is in 
 prison. I would rather have you tell me the 
 particulars than hear it from some stranger." 
 
 "Helen, do you wish to speak in that tone of 
 voice to me," her mother asked quietly, "or are 
 you forgetting?"
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 97 
 
 "I'm forgetting," she replied regretfully, 
 after a brief silence, as she knelt at her 
 mother's side and squeezed her hand affection- 
 ately. "What is he in prison for?" 
 
 "Before they were married he forged your 
 father's name on a check, but father spared him 
 to save a scandal. We both begged 
 Marguerite not to marry him. Then father 
 forbade her and she ran away and married in 
 spite of anything we could say or do. Shortly 
 after they were married he committed another 
 forgery and was sent to prison and died there." 
 
 "Haven't you ever heard from her since?" 
 
 And her lips trembled as she tried to utter a 
 "No" that was smothered with heavy sobs. 
 "Oh, if she only knew what I have suffered she 
 would surely write to me," and her head fell to 
 her hands and shook with bitter grief. 
 
 Rosamond smoothed her white hair tenderly 
 and drew her head affectionately to her breast, 
 though her own eyes were moistened with 
 tears and her voice broke with emotion when 
 she spoke. 
 
 "It is not because Marguerite is cruel, 
 mother, that she doesn't write. If she were
 
 98 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 starving her pride would not permit her to ask 
 for food or tell of her sufferings." 
 
 "And I'm afraid she is suffering I feel sure 
 of it." 
 
 "Something tells me she isn't. She looked 
 so happy in her photograph so peaceful. She 
 looked as she did the last time I saw her she 
 seemed to speak to me, and something tells me 
 that we are going to find her and she is com- 
 ing home." 
 
 Mrs. Kent raised her head slowly and with a 
 feeble, hopeful smile whispered the words half 
 to herself : "Coming home!" 
 
 "I feel sure of it," Rosamond continued. "I 
 don't know why, but I do. It all seems so 
 strange that I should be sent to call on this man 
 whom we have never met and find her photo- 
 graph there. It seems like a good omen, and I 
 am positive we are going to find her." And a 
 sign of hope crept into the three sad faces as 
 Mrs. Kent took each of the girls' hands and 
 crowded a smile through her tears and forced a 
 cheerful note into her voice. "We'll hop^ 
 and trust and pray." 
 
 The click of the heavy oak library door sent
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 99 
 
 a warning glance from each to the other and 
 they dried their eyes quickly and sat in differ- 
 ent chairs. 
 
 "Are you going to teH father?" Helen 
 whispered. 
 
 "No," Mrs. Kent replied in a still lower 
 whisper, mechanically clearing her throat 
 and trying to manufacture a conversation re- 
 garding the luncheon while she fussed nervous- 
 ly with her small lace handkerchief. 
 
 "Dick" Kent, as he was commonly called by 
 members of the stock exchange, strolled 
 leisurely from his library. His hands were 
 pushed deep into the pockets of his dark trous- 
 ers and the end of a long black cigar, which 
 protruded from the lengthy gold-trimmed 
 amber cigar holder that he held between his 
 two heavy, clean shaven lips, scarcely extend- 
 ed as far forward as his stomach. What white 
 hair there was left, on the sides and back of his 
 head, stood straight on its end, which was 
 caused by the many visits from his nervous 
 fingers. His deep, harsh voice, which would 
 bluff any New York cab horse into stepping 
 lively, was understood, though not always ad- 
 mired by his family.
 
 "Hello, you've been crying!" was his greet- 
 ing to Mrs. Kent when he entered the drawing 
 room and removed the cigar from his lips long 
 enough to kiss her on the cheek. "What's the 
 trouble?" and Mrs. Kent murmured a faint 
 "Nothing" as he stood before her waiting for 
 an explanation. 
 
 "Yes, there is!" and he raised his voice to a 
 key that would have frightened a stranger. 
 
 "She cried when we told her you were too 
 ill to go to your office," Helen exclaimed in a 
 tone of mock sympathy, then hurried to her 
 mother's side and held her hand and patted it 
 tenderly. 
 
 Kent threw his head back and grunted a con- 
 ceited laugh, which told his pride had been 
 touched. "Oh, there's nothing the matter 
 with me a little cold, that's all," and he 
 started for the library and addressed Rosa- 
 mond without turning. 
 
 "What time are the celebrities coming?" 
 
 "At two." 
 
 "Is Miss Butterwing coming?" he asked with 
 a touch of sarcastic humor. 
 
 "I think so."
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 101 
 
 "Let me know when she arrives, will vou?" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I want to go up to my room." 
 
 His wit was responded to by the "family 
 laugh" that was always pitched in the same 
 key delivered in the same tempo and never 
 consisted of more than three ha ha's. 
 
 Though Helen had often doubled her weekly 
 allowance by tucking on a few extra ha ha's at 
 one of his pet jokes, "She won't bother you to- 
 day," she said with a great deal of assurance. 
 "She'll be after Mr. Weatherbee." 
 
 Kent paused and spoke without turning, 
 after he had delivered a few heavy clouds of 
 smoke from his cigar. "Who is Mr. Weath- 
 erbee?" 
 
 "Mr. Weatherbee is the Guest of Honor to- 
 day," Rosamond answered, and her uncon- 
 scious enthusiasm only made Mr. Kent more 
 curious. 
 
 "Who is he?" he asked sharply without 
 removing the cigar from his lips. 
 
 "An author," was Rosamond's timid reply. 
 
 "Of what?" Kent grunted. 
 
 "I have only read two of his poems that he
 
 102 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 gave to the Society I have never met him." 
 
 Kent jerked the cigar from his lips, and 
 waiked toward Rosamond, eyeing her severely. 
 "Never met him and inviting him to your 
 home?" 
 
 "It is customary to invite a strange author 
 as a guest of honor to our luncheon." 
 
 "Do any of the ladies of your Club know 
 him?" When Rosamond shook her head and 
 whispered a positive "No" he stepped back in 
 utter surprise and was silent many seconds be- 
 fore he found words to express his astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 "Rosamond, I don't approve of this. You 
 shouldn't invite a person to your home until 
 you know something of him. I wish your 
 society wouldn't use your home to entertain 
 men whom they have never met. You know, 
 Rosamond," and he stepped forward and 
 placed his heavy hand on her shoulder, and 
 lowered his harsh voice until it mellowed into 
 a key of rough sympathy, "we were taught 
 one sad lesson by allowing a man to call here 
 whom we didn't know." 
 
 "We think this man is a gentleman," and the
 
 103 
 
 note of sincerity in her voice only augmented 
 his savage gruffness he gripped her shoulder 
 and shook it until she winced, though his 
 brutal clutch was meant for affection. 
 
 "You should be sure, my dear, you should be 
 positive." He entered the library slammed 
 the heavy door and sank in the massive leather 
 chair and tried to smoke away the misery that 
 his many millions hadn't kept from entering 
 his palace door.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 KENT'S advice, which was based on the 
 facts that had caused so many heart aches in 
 his family, left the three ladies sitting with 
 bowed heads and their minds pondering over 
 the past and each one silently asking them- 
 selves if he were right. Mrs. Kent favored his 
 opinion to a degree, but was undecided as to 
 what step her husband would take toward the 
 strange man if he knew he possessed a photo- 
 graph of their daughter and the knowledge of 
 her whereabouts. One deep sigh followed the 
 other until Helen's sympathy on the subject 
 had become exhausted and she became some- 
 what impatient with herself and everyone 
 concerned. 
 
 "Oh, don't mind him," she grunted. "He has 
 a bad case of indigestion." 
 
 The unexpected remark and the pouty, jerky 
 tone in which it was delivered, brought her 
 mother and Rosamond half way back to earth, 
 and though neither spoke, the humorous ex- 
 pression of their eyes as they glanced at the 
 
 104
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 105 
 
 child explained their opinion of her incapa- 
 bility to be serious for more than a minute at a 
 time, no matter how fatal the subject might be. 
 
 The butler appeared at the door and an- 
 nounced Mr. Thisby. The words had scarcely 
 left his lips before Helen exclaimed, "Show 
 him in quick!" and the butler failed to conceal 
 his broad smile as he hurried away. Helen's 
 boisterous manner surprised her sister and 
 shocked her mother, but they didn't succeed in 
 hiding- the fact that they were also amused. 
 
 "What on earth is he calling at this hour 
 for?" Rosamond asked in a voice that was 
 equally blended with astonishment and annoy- 
 ance. 
 
 "Because I told him to." 
 
 "Now remember, Helen, don't ask him to 
 stay to lunch," and Rosamond marked each 
 word with an emphatic nod of her head. 
 
 "Oh, he doesn't want to stay," Helen 
 answered in a voice of exaggerated pride. 
 
 "He'd stay if you gave him half an invita- 
 tion." 
 
 "You shouldn't mind him," Mrs. Kent re- 
 marked casually. "I should think you would
 
 106 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 be so used to him that you wouldn't notice 
 him, and Mrs. Thisby likes to have him come 
 over here because then she knows where he is. 
 I don't mind him; he seems just like a girl to 
 me." 
 
 When Rosamond and her mother left the 
 room, Helen seated herself and pretended to 
 read the book Rosamond had forgotten, 
 though she was gazing several inches above 
 the top of the book and listening attentively 
 for Thisby's voice, and when he "ahemmed" 
 politely, she mechanically dropped the book 
 and exclaimed in a forced dramatic tone: "Oh, 
 how you frightened me !" 
 
 "I'm jolly well sorry, I thought you knew I 
 was here, don't you know." 
 
 "Well, I didn't, and I'm not aware of the 
 fact yet." She picked up her book held it 
 within a few inches of her eyes and smiled be- 
 hind its pages. 
 
 "Really now, stop capering, don't you know. 
 Aren't you going for a spin ?" 
 
 "Certainly not, you know the Club is giving 
 a luncheon here today in honor of Mr. Weath- 
 erbee," and she turned several pages of the 
 book over hurriedlv .
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 107 
 
 "But you don't care anything about the 
 blooming Club!" 
 
 She rose to her feet slowly and drew her 
 shoulders up until they almost covered her 
 ears, then spoke in a whispering gasp that 
 would have frightened herself if she hadn't had 
 such a struggle to keep from laughing, "How 
 dare you call it a blooming Club?" and she 
 sank into the chair with disgust and pretended 
 to read, but was not aware that she was hold- 
 ing the book upside down. 
 
 "Bless my soul, I'm only jesting. You said 
 yesterday you didn't care about remaining to 
 the luncheon and if I'd call you would go for a 
 spin, don't you know." 
 
 "Well, if I did I have changed my mind. I 
 wish to remain and meet Mr. Weatherbee," 
 and she emphasized Mr. Weatherbee with a 
 vengeance as she noticed she was holding the 
 book upside down. 
 
 "Oh, tommyrot, and are you going to remain 
 in the house all the blooming afternoon just to 
 meet that blithering idiot?" 
 
 After she had gazed at him for several 
 seconds with a tragic expression of contempt,
 
 108 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 she remarked quietly, using her shoulders to 
 help accentuate her disgust, "You are positive- 
 ly vulgar." 
 
 Though Thisby was aware that she was 
 playing another one of her dignified roles, he 
 was somewhat puzzled at the quiet method she 
 had chosen, and a pleading note crept into his 
 small, whiny voice as he advanced a few steps 
 toward her chair. 
 
 "Well, he is; he's a blithering ass, upon my 
 soul he is," and his worried, apologetic tone 
 pleased her childish vanity and she held the 
 book close to her face to hide her smile, contin- 
 uing in her low tone, which was humorously 
 sarcastic: "I'm going to tell Rosamond, and 
 she will tell Mr. Weatherbee and I hope he'll 
 thrash you good!'' 
 
 "And I suppose you'd be jolly well glad to 
 help him, I'm thinking really." 
 
 "Yes, I would, speaking in such a rude way 
 of a man with brains," and she threw a glance 
 of contempt over the top of her book that 
 silenced Thisby for several seconds, but after 
 he had recovered and adjusted his tie, he 
 seemed to take on new courage.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 109 
 
 ''Brains !" he exclaimed in a braggadocious 
 tone. "Just because he wrote a few blithering 
 poems that have put all the ladies daft." 
 
 "His poems are simply beautiful," Helen 
 replied in a high, taunting key, raising her eyes 
 to the ceiling and shaking her head in admira- 
 tion. 
 
 "Anyone can write poems if they care to 
 waste time that way, don't you know. Just to 
 show you how easy it is, I scribbled one off last 
 night, before I retired, and I'll wager my head 
 it's more to the point than Weatherbee's, upon 
 my word it is really." 
 
 Helen quickly forgot the part she was play- 
 ing and jumped to her feet. "Did you really 
 write a poem?" 
 
 "Upon my word," Thisby replied as he re- 
 moved a small piece of paper from the pocket 
 of his waistcoat. 
 
 "Read it," and she clapped the covers of her 
 book together, sank in the chair and listened 
 earnestly, and after he had read a few lines he 
 was interrupted by her long drawn out "Oh," 
 that seemed to last a minute, then gazed re- 
 proachfully into his guilty eyes. "You hypo- 
 crite, that is in this month's Smart Set."
 
 110 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "Upon my word I wrote it," and he held the 
 poem, which was written in his own handwrit- 
 ing, close to her eyes. 
 
 "Yes, you wrote it, but you copied it out of 
 the Smart Set." 
 
 "Well, I wrote it, anyway," he returned with 
 a smile. "Oh, Helen, don't rig me; on your 
 word, aren't you going for a spin?" 
 
 "No, I'm going to stay for the luncheon." 
 
 "Then by Jove, I stay, too!" 
 
 "You can't." 
 
 "I will, upon my word, if you don't go for a 
 spin I stick," and he sat in the chair, crossed 
 his legs, folded his arms and formed a picture 
 of defiance, which succeeded to make her for- 
 get the dignified role she had been playing and 
 be quite her excited self. 
 
 "You can't, I tell you, Mr. Weatherbee is the 
 guest of honor and there are no other men 
 allowed." 
 
 "I'll sit in the library," he answered firmly. 
 
 "You can't, papa is in there." 
 
 "I'll smoke him out with one cigarette." 
 
 "I dare you to smoke a cigarette in there !" 
 
 "I know what I'll do," and he clapped his
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 111 
 
 hands together as if a great thought had ar- 
 rived: "I'll go in and let the governor guy me 
 'til luncheon time and 
 
 "You can't," interrupted Helen, who was be- 
 coming extremely worried at the persistent 
 attitude he had taken. "There are no other 
 men permitted to the luncheon but Mr. 
 Weatherbee." 
 
 "But if he doesn't come you'd be jolly well 
 glad to have me here to fill up the gap, don't 
 you know." 
 
 "But he is coming." 
 
 "Well, I can sit in there while you are at 
 luncheon and let the Governor guy me and 
 we'll take a spin after a jolly happy thought, 
 don't you know really it is, I must explode it 
 to the Governor," and he entered the library 
 prepared for his usual guying,, which always 
 terminated with some sound business advice. 
 
 After his feeble tap on the door had been 
 answered by Kent's gruff "Come in," he 
 broke the several seconds of chilled silence that 
 greeted him with a bold, "Howdy, Governor," 
 that was answered by an unwelcome grunt fol- 
 lowed by another cold wave of silence which
 
 112 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 amused Thisby more than it frightened him, 
 for he had been a sort of a plaything around 
 the Kent home too many years to be frozen out 
 by Mr. Kent refusing to enter into a conversa- 
 tion, and sitting with his feet up on the desk, 
 leaving nothing for Thisby to see but the back 
 of his head.
 
 ROSAMOND
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 HELEN, knowing the frame of mind her 
 father was in, his opinion of Thisby, his usual 
 attitude toward him unless he wished to joke 
 with him about the color of his tie, waistcoat, 
 or the stripes in his shirt, which were seldom 
 any other than a bright red, watched the 
 library door with a great deal of anxiety for 
 several minutes, and when Thisby failed to 
 return, her surprise and curiosity led her ear 
 close to the keyhole. 
 
 "Has he gone?" Rosamond whispered in a 
 ^one of delight when she entered the room. 
 
 "Yes," Helen replied, tiptoeing away from 
 the keyhole. "He has gone in there," and her 
 small, white hand trembled when she pointed 
 to the door of the library. 
 
 "Why didn't you send him home?" Rosa- 
 mond inquired impatiently. 
 
 "I just couldn't get him to go I tried and 
 tried, and he absolutely refused." 
 
 The names of the Misses Curtis, Page and 
 Alldwin, three members of the "Ten Club," 
 
 113
 
 114 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 were accurately announced by the butler and 
 each one was greeted affectionately by Rosa- 
 mond. 
 
 Though Helen welcomed each lady with a 
 sincere clasp of the hand, their smartly cut 
 gowns and attractive hats claimed a large 
 share of her attention and as her longing eyes 
 rested on Marjorie Page's large white hat, she 
 wondered if it would be removed during the 
 meeting long enough to see if it was as becom- 
 ing to her as it was to Marjorie. 
 
 "Are we the first here?" Miss Curtis asked. 
 "We came early on account of the business 
 meeting before luncheon." 
 
 "I hope all the girls come early today," 
 Rosamond answered eagerly, "so we can have 
 a good, long meeting just about business." 
 
 "I was telling lone," and Miss Alldwin 
 looked at Rosamond as if she hoped to gain her 
 approval, "that I think it would be a good idea 
 to impose a fine on any of us girls who mention 
 gowns, hats, opera, or anything that isn't con- 
 nected with the club, during the meeting." 
 
 "I think it would be a capital idea," Rosa- 
 mond exclaimed, and Helen suggested that
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 115 
 
 they all remove their hats and have them 
 where they wouldn't be seen during the meet- 
 ing, and she was quite disappointed when her 
 suggestion was passed by with a kindly smile. 
 
 Miss Curtis became extremely enthusiastic 
 when Rosamond asked her how her little 
 patient was doing, and the unconscious love 
 with which she described the way it was learn- 
 ing to walk made one almost wish they were a 
 crippled child being cared for by a member of 
 the "Ten Club." 
 
 "We have built on a board a little sort of a 
 fence that just comes up to his waist no, there 
 are two fences, one on either side of this board 
 and he walks between the fences, hangs on 
 with each little hand while he drags his little 
 feet along. It is simply wonderful the way he 
 is improving. What do you suppose he said 
 to me this morning when I called to take him 
 out in the car? He was standing between the 
 little fences when I went in, and he looked up 
 at me and laughed and tried to shake the fence 
 with his tiny hand and yelled: 'I got 'egs.' 
 
 "How long have you been caring for this 
 one, lone?" 
 
 "Almost a year."
 
 116 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "Could he walk at all when you first took 
 him?" 
 
 "No, he had never touched his little feet to 
 the floor." 
 
 "Well, my youngster's back is as straight as 
 my hand," and as Rosamond held out her hand, 
 she was interrupted by Miss Page, who was 
 anxious to tell of her little patient whom she 
 was about to dismiss in perfect health, but the 
 arrival of Miss Sprague and Miss Seward de- 
 layed her pleasure, and Grace Sprague's hat 
 gave Helen an unexpected pleasure that she 
 hadn't dreamed of, for she hadn't thought of 
 anything more beautiful than Marjorie Page's 
 hat, but as her large blue eyes traveled from 
 one to the other, she couldn't decide which she 
 would look best in. Miss Page made another 
 unsuccessful attempt to tell of her little patient, 
 for Grace Sprague took the floor and her un- 
 conscious enthusiasm enabled her to hold their 
 attention until she had given an imitation of 
 how her little Towser could run. 
 
 "He can actually run, girls," she exclaimed 
 in a tone so high that her voice broke before
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 117 
 
 she completed the sentence. "We took his 
 little steel jacket off yesterday and he just 
 screamed with joy and ran around the room." 
 Miss Page rose once more to inform them of 
 the success she had been having when Edith 
 Seward's eagerness led her to the center of the 
 room to describe how her little girl's head was 
 being carried in a frame that rested on her 
 shoulders. Miss Page listened politely until 
 she thought the child had had its share of de- 
 scription and she finally lectured on her case 
 until Mary Cradduck and Catherine Chapin 
 arrived, then the subject was changed just 
 long enough to exchange a friendly, familiar 
 greeting, each girl calling the other by her 
 given name and the atmosphere of long ac- 
 quaintance and sincere friendship for each 
 other seemed to make interruptions a thing of 
 welcome, so Mary Cradduck silenced every- 
 thing by exclaiming: "Listen, girls!" and de- 
 scribed her patient as a soldier, six years of age, 
 whose name was Mike Finn, named after his 
 father, the late Mike Finn. "The first request 
 I made of his mother was to have Mike's red 
 hair cut, and during my absence the economi-
 
 118 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 cal Mrs. Finn cut Mike's hair herself and I wish 
 you could see it. Rosamond, I wish you could 
 see it." 
 
 "What is the case?" Rosamond inquired 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Limb trouble." 
 
 "Is it curable?" 
 
 "Yes, I'll bet that little tad will be playing 
 football in six months." 
 
 "It is your turn now, Catherine," Rosamond 
 remarked tenderly, as she noticed Miss Chapin 
 who had been listening quietly to the encour- 
 aging descriptions that each girl had given of 
 her patient and Rosamond saw from the sad 
 expression of her eyes that she was not anxious 
 to talk of her case, so she changed the subject 
 by joyfully exclaiming: "Girls, aren't you de- 
 lighted to know that Ida is going to become a 
 member today?" 
 
 "Isn't it fine?" several of the girls answered 
 with a sincerity that might make one think 
 they were welcoming the home-coming of an 
 absent sister. 
 
 "Everyone just loves Ida, anyway," Miss 
 Seward remarked. "She has seemed like a
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 119 
 
 member for a long time. She loves children 
 and she has been taking care of a little tike for 
 almost a year. Out of all the names on the 
 waiting list, Ida's was the only one suggested 
 for membership. It was certainly a great com- 
 pliment to her. We are lucky to get her. We 
 need her; she is a worker." 
 
 The names of Miss Butterwing and Miss 
 Lombard were gently announced by the butler 
 and each girl rose to welcome the new member 
 and waited their turn to clasp her hand and 
 greet her with affectionate congratulations. 
 
 If Mr. Gibson and Mr. Christy could have 
 had a few minutes in the corner, unnoticed by 
 the ten young ladies as they unconsciously 
 smiled and chatted in a circle under the sun- 
 tinted light from the large chandelier, they 
 would have given the lovers of their drawings 
 something they would never forget. 
 
 "Isn't she the lucky girl?" Miss Butterwing 
 asked. 
 
 "Think how lucky we are," responded Rosa- 
 mond, "to secure a worker like Ida in our 
 Club." 
 
 "I think so, too," was the mild ejaculation
 
 120 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 from several of the girls who didn't quite catch 
 the meaning of Miss Butterwing's remark. 
 
 "Oh, yes, the acknowledgment of our luck 
 was shown in our selection I mean that Ida 
 is lucky to be made a member today when we 
 are entertaining an unknown author, and if I 
 am not mistaken, he has been the cause of a 
 few new hats to be worn today, hasn't he?" 
 and she smiled at one or two of the girls whom 
 she suspected of having made a special effort to 
 dress more becomingly than usual for this par- 
 ticular luncheon, and some of the girls did con- 
 fess that they had thought of Mr. Weatherbee 
 when they were deciding what gown they 
 would wear. 
 
 "Tell us about him, Rosamond what is he 
 like?" Miss Page requested eagerly as she sat 
 on the large settee followed by as many of the 
 girls as could crowd themselves between its 
 ends. Each girl expressed an anxious desire to 
 hear of the poet as they seated themselves and 
 waited patiently for Rosamond. 
 
 The sad expression which had unconsciously 
 crept into her eyes as she thought of Marguer- 
 ite's picture caused several of the girls to re-
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 121 
 
 mark in a disappointed tone: "Oh, he isn't 
 coming!" 
 
 "Yes, he is," Rosamond answered quickly 
 when she realized she had been standing in the 
 center of the room speechless for several 
 moments. "In the first place," she continued 
 in a tone in which she forced sufficient enthusi- 
 asm to conceal her grief, "I haven't met Mr. 
 Weatherbee. I met his secretary, a most 
 charming character, quite as quaint as the 
 studio itself, and after we had waited for Mr. 
 Weatherbee for some time, his secretary said 
 there was a chance of his not coming to the 
 studio that day, so I wrote him a very urgent 
 note telling him what a decided hit his poem 
 had made with the audience and especially 
 with the ladies of the club and that we insisted 
 on his accepting our invitation, so the next day 
 I received a note written by Mr. Weatherbee 
 himself on a little sheet of plain paper such as 
 authors use, saying: "With grateful apprecia- 
 tion, I accept the kind invitation of the 'Ten 
 Club.' Faithfully yours, John Weatherbee." 
 
 "Three cheers for Rosamond," Miss Butter- 
 wing exclaimed, and the nine girls applauded
 
 122 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 earnestly with their white gloved hands as 
 they cheered Rosamond, who bowed playfully. 
 
 "Girls, I wish you could see his studio. It is 
 like something an artist would paint. I just 
 bated to come away," ^nd when Rosamond fin- 
 ished her flowery description of John Weath- 
 erbee's home in the attic, each girl was leaning 
 far forward in her chair picturing the tiny 
 room with the worn rag carpet, the broken 
 rocker and the one small window, as a spot 
 used for inspiration, little dreaming that the 
 man whom they expected to entertain so lav- 
 ishly in the Kent mansion knew no other home 
 and was at that moment sitting in the broken 
 rocker with his elbows on his knees and his 
 face buried in his hands, wondering if he had 
 done right in accepting their invitation. 
 
 Miss Butterwing suggested the meeting be 
 called to order and all the business details of 
 the club attended to before the Guest arrived, 
 and Rosamond led the way to the adjoining 
 room, which had been carefully arranged for 
 the purpose. Helen's longing gaze followed 
 Marjorie Page's large white hat until Rosa- 
 mond closed the door and shook her lace hand-
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 123 
 
 kerchief at Helen and smiled affectionately, 
 saying: " We won't be long, Kiddie." 
 
 The nine young ladies seated themselves in 
 the comfortable chairs that were arranged in 
 the form of a horseshoe facing a large mahog- 
 any table, at which Miss Butterwing sat, ready 
 to conduct the meeting, and the serious, friend- 
 ly attention that each girl bestowed upon their 
 leader was extremely unusual for a ladies' club. 
 No gavel was used to call the meeting to order 
 or to stop the buzz of conversation. Each girl 
 sat silently with her eyes resting tenderly on 
 Miss Butterwing. She did not rise to address 
 the club, but sat with her hands resting on the 
 table and spoke in a colloquial tone. 
 
 "Girls, the object of this meeting today, 
 which we term a business meeting, is to wel- 
 come Ida as a member of the 'Ten Club' and 
 for her sake I shall state as briefly as possible 
 its history. The organization covers a period 
 of over thirty years; some of our mothers were 
 its original members. It was started by ten 
 girls who were anxious to do something more 
 than chat their lives away around a tea table. 
 Out of a large social circle there were only ten
 
 124 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 of these girls who got together and decided 
 that they would give at least an hour of their 
 time each day to some crippled child under the 
 age of ten, whose parents were unable to give 
 it proper medical attention. They engaged two 
 of the most celebrated specialists in New York 
 to take charge of these cases. It is the wish of 
 each member to find some crippled child re- 
 gardless of race or religion, place it in charge 
 of our physicians and spend an hour each day 
 with the child, doing what she can do to bene- 
 fit and educate it. We have the names of over 
 three hundred cases which have been cured 
 during the life of this club. Some have turned 
 out to be prominent business men here in New 
 York. There are no rules or duties known to 
 the club. Everything is done through love. 
 No name, photograph or statement of any 
 child or case is given to any newspaper. Any 
 girl who marries becomes a retired member 
 and her work with the club ceases," and Miss 
 Butterwing laughed aloud as she said: "I 
 guess that is done to enable her to give her 
 husband an hour of her time each day. There 
 are no initiation fees or dues attached to the
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 125 
 
 club. The physicians are paid semi-annually 
 from an equal collection from each member, 
 which they usually collect from 'father/ and if 
 he doesn't pony up at the request of his daugh- 
 ter he is called upon by the entire club, armed 
 with hat pins and we have never failed to 
 collect. We called on Mr. Kent once, and 
 after we had collected we fined him the price 
 of a lunch for our trouble. We like to make 
 these calls, so after you have made a polite re- 
 quest and they don't shell out, just report it to 
 the club and it will do the rest and lunch at his 
 expense. 
 
 "The literary side of our club is left to the 
 individual taste and desire of each member. 
 We hold a meeting which is followed by a 
 luncheon every month for the purpose of dis- 
 cussing opera, drama, poetry, or any subject 
 which a member wishes to introduce. We give 
 a benefit performance each year for the club, 
 but this performance is not known or referred 
 to as a benefit. It is advertised as 'The "Ten 
 Club's" Annual Amateur Performance' given 
 exclusively by the members. Each girl takes 
 part and does what she can to make it a sue-
 
 cess. Rosamond was the bright particular star 
 of our last performance. For these perform- 
 ances we advertise for one act plays, poems and 
 songs by unknown authors. Our last enter- 
 tainment was the most successful one we have 
 ever given. Rosamond acted as manager, 
 stage manager and general director, and she 
 can give us the particulars. Is there anything 
 that I have forgotten to say, Rosamond?" Miss 
 Rutterwing asked as she rose to give her the 
 chair. 
 
 "You did beautifully," and the ladies showed 
 their appreciation by applauding generously. 
 
 Rosamond stood behind the table and faced 
 her companions with a pleasant smile; it was 
 really a proud smile, a smile that might have 
 expressed a tiny note of conceit, for she was 
 more than pleased with her managerial efforts. 
 The entertainment had gone off smoothly and 
 the financial returns were far beyond their ex- 
 pectations. 
 
 "As you all know, girls, our entertainment 
 was simply a triumph both artistically and 
 financially just think, everything is paid and 
 we only lost two hundred sixty-three dollars
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 127 
 
 and thirty-five cents," and each lady cheered 
 and applauded vociferously for many seconds. 
 "And we were just as great a success artisti- 
 cally as we were financially," she continued 
 with increased pride. "Of course, the enter- 
 tainment was a little too long, but we didn't 
 start until two and were out before seven, and 
 everyone remained until it was over but the 
 men. I guess they wanted to smoke," she said 
 as if she were trying to apologize for their leav- 
 ing. "Mamma says (for an entertainment 
 given by girls) it is the best one she ever saw in 
 all her life. Some of us forgot our lines in the 
 play, but mamma said the audience expected 
 us to so they were not disappointed. What else 
 is there to say Oh, yes, Butty and I bought 
 the prize for Mr. Weatherbee, it's upstairs in 
 my room. I'll send and get it when we finish 
 here and you can see if you like it. If you 
 don't we can change it for something else. 
 That is all I can think of to say is there any- 
 thing I have forgotten?" and her question was 
 answered by another outburst of applause. 
 
 Ida Lombard 'was acknowledged a member 
 of the "Ten Club" after each one of the girls
 
 128 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 had initiated her with a rugged hug and a ten- 
 der kiss on the cheek and the meeting was 
 thrown open for the discussion of any subject 
 that might be introduced and John Weather- 
 bee's poem was discussed, analyzed and pro- 
 nounced a masterpiece.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THISBY'S many efforts to interest Kent on 
 such subjects as the weather, automobiles, 
 golf, tennis, bridge, theaters, teas and lunch- 
 eons proved useless. He replied to some with 
 a grunt, some with silence and others by a 
 nervous tapping on the arm of his chair, but 
 Thisby's courage remained firm and after he 
 had watched the back of Kent's head for many 
 minutes, waiting for a reply to his last ques- 
 tion, he informed Mr. Kent that he had for- 
 gotten to put his watch on and would like to 
 know the time. 
 
 "I haven't my glasses," Kent grunted as he 
 held his watch before Thisby. 
 
 "It will soon be time for the bloomin' lunch- 
 eon," he said as Kent walked out of the library 
 and closed the door with a slam. "I hope the 
 beggar doesn't come," Thisby thought to him- 
 self, and he smiled at the rage he had worked 
 Kent into. 
 
 Kent paced the drawing room floor with his 
 
 129
 
 130 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 hands clasped behind his back, puffing savage- 
 ly at his black cigar. 
 
 "Are you feeling any better, Richard?" Mrs. 
 Kent asked in a sympathetic voice as she en- 
 tered the room. 
 
 "No," he replied gruffly. "How can I get a 
 chance to feel better? I can't get a corner to 
 myself in my own house !" 
 
 "Why don't you sit in the library?" 
 
 "I can't sit in there when that stick of candy 
 is around talking his silly head off." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Thisby. Now I'm ill, and if he lights a 
 cigarette in this house, I'll ask him to go home. 
 I wish, dear, you would ask this club to have 
 their luncheons some place else. The idea of 
 inviting a strange man here whom they have 
 never seen and know nothing of!" 
 
 "The club invited him." 
 
 "It is wrong, my dear it is wrong. He may 
 be someone we would be ashamed to have our 
 children know." 
 
 Mrs. Kent sat patiently and listened while 
 he tore through the bitter past that was gnaw- 
 ing at his heart and causing him many sleep- 
 less hours which no one knew of but himself.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 131 
 
 Weatherbee slowly mounted the marble 
 steps of the Kent mansion and pressed the 
 electric button firmly. He had pictured the 
 situation and studied it until his mind was un- 
 balanced as to whether he was right or wrong 
 in accepting the invitation. He saw Warner's 
 picture of the cad who would permit a worn 
 suit of clothes to prevent him from meeting a 
 friend who sought his acquaintance, one whom 
 he admired as he had never admired before, 
 and he pressed the button again and the door 
 opened. 
 
 "Who shall I say?" the butler inquired 
 politely when he saw there was no card. 
 
 "Mr. Weatherbee," he answered softly. 
 
 Kent stood motionless in the center of the 
 room when Weatherbee's name was an- 
 nounced, and when Mrs. Kent requested the 
 butler to show him in, Kent started for the 
 library, opened the door and closed it with a 
 crash, when he was met by a cloud of smoke 
 from Thisby's cigarette. 
 
 "Hell!" he growled as he returned to the 
 drawing room. 
 
 "You talk with Mr. Weatherbee, Richard,
 
 132 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 until the ladies finish their meeting. They 
 won't be but a few minutes. I'll try and send 
 Thisby home." 
 
 "If it weren't for his mother I'd send him 
 home," Kent mumbled half to himself, "and I 
 would do it in a way that would wrinkle some 
 of those wide, foolish stripes in his trousers, 
 too." 
 
 Mrs. Kent explained in a tender, motherly 
 way how busy the girls were going to be and 
 that Mr. Kent was really ill, but it made no 
 serious impression on Thisby; in fact, Mr. 
 Kent's condition amused him and he simply 
 laughed when Mrs. Kent suggested that he 
 run home for awhile and come over tomorrow. 
 
 "If he's ill, why doesn't he go to his room and 
 lie down for a bit?" Thisby asked in a tone of 
 amused impatience. "He isn't ill, he's simply 
 ugly. I tried every possible way to entertain 
 him. I talked of everything I could think of 
 and he just simply wouldn't talk. It wouldn't 
 be very considerate of me to go home now. 
 The girls are not sure that Mr. Weatherbee is 
 coming, and if he doesn't come, they may need 
 me to fill in for them. I promised Helen that
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 133 
 
 I would stick around and I'm not going to 
 break my word with her just because Mr. Kent 
 has a grouch on," and he puffed heroically at 
 his cigarette as he crossed his legs and swung 
 his foot contentedly. 
 
 Mrs. Kent sat in silence for a few seconds 
 and offered to 'phone him herself if Mr. Weath- 
 erbee didn't come, but Thisby replied that it 
 would be more honorable for him to keep his 
 word and wait. 
 
 "Til be broad-minded about it," he said while 
 he placed the thumb of each hand in the arm- 
 hole of his waistcoat: "If Mr. Kent wants to 
 act peevish and childish about sitting in here 
 and chatting with me, I'll wait upstairs, or any 
 place, but I mustn't go home and break my 
 word to Helen." 
 
 Kent paced nervously back and forth in the 
 drawing room and paused under the chan- 
 delier as the butler politely bowed John Weath- 
 erbee into the room. 
 
 Weatherbee's carefully brushed hair, his 
 long thin face, his low white collar that was 
 partly hidden behind a black flowing tie with 
 slightly ravelled ends, his shiny double-breast-
 
 134 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 ed blue suit and worn shoes, which had been 
 carefully polished, were taken in by one pierc- 
 ing glance as Kent slowly raised his left hand 
 to remove his cigar and pushed his right hand 
 deep into the pocket of his trousers. 
 
 Each man eyed the other carefully, and an 
 expression of bewildered amazement crept into 
 Kent's face as he stepped back on his right 
 foot, drew the left one back slowly and raised 
 himself to the extreme height of his stature. 
 Many thoughts flew through his active mind 
 as he gazed at the careworn character which 
 stood before him, which was so different from 
 any of the many he had pictured since he had 
 heard of the name Weatherbee. His walk in 
 life had never brought him in contact with 
 such a type as now stood before him, for they 
 seldom got beyond his office boy, and never 
 passed his secretary. "What is his game?" he 
 thought to himself as he replaced his cigar and 
 gripped it firmly between his teeth and threw 
 both hands behind his back then stared at 
 Weatherbee in blank amazement. He remem- 
 bered that Mrs. Kent or Rosamond had told 
 him that they hadn't seen Mr. Weatherbee
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 135 
 
 himself and that was the only excuse he could 
 find for such a dressed person being in his 
 house, and his attitude became more rigid and 
 his stare more savage while his eyes traveled 
 slowly from Weatherbee's head to his feet. 
 
 Weatherbee stood between the silk portieres 
 and met his cold, icy reception with a warm, 
 courageous smile, that flittered away gradually 
 and left his long, thin face with nothing but a 
 twinkling left eye to relieve it of its sad ex- 
 pression. 
 
 / "He at least does me the honor of being 
 rude," Weatherbee thought to himself while 
 he tried to master an embarrassing situation, 
 which in spite of its seriousness was becoming 
 somewhat humorous on account of Kent's lion- 
 like manner. He had schooled himself and wis 
 quite prepared to meet a group of young ladies 
 and watch with great interest their disappoint- 
 ment at his appearance or entertain them with 
 verses from their favorite poets, or give his 
 honest opinion of the many authors with 
 whose works he was familiar, but he was not 
 ready for the rude, brutal manner in which 
 Kent was receiving him, though the time that
 
 136 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 had elapsed during which each man waited for 
 the other to speak gave him an opportunity to 
 call on his judgment to decide what tack he 
 would take. His left eye twinkled until it 
 danced and the right eye seemed to applaud it 
 as they both gazed steadily, though tenderly, 
 at Kent, who still stood like a steel statue, and 
 Weatherbee's lips smiled pleasantly as he 
 spoke in a low, dignified tone that was almost 
 a whisper. 
 
 "I am Mr. Weatherbee." 
 
 "I am Richard Kent," the latter retorted 
 quickly. 
 
 "Oh, father of Miss Rosamond Kent?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I am glad to meet you," and Weatherbee 
 bowed politely. 
 
 "Will you be seated?" and Kent pointed to 
 a chair just inside of the entrance, and Weath- 
 erbee seated himself and whispered an amused 
 "thank you." 
 
 "I understand you haven't met my daughter 
 yet." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I have had that pleasure," Weath-
 
 "His coarse, grizzly personality did anything but 
 frighten Weaiherbee"
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 137 
 
 erbee replied, forgetting that he had met her as 
 his own secretary. 
 
 Kent became puzzled as he hesitated for a 
 few seconds and muttered to himself: "I un- 
 derstood them to say she hadn't met you." 
 
 Weatherbee leaned back in the big chair 
 resting his hands on its cushioned arms and 
 studied Kent calmly and carefully as he ran his 
 nervous fingers through his white hair and 
 gazed steadily at the floor. His coarse, grizzly 
 personality, his rude stare and lack of any 
 trace of politeness or civility, did anything but 
 frighten Weatherbee; in fact, it acted as a 
 tonic to his courage and he became disgusted 
 with the atmosphere of the mansion and grew 
 proud of his poverty and his humble home in 
 the attic. 
 
 "Where did you meet my daughter?" Kent 
 asked, drawing his head up slowly and search- 
 ing Weatherbee with half-closed eyes. 
 
 "At my studio," Weatherbee answered in a 
 gentle, polite tone, which increased Kent's as- 
 tonishment and caused him to open his mouth 
 as wide as he did his eyes, and his voice soft- 
 ened with surprise.
 
 138 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "May I ask where your studio is located?" 
 
 "On Twenty-ninth Street." 
 
 "Where is your home?" 
 
 "In my studio." 
 
 "Do your parents live in New York?" 
 
 "My parents are dead." 
 
 Kent stuck the big cigar between his teeth 
 and walked the full length of the large room 
 with his hands clasped behind his back and his 
 head bowed in wonderment. 
 
 Weatherbee followed Kent's heavy figure 
 with a sympathetic eye. The wealth he repre- 
 sented faded into dust, the mansion became 
 nothing but cold stone walls, the silk portieres 
 and damask seemed like rags, while his own 
 shiny blue suit felt like velvet. 
 
 "It is a study of life that I wouldn't have 
 missed for a fortune," he thought to himself 
 and tried to decide whether he would leave at 
 once or bear the humiliation and remain as a 
 mere student of human nature. 
 
 Kent caught his wife's eye as she entered the 
 room, and his sarcastic smile puzzled her until 
 she saw Weatherbee rise from his chair 
 quickly.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 139 
 
 "My dear, let me present Mr. Weatherbee 
 this is Mrs. Kent." 
 
 "I am delighted to know you," Weatherbee 
 whispered in an audible tone as he bowed po- 
 litely and a forced smile that partly covered 
 the unconscious look of surprise that came in- 
 to her face, and extended her hand gasping in 
 broken syllables: "I I am pleased to meet 
 you." 
 
 "I thank you," Weatherbee answered in a 
 firm tone, then pressed her hand gently and 
 tried to make it appear that he hadn't noticed 
 her embarrassment. 
 
 "Sit down," Kent ordered as he sank in a 
 chair facing Weatherbee, who stood until Mrs. 
 Kent was seated. 
 
 "Mr. Weatherbee says he has met Rosa- 
 mond," and he gazed steadily at Mrs. Kent 
 who looked with surprise and exclaimed: "Oh, 
 I understood Rosamond to say she hadn't met 
 you." 
 
 "I don't understand the situation at all," 
 Kent growled, then started on another nervous 
 pace, but was interrupted by Thisby, who 
 yelled as he entered the room and saw Weath-
 
 140 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 erbee: "I jolly well knew it I told you so 
 Weather can't come, eh?" 
 
 Kent turned suddenly, his eyes flashed and 
 his voice fell to a key of whispering amaze- 
 ment. "That is Mr. Weatherbee, is it not?" 
 
 "I'll be jolly well hanged if I know I hope 
 not he said yesterday he was Weatherbee's 
 secretary." 
 
 A gentle smile of amused defiance came over 
 Weatherbee's face he watched the three 
 people standing speechless, staring first at him 
 and then at each other. 
 
 "Surely surely," Helen cried in a disap- 
 pointed tone as she came into the room and 
 saw the four people standing silently gazing 
 into each other's blank faces. "Surely Mr. 
 Weatherbee isn't going to disappoint us at this 
 late hour?" and she stood directly in front of 
 Weatherbee and looked into his eyes reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 "I think Mr. Weatherbee is going to disap- 
 point you," Weatherbee whispered with a 
 smile, looking tenderly into the child's eyes. 
 
 "Isn't this the gentleman you invited to 
 your luncheon?" Kent asked quietly.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 141 
 
 "Why, no-o he is Mr. Weatherbee's secre- 
 tary, aren't you?" 
 
 Weatherbee nodded his head in the affirma- 
 tive, and his smile broadened as he still gazed 
 on Helen's wide-open eyes. 
 
 "Thisby, show the ladies into the library," 
 Kent ordered, then sank in the chair, propped 
 his elbow on its arm, placed his chin in his 
 hand and tried to look through Weatherbee's 
 eyes that seemed to dance with joy at the sav- 
 age, speechless figure that looked as if it were 
 panting with rage at something it didn't know 
 just where to bite to cause the most painful 
 wound. 
 
 Weatherbee sat leisurely in the large chair, 
 folded his hands together, and watched with 
 dignified ease the muscles in Kent's face swell 
 with rage as he sat waiting for an explanation. 
 He smiled with pity at the financial giant who 
 snarled at his rags, and Kent's dog-like rude- 
 ness seemed to call forth and accentuate his 
 quiet sympathetic dignity. 
 
 "I have been urgently invited to this house," 
 he thought to himself, "and I'll give them a 
 chance to apologize for the manner in which
 
 142 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 they have received me or acknowledge that on 
 account of my attire they do not wish to enter- 
 tain me." Forgetting Kent's presence he closed 
 his eyes and dreamed back and imagined he 
 saw the girl who recited his poem. He saw her 
 standing in his tiny attic room and he heard 
 her say: "Be sure and give this note to Mr. 
 Weatherbee," and he wondered if that gentle 
 voice could ever sound rude, or those large, 
 soft, brown eyes could look with the same 
 brutal contempt with which her father was 
 staring at him now. 
 
 The door of the adjoining room opened and 
 closed and those two brown eyes opened wide 
 and that gentle voice became mellow with dis- 
 appointed surprise as it murmured: "Oh, isn't 
 Mr. Weatherbee coming?" 
 
 Weatherbee's "no" sounded like a painful 
 throb from his throat as he stood and shook his 
 head slowly. "He sent me to to tell you 
 that that it is impossible for him to be with 
 you today, he he is extremely sorry and he 
 hopes that that circumstances will permit 
 him to attend one of your luncheons later he 
 is most grateful for having been honored with 
 an invitation and "
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 143 
 
 The butler then opened the library door and 
 announced that Kent's office wished to speak 
 with him over the 'phone on important busi- 
 ness. 
 
 "This gentleman introduced himself as Mr. 
 Weatherbee," Kent growled sarcastically, then 
 hurried into the library and closed the door 
 with a bang. 
 
 Rosamond's face became a study of wonder- 
 ment. She seemed to unconsciously float to 
 one of the large chairs, sink on its arm, rest 
 her elbow on its back and bury her face in her 
 hand. During the several minutes which flew 
 by in silence, her mind wandered up the nar- 
 row stairs into the studio in the attic and she 
 realized the truth. 
 
 Weatherbee stood motionless. He hated 
 himself for the cowardly way he had disowned 
 his name on account of the shabby clothes he 
 was now proud of. 
 
 "I have disowned my name again," he said 
 to himself bitterly, "but I have done it rather 
 than hurt her by telling her who I am and how 
 I have been received." 
 
 "Is Mr. Weatherbee at his studio now?" 
 Rosamond asked quietly without moving.
 
 144 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "No, he he isn't," Weatherbee answered, as 
 if he had pulled each word from his throat with 
 a struggle. 
 
 "Why did you tell me you were Mr. Weath- 
 erbee's secretary?" and she placed the other 
 elbow on the back of the chair and rested her 
 forehead in both her hands. 
 
 "Because I I- 
 
 "Do you think it was quite. fair," she inter- 
 rupted gently, "to permit me to stand in your 
 studio and say all the things I did say about 
 Mr. Weatherbee, thinking he was absent?" 
 
 "No, it wasn't. I am sorry and I ask your 
 pardon." 
 
 "Why did you do it?" 
 
 "I can't tell you now but I'd like to tell 
 you sometime later sometime when things 
 are different." 
 
 Rosamond raised her head slowly, her hands 
 fell into her lap, she walked to the back of the 
 chair and drew her finger from one corner to 
 the other many times before she spoke and her 
 voice became mellow with sincerity. 
 
 "In spite of anything that has happened be- 
 tween you and my father, I would like to have
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 145 
 
 you remain to luncheon; the others won't 
 know," and she smiled sympathetically at 
 Weatherbee who stood speechless with admir- 
 ation. His heart seemed to be beating a hurrah 
 for the girl whose false pride it had throbbed in 
 fear of. 
 
 "Believe me, I am most grateful," Weather- 
 bee whispered, "but I oh I couldn't re- 
 main now but later oh, sometime later 
 when things change when things change 
 so to speak I'll I'll come to you, and tell you 
 why I was Mr. Weatherbee's secretary." 
 
 "I know why," she answered in a tone of en- 
 couragement. "Won't you permit me to ex- 
 plain matters to my father and remain?" 
 
 "I thank you, but it is impossible for me to 
 remain now." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I can't tell you now but sometime." 
 
 "I wish you would," she pleaded. "There is 
 something of great importance that I wish to 
 speak with you about." 
 
 "Can't you speak of it now?" 
 
 "I'm afraid we haven't time." 
 
 "What is it?"
 
 146 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "It is regarding the photograph in the gold 
 frame standing on the table in your studio." 
 
 "That is the photograph of a lady who used 
 to live there in the house." 
 
 "Does she live there now?" 
 
 "No," Weatherbee answered sadly, "she is 
 dead." 
 
 Weatherbee left the room without knowing 
 of the pain his speech caused Rosamond or see- 
 ing her face which turned a deathly pale as she 
 staggered and sank into the chair, for the 
 heavy dining room doors had rolled open be- 
 fore he had quite finished speaking and he be- 
 held the gorgeously spread table and the hand- 
 somely gowned ladies laughing and chatting 
 and he rushed into the hall, seized his hat and 
 dodged his way down Fifth Avenue studying 
 the experience which he was grateful for. 
 
 Rosamond opened her eyes to find Miss 
 Butterwing kneeling at her side and pressing 
 her hand tenderly. 
 
 "Alice, I want to go to my room," she sighed 
 as she struggled to her feet. 
 
 After Miss Butterwing had left Rosamond 
 in her room with her mother, she entered the
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 147 
 
 dining room, delivered Rosamond's message to 
 the girls, explaining her absence, and ordered 
 luncheon served. 
 
 At Helen's suggestion, she and Thisby were 
 invited to fill the vacant chairs, and he remem- 
 bered all of his favorite jokes which everyone 
 was familiar with, and Helen prompted him 
 accurately whenever his enthusiasm caused 
 him to omit even a single word.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 "THIS is Saturday today is the day," War- 
 ner whispered to himself as he slowly and un- 
 consciously slid his feet along the hot stone 
 walk of Twenty-ninth Street. He held his 
 cane loosely in his hand and tapped it before 
 him carelessly. The noise of the tapping 
 sounded lonely to him. The voice of the 
 huckster seemed to have a sad, muffled, disap- 
 pointing ring to it. He heard no children 
 laughing or singing to the tune of the hurdy- 
 gurdy. The street seemed quieter and more 
 lifeless than it had ever seemed before. 
 
 "I hope it is my imagination," and he 
 trudged along mechanically counting the steps 
 he had taken since he turned the corner. 
 
 Wartle greeted him with an unwelcome 
 grunt when he opened the door and closed it be- 
 fore Warner was far enough away to prevent 
 its edge from striking his arm. The creaking 
 of the old stairs sounded differently to him. It 
 was an unwelcome sound that seemed to say 
 good-bye instead of good-morning. 
 
 148
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 149 
 
 He stood at the head of the stairs in the little 
 attic room holding on to the banister waiting 
 for a familiar voice to welcome him, but no 
 sound came. 
 
 "John," he called in a low tone, but there was 
 no answer and he felt his way to the little 
 rocker that squeaked a lonely welcome when 
 his heavy figure sank between its broken arms. 
 
 He bent forward and listened eagerly to the 
 sound of the approaching steps on the stairs, 
 but leaned back in disappointment when he 
 recognized Mrs. Murray's breathless "Phe-e-u" 
 as she reached the top step. 
 
 "Is Mr. Weatherbee here?" she grunted 
 when she looked about the room, still hanging 
 onto the banister. 
 
 "No," Warner answered politely. 
 
 "He's always out whin his creditors call," 
 she snarled. 
 
 "I'll tell him you called," Warner answered 
 quickly, hoping she would give him the oppor- 
 tunity by not waiting. 
 
 "Thank ye fer yer koind offer, but Oi'll wait 
 fer him," and she seated herself on the bed- 
 couch.
 
 150 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "Faith an' ye'er gittin' moighty ginerous in 
 yer old age," and she glared at him sarcasti- 
 cally. "Weatherbee'll pay me what he owes 
 me today er Oi'll know the raison why," she 
 continued in a rasping tone. 
 
 "Mr. Weatherbee will pay you every cent he 
 owes you," Warner replied quietly, after a 
 short silence. 
 
 "Well, why don't he do it?" she snapped. 
 
 "Because he hasn't the money." 
 
 "Why don't he go to work an' earn it?" she 
 shouted as she hastened to the back of his chair 
 and leaned over his shoulder. 
 
 "He'll pay me what he owes me, and he'll 
 pay what he owes fer this room today, or out 
 he goes," and she tapped Warner on the shoul- 
 der roughly with her forefinger as she uttered 
 each word. "It may surprise ye to know that 
 Oi have somethin' to say in this house now." 
 
 "Now," Warner grunted humorously. "I 
 never knew you to be stuck for anything to say 
 in this house yet, Mrs. Murray." 
 
 "Well, Oi'll have more to say," she retorted. 
 "And Oi'll not let thim impose on poor Mr. 
 Wartle anny longer, he's too ginerous."
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 151 
 
 Warner drew his open hand across his 
 mouth to hide his smile when he thought of 
 Wartle's generosity. It was no easy task to 
 carry his heavy figure down and up four flights 
 of stairs, but it pained him to listen to the slurs 
 which were being thrown at Weatherbee, so 
 he decided to wait on the street by counting 
 his steps to the corner and back. 
 
 Wartle's little, fat figure met him at the 
 stairs and his biting question to Warner of 
 "His Weatherbee hin?" was answered in a 
 taunting tone by Mrs. Murray. "I guess he's 
 hoidin' some place." 
 
 "When Mr. Weatherbee comes in, will you 
 please tell him I'll be back?" Warner requested 
 srently. 
 
 ' "Yis, an' we'll tell 'im a few other things," 
 Mrs. Murray yelled. 
 
 "Han' you'd better 'urry back hif you want 
 to see 'im," and Wartle hung his bald, shiny 
 head down over the banister and talked loud 
 enough to be heard on the ground floor. "Fur 
 hif 'e don't pay what 'e howes 'e don't sleep hin 
 this room tonight." He straightened his little, 
 round figure, turned and gazed at Mrs. Murray
 
 152 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 with a broad grin. "Hi got tired hof waitin' 
 for you to come down stairs, so Hi come hup," 
 and his grin broadened until the corners of his 
 mouth almost touched his large ears, when 
 Mrs. Murray remarked in a satisfied tone: "Ye 
 look a hundred years younger with thim hair 
 mattresses off the soides of yer face," and 
 Wartle informed her with much pride that he 
 was learning to shave himself better than a 
 regular barber. 
 
 "Do you know that when Hi shaved my- 
 self this mornhin' Hi honly cut my face 
 hin four places and one place was honly 
 ha scratch," and he touched each of the three 
 pieces of sticking plaster gently with the end of 
 his finger. 
 
 "Does Weatherbee own annything in this 
 room?" Mrs. Murray snapped, as she glanced 
 around the room carefully as if she were taking 
 an inventory of its contents. 
 
 ' 'E howns the trimmin's, but Hi howns the 
 bed." 
 
 "Does he own that book-box?" and she 
 pointed to the quaint little library with its open 
 doors and empty shelves.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 153 
 
 "Yes," Wartle replied as he examined it 
 closely as if studying its value. 
 
 "Are ye goin' to let 'im take it away?" 
 
 "Hi'm not 'e don't take ha bloomin' thing 
 hout hof this 'ouse till 'e pays hevery cent 'e 
 howes me." 
 
 "Ye're roight fer once in yer loife. Did ye 
 hire the chambermaid yit?" 
 
 "Hi did, han' she's coming Monday morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "Is she Irish?" Mrs. Murray asked quickly. 
 
 "No, she's French." 
 
 "Thim Frinch fairies are dangerous." 
 
 "Why?" Wartle murmured in a frightened 
 whisper. 
 
 "They have such bad timpers, they're apt to 
 stick ye wid a knoife." 
 
 "She seems tame." 
 
 "Oi think Oi'll have her move this bid down 
 to the second floor front and bring the bid in 
 there up here. This is a better bid than it is." 
 
 "Hi'll tell 'er." 
 
 "Ye'll do nothin' of the kind Oi'll tell her 
 meself, an' ye'll have nothin' to say about the 
 runnin' of this house. Oi'll 'tend to that me-
 
 154 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 self, it's a woif s duty to take charge of the 
 house." 
 
 Wartle nodded his head slowly and an- 
 swered in a low feeble tone, "Very well, my 
 dear." 
 
 "Have ye had the things made out in moi 
 name?" 
 
 "They har made hout hand hin my lawyer's 
 'and, hand Vll give them to you the day we're 
 married." 
 
 "Oi must have thim first," and she pointed a 
 warning finger at him as she spoke. 
 
 "Hi'll take you hup to 'is hoffice hand let you 
 read them they hare to be your wedding pres- 
 ent from me." 
 
 "Have ye got the ring yit?" 
 
 Wartle rubbed his fat hands together nerv- 
 ously for a few seconds before he spoke. 
 
 "Hi thought you could wear the ring your 
 first 'usband gave you?" and he tried to occupy 
 his guilty mind by moistening the end of his 
 finger on his tongue and wiping an imaginary 
 spot from the corner of his waistcoat, while he 
 waited for Mrs. Murray's reply and hoped that 
 she would look upon the idea from an economi-
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 155 
 
 cal standpoint and consent to his suggestion, 
 but Mrs. Murray looked at him with contempt 
 for a moment, which seemed like an hour to 
 Wartle, who was still rubbing his waistcoat 
 with his finger and waiting painfully for her 
 reply. 
 
 "Not on yer loife," she grunted, "no sickon- 
 hand widdin' rings fer me." 
 
 "Very well, my dear," he sighed, "Hi'll get 
 hit this hafternoon." 
 
 "Well, ye'd better be gittin' a hustle on ye, 
 if we're goin' to be married Sunday. Have 
 ye saw about havin' the house dicorated?" 
 
 "Yes, Hi done just has you told me." 
 
 "Remimber, Oi want the main entrance and 
 the front parlor smothered in shamrocks this 
 is an Irish weddin', and if Oi see an English 
 flower sittin' in moy house, Oi'll fling it out the 
 windey." 
 
 "Hi hordered nothing but Hirish sham- 
 rocks." 
 
 "And none of yer Johnnie-Bull frinds are to 
 be here. Oi've asked Mr. McCarthy, a frind of 
 moine, to stand up wid ye and his sister is goin' 
 to stand up wid me, and OiVe invoited about
 
 156 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 fifty of moy friends and Oi'll show ye a toime 
 ye'll be proud of." 
 
 "Who his McCarthy?" Wartle inquired 
 meekly. 
 
 "He's a cab droiver," Mrs. Murray answered 
 with much pride "and owns his own cab. 
 He's a foine man, and he's goin' to bring a lot 
 of his frinds." 
 
 Wartle didn't disturb any of the sticking 
 plaster on his face by laughing over the unex- 
 pected news that Mr. McCarthy was to stand 
 up with him and bring all of his friends. His 
 little hands found their way behind his back 
 and squeezed each other tightly, his head went 
 down slowly until his chin was buried in the 
 rolls of flesh on his neck. He said nothing, but 
 sat on the bed-couch and wondered if they 
 would drink any strong drink or get noisy or 
 rough. 
 
 "Carry me up on your back, will you, Dad?" 
 Jack requested as he hung onto the tail of his 
 father's coat and tried to hold him back from 
 going upstairs unless he granted his coaxing 
 demand, and Weatherbee took him by the arms 
 and swung him over his shoulder and mounted
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 157 
 
 the stairs in time to Jack's singing, "Rub-dub- 
 dub, dub, dub," which was his usual habit every 
 time he ascended the stairs. 
 
 "Pound your feet hard on the stairs, Dad, 
 when I say rub-dub-dub." 
 
 "I mustn't, it makes too much noise." 
 
 "Well, pound them just a little," and Weath- 
 erbee satisfied him by making believe he was 
 hitting the steps heavily, though he made no 
 noise. 
 
 "There you are," and he stooped over and let 
 Jack climb over his head onto the floor. 
 
 Weatherbee removed his hat and greeted 
 Mrs. Murray and Wartle politely, but received 
 no reply. Jack pulled his little, torn straw hat 
 from his head, bowed to Mrs. Murray, saying: 
 "How do you do, Mrs. Murray," then looked 
 at his father with a half-guilty smile and 
 giggled. 
 
 "Hello, Wartie." Weatherbee placed his 
 hand over the child's mouth gently and tried to 
 speak severely, though it was an effort to con- 
 ceal the fact that he was amused at Wartle, 
 who jumped to his feet and looked indignantly 
 at Jack.
 
 158 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "Say 'How do you do, Mr. Wartle?' " and he 
 removed his hand from his mouth and placed 
 it on his head. 
 
 Jack repeated the words, "How do you do?" 
 and hesitated as he looked up at his father with 
 a daring twinkle in his eye. 
 
 "Mr. Wartle," Weatherbee demanded stern- 
 ly and Jack obeyed by bowing and emphasiz- 
 ing "Mr." with all the voice he could use. 
 "Dad, may I go down and find the cat?" 
 
 "If you don't make a noise." 
 
 And he ran downstairs calling "Kitty" in a 
 low, muffled tone. 
 
 Weatherbee hung Jack's hat in the small 
 closet, while Mrs. Murray and Wartle sat side 
 by side on the edge of the bed-couch exchang- 
 ing glances which seemed to ask, "Shall I light 
 on him first, or will you?" but Wartle broke 
 the silence as Weatherbee returned from the 
 closet. 
 
 "Hi want to know what you hare going to do 
 habout the rent?" 
 
 "And Oi want what ye owe me," put in Mrs. 
 Murray before Weatherbee had had an oppor- 
 tunity to answer Wartle's perplexing question.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 159 
 
 Weatherbee stood before his two creditors 
 and spoke kindly. "Mrs. Murray, I am very 
 sorry that I can't pay you now, but I hope to 
 be able to pay you very soon. You have more 
 than earned every cent I owe you and I'm 
 sorry to have kept you waiting so long and you 
 shall be the very first one I shall pay." 
 
 "Whin?" she snapped. 
 
 "I can't say now just when. I don't want 
 to make a promise and have to break it, though 
 I hope for your sake as well as for my own 
 that it will be very soon." 
 
 "Hand what habout me?" Wartle grunted 
 sarcastically. 
 
 "I'm going to pay you also, Mr. Wartle, but 
 not until I pay Mrs. Murray, for she needs the 
 money more than you do and I'm going to pay 
 her first." 
 
 "Hif you can't pay me today, Mr. Weather- 
 bee, you must get hout hof this 'ouse this 
 hafternoon." 
 
 Weatherbee was not in a jesting mood, but 
 the picture of Wartle and Mrs. Murray sitting 
 side by side on the edge of the couch as if they 
 had been blown up with dignity, caused his
 
 160 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 humor to unconsciously bubble up through his 
 seriousness. 
 
 "Not this afternoon, Mr. Wartle?" and he 
 forced a note of surprise into his voice that 
 concealed the fact that he had already prepared 
 to leave. 
 
 "This hafternoon," Wartle replied emphati- 
 cally. "Hand hif you don't get hout, Hi'll call 
 han hofficer," and he looked at Mrs. Murray, 
 who nodded her head and gave him an encour- 
 aging wink. 
 
 "Oh, well," Weatherbee replied dryly, "if 
 you're going to call an officer, I'll get out with- 
 out righting, just as soon as I get my things to- 
 gether." 
 
 "You mustn't take hanything that his hin 
 this room hout. What's 'ere belongs to me 
 huntil you pay me my rent. You can take the 
 boy's clothes hand that his hall, but hif you 
 hattempt to take hanything helse, Hi'll 'ave 
 you harrested," and he rose to his feet glaring 
 at Weatherbee, and his little eyes were dancing 
 with nervous anger. 
 
 Weatherbee gazed at him several seconds, 
 and his voice fell to a kindly, earnest, sympa-
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 161 
 
 thetic key. "That won't be necessary, Mr. 
 Wartle, I don't want to take anything but the 
 baby's clothes and my hat." Weatherbee 
 glanced about the room at the little trinkets he 
 had gathered from time to time. "They are of 
 no value to anyone but me," he thought to him- 
 self, "if they were Uncle would have them." 
 
 "Ye've scared him stiff," Mrs. Murray 
 whispered into Wartle's ear and they watched 
 Weatherbee as he stood with his back toward 
 them gazing at a small pencil drawing. 
 
 "Mr. Wartle, these pictures were given to 
 me by a friend. Will you ask whoever takes 
 the room to be careful of them?" 
 
 "You can 'ave them has soon has you pay 
 your rent," and he walked to the head of the 
 stairs followed by Mrs. Murray, who paused 
 on the top step long enough to say with a great 
 deal of authority: 
 
 "Oi'll take care of thim. Ye know Oi'm to 
 be Mrs. Wartle tomorrow afternoon," and 
 she followed Wartle down the stairs proudly. 
 
 "I wish you every happiness, Mrs. Murray," 
 Weatherbee yelled in a kind voice as he leaned 
 over the banister.
 
 162 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "Good-bye," she answered, and Wartle 
 called back in a high, sarcastic squeak: "Hi 
 hexpect you to get right hout, Mr. Weath- 
 erbee." 
 
 "I'll get right out, Mr. Wartle," Weather- 
 bee answered in a gentle promising tone. 
 
 He walked to the little window, pulled the 
 top sash down, leaned his elbows on its edge, 
 looked up into the blue, saw two soft, brown 
 eyes, heard a gentle sincere voice saying: "In 
 spite of anything that has happened between 
 you and my father, I would like to have you re- 
 main the others won't know," and he slapped 
 his hard luck in the face with a pleasant smile.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 WHEN Weatherbee heard Warner return- 
 ing he met him at the top of the stairs with a 
 rugged slap on the back. 
 
 "Hello, Warner," he said in a jolly tone, but 
 Warner only returned a gloomy "Hello, John," 
 and leaned against the banister and heaved a 
 deep sigh. He knew Weatherbee's voice too 
 well not to recognize the fictitious note of 
 cheerfulness he had forced into it to cover the 
 sad ones which, in spite of his effort, bubbled 
 up through the happy ones often enough to 
 betray the fact that he was not acting. 
 
 "He is doing what I knew he would do," 
 Warner thought to himself. "He is smiling 
 through the crack in his heart, a crack big 
 enough to walk through." 
 
 Warner's opinion of Weatherbee as an au- 
 thor was still on the same pedestal he had 
 placed it on the first time he had heard his 
 novels read, and he was positive in his own 
 mind that they would be published and make 
 him not only famous, but rich. He had used 
 
 163
 
 164 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 the novels as an argument of hope for so many 
 months that Weatherbee laughed every time 
 he referred to them and treated the subject as 
 a joke. He sat on the banister, leaning for- 
 ward, with both hands resting on the handle of 
 his cane. He searched for something pleasant 
 to say, but found nothing, though his heavy 
 lips moved as he said .to himself: "Those 
 novels will be published some day, I'm sure of 
 it. I'm positive of it." 
 
 Weatherbee stood in the center of the room, 
 his weight rested on one leg, his right hand 
 hung on his left arm and his chin on the 
 knuckles of the left hand. He studied Warner 
 carefully. He had known him for many years 
 and this was the first time he had ever seen 
 him bow to hard luck. He had always tickled 
 it under the chin and sent it on its way with a 
 smile. He knew Warner was not thinking of 
 himself, and Weatherbee nodded his head in 
 silent gratitude for the love that Warner's sad 
 heart was dealing out to him in aching throbs. 
 
 "If they would stand Rosamond Kent out on 
 the curb, I wouldn't take the Kent mansion and 
 all its contents for his friendship," Weatherbee
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 165 
 
 said to himself, and he walked over and struck 
 Warner a blow on the shoulder with the flat of 
 his hand that removed his hat and sent it to the 
 floor. 
 
 "Cheer up, Warner," he yelled in a loud, 
 cheerful voice as he picked up the black slouch 
 hat and drew it down on the back of Warner's 
 head until it almost covered his ears. 
 
 "I can't, John, I can't." 
 
 "You have got to," Weatherbee growled in 
 a plucky tone. "Do you remember what you 
 said the other day about the old robin in Cen- 
 tral Park, that sings for you and how happy it 
 made you, and how it gets jealous when the 
 carriages go by and make a noise, do you re- 
 member? Well, I want you to go up there and 
 listen to that robin sing and be happy and for- 
 get me and my troubles." 
 
 "I can't, John, I can't." 
 
 "You must," and Weatherbee's voice trem- 
 bled with tenacity. "Go up there and smell 
 the green and hear the children play and forget 
 me. Warner, you have been a great help to me 
 a real friend and I love you for it. We've 
 had some good times together in the old room
 
 166 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 here, and we'll have many more. You know 
 you have always said that I'd be worth a million 
 dollars some day and we have all that to look 
 forward to, and when it arrives we'll have all 
 those books we've talked about, and I'll read 
 for you; can you see that library we are going 
 to have some day? Can you see it, Warner? 
 Can you see it?" 
 
 "I can't see anything but you, without a cent 
 and no place to go," and his heavy voice tried 
 to shake the words out in a firm tone, but each 
 word seemed to stick to his tongue and stumble 
 over his thick lips in separate syllables. 
 
 Weatherbee saw that his grief had penetrat- 
 ed his heart and was clinging to its core. He 
 placed his hand on Warner's shoulder and 
 watched the blind eyes that his heart was slow- 
 ly pumping tears into. 
 
 "Why, Warner, you are going back on your 
 own advice I am ashamed of you," and the 
 two men stood for many minutes without 
 speaking. 
 
 Warner had wanted to ask a question, but 
 he hesitated in fear of the answer, and he start- 
 ed it several times before he finished it. "What
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 167 
 
 are you going to do with little Jack ?" He tried 
 to hold his voice in a firm key, but it shook and 
 the tones sounded as if they had been beaten 
 and hammered by a throbbing heart. 
 
 "You know, Warner, Jack always comes 
 first. I have prepared for him. He goes over 
 to Mrs. Turner's." 
 
 The words sounded like the notes of an old, 
 welcome song to Warner's ears, and they 
 seemed to move and try to show their apprecia- 
 tion. "And you, John, are you going there, 
 too?" 
 
 "No," Weatherbee replied cheerfully, "but 
 Jack is fixed." 
 
 "Why couldn't you go there, John?" and his 
 excited hand fumbled about until it rested on 
 Weatherbee's shoulder. 
 
 "Her house is full, Warner. Every room is 
 taken. She is going to take Jack in with her. 
 I didn't explain the situation. I told her that 
 I was going away on business and asked her to 
 take care of Jack while I was gone." 
 
 Warner sank back against the banister; his 
 right hand found its way to the handle of his 
 cane and gripped it tightly.
 
 168 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "What about you, Warner? I'm due up at 
 your house with the room rent, and I'm 
 afraid I won't be there when your landlord 
 calls the roll." 
 
 "O, don't think of me damn it I need an 
 airing, anyway," Warner answered gruffly, 
 and he gave the rim of his hat a jerk that 
 brought it down until it almost touched his 
 nose. 
 
 "When am I going to see you, John ?" 
 
 "I'll see you tonight/' 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "I'll meet you at the Seventy-second Street 
 entrance of Central Park West." 
 
 "What time?" 
 
 "At seven o'clock." 
 
 Warner felt his way to the top step by run- 
 ning his hand along the edge of the banister. 
 
 "And we'll sit in the park and talk about 
 Miss Kent." 
 
 "All right, Warner," and he patted him on 
 the shoulder affectionately. 
 
 "When you came home and told me what a 
 good time you had at that luncheon, I was as 
 happy as if I had been there." 
 
 "You were happier, Warner."
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 169 
 
 "John, they will be giving you another some 
 day, you see if they don't." 
 
 He stood on the top step and tried to push 
 his feet down the old stairs for the last time, 
 but they seemed to balk and felt as if they were 
 glued in their tracks. 
 
 Weatherbee's face wrinkled into a sad grin 
 as he watched him rest his elbow on the banis- 
 ter and lay his cheek in the palm of his hand 
 and dream until he was awakened by Jack's 
 playful voice at the bottom of the stairs. 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Warner?" he yelled as 
 he ran up the steps on his hands and feet. 
 
 "How do you do, sir? How are you today?" 
 
 "Pretty well, thank you. Stand there, Mr. 
 Warner, and let me go between your legs," and 
 he formed a bridge for Jack to go under. 
 
 "Have you a kiss for Uncle Warner?" 
 
 "You bet!" and he wrapped his little arms 
 around Warner's neck and kissed him many 
 times. 
 
 "And you are going to be a big, brave boy 
 while your dad's away, aren't you?" 
 
 "Yes, sir."
 
 170 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "Just one more kiss," and the child kissed 
 him several times. 
 
 "Good-bye good-bye, John. Seven o'clock 
 tonight," he called back in a broken tone from 
 the floor below. 
 
 "At the Seventy-second Street entrance," 
 Weatherbee yelled cheerfully. 
 
 Warner leaned his heavy figure against the 
 wall when he reached the lower floor and dried 
 his eyes with the ends of his fingers; then 
 counted his steps to the corner. He ran the 
 end of his cane along the edge of the curb and 
 stood listening to the clanging of the am- 
 bulance bell. 
 
 "I wish I was in it," he thought to himself as 
 he tapped his way to the middle of the street 
 and an officer jerked him from in front of a 
 street car and pushed him roughly to the oppo- 
 site curb. He followed his cane to the Seventy- 
 second Street en-trance of Central Park and 
 sank on a bench and listened patiently. He 
 heard the puffing of the motor cars, the falling 
 of the horse's iron shoes on the pavement. He 
 heard the officer's surly voice yell, "keep to the 
 right," but the children's playground at his
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 171 
 
 back was deserted. The nurses had watched 
 the black clouds gathering and had taken the 
 little ones home. The thunder mumbled a 
 word of warning to the birds and they bent 
 their heads and squatted under the leaves and 
 waited for the rair^, and Warner listened and 
 sighed and listened, but his robin didn't 
 sing.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 JACK sat on the floor in the center of the 
 room fussing with the back of his hand, and 
 Weatherbee watched him for some time, then 
 inquired playfully into the cause of the long 
 silence. 
 
 "What are you doing?" he asked, as he 
 looked down over the child's head. 
 
 "Look where the cat scratched me," he re- 
 plied, holding his hand up above his curls. 
 
 "What were you doing to the cat?" 
 
 "Just playing with it." 
 
 "Weren't you squeezing its stomach to make 
 it squeal?" 
 
 "I just squeezed it a little tiny bit." 
 
 "Don't pinch it, that will irritate it and make 
 it sore." 
 
 "I'm squeezing it to make the blood come." 
 
 But the cat had only drawn his claw gently 
 across the back of his little, soiled hand to 
 frighten him and had left nothing but a red 
 mark, though he squeezed and pinched it to 
 
 172
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 173 
 
 draw the blood which would enable him to 
 heroically boast of a real wound. 
 
 Weatherbee spread an old newspaper on the 
 table and tried hard for Jack's benefit to hum 
 the child's favorite air of "There Was- an Old 
 Man and He Had a Wooden Leg," while he 
 gathered up his little gingham dresses and 
 what few pieces of clothing he had and placed 
 them on the table. 
 
 "Are we going away, Dad?" he yelled in a 
 tone of wild excitement as he jumped to his 
 feet and ran to the table when he saw his father 
 folding up his dress. 
 
 "Yes, we are going away." 
 
 "I know where I know where," and he 
 jumped up and down clapping his hands to- 
 gether. 
 
 "Where?" Weatherbee asked in a teasing, 
 playful voice. 
 
 And Jack continued his clapping and jump- 
 ing as he sang, "Camping camping camp- 
 ing." 
 
 "Some day," Weatherbee sang back between 
 jumps, "but not today," and Jack's eyes opened 
 wide as he ran to the edge of the tableland 
 asked, "Where are we going today, Dad?"
 
 174 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "You are going Dad can't go. Dad has got 
 to go away on business," and he studied the 
 child's face carefully and he watched the ex- 
 pression of joy change to disappointment. 
 
 "Well, I don't want to go if you can't go, 
 dad." 
 
 "But dad is going to take you there." 
 
 "And leave me?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Oh, dad." 
 
 "Oh, but you don't know where you are go- 
 ing. You will like this place." 
 
 "No, I won't." 
 
 "Yes, you will you are going to Mrs. 
 Turner's." 
 
 "Where are you going, dad?" 
 
 "I don't know just yet." 
 
 "Will you be gone long?" 
 
 "Not very, I hope," and the humor of the 
 remark afforded him a pleasant smile. 
 
 Jack turned his back and slowly drifted 
 away from the table, nervously biting the nail 
 of his thumb. His little head hung forward 
 until his curls covered his cheeks. 
 
 The smile left Weatherbee's face and the
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 175 
 
 corners of his mouth twitched while he gazed 
 at the little figure and wondered if it would 
 stand up and face the separation bravely. He 
 tried to think of some method he could use to 
 keep him cheerful, but he could find no truthful 
 one, and the few seconds of silence seemed like 
 years to Weatherbee and he tried in vain to 
 think of something pleasant to say. 
 
 Jack turned, placed his little hands behind 
 his back and looked into his father's eyes re- 
 proachfully and spoke in a low, reprimanding 
 tone. "Dad, are you going to camp out with- 
 out me?" 
 
 He stood Jack on the table and squeezed his 
 tiny hands sympathetically and studied the 
 injured expression in the child's eyes. 
 
 "Do you think dad would go on a pleasure 
 trip without you?" 
 
 "You always tell me every night in bed that 
 you will never, never leave me." 
 
 "Don't ask dad why he doesn't take you. If 
 it were possible to take you he would, but he 
 can't, he just can't," and he unconsciously 
 tightened his fingers around Jack's hands until 
 he pulled them away with an "ouch."
 
 176 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "Will I have to stay at Mrs. Turner's all 
 night?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Oh, dad, I don't want to go !" and he fell on 
 Weatherbee's shoulder and wound his arms 
 around his neck tightly. 
 
 "Stand up here," and Weatherbee stood him 
 back on the table and unwound his arms 
 from his neck. "Look at me," and he placed 
 his finger under his chubby chin and pulled his 
 little face up until their eyes met. "This isn't 
 Jack Weatherbee the great big man I know, 
 is it?" 
 
 "Ye-as it is!" he cried in a sobbing voice as 
 he threw himself back on his father's shoulder, 
 clinging to his neck and winding his legs 
 around his waist. 
 
 Weatherbee leaned over and laid him on the 
 table, removed his arms from about his neck, 
 held his little hands tightly and looked down 
 into his eyes, which were flooded with tears. 
 "Well, then, brace up and be a big man, be a 
 great big man and help dad you want to help 
 me, don't you?" 
 
 "Ye-as," he sobbed.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 177 
 
 "I know you do and you are going to help 
 him. Now, dad must go away for a few days- 
 he doesn't want to go, but he must he's got to 
 go. It just breaks his heart to go, but he must 
 go, he can't help it, and you are going to help 
 him, you are going to be a great, big, brave 
 man and help him; then when you get tall like 
 me, I'll tell you what a brave little boy you 
 were when you were small and how you went 
 to Mrs. Turner's and stayed when dad had to 
 go away on business, and then I'll tell you 
 where I went and what I did and how I missed 
 you, and how I would sit up nights and think 
 of you and wish I had you in my arms, and you 
 will tell me what you did while I was away and 
 how you missed me and all about the people 
 you met at Mrs. Turner's." 
 
 "And will you tell me all about the men you 
 meet where you are going, and where you 
 lived? Are you going to a hotel, dad?" 
 
 "I'll tell you all about it and all about the 
 hotel where I lived, where I slept every night, 
 whom I met, and we'll talk it all over and you'll 
 be so happy and I'll be happy," and he raised
 
 178 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 Jack to his feet, wrapped him in his arms and 
 held him until Wartle's sarcastic voice was 
 heard at the top of the stairs. 
 
 "This is the room, sir," he remarked in a 
 loud tone, and he threw a warning glance at 
 Weatherbee. "Three dollars ha week, hall fur- 
 nished just has hit his." 
 
 The young man of foreign appearance 
 glanced about the room quickly and inquired in 
 a thick, German accent if he could move in this 
 afternoon. 
 
 "Whenever you hare ready, sir," Wartle an- 
 swered quickly, with his eyes still fastened on 
 Weatherbee. 
 
 "All right, I get my thinks and moof in dis 
 afternoon." 
 
 "You'll 'ave to get right hout, Mr. Weather- 
 bee," he squeaked in a taunting tone as he 
 started down the stairs. 
 
 "I'll get right out, Mr. Wartle," Weatherbee 
 answered pleasantly. 
 
 "Dad, is that man going to have our room?" 
 
 "I guess so, but we we don't care, do we?" 
 
 "Aren't we going to live here any more?"
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 179 
 
 "No we are going to find a new place to 
 live." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "Just as soon as I get back." 
 
 "Are we going to leave our things here?" 
 
 "Yes, until I come back, and then we'll come 
 and get them and move into our new home. 
 Come here and let me wash those hands. Oh, 
 such hands," and he held the little, soiled hands 
 up before Jack's eyes and then kissed them 
 tenderly. 
 
 "Stand there until dad gets the sponge." 
 
 "May I take my rocking-horse with me?" 
 
 "You don't want to take your rocking-horse 
 over to Mrs. Turner's. Why, she wouldn't 
 have room for it, her home is so crowded," and 
 he rubbed the little hands playfully and bound- 
 ed the sponge against his face, hoping he would 
 forget the horse. 
 
 "Well, that man who moves in here will ride 
 on it and break it." 
 
 "No, he won't ; I'll ask him not to. Where is 
 your hat?" 
 
 "There it is." 
 
 And Weatherbee tied the strings of the little,
 
 180 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 torn straw hat under his chin and pulled the 
 sleeves of his gingham dress down over his 
 wrists. 
 
 "May I take mamma's picture with me?" 
 
 "You bet." 
 
 "And my story book?" 
 
 "Yes." ' 
 
 "And my jumping-jack?" 
 
 "You bet you!" 
 
 "Mr. Wartle calls me a jumping-jack, but 
 I'm not, am I, dad?" 
 
 "No, sir; you're a little soldier!" and 
 Weatherbee thought he was smiling with ad- 
 miration as he stood back and looked at his 
 little hero standing in the center of the table 
 with his tiny figure patched in with awkward 
 patches that he had sewn on himself, and his 
 pride for the clumsy stitches he had taken 
 made him forget the happy role he was 
 playing and his eyes betrayed his forced smile. 
 
 "Dad, you're crying!" 
 
 "But you are not going to cry, are you you 
 are going to be brave you are going to be a 
 great big soldier dad's soldier, and when dad 
 takes you over to Mrs. Turner's and leaves you,
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 181 
 
 you are not going to cry, and at night when 
 you go to bed, you are not going to forget 
 your prayers, and you're going to pray for dad, 
 and wherever dad is no matter where he is, 
 or how lonely he is he'll pray for you and ask 
 God to make you that big, strong, honest boy 
 that big soldier that loving soldier that you 
 are that you have always been that you're 
 always going to be, aren't you?" and he 
 clutched the child in his arms and held him 
 until he gasped for breath pushed his head 
 back, held Weatherbee's face between his little 
 hands and looked into his eyes reproachfully. 
 
 "Dad, you're crying now," and he shook his 
 small, white ringer in his face until it touched 
 his nose. 
 
 "Yes, dad is an old baby, isn't he? But you 
 are not going to cry, are you? And if you get 
 lonely, just think hard and say to yourself that 
 you know, that you are certain dad is thinking 
 of you." 
 
 "And if it thunders, I'll just get under the 
 bed clothes and won't be a bit afraid." 
 
 "That's right, and if it thunders I'll think of 
 you and take you in my arms and hold you
 
 182 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 tight, and you just make believe that you are 
 in dad's arms and that you hear him say, 'don't 
 be afraid/ and he'll be saying it to you no mat- 
 ter where he is, no matter where. Will you 
 try?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You know dad hasn't anyone else on earth 
 to think of but you, and you haven't anyone 
 but me." 
 
 "Shall I pray for Mr. Warner?" 
 
 "Yes, ask God to make his eyes well so he 
 can see. Will you remember?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Weatherbee placed his hands on the child's 
 shoulders, looked into his big, brave eyes, drew 
 him to his breast, then folded him in his arms 
 and from between his clinched teeth whispered, 
 "good-bye," until the whisper faded into a sob. 
 
 "Come on, now," and he jumped him to the 
 floor, "get your jumping-jack and your story 
 book." 
 
 And Jack placed the torn story book under 
 his arm and tucked the crippled jumping-jack 
 into the small pocket of his dress. "And I am 
 going to take mamma's picture," he said as he
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 183 
 
 removed it from the table and studied it 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 Weatherbee enrolled the child's few pieces 
 of wearing apparel in the newspaper, placed a 
 lead pencil and a few sheets of memorandum in 
 his pocket, took several manuscripts that were 
 lying on the table and threw them on a shelf in 
 the closet. 
 
 "Are you going to take my picture, dad?" 
 
 "You bet I am, I have it in my pocket," and 
 he glanced about the room quickly, to see if 
 there was any favorite trinket small enough to 
 carry in his pocket, but there was nothing. 
 The tables and walls were bare. 
 
 "Are you ready?" he asked in a playful voice 
 as he pushed the newspaper bundle under his 
 arm. 
 
 "Yep," was Jack's cheerful answer. It's 
 raining, dad, and we haven't any umbrella, 
 have we?" 
 
 "No, we don't mind the rain," and they 
 started hand in hand while the cool, damp 
 breeze sent the faded window curtains to and 
 fro as if to wave their companions a "good luck 
 and good-bye."
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE distance to the banisters from the old 
 wooden table which Weatherbee had bent 
 over so many, many long, weary nights strug- 
 gling with his books, seemed long. His feet 
 felt heavy they seemed to stick to the old 
 ragged carpet as if they were hugging each 
 spot they touched for the last time. His heart, 
 which was hidden behind a false smile, ached; 
 it throbbed and jumped and jerked as he 
 thought of the little hand he was holding. 
 
 He peeked from the corners of his eyes at the 
 old bed-couch where he had lain for the last 
 time with those tiny arms clasped around his 
 neck, explaining away the imaginary riddles of 
 babyhood, and he wondered how long it would 
 be before those little arms would wind them- 
 selves around his neck again and when the 
 sleepy voice would whisper some puzzling 
 question into his ear that would force him to 
 rise and light his pipe, while he searched for 
 an answer. 
 
 "I can't call at Mrs. Turner's to see him," he 
 
 184
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 185 
 
 thought to himself, "for I told her I was leav- 
 ing town on business and asked her to take 
 care of him until I returned." 
 
 Jack was well acquainted with his pensive 
 moods and stood patiently watching him while 
 he stood in the center of the room, buried in 
 thought, with his head hanging low and his 
 eyes closed. 
 
 The stairs creaked, but he didn't hear them, 
 though Jack listened silently and watched 
 eagerly for the approaching figure, and his 
 eyes glared at the face before him, his fore- 
 head wrinkled, his lips separated, and he stood 
 speechless in a state of frightened amazement, 
 and studied the familiar features and the 
 large, soft eyes that were looking into his. He 
 centered his gaze on her eyes and he didn't see 
 the beautiful, white, soft gown that clung to 
 her slender figure, the white gloves that cov- 
 ered her shapely hands, or the large, simple hat 
 of the same color. His eyes never left her eyes 
 he riveted his unnatural stare on the eyes 
 that might have been moulded from the ones 
 in the picture he held under his arm. 
 
 As Rosamond Kent stood smiling affection-
 
 186 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 ately at the little bundle of blue gingham 
 patches, with her hand resting gracefully on the 
 banister, she resembled a painting that might 
 have been returned from an exhibition with the 
 gold prize. She watched the two characters 
 standing in the center of the room for many 
 seconds, one glaring at her as if she had fallen 
 out of a peaceful sky and the other with his 
 eyes closed, dreaming, as she supposed, of a 
 book or poem, and she broke the silence with 
 a gentle "good-afternoon." 
 
 The words came to Weatherbee's ears like 
 music that had floated over the sea of memory, 
 and he felt as if he had been transferred from 
 the dream of the bed-couch with Jack's arms 
 clinging about his neck to the dream of a voice 
 he had heard and never expected to hear again. 
 He realized he was standing in the room that 
 he must leave, and he hated to open his eyes 
 and gaze at its walls again for the last time. 
 He raised his lids slowly and staggered back 
 when he saw Miss Kent standing before him, 
 and his tongue seemed to stick to his teeth 
 when he tried to speak. 
 
 "Go-od af-ter-noon," he mumbled after a
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 187 
 
 desperate struggle. "This is an unexpected 
 pleasure." 
 
 "The old gentleman at the door told me to 
 come right up. If you are going out, Mr. 
 Weatherbee, please don't let me detain you. I 
 can call again." 
 
 "Well, we are going out," and he smiled 
 faintly as he glanced down at Jack, "but we 
 have no particular anxiety to hurry." 
 
 "What a sweet child," Miss Kent remarked 
 tenderly advancing a step toward Jack. "How 
 do you do, sir?" and she offered him her 
 hand and he placed his toys on the floor and 
 presented one hand while he pulled his little 
 hat off with the other, though his eyes never 
 wandered from hers. 
 
 "This is little Jack," Weatherbee said in a 
 proud tone, and he placed his hand on the 
 child's head and shook it affectionately. 
 
 "Well, I am pleased to meet you," and she 
 shook his little hand firmly. 
 
 "You look like my mamma's picture," he 
 whispered as he drew his hand away slowly 
 and watched her eyes steadily. 
 
 "Is that so? Well, that pleases me very 
 much."
 
 188 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 Weatherbee stood wondering if he had the 
 right or the authority to ask his guest to be 
 seated, and he faced the situation humorously 
 and hoped that fate might delay his German 
 friend who had gone for his belongings. "I 
 hope he loses something and has to hunt an 
 hour or so for it," he thought to himself and 
 decided to take a chance, so he politely request- 
 ed Miss Kent to be seated. 
 
 "Mr. Weatherbee," she replied seriously, "I 
 have come on a matter of great importance to 
 me, and if you can spare me a few moments, 
 I'll try and be as brief as possible." 
 
 Weatherbee's smile broadened and he an- 
 swered quietly, "All the time I have at my dis- 
 posal, Miss Kent, is yours," and he whispered 
 in Jack's ear to wait down-stairs and he hurried 
 away and sat on the bottom step studying his 
 mother's picture. 
 
 Weatherbee stood before Miss Kent and re- 
 marked politely, "I am at your service." He 
 struggled to appear at ease, though he was un- 
 able to refrain from listening for the approach 
 of his German friend. 
 
 "Mr. Weatherbee, did the lady we were 
 speaking of die in this house?"
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 189 
 
 Weatherbee nodded his head and whispered, 
 "Yes." 
 
 "How long ago?" 
 
 "Over two years ago." 
 
 "Were any of her friends with her when she 
 died?" 
 
 "Only one." 
 
 "A lady or a gentleman ?" 
 
 "A gentleman." 
 
 "Do you know how she was situated 
 financially?" 
 
 "Her friend cared for her during her illness." 
 
 "Did he bury her?" 
 
 "As best he could." 
 
 "Do you know where I can find him?" 
 
 "I am he," Weatherbee replied slowly and 
 quietly after a short silence, and another long 
 silence followed while she stood and gazed at 
 him with an admiration that made her fight 
 with her white gloved arms to keep them from 
 winding themselves around his neck. She 
 searched for words that would express her 
 gratitude, but any she found seemed empty 
 and hollow, and she shook her head slowly and 
 whispered, "How noble of you, how noble of 
 you."
 
 190 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "I wish I had been able to have done more," 
 he whispered back and watched the tears 
 gathering around her large, soft eyes. 
 
 "Would it be asking too much of you to take 
 me to her grave?" 
 
 "If you care to walk with me, I shall be 
 proud to take you there." 
 
 "I shall be proud to walk with you and I am 
 proud to know you," and she went to him and 
 gripped his hand firmly and looked upon his 
 shiny, worn blue serge suit as a flag of honor. 
 
 Weatherbee bowed low with gratitude and 
 was repeating the words, "I am grateful," for 
 the second time as the long-haired German 
 youth, who had rented the room, appeared at 
 the top of the stairs with his telescope. 
 
 "May I huff the room now?" he inquired 
 politely. 
 
 "Certainly, certainly," Weatherbee an- 
 swered quickly, and he assumed an air of wel- 
 come and a rapidity of speech that made it im- 
 possible for the youth to reply or reveal the 
 true situation. 
 
 "I didn't expect you so soon. You may have 
 the room say in fifteen minutes. Would it
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 191 
 
 be asking too much of you to allow me fifteen 
 minutes? I wish to pick up one or two little 
 things and if you will come back in fifteen 
 minutes it will be just fifteen minutes of 
 course if you remain, why, you can't come 
 back but I'd love to have you come back." 
 
 "Certainly, certainly," the youth interrupt- 
 ed, "I'll leaf my thinks here." 
 
 "By all means leave your things here," and 
 Weatherbee removed the large telescope from 
 his hand and he continued talking and gently 
 patted him on the shoulder, urging him toward 
 the stairs -"but you'll come back, won't you? 
 Thank you very much," he yelled at the youth 
 whom he had on his way down the stairs. 
 
 "Pardon me, but that is the gentleman who 
 is going to use my studio while I am away," 
 and he transferred the heavy telescope from 
 one hand to the other, forgetting in his em- 
 barrassed excitement that there was such a 
 place as the floor to set it on. 
 
 "Are you going to remain out of town 
 long?" Rosamond asked as she watched him 
 shift the bag again. 
 
 "I haven't decided yet just how long I will
 
 192 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 be gone it depends. I'll be right here in the 
 city for a week or so. What day would you 
 like to visit your friend's grave?" he asked seri- 
 ously, holding the bag in both hands. 
 
 "Will you be free Monday?" 
 
 "I I hope so at what time?" 
 
 "I would like to go in the morning I would 
 like to take some flowers. I suppose the grave 
 is in bad condition?" 
 
 "There are no flowers there, but otherwise 
 the grave is in good condition." 
 
 "You have been there?" 
 
 "I was there last Sunday." 
 
 She made another search for words to ex- 
 press her gratitude, but failed to find any that 
 would even suggest one of the numberless 
 heart-throbs his noble character had given her. 
 They were heart-throbs of love, though she 
 was unconscious of it, for the love-throbs were 
 beating behind a heavy veil of gratitude. She 
 closed her eyes and gripped each hand in the 
 other and spoke in a low whisper, emphasizing 
 each word with a nod of her head. "O Mr. 
 Weatherbee, I am so grateful to you." 
 
 As Weatherbee stood in total ignorance of
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 193 
 
 the heavy telescope which he was hanging on 
 to with both hands and leaning back with it 
 against his knees, he suggested a comic picture 
 until one saw the serious, sympathetic expres- 
 sion of his face and heard the deep, gentle, sin- 
 cere love quiver in his voice. 
 
 "Miss Kent, I am the most grateful man in 
 the world. Oh, if I could only find words that 
 would explain how proud I was when I first 
 saw you and heard you read the poem I had 
 written that I had even thought of," and he 
 accentuated each word w r ith an unconscious 
 pull at the telescope until he had drawn it far 
 above his knees. He was not aware that his 
 voice had fallen to an emotional whisper, until 
 he saw Rosamond's embarrassed gaze sink to 
 the rag carpet. She lowered her head until her 
 face was hidden behind the broad white rim of 
 her hat and drifted slowly to the stairs. 
 
 His mind travelled back over what he had 
 said the weight of the telescope fell to one 
 hand and swung to his side, his thin, white 
 fingers wandered through his hair and he tried 
 to continue, but she interrupted by laughing 
 enthusiastically and exclaiming, "Oh!" as she
 
 194 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 clasped her hands together when she saw Jack 
 busily engaged on the bottom step with one of 
 his toys. "Why, here is this little dear sitting 
 on the step. Has he been sitting here all the 
 time?" 
 
 "I think so," Weatherbee answered as he 
 hurried to the banister. "Come here, Jack," 
 and he ran up the stairs as he informed them 
 that he had been playing with his jumping- 
 jack and looking at his mamma's picture. 
 
 Rosamond stooped and met him at the top 
 step with open arms. "Bless his heart is this 
 your jumping-jack?" and she worked the crip- 
 pled toy and watched its antics. 
 
 "Yes, and this is my story-book," and he 
 turned the torn leaves over to show her the 
 pictures. "And and this is my mamma's pic- 
 ture," and he held the photograph before her 
 and watched her eyes swell as they stared at 
 the face of her sister and travel in blank amaze- 
 ment from it to Weatherbee, and from Weath- 
 erbee back to the dead mother whose child 
 stood smiling before her. Her eyes closed, her 
 lips trembled and her face turned deathly pale. 
 She pressed her hands over her eyes and held
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 195 
 
 them there for a moment, then glanced at Jack 
 and folded him in her arms and sobbed hyster- 
 ically "O Mr. Weatherbee, is this true?" and 
 he nodded his head slowly and watched her 
 clutch the child tighter in her arms and press 
 her lips to his cheek. 
 
 Weatherbee wound his fingers around the 
 handle of the bulgy telescope. The situation 
 crept through his mind slowly, and he felt as if 
 he were being wrapped in a cold, wet blanket. 
 He saw the tiny thing that he had tied up in 
 his soul in hard, square knots, entering the 
 heart of a blood relation one who was nearer 
 and who had a greater right to love it than he 
 had and a feeling of jealousy shot through his 
 veins. He clenched his teeth and his body 
 shook with fear when he thought of Jack pass- 
 ing out of his life. He saw the child in the 
 Kent mansion dressed in costly dress.es and he 
 pictured himself on a lonely cot, and he whis- 
 pered to himself, "I'm a coward, I'm a selfish 
 coward." 
 
 Rosamond held Jack by the shoulder, pushed 
 him back slowly, gazed into his eyes tenderly 
 and ran her fingers through his curls. "Oh,
 
 196 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 my dear, are you going away with your papa?" 
 "Yes, he is going to leave me at Mrs. 
 Turner's until he comes back." 
 
 "Oh, no no no you must come and live 
 with me at my house, mustn't he, Mr. Weath- 
 erbee?" and she watched Weatherbee's eyes 
 close and his lips twitch and she waited for his 
 reply, but he didn't answer. 
 
 "O Mr. Weatherbee, you couldn't refuse!" 
 "No no," he sighed, "I mustn't refuse," and 
 in her nervous excitement Rosamond took 
 Jack in her arms and carried him to the stairs. 
 "You'll see your papa Monday when he 
 calls," and she paused on the top step while 
 Jack waved the broken jumping-jack at his 
 father, who was throwing a farewell kiss with 
 his trembling hand and trying to speak with a 
 voice that was sticking in his throat. "I'll see 
 you Monday, Jack." 
 
 "Come, dear, we'll get in the automobile and 
 make the driver drive as fast as he can," and 
 she hurried down the creaking stairs, while 
 Jack yelled back at the top of his voice, "O 
 dad, we are going to ride in an auti-mo-bile!'' 
 and Jack's curls floated in the damp breeze a.? 
 the massive car whirled up Fifth Avenue.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 WEATHERBEE hung far over the banis- 
 ters and watched Miss Kent hurrying down 
 the stairs with Jack. His long arm went down 
 as far as he could reach with the last kiss he 
 threw to the child; while he watched them turn 
 down the dark hall, he pulled the telescope up, 
 set it on the banister, placed his elbows on it 
 and rested his face in his hands. The quiet of 
 the room seemed restful. He often sat and 
 listened to the song of silence, but it had never 
 seemed as friendly it sounded as if it were 
 trying to hum a more encouraging air than it 
 had ever tried to sing to him before and he 
 listened quietly for many moments. 
 
 He raised his head slowly and sat the tele- 
 scope on the floor, strolled leisurely to the little 
 window and drew back the soiled curtain. The 
 dark clouds had turned to a clear, bright blue- 
 The sun peeped in through the small window, 
 rested on his pale cheek and he welcomed it 
 with a faint smile of gratitude. The curtain 
 fell from his fingers, his hands wandered into 
 
 197
 
 198 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 the pockets of his trousers, and he stood at the 
 table and smiled down at the clumsy little 
 bundle he had made of Jack's belongings. He 
 untied the string, removed the newspaper, held 
 the little blue gingham dress up and grinned 1 
 at the awkward, square patches that he had 
 placed there himself. His mind shot up Fifth 
 Avenue into the Kent mansion, and he won- 
 dered if he would ever see those patches hang- 
 ing on Jack's tiny form again. He folded the 
 dress carefully, wrapped it in the newspaper, 
 tied it tightly, tucked it under his arm and 
 paused as he thought to himself, "I can at least 
 remain until my German friend returns," and 
 he sat in the broken rocker with the bundle in 
 his lap, rocked peacefully while he pictured 
 Jack being prepared for his first dinner on Fifth 
 Avenue and wondered if he would enjoy it as 
 much as the many he had cooked for him on 
 the oil stove. 
 
 He pushed the little rocker back and forth 
 swiftly, threw his head back and laughed aloud 
 as he thought of some of the questions Jack 
 might ask when he sat at the table and saw the 
 many servants bobbing about him.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 199 
 
 "How I would love to conceal myself in 
 some corner and not let him know I was there 
 and watch his eyes and listen to his remarks," 
 Weatherbee thought to himself while he swung 
 to and fro in the little chair that seemed to 
 squeak forth with enthusiasm and rejoice in his 
 happy thoughts. 
 
 The stream of sunlight that had been steal- 
 ing its way through the little window had 
 broadened and crawled along on the rag carpet 
 and was flickering and dancing before him as 
 if it knew his mind and wanted to waltz in uni- 
 son with his heart, which was beating with joy 
 over the story it had to tell Warner while they 
 sat on the bench in the park that night and 
 gazed up through the trees at the moon. 
 
 He had completely forgotten himself and his 
 own situation. He smiled at the moment of 
 jealousy he had passed through when he saw 
 Miss Kent seize Jack and hold him in her arms. 
 His jealousy simmered into gratitude as he 
 looked at Jack's future path in life, the path he 
 had studied and worried over so many nights, 
 the path that fate had changed from one of 
 cobble stones to one of roses.
 
 200 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 His mind felt as if it were hanging on a pen- 
 dulum, for it swung back and forth over the 
 situation from the time he first saw Jack sit- 
 ting on the floor at his mother's bedside, play- 
 ing with a rubber toy, until Miss Kent hurried 
 down the stairs with him clutched in her arms. 
 He thought of the something that kept slap- 
 ping him on the back and pushing him toward 
 the Kent mansion when he fought with himself 
 and tried not to go. With closed eyes he 
 glanced at his embarrassment in Kent's pres- 
 ence and was grateful for it. 
 
 "How small and yet how big the world is," 
 he thought as he pictured the few short blocks 
 which had hidden the soul that flickered out of 
 the hall bedroom on Twenty-ninth Street from 
 one in the mansion on Fifth Avenue, not twen- 
 ty blocks away. 
 
 "It's a good old world, though, if you humor 
 it a little," he whispered aloud and his eyes fell 
 on the manuscripts he had thrown on the 
 shelf in the closet and he walked over 
 and pulled them down and glanced over the 
 pages and pushed them under the string that 
 was tied around Jack's bundle. "The poor
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 201 
 
 'scripts aren't to blame," he thought to himself, 
 "and they may keep me company under some 
 lonesome old tree." 
 
 He wrote his German friend a note thanking 
 him for remaining away so long and nailed it 
 to the center of the table with a pin so he would 
 be sure to see it. He pushed Jack's bundle and 
 his 'scripts under his arm and started on his 
 aimless journey, but the old stairs creaked be- 
 fore he reached them and announced a new 
 arrival. 
 
 "It's the German youth," he said to himself, 
 as he took the note and tore it in bits and 
 turned to express his thanks, and his eyes fell 
 on the small, thin figure of Mr. Grant, the pub- 
 lisher. His forehead knitted itself into a mass 
 of puzzled wrinkles when he saw the man 
 standing before him that he had tried in vain 
 to see so many times. He thought of the one 
 abrupt interview the little man had given him 
 after he had called at his office every morning 
 for a few weeks. He remembered his snappy, 
 hopeless tones, and how he dismissed him 
 without asking him to be seated. He remem- 
 bered the clean-shaven face with the thin lips
 
 202 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 that hung over the long protruding teeth and 
 the small grey eyes that shot from his head to 
 his shoes and back to the pages of a book they 
 had left for less than a second and didn't leave 
 again during the conversation that lasted per- 
 haps seconds. It was Weatherbee's last visit 
 to a publisher's office the visit that had 
 humiliated him more than any he had ever 
 experienced. Grant was the man who had 
 ignored his presence after he had given him 
 one piercing glance, the man who blocked his 
 conversation by snapping, "I'm busy now," 
 each time he attempted to speak, but there he 
 stood smiling pleasantly. 
 
 "Good afternoon, Mr. Weatherbee," and he 
 jerked the words out of his mouth as quickly as 
 he did when he sat in his office chair, though 
 his voice didn't possess the annoyed tone it did 
 then. 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Grant? This is some- 
 thing new for the publisher to call on the 
 author, isn't it?" 
 
 "No, the publisher is glad to call on the 
 author if he is writing anything worth while." 
 
 "Well, I hope I have written something of 
 that kind."
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 203 
 
 "You have. I read one of your 'scripts yes- 
 terday and took the other home and read it last 
 night. Sorry I didn't get to them sooner, but 
 you know the works of an unknown author are 
 usually left until everything else is read." 
 
 "Yes, I have known that for some time," 
 Weatherbee answered in a low, dry tone, 
 though he wasn't sure whether Mr. Grant 
 meant his remarks to be funny or otherwise. 
 
 "I am leaving town this evening for three or 
 four weeks, and I wanted to see you first. If 
 you haven't disposed of your books and wish 
 to do business with us, we would like to pub- 
 lish them this fall." 
 
 After Weatherbee had swallowed a few 
 times and searched around and found his voice, 
 he informed Mr. Grant that he would be glad 
 to do business with his firm. 
 
 Grant's eyes shot around the attic room and 
 gathered in Weatherbee's situation with a 
 glance, but his cold, snappy personality mis- 
 represented his character. His sharp business 
 instinct told him at once that he was in the 
 presence of a man who was in need of money, 
 but he was not a man who would take an unfair
 
 204 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 advantage of a business opportunity and his 
 innate generosity which was hidden behind his 
 snappy, icy manner, was favorably touched by 
 Weatherbee's humorous frankness. 
 
 "Very well, glance at that," he said in his 
 usual jerky way, as he drew a contract from 
 his coat pocket quickly, and gave it to Weath- 
 erbee. "You'll find the regular percentage 
 there. We don't usually give it to an unknown 
 author, but I like your work. That contract 
 gives us an option on anything you write for 
 the next ten years two hundred and fifty dol^ 
 lars down on each of these books and five hun- 
 dred on each one we accept hereafter. If that 
 is satisfactory, you may sign this one, I have 
 signed that one." 
 
 He smiled when he watched Weatherbee's 
 hands tremble as he held the contract before 
 his closed eyes and listened to the words which 
 were uttered in a stuttering whisper, "That is 
 quite satisfactory to me, Mr. Grant." 
 
 "Just sign it here," he remarked in a quiet 
 tone of amusement, holding his thumb on the 
 spot as he placed the contract on the table and 
 gave Weatherbee his fountain pen, and Weath-
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 205 
 
 erbee scribbled his name on the sheet of paper, 
 while Grant grabbed a chair and seated himself 
 at the opposite side of the table, drew his check- 
 book from his hip pocket, removed his pen 
 from between Weatherbee's fingers and asked 
 quickly, "You spell your name W-e-a-t-h-e-r- 
 b-e-e don't you?" 
 
 "Yes, John Weatherbee," he stammered, 
 and Grant drew the check, passed it and a slip 
 of paper across the table and placed the pen in 
 Weatherbee's fingers. 
 
 "Just sign that receipt, will you?" and while 
 Weatherbee tried to scratch his name on the 
 paper, Grant held the check square before him 
 and read it aloud quickly. " Tay to the order 
 of John Weatherbee, five hundred dollars, H. 
 B. Grant & Company.' I guess you'll find that 
 all right," and he gave Weatherbee an affec- 
 tionate crack on the back, as he continued, 
 "And if I'm not greatly mistaken those two 
 books will bring you in a great many of those 
 checks. I hope so. Make yourself at home in 
 our office, Mr. Weatherbee. Keep working, 
 young man, you're the comine American au- 
 thor good day," and his short, thin legs car-
 
 206 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 ried his small body away in the same jerky 
 manner in which his tongue disposed of his 
 conversation. He felt that he was conscious of 
 Weatherbee's circumstances from the moment 
 he had entered the room and he glanced over 
 his shoulder as he started down the stairs and 
 smiled at Weatherbee's dazed condition caused 
 by the five hundred dollar check. 
 
 Weatherbee's hand shook as he held the 
 check close to his eyes and read it over care- 
 fully. He placed it on the table and looked 
 around the room to see if he was alone and 
 then held it still closer to his eyes and read it 
 over several times. He studied the date, the 
 signature, the amount and placed it on the 
 table, crowded his hands deep into the pockets 
 of his trousers, tilted back in his chair and 
 gazed at it as if he expected it to bite him if he 
 touched it again. He stood his elbows on the 
 table and rested his head in his hand and 
 looked down at it as if he were gazing into a 
 bottomless well, and read it over again and 
 again. 
 
 The German youth entered the room, spoke 
 and coughed several times, but wasn't heard
 
 "ll'ealherbee's hand shook as he held the check clone to his eyes and read 
 it carefully"
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 207 
 
 until he stepped to Weatherbee's side and 
 touched him on the shoulder gently. 
 
 After Weatherbee had looked him over with 
 a vacant stare for several seconds, he gathered 
 words enough together to thank him for giving 
 him the use of the room as long as he had, and 
 learned, after polite inquiry, that the German 
 didn't object to taking a room on the floor be- 
 low if he didn't have to pay more than one 
 dollar and fifty cents a week for it. 
 
 Weatherbee explained that owing to an un- 
 expected change in his business arrangements, 
 he was going to remain in the city and would 
 like to keep his room. "I shall see that you get 
 a more pleasant room than this one and will 
 willingly pay the difference in rent while you 
 are here. Will you make yourself at home 
 while I see Mr. Wartle and have him assign 
 you to the room?" 
 
 Weatherbee found Wartle and Mrs. Murray 
 seated in the kitchen going over the details of 
 their approaching wedding. Wartle not only 
 ignored the check, but laughed at it and said, 
 "Hit his ha bunkho." 
 
 Mrs. Murray examined it and said, "It's
 
 208 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 ginuine," and the groom was ordered to ad- 
 vance "Witherbee" what money he wanted and 
 to stop "chewin' the rag about it." 
 
 The German youth moved his large tele- 
 scope into the front room on the floor below 
 and Weatherbee started for Mrs. Turner's to 
 explain Jack's absence with twenty dollars in 
 his pocket, while Mrs. Murray and Wartle sat 
 examining the check. 
 
 When Weatherbee reached Warner's house 
 he was notified that he hadn't been there since 
 noon and he paid the rent for Warner's room 
 and started for the park. He found Warner 
 seated on the bench they called "theirs." His 
 slouch hat was crumpled in his left hand, his 
 cane stood between his knees and his right 
 hand rested on its handle. His head hung low 
 and his white hair looked as if it had been 
 pushed in every direction by nervous fingers. 
 
 Weatherbee stood at a distance of twenty 
 feet and studied the picture for many minutes. 
 His heart beat with enthusiasm and admira- 
 tion for the man who sat bowed in grief wait- 
 ing for his coming. His robin was chirping 
 above his head, but he didn't seem to hear it.
 
 " He found Warner seated on the bench they called theirs. His 
 slouch hat was crumpled in his left hand, his cane stood between 
 his knees and his right hand rested on its handle. His head hung 
 low and his white hair looked as if it had been pushid in erery 
 direction by nervous fingers"
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 209 
 
 Weatherbee sauntered up to his side and 
 struck him a savage whack on the shoulder 
 that knocked his cane and hat from his hand. 
 
 "Well, we are here, Warner!" he exclaimed 
 in a good-natured tone, that Warner thought 
 was cleverly forced. 
 
 "Yes, John, I have been waiting for you." 
 
 "How long have you been sitting here, 
 Warner?" 
 
 "I don't know, John." 
 
 "Did you sit here while it was raining?" 
 
 "I don't know, John, I guess so." 
 
 "Why, you're soaked, Warner." 
 
 "It feels good, John, it feels good. It's cool." 
 
 "Let us walk, Warner I I can't sit still, 
 I'm nervous," and they started across Seventy- 
 second Street toward Broadway. 
 
 Warner clung to Weatherbee's arm and 
 dragged his feet along slowly. He didn't ask 
 where they were going, for he didn't care and 
 the most welcome spot he could think of was 
 the river. 
 
 Weatherbee's long silence was not inten- 
 tional. He had a long pleasant story to tell 
 and he didn't know just how to tell it, or where
 
 210 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 to begin. He had rushed to Mrs. Turner's, 
 then to Warner's house and from there to the 
 Park so hurriedly that he had not quite re- 
 gained his breath, but he was collecting his 
 thoughts slowly and preparing to bombard 
 Warner with the good news. 
 
 "Come in here," he said quietly, as he pulled 
 Warner into a large Broadway restaurant and 
 relieved him of his hat and cane and seated 
 him at a table spread with fresh, white linen. 
 
 "We are going from soup to nuts, Warner, 
 and from there to pure Havana tobacco," and 
 Weatherbee quietly passed the long pleasant 
 story across the table and watched Warner 
 pick the tears from his smiling eyes with the 
 corner of his serviette. Weatherbee begged 
 him to talk, but it was useless. His tongue was 
 numb with happiness, there were no words to 
 express or describe his feeling and he sighed 
 and pulled away at his long, black cigar in 
 silence. Weatherbee led him to his hall bed- 
 room and he whispered, "Good-night, John," 
 many times before he released his hand and he 
 sat on the edge of his cot and dreamed over the 
 story long after Weatherbee had gone.
 
 - 
 
 'And he filled his pipe, drew a chair up to the irindoic, placed 
 his arms on the sill, smiled up at the moon and smoked '
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 211 
 
 A large box of smoking tobacco was pur- 
 chased in the little cigar store on Twenty- 
 ninth Street. The moon was peeping in 
 through the little attic window to welcome 
 Weatherbee when he entered, and he filled his 
 pipe, drew a chair up to the window, placed his 
 arms on its sill, smiled up at the moon and 
 smoked.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 WHEN the automobile came to a stop in 
 front of the Kent mansion, Rosamond alighted 
 quickly, but Jack made no attempt to move. 
 He sat staring at the large windows and the 
 white marble steps. 
 
 "Oh, are we there already?" he inquired in 
 a tone that explained his desire to remain in 
 the car as he sat quietly and watched Rosa- 
 mond standing with both hands stretched for- 
 ward to jump him to the walk. 
 
 "Yes, we are home your home," she an- 
 swered tenderly and she took him in her arms 
 and carried him to the top step, but his en- 
 trance into the mansion was made backwards 
 for his eyes never left the automobile until the 
 heavy door swung and hid it from his wonder- 
 ing gaze. 
 
 He mentally photographed the butler's uni- 
 form with one glance and a pleasant smile, then 
 remarked in a most complimentary manner, 
 "you look just like a man in my picture book," 
 but the gentleman who represented the cut in 
 
 212
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 213 
 
 the picture book, printed for the purpose of 
 pleasing babies, did not think the compliment 
 called for any word of thanks and he made no 
 reply, though Rosamond squeezed his little 
 hand affectionately and concealed a smile with 
 her white glove as she led him into the drawing 
 room. 
 
 His eyes wandered from one large oil paint- 
 ing to another and his voice fell to a surprised 
 whisper. "Oh, this is just like the Art 
 Museum, isn't it?" and he threw his hands be- 
 hind his back and clutched them tightly as he 
 stood in the center of the large room and began 
 to count the sheep on one of the canvasses. 
 
 Rosamond watched the little red lips move 
 silently until they exclaimed: "There are 
 sixty-three in that one, aren't there?" 
 
 "I have never counted them. You come up 
 to my room and I'll explain all these paintings 
 to you tomorrow." 
 
 When they reached the foot of the wide 
 stairs Rosamond attempted to take Jack in her 
 arms, but he politely protested. 
 
 "You mustn't carry me, because I'm too 
 heavy."
 
 214 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "What makes you think you are too heavy?" 
 
 "Because when you lift me your face gets 
 red." 
 
 So they climbed the stairs hand in hand and 
 Jack playfully pounded his little feet on the 
 heavily carpeted steps and stopped when he 
 had gone half way and jumped up and down 
 several times, then exclaimed in a hopeless, 
 breathless tone, "you can't make these big* 
 stairs squeak, can you?" 
 
 "Do you like to hear the steps squeak?" 
 
 "Yes, Dad says our stairs can talk and 1 
 they just yell when Mr. Wartle gets on them." 
 
 "Don't you like these stairs?" 
 
 "Yes, pretty well, they look nice, but they 
 won't squeak, I like squeaky stairs." 
 
 Rosamond threw the door of her sleeping 
 room open and Jack entered by sliding his feet 
 along the heavy rug. 
 
 "This is my room." 
 
 After his eyes had travelled around the four 
 walls several times, he inquired in a tone of 
 utter amazement, "Do you sleep in this big 
 room all alone?" 
 
 "Yes, and I'm going to get a bed to match 
 mine and have it put in here for you."
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 215 
 
 "Will there be a tent over it like yours?" 
 "Yes, just like mine. Will you like that?" 
 "Yes, is that to keep the mosquitoes out?" 
 "No, that is to keep the light out. There are 
 no mosquitoes up here." 
 
 He slid his way to one of the large windows, 
 pulled the curtain aside and stepped back with 
 surprise. 
 
 "Oh, you can see right out onto the street, 
 can't you? And there is the man who brought 
 us up here in his automobile. I guess he is 
 waiting for his pay." 
 
 Rosamond tried to watch the child gazing 
 down at the long line of automobiles crowding 
 their way in both directions, but she was un- 
 able to control her love and she took him in 
 her arms, placed him among the silk-covered 
 pillows on the large divan and kissed him until 
 he gasped for breath. 
 
 "How would you like some nice cake and a 
 glass of milk or nice ice-cold lemonade before 
 dinner?" 
 
 Jack didn't keep her waiting long for a reply, 
 and it took her some time to explain the 
 mechanism of the electric button she pressed 
 to summon the servant.
 
 216 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "But I can't hear it ring," and he became 
 more puzzled as he pressed each one of the five 
 buttons several times, but he was finally con- 
 vinced that they made a noise some place when 
 he saw five servants standing at the door 
 awaiting orders. 
 
 Rosamond selected two of her choice silk 
 pillows from the divan, placed them in a large 
 armchair and seated Jack at a small mahogany 
 table before the window. She drew the cur- 
 tains aside so he could watch the automobiles 
 pass and he was served with several portions of 
 chocolate cake and a silver pitcher of lemon- 
 ade. She instructed her maid to care for his 
 wants and with a number of affectionate kisses, 
 asked to be excused for just a few minutes. 
 
 Jack granted her request politely and also in- 
 formed her as she was hurrying from the room 
 that the automobile man was waiting there yet 
 for his pay. 
 
 There were very few crumbs of chocolate 
 left on the large silver cake dish when Jack 
 leaned back in his chair and began counting 
 the automobiles passing on the crowded street 
 below. He counted until the large blue eyes
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 217 
 
 became drowsy and closed. The automobiles, 
 the silver cake dish, the electric buttons and 
 the noise and mad rush on Fifth Avenue were 
 forgotten, for the baby mind dreamed itself 
 back into Weatherbee's arms on the little cot 
 in the attic on Twenty-ninth Street. 
 
 Rosamond unfolded the strange story to her 
 mother and Helen, and all three agreed that 
 Mr. Kent shouldn't be informed until the prop- 
 er opportunity presented itself, and after a 
 careful plan had been arranged to conceal the 
 child's identity, they went to Rosamond's 
 room, dismissed the maid and studied the 
 sleeping picture carefully for many minutes. 
 
 Jack awoke to find himself wrapped in Mrs. 
 Kent's arms and her cheek pressed to his. He 
 grunted and struggled until he succeeded in 
 gaining his freedom and backed his way to the 
 center of the room, gazing with a quizzical eye 
 at Mrs. Kent, whose faint smile was liberally 
 moistened with tears. 
 
 Helen informed him that he hadn't kissed 
 her yet and then took possession of him after a 
 playful struggle and kissed him affectionately 
 many times.
 
 218 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 Jack blushed and laughed heartily, for he 
 considered it all a huge joke and glanced from 
 one to the other as if he were wondering what 
 was going to happen next. After a long 
 silence, he took Mrs. Kent's hand in both of 
 his, looked up into her eyes and whispered, 
 "Why are you crying?" and she answered with 
 a deep sob and more tears as she gathered him 
 in her arms. 
 
 Dinner was announced and Rosamond took 
 personal charge of the little soiled hands and 
 the curls which were somewhat tangled, owing 
 to the manner in which he had been passed 
 from one to the other since his arrival at the 
 Kent mansion. The curls were gently straight- 
 ened and the little hands washed in a lather of 
 perfumed soap that kept either one hand or the 
 other constantly at Jack's nose. 
 
 "Isn't that nice smelly soap?" 
 
 "Do you like it?" 
 
 "Yes, I never smelled such lovely soap be- 
 fore." 
 
 The curls were sprinkled with rich toilet 
 water and the patches on the gingham dress 
 were scented with French perfume. She held
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 219 
 
 the little white face between her hands and 
 kissed the large blue eyes again and again. 
 
 She was even better acquainted with her 
 father's strong, stubborn mind than her mother 
 and she feared his attitude toward the child, 
 so she planned a harmless little scheme that 
 would keep Jack's real name a secret until they 
 became acquainted and would not cause the 
 child to tell a falsehood. 
 
 "Why do you look at me so?" he asked in a 
 puzzled tone, as he stood with his hands at his 
 side allowing Rosamond to squeeze his cheeks 
 tightly. "Are you worried about something?" 
 
 "No, I am happy awfully, awfully happy!" 
 
 "Why do you frown so, then?" 
 
 "Because I am so happy." 
 
 "People don't frown when they are happy, 
 do they?" 
 
 "I do sometimes when I am very, very 
 happy," and she squeezed the cheeks tighter 
 and shook the little head until the curls swung 
 about his face. 
 
 "Do you like my sister?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed." 
 
 "Do you like my mother?" 
 
 "Yes, very much."
 
 220 THE GUEST OK HONOR 
 
 "You are going to meet my father at dinner 
 tonight, and I want you to like him too. He 
 doesn't talk very much and when he does talk, 
 he speaks quickly and he has a deep heavy voice 
 and he jerks his words out as if he was angry 
 about something, but he isn't, that is only his 
 way, so don't you be afraid, will you?" 
 
 "No Dad says big souls always have big 
 voices. Mr. Warner has a big voice." 
 
 "My father has a big soul, but he doesn't 
 know it he keeps it locked up in his business, 
 and we are going to make him unlock it. You 
 and my mother and sister and I are going to 
 play a little joke on him." 
 
 "Won't he be angry?" 
 
 "No, because he won't know anything about 
 it. Even when it is all over he won't know it 
 was a joke, so you see he can't get angry, can 
 he?" 
 
 "No, I don't see how he can if he doesn't 
 find it out. What is it?" 
 
 "Well, we are going to introduce you to him 
 as 'Little Jack,' just 'Little Jack' no more, 
 and he may not ask what your last name is, but 
 if he does, why, you just say 'Jack' and then
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 221 
 
 when you get quite well acquainted we'll tell 
 him your last name. Don't you think that will 
 be a good joke?" 
 
 "Yes, but if he asks me right away what my 
 last name is, what shall I say then?" 
 
 "Just say, 'Jack.' " 
 
 "But he may say 'Jack, what?' " 
 
 "Then you may say, 'I guess that is all.' Be 
 sure and say 'I guess,' won't you?" 
 
 Jack repeated the words, "I guess that is all," 
 aloud until he reached the dining room, but the 
 old colored waiter's large white eyes stared 
 them out of his memory, and he didn't hesitate 
 to remind him that he also looked like a man in 
 his picture book. 
 
 Kent's approach was announced by the 
 clearing of his throat as he left the library and 
 a hush fell over the dining room and Jack 
 muffled his laugh by placing his hand over his 
 mouth and whispering between his fingers, "Is 
 this he?" 
 
 Rosamond nodded her head and Jack's 
 hands fell to his side. He stood erect, smiled 
 playfully, and repeated the words to himself, 
 "I guess that is all." The man of whom the
 
 222 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 three ladies stood in dread meant nothing- to 
 Jack but a huge joke. The large table, which 
 was thickly spread with silverware, the hand- 
 somely decorated room and the many servants 
 were not even noticed by the child. His mind 
 was riveted on the joke he was to take part in, 
 and the joke robbed the costly surroundings of 
 any attention. 
 
 He waited for his victim calmly and, when 
 Rosamond introduced him to her father, he 
 courtesied, stepped forward, quickly offered 
 his hand and spoke in a firm voice. 
 
 "I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Kent." 
 
 Kent held his hand while he studied the 
 quaint little picture. His eyes travelled quickly 
 from the curls to the eyes and to the patched 
 dress and back to the eyes that were dancing 
 with merriment. He released the little hand 
 and Rosamond seated him in the high chair at 
 her right, which placed him at Kent's left. 
 
 The dinner progressed in silence for some 
 time, while all ears were anxiously waiting for 
 Kent's first question. He was not aware that 
 his quizzical glances at the child's features 
 were being carefully watched by his family.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 223 
 
 He leaned back in his chair and the quizzical 
 glance melted into a synipathetic stare. The 
 cigar that he always puffed at between courses 
 was forgotten, and each course was served and 
 removed unnoticed. He studied Jack's perfect 
 table manners carefully, and the easy, grace- 
 ful way in which he conducted himself aston- 
 ished him. 
 
 Jack ate heartily and the smile never left his 
 face, for he waited with much amusement for 
 his cue, and several times he was heard whis- 
 pering to himself, "I guess that is all." 
 
 "You don't eat very much, do you?" he re- 
 marked kindly to Kent and finished by uncon- 
 sciously saying aloud, "I guess that is all." 
 
 "No," Kent replied pleasantly, "it seems to 
 satisfy my appetite to watch you you seem to 
 be doing most of the work here this evening. 
 No one appears to be very hungry but you, so 
 you just go right ahead. Better bring some 
 more ice cream, Sam'l, he will scrape the 
 flowers off that dish if you don't." 
 
 Jack was served with another large portion 
 of ice cream. Kent lighted his cigar, sipped 
 his coffee and laughed heartily when Jack 
 grunted that he just couldn't eat any more.
 
 224 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "From all appearances you are going to 
 keep the 'Ten Club' busy cooking, aren't you?" 
 
 "What is the 'Ten Club?' " Jack asked, fin- 
 ishing his remark with, "I guess that is all." 
 
 "Hasn't Miss Kent told you what the 'Ten 
 Club' is?" 
 
 "I don't think so." 
 
 "Well, you come in the library and I'll tell 
 you what it is and you can tell me who you are 
 and all about yourself," and he jumped him 
 from the high chair and led him to the library 
 and Jack looked back at Rosamond with a 
 smile of assurance and whispered, "I guess 
 that is all."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE picture of Kent jumping the child to 
 the floor and sauntering into the library swing- 
 ing his little hand playfully, so surprised the 
 ladies that they rose to their feet simultane- 
 ously. After a few astonished glances had 
 been exchanged, a short conversation was held 
 in a low whisper and it was decided that the 
 little stranger and Mr. Kent be left entirely 
 alone until they became better acquainted, so 
 Mrs. Kent and Helen retired to Rosamond's 
 room and left her to watch the development of 
 the new acquaintance which had progressed so 
 favorably, though all three were waiting with 
 much anxiety and no little fear for the moment 
 to come when Kent would discover who Jack 
 was. Rosamond remained near the open door 
 of the library, but she was not seen by the 
 father or the child. 
 
 "I call this my home office," Kent said in a 
 heavy, mellow voice, as he paused in the center 
 of the room still clinging to the child's hand. 
 
 Jack surveyed with one quick glance the 
 
 225
 
 226 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 four walls, ceiling, floor, the massive furniture 
 and the many books, then ran to the window, 
 pulled the curtain aside and yelled, "oh, what 
 a pretty glass house and what beautiful 
 flowers!" 
 
 The sight of the large conservatory and the 
 many gorgeous plants aroused his enthusiasm 
 and drew his face so close to the window that 
 his little nose was pressed flat against the glass. 
 
 Kent followed him to the window and 
 meant to pat the child affectionately, but he 
 pressed his heavy hand on his little head and 
 squeezed it with his fingers until he yelled 
 "ouch," and drew away. 
 
 "Oh, did I hurt you? I didn't mean to," he 
 said in a heavy tone, which had a sincere apolo- 
 getic ring to it; but Jack soon forgot the pinch 
 and his little face was again pressed against 
 the windowpane staring at the flowers. 
 
 "The ladies have charge of the conservatory. 
 They call it theirs I never go in there. I 
 guess I haven't been in there in a'year, but I'll 
 take you in there tomorrow and show you all 
 through it. There are a lot of nice flowers on 
 the other side there that you can't see from
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 227 
 
 here. Rosamond has some orange trees in 
 there and sometimes we get some very nice 
 oranges from them. If there are any there to- 
 morrow we'll pick them." 
 
 Kent pushed his hands into the pockets of 
 his trousers, puffed contentedly at his cigar 
 and walked slowly about the room, searching 
 through the books carefully. 
 
 "I guess I haven't any picture books here. 
 You see we never had any little boys in this 
 house, and I haven't anything here to amuse 
 you with." 
 
 "You don't need picture books to look at in 
 this big house," Jack answered quickly. 
 
 Kent laughed good-naturedly and his eyes 
 left the books and wandered to Jack who was 
 pressing his face tightly against the glass, star- 
 ing through at the flowers. 
 
 ''How big is the house you live in ?" 
 
 "We just have one room." 
 
 "Where is it?" 
 
 "On the top floor." 
 
 "Do your mother and father live there too?" 
 
 "My real parents are dead. My adopted 
 father lives there."
 
 228 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 Kent removed the cigar from his lips and 
 gazed thoughtfully at the lighted end for some 
 seconds before he spoke. 
 
 "It is getting rather dark to look at those 
 flowers, isn't it?" 
 
 "I can see the white ones, but the red ones 
 are turning black." 
 
 Kent pressed one of the buttons and whis- 
 pered to the servant to turn on the lights in the 
 conservatory. He laughed heartily when the 
 flowers blossomed out under the glare of the 
 electric lights and Jack stepped back from the 
 window clapping his hands with delight. 
 
 "Oh, don't the flowers look pretty now, and 
 doesn't that old man look black standing 
 amongst those white roses?" 
 
 "He's pretty black, isn't he? We call him 
 'Old Black Joe.' He used to be a slave away 
 down South. I'll have him tell you some 
 stories about himself when he was a boy and 
 how his master used to whip him." 
 
 "Like 'Uncle Tom's Cabin'?" 
 
 "Yes, have you seen 'Uncle Tom's Cabin'?" 
 
 "No, but Dad has read it to me and told me
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 229 
 
 about it and how they whipped poor old 'Uncle 
 Tom' and how little 'Eva' went to Heaven." 
 
 "What does your adopted father do?" 
 
 "He writes." 
 
 "What does he write?" 
 
 "I don't know. He says he guesses it's trash 
 because no one will buy it." 
 
 Jack's old-fashioned manner and the quick, 
 direct way in which he expressed himself not 
 only amused Kent, but it explained the fact 
 that his time had been spent with much older 
 companions than himself. 
 
 "Do you go to school?" 
 
 "Yes, I go to Dad's school." 
 
 "Where is your Dad's school?" 
 
 "Home in our room." 
 
 "Is your father your teacher?" 
 
 "Yes, we have school every morning right 
 after breakfast." 
 
 "What does he teach you?" 
 
 "Arithmetic, reading, spelling, manners 
 
 "Do you like to study?" 
 
 "Yes, but Dad won't let me study as much 
 as I want to. We just have school for two
 
 230 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 hours and then he puts my books away and 
 makes me play." 
 
 "Well, you like to play, don't you?" 
 
 "Yes, but I would rather study. I like to 
 learn things. I'd like to learn how to make a 
 subway that you couldn't sweep off like Dad 
 does the one I built under our cot-bed." 
 
 Jack drew his face from the windowpane 
 and glanced over his shoulder at Kent, who 
 shook with laughter at his remark, but the 
 picture of his subway being swept away with 
 a stubby old broom wasn't at all funny to him 
 and he placed his nose against the glass and 
 continued studying the flowers. 
 
 Kent seated himself on the large leather 
 divan, placed his elbow on his knees and 
 laughed again as he drew a picture of the sub- 
 way being swept onto a dustpan, but Jack was 
 perfectly contented with the picture before 
 him, and he held his face to the window and 
 permitted Kent to laugh at something he con- 
 sidered anything but humorous. 
 
 "Does your father sweep your subway up 
 every day?" 
 
 1 'Most every day. Some days I do the 
 sweeping."
 
 "I suppose you forget to sweep under the 
 bed, don't you?" 
 
 "I don't forget, but I just don't sweep my 
 subway out on purpose." 
 
 "Doesn't your father scold you?" 
 
 "No, he just laughs." 
 
 "What do you do when he sweeps your sub- 
 way out?" 
 
 "I just laugh and build a new one." 
 
 "What do you do when your father scolds 
 you?" 
 
 "He never scolds me." 
 
 "Hasn't he ever scolded you?" 
 "" "No." 
 
 "Did your real father ever scold you?" 
 
 "I never saw my real father. He died before 
 I was born." 
 
 "Do you remember your mamma?" 
 
 "No, but I have her picture. My mamma 
 looks just like the Miss Kent who brought me 
 here. I just love Miss Kent." 
 
 "Everyone who knows Miss Kent loves her," 
 Kent replied slowly. "How did Miss Kent 
 find you?" 
 
 "I don't know. She just came and got me
 
 232 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 and brought me here in a nice big automobile." 
 "Do you like to ride in automobiles?" 
 "Yes, I never rode in one before and we got 
 here almost as soon as we started." 
 
 "We'll go for a long ride tomorrow. Aren't 
 you getting tired looking at those flowers?" 
 "No, I love flowers and birds and squirrels." 
 "There are quite a number of birds in the 
 conservatory and they'll be singing for all they 
 are worth tomorrow one just tries to out- 
 sing the other. Sometimes we have to lower 
 the sunshades to darken the conservatory so 
 they'll stop." 
 
 "Oh, why don't you let them sing? Birds 
 are happy when they sing!" 
 
 "Yes, but you see we are afraid they will 
 strain their voices and we don't want them to 
 do that, do we?" 
 
 Jack dragged a long drawn out "no" from 
 his throat that seemed to carry a great deal of 
 doubt with it, for he thought in his own mind 
 that birds knew as much about a bird's voice 
 as a human being did. 
 
 "I don't think birds would hurt their voices 
 singing. They just sing because they can't
 
 help it. They are born to sing. They don't 
 have to take singing- lessons like people do." 
 "Have you ever taken singing lessons?" 
 "No, but I'm going to if Dad ever sells a 
 publisher one of his books." 
 
 "How old is your adopted father?" 
 "I really don't know." 
 "Has he got gray hair?" 
 "No, he is young like Miss Kent." 
 "I think you'll have to take me down and 
 introduce me to your father I think I would 
 like him. Do you think he would like me?" 
 "Yes, he would surely like you." 
 "How do you know he would like me?" 
 "Because you are Miss Kent's father." 
 "Does he like Miss Kent?" 
 "Yes, didn't you say everyone likes Miss 
 Kent?" 
 
 "I wonder why?" 
 
 "I don't know why you just like her be- 
 cause you can't help it." 
 
 "Did your father say he liked her?" 
 "No but I knew he did from the way he 
 looked at her."
 
 234 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "How many times did Miss Kent call at your 
 house?" 
 
 "Just once, I guess." 
 
 "I think you have studied those flowers long 
 enough, don't you ? Won't you come over here 
 and visit me?" 
 
 Jack placed Kent's pleading request under 
 immediate consideration, but the sight of the 
 flowers kept his little face pressed against the 
 window. 
 
 "Do you know," Kent continued in a softer 
 tone, " you haven't told me your name yet?" 
 
 "You haven't asked me," Jack replied play- 
 fully, and he had forgotten the flowers and was 
 in the center of the room before he had finished 
 his remark. 
 
 "Well, I'll ask you now what is it?" and he 
 -stretched his open hands forward. 
 
 Jack seized the forefinger of each hand and 
 clapped them together as roughly as his baby 
 strength would permit and exclaimed in a 
 teasing tone, "Jack." 
 
 "Jack what?" Kent inquired, trying to imi- 
 tate the teasing tone in the child's voice. 
 
 "I guess that is all," was the teasing reply,
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 235 
 
 and he shook his head as if to warn Kent that 
 it was useless to ask any more questions on the 
 subject. 
 
 Kent gripped the little hands tightly, drew 
 the small body between his knees and locked 
 it in the circle he made by crossing his feet. 
 
 Jack's eyes danced with enthusiasm and his 
 lips quivered with a confident smile. The 
 mind that had been trained on Wall Street saw 
 at once that there was some joke in the air re- 
 garding the child's last name and it wasn't 
 long before Jack was tricked into revealing it 
 in full. 
 
 Kent closed one eye, moved his lips silently 
 as if he were trying to recall something which 
 had slipped from his memory, and then whis- 
 pered slowly, "How does your adopted father 
 spell his name?" 
 
 Jack spelled the name of "John Weatherbee" 
 innocently and correctly. Kent squeezed the 
 little hands tighter and gazed into the baby 
 eyes several seconds before he spoke. He 
 glanced back over his cold, stormy interview 
 with the father of the child he was holding in 
 his arms, he shook his head slowly and grunt-
 
 236 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 ed, "I see I see your adopted father has no 
 secretary has he?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Of course not of course not describe him 
 to me, won't you?" 
 
 After Jack had granted his request, the 
 heavy head swung again and the gruff voice 
 grunted, "I guess I was wrong, but I wonder 
 why he told the ladies he was his secretary." 
 
 Jack watched the cold gray eyes close and 
 the heavy lines in the forehead grow deeper 
 and he counted them until he was forced to in- 
 form Kent that he was hurting his hands by 
 squeezing them so hard. 
 
 "Has Miss Kent got your mamma's picture?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I would like to see it." 
 
 "I'll get it for you. It is upstairs in her 
 room," and he tried to climb from between 
 Kent's legs, but Kent squeezed him between 
 his knees and held his hands firmly. 
 
 "Don't bother about it now, you can show it 
 to me tomorrow. So you haven't any name 
 but Jack?" 
 
 "I guess that is all."
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 237 
 
 Kent noticed the strong, careful way in 
 which Jack emphasized the word "guess" and 
 he smiled pleasantly at the youthful innocence. 
 
 "How did your real father spell his name?" 
 
 Jack spelled the name of "Reginold Ather- 
 ton" out distinctly. He felt Kent's hands, 
 which were holding his, tremble. His face 
 turned deathly pale, and the big cigar fell from 
 his thick, quivering lips. The wild look of the 
 cold, gray eyes that were staring into his 
 frightened him and he tried to draw away, but 
 he was as powerless as if he had been locked 
 in a steel safe. 
 
 Rosamond had hugged the library door as 
 tightly as possible without being seen or heard. 
 She had listened and followed every word of 
 the conversation carefully. She waited 
 anxiously for it to continue, but the long 
 silence puzzled and tempted her curiosity. She 
 peeked into the open door when she heard 
 Jack say "you are hurting me," and she saw the 
 child wrapped in her father's arms, his cheek 
 resting on the curly head. She heard the 
 heavy, rough voice break into a soft sob, and 
 she tiptoed away to describe the picture to her 
 mother.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 JACK struggled and grunted for his free- 
 dom until he became convinced that his efforts 
 were useless as long as Kent wished to hold 
 him in his arms, so he rested his head against 
 Kent's shoulder and remained there for a short 
 time, but the sentiment was all on Kent's side, 
 for the little fellow was waiting patiently to be 
 released, he wanted to get another peek at the 
 flowers in the beautiful conservatory. 
 
 Kent placed his hands on the child's 
 shoulders, pushed him back as far as his arms 
 would reach and stared into his eyes until Jack 
 smiled faintly and remarked in a quiet tone 
 that showed he didn't approve of the tearful 
 attitude that everyone whom he had met in the 
 house had taken toward him : 
 
 "Everybody I have met in this house has 
 cried all over me." 
 
 Kent rocked his head to and fro slowly 
 many times before he spoke. 
 
 "Have they all cried on you?" 
 
 "All but the little girl," Jack answered 
 
 238
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 239 
 
 quickly. "Mrs. Kent cried, and Miss Kent 
 cried down at our house and then she cried 
 again up here, but the little girl just laughed 
 and shook me." 
 
 "Well, you see the little girl hasn't passed 
 the laughing age yet. She laughs at every- 
 thing, but she'll cry too some day," and Kent 
 shook the little shoulders affectionately, then 
 pinched the cheeks and pushed the curls back 
 from his forehead. 
 
 "Do you like the little girl because she didn't 
 cry?" 
 
 Jack nodded his head quickly and before he 
 had ceased, Kent inquired if he liked Mrs. Kent 
 and the head continued shaking, and shook 
 while he informed Kent in a most convincing 
 tone that he liked all the ladies and just loved 
 Miss Kent. 
 
 "I want you to like me, too," Kent whis- 
 pered, "for I like you and I want you to be my 
 chum. Do you think you are going to like 
 me?" 
 
 "Yes, I like you already. Miss Kent said 
 that you didn't talk much, but you do. You 
 talk a lot, don't you?"
 
 Kent's mind was far away from anything 
 humorous, but Jack's frank remark, which was 
 meant as a compliment, forced him to laugh 
 heartily. His fingers wandered through the 
 child's curls; he wound a curl around each of 
 his forefingers, and would pull his hand away 
 only to find it travelling back to pinch the rosy 
 cheeks and from the cheeks it would go to the 
 curls and back to the cheeks again. 
 
 "Do I talk too much?" 
 
 "No, I like to talk a lot and ask questions. 
 Dad says I ask too many questions." 
 
 "Well, you just ask me all the questions you 
 want to," and he gave the cheeks another 
 tender squeeze. "What time does your Dad 
 put you to bed?" 
 
 "About eight o'clock." 
 
 "I guess it's after eight now," and Kent drew 
 his watch from his pocket and pressed the but- 
 ton quickly after he had glanced at it. "Why, 
 it's nearly nine o'clock. Joe will take you up 
 to Miss Kent and she'll tuck you away and I'll 
 see you in the morning and we'll go and look 
 at the flowers and have a big long talk. Have 
 you got a kiss for your new chum?"
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 241 
 
 Jack wound his tiny arms around Kent's 
 neck and kissed him affectionately and Kent 
 held him tightly while "J oe " stood at the door 
 and awaited orders. 
 
 "Joe, take Mr. - - Mr. - , take my chum 
 to Miss Rosamond and tell her he is ready to 
 retire," and Joe led Jack up the broad stairs 
 and he pounded each step in vain with his tiny 
 feet trying to make them squeak. 
 
 "These stairs just won't talk, will they?" 
 
 "I dun-o es I 'ave heard 'em, but I guess if 
 anyone can make 'em talk yo am that puson, 
 chil'. Yo 'ave cernly started a buzz in this 
 'ouse such as I neva heard afo'. What is yo 
 name, anyhow?" 
 
 "Jack," was the quick reply in a loud voice, 
 and he stopped suddenly and stared up at the 
 wondering white eyes that were glaring out of 
 the black, shiny face at him. 
 
 "Jack Jack what?" 
 
 "Jack; and I guess that is all," and he pulled 
 Joe on his way up the stairs, pounding away at 
 each step in hope it might creak. 
 
 Joe delivered him to the ladies, who received 
 him as a long lost child and he was hugged by
 
 242 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 one until the other succeeded in getting posses- 
 sion of him, but he still looked upon his recep- 
 tion as a huge joke and accepted it all play- 
 fully, laughing and struggling until he escaped 
 from one only to find himself in the arms of 
 another. 
 
 Rosamond took charge of him for the night 
 and his eyes opened wide when she ushered 
 him into her room and he found that during 
 his absence, a tiny bed which matched Rosa- 
 mond's had been placed there for him. 
 
 "Oh, look at the funny little bed!" he ex- 
 claimed, as he paused just inside the door. 
 
 "That is yours. Do you like it?" Rosamond 
 inquired anxiously. 
 
 "Yes, and it has got a little tent on it just 
 like yours, hasn't it?" 
 
 "Yes, Helen slept in that bed when she was 
 a little girl like you." 
 
 His eyes left the bed quickly and searched 
 Rosamond's somewhat reproachfully for 
 many seconds before he informed her with a 
 great deal of pride that he was a boy. 
 
 Rosamond apologized for her careless mis- 
 take and assured him with another kiss that
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 243 
 
 she knew he was a boy and was very happy 
 over the fact. The pride he had shown in his 
 rather boastful way of announcing that he was 
 a boy forced her to refrain from informing him 
 that there were no little boy's night clothes in 
 the house and he would have to sleep in one of 
 Helen's baby night dresses until Monday, so 
 she decided to prepare him for bed and allow 
 him to make the discovery himself and she 
 waited with much pleasure to see if he would 
 notice the difference. She drew the thin, white 
 nightdress over his curly head and smiled as 
 she started to tie the baby blue ribbon about 
 his neck. 
 
 He examined his little bare arms, which 
 stuck out through the short sleeves that came 
 just below his shoulders and gave each sleeve 
 a good pull to see if he couldn't bring it down 
 where he thought it belonged, but he found 
 that his efforts were useless. He untied the 
 little drawn ribbon in the end of each sleeve 
 and gave it another severe pull. He glanced 
 down at the body of the dress to see if it was 
 cut on the same plan as the sleeves, but found 
 it plenty long enough, in fact too long, for
 
 244 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 many inches were lying on the floor. He ex- 
 amined the sleeves again carefully and finally 
 remarked in a puzzled tone: "This is the fun- 
 niest nightgown I ever saw." 
 
 Rosamond bit her lip to conceal her smile 
 and tied the blue ribbons of the sleeves in 
 pretty bow-knots. 
 
 "Isn't your nightgown like this?" she asked 
 in a tone of forced surprise. 
 
 "No," Jack replied quickly, and he gazed 
 with contempt at the blue ribbons and long 
 white lace which hung at the end of the sleeves. 
 "My nightgown buttons down the front and 
 has long sleeves and legs on it. This is like the 
 ones they have on girl dolls in the store 
 windows." 
 
 "You'll like this after you get to sleep." 
 
 "Well, after I am asleep I won't know I've 
 got it on." 
 
 "No, you will forget all about it and Monday 
 we'll get some with legs on them, just like 
 yours." 
 
 "Maybe Dad will be back and take me home 
 before Monday," and he glanced up into Rosa- 
 mond's eyes with a hopeful smile.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 245 
 
 The humorous expression darted from Rosa- 
 mond's face and a sad twinkle crept into her 
 soft brown eyes and her voice trembled as she 
 whispered, "Don't you want to live here?" 
 
 "Yes, I want to live here until Dad gets 
 back." 
 
 "Then do you want to go back and live with 
 your Dad?" 
 
 "Of course, you wouldn't want to go and live 
 away from your Dad, would you?" 
 
 "Perhaps I would if I liked some other place 
 better." 
 
 "I wouldn't like any place better than where 
 my Dad is." 
 
 "Don't you like it here?" 
 
 "Yes, but I like our house better." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because it isn't so big. This house is like a 
 big store and you haven't any cat here." 
 
 "Yes, we have; there are two cats here and 
 they have great, large, bushy tails and we have 
 a nice bull dog and we have horses and we 
 have two nice automobiles. You like automo- 
 biles, don't you?" 
 
 "Yes, but your stairs don't squeak like ours,"
 
 246 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 and there was a challenging note in the child's 
 voice and a proud twinkle in his- eye and he 
 held his little head high in the air and waited 
 for Rosamond's reply,' but she only twined his 
 curls around her fingers and nodded her head 
 in silence. She lifted him into the little bed 
 and pressed her lips to his, but he pushed her 
 head away gently and reminded her that he 
 shouldn't go to bed until after he had said his 
 prayers and he kneeled at the edge of the bed 
 and repeated the Lord's prayer aloud. He 
 didn't hear the door being opened, for Mrs. 
 Kent made no sound as she turned the knob 
 and peeked in at the tiny figure and heard the 
 words, "God bless mamma, papa, and make me 
 a good child for Jesus' sake, Amen." 
 
 Rosamond placed her finger on her lips and 
 her mother closed the door silently and re- 
 turned to her room. 
 
 Joe paced up and down past the open door of 
 the library until both hands of the clock which 
 stood on Kent's desk had reached twelve. He 
 watched Kent who had been sitting on the 
 divan with his elbows on his knees and his 
 face buried in his hands for at least an hour.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 247 
 
 He had often sat in a dark corner and watched 
 him pace the floor hurling heavy clouds of 
 smoke from his cigar when he was worried 
 over the business wars of Wall Street, but he 
 had never known him to remain in one posi- 
 tion without smoking as long as he had in the 
 present one. He stood before the door and 
 coughed mechanically several times, but his 
 efforts went unnoticed and he decided to try 
 and interrupt the silence by speaking, though 
 he spoke twice in a loud tone before he was 
 heard, but Kent made no reply. 
 
 "Can I get yo' anything, sir?" he pleaded for 
 the third time, and Kent only grunted, "Noth- 
 ing, Joe, nothing." 
 
 "Do yo' know it is twelve o'clock, sir?" 
 "All right, Joe, lock up," he ordered in a 
 sighing voice that was strange to the servant 
 who had listened to his gruff, boisterous tones 
 for so many years. He pushed his hands into 
 the pockets of his trousers, mounted the heavy 
 stairs, entered his room and threw himself on 
 the couch. Joe guarded his door and listened 
 breathlessly until he was sure he heard him 
 retiring. He looked at his watch as he stole
 
 248 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 down the hall and whispered to himself, "Ma 
 Goad, it am fo' o'clock." 
 
 Breakfast was ready at eight o'clock, which 
 was the usual hour. For years Kent's fruit 
 and coffee had been served in his room, or at 
 his desk in the library, but he instructed the 
 butler to serve his breakfast in the dining 
 room. 
 
 "Is Mrs. Kent having her breakfast in her 
 room?" 
 
 "No, sir, she is coming downstairs to break- 
 fast this mornin'." 
 
 "Are the girls going to dine downstairs?" 
 
 "Miss Rosamond am, but Miss Helen is go- 
 ing to have her coffee and toast in her room as 
 usual, sir." 
 
 During breakfast, Kent made several appar- 
 ent attempts to be unconcerned and jovial, but 
 his efforts were forced and his humor dis- 
 played the mechanism and struggle that was 
 back of it trying to force it over the mind that 
 was still in a bewildered condition. 
 
 Jack was so busy watching the coffee bub- 
 bling up through the spout of the French 
 coffee pot, that it was hard for him to answer
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 249 
 
 the many questions which were being hurled 
 at him from all sides. 
 
 Kent asked him for the third time how he 
 slept and after he had given the question con- 
 siderable thought, he replied that he didn't 
 know how he slept, he just went to sleep and 
 didn't know anything after that, but Rosa- 
 mond was perfectly capable of answering the 
 question, for she had spent most of the night 
 watching and rearranging the spread about his 
 shoulders and she assured her father that he 
 had spent a very peaceful night. 
 
 "Isn't Miss Helen coming to breakfast?" he 
 inquired after the breakfast was half over. 
 
 "Miss Helen is having her breakfast in her 
 room," Kent replied quickly, for he showed an 
 eagerness to answer all the child's questions 
 and Mrs. Kent and Rosamond seemed anxious 
 to give him the opportunity. 
 
 "Is she having her breakfast in the room 
 where she sleeps?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Is she ill?" 
 
 "I hope not," Kent answered with a smile.
 
 250 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "What is she eating her breakfast in her 
 bedroom for then?" 
 
 "She likes to eat her breakfast up there." 
 
 "Dad made me stay in bed and eat my break- 
 fast one day when I had a cold." 
 
 "Do you like to eat your breakfast in bed?" 
 
 "No, you get the crumbs all over everything. 
 The top is coming off!" he yelled, as he 
 watched the steam force the glass cover of the 
 coffee pot up and down. 
 
 Kent always spent Sunday morning with his 
 private secretary, but he was dismissed with- 
 out seeing Kent, though he insisted that there 
 were several matters which needed Kent's im- 
 mediate attention, but Kent sent word he was 
 busy and to let everything stand as it was until 
 Monday. 
 
 Joe was ordered to raise all the sunshades in 
 the conservatory. Kent led Jack up and down 
 the carpeted aisles and tried to explain the 
 nature of the different flowers, but found he 
 knew less about them than the child did him- 
 self. 
 
 "Where did you learn so much about 
 flowers?"
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 251 
 
 "Dad takes me up in Central Park and 
 teaches me their names. This is an azalea 
 isn't it?" 
 
 "I guess so," Kent grunted, and he smiled at 
 his own ignorance. "You see I don't come in 
 here very often. I don't have time. I guess I 
 haven't been in here in a year." 
 
 "Don't you like flowers?" 
 
 "Yes, I like them well enough. They look 
 prettier this morning than I have ever seen 
 them look before. Everything seems to be in 
 bloom, doesn't it? and the birds seem to be 
 singing softer I guess they are singing for 
 you. They yell so sometimes when I am work- 
 ing in the library that I have to shut my win- 
 dow, but they seem quite polite this morning 
 I like them." 
 
 During the conversation Kent had plucked 
 a blossom or a bud from the many different 
 plants and stuck the stem under the patches on 
 Jack's dress and when he left the conservatory 
 he looked like a walking flower bed, for each 
 patch was partly hidden with a bright flower, 
 and each curl held a different colored pansy. 
 
 "This is a fine day," Kent remarked pleas-
 
 252 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 antly as he gazed up at the sun which was glar- 
 ing down through his library window. "How 
 about that automobile ride?" 
 
 "I'm ready," Jack replied quickly. "But 
 these flowers will blow off, won't they?" 
 
 "Let them blow off, there are plenty more 
 where they came from," Kent growled boast- 
 fully. 
 
 The open car was ordered and Jack was 
 bundled up in one of Helen's seal-lined auto- 
 mobile coats. Kent laughed when he tried to 
 turn the sleeves up to give Jack the use of his 
 hands, but found it impossible, for after he had 
 taken a few rolls in each sleeve, he found the 
 ends were closed and hung in balls many 
 inches below the child's fingers. 
 
 Jack clapped them together playfully and 
 tumbled to the floor when he tried to walk and 
 stepped on the bottom of the coat which lay in 
 circles around his feet. 
 
 "I'll have to hold this up like the ladies do 
 their dresses, won't I?" and he tried to catch 
 hold of the coat, but found he was deprived of 
 the use of his hands which were buried in the 
 long sleeves. Kent smiled as he watched him
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 253 
 
 struggling to raise the heavy garment above 
 his feet. 
 
 Rosamond had watched the scene carefully 
 and studied her father's affectionate attentions 
 and remarks with much pride and satisfaction. 
 "There seems to be more coat than man there." 
 
 "Don't you believe it. There is more real 
 man in that coat than anyone ever dreamed 
 of." 
 
 "I guess you are right, father," she said as 
 she watched him draw Helen's blue cap down 
 over his curls that left nothing but large blue 
 eyes showing. 
 
 While Kent was showing Jack through the 
 conservatory, the ladies were holding a meet- 
 ing and they decided that they would not ac- 
 company their father on the automobile trip in 
 order to let him be alone with Jack as much as 
 possible. Each had planned some plausible 
 excuse to offer when they were invited, but 
 they discovered, much to their surprise, that 
 no excuses or explanations were necessary, for 
 when Kent pulled Helen's little cap down over 
 the curls, he took Jack under his arm, strolled 
 out to the car, tucked him under the robe and
 
 254 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 ordered the driver to drive to the Country 
 Club. 
 
 As they drove along the edge of the Hudson, 
 he explained with childish enthusiasm the dif- 
 ferent places of interest. Jack became an ob- 
 ject of curiosity at the Country Club, but Kent 
 forgot to even notice any of his fellow-mem- 
 bers, for his time and attention were complete- 
 ly absorbed by Jack's many questions. 
 
 Kent was seldom seen at the Club; his great 
 business interests claimed all of his time and 
 robbed him of any pleasure of the many clubs 
 of which he was a member. His great finan- 
 cial power and his gruff personality held him 
 aloof from any familiar questions regarding 
 the patched gingham dress, which held the at- 
 tention of every person in the large room. 
 
 Kent's ignorance of plain lemonade was hu- 
 morously displayed, for it was ordered and dis- 
 cussed and re-ordered at least a half dozen 
 times before he could decide just what kind of 
 a drink was best for the child's health. He 
 thought a cold drink would make him cold and 
 a hot drink might make him hot. 
 
 "Why not make one of plain, pure water of
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 255 
 
 ordinary temperature and put no ice in it?" the 
 waiter inquired, after he had shifted his weight 
 from one leg to the other many times. 
 
 "I guess that is a good idea," Kent answered 
 after he had thought it over carefully, but JacK* 
 said that he wanted a little piece of ice in it and 
 there was no further argument on the subject. 
 
 "Yes, put a little ice in it," Kent suggested, 
 as if the idea were his own, "but don't put any 
 cherries or acid or any of that truck in it." 
 
 "Oh, yes, put a red cherry in it !" Jack ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 "Well, put a couple of cherries in it and 
 hurry up with it. I could have made a dozen 
 lemonades while you have been standing 
 here!" 
 
 The lemonade was served and Kent watched 
 it and the cherries disappear and interrupted 
 Jack's party by 'asking between each sup if it 
 was good. 
 
 Jack was carefully wrapped in the large coat 
 and they started back for the Kent mansion. 
 
 The slated roof of the Kent mansion on 
 Fifth Avenue and the old tin roof that covered 
 the ceiling of the garret room on Twenty-
 
 256 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 ninth Street were heated by the same warm, 
 friendly sun, but the walls of the Kent house 
 surrounded more happiness than they had for 
 many years and the slanting ceiling of the gar- 
 get room hung over more loneliness than it had 
 ever covered since it sheltered Weatherbee's 
 tall figure. 
 
 There was a constant buzz of joy and happi- 
 ness in the Kent house. The flowers in the 
 large conservatory seemed to look more beau- 
 tiful than they had ever appeared before, and 
 the birds seemed to swing on the wire swings 
 of their gilded cages and sing sweeter than 
 they had ever sung before, but in the little 
 garret room the conversation between Warner 
 and Weatherbee jerked and dragged. Each 
 man tried to force himself to talk and cheer the 
 other and each one's efforts were noticed by 
 the other. 
 
 Each man would unconsciously pause in the 
 middle of a sentence and lapse into a long 
 silence. Weatherbee had cooked a more 
 elaborate dinner than had been served in the 
 little room for many weeks, but it hadn't 
 tasted the same as the scanty ones where all
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 257 
 
 three had sat together and joked over the 
 absence of butter; sometimes sugar and an- 
 other time meat, perhaps, but today there was 
 more of the dinner untouched than had been 
 eaten. Each man tried to convince the other 
 how happy he was, or should be, over Jack's 
 future, but the statements were forced and the 
 words were pushed and crowded from their 
 throats. 
 
 The financial success that had entered the 
 little room seemed like an unwelcome speck on 
 the large, lonely gap which Jack's absence 
 caused. The little ray of sunlight which had 
 crawled in through the tiny window looked 
 lonely as it rested on the old rag carpet. 
 
 Weatherbee sauntered to the window, drew 
 the faded curtain aside and gazed up at the 
 clear blue sky. As he held the colorless rag in 
 his left hand, he pushed the right hand, in to the 
 pocket of his trousers and the sound of the 
 silver change surprised him and he drew his 
 hand away quickly. He had forgotten that he 
 possessed such a thing as money. 
 
 "Let's get out of here, Warner," he said im- 
 patiently. "Let's get on the top of a bus and 
 ride up Fifth Avenue."
 
 258 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 As the heavy bus rattled its way up Fifth 
 Avenue, Weatherbee studied the occupants of 
 each automobile carefully and he glanced from 
 the corners of his eyes at each window as they 
 passed the Kent mansion, but the little face he 
 was watching for was missing, and his eyes 
 wandered back into each automobile that 
 passed. 
 
 The traffic officer at Fifty-ninth Street 
 brought all vehicles going either way on Fifth 
 Avenue to a stop and ordered the cross-town 
 cars to move quickly. Weatherbee searched 
 each car carefully until his eye fell on Kent sit- 
 ting with his arm around a bundle of fur-lined 
 cloth. He seized Warner's arm and gripped it 
 tightly. "There's Jack!" he whispered. 
 
 "Sitting down there in an automobile with 
 Kent. I wonder if he'll see us?" 
 
 "Yell at him." 
 
 "No, he may look up," and Weatherbee rose 
 to his feet. 
 
 The officer signalled the Fifth Avenue 
 vehicles to move and the large French auto- 
 mobile whizzed passed the rattling bus, but 
 Warner and Weatherbee were not seen for 
 Jack was sleeping soundly.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THOUGH Sunday served Warner and 
 Weatherbee with a large share of loneliness, it 
 flooded the Kent household with happiness, 
 Mrs. Murray with excitement and Wartle with 
 several new wounds from his dull razor. 
 
 Mrs. Murray was to become Mrs. Wartle at 
 three o'clock. She had ordered Wartle to 
 have the house smothered in shamrocks, and 
 the orders were obeyed to the best of his 
 ability. 
 
 He thought the matter out carefully in his 
 own mind and decided that he could smother 
 the house as artistically as any decorator he 
 knew of and by doing it, would save at least 
 three or four dollars. He talked the subject 
 over with all the florists on Twenty-ninth 
 Street and several on Third Avenue and the 
 lowest bid he received was three dollars, which 
 didn't include the cost of the shamrocks. He 
 informed each one that he was willing to pay 
 a dollar for the job, but it wasn't worth any 
 more. 
 
 259
 
 260 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "Hall you 'ave to do his to set the pots 
 haround hon the floor, hand then pick 'em hup 
 hafter the knot his tied. Hit don't matter 
 where you set them hit's hall foolishness 
 hanyway, hand hif Hi can't get hit done for ha 
 dollar, Hi will do hit myself. Hif you'll do hit 
 for ha dollar, Hi'll let you stay to the weddin', 
 hand you can 'ave supper hin the bargain. You 
 hare Hirish, hand Mrs. Murray won't mind, be- 
 cause she doesn't care who his hat the weddin' 
 has long has they hare Hirish. You'll 'ave ha 
 good time. Mrs. Murray has harranged with 
 Sweeney to furnish the heating and drinking 
 hand she 'as 'ired some fiddlers hand there's 
 going to be music too !" 
 
 The temptations of the Wartle-Murray wed- 
 ding didn't appeal to the florists, who had 
 other engagements to keep, so the decorations 
 were to be made by Wartle who started down 
 Twenty-ninth Street with a tiny pot of sham- 
 rocks under each arm. 
 
 There was no demand for such flowers in the 
 neighborhood and after he had visited each 
 florist, he succeeded in gathering seven small 
 plants and five of the seven had long since
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 261 
 
 passed their useful age and the withered stems 
 hung lifelessly over the edges of the little clay 
 pots. He scattered the seven pots about the 
 room and replaced them several times until he 
 thought each plant made an excellent showing. 
 He stood in the center of the room and eyed 
 each decorated spot carefully. 
 
 "Well, the place hisn't smothered, but hit 
 looks very tasty." 
 
 He wondered what sort of an impression 
 they would make on a person coming into the 
 room, seeing them as they entered; so starting 
 from the front steps he made a hurried en- 
 trance without becoming at all excited over 
 their brilliancy. 
 
 "Hit's because Hi fixed 'em myself that they 
 don't startle me," he said. "Hif Hi 'adn't seen 
 em huntil Hi 'ad walked hinto the room, Hi'm 
 sure hit would look more flowery." 
 
 He lowered the blue window shades, closed 
 the door, and went to his room mumbling to 
 himself. 
 
 "Hi've done my duty hand Hi know she'll be 
 tickled. Hif she hisn't tickled when she sees 
 'em, Hi know she'll be delighted when Hi tell
 
 262 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 'er Hi fixed 'em hall myself hand 'ow cheap Hi 
 got 'em." 
 
 He gazed into the mirror and heaved a deep 
 sigh as he passed the ends of his fingers over 
 the beard, which had been thriving for the past 
 two days. 
 
 "Hi wish hit was hon the top hof my 'ead 
 hinstead hof hon my face," he whispered to 
 himself, and glanced sadly at the pieces of 
 sticking plaster which covered the wounds in- 
 flicted by the last operation. 
 
 "Hi suppose she'll be hangry hif Hi don't 
 shave for the weddin'." He stood before the 
 mirror some time figuring out the easiest route 
 around the different cuts; he applied the lather 
 and when he had shaved around the four pieces 
 of sticking plaster, it was necessary to add 
 three new pieces to cover the fresh cuts. 
 
 "Hi look like ha prize fighter," he grunted, 
 when he looked at the long white strip that 
 covered most of his upper lip. "Hit's hall 'er 
 doings, though, she hinsisted hon hit. Hif Hi 
 'ad 'ad my hown way, Hi'd never 'ave cut ha 
 'air hoff my face hand hif Hi keep hon trying to 
 shave myself, Hi'll cut my face hoff yet. Hi 
 know Hi will!"
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 263 
 
 He had his own peculiar system of keeping 
 books. Each penny he paid out was carefully 
 marked down in one book and the name of the 
 article given which caused its departure. In 
 another book he kept a careful account of each 
 penny that found its way into the Wartle es- 
 tablishment and he often sat for hours tracing' 
 the whereabouts of a penny that had disap- 
 peared unaccounted for, and once after two 
 days' strenuous figuring, he traced a single 
 copper out of the front window into the hands 
 of an organ grinder but only once. It had 
 never happened but once and would doubtless 
 never happen again. 
 
 He sat on the edge of his white iron bed, 
 which still possessed a brass knob on one cor- 
 ner, and went over the expenses of the wed- 
 ding, which were crawling up beyond his ex- 
 pectations. He had purchased a new white 
 shirt that resembled linen which tallied up 
 eighty-three cents on the expense list. A 
 collar of the same quality for fifteen cents and 
 a red bow tie which looked like a continuation 
 of his face. He pressed the end of his fore- 
 finger against the large piece of sticking
 
 264 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 plaster which was hanging on his upper lip and 
 grumbled to himself, "Hi wonder hif she'll 
 hexpect me to call for 'er with ha 'ack hor hif 
 she'll be satisfied to walk hover. Hit hisn't far, 
 hand the walk will do 'er good hanyway." 
 
 After more than fifteen minutes had been 
 spent in silent meditation it was decided to 
 walk the bride to her new home. He felt sure 
 she would growl a little at the start, but he 
 knew that she would feel just as well after she 
 arrived, so the new white shirt, the collar and 
 red tie were donned, the corners of the different 
 pieces of sticking plaster were pressed care- 
 fully into their places, the moth-eaten hat was 
 tipped a trifle to the right ear, and with the 
 family umbrella he started for his bride. 
 
 News of the Wartle-Murray wedding had 
 caused a great deal of excitement in the neigh- 
 borhood. Some considered it a great match, 
 others considered it a foolish one. Some re- 
 ferred to it as a financial landing for Mrs. 
 Murray. She had confided to her most inti- 
 mate friends and friends of theirs the nature of 
 her contract with Wartle, and she always 
 spoke of it as her "widdin' contract."
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 265 
 
 When she informed her friend Hannigan, 
 the cab driver, that she was to become Mrs. 
 Wartle, he threw up both hands, "He's a 
 miser!" But he lowered them quickly and 
 yelled "Bully fer you!" when Mrs. Murray told 
 him that she had a written contract whereby 
 everything that he possessed, including him- 
 self, became hers before the knot was tied, and 
 at her request, Hannigan agreed to be best 
 man. He explained to her that he had never 
 met Wartle, but she assured him that that 
 didn't make any difference. 
 
 "He don't know anny one that's goin' to be 
 at the widdin'. None of his frin's is comin'. 
 No one is goin' to be there but moi frin's. Oi 
 didn't allow him to invoit anny of his Johnny- 
 Bulls. It's goin' to be a Irish widdin'. Oi've 
 invoited iverybody. The house is goin' to be 
 smothered with shamrocks, an' it's goin' to be 
 as swell a widdin' as has bin pulled off on the 
 East Soid of New York City in years!" 
 
 Hannigan congratulated her on her business 
 ability and agreed to bring his friends and be 
 on hand at the appointed time. 
 
 "Bring anny of yer frinds an' tell thim to
 
 266 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 bring their frin's. Sweeney is goin' ter furnish 
 the grub and there'll be plinty fer all and 
 Sweeney is goin' to be there himsilf." 
 
 She had given up her rooms and informed 
 the landlord that she would vacate them not 
 later than Sunday noon. She owed him a few 
 weeks' rent, but explained the circumstances, 
 including her "widdin' " contract and assured 
 him the rent would be paid as soon as she took 
 possession of the Wartle estate. She had en- 
 gaged the boys around the neighborhood to 
 carry the furniture and all of her belongings 
 over to her new home. They worked faith- 
 fully and had swept and scrubbed the floors of 
 the two small rooms for their next occupant, 
 and they were also to be paid liberally from 
 the Wartle estate. 
 
 Anne McCabe, who was Mrs. Murray's 
 neighbor and lifelong friend, was to be brides- 
 maid and had promised to see her through and 
 stick to the finish. When Mrs. Murray first 
 broke the news to her and asked her to stand 
 up with her, she replied, "Oi'll be there, Mur- 
 ray, wid hoigh heeled shlippers on both me 
 feet."
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 267 
 
 She was surprised when she heard that Mrs. 
 Murray was going to marry an Englishman, 
 but sincerely approved of the match after she 
 had listened to Mrs. Murray's side of the story. 
 
 "Oi'm not gittin' lazy, Anne, but Oi'm tired 
 of chasin' me knuckles up an' down a wash- 
 board. Oi know Wartle's an awful thing to 
 look at, but he's funny sure, he's as good as 
 a circus to have about the house. I can't look 
 at 'im without laughin' and he's as aisy to 
 handle as a lame horse. He's got a gorgeous 
 house, plinty of money. It's all moine and 
 Oi'm takin' no chances. He has no bum rela- 
 tions hangin' around loik the last one Oi was 
 toid to. Sure Murray had more hungry frill's 
 and relations hangin' around than ye' would 
 foind in a 'Poor House.' Oi used to have to 
 put me breakfast under me pillow at noight ar 
 they'd have it aten before Oi'd git up in the 
 
 morninV 
 
 They viewed the match from every stand- 
 point and both agreed that Mrs. Murray had 
 the best of it, "goin' and comin'." 
 
 "Sure Murray give me the worst of it from 
 the day Oi married him. He worked me loik a
 
 268 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 Jew would work a Christian, but it was a good 
 lesson it saved me gittin' stung ag'in. Oi've 
 had a lawyer look over this contract and he 
 siz all Oi 'ave to do is to sit back an' take the 
 money. He siz Oi'm the first American bride 
 that has ever spilt anny English coin in the 
 United States. He had his toipwriter copy off 
 the contract an' is goin' to have it printed in 
 the paper. He siz it'll make thim hairesses 
 that go to Europe wid a tub of money an' give 
 it to them fureigners fer marryin' thim, sick 
 whin they raid it. He siz the King of Eng- 
 land'll go nutty wid rage whin he hears it." 
 
 Both were dressed for the wedding and 
 waiting for the groom to appear. It was quite 
 evident that red was their favorite color. The 
 dressmaker insisted on making Mrs. Murray a 
 low neck gown, but she positively refused and 
 laughed at the idea. 
 
 "Oi'll be covered from the chin to the fluer. 
 Sure Oi have a neck on me loik a withered 
 pickle and Oi'm not anxious to show it to 
 everyone, an' Oi want sleeves in the dress too 
 an' Oi want thim to come clean down to me 
 knuckles," and her orders were carried out to
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 269 
 
 the letter. The sleeves came to her finger tips 
 and the collar of her dress reached the point of 
 her long, thin chin. 
 
 It was the wish of both ladies to have their 
 dresses for this particular occasion made of the 
 same material and exactly the same style. 
 They were both made by the same dressmaker. 
 The black silk for the dresses and the red silk 
 lace and ribbons for the trimmings were pur- 
 chased by Mrs. Murray and everything, in- 
 cluding the making, was to be paid for out of 
 the Wartle purse. Each had arranged the 
 other's hair in the very latest style, and Mrs. 
 Murray's keen sense of humor brought forth a 
 hearty laugh every time she caught a glimpse 
 of herself in the mirror. 
 
 "Sure ye are a picture, Ann, but Oi look as 
 if Oi had bin hit wid somethin' that spattered 
 whin it struck me," and she re-arranged the 
 red lace shawl which was hanging over her 
 head. "Sure Oi hain't had these whoite gloves 
 on an hour yit an' they're black already!" 
 
 Miss McCabe assured her that she had never 
 looked as beautiful. 
 
 "Oi may look beautiful, but Oi feel as if Oi
 
 270 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 was screwed up in a vice. These shlippers are 
 pinchin' the feet off me. Ann, do ye think 
 me old tan lace shoes would show from under 
 this dress?" 
 
 "No," was Miss McCabe's prompt and wel- 
 come reply. "Sure nobudy will be lookin' at 
 yer feet." 
 
 The white slippers were discarded and the 
 old brown lace shoes which had done service 
 for so many months took their place. 
 
 "Ye'll have to lace thim for me, Ann, for Oi 
 can't shtoop in this rig." 
 
 "Sure Oi can't nather. Sit down an' put yer 
 foot up on the chair here an' Oi'll do the best 
 Oi can." 
 
 After the shoes were laced, she stood up to 
 see if they showed and to the delight of both 
 they were not visible. "Do they show whin 
 Oi'msettin'?" 
 
 "No, yer dress touches the floor an' no one 
 would ever know that ye had anny feet if ye 
 didn't tell 'em." 
 
 "Thank God for that!" Mrs. Murray sighed 
 with a great deal of relief. 
 
 The occupants of the different apartments
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 271 
 
 on each side of the street who had not received 
 invitations to the wedding, were seated at the 
 windows to watch Mrs. Murray depart for her 
 new home. A large crowd of friendly children 
 had gathered in front of her house and waited 
 for the bride to appear. Some of the little 
 soiled hands were filled with rice, some were 
 empty, while a few others waited with some 
 small flowers they had plucked from a lonely 
 plant which had been reared on a window sill 
 of a crowded flat. A friendly cheer went up 
 from the little voices when they spied Wartle's 
 small, fat figure slowly approaching under the 
 moth-eaten silk hat. The many pieces of stick- 
 ing plaster on his face caused a great deal of 
 wonderment in the minds of the little folk. 
 Some thought that he had been in a fight, 
 while others said it was "fashin'ble" that 
 people always did that to their faces when they 
 were going to be married and that Mrs. Mur- 
 ray would have her face fixed that way too, 
 when she came down stairs. 
 
 Wartle elbowed his way through the crowd 
 and mounted the stairs to Miss McCabe's 
 rooms. Mrs. Murray answered his nervous
 
 272 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 tap on the door and laughed heartily as she 
 bade him enter. 
 
 "Hare you laughing hat my new necktie?" he 
 asked with a feeble smile. 
 
 "No, Oi'm laughin' at what it's buttoned on. 
 What toime is it?" 
 
 "Hit's ha little hafter two." 
 "Ye have a two-seated hack, hain't ye?" 
 Wartle hesitated several seconds before he 
 found his voice and then announced in a guilty 
 tone, "Hi 'aven't hany. Hi thought we could 
 walk hover. Hit's such a nice day hand hit 
 hisn't far hand- 
 Mrs. Murray didn't give him a chance to 
 explain further. 
 
 "Go out an' git the best two-seated hack ye 
 can hire. Ye'll not walk me to me own wed- 
 din'. Ye Jew ye sure ye can walk if ye loik, 
 but Oi'll roid or Oi'll not go at tall!" and she 
 assisted him out of the door and ordered him 
 to get white horses if there were any in the 
 city. 
 
 When Wartle returned to the street unac- 
 companied by Mrs. Murray, a bewildered ex- 
 pression crept into each child's face and a short
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 273 
 
 silence followed, but as soon as they recovered 
 from the shock they showered Wartle with 
 more questions than he could have answered in 
 a whole day, even if he had been in his right 
 mind, but he was not. He was not only uncom- 
 fortable in his new stiff shirt and collar, but he 
 was very excited, he quickened his step to get 
 away from the curious children, but they fol- 
 lowed him, still inquiring for Mrs. Murray. 
 He found himself completely surrounded, and 
 was compelled to stop and give an explanation. 
 
 "For 'Eaven sake, keep quiet," he shouted as 
 he raised the faded umbrella high in the air. 
 "There his nothin' the matter. Hi'm goin' 
 hafter ha 'ack, hand Hi'll be back hin ha few 
 minutes." 
 
 He repeated the speech several times and 
 some of the youngsters were satisfied with the 
 explanation and returned to await his arrival 
 at Mrs. Murray's though others followed him 
 to the stable and rode back with him in his 
 " 'ack." 
 
 Wartle protested vigorously and tried hard 
 to keep the youngsters out of the carriage, but 
 they only laughed at his excited chatter and as
 
 many as could crowded into the carriage and 
 those who couldn't rode on the front with the 
 driver and as many more clung to the rear 
 springs. 
 
 His patience gave way entirely when the 
 ones who had pushed their way into the seat 
 with him insisted on knowing what had hap- 
 pened to his face. The perspiration had caused 
 the corners of the different pieces of sticking 
 plaster to curl up and they saw the cuts under- 
 neath and were convinced that his face was 
 not slashed up in that manner just for style. 
 
 "Did you stumble and fall?" one child asked, 
 but Wartle made no reply. 
 
 "No," one of the thoughtful ones' grunted, 
 "if he fell his nose would be cut too. He 
 couldn't fall and hit both cheeks and his chin 
 and neck without cutting his nose." 
 
 "Maybe something flew up and hit him." 
 
 "How could anything fly up and hit him in 
 the neck?" 
 
 The comedian of the party informed them 
 that lots of people got it in the neck. 
 
 "I bet he was playing with the cat!" one of 
 the smaller ones whispered confidentially to 
 her brother who was seated on her lap.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 275 
 
 They put the question to Mr. Wartle at 
 once, but received no answer, but the problem 
 was solved in their minds. It was the cat- 
 nothing but a cat could reach under a man's 
 chin and cut in that way. 
 
 "Has Mrs. Murray seen you with your face 
 like this?" another inquired as politely as his 
 curious little voice would permit, but the ques- 
 tion was ignored and Wartle tapped the -floor 
 of the carriage nervously with his umbrella. 
 He tried to gaze out of the window, but such a 
 luxury was prevented by the young unwelcome 
 guests who were standing on either side, un- 
 able to find seats. The four short blocks 
 seemed a long tedious journey to Wartle. 
 
 "Hi'll smother before Hi get there," he 
 thought to himself and when the carriage 
 stopped in front of Mrs. Murray's the disap- 
 pointed cry went up, "Oh, are we here 
 already?" and Wartle had to crowd his way 
 out, but the treat of being in a real carriage 
 hadn't been offered to the children of that 
 neighborhood before and they insisted on re- 
 maining in the vehicle until Mrs. Murray 
 arrived.
 
 276 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 Wartle explained timidly as he wiped the 
 perspiration from the well spots on his face, 
 that it was impossible to get two white horses, 
 but he got one. 
 
 "Hi got one white one hand one kind hof ha 
 yellow one. The man honly 'ad one white one 
 left. 'E used to 'ave two, but the hother one 
 died." 
 
 "Oi'll bet this one is nearly dead or ought 
 to be." 
 
 When they reached the front steps she 
 threw up both hands when she glanced at the 
 horses with their heads hanging so low that 
 their chins nearly touched the pavement. 
 
 "Per the love of Heavins, look at that pair of 
 goats to draw annyone to a weddin'. Even the 
 driver's sleepin'," she gasped when she spied 
 the dozing figure sitting on the seat with his 
 chin resting on his chest. 
 
 The tails of the horses were worn quite short 
 from constant labor. The flies kept them mov- 
 ing, and they had whipped the reins from the 
 hands of their guide, who was slumbering 
 peacefully, and they lay among their feet on 
 the pavement.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 277 
 
 A cheer went up from the little friends when 
 Mrs. Murray appeared on the steps draped in 
 her red lace veil. 
 
 "Yell louder," she exclaimed, after she had 
 taken in the picture with one disgusted glance. 
 "Yell, and see if ye can't wake thim two mules 
 and the driver up," and a roar went out from 
 the little throats that succeeded in bringing 
 the man on the seat to his senses, but the flies 
 held the attention of the rear end of the horses 
 and their tails whipped to and fro while their 
 heads still hung as if in a quiet dream. 
 
 When Mrs. Murray closed the door of the 
 carriage, several little flowers, and a few 
 kernels of rice found their way through the 
 broken window, she waved her long thin hand, 
 smiled and bowed her head at the friendly lit- 
 tle tots who were crying at the top of their 
 small voices, "Good luck God bless you," as 
 the drowsy horses walked slowly up the street. 
 
 When she stepped in the hall of the Wartle 
 home she searched the walls and floor care- 
 fully and stood for several seconds before she 
 spoke. 
 
 Wartle studied the surprised expression on
 
 278 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 her face and interrupted the silence. ' 'Ave 
 you forgot something?" he whispered. 
 
 "No, OiVe not forgot nothin'," she answered 
 sharply, "but you have!" 
 
 Wartle looked blankly at the old umbrella in 
 his left hand and felt for his hat which he 
 found resting on the back of his head. "No, Hi 
 'ave heverything." 
 
 "Where -is thim shamrocks?" she growled 
 in a low sarcastic tone. 
 
 A smile crept over Wartle's face. He raised 
 both hands with much assurance. "Ho, Hi 
 'ave them hall hin 'ere," and he threw open the 
 door leading to the front room and rushed in 
 to raise the curtains. 
 
 Mrs. Murray made a slow stately entrance 
 into the room and after she had surveyed it 
 with one glance, sank into the nearest chair, 
 looked steadily at Wartle, who had re- 
 moved the hat and was holding it far from his 
 side to be sure he wouldn't ruffle any of the 
 silk. He rested a large portion of his heavy 
 little figure on the handle of the umbrella and 
 was smiling contentedly, but the smile van- 
 ished as he watched the angry expression on 
 Mrs. Murray's face.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 279 
 
 She looked at him, then'at Miss McCabe and 
 back at the withered shamrocks. She leaned 
 back in her chair, pushed the tan-covered feet 
 far out onto the floor, and shook her head 
 silently for several seconds before she found 
 words to express her disappointment and dis- 
 gust. 
 
 "Well, ye scar-faced piker !" she whispered 
 slowly. "Ye scar-faced piker. Ye're cheaper 
 than a piker. A piker is a spendthrift along- 
 soid of a cheap onion loik ye are. Here Oi've 
 bin crackin' up this widdin' to all me frinds 
 an' tellin' 'em how the house was to be smoth- 
 ered wid shamrocks an' this is what Oi git. 
 Look at it! Seven measly shrubs that are a 
 disgrace to Ireland. Take thim out of here, 
 take thim out back of the house, take thim 
 anny place, take thim out of me soight. Oi 
 wouldn't have anny of me frin's see 'em. 
 There'll be no decorations. Oi'll not be mar- 
 ried in a house with a few pieces of withered 
 fuzz loik thim settin' around. They look as if 
 they had just got back from some old man's 
 funeral. Go on, Oi tell ye, take 'em out er Oi'll 
 throw thim out into the street!"
 
 280 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 While Wartle gathered the small pots to- 
 gether, he mumbled in a sad, quivering voice 
 that he had done the best he could. 
 
 "Hi rented hevery shamrock that was hin 
 the neighborhood. Hi went to hevery flower 
 shop there his. Hi would 'ave rented some 
 hother kind hof flowers, but you said you didn't 
 want hanything hin the 'ouse but shamrocks." 
 
 His explanation and trembling voice 
 touched Mrs. Murray's soft spot and she threw 
 her hands into the air and roared hilariously, 
 when he stumbled over the small rug and fell 
 headlong onto the floor, throwing the plants 
 against the wall. 
 
 After he had obeyed Mrs. Murray's next 
 order, he proved that he was more at home 
 with a broom and dust-pan in his hands than 
 he was with flowers. 
 
 "Ye can lave thim in the room," she said as 
 she smiled at Miss McCabe, "and put the 
 broom and dust-pan away." 
 
 She arranged the remaining shamrocks on 
 the small table in the center of the room as 
 Wartle made his exit. 
 
 "Oi can't help laughin' at 'im. He's so
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 281 
 
 rattled he don't know whither he's on his head 
 or his feet, and the miser is so stingy he won't 
 go to a barber, but tries to shave himself and 
 he has his fat face nearly chopped off 'm." 
 
 Hannigan drove up with his own cab, and 
 the two ladies hastened to the door to greet 
 him. 
 
 "He's loaded to the neck," Mrs. Murray 
 whispered as she watched him climb down off 
 the seat with his whip in his hand. 
 
 "What is he bringing the whip in for?" Miss 
 McCabe asked. 
 
 "Sure someone would swipe it if he left it 
 out there. Don't say annything to him about 
 drinkin', fer he has an orful timper and he 
 foights at the drop of the hat. Oi don't know 
 what he'll do whin he sees Wartle. Ye know 
 they've niver met each other. Lord, he's 
 pickled look at 'im! He's bringin' the horse 
 up on the walk to tie him to the iron fince." 
 
 "The police won't lit 'im shtand there, will 
 they?" 
 
 "They will whin they foind out it's Hanni- 
 gan's horse. Sure ivery cop in New York 
 knows 'Tom Hannigan' an' they all love 'm."
 
 282 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 He mounted the steps in an unsteady digni- 
 fied manner and greeted the ladies quietly, 
 making no apologies for his condition. He 
 held fast to his whip while being presented to 
 Wartle and gripped his hand tightly while he 
 leaned far forward and squinted at the differ- 
 ent pieces of sticking plaster. He threw a 
 quizzical glance at Mrs. Murray, then viewed 
 the face carefully again before he acknowl- 
 edged the introduction. 
 
 "Yer face looks loik a piece of cheese that 
 the rats had been gnawin' at," he remarked 
 quietly, bending over in Wartle's direction so 
 far that he lost his balance. 
 
 Wartle caught him by the shoulders and 
 teetered him back gently to a standing posi- 
 tion. "Hi was nervous when Hi was shaving 
 han' the razor slipped." 
 
 "Shlipped," Hannigan grunted, "ye look as 
 if ye fell on it!" 
 
 After he had complained of the room being 
 extremely hot, Mrs. Murray and Miss McCabe 
 assisted him and his whip into Wartle's sleep- 
 ing room which adjoined the parlor and suc- 
 ceeded in persuading him to lie down until the 
 ceremony was to be performed.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 283 
 
 Sweeney arrived with three of his choice 
 waiters. All three were related to him and 
 had been schooled under his personal direction 
 and knew as much about a piece of corned beef 
 or a cabbage as any human being should know 
 who was obliged to eat them. 
 
 The two ladies and Mr. Sweeney directed 
 the arrangement of the dining-room, which 
 was located in the basement, and it was soon 
 put in readiness for the guests, who were ar- 
 riving in parties of fives and sixes. The house 
 was soon filled. The parlor in which the cere- 
 mony was to take place was quickly packed. 
 Each step of the stairs served as a seat for 
 three, and the narrow hallway was crowded 
 with standees eager to catch a glimpse of the 
 groom, whose frightened embarrassment had 
 forced him to hide himself in one of the small 
 closets. 
 
 Mrs. Murray squeezed her way through the 
 crowd, shaking hands and "God blessin' " each 
 one with a broad smile and a pat on the shoul- 
 der. She stood at the bottom of the stairs and 
 threw kisses at those seated on the steps.
 
 284 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "Gratin's to ye all," she yelled. "Oi'd loik to 
 shake yer hands, but Oi can't git up there wid- 
 out a balloon. Lord, ain't it hot, and some 
 frind has pinched me handkerchief." 
 
 "Is this yourn, Mrs. Murray?" 
 
 "It is," she answered. "Sure Ann McCabe 
 made it fer me herself an' it ain't big enough to 
 dry a floi's face wid. Oi'm afraid to put it near 
 me nose for fear Oi'll inhale it." 
 
 The talk and laughter fell to a whispering 
 buzz when it was learned that Father Gorman 
 was elbowing his way up the steps. Those in 
 the hall crowded toward each wall allowing 
 him to pass into the parlor. 
 
 "Well, Father, this is goin' some, ain't it?" 
 Mrs. Murray exclaimed as she shook his hand, 
 and her face was covered with a smile that ex- 
 tended from one ear to the other. "It looks 
 loik the Hudson-Fulton celebration, only Oi 
 haven't got anny boats or water." She leaned 
 forward and whispered, "but Oi have plinty of 
 other wet stuff in the doinin'-room." 
 
 The priest raised his hand in a dignified 
 manner, but the gesture was accompanied by 
 a smile, and Mrs. Murray replied with a wink:
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 285 
 
 "Ye've niver saw me hushband, have ye, 
 Father?" 
 
 "Not this one." 
 
 "Oi must show 'im to ye. Ye'll scream whin 
 ye see 'im. He's built loik a Spanish union, 
 but he's not half bad whin ye know 'im." 
 
 After the groom had failed to answer the 
 many numerous calls which Mrs. Murray 
 made in a voice that was heard on the opposite 
 side of the street, the guests became curious 
 and Mrs. Murray grew quite excited. Each 
 room and corner of the house was carefully 
 searched and when she opened the closet door 
 adjoining a small, rear room on the third floor 
 and saw Wartle sitting in the corner, she 
 stepped back, seated herself on the edge of the 
 bed and shook with laughter. 
 
 "For the love of Hivin, will ye tell me what 
 ye're doin' in there? Ye look loik a fudgitive. 
 Have ye done annything ye are ashamed of? 
 Come out of there, ye poor divil, shure ye are 
 meltin' wid the hate. Ye look loik a boiled 
 lobshter. Come out, Oi tell ye." 
 
 She pulled him from the closet, took the 
 handkerchief from his trembling hand, wiped
 
 286 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 the perspiration from his face, pressed the cor- 
 ners of the sticking plaster into place and 
 patted his shoulder -gently. 
 
 "Cheer up, this is only the beginnin' stick 
 to me an' Oi'll see that no one hurts ye. Come 
 on, Oi want to show ye to Father Gorman." 
 
 She clutched his wrist in her hand tightly 
 and dragged him through the tittering crowd 
 to the parlor. 
 
 "This is it!" were the words she used to pre- 
 sent her future husband to Father Gorman, 
 who controlled his smile and greeted the 
 groom cordially and held his hand, while he 
 assured him that there was no cause for fear. 
 
 "Is your friend here who is going to stand 
 up with you?" 
 
 "Hi don't know," he mumbled. "Mrs. Mur- 
 ray said she 'ad 'ired some friend of 'ers to do 
 that." 
 
 Mrs. Murray whispered to Father Gorman 
 that the man was there, but she didn't think 
 would stand well unless he was propped up 
 with something. "Ye better come in an' take a 
 peek at 'im before Oi wake 'im up." 
 
 She pushed her way through the crowd
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 287 
 
 hanging on to Wartle's wrist. They found 
 Hannigan stretched across the bed snoring 
 peacefully, with his whip gripped tightly in 
 both hands. 
 
 "He's dead to the wurld, he ain't moved 
 since Oi fetched 'im in here." 
 
 The priest shook his head sadly and mur- 
 mured, "Too bad, too bad." 
 
 "His 'e hintoxicated?" Wartle asked inno- 
 cently. 
 
 "No, ye rube, he's sea-sick from walkin' 
 around the water fountain in Union Square!" 
 
 It was decided to let Hannigan sleep and 
 have Sweeney act as best man. 
 
 "Hi wonder 'ow much Mr. Sweeney will 
 charge hus, 'e his hawfully 'igh-priced with 
 heverything hin 'is restaurant." 
 
 "If ye spake of money agin 'till after the 
 weddin' is over Oi'll pull all the stickin' plash- 
 ter off yer fat face!" 
 
 The situation was explained to Mr. Sweeney, 
 who said he was sorry that he was not the first 
 choice, but would do anything to start the 
 wedding bells ringing. 
 
 After the ceremony, Sweeney called Mrs.
 
 288 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 Wartle aside and informed her that there were 
 a lot of "ringers in" present and wished to 
 know who was to eat and who was not to eat. 
 
 "Fade thim all, fade iverybody, fade the ones 
 out on the sidewalk, send over and git your 
 restaurant, give everyone a plate wid some- 
 thin' on it and sind and git Hannigan's horse a 
 bushel of oats and a bunch of hay fade ivery- 
 thing that has a mouth on it !" 
 
 Her orders were obeyed to the letter and it 
 wasn't long before everyone held a well-filled 
 plate in their hand and Hannigan's horse had 
 his face buried in a large bag of oats. 
 
 Wartle made several attempts to escape, but 
 Mrs. Wartle held tight to his wrist and forced 
 him to stand in the center of the room and re- 
 ceive the congratulations. 
 
 It was nearly midnight before Mr. Sweeney, 
 who was the last guest to depart, made up his 
 mind to leave. 
 
 "For Hivin sake, Sweeney, don't shake me 
 hand, it's loik a Cannibul stake, it feels as if a 
 shteam roller had run over it. Everybody has 
 held it an' shook it an' squeezed it, 'till it's 
 numb. Oi can't bind me fingers, but ye're a
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 289 
 
 King an' sure the name ain't good enough fer 
 ye. Sure ye spread a table here today that 
 would make a King look loik a starvin' pup, an' 
 I've aten 'till Oi can't walk. Shake this hand, 
 but shake it loitly," and she presented Sweeney 
 with her left hand. 
 
 After he had left Mr. and Mrs. Wartle stood 
 at the bedside and listened to Hannigan snore 
 for several minutes before deciding what 
 method they would use to get him home with- 
 out arousing his temper. 
 
 "Ye kape out of soight an' lave 'im to me. 
 He'll be nutty whin he foinds out the widdin's 
 all over an' he'd pick a scrap wid ye as soon as 
 he saw yer face. Shtand out there in the hall 
 an' Oi'll git 'im away somehow." 
 
 "I'm ready," Hannigan muttered after Mrs. 
 Wartle had pulled at his ear for several 
 seconds. 
 
 "Well, git up, thin, sure it's nearly twilve 
 o'clock an' yer horse is ashlape on the soid- 
 walk." 
 
 "Well, ain't there goin' to be no weddin'?" 
 
 "Sure the weddin's all over an' everybody 
 is home an' in bed but you, an' the cop siz he'll
 
 290 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 run yer horse in if ye don't kape him off the 
 neighbor's front steps." 
 
 "Where is the horse now?" and he rubbed 
 his eyes with his knuckles until he succeeded 
 in getting one of them open. 
 
 "Yer horse is waitin' fer ye on the front 
 shteps. He's tryin' to git in here to git to bid 
 wid ye, Oi guess." 
 
 "And is the weddin' all over?" 
 
 "Sure it's all over. Don't ye remember what 
 ye did?" 
 
 "Did I do anything?" 
 
 "Why, don't ye remember shtanding up wid 
 Wartle?" 
 
 Hannigan rubbed his eyes again and smiled 
 faintly. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I remember seein' him, but I don't 
 remember the weddin', I just remember that 
 face. It looked as if it had been tattooed with 
 whitewash. I was paralyzed when I saw what 
 ye had picked for a husband." 
 
 "Sure, ye were paralyzed long before ye saw 
 him, but Oi guess the soight of Wartle put ye 
 out entirely!" 
 
 "It was a knockout when I saw it. Did I 
 stand up wid 'im all right?"
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 291 
 
 "Sure ye was foine. Father Gorman had 
 hold of ye, but ye shtood up as straight as an 
 arrow. Don't ye remember? 1 ' 
 
 "Yes, I remember everything now." 
 
 "It'll all come back to ye in a day or so. 
 Come on now, go home an' git some shlape." 
 
 She assisted him onto his cab and he drove 
 away laughing to himself, "I'll never forgit 
 that face." 
 
 "Hit won't take hus long to hexamine hour 
 weddin' presents," Wartle remarked dryly, 
 when Mrs. Murray returned to the room. . "We 
 had ha lot hof people but there his honly two 
 presents." 
 
 "Sure that spoon is from Ann McCabe. Who 
 is the other one from?" 
 
 "Hi don't know. Hi was hafraid to hopen 
 hit until you came." 
 
 Mrs. Murray opened the small package and 
 removed a quaint silver pitcher with a card 
 tied to the handle bearing the name of "John 
 Weatherbee." 
 
 "Hit his second 'anded, hisn't hit?" Wartle 
 grunted. 
 
 "Oi don't care if it is, it was moighty shwell
 
 292 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 of him to give it to us, and we didn't invoit 'im 
 to the weddin'. It's one of thim antake things 
 of his that he is so crazy about. Sure he has 
 the pawn shop stuffed with these koind of 
 things." 
 
 "Hi wonder 'ow 'e got this hout?" 
 
 "Oi don't know and Oi don't care. He was 
 nice enough to give it to us an' it's none of our 
 business how he got it. It's a little crame 
 pitcher. Oi'll have the gairl clane up his room 
 fer 'im tomorry. Go to bed now, sure Oi'm 
 dead to the wurld and ye have to git up early 
 in the mornin' and help the gairl clane up the 
 house it's a soight, it looks as if it was hit wid 
 a cyclone." 
 
 Wartle started to remove his coat, but was 
 instructed to keep it on until he reached his 
 own room. 
 
 "Ye're to shlape in the back room, upstairs. 
 Oi'll take this room. Tell the gairl not to 
 wake me up 'till nine o'clock in the mornin'. Oi 
 want ter git a good rist. Good noight and 
 plisant drames." 
 
 She closed the door on the little fat figure 
 and examined the pitcher carefully. "It's a 
 rail antake," she said to herself as she noticed 
 the figures engraved on the bottom, 1863.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THISBY made his usual four o'clock Sun- 
 day call at the Kent mansion and when the 
 butler informed him that Miss Helen was rest- 
 ing, he handed the colored gentleman his hat 
 and cane, lighted a cigarette, presented the 
 burned end of the match to the bewildered 
 servant and walked leisurely into the library. 
 
 It had taken Mrs. Kent and Rosamond some 
 time to fully explain the importance of the 
 present situation to Helen and convince her 
 that it was not only wise, but absolutely neces- 
 sary to let Mr. Kent and Jack have the entire 
 house to themselves. It was not quite clear to 
 her why they should occupy the entire estab- 
 lishment, but she was pleased to grant their 
 request, so buried her undisturbed mind be- 
 tween the pages of an interesting book and re- 
 fused to see anyone. 
 
 With the hat, cane and burned match in his 
 hand, the butler stood in an amazed attitude 
 mumbling over the orders he had received 
 from Mrs. Kent and Rosamond. 
 
 293
 
 294 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "We can see no one. No matter who calls 
 we are not at home." 
 
 "Those am the words an' they cer'nly meant 
 'em fo' they said 'em over an' over free times. 
 I'll inform him jus' once mo' an' if he don' go 
 I'll repo't the case to Mrs. Kent, and she'll sure 
 'nough take that young gen'man by the ear an' 
 make him go home!" 
 
 When he reached the library door and found 
 Thisby sprawled out on the divan reading a 
 magazine and puffing clouds of cigarette 
 smoke up at the ceiling, his courage weakened 
 and he was unable to find words to express his 
 thoughts. 
 
 After he had gazed at the picture for some 
 few seconds, the magazine was lowered just 
 enough to permit Thisby to throw a bored 
 glance over the top of its pages. 
 
 "Do you wish anything, Joe?" and he ar- 
 ranged the pillows underneath his head and 
 continued reading. 
 
 "Mis'er Thisby, the ladies lef pa'tic'ler 
 o'da's that they can see no one today." 
 
 "Don't bother about me, dear old boy. I'll 
 just sort of kill time here 'till they come down
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 295 
 
 to dinner. Get me a glass of water, that's a 
 dear old chap. Hurry now, I'm beastly thirsty. 
 Run along now like a good fellow!" 
 
 The request was acknowledged by a polite 
 bow, but the queer old feet shuffled their way 
 to Mrs. Kent's door and when she saw the 
 black figure standing before her with a straw 
 hat in one hand and a cane in the other, she 
 pronounced the guest's name before it was an- 
 nounced. 
 
 "Mass Kent, I tol' 'em an' tol' 'em that he 
 couldn't see anyone, but he jus' walk right in 
 an' lay Vsef right down on the divan in the 
 library." 
 
 "I'll see him, Joe." Her quiet dignified tone 
 assured the servant that he had nothing to do 
 but wait at the door and hand the gentleman 
 his hat and cane. 
 
 Thisby jumped to his feet and extended his 
 hand when Mrs. Kent entered the room and 
 she received it in both of hers and patted it 
 gently. 
 
 "Helen is resting, my dear, and she can't see 
 you this afternoon." 
 
 "But, bless you, I am going to be a good
 
 296 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 sort and wait here until she comes down to 
 dinner. I don't mind it a bit, don't you know." 
 
 "No, you run home and if Mr. Kent goes to 
 his office tomorrow, you may come over then. 
 You do this for me. Mr. Kent is entertaining 
 a guest today and we want him to have the 
 house to himself," and he was coaxed to the 
 front door with Mrs. Kent's arm about his 
 shoulders, assisting him each step of the way. 
 
 "Why doesn't the Governor take his guests 
 to his club and entertain them? The idea of 
 wanting a whole house to himself just to chat- 
 ter about a lot of stocks and such truck and 
 having other people get off the earth, so to 
 speak. It's an awful bore really it is, don't 
 you know! My dear Mrs. Kent, you have my 
 hat on wrong end to. Please allow me to put 
 on my own hat and please, Joe, you silly ass, 
 don't stick that cane in my face. I've never 
 been treated so rudely as this in all my life- 
 it's anything but civil, and I shall tell mother 
 about it at once!" 
 
 Joe chuckled to himself as he watched the 
 small figure hasten down the steps. "He am 
 cer'nly the mos' nervy puson that ever called 
 at a house wifout a gun."
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 297 
 
 Though Rosamond spent most of the after- 
 noon gazing out through the window of her 
 room, her mind was far from the moving pan- 
 orama on the street below. The hundreds of 
 automobiles passing in either direction and the 
 tooting of their horns claimed no part of her 
 attention. Her elbow rested on the arm of the 
 chair, her flushed cheek lay in her hand and the 
 big, soft eyes stared at Weatherbee's tall 
 figure as she left it standing in the center of the 
 little room when she hurried down the stairs 
 with Jack in her arms. 
 
 She had met him three times and she pos- 
 sessed a mental photograph of each meeting 
 and they were before her constantly, they 
 stood directly in front of anything she attempt- 
 ed to look at. A feeble smile lingered about 
 her lips as she closed her eyes and listened to 
 his description of himself when he posed as Mr. 
 Weatherbee's secretary, but the smile darted 
 away and left the lips trembling when she saw 
 him in her father's presence and heard him 
 measure each word in a low dignified tone say, 
 "I am Mr. Weatherbee." She viewed each 
 photograph over and over and unconsciously
 
 298 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 whispered through the lines of his poem. 
 She formed an imaginary picture of his 
 life in the little garret room with Jack. She 
 saw him sewing the clumsy patches on the 
 child's gingham dress while it dreamed its in- 
 fant dreams on the tiny bed-couch. She saw 
 him bend over the rough wooden table by a 
 small lamp writing the poem that she was 
 whispering to herself. She thought of the to- 
 morrow and of their meeting; she pictured 
 their visit to the lonely grave of her sister. The 
 words of the poem left her lips and they trem- 
 bled as her long, dark lashes were slowly 
 lowered into the tears that filled her eyes. Her 
 mind traveled swiftly from one scene to the 
 other and while her heart was cheering the 
 noble character of the man who had cared for 
 the lost one and her baby, he was passing her 
 window on the top of a Fifth Avenue bus. 
 
 The noisy vehicle hadn't rattled its way far 
 up the crowded street before Kent's big French 
 motor rolled up to the door. She grew fright- 
 ened when she caught a glimpse of her father 
 gathering the little bundle in his arms as if it 
 were glass, and she rushed out of the room and
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 299 
 
 was at the front door in time to open it and in- 
 quire if the child was ill. 
 
 "No, the little rascal is sleeping," Kent 
 whispered and he tiptoed into the library and 
 took particular pains to lay the little figure in 
 a position to prevent the light from striking 
 his eyes. 
 
 To hear her father lower his heavy voice to 
 a whisper was such a surprise to Rosamond 
 that she stood at the door somewhat dazed. 
 She watched him touch the toes of his shoes to 
 the floor and tried to remember if she had ever 
 seen him walk as gently before. She had never 
 heard him whisper before. The heavy voice 
 was never pitched in a gentle key for anyone's 
 ear, and the thick soles of his shoes had never 
 touched ground ahead of the heels before. 
 
 Her surprise was many times multiplied 
 when she peeked into the library and saw him 
 unlacing the little worn shoes with the hope of 
 making the child's dream more peaceful. 
 
 Her attempt to enter the room and become a 
 third party was a failure, for as soon as her 
 father saw her, he ordered her away by waving 
 his hand quickly and making a face that no
 
 300 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 one would dare approach, so she obeyed the 
 signal, departed quietly, hastened up the 
 stairs and gave her mother a detailed descrip- 
 tion of what she had seen. 
 
 While the child slumbered, Kent moved 
 about the room noiselessly. He stepped 
 into the drawing room to light his cigar to 
 prevent the sound of the exploding match from 
 waking the youngster. The scratching of a 
 match had been carefully avoided in the child's 
 presence, but his constant association with 
 cigars made him forget that the odor of the 
 smoke might prove objectionable to some 
 people. Jack had grown up with a pipe, but he 
 was not accustomed to strong, expensive 
 cigars. 
 
 Kent closed the door gently, drew a large 
 chair close to the divan, counted the curls, 
 studied the delicacy of the little features and 
 hurled clouds of smoke at the ceiling. After 
 he had succeeded in completely filling the 
 room, Jack acknowledged the fact by coughing 
 boisterously and fanning the smoke from his 
 face with his tiny hands. After he had sniffed
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 301 
 
 and fanned several seconds, Kent realized that 
 the room was a solid cloud of smoke. The 
 door and windows were quickly opened. 
 
 Jack raised himself to a sitting" position, 
 sniffed a few times and appeared to be greatly 
 amused. 
 
 "That must be the kind of vegetable that 
 dad says always smells while it is being 
 cooked." 
 
 "Does your dad smoke cigars?" 
 
 "No, he can't afford to smoke cigars. He 
 has to smoke a pipe." 
 
 "Do you like the odor of a pipe better than 
 you do a cigar?" 
 
 "Yes, I like the odor of dad's pipe, but I 
 don't like Mr. Wartle's pipe it smells dread- 
 fully. It is nearly as bad as your cigar." 
 
 The innocent frankness pleased Kent great- 
 ly and he smiled pleasantly when he thought 
 of a thirty-five cent cigar being referred to as a 
 vegetable. 
 
 "You think pretty well of your dad, don't 
 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes sir," was the prompt reply. "T love
 
 302 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 dad better than all of the whole world put to- 
 gether over and over and over and over." 
 
 "Well, don't you like me?" 
 
 "Yes, I like you a lot." 
 
 "Why do you like me? Because I gave you 
 an automobile ride?" 
 
 "Maybe." 
 
 "Well, why do you like your dad? He hasn't 
 any automobile." 
 
 "No, but he rides me on his back." 
 
 "Yes, but that isn't as nice as riding in an 
 automobile, is it?" 
 
 "Yes, it is. I would rather ride on my dad's 
 back than in your automobile." 
 
 "Would you rather live in the little room 
 away upstairs with your dad than live here 
 with me and ride in my automobile?" 
 
 "Yes, I'd rather live any place with dad than 
 live any place without him." 
 
 '"Wouldn't you like to live here and have 
 Mrs. Kent for your mamma?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I could ride you on my back." 
 
 "Yes, but you wouldn't be dad." 
 
 Kent pushed his hands into the pockets of
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 303 
 
 his trousers, walked to the window and stood 
 chewing the end of his cigar, repeating to him- 
 self the words of the child's last speech: "Yes, 
 but you wouldn't be dad!" The man with the 
 iron will, who controlled millions of dollars 
 and referred to as the man who held Wall 
 Street under his thumb, the man who had 
 never known defeat, stood with an aching heart 
 begging for the love of an infant who sat be- 
 fore him in a little patched gingham dress, in- 
 nocently defying all his wealth and power. He 
 stared through the window and the glass 
 seemed to magnify the picture he had dreamed 
 of for so many years one that he had ceased 
 hoping for one that his millions couldn't buy 
 a boy just a baby boy. The sharp, keen 
 eyes softened as they gazed blankly up at the 
 blue sky, and they closed when imagination 
 forced them to believe they saw the face of the 
 baby's mother passing before them draped in a 
 pale blue cloud. The cigar fell from the heavy 
 lips unnoticed and the broad shoulders were 
 drawn nearer the ears than they had ever been 
 before. 
 
 Jack sat quietly through the long silence un-
 
 304 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 til he saw the burning cigar fall to the floor. 
 "Here is your cigar," and he held it before 
 Kent, but he made no attempt to take it and 
 Jack tugged playfully at his big hand until he 
 drew it from the trouser pocket and he placed 
 it between the first and second finger, and Kent 
 smiled faintly and watched him trying to 
 push the heavy hand up to his face, but the 
 cigar didn't reach his lips; he tossed it into the 
 ash receiver and took Jack on his knee and 
 wound the curls about his finger. 
 
 "Why did you throw that big cigar away? 
 There was a lot there to smoke yet." 
 
 "I don't want to smoke, I would rather visit 
 with you." 
 
 "Why did you let your cigar fall on the 
 floor?" 
 
 "I don't know I guess I was dreaming." 
 
 "People can't dream when they're standing 
 up wide awake." 
 
 "Yes, they can, that is what they call 'day 
 dreaming.' ' 
 
 "What were you dreaming?" 
 
 "I was .dreaming of something I have never 
 had I was dreaming I was dreaming of a
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 305 
 
 little boy like you." He pressed the curly 
 head to his breast and meant to pat it gently, 
 but Jack squinted each time the large hand 
 touched him. 
 
 "Do you know what I would do if I had a 
 bright little boy like you?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, I would send him away to school and 
 after he graduated I would teach him to run 
 my business and I would give him a half inter- 
 est in it, and he and I would be partners part- 
 ners for life! Don't you think that would be 
 fun?" 
 
 The reply was a long silence and he rambled 
 on painting the picture he was mapping out in 
 his'own mind for the lad he was rocking to and 
 fro on his knee. He had unconsciously soft- 
 ened his touch and when he peeked under his 
 hand, the big blue eyes were closed and he was 
 dreaming of another picture his picture 
 the picture that was painted on the memory of 
 childhood his dad the little garret room 
 the cat the picture book and the broken 
 rocking horse.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 JACK was tucked away on the divan and 
 slept quietly, while Kent paced softly from the 
 closed door to the window, stopping each time 
 he passed the tiny figure to gaze down into the 
 face that seemed to him like a living shadow of 
 the one he saw veiled in the blue cloud. He re- 
 peated to himself each word the child had 
 uttered regarding his dad. "Dad rides me on 
 his back," he whispered, and he shook his head 
 in admiration for the little man who had un- 
 consciously displayed the sincerity of his great 
 love for the only father he had ever known. 
 "Yes, but you wouldn't be dad," he thought- 
 lessly muttered aloud while he sauntered to the 
 window, but he stared at the floor, he didn't 
 look up, he didn't look out of the window. 
 
 He sank in his office chair, leaned his elbows 
 on the desk and rested his head on his hands, 
 "He's full of red blood he's a soldier he's 
 made of steel he'd break before he'd bend." 
 He tried to banish the note of jealousy he felt 
 tingling through his mind, when he saw the 
 
 306
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 307 
 
 one thing he wanted to possess clinging to an- 
 other. He sketched his home in the garret, but 
 it was a palace in comparison to the little room 
 in which the child had spent its life. 
 
 He thought of the opportunities he could 
 place before the child, of the opportunities he 
 would place before him if he could persuade 
 him to accept them. Jack's politeness, his per- 
 fect manners, his humor and wonderful wis- 
 dom told of his careful training and had forced 
 Kent to respect Weatherbee, though in his 
 heart he envied him. He begrudged him the 
 love that was buried in the baby dozing on the 
 divan. He wondered why that love hadn't 
 been given to him, and after he had studied 
 over the situation a short time he realized that 
 he had cruelly pushed and kicked it away. 
 "But I'll get it I'll earn it," he growled and 
 he swung the big chair around quickly and 
 stared at the little figure and sighed "You are 
 my boy my blood flows in your veins. You 
 are my boy my boy. Your father is dead 
 your mother is dead. I'll make you love me. 
 I'll make you rich I'll make you my son." 
 
 Richard Kent never started on a journey
 
 308 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 until he had carefully laid out his route, 
 and when he started he had never been 
 known to turn back until the end was 
 reached. His keen eye saw at once that 
 he was not facing a business proposition 
 it was different from anything he had 
 ever come in contact with and it would have to 
 be treated differently. The possession of the 
 child would have to be gained with affection. 
 He knew from his short acquaintance with 
 Weatherbee that money would be of no use. 
 "It's a problem," he whispered, "but I'll work 
 it out!" 
 
 Jack's nap was interrupted by Rosamond, 
 who took possession of him long enough to 
 sponge the little face and hands, arrange the 
 curls and prepare him for dinner, during which 
 few words were spoken. Rosamond broke the 
 monotonous silence on two occasions by ask- 
 ing Jack if he had a nice nap, but he always 
 answered the time-worn question with the 
 same words. 
 
 "I don't know, I can never tell how I sleep 
 after I go to sleep because I don't know any- 
 thing until I wake up."
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 309 
 
 The reply brought a smile to Kent's face 
 each time, though he didn't enter into the con- 
 versation. He excused himself long before the 
 others had finished and paused at the door just 
 long enough to request Rosamond to step into 
 the library before she retired. 
 
 She found it quite necessary to do consider- 
 able coaxing before she succeeded to get Jack 
 to don Helen's night dress. 
 
 "I know it's a girl's night-gown. I can tell 
 by the ribbons and all this knitting around the 
 neck." 
 
 She assured him the knitting was lace, but 
 he informed her that knitting and lace were 
 just the same, only lace was made of thread 
 instead of yarn. 
 
 "They never put knitting or lace on a man's 
 night-gown. This is just like the ones they 
 have on the girl dolls in the store windows!" 
 
 "Well, you wear this tonight and I'll get you 
 some nice pajamas tomorrow." 
 
 "With pockets in them?" 
 
 "Yes, with great large pockets in them." 
 
 The promise sent him to bed cheerfully, and
 
 310 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 while he was repeating the Lord's prayer, he 
 stopped to decide on the color. 
 
 "May I have blue ones?" 
 
 "You may have any color you want." 
 
 "I like blue best where did I leave off?" 
 
 "Perhaps you had better start from the be- 
 ginning." 
 
 "No, it takes too long. I know where it 
 was." 
 
 He omitted a few sentences, but the mistake 
 was an unconscious one and was excused by 
 Rosamond, who was quite busy concealing her 
 laughter. The long ride in the auto had made 
 him unusually sleepy and the "Amen" was 
 spoken with a yawn and the curly head had 
 scarcely struck the pillow before he was fast 
 asleep. Rosamond, who was always eager to 
 obey her father's request, went to the library 
 at once. 
 
 He explained the object of the meeting im- 
 mediately. He sat at his desk fumbling with a 
 few pieces of paper and without facing her or 
 raising his head, asked her how she happened 
 to meet Weatherbee. The question proved an 
 embarrassing one, but she had always an-
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 311 
 
 swered any question he had ever asked her and 
 she had never told him a falsehood, so, in as 
 few words as possible, she related the entire 
 story including her engagement with him on 
 the following day. 
 
 He listened silently with his head bent over 
 the desk clinching one hand in the other when 
 he heard of Marguerite's death and how she 
 had been buried by the man he had ordered 
 from his house. The tears fell from his eyes 
 onto his clinched hands and he made no at- 
 tempt to stop them, for each tear that fell 
 seemed to relieve the swelling in his breast. 
 With his unsteady hand he wrote Weather- 
 bee's address on the paper wet with his own 
 tears. "That is all, my dear. Leave me now, 
 I want to think. Good-night." She bade him 
 good night and left the heavy figure crouched 
 over the desk sobbing like a child. 
 
 She left the room bewildered. Her mind 
 seemed to swim. She was unable to under- 
 stand her father's attitude. She had seen him 
 cry for the first time in her life. Her sister's 
 name had not been mentioned in his presence 
 for years. He had ordered her photograph to
 
 312 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 be destroyed or taken away. The one which 
 held a place on his desk he had torn to pieces 
 and thrown into the waste basket and now the 
 sound of her name brought the heavy bellow- 
 ing voice to a sympathetic whisper and the 
 strong, rigid figure withered and shrunk before 
 the story of her death as a pansy shrinks and 
 withers in a hail storm. 
 
 She sat on the arm of a large chair in the 
 drawing room and tried to form some idea of 
 his intentions, but she was unable to fathom 
 the depths of his silence. She went to the 
 library expecting a prolonged conversation 
 about Jack, but his name had not been men- 
 tioned. She reviewed his questions and found 
 he had talked of no one but Weatherbee. She 
 hadn't noticed him make a written memoran- 
 dum of his address and she found it impossible 
 to foresee even a faint shadow of his plan. 
 
 Kent glanced at the slip of paper containing 
 the Twenty-ninth Street number, pushed it in- 
 to the upper pocket of his waistcoat, filled his 
 cigar case with fresh cigars and ordered the 
 servant to bring him his hat. 
 
 "Shall I o'da de mota, sah?"
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 313 
 
 "No, Joe. I am not going far and I want to 
 walk." ' 
 
 "Yas'ah." 
 
 The black derby hat was pulled down over 
 the left eye, the long cigar squeezed tightly 
 between the heavy lips, the large head hung as 
 if the eyes were studying something on the 
 floor and the hands were crowded far down 
 into the pockets of his trousers. He did not 
 see Rosamond seated in the large chair and her 
 soft voice startled him when she asked where 
 he was going. 
 
 "Just for a little walk," he replied with a 
 heavy sigh. "Just for a little walk." 
 
 He stood on the steps wondering if the man 
 whom he had ordered from his house would 
 allow him to enter his small room in the garret. 
 "I'll give him the opportunity, anyway," he 
 muttered to himself. "It's a funny world," he 
 thought while he hastened along Fifth Avenue. 
 
 He stopped at the salutation of the first beg- 
 gar and gave him the first coin his fingers 
 touched and he held another in his hand ready 
 to grant the next request. He had been a resi- 
 dent of Fifth Avenue for many years, though
 
 314 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 the sidewalk and his feet were strangers. 
 Memory couldn't recall the time when he had 
 sauntered along- the street before. 
 
 There were few people in sight and only now 
 and then a poor devil appeared in a dark 
 shadow between the lights to ask for the price 
 of a night's lodging and none were refused. 
 The importance of Wall Street and all of its 
 associates were forgotten. "Dick" Kent was 
 as_near nature as the thick stone walks would 
 permit anyone to get, but the large slabs 
 seemed friendly, the night air seemed soft and 
 soothing and the stars twinkled as if they were 
 trying to outshine the artificial lights that were 
 buzzing and struggling beneath them. 
 
 The night acted strangely to him, but it was 
 in its usual mind and behaving perfectly, but 
 his eyes had never viewed it from a quiet street 
 at that hour before. He was the stranger, but 
 he was not aware of the fact. Something had 
 broken through the callous which business had 
 wrapped around his heart something had 
 touched it. The patched gingham dress, the 
 curls and the big, blue eyes had brought him 
 down from the high wind where he had been
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 315 
 
 soaring above humanity. They sent tears 
 through the cold, keen eyes, they had swept 
 the thought of money out of a mind that was 
 so relieved by its absence that it couldn't ac- 
 count for his feeling. He had touched earth 
 and the sensation puzzled him. He was ready 
 to shake hands with the world, yet he was un- 
 able to understand why he was happy. 
 
 When he reached the steps of Wartle's 
 house, the Sweeney boys were removing the 
 dishes and informed him that he was too late. 
 "The at'n's over, but Oi'll stake ye to a 
 cigar," and he offered him one of the "Sweeney 
 Perfectos," which he accepted with a gracious 
 smile. 
 
 "Does Mr. Weatherbee live here?" 
 "Oi dunno, they'll tell ye insoid." 
 None of the guests were acquainted with 
 Weatherbee, so Mrs. Wartle was called and 
 directed him to "kape goin' up 'til his head hit 
 the roof." 
 
 He thanked her for her kind information, 
 searched his way to the top step of the squeak- 
 ing stairs, removed his hat and in a low, firm 
 tone announced himself to John Weatherbee,
 
 316 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 who was seated at the rough wooden table 
 pondering over one of his manuscripts by the 
 light of a small lamp. 
 
 When he saw Kent standing with his hat in 
 one hand, clinging to the rickety banister with 
 the other and gasping for breath, he was not 
 only surprised, but greatly amused. His 
 humorous chord was immediately touched by 
 the situation. There was no desire on his part 
 to be discourteous, but Kent was allowed to 
 stand at the banister while he unconsciously 
 pushed his chair back from the table and won- 
 dered to himself if the gruff, surly gentleman 
 had come to take his life for entering his pal- 
 ace, or to report his actions to the real Mr. 
 Weatherbee. 
 
 When he became conscious that he had not 
 asked the visitor to be seated, he apologized 
 and begged him to accept the broken rocker, 
 which was the best he had to offer. After 
 climbing four flights of stairs, the offer was 
 accepted with thanks, the heavy figure was 
 squeezed between the arms and it squeaked 
 tunefully. 
 
 Kent's attitude had changed so completely
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 317 
 
 that Weatherbee could scarcely believe he was 
 in the presence of the man who appeared so 
 arrogant a few days ago. The harsh voice that 
 had growled and snapped at him was soft, 
 sincere and friendly. He moved gently and 
 quietly; there was an atmosphere of friendli- 
 ness which surrounded his character that as- 
 tonished Weatherbee, though he remained 
 cool and humorously calculating. He resumed 
 his seat behind the table and pushed the manu- 
 script aside, turned the wick in the sputtering 
 lamp a trifle higher, looked Kent straight in 
 the eye and waited for him to explain his unex- 
 pected visit. A short silence followed, and 
 each man riveted a friendly glance on the other 
 as if it were a game of checkers, but it was 
 Kent's move and Weatherbee sat calmly and 
 held his eye until he spoke. 
 
 "No doubt you are wondering why I am 
 here." 
 
 '"Well, to be truthful, I wasn't expecting 
 you." 
 
 "Well, I thought I wouldn't inform you that 
 I was coming for fear I might not catch you 
 in."
 
 318 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 "That precaution wasn't necessary, Mr. 
 Kent. I am always in to anyone who calls on 
 me and I am not kept very busy receiving." 
 
 "You're lucky." 
 
 "That greatly depends upon the person who 
 calls." 
 
 "There aren't many people who will climb to 
 the garret to shake an empty hand, are there?" 
 
 The question was asked in a tone that was 
 friendly and it drove the shadow of a faint 
 smile to one corner of Weatherbee's mouth. 
 
 "Well, we haven't room for very many up 
 here, and the few chairs you see seat all who 
 call." 
 
 "Mr. Weatherbee, my daughter has told me 
 of her acquaintance with you how she met 
 you of Jack the death of his mother the 
 way you cared for her during her illness and 
 after her death. That is why I am here. I am 
 not capable of expressing my gratitude and I 
 know there is nothing I have or can do that 
 would even begin to repay y oil for what you 
 have done. But you are repaid there are no 
 numbers that can tell you how many times you 
 are repaid, there is no form or quantity of
 
 wealth that can buy what you possess, or take 
 it away from you. You can buy bodies and 
 promises and lock them up and watch them, 
 but you can't buy a child's first love you have 
 got to earn it. You have earned it and I can't 
 buy it. If I could, I'd give you all I have for it. 
 I can't steal it if I could, I'd steal it, but I 
 can't. I can't even lay my finger on it I can't 
 even touch it. What is your reward is a living, 
 breathing monument that circumstances have 
 put in my lap to remind me of my cruel, stub- 
 born mistake, and while I rocked it on my knee 
 and tried to steal its little mind away from you 
 with automobiles and horses and promises, he 
 told me that he would rather ride on your back 
 than in my automobiles. I told him that I 
 would ride him on my back and he said, 'Yes, 
 but you wouldn't be dad,' and for the first time 
 during the fifty-five years of my life I realized 
 that there was something that couldn't be 
 bought with money. It's a great pleasure to 
 me to have an opportunity to tell you what you 
 possess. It's the first time in my life that I 
 have ever lost control of my tongue, but you 
 have let me in, my mouth is open and I've got
 
 320 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 to talk. Every man who goes through life 
 must stumble and fall before he learns to walk 
 carefully. I stumbled, fell and got hurt. I 
 yelled when I should have whispered. I 
 punched with my fist when I should have pet- 
 ted with my fingers. I used my foot when I 
 should have used my heart. You have brought 
 me face to face with my mistake and I want to 
 do something to pay for my error I want that 
 boy!" 
 
 Weatherbee was quite prepared for the de- 
 mand. A lonesome night and a more lone- 
 some Sunday had given him sufficient time to 
 study the situation over and over. He had 
 done so and fully realized that nature would 
 have its way; that blood would claim its own. 
 He had become reconciled to the fact that the 
 little arms had been unwound from about his 
 neck forever and would soon learn to twine 
 themselves about another and he wondered if 
 the busy little mind would forget him, or if it 
 would ever think of the lessons taught it at the 
 tiny window in the garret while it was playing 
 on the costly rugs in the Fifth Avenue man- 
 sion. His generous heart made him deeply
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 321 
 
 grateful for the future he saw before Jack, and 
 he despised himself each time he wished him 
 back. 
 
 The four words that Kent used to make his 
 request were uttered in a low, firm, pleading 
 tone. He was positive in his own mind that 
 Weatherbee would refuse to grant his request 
 and was prepared for a friendly argument and, 
 if necessary, a legal fight. He studied his face 
 during the short silence; he watched the blood 
 leave his cheeks, the color return, the sad eye 
 melt into a soft sympathetic twinkle, and his 
 own cheeks became swollen with astonishment 
 when Weatherbee replied quietly: "You have 
 him, haven't you?" 
 
 "Perhaps you don't understand me. I wish 
 to adopt him." 
 
 "I understand you perfectly. You are only 
 asking for what I would ask were I in your 
 place." 
 
 He uttered each word distinctly, but he was 
 unable to control his voice. It trembled in 
 spite of the effort he was making to smile as he 
 said good-bye to the one link in life that made 
 it worth living.
 
 322 THE GUEST OF. HONOR 
 
 The sympathetic tones of his voice melted 
 their way through Kent's ears and landed on 
 his heart like lumps of lead. He watched the 
 lips quiver and try to smile as they were fram- 
 ing their words. He saw the muscles of the 
 face twitch and jerk and the trembling fingers 
 wander to the lamp and turn its small blaze 
 higher. He jumped to his feet, reached across 
 
 the rough wooden table and yelled, "By 
 
 Weatherbee, I'd consider it an honor to 
 
 shake your hand !"
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 KENT'S enthusiasm over what he consid- 
 ered a victory was for a time suppressed by 
 Astonishment at the quiet friendly way Weath- 
 erbee had surrendered to his wish. He entered 
 the room expecting to be received as he had 
 received the man whom he was calling on, but 
 Weatherbee's politeness staggered him, his 
 broad-minded views puzzled him he had 
 jumped from the curbstone to a pedestal. Kent 
 grunted, stuttered and struggled for words 
 that might express his gratitude, but he found 
 it impossible, so he clung to Weatherbee's 
 hand and shook it until his arm was tired, then 
 hurried away leaving him seated at the table, 
 by the flickering lamp staring blankly at the 
 rough wooden table. 
 
 Weatherbee's broad mind soon made the sad 
 eyes twinkle and the quivering lips smile. He 
 glanced at Jack's future and saw his walk 
 through life paved with comfort and happi- 
 ness instead of the worries and struggles that 
 lay along the narrow path where his hand 
 
 323
 
 324 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 would have led him. His sad thoughts changed 
 to happy ones, his loneliness was surrounded 
 by mental drawings of Jack, he watched each 
 year enlarge the imaginary sketch until the 
 tiny tot stood before him as a man. He stuffed 
 his pipe, lighted it and blew a peaceful ring of 
 smoke at the painting. 
 
 The drawing room was lighted by one bulb 
 that threw a soft glow over the room 
 that resembled the last shadow of a fading sun- 
 set. Rosamond sat in the large chair during 
 her father's absence and thought of his strange 
 attitude until she worried herself into a 
 troubled doze. The slamming of the door 
 frightened her and she rose to her feet in utter 
 astonishment as she listened to him humming 
 a tuneless air to himself as he sauntered 
 through the room into the library. His eyes 
 were dancing when they saw her appear at the 
 door. To her great surprise she was invited 
 to enter, urged to accept a seat and informed 
 of his visit to Weatherbee. 
 
 "That man is all white, with a mind as broad 
 as the ocean and as clear as crystal he's a 
 mountain of honor a gentleman I wish I
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 325 
 
 could do something for that fellow, but there 
 is nothing you can do for a man of his type but 
 tip your hat to him." 
 
 She sat spellbound while she listened to him 
 roar in admiration for the man whom she had 
 spent the day dreaming of, wondering if she 
 was over-estimating the character that stood 
 before her as a living statue of nobleness, the 
 smile that seemed like no other smile she had 
 ever seen, the low gentle voice that sounded 
 like a human note she had never heard. 
 
 Kent only paused long enough to get his 
 breath and announced his plans regarding 
 Jack. "The first thing to do is to get him some 
 clothes. You don't know anything about 
 what a boy should wear, though, so I'll attend 
 to that myself. I'll take him after breakfast 
 and get the clothes, and he's got to have some 
 things to play with there's nothing up in that 
 nursery but girl's toys. He won't play with 
 those foolish things, but I'll get those myself, 
 you don't know anything about those. You 
 just have everything taken right out of that 
 nursery and I'll fit it up for him. I'll attend to 
 that myself. I'll have a trapeze put up there
 
 326 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 and one of those electric saddle horses and 
 soldiers, fire-wagons and a menagerie big toy 
 animals and things of that sort. I'll have a 
 man come and fit it up. You can't expect a boy 
 that is a boy to sit around and play with his 
 thumbs. Why, it's foolish to think of such a 
 thing. Boys who are educated to do those 
 things grow up and develop into lace handker- 
 chiefs like Thisby." 
 
 Rosamond made no attempt to offer any 
 suggestions, for she fully realized how useless 
 it would be, so she listened with a great deal of 
 amusement to his excited conversation that 
 was developing into a heated argument with 
 himself. 
 
 "We've got to get a governess at once, but it 
 is too late to see about that tonight. I'll attend 
 to that myself tomorrow. I want an American 
 governess with an American head on her, who 
 knows something about America and can talk 
 about it and teach a child something about it. 
 This idea of putting an American child in the 
 hands of a French governess and teaching it a 
 foreign language before it can say 'thank you' 
 in its own tongue is an insult to our country.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 327 
 
 Thisby is a specimen for you. He broke in 
 here one day and wanted me to decide a bet for 
 him. He was betting with Helen that Abe 
 Lincoln was a Russian. I guess I'll have some 
 men come up here and take Jack's measure- 
 ment and have a lot of clothes, hats and shoes 
 and things sent here. It will be much easier to 
 try them on that way but I'll attend to that. 
 Don't you bother about anything. I won't go 
 to the office tomorrow. I'll stay right here and 
 arrange everything. You see, my dear, you or 
 your mother have never been associated with 
 boys, and it is only natural that you don't un- 
 derstand them. Boys are much different from 
 girls and must be cared for differently. I'll 
 teach you just what to do and make it very 
 easy for you when I am at .the office." 
 
 She was taken by the hand, led to the door, 
 patted gently on the shoulder and ordered to 
 bed as if she were four years of age. She an- 
 swered the order with a smile and went to her 
 room dreaming of the tomorrow. 
 
 Monday proved an unusually busy day for 
 everyone. Weatherbee was at the bank before 
 its doors were opened and was compelled to
 
 get one of the publishers to identify him before 
 he succeeded in getting his check cashed. 
 After each creditor was paid in full, the pawn- 
 broker was greeted with a broad smile and a 
 cordial shake of the hand. "I have come to 
 rent my clothes of you for awhile," he said 
 casually. 
 
 Both arms were rilled with as many clothes 
 as he could carry and after several trips were 
 made his belongings were scattered about the 
 garret room. A bluish-gray summer suit, 
 hosiery of the same color, low tan shoes, a 
 dark blue tie and a white straw hat were 
 chosen. The barber was visited for the first 
 time in many weeks, the manicure was request- 
 ed to hurry, his watch was put to work and 
 when he was dismissed from the chair he had 
 forty minutes before his appointment with 
 Rosamond Kent. A slight gnawing of his 
 stomach reminded him that he had not break- 
 fasted, but a cup of coffee and a slice of toast 
 made peace with the inner man and he 
 sauntered leisurely toward the Kent mansion.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 329 
 
 "Who's there?" Mrs. Wartle yelled after the 
 French maid had pounded at her door for sev- 
 eral minutes. 
 
 " 'Tees I." 
 
 "Well, who are ye?" 
 
 " 'E mait." 
 
 "Pfhat?" 
 
 " 'E mait mait mait." 
 
 "Well, kirn in." 
 
 She raised herself to a sitting position and 
 stared at the frightened maid when she entered. 
 
 "Fer Hivin's sake, was that you bangin' at 
 the dure? I thought it was Hannigan's horse. 
 Pfhat toime is it?" 
 
 After numerous attempts to inform her that 
 it was nearly nine o'clock, she held up as many 
 fingers for Mrs. Wartle to count. 
 
 "Pfhat's the matter wid yer tongue, it 
 sounds as if it had feathers on it? I say pf hat's 
 the matter wid yer tongue tongue tongue?" 
 she yelled, and the maid immediately showed 
 as much of her tongue as nature would permit. 
 Mrs. Wartle shrieked as she fell back on the 
 pillow and covered her face with her hands. 
 
 Wartle, who had been paroling up and down
 
 330 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 the hall for some time, rushed into the room. 
 "His hanything the matter?" he exclaimed in 
 a frightened voice. 
 
 "Is annything the matter? Where did ye 
 pull her out of? Shure \she's worse than a 
 Chinaman. Ye can't understand a word she 
 siz. Make her git me a cup of coffee, some 
 bread and butter and some ham and eggs and 
 tell her to flop the eggs. Oi want thim froid 
 on both soids." 
 
 Wartle saw that her instructions were car- 
 ried out. The bride's first breakfast was 
 served in bed, and the maid was pronounced 
 "a foin cook." Wartle kept her company by 
 sitting on the edge of the bed and when he in- 
 formed her that Weatherbee had left the 
 money he owed her with him, she thanked him 
 by saying, "Well, where is it?" 
 
 "Hi put hit hin with mine." 
 
 "Did he pay you?'"' 
 
 "Yes, 'e paid heverything." 
 
 "Well, put it all on the wash-stand there an' 
 Oi'll take care of it whin Oi aroise!" 
 
 His hesitation brought forth the second re- 
 quest in a firmer voice, and the money was 
 placed on the stand.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 331 
 
 "Take these dishes now an' git out of here. 
 Oi must git up. Oi'll have a hidache if Oi lay 
 here anny longer. It must be tin o'clock." 
 
 The dishes were carried away and she arose 
 humming "Kathleen Mavourneen" while 
 Wartle pressed his ear to the door and smiled 
 with pride, whispering, "She his ha queen, han 
 Hirish queen." 
 
 While Mrs. Wartle sat in her bed propped up 
 by pillows enjoying her first breakfast in her 
 new home, Weatherbee was hurrying from one 
 creditor to the other paying his debts, and 
 "Dick" Kent was busy at the telephone en- 
 gaging representatives from the best clothing 
 houses of New York City to come and take 
 Tack's measurement and by ten o'clock the 
 large drawing-room was completely littered 
 with suits, hats, shoes, stockings, shirtwaists, 
 automobile coats and gloves, sent on approval. 
 
 The library was used as a dressing-room. 
 Kent requested the ladies to keep out. "It's 
 my duty to attend to this, my dears, because 
 you don't understand what a boy needs to
 
 332 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 wear," and the fussy, growling tone of his 
 voice resembled that of a spoiled child. An 
 amused glance was passed from one lady to 
 the other as they filed out of the library and 
 left what they considered the big baby and the 
 little man to play with the new toys. 
 
 Rosamond was extremely anxious to select 
 Jack's first suit and present him to Weatherbee 
 as she wished to see him dressed, but her plans 
 were shattered, though she was intensely 
 amused with her father, who had assumed the 
 attitude of a proud boy with a new red wagon. 
 She had planned many pretty little suits for 
 Jack and had unconsciously asked herself if 
 they would please Mr. Weatherbee. She was 
 not aware of the fact, but his taste was being 
 carefully considered, and his judgment some- 
 what feared. She stood before the long mirror 
 in her tailor-made suit of white serge and won- 
 dered if he liked white. She found a tiny 
 soiled spot on the rim of her white sailor hat 
 and ordered the maid to bring another at once. 
 The white gloves were thoroughly examined 
 and Weatherbee was only forgotten for a 
 second, now and then, when the sad object of 
 their meeting robbed him of her thoughts.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 333 
 
 If the maid had dared to ask her why she 
 stood at the window staring down the walk 
 toward Twenty-ninth Street as if she expected 
 the earth to open its jaws and deliver some un- 
 heard-of-curiosity, she might have realized 
 that she was waiting, but the well-trained 
 maid controlled her curiosity and remained 
 silent, but watched her with as much anxiety 
 while she watched for the first man who had 
 ever kept her waiting and for the first time she 
 was dressed and waiting many minutes before 
 the appointed time. 
 
 Weatherbee's tall figure was not recognized 
 in his new attire until he was seen mounting 
 the steps, and much to his surprise Rosamond 
 was in the reception hall to greet him when he 
 entered. Without thought or hesitation, she 
 reached for his hand, clasped it firmly and gave 
 it a cordial shake and the greeting was deeply 
 appreciated, though he had entirely forgotten 
 his first reception. He had trained his mind to 
 dwell on pleasant thoughts and he seldom 
 broke the rule, but when Rosamond placed 
 her finger to her lips and whispered a long 
 drawn out "hush" an unpleasant thought shot
 
 334 THE GUEvST OF HONOR 
 
 through his mind; he wondered if Kent had 
 turned tiger and was going to slay him on 
 sight, but the idea was quickly dismissed when 
 she made a peek-hole by separating a small por- 
 tion of the portieres and showed him the draw- 
 ing-room that resembled a child's clothing 
 store. 
 
 "It's too funny for anything," she continued 
 softly, "he has three men in the library trying 
 on clothes for Jack, and he won't allow mother 
 or anyone to even go into the room he's like 
 a child." 
 
 "It looks like a sample room," Weatherbee 
 replied after he surveyed the room and saw 
 each piece of furniture decorated with several 
 suits of clothes. 
 
 Though the scene amused him greatly, his 
 line of thought was quickly broken. The cost- 
 ly garments announced the exit of the ging- 
 ham dress and there was a swelling in his 
 throat when he saw it thrown with the rags. 
 "I would like to keep it," he thought to him- 
 self, "and in years to come show it to the man 
 who may forget me," and he stood peeking 
 through the tiny hole until Rosamond asked,
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 335 
 
 "Shall we start?" He apologized for what he 
 referred to as stupidity; they entered the 
 large automobile and Rosamond instructed the 
 chauffeur to follow Mr. Weatherbee's direc- 
 tions.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 WEATHERBEE'S limited association with 
 automobiles had not enabled him to become 
 familiar with their fixtures and he was not 
 aware that hanging at his side was a speak- 
 ing tube for the sole purpose of conversing 
 with the chauffeur, so he leaned forward and 
 gave him the address of a small flower shop on 
 Twenty-ninth Street and requested him to 
 stop there first. The big car dodged its way 
 along between the numerous vehicles on the 
 crowded avenue and drew up in front of the 
 little store. 
 
 Weatherbee begged to be excused, promis- 
 ing to be gone but a moment, and kept his 
 promise, for the small bunch of sweet peas 
 which he had ordered and paid for early that 
 morning was ready and presented to him when 
 he reached the door by the clerk who saw him 
 alight from the automobile. 
 
 The sight of the simple flowers brought a 
 sudden blush to Rosamond's cheeks, for in her 
 excitement the thought of flowers had slipped 
 
 336
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 337 
 
 her mind, but her embarrassment was not 
 noticed, for she leaned forward as she had seen 
 Weatherbee do and ordered the chauffeur to 
 stop at her florist's, and the next stop was 
 made in front of one of the largest and most 
 expensive flower stores on Fifth Avenue. At 
 this store her appearance always meant the 
 sale of the most costly flowers, which she pre- 
 ferred to purchase rather than cut the ones 
 growing in the conservatory at her own home. 
 
 The clerk's surprise was quite noticeable 
 when she informed him that she wanted a 
 small bunch of lily-of-the-valley. He leaned 
 heavily on his persuasive powers and tried 
 hard to influence her to look at the American 
 Beauties, repeating that they were exquisitely 
 beautiful that morning, but she refused to even 
 see them. 
 
 "I just want a small bunch of lily-of-the-val- 
 ley." She was deeply impressed .by the sim- 
 plicity of the sweet peas which Weatherbee 
 held in his hand when he came from the tiny 
 store and stepped into the automobile. In her 
 eyes the small bunch made their little leaves 
 look so big, and their simplicity augmented
 
 338 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 Weatherbee's dignity and there was still a 
 much deeper thought in her mind, a 
 thought that displayed the consideration 
 and sweetness of her character. She was 
 eager to secure something as inexpensive 
 as the sweet peas, not only to show her appre- 
 ciation of his delicate selection, but prevent 
 showing any sign of financial display in fear of 
 hurting his feelings, or making him conscious 
 of his limited means, which she was fully 
 aware of. Her success was complete, her 
 choice not only delighted him, but greatly sur- 
 prised him, for a glance at the store suggested 
 most anything but a small bunch of lily-of-the- 
 valley. He expected to see the large car load- 
 ed with magnificent flowers of all descriptions 
 that would make his humble little cluster of 
 peas fade into the background, but he was 
 pleasantly disappointed, and the broad smile 
 which crept over his face was quickly noticed 
 by Rosamond when she stepped into the car. 
 
 "Are you fond of lilies-of-the-valley?" she 
 asked eagerly. 
 
 "Very," he answered softly, and continued 
 in a still softer tone after a short silence. "I
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 339 
 
 am fond of all flowers, but I dare say that lily- 
 of-the-valley is my favorite one." 
 
 His short acquaintance with the rules of 
 motoring were again noticeable, for they sat 
 some time before he came to, and realized the 
 driver was waiting for his instructions. He 
 was not familiar with any of the automobile 
 routes in and about New York, but he bent for- 
 ward and told the driver where they wished to 
 go, but instructions regarding the way to get 
 there were not necessary. The boy touched 
 his hat with a jerk he knew the way too well 
 he could have gone there with his eyes 
 closed, for his mother lay but a few yards from 
 his employer's daughter. 
 
 Had it not been for the New York motor 
 laws, the trip would have been made in silence, 
 but the laws brought a mechanical grunt from 
 the horn at each crossing, but no words were 
 exchanged. Each understood and seemed 
 grateful for the other's silence, though each 
 was trying to guess the other's thoughts, but 
 the mind in the front seat was the most 
 puzzled of all. 
 
 "Doubtless one of the charity babies has
 
 340 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 been buried there and she is going to visit its 
 grave. What other reason could she have for 
 going to such a humble graveyard?" 
 
 The large car quietly hummed its way along 
 until it rolled up before the entrance and faced 
 the huge sign "No Automobiles Allowed." 
 Weatherbee stepped from the car and grace- 
 fully assisted Miss Rosamond to the ground. 
 
 A small bird perched on the point of one of 
 the black iron pickets of the large open gates 
 twittered a friendly welcome and broke the 
 silence as they sauntered through the marble 
 archway. 
 
 Weatherbee was familiar with every nook 
 and corner and chose the path which took 
 them between the massive trees with their 
 long drooping branches swaying the green 
 leaves to and fro over the lonely white head- 
 stones beneath them. Each tree seemed to 
 possess an army of birds some chirruped 
 softly as if to themselves some singing as if 
 they were testing their little lungs, while 
 others sputtered and squabbled and jawed as 
 if they were battling with the world at large. 
 
 The path, the trees, the birds, everything
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 341 
 
 was new to Rosamond. It was a world she 
 had never visited a world she had never 
 seen perhaps one she had never even 
 thought of, but a world that Weatherbee was 
 fond of. He often went there and sat be- 
 neath the trees and studied the characteristics 
 of the different people who came with their 
 humble flowery offerings and wept over the 
 graves of their loved ones. He considered it 
 one of nature's greatest books to study human- 
 ity from, and while they were drifting along 
 the narrowing path leading to the topmost hill 
 of the grounds, he was making a careful study 
 of his companion, though she was not aware of 
 the fact. Her silence was marked and appre- 
 ciated her unconscious sighs were counted 
 and the expression of her soft brown eyes was 
 carefully watched as they wandered from one 
 lonely plot to another. 
 
 When they reached the hilltop, the cinder 
 path narrowed into one where few feet had 
 traveled and was marked by bent grass and 
 weeds leading to a new portion of the cemetery 
 on the side of the hill which was treeless and 
 barren. There were no marble slabs to mark
 
 342 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 the lonely graves, only an earthen pot or a 
 broken glass appeared here and there with a 
 few withered flowers hanging over their edges. 
 
 When Rosamond's eye fell on the scene, she 
 unconsciously hesitated, but only for a second, 
 just long enough to close her eyes, press her 
 lower lip between her teeth and restore her 
 courage. 
 
 Weatherbee led the way down the dry 
 grassy path and stopped just before he reached 
 the foot of the hill and stood before a mound 
 that was some distance from the others. A 
 small earthen pot lay on its side at the head of 
 the grave. At the foot of the grave there was 
 a root of green ivy with two tiny vines which 
 were smuggling their way along through the 
 grass as if to greet the empty pot lying at the 
 other end. The grass was short and green and 
 showed signs of care and cultivation and in 
 appearance was quite different from the other 
 graves in that part of the cemetery. The birds 
 were still busy in the trees at the top of the 
 long hill, but the distance was too great for 
 their little voices to carry to the bottom. The 
 lonely silence was not interrupted by any
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 343 
 
 sound, save for a wandering bee buzzing its 
 way about in search of a clover blossom or a 
 wild flower. 
 
 It was not necessary for Weatherbee to in- 
 form Rosamond that they were standing be- 
 fore her sister's grave, but he drew his head up 
 slowly, looked into her eyes and whispered 
 softly, "Your sister is buried here." 
 
 Rosamond replied by a single nod of her 
 head. She could find no words to express her 
 thoughts and the two characters stood side by 
 side staring down at the green, grassy mound. 
 
 Rosamond's mind darted back to the doll 
 days, and memory seemed to gather all the 
 childhood games she and her sister had ever 
 played together and pile them in one heap at 
 the foot of the grave; it gathered up the sad 
 hours and scenes of her life and shuffled the 
 sorrow with the happiness and spread it out 
 before her, but the sorrow was so great that it 
 covered and smothered the happiness. The 
 childhood games, the simple dolls and their 
 many little dresses only multiplied the agony 
 and brought her to her knees sobbing like a 
 child.
 
 344 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 Memory had been hurrying Weatherbee's 
 mind back and forth, and it bobbed from the 
 little room where he first saw Jack and his 
 mother up to the garret, and from the garret 
 to the Kent mansion, and from the mansion to 
 the grave where he stood trembling with sym- 
 pathy and love for the girl who was weeping at 
 his feet. His nervous fingers clenched the tiny 
 bunch of sweet peas until they crushed the 
 stems his heart thumped and pounded 
 against his breast and his tongue seemed para- 
 lyzed as he glared down and listened to the 
 sobs of the girl he loved each sob seemed to 
 cut deep into his heart and leave a gash that 
 would never heal. He begged his tongue to 
 utter one word of sympathy, but it refused to 
 obey. He drew his head high into the air the 
 peas fell from his hand he crouched down at 
 her side, seized her hand in both of his "God, 
 girl, don't cry I can't stand it I I can't 
 stand it !" he moaned in a soft pleading tone. 
 
 His sympathy only augmented her sorrow 
 and the tears rolled from her cheeks and fell 
 onto the small bunch of lilies-of-the-valley that 
 lay in her lap.
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 345 
 
 He watched each tear as it found its way 
 from the soft brown eyes and anchored on the 
 petal of the innocent flowers. Each tear 
 seemed to trickle and burn its way through his 
 heart before it reached the flowers' tiny leaves 
 and the intense pain frightened him. He 
 called on his better judgment to explain his 
 agony and when it did, he realized for the first 
 time how deeply he loved the girl whose hand 
 he held clenched in his. He released his grip, 
 unwound his fingers gently, placed her hand 
 on the flowers in her lap and sat silently, his 
 elbows on his knees and his chin resting in 
 both hands. 
 
 Nothing heals the wound of a woman's heart 
 as quickly as her own tears, and Rosamond 
 wept and sobbed until the tears ceased and the 
 sobs reduced themselves to a quick double 
 breath that jerked and twitched as if her heart 
 were fluttering with relief. 
 
 They sat silently at the foot of the grave- 
 each one thinking of the other each wonder- 
 ing what the other was thinking, and both 
 forming the wrong opinion of the other's 
 thoughts.
 
 346 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 Rosamond raked her mind over and over in 
 search of words that would plainly express her 
 respect, gratitude and love. From the first 
 time she had learned of Weatherbee's kindness 
 to her sister, she had studied the situation care- 
 fully and her respect was based on nobility 
 her gratitude on charity and her love on both 
 and a something else which no one living can 
 describe. She found many words and weighed 
 them carefully she formed them into sen- 
 tences and whispered them over and over to 
 herself and studied their meaning, then select- 
 ed the only one that she knew would truth- 
 fully and plainly explain her feeling. She drew 
 her head up slowly, gazed at Weatherbee for 
 several seconds and spoke in a firm voice: 
 "John Weatherbee I love you !" Each 
 word was uttered slowly and distinctly. 
 
 Weatherbee jerked his chin from his hands 
 
 his eyes met hers and stared into them 
 
 blankly, his elbows remained on his knees, his 
 
 fingers straightened, the blood raced through 
 
 his veins and he sat as if paralyzed. 
 
 "I know," she continued in the same tone 
 when she saw the wild expression of surprise
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 347 
 
 creep into his face, "that it sounds rude or 
 perhaps silly or sentimental but I do I 
 love you. I don't care what you think of me 
 for telling you but I can't help it I do and 
 I am proud of it." 
 
 She looked into his eyes steadily until his 
 lids slowly covered them. She watched him 
 remove his hat and place it on the ground at 
 his side and run his trembling ringers through 
 his hair. He rose to his feet and struggled to 
 keep from staggering, for his mind was spin- 
 ning like a top. He pushed his shaking hands 
 into his pockets and glanced about as if in 
 search of his bearings his heart pounded 
 away as if it were hammering at his tongue 
 trying to force it to tell of its happiness, but he 
 clinched his teeth, sealed his lips that were 
 smiling feebly, and dreamed silently. Dreamed 
 of himself, of the tiny thing the helpless thing 
 he considered himself, of his lonely home in the 
 attic, of his future prospects he dreamed 
 through the dream again and again, shook his 
 head and whispered to himself, "She doesn't 
 realize what she has said." He reached for the 
 bunch of sweet peas lying at his feet, took the
 
 348 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 lilies-of-the-valley from Rosamond's lap, 
 stretched his hand forward to assist her from 
 her sitting position and whispered with a 
 smile, "Let's arrange these now shall we? 
 You hold the flowers and I'll get some water." 
 
 Rosamond made no reply, but accepted the 
 flowers and her eyes followed the tall figure as 
 it strolled away through the dry grass with the 
 small earthen jar hanging from its fingers. His 
 silence baffled her and the faint smile that she 
 discovered in the corner of his mouth when he 
 helped her to her feet puzzled her and she re- 
 peated to herself again the words she had said 
 to him. "I am proud of it," she whispered and 
 her eyes wandered from Weatherbee to the 
 lonely grave. "Where would she be were it 
 not for him? I wonder if she knows we are 
 here I wonder if she heard me tell him." 
 
 Weatherbee hurried his feet through the 
 grass, though his mind was working slowly 
 and her words were ringing in his ears like 
 Christmas bells. They were not words uttered 
 by a silly child or a foolish girl yet in her teens, 
 they were words from a woman's heart, a heart 
 he considered more courageous than his own,
 
 "So he placed the jar of cool water at the head of the grace. They both 
 
 knelt on either side and she mingled the sweet peas urith the lilies 
 
 of the valley"
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 349 
 
 though it was sympathy and respect that 
 forced his silence on the subject of love; his 
 love was too sacred and his position in life too 
 humble to allow him to mention it it would 
 mean nothing to her, he thought, so he placed 
 the jar of cool water at the head of the grave, 
 they both knelt on either side and she mingled 
 the sweet peas with the lilies-of-the-valley. He 
 sunk the jar into the earth to prevent it from 
 falling. Their eyes met again each eye 
 seemed to search the other for a word each 
 face held a different expression, but both 
 hearts were beating out the same message of 
 love to the other. 
 
 "Do you think me rude?" Rosamond asked 
 in a soft but firm voice. 
 
 "No," Weatherbee answered in the same 
 key as he shook his head slowly. 
 
 "Do you think me foolish, then?" 
 
 The shaking of his head continued and the 
 same reply was made, but in a more sympa- 
 thetic key, a tone that might be described as a 
 heart-tone. It was heavier and firmer than a 
 whisper, though softer and sweeter than his 
 natural voice.
 
 "Then what do you think won't you tell 
 me?" 
 
 "Do you realize what you said to me?" 
 
 "Every word !" 
 
 "Do you realize the meaning of those 
 words?" 
 
 "I realize what they mean to me." 
 
 "Do you think they could mean any more 
 to me than they do to you?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Are you sure?" 
 
 "I am positive." 
 
 "And you would really like to know what I 
 think?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He peeked between the swollen lids and 
 studied the tender expression of seriousness in 
 her eyes. The sun hurried its way along- from 
 beneath a blue cloud as if it were anxious to 
 brighten those eyes, and a friendly bee buzzed 
 itself down among the leaves of the sweet peas 
 and hummed as if it were lending its music to 
 the words that Rosamond's anxious ears were 
 waiting for. 
 
 "Then I shall tell you what I think, for I feel
 
 THE GUEST OF HONOR 351 
 
 sure you do realize what you have said, and I 
 am positive that I realize what I am going to 
 say. As much as you love me I love you that 
 much and that much more. Do you believe 
 me?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 He reached across the flowers and took her 
 hand in his and held it tightly. 
 
 "But there it must end." 
 
 "No," she whispered, "there it must begin, 
 for when two people really love, there is no 
 ending it is always beginning. Each day 
 ends and is bound with a binding of sweet 
 memories, and each day begins anew and noth- 
 ing else matters." 
 
 "But ours would be bound with a binding of 
 poverty and struggles." 
 
 "Love knows no poverty, it knows no 
 struggles. There is no poverty nor struggle 
 for love that has love for a companion." 
 
 The sun backed its way down behind the 
 tree-tops on a western hill and the bee circled 
 above their heads and sung itself away in the 
 distance. Weatherbee clung to her hand; 
 they rose, and sauntered up the steep hill hand
 
 352 THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 in hand; no words were spoken until they 
 reached its top, then Weatherbee paused, 
 looked down into her eyes and whispered, 
 "Nothing else matters?" 
 "Nothing!"
 
 gfct 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
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