BY 
 
 William LightfoorVlsschei;
 
 ROBERT ERNEST COWAN
 
 'WAY OUT YONDER 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A NEW CITY 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM LIGHTFOOT VISSCHER 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION 
 
 BY 
 
 OPIE READ 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 *The truth that is found in fiction 
 
 is the truest truth that exists. 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS 
 1898
 
 Entered according: to Act of Congress In 
 
 the year 1898. 
 By WILLIAM H. LEE. 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. D. C. 
 All rights reserved.
 
 PS 
 3543 
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 This volume is inscribed, with the warmest feelings 
 of comradeship, to my dear friend and whilom fellow 
 journalist, 
 
 2* CHARLES WOODWORTH, 
 
 Qg 
 
 S of Tacoma, Washington. 
 
 3E 
 
 % W.th sincerest wishes that wealth, health and hap 
 
 piness may be his. 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 The Puget Sound country is romantic without 
 being old, Unlike the mining regions of the flat 
 and ruder West, Puget Sound was born civilized, 
 The country was settled by the finest represent 
 tives of American manhood, In a club organized 
 in a new town there were counted more than two 
 hundred university men, The sharp fusilade of 
 a street fight, the terror of the average new West, 
 here gave place to the mellow accents of a Greek 
 tragedy. The oratory of the "Seven Hills" found 
 a new home at the base of a great mountain, It 
 is but natural that out of this country should come 
 a novel} and to me it is also natural that the lead 
 should be taken by William Lightfoot Visscher, 
 His long training as a writer, his fervid fancy, 
 his insight into character, his warm imagination, 
 fit him ably for the work, OPIE READ.
 
 PREFACE 
 
 If this book does not, of itself, interest those who 
 take it up, certainly a preface would not compel an 
 interest. Hence this is merely the form of such an 
 introduction. 
 
 However, it may not be out of the way to remark 
 that the story contained herein is presented under 
 the garb of fiction wherewith to clothe some interest 
 ing facts, past and present facts that are stranger 
 than fiction and attempts to give the atmosphere 
 of a region and its conditions, that have not been 
 considerably exploited in romance. 
 
 W. L. V.
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Chap. I. Duncan's Cove . 9 
 
 Chap. II. St. Movadu 23 
 
 Chap. III. A Church Bell 40 
 
 Chap. IV. Ada Benson 54 
 
 Chap. V. A Confession 65 
 
 Chap. VI. Independence Day 77 
 
 Chap. VII. The Ajax 88 
 
 Chap. VIII. A Close Call 105 
 
 Chap. IX. "The Kicker" . . 116 
 
 Chap. X. Duncan's Return 122 
 
 Chap. XI. Another Rip Van Winkle 134 
 
 Chap. XII. An Opera Opening 139 
 
 Chap. XIII. A Freeze-Out 154 
 
 Chap. XIV. A Setting Sun 164 
 
 Chap. XV. An Aristocratic Democrat 176 
 
 Chap. XVI. Reminiscences 193 
 
 Chap. XVII. The "Kicker" Again 209 
 
 Chap. XVIII. A Wedding 218 
 
 Chap. XIX. The Colossus 225
 
 WAY OUT YONDER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 Duncan's Cove. 
 
 Hurrah for the land of the setting sun! 
 Hurrah for the state of Washington! 
 Hurrah for the men and women and all 
 Who came to make the forest fall! 
 Hurrah for every pioneer 
 
 Who built his humble cabin here! 
 
 Washington! 
 
 At anchor on the bosom of a broad and hospitable 
 bay on the American Pacific coast, one bright June 
 morning a very few years ago, lay a clean and grace 
 ful brigantine. 
 
 Within a stone's throw from the vessel was the wide 
 entrance to a picturesque cove that was shaped like a 
 horseshoe. It was about half a mile wide between the 
 calks of the shoe, so to speak. A gray, gravelly beach 
 extended more than half way 'round the cove, beginning 
 at the right. Further toward the left the shore became 
 a terrace for a few hundred feet, then toward its left ex- 
 
 (9)
 
 10 DUNCAN'S COVE 
 
 tremity the bank rose in a solid bluff of stone almost as 
 regular as ruble masonry, with here and there a shelving 
 indentation against which the easy swells of the blue 
 water broke with rhythmic beat, as if that was their 
 never-ending business, as indeed it was, for those same 
 swells are breaking there yet, in just that manner, and 
 will probably continue at it indefinitely. 
 
 Other swells in that vicinity have broken for good 
 and all. 
 
 Landward, as far as the eye could reach, was a dense, 
 tangled, primeval and mighty forest of great cedars, 
 towering firs and tall tamaracks, with a few cottonwoods 
 and other deciduous trees, that, with still lighter under 
 growth, of vine and briar, made a veritable jungle. It 
 was a vast green and brown foreground to a range of 
 mountains at the back; and high over all, white mantled 
 and inexpressibly imposing, towered a regal monarch 
 among the sierras. The great forest undulated in con 
 formity with the earth, its mounds, its valleys, its gulches, 
 canyons and foothills, until the woods reached the timber- 
 line on the mountain side, twenty miles or more away. 
 
 The scene on the landward side of the brigantine was 
 broken at the shore by an attempt at a small wharf, built
 
 DUNCAN'S COVE 11 
 
 upon a few irregular piles; and immediately beyond the 
 wharf, was a clearing of perhaps two hundred feet square. 
 
 On this, near the water's edge at high tide, stood a small, 
 badly constructed and dilapidated log cabin, with two or 
 three outhouse shacks that harmonized in their rudeness, 
 roughness and general tumble-down character with what, 
 by a strain, might be called the main building. 
 
 About sunrise on the morning in question, on the deck 
 of the vessel, among a few other men, a part of the crew 
 of the brigantine, stood two persons who, from their dress 
 and manner, were evidently men of affairs in the great, 
 busy world, and both appeared to be of good fortune, 
 as well. 
 
 Two men of greater differing characteristics and posi 
 tions in life, however, could not have been found among 
 the respectable element of the city in which they lived, 
 and yet they had many interests in common, in widely 
 differing ways, and they were mutual friends withal. * 
 
 One, a stocky, sturdy, bearded and determined-looking 
 man of about fifty, dressed in brown beaver clothes of 
 abusinesscut and a silk hat, was Newton Morse, amillion- 
 aire who had earned every dollar of his vast fortune by 
 hard work and honest enterprise. He had started out
 
 12 DUNCAN'S COVE 
 
 in life, early in his "teens," as a railway brakeman, 
 forced to so hard a calling before receiving a school 
 education beyond "the three R's," by dire necessity. 
 He was born poor, and his poverty had been inherited 
 through a line of descent further back than he had been 
 able, or even cared, to trace his genealogy. Ad 
 vancing step by step in his chosen calling; careful of his 
 earnings; always possessed of the most rugged health, 
 which, together with his strict integrity, good common 
 sense and bull-dog tenacity, made up the remainder of 
 his inheritance, he became, at thirty years of age, a sub 
 contractor and afterward a sole contractor in building 
 railroads, and thus, without going irlto details here, his 
 wealth could be accounted for. 
 
 His companion was a wiry, dark-skinned man of 
 thirty-five or forty. The dress of this individual was as 
 good or better than that of Morse as to quality, but 
 readily betokened the difference in his character. The 
 trousers were of a black and white, small-checked pat 
 tern, the vest and coat of black tricot the latter of 
 "Prince Albert" cut and his hat was a soft felt, as 
 broad-brimmed as a sombrero. There was apparently 
 something of the artist about this man, and yet he was
 
 DUNCAN'S COVE 13 
 
 not painter, poet, sculptor or actor, professionally, but 
 bohemian enough to be a little of either, or all. Liter 
 ature was his art, and yet he was an enthusiastic man, 
 active, enterprising, energetic, ever-sanguine, self-reliant, 
 and yet wanting in self-valuation. This last characteris 
 tic had barred his way to wealth, while others, less capa 
 ble, and in the same line, had grown "well-to-do," all 
 around him. The former qualities had always provided 
 facilities by which he had earned a good livelihood, and 
 could be counted on to do that so long as he was young 
 enough to work at his calling. Together, all the char 
 acteristics mentioned as his, were jus' f the combination 
 necessary for his success in making fortune and fame for 
 the ambitious among his friends who chose to manage 
 him for such ends. This was Howard Van Waters. 
 
 These two men came up to the main deck of the 
 brigantine together, and after some exclamations of de 
 light from Van Waters, expressive of his easy, and to be 
 expected appreciation of the strong scene before them, 
 Morse quietly remarked: 
 
 "I have bought three hundred acres of land right 
 there."
 
 14 DUNCAN'S COVE 
 
 "Who in heaven's name owned it before you?" queried 
 Van Waters. 
 
 "Duncan, the squatter, there." 
 
 "And what are yon going to do with it?" 
 
 "I am going to build a city here." 
 
 "Oh, you are!" 
 
 "Yes, and you are going to help me." 
 
 "Am I? Well, I'm glad to hear that, and a little more 
 astonished at it than at what you say you are going to do. 
 But I suppose you know all about it." 
 
 "I ought to know. I have been figuring dn this thing 
 for the last four years; have had men cruising the region 
 during nearly all of that time; have been here frequently 
 myself " 
 
 "Oh, that's where you have been slipping 
 
 "Don't interrupt me and I know what the resources 
 of this country are. I'll tell you all the particulars after 
 breakfast" 
 
 "Suit y<^u*rself. Any time will do me." 
 
 "But, in the rough, I will just say to you now that 
 those hills' are full of coal and iron; those mountains are 
 full of gold, silver and lead; these forests are full of the 
 best timber in the world; this harbor is "
 
 DUNCAN'S COVE 15 
 
 "Full of fish, I suppose, and 
 
 "Yes, sir; and you are full of interruptions probably 
 other things but I was going to say that this harbor is 
 the best one on the Pacific coast. Its area of holding 
 ground 
 
 "Float the navies " 
 
 "Dry up!" 
 
 "No; Does it?" 
 
 "Its area of holding ground is greater; it is safer from 
 storms; the resources of its shores are more opulent, and 
 it is nearer to the open sea than any other on this coast 
 possessing the same advantages. Here is the place for a 
 great city." 
 
 "All right, we'll build it. A great man once said, 'A 
 first-class hotel, a first-class theatre, and a first-class 
 newspaper, will rally a city about them in the wilderness.' 
 This seems to be sufficient of a wilderness to test the- 
 matter." 
 
 "We'll have all of them and more, too. Railroads and 
 coal-bunkers, iron smelters, saw-mills we'll have the 
 who-le thing hello; here's the major." 
 
 "Seems there are some minors also. The population
 
 16 DUNCAN'S COVE 
 
 has already begun to increase. Who are those beings, 
 
 Morse?" 
 
 "That old codger pushing off the canoe is Duncan, the 
 small fry are his half-breed children, the old squaw is his 
 'kloochman,' and the party in the canoe with Duncan is 
 Major Stamina, my agent, and when he gets here I'll 
 show you a boomer in fact I'll show you one before he 
 gets here." 
 
 Duncan was as queer a looking personage as one 
 could hope to see in even such a place. He had got 
 himself up on the present occasion to appear well before 
 the party of the second part in the big trade they had lately 
 made, and which had made the squatter the imminent 
 possessor of more money than he had ever been quite 
 sure there was in the world. For this wild ranch, ever 
 so far from any where, and on which Duncan had lived 
 with a "Siwash" squaw for nearly two decades and until 
 between them had come half breed progeny ranging all 
 the way from a wood chopper to the pappoose strapped 
 to the kloochman's back, he was about to receive the sum 
 of $100,000 in gold coin, silver or paper money just as he 
 chose to cash the draft. 
 
 But he was paddling, like an Indian, the. canoe that
 
 DUNCAN'S COVE 17 
 
 was bringing Major Stamina out to the brigantine and 
 he was as deferential to that gentleman as if he hadn't 
 sold his ranch for big money and if the first street in the 
 city was not to be named Duncan Avenue in honor of 
 himself. 
 
 He was deferential to the major notwithstanding he 
 had in honor of the occasion donned his ancient plug 
 hat that had been cut around the crown and lowered for 
 a distance, and as if he had not pulled on his one boot 
 and one shoe, which odd pair, together with the "cut 
 plug," he only wore on high days and holidays state 
 occasions, so to speak. 
 
 By the way, hats are very expressive always and any 
 where, if one has the time and philosophy to observe 
 them. From the elegant silk beaver of a dressy duke, 
 to the most disreputable looking slouch that covers the 
 unkempt poll of a confirmed tramp, this is true. 
 
 Duncan's present hat was not an exception. With 
 that budding nabob it was a compromise between dem 
 ocracy and aristocracy. Duncan had been for years the 
 leading citizen of the region in which his ranch lay, partly 
 because there were very few other people for miles 
 around, beside himself and his brevet family, and those
 
 18 DUNCAN'S COVE 
 
 few had not proved up on their claims, hence were not 
 possessed of government patents, as Duncan was. None 
 of the others had so much as an apology for a wharf, as 
 Duncan had, and none of them ever thought of such a 
 thing as making any attempt at a change of personal 
 appearance, as Duncan sometimes did. As a result 
 Duncan was the leading citizen and was allowed to do 
 any little turn possible for a stray craft of any sort that 
 might show itself at Duncan's cove. Hence the hat and 
 the boot and shoe. 
 
 As before remarked, the hat was an ancient tile of the 
 plug variety cut down. To have left it at its original 
 altitude was too much style for that "neck of woods," 
 but lowered as it was it was still a plug, though some 
 what an humble one, and thus democracy and aristocracy 
 net on a fairly equal footing in Duncan's holiday head 
 gear. Had it remained at its original height it would 
 have suggested great value to the outside world as an 
 heirloom, but no one, in even the remote vicinity of the 
 Cove, knew that and would have appreciated the ar 
 ticle at its full value if he had. But under this hat, in a 
 heterogeneous collection of other apparel, that is to say, 
 a woolen shirt that had probably been of some bright
 
 DUNCAN'S COVE , . 19 
 
 color originally, a pair of overall trousers that gave some 
 evidence of having once been blue, and a jacket made 
 from a curtailed "slicker," with one leg of the overalls 
 ostentatiously tucked in the top of the boot and the shoe 
 leg rolled up a few turns, as a sort of stand-off for the 
 boot, Duncan came aboard the brigantine with Major 
 Stamina, who had been cheerfully and vociferously yell 
 ing numerous and mostly indistinguishable things, from 
 the time of his appearance on the shore until his footing 
 had been obtained upon the deck of the vessel. Some 
 of those yells had been intended for the klootchman and 
 half-breeds on the ranch, a few of them for Duncan but 
 the majority of them for the people on the brigantine, 
 and all were good humored, for the major was a mer 
 curial man, sanguine, earnest and irrepressible, and what 
 he didn't know about real estate in the west wasn't worth 
 looking for any further. 
 
 When the canoe reached the brigantine the major 
 clambered up and over the side of the vessel, carrying his 
 two hundred and odd pounds of avoirdupois as if he were 
 yet a boy, and he lit on the deck with the agility of an 
 acrobat. Forthwith he fell to shaking hands with every 
 body he could reach, two at a time, whether he had ever .
 
 20 DUNCAN'S COVE 
 
 met them before or not, using both hands in the process, 
 and talking all the time as volubly as a "shouter" for a 
 side-show, in such expression as : 
 
 "Say, this is the biggest proposition on earth. I've 
 sold town lots to a hundred people who don't know any 
 more where the streets are than I do. But that'll be all 
 right." 
 
 "Say, there's a hen on here, and no mistake, and 
 something's hatchin', sure's you are alive." 
 
 "Glad to see you, old man" this to Morse "things 
 are working to a T. Y. tee. Surveyors be in to-morrow 
 to lay off the streets. Hundred people over at Watchy 
 waiting for a chance; probably a thousand by next 
 week." 
 
 Then seizing Van Waters he said: "Say, I've got 
 just the thing you want. Ten lots on a rise of ground. 
 Sure to be spang in the center of business and 
 
 "Never mind him," interposed Morse; "I'll look after 
 him." 
 
 In the meantime Duncan had come aboard, having 
 made fast his canoe to a line that hung over the ship's 
 side, and then the millionaire, the major, the newspaper
 
 DUNCAN'S COVE 21 
 
 man and the immifient nabob, went below to talk matters 
 over, perfect plan's, eat breakfast and settle things. 
 
 The business in the cabin of the brigantine was of 
 multifarious character and resulted in the exchange of 
 agreements, a deed, a draft, promissory notes, etc., be 
 tween Duncan and Morse, boom talk and advertising 
 plans between the major, Van Waters and Morse, and 
 information from Morse concerning the coming of men 
 and material for clearing the forest, grading streets and 
 building needful houses for the beginning of the city. 
 
 These matters being settled, the major bade a demon 
 strative good-bye to everybody on the vessel with 
 assurances to all that upon their return they wouldn't 
 know the place, and other characteristic displays of his 
 peculiar quality. 
 
 Duncan pinned his draft for $25,000 and promissory 
 notes for $75,000 more into a pocket of his woolen shirt, 
 and meekly manned the canoe which, with the buoyant 
 and enthusiastic major as the only other occupant, shot 
 'out across the waters toward the little wharf. 
 
 The crew of the brigantine were soon busily hoisting 
 the anchor and making sail. The white canvas, un- 
 clewed, spread gracefully before the favoring breeze, the
 
 22 DUNCAN'S COVE 
 
 sprightly craft answering promptly the helm, stood sea 
 ward, and with the easy movement of a lithe and willowy 
 woman retiring from a drawing room, bore away and was 
 directly hidden from the view of those at the Cove be- g 
 hind a southern headland. Whereupon the major re 
 marked sententiously : 
 "We'll see you later."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 St. Movadu. 
 
 Bright cities decked the boundless west, 
 And here the promise of the best 
 Sprang up as if the builder's arm 
 
 Was aided by a magic charm. 
 
 A Modern Temple. 
 
 Among the other matters agreed upon during the 
 consultation in the cabin was the name of the coming 
 city, and it was duly christened St. Movadu. Not that 
 any member of the quartet had a patron saint of such a 
 name, or that either of them had ever been informed 
 that there was a St. Movadu in all of the elastic calendar. 
 But they were having such difficulty in agreeing upon a 
 title for the future metropolis that the newspaper man 
 with characteristic fertility of resource fell upon the idea 
 of taking the first two letters from all of their surnames, 
 and thus from Stamina, Morse, Van Waters and Duncan 
 was evolved St. Movadu, and in the language of the 
 major, "it went." The major, also, in earnest expression 
 of his appreciation of Van Waters' ingenuity, exclaimed: 
 
 (23)
 
 24 ST. MOVADU 
 
 "Say! I wouldn't have had you left out of this deal for 
 a horse and wagon." 
 
 Van felt flattered. It was easy to flatter that man. 
 
 On shore, the major having no other moneyed individ 
 ual near at hand just then to operate on began at once to 
 picture the prospects, probabilities and possibilities of the 
 coming city to Duncan in such vivid colors, and with 
 such convincing eloquence, that in a very short time he 
 had sold town lots in four different places to that en 
 tranced capitalist in the amount of several thousand 
 dollars. 
 
 Duncan was no fool either. He knew that the land 
 under Morse's ownership and intentions was worth a 
 great deal more than it was while he owned it, pressed 
 as he was before the sale for ready cash, and uninflu- 
 ential as he would have been in developing a wild ranch 
 into a city. Thus the purchase of a small portion of that 
 land at 500 per cent, mo-re than he had sold it for, was the 
 best bargain of his life. 
 
 Duncan had seen a time when he was a far different 
 man from what he was when Newton Morse discovered 
 him as the owner of the ranch and wharf at Duncan's 
 Cove.
 
 ST. MOVADU 25 
 
 Nobody had ever taken the trouble to inquire what 
 was Duncan's name in the states, nor what had brought 
 him to the western edge of the republic and its deep and 
 little explored wilderness. 
 
 He had first seen the light in the far away state of 
 Tennessee and had been blessed in his youth with some 
 slight advantages of education and country society, on 
 the waters of the French Broad. In due course of time 
 he had taken unto himself a wife who was pretty and 
 vain, entirely illiterate and weak enough, even after she 
 had become the mother of a healthy girl baby, to be 
 misled by a handsome stranger, notwithstanding that 
 she loved her husband with all the fervor of her rustic 
 soul. 
 
 The husband discovered his dishonor, slew the man 
 and silently fled. 
 
 He halted not until he had landed at the cove with 
 nothing on earth, and but little on his back, and without 
 even so much as a name beyond the one he had assumed. 
 
 Here for nearly twenty years he had lived, almost a 
 hermit, and had become possessed of his lands, his squaw 
 and his half-breed progeny, obtaining money for such 
 few purposes as became necessary through the sale of
 
 26 ST. MOVADU 
 
 wood to semi-occasional vessels, and from furs and pelts 
 
 which he now and then disposed of to traders in those 
 
 wares. 
 
 Perhaps three times in all this residence in the wilder 
 ness, Duncan had visited the chief town of the territory, 
 but now with his vast fortune of a hundred thousand he 
 had been seized with a desire to again take a place in the 
 haunts of men, and he did. 
 
 Whatever Duncan said to 'his kloochman in that 
 strange jargon called "Chinook" that was created by the 
 Hudson's. Bay fur hunters and which has since been the 
 means of communication between the whites and Indians 
 of the Northwest Pacific coast, probably no one will ever 
 know. But with seeming willingness she took her back- 
 strapped pappoose and the one next youngest and went 
 away to her tribe. And in the course of a few weeks 
 Duncan betook himself to San Francisco. Not, .how 
 ever, until his lots had been located and he had the 
 deeds for them. 
 
 These had been busy weeks also with Major Stamina. 
 A number of vessels had arrived, bringing men, horses, 
 plows, scrapers, the machinery of a saw-mill, several
 
 ST. MOVADU 27 
 
 blacksmithing outfits, numbers of tents and a stock of 
 goods suitable for the wants of the crowd. 
 
 The sawmill was busy at work in the course of two or 
 three days, and as rapidly as the circular steel buzzed 
 through the logs and turned off slabs or planks, they 
 were borne away for the construction of temporary 
 buildings; hundreds of men slashed amid the timber 
 which was -turned into saw logs, sills, firewood, while vast 
 quantities of excellent timber were piled with the brush 
 and general refuse and burned. Continuous detonations, 
 as from a contest of opposing batteries of artillery, came all 
 day from giant powder shots with which men were up 
 rooting the huge and deep-delving stumps. Steamers 
 every day brought more men, and these brought more 
 stores, sawmills and all the business adjuncts of the 
 greatest "boom" that had ever been heard of. 
 
 "Real estate" offices and whisky shops soon alternated 
 for distances along the main street, that had now 
 been outlined and which was being rapidly cleared, 
 graded and plank-walked. In some places the real estate 
 offices flocked together, three or four in a row, and the 
 saloons did the same. Then here and there appeared a 
 butcher shop, a bakery, a grocery, a restaurant. The
 
 28 ST. MOVADU 
 
 wharf was enlarged and reconstructed with greater 
 strength. Several floating pile-drivers were busy day and 
 night with their ceaseless "Wher-er-er-er-er-er-er-blung!" 
 The rat-tat of the hammer, the sneezing song of the hand 
 saw, tftie hiss of the plane, the rhythmic jingle of the 
 sledge and hammer on the anvil, the shouts, songs, 
 whistles and oaths of busy men all were heard through 
 out the day and far into the night. More ambitious 
 Buildings, some two stories and occasionally one three 
 stories higih, went up. A dance and "variety" theatre 
 building were soon erected, and one day came a steamer 
 bringing a bevy of women for the dance house and 
 theatre, and a brass band for the same, and the woods and 
 hills echoed every evening to the really pleasing and 
 fairly good music of the band that played on the balcony 
 in front of the "Theatre Comique." 
 
 The streets increased in number and checkered the 
 townsite; lots got to be worth one hundred, then three 
 hundred, five hundred dollars a front foot in the most 
 eligible places, and sometimes more. 
 
 The St. Movadu Townsite Company, composed of 
 Newton Morse, president; James Keen, secretary; Walter 
 Phelps, treasurer; with a few other stockholders, and
 
 ST. MOVADU 29 
 
 Major Stamina, general agent, had sold and was still sell 
 ing lots at uniform prices, according to location, with a 
 general advance every few weeks as the city grew, and 
 these lots were sold and resold, sometimes twice or 
 thrice a day, each seller realizing startling profits from 
 his transaction. 
 
 The real estate agents were doing "a land office busi 
 ness," and men grew rich. Everybody made money, 
 and the fame of St. Movadu went abroad. 
 
 In the course of four or five months there was a 
 population of two thousand people, actual settlers. Many 
 neat and pretty cottages had sprung up on the hillside, 
 when the winter or rather the rainy season began to 
 show signs of approach, and a few wives, daughters, 
 sisters, mothers and other female relatives of the business 
 men wepe domiciled in the new city. Before many resi 
 dences had been erected and furnished, however, a num 
 ber of ladies and a few children had come to stay with their 
 male relatives, and these families lived temporarily in 
 rooms in the second stories, over the business houses. 
 
 A better natured, more sociable and unconventional, 
 neighborly and happy collection of people does not live in
 
 30 ST. MOVADU 
 
 Arcadia than dwelt in St. Movadu in those lively, hurry 
 ing, booming, hurrah days. 
 
 Meantime the "St. Movadu Times" was among the 
 people. It was a daily from the start. Van Waters had 
 not been idle. On the contrary, he had been entirely 
 along with the rush, and generally ahead of it. His 
 little journal was amply patronized from the first. It 
 teemed with advertisements, and had to be enlarged 
 about once a month, until from a five-column folio, it 
 grew in five months to a six-column quarto, and some 
 times on Sunday it was forced to come out with twelve 
 and even sixteen pages to accommodate its advertising 
 patrons and contain enough reading matter to decently 
 carry its displays of heralded merchandise.. 
 
 It is true that Van Waters did not own the outfit, 
 which was quite an extensive one, for at the beginning it 
 had a revolving press which at first went by man-power 
 at the crank, and a "Nonpareil jobber," with a good 
 supply of type and other accessories of "a first-class coun 
 try office," all of which occupied a big room on the sec 
 ond floor over the main saloon of the town, with a little 
 den partitioned off for the editorial room and another 
 for the business office. But its business increasing so
 
 ST. MOVADU . 31 
 
 rapidly, a two-story building with a brick basement was 
 erected on a town company lot, and this spacious affair 
 contained a small steam engine that drove the news 
 paper press and job presses, all of which were kept 
 running at a great rate eight or ten hours out of the 
 twenty-four. 
 
 Such an outfit as this was far beyond the means of 
 Van Waters, but he was given "a working interest" con 
 tingent upon his working a certain length of time two 
 years, perhaps and 'he was paid an excellent salary. 
 The outfit was really owned by the "Times Printing and 
 Publishing Company," which was composed of the Town 
 Site Company, and other firms, real estate people, bank 
 ers, lawyers, merchants, et al., and while Van Waters 
 was not a business man he was an enthusiastic "hustler," 
 and a live editor, sometimes classed with the "red hot" 
 variety. 
 
 But then the Times had a business manager. His 
 name was John Cole, and he was supposed to know all 
 about business management that has ever been learned in 
 a newspaper office. And he did, so far as looking after 
 Mr. Cole's business interests were concerned. He was a 
 meek and acquiescent sort of a saintly sinner, was this
 
 32 ST. MOVADU 
 
 Cole. He was tall and thin, and looked as if he were too 
 hungry to be able to eat much. He was a great worker, 
 and would put in hours and days, even weeks, folding 
 newspapers, "settin' pi," bundling old exchange papers 
 for sale at twenty-five cents a hundred none of which 
 were ever sold and in doing all sorts of jobs that would 
 have been just the proper employment for a two-dollar- 
 a-week boy. He doted on the Y. M. C. A. and depre 
 cated the fact that a branch of that worthy institution had 
 not been establish in St. Movadu, while he continually 
 swore in a feeble sort of way, such oaths as "dog-gone 
 it," and "gosh durn it." But he managed the business 
 part of the Times right along, as will further appear in 
 these faithful chronicles. 
 
 As a clerk to somebody or something, Jack Lacy came 
 early to St. Movadu. No new city could possibly be 
 anywhere near provided for without just such a person as 
 this same Jack Lacy. He was the personification of ver 
 satility. If he hadn't been he would never have been able 
 to get there. But Jack was able-bodied, though not a 
 large man. He was about thirty-five years old then, of 
 medium height and build as the descriptive circulars of 
 a fugitive from justice might say,
 
 ST. MOVADU 33 
 
 He had a bright, but homely face, with hair the color 
 of a new coffee sack, and long, white eyelashes, with 
 moustache and eyebrows to match, and his eyes were a 
 strong, grayish blue. But Jack was an excellent book 
 keeper, could play a banjo beautifully, knew how to sell 
 groceries or dry goods, and could sing humorous songs 
 in a clear and rich tenor. He was familiar with a camera 
 and could develop a photograph, and was rich in mem 
 orized selections from Shakespeare, Burns, Scott, James 
 Whitcomb Riley, Bill Nye and numerous other people, 
 all the way between, before and behind. Moreover, he 
 could "render" those selections in a style of declamation, 
 original or imitative, that would have made his fortune 
 as a comedian or professional entertainer. 
 
 These were only a few of Jack Lacy's accomplish 
 ments, and with them all he had the courage of a lion 
 and the tenderness of a good woman. He loved birds, 
 flowers, music, and all the arts he had ever come in 
 contact with, and he had a genuine, unconventional po 
 liteness that was born of a generous heart. He made no 
 further attempts in the line of literature than the occa 
 sional composition of a clever, timely and topical rhyme, 
 but it seemed that if he had cultivated humorous liter-
 
 34 ST. MOVADU 
 
 ature he would have succeeded well for many reasons, 
 
 a very strong one of which was that he was possessed of 
 
 much of the same nature as Oliver Goldsmith poor old 
 
 "Noll." 
 
 There were times in Jack Lacy's life even in St. 
 Movadu when he was excellently well dressed, even to 
 the extent of a full evening dress suit, for proper occa 
 sions, and there were also times when his dress was de 
 cidedly "passe." But he had been heard to say when his 
 coat was torn and he had been told that he should have 
 it mended, that a rent might be the accident of a moment, 
 while a patch was premeditated poverty. 
 
 During Jack's early days in St. Movadu it is known 
 that he worked faithfully and well for a few weeks as 
 clerk for a real estate agent, and was fairly paid, but a 
 convivial affair occurred and Jack took to the flow 
 ing bowl on one of the periodical sprees to which he was 
 subject, and halted not until he had dissipated his sub 
 stance and his place had been filled by a soberer man. 
 
 Jack lived precariously for a few days, and then he 
 was employed by a grocer to drive a delivery wagon, 
 and all went well for a month until another convivial 
 attack seized him and the grocer's horse ran away with
 
 ST. MOVADU 35 
 
 him and the grocery wagon, to the utter disintegration of 
 the vehicle and a bruising for Jack that laid him up sev 
 eral days under the care of a doctor and at the expense 
 of Howard Van Waters and Major Stamina, w>ho were 
 his staunch and admiring though reprimanding friends. 
 
 Indeed, during Jack's first year in the new city, he had 
 nearly as many ups and downs as may be crowded by 
 one individual into that space of time barring, of course, 
 the conductor of an elevator but to quote from the an 
 nals of modern gladiatorship, he always came up smiling 
 and he was a general favorite in those unconventional 
 days. 
 
 Early in that time, .that is to say when families were 
 living overhead, so to speak, and before the traveling 
 dramatic troupes had learned the way to St. Movadu, the 
 desire for some sort of a public entertainment grew so 
 strong upon the people those who couldn't go to the 
 variety theatre, or, at least take their families there that a 
 program of musical and literary numbers was organized 
 among the home talent, and having been duly announced 
 in the "Times," and with some handbills and "dodgers" 
 pasted up and thrown about, the affair came off in due 
 season in the dining room of the "Great Western Hotel,"
 
 36 ST. MOVADU 
 
 which was the very promising name of the best attempt at 
 
 a caravansary that had up to this time been established. 
 
 Jack Lacy's accomplishments were numerously called 
 into play on that occasion and his name alternated in the 
 numbers on the program. Indeed, as some one expressed 
 it at the time, "Jack well nigh gave the whole show, and 
 the others were just put in to toll him on." 
 
 Be that as it may, Jack covered himself all over with 
 glory and became the general toast. 
 
 A few of the upstairs livers took to giving private 
 entertainments, and if Jack couldn't be there they were 
 postponed. The first of these, and thereby the first 
 "social event" of St. Movadu, was called a "reception," 
 and it was given in the rooms of Judge and Mrs. West- 
 lake. Not because Westlake was a judge, was he so 
 called, but because he was the pioneer lawyer of the new 
 city, and he wasn't an erudite jurist either. In the ex 
 pressive, rather than delicate terms of the times, he had 
 "only been vaccinated for a lawyer, and it didn't take as 
 well as it might." But the judge and his jolly little wife 
 were looked up to as social leaders then, and the "elite" 
 were there as well as numerous other persons, and the 
 stuffy little rooms were packed so full that one thought
 
 ST. jMOVADU 37 
 
 of going out to turn around, if he thought of turning at 
 all. 
 
 Mrs. Westlake was somewhat perplexed before an 
 nouncing the entertainment as to whether she s'hould call 
 it a ."reception" or a "musicale," but deferring to the 
 judge's more dignified and well-balanced opinion, it was 
 called a reception, and yet it was to be a display of mu 
 sical and literary talent to be volunteered by the guests. 
 Jack was invited to come and "bring his banjo, "and these 
 with the Httle.upright piano that took more room than it 
 deserved, seeing that it was never used for musical pur 
 poses, and it was probably so much out of tune that its 
 use would have been impossible, were expected to fur 
 nish all the musical concords of the occasion. But no 
 master or even mistress of the last-named instrument 
 having turned up, Jack's banjo and declamations, humor 
 ous and otherwise, furnished out the "feast of reason and 
 flow of soul." 
 
 The affair was a brilliant success, however, and was so 
 announced in the "Times" next morning; for while Van 
 Waters, the editor, couldn't be there, the city editor 
 who, by the way, was the entire "city staff" of the Times 
 was, and he always went under instructions from Van 
 
 286298
 
 38 ST. MOVADU 
 
 Waters to "whoop things up," which was characteristic 
 of everything pertaining to St. Mcvadu that Van Waters 
 could control. His paper teemed at all times with the 
 resources of the new city and the surrounding region, 
 and being a really metropolitan looking sort of a journal, 
 with every sign of prosperity, it went to the four winds, 
 all over the republic and to numerous other places. 
 
 The people of St. Movadu were proud of the "Times." 
 It was unanimously admitted by them, and by people gen 
 erally, who knew anything of the situation, to be a strong 
 factor in the up-building of the new city, and as these 
 city builders were from everywhere, the "Times" was sent 
 everywhere by them to their friends. Thus it was read 
 with avidity in many a far-away nook of the world, and 
 its circulation taxed the capacity of the little one-cylinder 
 press, -even though it went by steam in the day time and 
 at night by an electric motor that received its power from 
 the dynamos of the city light company. 
 
 Jack was, of course, the success of the Westlake en 
 tertainment, the fame of which went abroad in the new 
 city. The judge and his jolly little wife, and every one 
 else present who had elbow room sufficient to be able to 
 do so, applauded Jack with much vigor and refreshing
 
 ST. MOVADU 39 
 
 sincerity, and Jack was as proud and happy as it is possi 
 ble for even so good-natured a fellow to be. He felt that 
 he had done a big and commendable thing in lending 
 eclat to the first society event of the new city, St. Movadu. 
 But Jack had sown the whirlwind.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 A Church Bell. 
 
 And thus among the timbered hills, 
 Spires and homes and shops and mills, 
 Have risen as though genii hands 
 Had wrought where this fair city stands. 
 
 A Modern Temple. 
 
 To children the performances that resulted from the 
 occult powers of Aladdin's lamp are very wonderful; to 
 grown-up folks they are only amusing, because, to use a 
 paradox, they were really mythical. The whole thing 
 was only a story of the marvelous. 
 
 The story of St. Movadu was wonderful in truth. 
 Nothing like it has ever been seen on the earth. Mining 
 excitements, or something of that nature, have frequently 
 brought suddenly together a sufficient number of people 
 to form a great city, so far as population was concerned, 
 but those settlements were called "camps," and indeed 
 they were nothing else, frequently, and in many instances 
 but little sign of them was left after a few months. Some, 
 however, became permanent cities, one or two of which 
 
 (40)
 
 A CHURCH BELL 41 
 
 have gone on developing and have become places of 
 great importance. Such for instance were Denver and 
 Leadville, Colorado, the former of which was a result of 
 the Pike's Peak gold excitement, the latter the result of 
 the silver mines of California Gulch. Some other places 
 that grew to be brick and stone and iron cities, from such 
 causes, are to-day pathetic in their quietude and help 
 lessness. 
 
 The St. Movadu "boom" was not a result of any of 
 these causes. Indeed it was not strictly a "boom." It 
 was a "legitimate proposition." Its rise was directly the 
 result of Newton Morse's enterprise, and his ambition to 
 be the father of a great city. He exercised all the care 
 and judgment at 'his control in the selection of a re 
 sourceful site, and to-day it occupies the ground that will 
 yet be one of the greatest cities of the world, for natural 
 reasons. In this connection it is interesting to quote from 
 the St. Movadu "Times," of the early days, what its editor 
 thought upon the subject of boom towns, and from one 
 of his leaders this excerpt is made: 
 
 " 'Self praise is half scandal' is a trite saying that deserves more 
 for its age than anything else, somewhat on the principle of the 
 law of custom, which gains in force because the particular cus-
 
 42 A CHURCH BELL 
 
 torn that thus became a law existed 'from a time whereof the 
 memory of man runneth not to the contrary.' These be different 
 times from those wherein originated the cant phrase, 'Self praise 
 is half scandal.' Common veracity and plain candor allow 
 people in these days to say more kindly things about themselves. 
 How much more should they allow people to say kindly, if 
 truthful, things about those matters in which they have material 
 interest! 
 
 "He was a better philosopher who invented the remark, 'He 
 that tooteth not his own horn, the same shall not be tooted.' 
 yet that may be carried to a degree of immodesty as the first may 
 be to one too utterly and entirely coy. 
 
 "We of St. Movadu have something to be proud of, and there 
 is no call for us to go out and hide in the woods in order to 
 enjoy that pride. We have a wonderfully growing city, equipped 
 with all the modern accessories and auxilaries for still more 
 wonderful and rapid growth. 
 
 "Has anyone ever before heard of a place off in the mightiest 
 forest where in the sombre shade of the grandest tree-growth 
 on earth the day-god had not touched the soil for centuries; 
 farthest in our Union from the centers of trade and population: 
 farthest from railways, with not even a wagon track approach 
 ing has anyone ever heard before of such a city being built in 
 such a space of time? A- city with many miles of streets scat 
 tered over probably 500 acres? When the timber has been mown 
 as with some Titan's scythe? Above these streets mazes of tele-
 
 A CHURCH BELL 43 
 
 graph, telephone and electric light wires; beneath them all the 
 complex systems of pipe and conduit for water, gas and sewer 
 age? Lines of railway, north, east and south, connecting the 
 young city with the marts of the world? Daily, by dozens, steam 
 boats, steamships, ferries and sailing craft, touching at numer 
 ous costly docks, carrying a prolific traffic to and from distant 
 isles and to lands beyond the sea? 
 
 "Let those who know nothing of this smile with incredulity. 
 That is only natural. And let those who dwell in places that 
 have no hope of increase by commercial or social importance 
 prate of 'conservatism.' That is their disease. And let them 
 scream in their feeble way about 'booms' and hold up their 
 trembling little hands in alarm thereat and deprecation thereof. 
 Let them if it does them any good entertain themselves with 
 attempts at disparagement of young cities that, like ours, have 
 sprung suddenly, as did Minerva from the head of Jove, fully 
 armed and equipped for duty. It is a little custom of those 
 'conservative' places to speak of such cities as St. Movadu as 
 'boom towns,' the very rapidity of whose growth is sought to 
 be made a point to their disadvantage while some owlish munici 
 pality is pointed to as a" splendid example of 'steady growth.' 
 
 "This 'steady growth' in anything is a hoax. There are ages 
 in children when their growth is much more rapid than at other 
 periods of their youth, and some 'develop' much earlier in life 
 than others. Vegetation, under the influence of sunshine and 
 shower, reaches maturity more rapidly in some seasons and
 
 44 A CHURCH BELL 
 
 countries than in others. These phenomena are due to natural 
 causes and excite no comment, while the operations of the same 
 principle in industrial matters brings an ignorant protest from 
 those not affected. 
 
 "The 'lambs' that have been shorn in 'booms' are everywhere. 
 So are the unfortunates who have failed in settled communities, 
 for lack of ability, tact, enterprise or adaptability. The money 
 lost by the individual has generally gone into public improve 
 ments. 
 
 "There are 'booms' in every undertaking, and the building of 
 towns is no exception. There are 'booms' in politics, 'booms' in 
 music, 'booms' in art, 'booms' in education; and He who 'Sways 
 the harmonious mystery of the universe better than prime min 
 isters' gave to Christian history its Pentecost. 
 
 "There is a vast deal of truth in this, and it should carry much 
 encouragement to many who need it." 
 
 St. Movadu's growth was astounding. In twelve 
 months from the day that Major Stamina set his men to 
 work for Newton Morse and 'his associates, clearing 
 away the primeval forest at Duncan's Cove, there had 
 grown a town of ten thousand inhabitants, with all the 
 adjuncts and accessories of a city much greater than that, 
 and with some metropolitan advantages of which many 
 great cities are yet unpossessed. 
 
 During that time, over twenty-five miles of wide and
 
 A CHURCH BELL 45 
 
 beautiful streets were graded and paved, excellent sewer, 
 water, police and fire protection and electric street rail 
 way systems had been placed in operation. The city was 
 brilliantly lighted by night with electric lights and the 
 places of business and hundreds of homes were supplied 
 with the electric incandescent bulbs. A grand hotel 
 and opera house were among the public buildings; there 
 were clubs and lodges, banks and school houses, some 
 of the latter imposing in dimensions and splendid in 
 architecture. Massive brick, stone and iron business 
 houses had arisen in the central part of the city and resi 
 dences that were palatial in structure and furnishing, or 
 namented the hillsides and crowned their tops. Charm 
 ing lawns, rich in verdure and teeming with beautiful 
 flowers surrounded the latter, and there were churches 
 of many Christian denominations. Churches that would 
 have been a credit to the old cities of the far eastern 
 states. 
 
 The first place of worship erected in the young city was 
 a union tabernacle in which all denominations congre 
 gated for public devotions to the one God, of whom even 
 the almost heathen have devoutly sung "Allah il Allah."
 
 46 A CHURCH BELL 
 
 There is no God, the fool had said 
 
 The ingrate of his race 
 With all that's good, and fair, and true, 
 
 Outspread before his face. 
 
 "Allah il Allah," wise men say 
 v God is, and God is good; 
 
 And many go to seek Him out 
 By ancient faith or rood. 
 
 The Islam takes his mountain road, 
 The Brahm his desert path, 
 
 The Christian goes with cowl and staff 
 To face the tempest's wrath. 
 
 The Turk, the Saracen and Moor, 
 
 The Afric and the Hun, 
 The Roman, Goth and Indian, 
 
 To find the One bright Sun. 
 
 And though the ways of all diverge, 
 Each pilgrim finds the goal; 
 
 For God is good, and everywhere, 
 The Substance and the Whole. 
 
 His presence spans the universe; 
 
 All paths lead on to Him. 
 He is the Sum of all that is 
 
 Duration's length and limb.
 
 A CHURCH BELL 47 
 
 And, brothers, tho' as blades of grass 
 
 We stand together here, 
 We'll meet each other and our God 
 
 In His Eternal sphere. 
 
 The Shriners. 
 
 One bright Sunday morning the rich, deep and reso 
 nant peal of a church bell rang out upon the clear aarti 
 fir-scented air. It sang cheerily and yet grandly amid 
 the mighty woods. The rhythmic tones rolled in silver 
 cadence over the hills and gave tongue to a chime of 
 echoes up the canyons and across the dancing waters. 
 Such music nature had never heard before in that region. 
 Pleasantly it startled the people. The dear old familiar 
 sounds seemed to come from away back home. The man 
 of the house looked up from the book or newspaper* he 
 was reading; the good wife left off her dishwashing or the 
 buttoning of the children's Sunday dresses; the children 
 clapped their little hands in delight; the housemaid leaned 
 pensively on her broom ; then all ran to the windows and 
 doors. The whisky-mixer in the saloon held suddenly 
 still, decanter in hand, to hear the sonorous melody, and 
 the toper paused, with the hell-broth at his lips, to listen. 
 The young city was charmed for a moment, and then, 
 Sunday as it was, men rushed from their homes and
 
 48 A CHURCH BELL 
 
 from such places of business as were then open and 
 shouted with a strange joy. Then there was a spontane 
 ous and heartfelt, long-resounding and oft-repeated, 
 "Hurrah for the church bell!" 
 
 Jack Lacy caught up a bundle of paper bags lying on 
 the counter of Kingbury's grocery, within whose half- 
 closed doors he was lounging, and dashed off in dialect, 
 a rhythmic song, breathing a tune to it as he wrote: 
 
 Do hear that bell a ringin' 
 
 On this sunny Sunday mornin', 
 It sounds like angels singin' 
 
 A kind and gentle warnin' 
 
 Singin' a sweet warnin' 
 
 To the sinners all aroun' 
 Beside the music in it, 
 
 With its clear and silv'ry soun', 
 \ 
 
 It's the first church bell that ever rung 
 To call these sinners down. 
 
 Ain't it good to hear it 
 
 That clear and silv'ry soun' 
 That bell a ringin' out so sweet 
 
 The first one in the town? 
 
 The tall pines done the singin' 
 Just a little while ago,
 
 A CHURCH BELL 49 
 
 An' the vines were thick an' clingin' 
 
 From the gray beach down below, 
 
 Where the waters ebb and flow. 
 
 To where the snow is gleamin' 
 Far up at timber line. 
 
 Then the woods were little dreamin' 
 That the church bells here should ring, 
 
 When Sunday's sun was streamin*. 
 
 But ain't it good to hear it 
 That clear and silv'ry soun' 
 
 That church bell ringin' out so sweet, 
 The first one in the town. 
 
 When the tabernacle was the only church of the em 
 bryo city, the services were more unconventional, the 
 worship was more sincere, the singing was more en 
 thusiastic. There was a whole-heartedness in it all that 
 has gone somewhere. But it is not lost. It is, perhaps, 
 scattered among the isms, but the All-Seeing Eye can 
 place every iota and atom of it. For while Charity sits 
 estranged among the silks and velvets, the rich odors and 
 the brilliant lights; the sham and show of the great 
 church; meek and modest, prayerful and unassuming, 
 Charity is there. The leaven that lighteneth; the piety 
 and purity that saves the church from its load of hypoc-
 
 50 A CHURCH BELL 
 
 risy and deceit, is there, engrafting it with the true re 
 ligion that was erst of the old tabernacle, and its kind. 
 Sweet Charity, "without which all is as sounding brass 
 and a tinkling cymbal," is the saving salt of it all. 
 
 In the tabernacle only those were seen, most of the 
 time, 'who went on duty bent, and yet the congregation 
 was a large one. 
 
 True, all those that attended these services were not 
 professing Christians, for there were many who, like Jack 
 Lacy, had glaring faults, but who also like him, had the 
 redeeming qualities of reverence for holy things, candor 
 and openness of character; every-day integrity and honor; 
 truthfulness, humanity, courage and fidelity; full of grat 
 itude and hateful of affected precisiveness and shallow 
 ostentation; who knew they were not as good as they 
 should be, but who did not make pretence on Sundays, 
 and cheat their neighbors when opportunity afforded on 
 week days; men and women who often prayed in secret, 
 admitting their sins at all times in their hearts, yet hope 
 ful, notwithstanding that the prayers of the righteous are 
 those that avail the most. 
 
 Pha/riseeism did not belong in the tabernacle. True 
 piety and acknowledged sin foregathered there, for de-
 
 A CHURCH BELL 51 
 
 votion by the one and confession by the other. Yet there 
 were some who were between both of these. 
 
 They meant well. 
 
 It was a rich, full and sweet contralto voice in the 
 congregational singing one moonlit Sabbath evening, in 
 the tabernacle days, that helped to fill Jack Lacy's heart 
 with the pure pleasure of the meeting, and he traced 
 the velvet tones to their source. What a modest yet 
 strong and earnest mouth it was; what a shapely little 
 head and what glorious melting brown eyes the singer 
 had; how neat and tidy and quiet the dress; how easily 
 poised and self-possessed seemed the figure that was the 
 abode of all this. 
 
 Dr. Price and Jack Lacy were excellent friends. Jack 
 knew how good and true and earnest and sensible the 
 preacher was, and the preacher knew that Jack was far 
 better than many of his betters strange as that may 
 seem and he admired Jack's manliness far more than 
 he did the goody-goodness of some others of his flock. 
 Besides Jack was helpful. He was fond of helping any 
 where that he possibly could, and he was particularly 
 fond of being helpful to the tabernacle and its promoters, 
 especially the preacher.
 
 52 A CHURCH BELL 
 
 The house needed an organized choir to better lead 
 the singing, and to sometimes even give a concerted 
 number, and Jack was on the lookout for talent for this 
 organization. 
 
 Forthwith he confided to Dr. Price his earnest and 
 immutable opinion that the choir could never be success 
 fully established without that particular voice and the 
 sage old preacher smilingly and readily agreed that 
 Jack's declaration was on the firmest foundation. 
 
 There and then that is to say at the close of the 
 service through the kind instrumentality of Dr. Price, 
 Mr. Lacy became duly, properly and ceremoniously ac 
 quainted with the possessor of the voice, Miss Ada 
 Benson. But Jack was not a gentleman who was in 
 clined to stand any serious length of time upon ceremony 
 or anything else that presented the character of an ob 
 stacle. He proceeded at once to unfold his plans, as to 
 the choir, to Miss Benson, and coolly asked the privilege 
 of walking home with her in order that they might fur 
 ther discuss the matter during the stroll. 
 
 The distance from the church to where the young lady 
 resided was cruelly short to Jack Lacy, and as he had a 
 capacity for entertaining young ladies, conversationally,
 
 A CHURCH BELL 53 
 
 that was one of the most suddenly apparent of his many 
 accomplishments, Miss Benson found the walk an ex 
 ceedingly agreeable one, and she quite enthusiastically 
 entered into Jack's plans regarding the musical organ 
 ization. Jack agreed to enlist some other desirable per 
 sons for the corps, and it was agreed that the entire body, 
 or such portions of it that could be controlled, should 
 meet in the parlor, on the following Wednesday evening, 
 at Mr. Dawson's residence, where Miss Benson was 
 boarding, that young lady undertaking to gain the con 
 sent of the Dawson proprietorship to that end. 
 
 This matter having been settled at some length by -the 
 conspiring parties, and the door of the Daiwson establish 
 ment having been reached some minutes earlier, the 
 propriety of withdrawing finally dawned upon the some 
 what reluctant perception of Mr. Lacy, who trudged 
 homeward filled to the brim with refreshingly pleasant 
 emotions. 
 
 And Mr. Lacy turned over a whole chapter of new 
 leaves.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Ada Benson. 
 
 With all we get of life, or fame, or gold, 
 Existence here is dark, and sad and cold, 
 Without that light and blessing from above, 
 One sweet and trusting earnest woman's love. 
 
 More Than All. 
 
 Orphaned in early childhood, Ada Benson had been 
 taken to an Indiana village and brought up there by a 
 maternal uncle, who, though possessed of a fairly pros 
 perous business in "general merchandising" on a scale 
 not considered gigantic even in that village, was also 
 possessed of a family so laige as to be somewhat dis 
 proportionate to his income. But his wife was a kindly 
 creature who managed with economical care the domes 
 tic affairs of their modest establishment, and Ada's life 
 had been a pleasant one, though commonplace enough. 
 
 While endowed with unusual beauty and more than 
 average intelligence, she was of a quiet and gentle nature 
 and had been without opportunity to prove to others 
 particularly interested in such matters, a somewhat re- 
 
 (54)
 
 ADA BENSON 55 
 
 markable musical talent, and hence had not entirely ap 
 preciated herself. 
 
 Her musical instruction had been confined to the lim 
 ited advantages of the village school, in that b/anch, so 
 far as the piano was concerned, and the vocal part of it 
 to the supposed-to-be-concerted singing of her fellow 
 students, the congregational singing, and chants of the 
 little Episcopal church in which she had been christened 
 after her orphanage, and in which she had been con 
 firmed at -the proper age. 
 
 In the village school she had also obtained such an 
 education as that institution afforded, which was -alto 
 gether considerable, seeing that she had easily "gradu 
 ated" as, by all odds, the most satisfactory pupil of the 
 school. 
 
 This, with the fund of religious information, obtained 
 through the curriculum of the Sunday school, including 
 the Book of Common Prayer, with its memorized creed, 
 catechism, litany, collects, morning and evening service, 
 and many of the hymns and psalms, with all the acces 
 sory instruction of the church training, had really 
 equipped Ada Benson far better than many young ladies
 
 56 ADA BENSON 
 
 are who go through the "polishing" processes of semi 
 naries and alleged female colleges and universities. 
 
 Yet her little world had been so circumscribed that 
 when the death of her uncle came, during Ada's eight- 
 
 
 
 eenth year, and it became necessary for her to earn her 
 living alone, she was startled. While it did not appall 
 her, for she had a stout heart, she was not possessed of 
 the confidence that her abilities and attainments should 
 have given her. She had never been called upon to cal 
 culate \vhat they were as compared to those of many other 
 girls who have been confronted by such a condition of 
 affairs as was now before her. 
 
 Her friend, the old rector, who had christened her and 
 who had tenderly watched her in his lambfold until 
 the bis/hop had come to place her among the full-grown 
 sheep of the flock, advised her when the day came that 
 demanded her self-reliance, to take a place that he pro 
 cured for her as a teacher in the schools^ of a neighboring 
 town, and cheerfully, though with some trepidation, she 
 entered upon her work and succeeded. 
 
 After nearly two years, in which she had been so suc 
 cessful as a teacher as to astonish herself, she accepted a 
 place that had been offered by an old friend of her pastor,
 
 ADA BENSON 57 
 
 as an assistant in one of the schools of the far distant 
 west. 
 
 Thus fate and fortune led her to St. Movadu. 
 
 After one has got along in years and has provided 
 himself with a domestic aggregation, he will frequently 
 see and observe such girls as Ada Benson and wonder 
 what sort of fools the young fellows must be who allow 
 them to go so much alone, or even permit them to con 
 tinue along in years until they have grown into that ab 
 normal and somewhat uncertain state, the general de 
 scription of which is "old maidenhood." 
 
 But as knowing as these old fellows are supposed to 
 be, and as they more frequently think themselves, they 
 are not always entirely informed as to the causes of this 
 supposed to be undesirable situation of spinsterhood. 
 Sometimes it comes on before the coquette has taken 
 second thought of the danger; sometimes, but very sel 
 dom, through the obtuseness of the young fools alluded 
 to. More frequently it is the deliberate good judgment of 
 the lady in question, who is more observant, perhaps, 
 than the old fellow is. She wisely concludes that it is 
 better to be a respectable old maid than to be the cook 
 who prepares the meals of the shiftless young fellow,
 
 58 ADA BENSON 
 
 the nurse to his children, the laundry woman of his un 
 comfortable household and the general drudge of his 
 more or less squalid and peripatetic establishment. 
 
 In those young days of St. Movadu, however, there 
 was no good reason to berate the young fellows for lack 
 of attention to Ada. Young ladies were exceedingly 
 scarce by comparison and there were numerous attempts 
 at tender attention to Ada. That young lady was not to 
 be snapped up, however, as a mere result of an exigency, 
 and had young ladies been even so plentiful as old maids 
 in the place from whence male immigration had streamed 
 toward the west, she had not, up to the time of Jack 
 Lacy's advent into her acquaintance, been overwhelmed 
 with the peculiar and particular desirability of special 
 male company or even a great deal of it, generally and 
 sporadically, so to speak. Nor was she even so sus 
 ceptible as to become suddenly and -irretrievably over 
 come by the blandishments of the versatile Mr. Lacy. 
 Yet she was greatly pleased with that debonair young 
 gentleman to the extent of her knowledge of him, which, 
 it must be admitted, was, fortunately for him, quite mea 
 gre at that juncture. - 
 
 Jack was. much the other way in the matter of sus-
 
 ADA BENSON 59 
 
 ceptibility, and as it is partly the motive of these chron 
 icles to puncture shams, and to do something in the way 
 of iconoclasm among trite old sayings, unwarranted but 
 general conclusions, and a great deal of unfounded be- 
 lief, it may be just as well to say right here that it does 
 not always follow, because one becomes easily attached 
 to, or fond of another, that this necessarily implies 
 fickleness. 
 
 On the contrary, quite the reverse. 
 
 Persons of an affectionate disposition are nearly always 
 the most faithful. Besides if they do not easily become 
 attached and give plain exhibitions cf their fondness how 
 can it be known that they are affectionate? 
 
 When affectionate, or let it be said, susceptible people, 
 find that the objects of their fondness are unworthy, then 
 it would be reprehensible in them to continue such at 
 tachments, and to relinquish them should not be regarded 
 as fickleness. 
 
 Jack was both susceptible and faithful. He had loved 
 quite a number of girls in his brief career, but when he 
 failed, after the most diligent investigation, to discover 
 any symptoms of reciprocity, he was thoroughly capable,
 
 60 ADA BENSON 
 
 vrithout disastrous results to himself, of foregoing quest or 
 
 explanation. 
 
 Indeed, it was a frequent remark from Jack, when up 
 braided for what seemed, sometimes, to be a lack of 
 tenacity on his part, particularly in business ventures, that 
 he knew "when to let go." . 
 
 This is a quality of discriminative sapience that is more 
 infrequent than might, prima facie, be supposed. Though 
 many persons have, in many ways, found it more difficult 
 to let go than it was to take hold. 
 
 This has often occurred in the matter of real estate 
 holdings in boom towns, and a remarkable case of the 
 same kind is illustrated in a story of a man who once, by 
 some means, got hold of an indignant and very active 
 bear by his exceedingly brief tail. 
 
 Let it not be understood that Jack Lacy became enam 
 ored of eligible young ladies in an infatuous and pur 
 poseless sort of way, notwithstanding that it had often 
 been in a manner apparently lacking calculation as to 
 results. He had indeed exhibited most commendable 
 taste, invariably, and he was sufficiently a philosopher 
 not to reprehend the taste of those young ladies who had 
 rejected his ardent and eloquent advances. Yet he had
 
 ADA BENSON 61 
 
 always been possessed of an abiding faith that if one of 
 them had been more lenient and had accepted his offers 
 to their legitimate culmination, she would have done a 
 good thing for him and perhaps for herself and society 
 generally. 
 
 "Nil desperandum," was Jack's unexpressed motto in 
 the matter, however, and he felt with regard to his nu 
 merous sorties, reconnoitres, advances and charges upon 
 the citadel of love, that vain as they had been heretofore 
 the result must be in his favor at last, for he believed that 
 if all things come to those who wait, something must 
 also, eventually, be reached by him, who doesn't wait, 
 but rather goes after it. 
 
 His earnestness in the matter of organizing the choir 
 had been reinforced by the advantages that apparently 
 must accrue to him in his latest and present case of 
 partiality. So he had labored diligently among those in 
 and out of his acquaintance who had exhibited capacity 
 for vocalization, or even premonitory symptoms of song 
 power. 
 
 Thus it was, that on the Wednesday evening ap 
 pointed, a sufficient multitude of persons had foregath 
 ered in Mr. Dawson's parlors to not only organize a
 
 62 ADA BENSON 
 
 choir for the tabernacle, so far as numbers were con 
 cerned, but to have provided a chorus for a carnival, had 
 the voices all been favorable to the numbers in another 
 sense. 
 
 Jack had endeavored not to exhibit any partiality in 
 his choice of people, and had also provided for the pos 
 sible, and even, as he supposed, probable, absence of that 
 usually unknown element which is generally more full of 
 promise than practice. 
 
 But this recruiting agent had overlooked one char 
 acteristic of humanity, in such places and under such cir 
 cumstances. He had overlooked the more or less exist 
 ent predilection of the average individual who harbors a 
 conviction that he can sing, to try it on the public. 
 
 Thus Mr. Lacy had created a quandary. To select 
 six or eight persons, out of a possible twenty, as desirable 
 factors in a singing corps, without, in the act of prefer 
 ence, making the matter an invidious affair, was some 
 thing as puzzling as the trouble of Agamemnon from 
 among the Grecian heroes. 
 
 So it came about that Jack and Ada must lay their 
 heads together, and though this was to be only a meta 
 phorical recumbence, simply indicative of a more or less
 
 ADA BENSON 63 
 
 confidential consultation and consideration, it entirely 
 compensated for the quandary, as to Jack, who would 
 have been equal to unnecessarily delaying the proceed 
 ings. Hence he was intentionally bereft of his usual 
 fruitfulness and ingenuity of resource on the subject in 
 hand, to a shameful degree. 
 
 It was finally agreed, however, that Dr. Price should 
 publicly explain the situation and the persons should 
 choose by election, after all the voices had been tried in 
 sextets, which of the sextets should be the choir. 
 
 The result of this was that Dr. Price arranged the 
 party into five companies, he sagely choosing from those 
 he knew tt) be the best or rather the least reprehensible 
 of the singers and placing them in the sextet with Miss 
 Benson and Mr. Lacy. 
 
 That sextet was immediately and unanimously chosen, 
 amid much hilarity, for if there is one thing more than 
 another that makes glad the heart of the average Amer 
 ican, it is an election. 
 
 Then the good pastor, with pardonable, even excusable 
 pseudology, commented in the most gratifying way upon 
 the alleged fact that it was a great pity all could not be 
 long to the choir, but consoled himself, and through
 
 64 ADA BENSON 
 
 himself the congregation of the tabernacle, that the serv 
 ices would be made more delightful by having so many 
 such superior voices in the general praise by song. 
 
 For this latter he had great good warrant, so to speak, 
 inasmuch as praise of the Great Giver is commendable, 
 whether it be in perfect vocalization or in the strident 
 tones of a fractured register. 
 
 The choir became a joy to Jack, whether or not it was 
 to the congregation of the tabernacle and others within 
 hearing of its well-intended efforts. It seemed, however, 
 to give widespread satisfaction and was highly corn- 
 mended, not only by the public but by the press of St. 
 Movadu. 
 
 There was one kind of harmony in it, at least.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A Confession. 
 
 No troubadour in days of yore, 
 
 E'er sang in accents free 
 A song so sweet at love's fair feet, 
 
 As I would sing to thee. 
 
 Geraldine. 
 
 "Have you ever heard anything bad about me, Miss 
 Ada?" said Mr. Jack Lacy to Miss Ada Benson, one 
 evening, as he was seeing her home from a choir meeting 
 at the tabernacle. 
 
 "Oh yes, I have heard ever so many awful things 
 about you," she replied. 
 
 "What were they?" 
 
 "It would shock you if I told." 
 
 "No, indeed, nothing would shock me that was said of 
 myself, unless I feared it might depreciate me in your 
 estimation." 
 
 Jack was not growing tender, he was simply about to 
 expose some of his tenderness. 
 
 He was always gentle, in his normal condition, but 
 
 (65)
 
 * 
 66 A CONFESSION 
 
 positively tigerish when aroused by indignation. 
 
 Besides matters had been progressing delightfully be 
 tween Mr. Lacy and Miss Benson. He had been estab 
 lished in the "Miss Ada" stage for some time, and she in 
 the "Mr. Jack," by mutual request, and that in itself was 
 quite significant. Besides the preference of these two 
 for each other's society had become so plain that the 
 other people, who always, everywhere, feel it their duty 
 to note and comment upon such affairs, had noted and 
 were commenting. 
 
 "You do me great honor, Mr. Jack;" she said in re 
 sponse to his last remark, "but you should really culti 
 vate more self-esteem," she smilingly continued. 
 
 "I'm going to do all sorts of self-cultivation now," 
 Jack returned, and the "now" bore a world of meaning. 
 "But I do want to know all the bad things you have 
 heard of me, and then I will know best what to alter. 
 Won't you tell me?" he pleaded. 
 
 "Why, yes; I am told that you do not care enough for 
 yourself; that you are at the beck and call of any one 
 who solicits your help; that you are too good-hearted, in 
 rhort. These are awful things to have said about you, 
 ain't they?"
 
 A CONFESSION 67 
 
 "Do you think so?" 
 
 "No, Mr. Jack. I don't think any one can possibly be 
 too helpful, or too good-hearted. But really I have heard 
 these things said of you in a deprecatory way." 
 
 "Well, they are correct in a certain sense. But I do 
 very little in the way of helping anybody. I haven't got 
 anything to help them with, besides there are no very 
 poor people here. There is one thing I do, however, too 
 much, and -that is what these talkers probably allude 
 to" 
 
 "I know; you give your services to everything in the 
 nature of an entertainment that is gotten up for the bene 
 fit of this or that end " ' 
 
 "I make myself common, you mean." 
 
 "Yes, if you choose to put it that way." 
 
 "Well, that was what I was thinking of when you 
 mentioned my helping everything." 
 
 "But it is not only that, Mr. Jack, you oh, what an 
 arraignment I am making of you." 
 
 "Go on; I like it." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because it shows you take some interest in me." 
 
 "You flatter yourself," s'he naively said.
 
 68 A CONFESSION 
 
 "Yes, I'm given to that." 
 
 "You are candid." 
 
 "Yes, now go on with your arraignment." 
 
 "I am told you sit up with sick people whom you 
 never knew until they were taken down; that you oh, 
 you do all sorts of things like that." 
 
 "Perhaps that is true, but then I like it." 
 
 "I am glad you do. It speaks volumes for you, but 
 gratitude is so scarce." 
 
 "Bread upon the waters." 
 
 "I have not had much experience, but somehow it 
 seems that bread upon the waters doesn't come back just 
 when one is the hungriest." 
 
 "I have noticed that myself. But you have not men 
 tioned the bad things about me that I was afraid you had 
 heard, and such things are always worse in appearance 
 when they come second-handed. May I tell you?" 
 
 "I would rather hear you tell bad things of yourself 
 than to listen to anyone else on that subject. But if they 
 are too bad I'd well I'd rather not hear them at all." 
 
 Jack's heart gave a great leap in delight. 
 
 "That is inexpressibly kind of you, Miss Ada, but you 
 will hear the things of which I am going to speak, and I
 
 A CONFESSION 69 
 
 would like to prepare you for them, Ada may I not say 
 Ada?" 
 
 "Yes," she softly replied. 
 
 "I would like to tell you a story about myself. I am 
 frightfully egotistical." 
 
 "I would be delighted to hear it." 
 
 They had arrived at the Dawson home, where Miss 
 Benson had become almost as one of the family. The 
 evening was one of St. Movadu's best an evening in 
 June following a day as warm as ever known in the 
 Puget Sound region, and that is not warmer than many 
 days in early spring elsewhere in the United States, near 
 the same latitude. The gibbous moon rode high in the 
 exalted heavens, with now and then a fleecy cloud pass 
 ing like a thin veil across her face. The stars that look 
 twice the size they do as seen from elsewhere, seemed 
 glad and neighborly, and there was a gentle breeze from 
 the broad bay that came over Duncan's Cove and up the 
 hillside to the Dawson house and on. 
 
 A wide portico that extended the length of the house's 
 front and some rustic seats, chairs and settees were there, 
 and a table. The hall door stood wide open and electric 
 lights illuminated that and the drawing room, and there
 
 70 A CONFESSION 
 
 were lights in other apartments of the residence, but none 
 
 of the household seemed astir. 
 
 Jack and Ada passed through the gate and up the 
 walk and the few steps that led to the portico, and stood 
 for a moment or two entranced with the scene below 
 them. They looked over the terraces of houses that 
 stood along the lower streets; over the roofs and chim 
 neys, down to the shimmering waters of the bay, 
 where the path of light danced beneath the moon from 
 the inner shore of the cove, out between the caulks of 
 the horse-shoe and across the bay to the wooded shores 
 beyond. 
 
 "Isn't it beautiful?" she said. 
 
 "It makes me feel mean," he laughed. "In all the 
 varying moods of these grand sights that I have seen I 
 have always been tempted to write about them." 
 
 "Is that mean?" she asked with feigned astonishment. 
 
 "Poetry." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "But some day I will write poetry." 
 
 "I am sure you write poetry now." 
 
 "Doggerel. Yet I know that I have poetry in me, but 
 it is so difficult to get it out. I often feel for the muses,
 
 A CONFESSION 71 
 
 
 
 they are towsled about so much by well-meaning 
 people and with so little good effect me among the 
 others." 
 
 "You are young yet, Mr. Jack, and I shall wait pa 
 tiently for you." 
 
 He almost caught her in his arms as he said: 
 
 "If you only would." 
 
 "Yes, I shall wait patiently for you to write some great 
 poetry and win fame in that glorious art. But now, 
 what was this story of yourself that you were going to 
 tell me?" 
 
 "It was not for the sake of talking about myself, Ada, 
 but as some defense of my character and certain short 
 comings." 
 
 "I think I know," she said, with charming tenderness, 
 peculiarly charming to Mr. Jack Lacy. "Please don't 
 apologize." 
 
 "It is this, Ada. I was brought up in the south, came 
 of an old southern family, and the surroundings of my 
 youth were full of sentiment, almost romance, and I 
 sometimes think I am Quixotic in many ways. I cer 
 tainly believe in the existence of chivalry and am dis 
 posed to fight a great many wrongs that perhaps I ex-
 
 72 A CONFESSION 
 
 i 
 
 aggerate, so far at least as they affect me, which they 
 would not at all if I chose, to ignore them. Thus I have 
 sometimes got a black eye from a windmill. Among the 
 people of my class, where I was raised, courtesy and 
 kindness and truth prevailed, and it was rare that any 
 one ever said anything or did anything calculated to 
 wound the feelings of another, unless it was done in 
 anger or by an open enemy. Sarcasm was unknown be 
 tween associates. 
 
 "A man who behaved himself and kept clean was re 
 garded an honest and honorable gentleman until he 
 proved to be the contrary by some overt act, or a covert 
 one that was discovered. I have found a great deal of 
 the contrary prevailing in many other regions where I 
 have been, and I have found that one is generally con 
 sidered untrustworthy until he proves the contrary." 
 
 "A strange sort of civilization," Ada interjected. 
 
 "Yes, but those of my sex who find fault with it and 
 resent it when affected by it are charged with being super- 
 sensitive." Jack was evidently beating about the bush. 
 
 "I don't know exactly why I mentioned these things 
 to you, Ada," he continued. "They are not what I 
 started to say."
 
 A CONFESSION 73 
 
 Then, with an effort, he plunged into the matter he 
 desired to explain. 
 
 "\ ne fact is, Ada, I have one great fault or have had 
 'that I feared you might have heard of." 
 
 She watched him closely and listened attentively. 
 
 "My associates were exceedingly social and convivial 
 in youth, and from them I acquired a habit 6f drinking 
 intoxicants, and not believing that I was endangering 
 myself I continued at it until two or three years ago, 
 when I found that I was doing my physical self, my 
 character and my opportunities in life much violence, 
 and determined to stop it. I did stop it, and then I 
 found myself struggling against an appetite that had 
 grown exceedingly strong. I fought it manfully, how 
 ever. But now and then under the influence of some un- 
 
 
 usual excitement, extraordinary occasion, or the worry 
 
 that exorcised sensitiveness has produced, I have given 
 away to that appetite and have drank too much. Some 
 times disgracefully too much, so far as my own dignity, 
 self-respect, business affairs and a desirable reputation for 
 steadiness are concerned. 
 
 "It was that, that I was afraid you had heard of, Ada. 
 It was this that I felt more uneasiness about than
 
 74 A CONFESSION 
 
 thing else. And I have thought more of it since I have 
 had the pleasure of your acquaintance than ever before in 
 my life." 
 
 "But now when you see it so plain, you will guard 
 yourself against k more closely, will you not?" 
 
 "Indeed I will, for your sake, Ada." 
 
 "No, for.your own sake, and those who love you your 
 mother and sisters, for yourself and all your friends." 
 
 "But won't you be one of them?" he pleaded. 
 
 "I am a deeply interested friend of yours, Mr. Jack." 
 
 "Won't you be more, Ada?" he said, rising and taking 
 both her hands, "I believe that if you would give me 
 leave to live for you I would not only be steady forever 
 and forever, but I would be ambitious for fame and 
 wealth and everything that would make you happier. 
 That I know would exalt me to the very fenith of happi 
 ness, and I would work so hard for it all for you." 
 
 "Dear Jack, you are so good," she sighed. 
 
 "I love you Ada, with all my soul, and it is a pure, 
 white soul, Ada, barring the taint I told you of." 
 
 "That can be washed away, Mr. Jack." 
 
 "Indeed it can. I will wash it away in my love for 
 you. B Won't you love me a little, Ada?"
 
 A CONFESSION 75 
 
 "A great deal," she murmured, and Mr. Jack Lacy 
 folded Miss Ada Benson to his heart and kissed her 
 sweet lips with all the fervor of a pure and healthy pas 
 sion. 
 
 "If I am true to my promise and do something to 
 show you that I will prove a loving, protecting and 
 worthy mate, you will be my wife, won't you, Ada 
 darling?" 
 
 "Yes," she whispered, and Mr. Jack Lacy kissed her 
 again, registered an inward vow that he would conquer 
 the world for this sweet creature. He would mafte for 
 her a home that would be an Eden compared to which 
 no mortal couple ever dreamed of, in-so-far as comfort 
 and love and happiness were concerned. 
 
 Naturally enough Mr. Jack Lacy would have stood 
 there holding that lovely girl in his arms, until he would 
 have been utterly unable, from sheer exhaustion, to begin 
 early next day the work of preparing his material Eden, 
 but for the fact that Miss Benson, being possessed of 
 much more practical capacity for building Edens than 
 he was, gently released herself from him and said: 
 
 "You must go now. It is time I should be in doors." 
 He reluctantly admitted the truth of that, and was
 
 76 A CONFESSION 
 
 walking to the door of the hall with her, when they heard 
 a light step approaching. Jack stood decorously apart 
 as Mrs. Dawson's kind and gentle face appeared in 
 the light from the incandescent globe, and taking Miss 
 Benson distantly by the hand as if giving her the most 
 conventional of good-bye salutes, he said: 
 
 "Yes, the choir sang much better than I expected 
 it would in such a short rehearsal ah, good evening, 
 Mrs. Dawson." Following her gentle return of the 
 salutation, he added: 
 
 "You ought to have heard the choir's rehearsal for 
 next Sunday. It was great. But you will hear it Sunday. 
 I am afraid it is very late. So good-night, Mrs. Dawson, 
 good-night, Miss-a-Benson." 
 
 Love is such a liar!
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 Independence Day. 
 
 High flies the flag of freedom and Columbia to-day, 
 And gracefully 'tis draping in the breezes from the bay; 
 Bright shines the gleaming galaxy of interlinking stars, 
 While stream in undulating waves its white and crimson bars. 
 
 Two Songs of Single Tune. 
 
 Even as early as May, of St. Movadu's second year, the 
 patriotic and enthusiastic builders of that phenomenal 
 city began to talk earnestly about celebrating the com 
 ing Fourth of July, and in a short time it had been de 
 termined that this thing should be done in a manner 
 characteristic of the place and its people. 
 
 Committees on this, that and the other, to act for the 
 end suggested, were appointed at meetings of the Ajax 
 Club and the Chamber of Commerce from these bodies, 
 and a mass meeting was held in the tabernacle to make 
 other arrangements; to appoint additional committees 
 and to raise the necessary funds. As to the latter, a 
 sufficient amount was subscribed in the course of half an 
 hour, and it reached up far into the thousands of dollars. 
 
 (77)
 
 78 INDEPENDENCE DAY 
 
 The chairman of the meeting requested the people of 
 the audience to announce from their seats what they were 
 willing to give in furtherance of the occasion, and the 
 list was headed by James Woodruff with a "cool five 
 hundred." Others followed in rapid succession with 
 equal amounts and then they began to drop to two 
 hundred, and one hundred, and fifty, and twenty-five, 
 according to the financial ability o<f the donors. 
 
 Money was almost as plenty those days in St. Movadu 
 as are leaves in Vallambrosa, according to common re 
 port and tradition. 
 
 From the time of the mass meeting until the con 
 summation of the object for which it was held had been 
 achieved, the coming celebration was continually on the 
 tongues of all patriots in that prosperous, wide-awake 
 and happy community. The people of neighboring cities 
 and towns were invited to participate, en masse, and not 
 content with giving even such great signs of broad hos 
 pitality as that, a committee was dispatched to the Brit 
 ish Columbia cities and towns, of the northward, with 
 pressing invitations to the people there to come and join 
 in the celebration of a Declaration which eventuated in 
 freeing from the crown to which they were yet subject
 
 INDEPENDENCE DAY 79 
 
 what is now the Republic that commemorates the most 
 successful rebellion recorded in history. 
 
 Two or three days before the great day had arrived, 
 the people of St. Movadu were engaged in decorating the 
 walls and windows and streets of the city with evergreens 
 and banners, flags, mottoes, garlands and arches, to give 
 a pleasing appearance and a glorious welcome to their 
 visitors, and to make as happy as possible the great 
 event. 
 
 The day came bright and clear and balmy, and with it 
 throngs of people from every direction, by rail and sail, 
 in all sorts of vehicles, on horseback and on foot, and 
 great steamers, laden with multitudes of our British 
 cousins, rounded to, majestically, at the wharves and dis 
 charged their processions, among which were borne in 
 great numbers the flags of Britain and America grace 
 fully draped together. Bands of music headed the 
 crowds from each of the steamers, and all were welcomed 
 by masses of the people of St. Movadu, and other cities 
 on the southern side of the line, with cheers and the 
 music of bands from the city and other places that had 
 already gathered there. A vast, temporary wooden 
 structure had been erected and gaily decorated for the
 
 80 INDEPENDENCE DAY 
 
 oratorical and musical exercises of the occasion; besides 
 which every outdoor sport common to the people of both 
 nations had been prepared for and were carried on. 
 
 / 
 
 Cricket, base ball, la crosse, bicycle races, a greased pig 
 and a greased pole, foot races, jumping matches, and 
 indeed fun, amusement and entertainment for everybody 
 were provided. 
 
 When the time came for the exercises in the great 
 building the place was crowded to the fullest, and yet 
 thousands were unable to gain admission, the large ma 
 jority of whom, however, were, happily, more interested 
 in the sports and other entertaining features of the day. 
 
 The most brilliant orator of the state had been secured 
 for the leading address, and one or two eminent speakers 
 from the British side delivered appropriate speeches. 
 
 The general committee of arrangements had some 
 weeks previously requested Jack Lacy to prepare a poem 
 
 
 
 for the occasion. The versatile Mr. Lacy, for the first 
 time in his life, was placed before an obstacle that ap 
 palled him. How to write a poem glowing with Amer 
 ican patriotism, celebrating the Republic's greatest holi 
 day, and at the same time one that would fall easily upon 
 the ears </f subjects of Great Britain, was a question that
 
 INDEPENDENCE DAY 81 
 
 worried him, and was a problem most difficult of solu 
 tion. But Lacy was not disposed to allow any obstacle to 
 thwart him, so he had accepted the task, and fought with 
 it through many days and nights. Two or three days 
 previous, however, to the Fourth of July, the idea of two 
 songs of single tune came to him like an inspiration. It 
 occurred to him that "My country Tis of Thee," our 
 own national hymn "America," and "God Save the 
 Queen" the British national hymn were set to the 
 same music. Made happy with this thought the always 
 obliging rhymster caught up the first sheets of blank f 
 paper within his reach, and quickly produced the verses 
 that follow, and which, in a strong, musical and sym 
 pathetic voice, he read from memory, amid the enthusi 
 astic applause of both the gathered peoples. 
 
 These are the lines: 
 
 High flies the flag of Freedom and Columbia to-day, 
 And gracefully 'tis draping in the breezes from the bay. 
 Bright shine the gleaming galaxy of interlinking stars, 
 While stream in undulating waves its white and crimson bars. 
 To-day the sons of Britain and America are here, 
 To meet in friendly greeting and with wholesome, hearty cheer, 
 Not, like in old colonial days, in grim and hostile ranks, 
 But brethren, from one common stock, enlightenment's phalanx.
 
 82 INDEPENDENCE DAY 
 
 We've met again, like freemen, to closer weave the bands 
 That bind the kindred people of these our kindred lands, 
 And to hear the same rich music, that in one swelling pean, 
 Doth blend "My Country Tis of Thee" with grand "God Save 
 the Queen." 
 
 We've come to praise the heroes that freedom's battle won, 
 As British stars of letters and statesmanship have done, 
 In days of war and days of peace, in forum, field and home, 
 Wher'er the British drumbeat's heard beneath the ether dome. 
 
 From eloquence of mighty Pitt, who gave fair justice tongue, 
 To praises of George Washington that gifted Byron sung; 
 From Green, the grand historian of Britain's rule and sway, 
 To Cobden, Bright and Gladstone, of her brilliant latter day. 
 
 With Macaulay, and with Thackeray and other glorious men 
 Who Britain's glory have enriched by mitre, sword and pen, 
 Whose breadth and wealth of candor magnanimously gave 
 The meed of praise and honor to our noble, true and brave. 
 
 We come as co-enjoyers of this bright western land, 
 Divided only by a line of fast-dissolving sand, 
 To clasp the hand in kindness, to bring each other joy; 
 To find surcease from daily toil and carking care's alloy. 
 
 So let the nation's bells ring out, and all her banners wave, 
 While Freedom's light from Freedom's sun the blessed land shall 
 lave;
 
 INDEPENDENCE DAY 83 
 
 Let cross-the-border brethren, and kinsmen here, be gay, 
 While blow the cornets, beat the drums, for Independence Day. 
 
 Fling out the flag that patriots have trusting followed, when 
 Dread battle's blight has tried the souls of truest, bravest men, 
 And when betimes 'twas only seen within the rifting cloud 
 Before whose leaden storm &i hail War's sable plume has bowed. 
 
 And while the bells are ringing and joy is everywhere; 
 While Harmony is singing two songs of single air, 
 We'll praise the God of nations and one undying love, 
 And bow in grateful thankfulness for blessings from above. 
 
 And let us hope the pattern set, by Anglo-Saxon sires, 
 Who lit for all humanity sweet Freedom's altar fires, 
 May win till all the nations shall stand beside us here, 
 Unawed by any despot's rule or aught to make them fear. 
 
 Then higher yet the banner of Columbia shall fly, 
 And brighter shine the gleaming stars against its azure sky; 
 And yet more gracefully shall wave its bars of red and white, 
 An emblem and a talisman of perfect human right. 
 
 Before the committee of the Ajax club, a week or two 
 previous to the celebration, Major Stamina had made a 
 speech something like this: 
 
 "Gentlemen, I want to be appointed a committee of 
 one, and no question asked, to get up a feature for the
 
 84 INDEPENDENCE DAY 
 
 Fourth, and I'll make it a corker and no mistake. I'll 
 
 bring something here that you can bet your lives will 
 
 make a sensation clean out of sight. Just say the word, 
 
 let me alone, and I'll be on time with the feature of the 
 
 day." 
 
 The committee knew Major Stamina would do some 
 thing remarkable, and they were glad to appoint him "a 
 committee of one with no questions asked." 
 
 A day or two afterward, Major Stamina suddenly dis 
 appeared from the city, but returned on the following day 
 looking very mysterious, his eyes twinkling, in portrayal 
 of perfect self-satisfaction. When asked where he had 
 been, and what he had been doing, he replied: "I've 
 been 'tending to my committee work, and I'll be there 
 with both feet, and don't you forget it. No mistake, 
 gentlemen." 
 
 The major was missed again on the evening preceed- 
 ing the Fourth, but early on the morning of that glorious 
 day he was seen coming from across the bay, standing in 
 the bow of one of five huge Indian canoes, of which 
 fleet he appeared to be the masterful commodore. These 
 canoes, one after another, shot into Duncan's Cove, and 
 were beached upon the sand-bar described early in this
 
 INDEPENDENCE DAY 85 
 
 faithful chronicle. It was then known that Major 
 Stamina's committee work consisted in the organization 
 of an Indian canoe race. The major had visited the 
 nearest Indian reservation, and, for a purse offered by 
 himself, had engaged this intensely interesting feature for 
 the amusements of the occasion. Immediately after the 
 exercises in the great wooden pavilion it was announced 
 that the canoe race would occur. 
 
 These canoes were about forty feet in length, and, 
 when empty, were so light that they danced upon the 
 waters like a cork. For this occasion each one of the 
 five canoes that Major Stamina had secured was manned 
 by ten athletic Indians, dressed in the simple garb of 
 their own copper-colored cuticle, barring a breech clout 
 about the hips, and a scarf of bright and varied colors 
 tied across tihe forehead and knotted at the back of the 
 head of each stalwart Si wash. 
 
 When the time for the race had arrived, a tug-boat 
 with the major and a few chosen friends, among them 
 Lacy, Van Waters, and the honorable orators of the day, 
 escorted the canoes to a buoy, about a mile out in the 
 bay, where they were given a fair start, the tug following
 
 86 INDEPENDENCE DAY 
 
 them in to near the goal, which was at the beach in the 
 
 cove previously mentioned. 
 
 From every point in St. Movadu, along the shores of 
 the cove, upon the bluffs, on the tops of houses, and at 
 distances from which the race could only be witnessed 
 through the aid of field glasses, people stood in such 
 numbers as the places could possibly accommodate. 
 
 The canoes started from the buoy with a dash that 
 seemed to make them lift from the waters as if they were 
 flying fish. Then they settled to the work, and came 
 careering over the rippling surface of the bay like a 
 string of thoroughbreds at a Derby race. They appeared 
 almost as small as flying fish in the distance, but rapidly 
 increased in size as they advanced, foaming at each prow. 
 
 As nearer and nearer they came, and the people were 
 enabled to distinguish the colors worn by the oarsmen of 
 each canoe, choices were made and wagers were laid 
 among those on the shore according to fancy. 
 
 As the canoes entered the cove, they were almost per 
 fectly aligned, and it could be seen that the streaming 
 faces of the Indians exhibited a deep eagerness to win 
 the race. There were yet about five-hundred feet be 
 tween the bows of the canoes and the goal of the race.
 
 INDEPENDENCE DAY 87 
 
 At this point a canoe at the center bore gracefully to the 
 front, the two on either side feathering to the rear as the 
 ja, of a spear, the fleet shaping like the flight of wild 
 geese. The shining muscles and strained sinews of every 
 Indian stood out like carvings in bas-relief, but the spear 
 shape was not lost until its poin* touched the sands, and 
 then, from the mere release of intense interest that had 
 held the great throng of witnesses to the strange scene, 
 there went up a simultaneous shout from all the immense 
 throng except the panting contestants, who flung them 
 selves upon the sands, into the edge of the water, and in 
 the bottoms of their canoes, as if utterly exhausted from 
 their exertions. 
 
 Major Stamina, was wildly exultant. He had supplied 
 the feature of the day. 
 
 "And no mistake."
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The Ajax Club. 
 
 I walked by the sea and picked up a shell, 
 
 Thrown out on the scalloped shore, 
 And listened to hear what it could tell 
 
 It crooned the city's dull roar 
 I threw it far back in the foaming sea; 
 
 It's song was a dreary drone; 
 A story of sorrow and pain to me 
 
 The memory of a 'moan 
 
 Ita Est. 
 
 "Humming, ain't she, major?" 
 
 "Say, my son, this is the biggest preposition that ever 
 struck the earth, and we are fairly in it." 
 
 That was the beginning of a conversation between Van 
 Waters and Major Stamina one fine morning in Septem 
 ber, about the time when St. Movadu had reached the 
 zenith of her wonderful start. The major stood upon the 
 marble steps at the Duncan avenue front of the St. 
 Movadu National bank, and had been looking in every 
 direction with evident satisfaction, for the major's local 
 patriotism and all other kinds of patriotism, as to that 
 
 (88)
 
 THE AJAX CLUB 89 
 
 was immeasurable. He had seen the beautiful little city 
 grow up all around him, had been a potent factor in it 
 all, and naturally he was pleased and proud. 
 
 Indeed, Newton Morse's foresight in the selection of 
 the spot, and his money to give it the start, had only 
 made the work of these other two men possible, for 
 otherwise it might be said that they had built the city, 
 Stamina by his wonderful work as a schemer for what 
 should be done, and his ability to make people see the ad 
 vantages of the situation and induce them to invest; 
 Van Waters with his brilliant and incisive newspaper, 
 that had gone gossiping to the ends of the earth, picking 
 up men of all kinds, who love to be at the building of 
 something, and leading them to the place. 
 
 Van Waters stepped up beside Major Stamina, and 
 standing there together they looked down the broad 
 avenue to where it ended at the great dock alongside 
 of which lay craft from every quarter of the globe, with 
 hundreds of busy stevedores, longshoremen, shipping 
 clerks, sailors and all that, engaged about the vessels 
 and among the mighty piles of freight and merchandise 
 that the ships were receiving and discharging. 
 
 On both sides of the avenue tall blocks of widely
 
 90 THE AJAX CLUB 
 
 varying styles of business architecture, walled the wide 
 way. Hurrying and business-bent streams of men, wo 
 men in beautiful costumes, carriages, omnibuses, drays, 
 and other vehicles, bright and cosmopolitan looking, 
 street cars, driven by electricity or drawn by cable all 
 the signs of a great business mart, were before those two 
 men, who had stopped to breathe and gossip a minute 
 and who also looked toward the other end of the avenue, 
 which continuing for some distance with the same char 
 acteristics, began to break at last, toward the hills, with 
 the handsome homes and lawns that faced the avenue 
 sides, until that thoroughfare had climbed a mighty hill 
 upon which shone the facades of institutions of learning, 
 many churches, a grand theatre and a public library, with 
 porticos and pillars, the crown of an acropolis. 
 
 Covering two floors of the bank building, upon whose 
 steps these men stood, were the rooms of the Ajax club, 
 an organization that had begun in an ambitious way as 
 soon as St. Movadu had obtained a fair start, its mem 
 bership composed largely of the brightest and most en 
 terprising men of the city, not only for the general pur 
 pose for which gentlemen's clubs are usually organized,
 
 THE AJAX CLUB 91 
 
 but really more for the purpose of advancing the city's 
 material interests. 
 
 Van Waters and Stamina were both members and di 
 rectors of this club. Van Waters had originated the idea 
 of it, and he had been honored by being allowed to select 
 a name for it. Facetiously and with the forcible spirit of 
 the man, he had called it "Ajax," "because," he said, 
 "it will defy the lightning, or any other element." He 
 discovered afterward that there vas one thing at least 
 that it could not defy, successfully. 
 
 This club caused the printing and circulation of doc 
 uments, profusely illustrated with half-tone engravings, 
 of attractive features of the place and vicinity, and por 
 traits of leading men. It was always prepared to take 
 hold of, receive, feast and fill any capitalist, statesman or 
 other, more or less distinguished, or important person, 
 who might visit St. Movadu, and impress him. It gath 
 ered in, now and then, a star actor or lecturer, that the 
 club believed would talk in glowing terms about St. 
 Movadu on his travels. And then the club had set days 
 or rather evenings for function 1 ; among its own mem 
 bers, and "ladies' day" came once a month, when the fair 
 ones, young and old, the leading spirits of society, were
 
 92 THE AJAX CLUB 
 
 entertained with music and ices, and distinguished at 
 tention, by the club members. 
 
 Alas! "Society" had gotten into this well-intended 
 club, and the thought and fact which elicited the ex 
 clamation at the beginning of this sentence, are and were 
 that this was the kind of society that so many times, in 
 young western cities, grows too suddenly, and with it a 
 lot of mushroom, toad-stool stuff, the product of the 
 newly rich; the alleged "400;" the sublimation of pitiful 
 parvenuism, that makes sensible people sick, after such 
 sens' le people have laughed sufficiently at the painful 
 absurdities of the prancing ninnies. 
 
 "Everything going ahead great, old man," said Major 
 Stamina, slapping Van Waters familiarly on the s'houlder. 
 
 And it should here be explained that Major Stamina's 
 offices were in the bank building, together with the offices 
 of numbers of other real estate men, lawyers, doctors and 
 dentists, but it was only for a few moments every day that 
 Stamina saw his splendid and well systematized offices; 
 where he kept several clerks, bookkeepers, typewriters 
 and the like at work. The open air was his most used 
 office. He was a man of deeds, and push, and energy, 
 and the outside, in his strong buggy, behind his dull-
 
 THE AJAX CLUB 93 
 
 looking but serviceable flea-bitten roan, was his field of 
 performance. 
 
 "Yes, indeed," replied Van Waters. "It begins to 
 look as if we could take a rest now for a while, major." 
 
 "Rest! Great heavens, man, I don't want to rest! I 
 ain't tired. I want to see this town grow so big that we 
 won't have room between here and the mountains to 
 
 build it on. And that's what she's going to do too." 
 
 *. 
 
 "My faith has never wavered for an instant, but " 
 "But what? Why, bless your life, man, if it hadn't 
 been for you and the "Times" St. Movadu wouldn't be as 
 much as a hole in the woods." 
 
 "There are a whole lot of things worrying me, major." 
 "Well, then, let's go and take a drink. I'll take a cigar 
 and you can take champagne. I've noticed that cham 
 pagne has done you a sight of good many a time. Braced 
 you up for the time being, and braced you for a long time 
 after it had made you sick and you'd got over it." 
 
 "This election is bothering me, major. The time has 
 come when we've got to take every part of the city man 
 agement out of the hands of fellows who are getting hold 
 of it to trade on, select the officials and rob the tax 
 payers. These mining camp features must be blotted
 
 94 THE AJAX CLUB 
 
 out. St. Movadti has got beyond that, and moreover, 
 we don't want to have any of the dive political boss sys 
 tem fastened on to us." 
 
 "That's all right, old man, you .andle that end of the 
 show. You can do it and I'll stand by you." 
 
 "Yes, but the devil of it is, major, I'm getting decidedly 
 tired of doing all that sort of thing without any sort of 
 gratitude for i<t from any source and in fact being 
 treated as if I were hired to do all that is done through the 
 "Times" without any hope of anything but my salary." 
 
 "What do you want? Want to go to Congress?" 
 
 "Congress be blasted! No, I want something safe for 
 the future. And I want a chance, while I'm making great 
 men of such dod-gasted poor material, to get a solid 
 hold on the earth." 
 
 "Well, I thought if you wanted to go to Congress we'd 
 send you ; but what the devil we'd do while you were off 
 there rusticating around, so to speak, I don't know. 
 What's the matter with your business? Ain't you mak 
 ing money?" 
 
 "You are so all-of-a-sudden, and going it all the time 
 that you don't see the situation, but then why should
 
 THE AJAX CLUB 95 
 
 you? I can't expect you to be bothered with my inter 
 ests, old man." 
 
 "But I will. What's the matter?" 
 
 "Well, the fact is just this. You know I'm no business 
 man. They pay me a good salary over yonder, and then 
 s:nd every subscription paper that is started, to build 
 this, that and the other, or to advance every blooming 
 scheme on earth they send 'em to me." 
 
 "Who does?" 
 
 "The company." 
 
 "Tell 'em to go to Guinea." 
 
 "But they won't go. Meantime the company is getting 
 hold of all the stock of the "Times," and now that Newton 
 Morse has quit business, gone to Europe, studying gram 
 mar and putting on airs, they have begun to think that I 
 am getting along too well and they are fixing to freeze 
 me out." 
 
 "Say, Van Waters, in these days I'm prepared to be 
 lieve almost anything about them fool critters, that comes 
 witn any degree of authenticity, but I want to tell you, 
 old man, that you are pushing me just a leetle too far on 
 this. Why, man, them critters can't be that blind to their 
 own interests not to speak of gratitude."
 
 96 THE AJAX CLUB 
 
 "Tnere are two things, yea three to plagiarize Sol 
 omon a little 'that are too opaque for their devotees to 
 see through fairly. These are religious bigotry, avari- 
 ciousness and shoddy society." 
 
 "Well, what's that got to do with you?" 
 
 "A great deal in this instance. Old Grayhunt, the new 
 president, represents religious bigotry; Jim Keen, the 
 secretary, represents avariciousness, and Watt Phelps, the 
 treasurer, represents shoddy aristocracy or at least his 
 wife does, and she comes very near bossing the entire 
 job." 
 
 "But say, Van, you've got more religion of the right 
 kind in your little finger than old Grayhunt has in his 
 whole carcass. Keen never had five dollars in his life 
 until Morse brought him here and gave him some stock, 
 and Watt Phelps was born a mule-skinner, and his wife's 
 mother was a char-woman in Chicago, to my certain 
 knowledge, descended from a long line of wharf-raits, so 
 far back as the rats know." 
 
 "But can't you see, major, that all this only makes the 
 matter worse?" 
 
 "Say, Van, lets go get that drink. You need it, and 
 you'll drive me to some bad habit -yet," -
 
 THE AJAX CLUB 97 
 
 "All right, I'll go." 
 
 "Where'll we go?" 
 
 "Down to Kingsbury's. That fellow has developed in a 
 mighty peculiar way. Remember in the old days when 
 he kept a real decent grocery store down there where 
 Samson's block is now?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And he took to running a saloon?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What do you reckon he ever did that for?" 
 
 "To make money, I suppose." 
 
 "That's it, and he's done it. He puts every dollar he 
 clears into town lots, too. Sensible in that. I reckon 
 he's worth a cool hundred thousand." 
 
 "In town lots?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Tell you another thing. I believe one of the things 
 that made ihim go into the saloon business was to get 
 more leisure to sit down and talk to Jack Lacy." 
 
 "But Jack has been straight for a long time now." 
 
 "Yes, but he spends every minute he can spare down 
 there talking to Kingsbury, if it isn't the right time of day
 
 98 THE AJAX CLUB 
 
 f 
 
 for him to see that pooty school-marm. Bet he's there 
 now." 
 
 By this time Van and the major had reached Kings- 
 bury's. They passed through a side door and into a little 
 private room, of which there were several in the place, all 
 of them furnished richly, with mahogany tables, easy and 
 heavy chairs, moquet carpets, and the walls adorned 
 with excellent engravings, expensively framed. The 
 main establishment, which also contained a number of 
 the finest billiard tables, was a wonder of art in the 
 different lines necessary to its furnishing, but as we will 
 have no special business there, and shall spend no time 
 in that part of the place, the description of it will be dis 
 missed with the statement, that it was one of the most 
 gorgeous establishments of its kind known in any city of 
 the west, where the most extravagantly superb liquor 
 saloons in the world are to be found. All of which proves 
 that in no other business is money so copiously spent as 
 in the bar-rooms of American cities,, nor so profusely 
 used to make these places attractive, and to out-rival 
 each other. 
 
 Van Waters and Major Stamina seated themselves at
 
 THE AJAX CLUB 99 
 
 the table of the room they occupied, the major having 
 first touched the button to an electric annunciator. 
 
 A waiter appeared immediately and Major Stamina 
 said: 
 
 "Bring me a light perfecto. What'll you have, Van?" 
 
 "The same thing; only let mine be strong." 
 
 "The dickens. I thought you were going to have 
 some wine?" 
 
 "No, thank you. I just want to rest and smoke and 
 have a little further talk, major." 
 
 "Well, I'm really glad of it, though you had blame 
 nigh provoked me into getting somebody to take a drink 
 for me." 
 
 Meantime the servant had appeared with the two 
 cigars, in a glass, and that of either man was easily 
 chosen by its color. The cigars were lighted and Van 
 Waters changed his position to a recumbent one on a 
 sofa, where he lazily smoked. Major Stamina, who 
 probably had never lain down in his life, except when he 
 deliberately went to bed to sleep, retained his position." 
 
 "Ladies' day at the club yesterday," Van Waters sen- 
 tentiously remarked. 
 
 "Yes. Didn't see you there."
 
 100 THE AJAX CLUB 
 
 "I was there, only a few minutes." 
 
 "Didn't stay long myself, and I didn't see Mrs. Van 
 and Grace." 
 
 "No; they've quit going." 
 
 "That daughter Grace of yours is getting to be a 
 splendid woman." 
 
 "Yes, I call her my grand-daughter." 
 
 "Oh, I'd bet on you for that, but then she is a grand 
 girl." 
 
 "The pride and ambition of mv life." 
 
 "But why have they quit going?" 
 
 "Got too toney for them." 
 
 "Say, Van, that Phelps woman will have to be taken 
 down a button-hole or two. She is raising old Ned in 
 this town among the women. People that are not in 
 her so-called set are worried a heap by her. Of course 
 she ain't bothering me any, but I hate to see such frip 
 pery beggar-on-horseback business." 
 
 "You seem to hit the keynote every time. How do you 
 do it, major?" 
 
 "I don't know just naturally see things somehow." 
 
 "Well, to be candid with you, major, that is one of the 
 things that have been annoying me, and I'm ashamed to
 
 THE AJAX CLUB 101 
 
 own it to myself. For the truth is that individually I 
 don't care anything more about that sort of cattle than I 
 do about a stray dog. Fact is I'm a little leery of a dog 
 that I don't know." 
 
 "Heap of church at the bottom of it, I think." 
 
 "Well, yes, and no. Myself and family have been 
 Episcopalians for generations. I don't remember when 
 I couldn't recite from memory the creed and catechism, 
 Litany and all that sort of thing, and when Dr. Hamilton 
 came here to establish St. Paul's parish and his little 
 Episcopal chapel, I went into the matter heart and 
 soul" 
 
 "As usual" 
 
 "No, it seemed more like we could have something of 
 the nature that I was familiar with, and for Nan and 
 Grace's sake, too more especially, in fact, I wanted it. 
 But some of these blame fool women Phelps and her 
 following took it into their heads that it would be fash 
 ionable, exclusive, toney, or something of that sort, and 
 though they didn't know the Morning Service from the 
 Odes of Anacreon, blame me if they didn't take posses 
 sion of the whole thing and proceed at once to make the 
 house of the Lord on the Episcopal side, too sultry alto-
 
 102 THE AJAX CLUB 
 
 gether for anything this side of the place that churches 
 are supposed to save people from." 
 
 "House steam-heated?" asked the major with a 
 chuckle. 
 
 "No, hot-air. ' There was Ada Benson, for instance, as 
 sweet and pure a girl as there is on the earth, born and 
 bred an Episcopalian; they snubbed her because she was 
 only a sdhool-teacher, and in every possible direction 
 that outfit have made the town a misery to women who 
 don't belong to what they call their set, and the worst of 
 it is that in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred this bevy 
 of shoddyites are not anywhere near as well-bred, in 
 telligent and accomplished as the people -they are per 
 secuting. They've carried this thing into Ladies' Day 
 at the club, and have, as a consequence, extended it to the 
 husbands and sweethearts of the ostracised women. Poor 
 old Jack Lacy, for instance, you never see him at the club 
 now-a-days, and you know he was the life of everything 
 in the good old times, when we were all alike here, and 
 before those who have got rich on town lots, grew to be 
 better than you and me and the men who have done the 
 work. We have been busy building a city, they have 
 profited by our achievement, and while we have been at
 
 THE AJAX CLUB 103 
 
 that they have been erecting a nasty little '400' around 
 us to ostracise our families." 
 
 "Well, what are you going to do about it?" queried the 
 major in a sad sort of way. 
 
 "Nothing, except that I'll keep my contingent out of. 
 it, and I'll give it to 'em in the Times,' together with the 
 religious bigotry business." 
 
 "I see you have been doing some of that already, and 
 that is what is getting old Grayhunt and company down 
 on you. Well, go it, old man, and if they work you out of 
 the 'Times' we'll give you another newspaper." 
 
 "Whoop! I want to lick a home-made dude!" was an 
 exclamation that came in the tones of a man wildly 
 drunk, from the main hall of the saloon. 
 
 "Great heavens!" exclaimed Van Waters, "there is 
 Jack Lacy on another drunk." 
 
 "Too bad, too bad," almost groaned the major. But 
 he touched the button of the annunciator and when the 
 servant showed his face, the major said: 
 
 "Go and tell Mr. Lacy I want to see him." 
 
 In less than a minute Jack Lacy burst in at the door, 
 exclaiming in a jolly drunken man's way:
 
 104 THE AJAX CLUB 
 
 
 
 "Hello, major! How're you, Van? Le's take a 
 drink?" 
 
 "No, you wont," coolly remarked the major. "You've 
 had enough now to make the Sphinx of Egypt drunk, 
 and I want you to quit." He touched the bell-push 
 ajain. 
 
 "This will make your friends feel awful, Jack. You 
 have been straight so long," said Van Waters. 
 
 "Don't care a d : n," said the boozy Jack. "They've 
 been imposing on my sweetheart, an' I want to lick 
 somebody." 
 
 "S h! That's no way to talk," said Van Waters, and 
 at the same moment the servant had been in and the 
 major had told him to ring for a carriage. 
 
 The conversation that ensued between the three men 
 was only of the character necessary to quiet Lacy, on the 
 part of the major and Van Waters, and drunken expostu 
 lations from Jack, who soon relented. The carriage was 
 at the door, and the three men entered and drove away. 
 
 "Society" had even touched poor Jack Lacy with its 
 cruel fingers.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 
 
 A Close Call. 
 
 The tiger's cub was gentle, and it played with a little child; 
 Its feet were velvet cushions, and its brown eyes meek and mild; 
 The changes came so softly that its playmate had not seen 
 The cruel claws in velvet and the brown eyes glinting green; 
 Then came a gallant lancer a good, gray man, and bold, 
 Who slew the snarling tiger with his gleaming spear of gold. 
 
 The Spear of Gold- 
 Major Stamina and Van Waters landed poor Jack at 
 a place of comfort and safety that proved to be the great 
 est blessing of Lacy's physical life, for with his really 
 good intentions and with his pure and intense love for 
 Ada Benson he afterward weathered life's storms in a 
 good strong way that was satisfactory to himself and 
 his friends. 
 
 Before it could be noised abroad in St. Movadu that 
 Lacy had been misled into another of his old tilts with that 
 enemy who can down a king, and often has done so, Ada 
 had been informed that it had become necessary for Mr. 
 Lacy to leave, immediately, on a very important errand 
 
 (105)
 
 106 A CLOSE CALL 
 
 for the "Times" on which he had been working some 
 months as an alert and efficient reporter, and as quickly 
 as the mail could return Miss Benson would receive let 
 ters from Mr. Lacy's own hand. 
 
 A faithful man was sent with Lacy by steamer and rail 
 to a hot springs sanitarium among the mountains, and 
 after a week there, in charge of a fatherly old physician, a 
 friend for many years of Major Stamina, fully informed 
 of all the particulars and necessities of the occasion, Lacy 
 came out once more as bright as a dollar, and armed 
 forever against the further attacks of the insidious foe 
 that had so often taken him down, strong man as he was, 
 like the many-armed octopus of the deep gathers the 
 best swimmers and the strongest fighter in its slimy 
 tentacles. 
 
 Letters that were white lies came plentifully from 
 Jack, and were reinforced by the major and Van Waters, 
 and so Lacy's last failure in the path of steadiness was not 
 known to Ada until many years afterward, when the little 
 fraud was laughed at because it was so old and tottering 
 and weakened and forgiveable. 
 
 Meantime, during Lacy's absence, occurred the most
 
 A CLOSE CALL 107 
 
 important municipal election that St. Movadu had ever 
 had or probably ever will have. 
 
 The little city had arisen above the "camp" condition, 
 and yet there was a strong remnant of it dangerous to 
 its future. 
 
 The question that existed was whether or not the 
 whisky and gambling and dive element should continue 
 to carry on, almost uncontrolled, and in fact be largely 
 the directors of the city's municipal and financial affairs. 
 
 In sudi a young city the construction of sewers, the 
 multiplying of lighting apparatus, the improvement of 
 streets, the increase of the fire and police departments, the 
 iranipulation of all this and more, the money to be 
 handled and the "jobs" involved, were of course tempting 
 to the jobbers and dangerous to the taxpayers. 
 
 Van Waters had been watching all this with a jealous 
 eye to the city's interests, and through his wide-awake re 
 porters, every one of whom were keen detectives, and 
 his own incisive perception, had the matter well in hand. 
 
 1 .e man McManus, who aspired to be the political 
 boss on the questionable side, was the owner of a big 
 saloon that was the resort of the negro "crap pitcher," the 
 tin-horn gambler, the brazen woman of the town out for
 
 108 A CLOSE CALL 
 
 a jamboree, the hobo and the loafer, with a sprinkling of 
 a class that was only bad because of 'the depths to 
 which whisky and morphine had flung them, the poor 
 sufferers from habits that had shattered their nerves 
 and who gathered there in hopes of obtaining, by some 
 means, a surcease for a few hours from their nervous 
 agony. Besides, he had, adjoining, a dance hall, a gamb 
 ling place, and a variety show, that attracted all of the 
 elements, mostly of the lowest class, that haunt such 
 places. 
 
 Notwithstanding such possessions and the manage 
 ment of them through men much of his character, usu 
 ally faithful men in their way, McManus had some of 
 the attributes of a decent man. He was well-dressed, 
 drank but little himself, was fairly educated and possessed 
 of more than ordinary intelligence. 
 
 There are those who cannot understand this; for the 
 very reason that having been brought up in a moral at 
 mosphere they are unable to comprehend the coalescence 
 of the one with the other. 
 
 The reformed prize-fighter, who by something akin to a 
 miracle becomes imbued with Christianity, and learns the 
 story of the gentle Nazarene, can tell it better to the class
 
 A CLOSE CALL 109 
 
 he associates with than the most eloquent man that ever 
 preached. 
 
 The Salvation army does more good in the purlieus 
 wherein it works than the members of the finest plush 
 upholstered church, because the souls the Salvation army 
 seeks believe more in the sincerity and kinship of those 
 who come to them with songs set to the tunes of the 
 streets. 
 
 McManus and Van Waters, in the building up of St. 
 Movadu,had met on the common ground of St. Movadu's 
 primitive interests and, in a way, they had become friends. 
 But Van Waters and McManus were both men of suffi 
 cient sense to see where even so slight a friendship as 
 theirs must end on a high moral plane. 
 
 Two tickets for mayor and city council-men had been 
 
 .nominated, the one representing the better element of 
 
 the people and the other the element of McManus, which 
 
 latter must have a government that would at least blink 
 
 at the jobbers. 
 
 How was the baser element to be strenuously and suc 
 cessfully opposed? 
 
 Van Waters knew that it was possible only through 
 his newspaper. He was a patriot and hesitated not. He
 
 110 A CLOSE CALL 
 
 had the matter well in hand, knew all of its details and 
 ramifications, and brave and true man that he was he 
 did not hesitate to take the most effective steps. 
 
 He printed the facts, editorially and otherwise, in his 
 paper, concerning McManus' schemes. That very astute 
 politician of the lower order had registered every disrep 
 utable character that he had any influence over until he 
 had actually accumulated something over three hundred 
 registration certificates, and by means known to every 
 scheming ward politician, where the Australian ballot 
 system prevails, he had secured enough of these vouchers, 
 which, placed in the hands of his hirelings, would be 
 the balance of power in the coming election. 
 
 Van Waters had discovered all this; "had it down fine," 
 as the slang of the day went, and exposed the whole thing 
 in the "Times." This was on the day but one preceding 
 the election, and besides the general exposure he printed 
 elsewhere in numerous places in his paper the following 
 card in black letters: 
 
 "It is known to the Times' that certain individuals have 
 arranged to steal the coming city election by the use of 
 fraudulent registration certificates. This is to inform those 
 persons that their entire plan is known, and if one or
 
 A CLOSE CALL 111 
 
 more of said fraudulent registration certificates are used, 
 as proposed, the 'Times,' which has a full corps of capable 
 reporters on duty in the premises, will land every individ 
 ual who has anything to do with the matter in state's 
 prison." 
 
 On the evening following the publication of these 
 things, McManus came to the office of the Times.' He 
 had been there often before and knew well enough where 
 the desk of the editor-in-chief was. Passing through the 
 rooms of the reporters he went to the desk of the editor, 
 who was engaged about his regular duties, and drew up 
 a chair, seating himself in a familiar way thereon. 
 
 There was only one other person a reporter a 
 bright young Jew, in the rooms, and he not in that par 
 ticular office. 
 
 "Good evening, Van." 
 
 "Good evening, Mac," were the brief salutations. 
 
 Then after a few moments, in which Van Waters 
 pushed his pencil with almost unusual vigor, he halted, 
 threw down the writing utensil on his manuscript and 
 quietly asked: 
 
 "Want to see me about anything in particular?" 
 
 "Rather particular," returned McManus.
 
 112 A CLOSE CALL 
 
 "Go ahead," said Van Waters. 
 
 "Some pretty hard things the 'Times' said about me 
 this morning." 
 
 "Well, I 'spose they are from your standpoint, Mac, 
 but they go." 
 
 "I know they go, Van, and that's the reason I have 
 come to see you." 
 
 Van fingered nervously with the drawer in his desk. 
 
 "Don't bother about that, Van; you and I are not 
 going to have any trouble. Leave your gun where it is," 
 and Van swung back his desk chair to its full tilt. 
 
 "Go on," he said. 
 
 "Well, it is this, Van; I know if this thing keeps up 
 that either you or I will get killed. I don't want to kill 
 you, and I don't believe you want to kill me. The reason 
 I don't want to kill you is because I like you and you are 
 a good citizen. Maybe you don't believe this, but here 
 is something that I know you will believe. If I were to 
 hurt you, popular as you are in this city, it would do 
 me great injury. It would ruin my business and I'd 
 make nothing in the end; therefore, I have come here to 
 tell you that you can have those registration certificates
 
 A CLOSE CALL 113 
 
 and destroy them, although they have cost me a pretty 
 fair dollar or so." 
 
 Van Waters' magnanimity was touched and he said: 
 
 "Well, when it comes to that, old man, if you tell me 
 you'll destroy the certificates, that settles it. I'll take 
 your word for it." 
 
 "No," said McManus, "take a man and go with me to 
 my place and we'll destroy them together. I know you 
 and I know you will go." 
 
 "I don't want anybody with me," said Van Waters, 
 taking the improved Smith & Wesson from the drawer 
 and putting it in his hip pocket. 
 
 "But I'd rather you would have somebody with you," 
 continued McManus. "Men have heart disease and all 
 such things as that. I would rather you would have 
 somebody along." 
 
 "Will you go, Roth?" queried Van Waters to the young 
 Jew on the other side of the partition, and who, he knew, 
 had heard every word that had passed. 
 
 "Go with you anywhere," said the loyal young Hebrew, 
 and in less time than it takes to tell it the three were on 
 the sidewalk bent for the McManus club dive. 
 
 They arrived there. It was about 10 o'clock at night
 
 114 A CLOSE CALL 
 
 and the place was in full fume. The air was loaded with 
 the smoke of all kinds of cigars from the best to the 
 worst, including the smoke of pipes. There was the clink 
 of glasses ; the poor voice of the serio-comic singer could 
 be heard from the variety hall, and the click of chips from 
 the gambling table, as well as the call of the roulette 
 singer with something about "black and white." There 
 were the "crap" players, "Come, good old number," and 
 every one of the sounds of such a place. 
 
 Men stood astonished to see the proprietor of the dive 
 and one they deemed his deadliest enemy come in arm- 
 in-arm. 
 
 Roth and Van Waters halted at the end of the counter, 
 and McManus went back between the counter and the 
 whisky shelves to the safe, which he opened, taking 
 therefrom two large packages of elastic-bound paper 
 slips. He beckoned to a man at the desk, who followed 
 him, and the four entered a narrow but well-lit passage 
 and turned into a handsomely out-fitted apartment, the 
 boss' private room in the place. There was a smoulder 
 ing coal fire in the grate, the place was as quiet as possi 
 ble, considering the surroundings and the thin walls. 
 They sat at a table. The boss cut the gum bands on the
 
 A CLOSE CALL 115 
 
 paper packages, showed what they were and then laid 
 them on the slow coals, where they crumpled, crinkled 
 and blazed, and in a few minutes all that was left was a 
 few scorched ends of the registration certificates. 
 
 Then McManus arose, caught Van Waters by the hand 
 and said: 
 
 "That's to you and me and our lives, old man. I know 
 you and you know me." 
 
 "Good. Have something with me. Touch the bell for 
 a couple of quarts, Roth, old boy," and the four drank 
 the two quarts, after they had been brought in by a 
 waiter. 
 
 jt 
 
 During the libations there was talk on general subjects. 
 Then, escorted to the front door by McManus and his 
 friend, Van Waters and "Roth" which was his name 
 for short the two newspaper men went back quietly to 
 their work, and the next day the "Times' " ticket was 
 elected by about three hundred majority. 
 
 That was business.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "The Kicker." 
 
 These things is much too much for me; 
 
 It's broke my heart in two; 
 It's ru'nous to the country, 
 
 An' it ain't a-gwine to do. 
 
 The Kcnttickian's Lament. 
 
 "High, Jack and the Game three to you' one puts 
 me out, suh. Lemme tell you, young man, once mo' that 
 a Kaintucky gentleman who larned to play seven-up 
 straddle of a sycamo' log, with a monst'us good player, 
 suh, is not the kind of a person for you to tackle in this 
 game. You can't even amuse me, suh. But I am con 
 stantly amused in other ways so it matters very little in 
 this instance, suh." 
 
 So spoke "The Kicker" as James Hiram Young was 
 generally called in St. Movadu by those who knew h : m 
 familiarly. On the present occasion he was occupied with 
 one Cyrus Small in a side room at Kingsbury's, playing 
 what used to be the "National Game of Kentucky," other 
 wise "old sledge" or "seven up." 
 
 (116)
 
 "THE KICKER" 117 
 
 This Mr. Young, alias 'The Kicker," was a grizzled 
 old fellow, plainly dressed, but with linen always spot 
 less, notwithstanding the fact that he chewed tobacco 
 with as much earnestness and evident satisfaction as a 
 cow does her cud, while his shoes were always as 
 shiney as the "dago," under the awning on the outside, 
 could make them. 
 
 Mr. Young almost lived in the card rooms at Kings- 
 bury's, and he was as profoundly devoted to the "His 
 tory of the Four Kings" as a bookworm is to his books. 
 
 Mr. Young would play any game of cards known to 
 mankind with any comer, "for dollars or doughnuts," or 
 even for fun, until if playing for fun he found his 
 opponent an unequal match. 
 
 The latter he found Mr. Cy Small to be, and hence 
 abruptly closed the game mentioned at the beginning of 
 this chapter, with the very candid remark that that in 
 dividual could not amuse him. There were two or three 
 other men sitting about the room, and Mr. Young went 
 on to say; addressing them: 
 
 "As I was remarking, gentlemen, there's lots of other 
 things to amuse one, about this town. For instance, 
 gentlemen, take old John Mackabee, the jestice of the
 
 118 "THE KICKER" * 
 
 peace up-sta'rs here. He's got a picture up thar of Gin'l 
 Grant without any name on it. The old man thinks he 
 looks like Grant, and maybe he does. I dunno. I never 
 saw Gin'l Grant but once in my life, and I was in such a 
 hurry then that I had no chance to scan his features very 
 much. That was on the second day of Shiloh battle, and 
 I had business pressing business at a place called 
 Corinth, some few miles further south. But as I was re 
 marking, the old judge thinks he looks like Grant, and 
 if you are at any time in real need of a tol'able fair seeg- 
 yar jist go up and ask the old man, in a sort of a keerless 
 sort of a way, whar he got such an excellent portrait of 
 himself. Or, if you don't want to make it quite that 
 co'se, jest tell him how much the picture of Grant looks 
 like him. If old Mack don't offer you one of them tol'able 
 fair seegyars, inside of less than a minute, come back here 
 and call up a quart of Pom-Sec on the undersigned. 
 
 "In this the old man Mack reminds me somehow of all 
 the blamed fools who are holding on to town lots in this 
 place, with the notion that about a year from now they 
 will sell 'em at riggers that mean the same as coverin' the 
 ground with twenty dollar bills. 
 
 "Lemme tell you, gentlemen, befo' the end of another
 
 "THE KICKER" 119 
 
 year, if you can sell town lots here for ten dollars an acre, 
 spot cash, I'll swim the bay and pull a tug." 
 
 This last remark was too much for the party. 
 
 "Why don't you hire a hall?" 
 
 "Give us a rest, old Kick." 
 
 "Take a tumble." 
 
 And such like trite but expressive slang saluted the 
 ears of Mr. Young. Yet he faltered not. 
 
 "All right, gentlemen," he continued; "but you've 
 heerd Jeemes Hiram Young toot his hawn, and you kin 
 keep on accumulating dirt; but you'll heve it for sale at 
 jedgment, I tell you, if the sheriff don't sell it for you 
 soonah." 
 
 "Say, you make me sick," said Mr. Cy Small as he 
 rose to go. 
 
 "Yes, sah, an' you make me sick at seven up," retorted 
 Mr. Young. "But if you don't hold on to your lots any 
 better than you hold a hand at kyards you won't have no 
 lots to lose at the time specified." 
 
 "Well, I don't make my living at playing cards," re 
 turned Mr. Small as he passed out. 
 
 "From your onary looks one would think you did,
 
 120 "THE KICKER" 
 
 considerin' how you play," was Mr. James Hiram 
 Young's chasing shot. 
 
 "Tell you what it is, gentlemen," said Mr. Young, 
 who then paused. 
 
 "Well, what is it?" came from one of the others. . 
 
 "It's no use, I reckon," said Young. "You fellows 
 don't know enough to know when to let go." 
 
 Two of the other men passed into the main room of 
 the saloon, and Mr. Young was left with the remaining 
 individual, who seemed disposed to listen. 
 
 Young's croakings amused him. 
 
 "Mr. Talcott," said Young, addressing his last man, 
 "it's a waste of raw material talking to these suckers 
 about this whoop-em-up place. But lemme tell you; I've 
 been through more mining camp flare-ups and real es 
 tate booms than I can recollect, and no mo' of 'em will 
 ketch Jeemes Hiram. What's to make a town hyah? 
 Thar ain't no pay roll, except the work on streets and 
 such like; and the tax-payers pay that. Whar's ther any 
 factories or the like of that? Not hyar. Every fellow 
 that's got a few dollars is blowing himself in on town 
 lots and waiting to sell for big figures. The top notch 
 has been reached, suh, and the ball's ovah."
 
 "THE KICKER" 121 
 
 "Do you really think so?" interjected Mr. Talcott. 
 
 "Think so? I know so," returned Mr. Young. 
 "There's too blamed much of everything hyar, suh, ex 
 cept common, every day horse sense, suh. Too much 
 religion of its kind. The kind that would make the 
 Apostles weep to see how much hypocrisy and sham and 
 selfishness thar is in it, suh. Thar's too much building 
 for the number of people and the lack of use for the 
 houses. Thar's too much buying and selling on credit. 
 Thar's too much ground platted for miles and miles 
 around town. Thar's too much champagne drunk by 
 people that never knew the taste of it a year ago, suh. 
 And there's too much shoddyism, suh. 
 
 "Listen at them young roosters out thar drinking Pom 
 Sec at the countah, like haugs at a trough, and jingling 
 ther money on the boa'd like it grew on trees. They'll 
 see the day an' mighty soon when they'll be glad to 
 see an angel in the shape of a stranger who will come 
 along and set up plain, common, cookin' whisky; an' 
 them angels will be monst'ous skeerce. You heah Jeemes 
 Hiram howlin'. Have a game of crib?" 
 
 Mr. Talcott was willing.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 Duncan's Keturn. 
 
 The sun just tipped the trees with light, 
 Their lengthening shadows fell by mine, 
 
 And in the far-off distance, bright 
 I saw the gleaming steeples shine 
 . And sun-set gild the waving pine. 
 
 My Village Home. 
 
 Society had been doing its peculiar work in every 
 direction in St. Movadu. It had set up its churches, or 
 
 * 
 
 rather its idols; it had ostracised by its own insidious and 
 invidious ways women whose clothes were not au fait 
 and men who thought out loud, yet not in its thin vein. 
 There had really gotten to be stratum of society that 
 worked cruelly from top to bottom. 
 
 One day at Mrs. Phelps' there was quite a gathering 
 of the particular set that affected Mrs. Phelps, and which 
 she affected. Among these were Mrs. Pugh and her two 
 daughters. They were almost too nice for anything on 
 earth. There were others that this story cannot afford 
 to manipulate personally, for the story has some strong 
 
 (122)
 
 DUNCAN'S RETURN 123 
 
 ambitions, and except for the same purpose that the 
 machinist's "waste" is used about a train of cars, to clean 
 the engine and wipe off surplus, old, spoiled grease, the 
 personnel of these other people will be avoided as much 
 as possible. 
 
 Little Miss Fan Pugh remarked to Mrs. Phelps that 
 she couldn't understand what so many, even fairly re 
 spectable men in the city, could see about that stuck-up 
 school-marm, Ada Benson, and Mrs. Pugh said: 
 
 "Why, darling, should you bother your head about 
 such people." 
 
 Mrs. Phelps, in a complacent way, remarked that Mrs. 
 Pugh was too severe with Miss Fan because the highest 
 class of society frequently discussed live stock that was 
 not even blooded. Then Miss Sally Pugh, the younger 
 of the august Madame Pugh's daughters, simpered: "I 
 think it is well enough to talk of anything on the face of 
 nature, if one had the time to spare, and it was not alto 
 gether too disgusting." 
 
 There was a rattle and cackle of the smallest kind of 
 that sort of small talk, until finally Mrs. Phelps re 
 marked: 
 
 "I see that that shambling old fright, Duncan, has
 
 124 DUNCAN'S RETURN 
 
 come back, and some people are treating him as if he was 
 
 somebody." 
 
 "Ada Benson has made him her protege," remarked 
 Miss Fanny Pugh. 
 
 "And her delectable sweetheart, Jack Lacy, has taken 
 the coarse old wretch under his special charge," chipped 
 in the other Pugh girl. 
 
 "Pah! let us say no more about such people," chimed 
 in the mother of the simpering sisters. 
 
 The Pughs, John Charles, his wife, the latter the ma 
 jestic lieutenant of Madame Phelps, and the two 
 daughters, had arrived at St. Movadu quite early in the 
 settlement of the young city. Mr. Pugh had brought 
 with him some hundreds of dollars that had come to 
 him from some unexpected source, and he had launched 
 with that feeble capital wildly into the early real estate 
 speculations of the phenomenal place. He had been suc 
 cessful in turning town lots quite rapidly, and had become 
 one of the financial pillars of the First National bank 
 of St. Movadu. 
 
 The home of the Pugh's was on the eastern extremity 
 of Duncan avenue, perhaps five blocks from the business 
 center of the city, but for one of the females of that estab-
 
 DUNCAN'S RETURN 125 
 
 lishment to have attempted to reach such a distance on 
 foot and without the pony and phaeton affected by the 
 family wpuld have been too utterly out of the question. 
 
 About the time that the conversation above if such 
 chatter could be called a conversation took place, Jack 
 Lacy and Mr. Pugh happened to meet in a friendly way 
 at the bank corner where Major Stamina and Van Waters 
 had held, a few weeks before, the chat which was recorded 
 in an earlier chapter of these chronicles. 
 
 With the ostentation that had taken possession of Mr. 
 John Charles Pugh since his successful residence in St. 
 Movadu, he addressed Lacy with the patronizing air gen 
 erally offered by him to persons whom he attempted to 
 consider far from being his social and business equals. 
 
 "Ah, Lacy, been doing anything in the way of verse 
 lately? I have often thought of late that perhaps our city 
 would be doing itself some benefit if it paid more atten 
 tion to men like yourself who do so much in the way of 
 advertising us by your really attractive literary work." 
 
 "The city can save itself any feeling of charitable anx 
 iety on my part in regard to my work. My books seem 
 to be taking care of themselves, and they are certainly 
 taking care of me."
 
 126 DUNCAN'S RETURN 
 
 "I thought," returned Mr. Pugh, "that as your poetry 
 is being widely quoted throughout the country, and your 
 stories speak so frequently in advantageous terms of this 
 region and its great resources, it would be doing only a 
 fairness to you to give these facts such public attention 
 as might be of some financial value to you." 
 
 "I appreciate your motive of charity, Mr. Pugh, but 
 not being at present in need of charitable attention, you 
 would please me more by dismissing the subject." 
 
 "Oh, I meant no harm, I meant no harm," said Mr. 
 Pugh, with a doublet that was a sort of finical habit of 
 the great man, since he had become a bank director, and 
 of reputed wealth, the head of a family particularly re 
 marked for its ultra "elegant" station in fashionable life. 
 
 "By the way," somewhat abruptly remarked Lacy, 
 "I have been trying to remember for some time where it 
 was I first met you, Mr. Pugh, and it has just occurred to 
 me. Once, two or three years ago, I was a guest at the 
 Hotel dei Monte and it became necessary for me, with a 
 party of other friends, to hire bathing dresses " 
 
 "Great heavens, Lacy, say no more! There is no 
 occasion to recall things like that, and I have no disposi 
 tion to be arrogant with my wealth in fact, have only
 
 DUNCAN'S RETURN 127 
 
 the kindliest feelings for all people but there is an in 
 fluence in my family that possibly may cause me to seem 
 to you purse-proud and over-bearing. I assure you, my 
 dear fellow, it is all only the result of -some habits that 
 have grown too rapidly among the more successful set 
 tlers of St. Movadu, who had been placed all their lives 
 before in inferior social positions." 
 
 "Pugh, I have no desire to recall anything that would 
 be calculated to hurt you or yours, in whatever of social 
 aspirations you may have, contemptible as it all is to 
 me; but I would like to convey to you the fact that there 
 are those with whom I am associated in the warmest 
 terms of friendship who have been pettily annoyed by as 
 sumptions of patncianism from sources with which you 
 are acquainted and connected, and I think that this hint 
 may have a tendency to put an end to that. I hope so, at 
 least, and assure you that suggestion is not to be ascribed 
 to a desire on my part or that of any of my friends to 
 ascend to the dizzy heights on the social scale which you 
 and yours now occupy." 
 
 After some other little conversation of this character, 
 in a friendly way as to both, the two parted, Jack Lacy 
 having during it all assured the capitalist that that dis-
 
 128 DUNCAN'S RETURN 
 
 tinguished individual had nothing to fear from the gar 
 rulity of the Bohemian. 
 
 The reader may be interested to know that the facts 
 referred to by Lacy concerning Mr. Pugh's residence at 
 the Hotel del Monte were simply these. John Pugh, 
 who had not then so pompously fixed the "Charles" into 
 the longitudinative of his name, was employed at that 
 famous hostelry some years before in charge of the rental 
 and care of the bathing suits used by the guests of the 
 hotel. It was the duty of the then not so august Madame 
 Pugh and her engaging daughters to wash and mend 
 those same hired bathing suits, all four gaining by their 
 combined and comprehensive manipulation of the gar 
 ments thus for hire to the bathers of that famous resort, 
 something in the nature of a tolerable livelihood. 
 
 It happened to be also a fact that Mr_ John Charles Pugh 
 had always been possessed with an appetite frequently 
 recurring for liquid stimulants. He had not been a 
 drunkard because his pecuniary capacity lacked sufficient 
 strength and breadth to very frequently purchase the nec 
 essary quantity of stimulating beverages to lift him to the 
 exhilerated heights of one who becomes intoxicated, or
 
 DUNCAN'S RETURN 129 
 
 sink him to the appalling depths of one who is frequently 
 successful in that way. 
 
 Besides this, there was the over-awing presence of his 
 forcible spouse, who was as majestic and august to Mr. 
 John Charles Pugh in the small apartment they occupied 
 upon the grounds of the Hotel del Monte, as she was 
 among the ambitious "400" of St. Movadu. 
 
 However, when the occasion occurred that Mr. John 
 Charles Pugh was enabled to secure something in the 
 nature of an occasional imbibition, his manner of obtain 
 ing it was to call at a rear side door of the Hotel del 
 Monte and by certain signs and whistlings attract the at 
 tention of one of the gentlemen in white who presided 
 at that dispensatory of liquid refreshments, and if the 
 gentleman in white happened at that moment to be suffi 
 ciently of a kindly disposition toward Mr. John Charles 
 Pugh, the glass of something so much desifed by Pugh 
 was sent to him to the back door by the person who hap 
 pened to be employed about the bar to perform such er 
 rands. 
 
 Mr. John Charles Pugh being a menial about the hotel, 
 was not allowed to bring himself into contact with the 
 respectable guests of the hotel.
 
 130 DUNCAN'S RETURN 
 
 As to this same Hotel del Monte, pardon, dear reader, 
 a short digression: 
 
 Ye who have seen and enjoyed the scenic beauties of 
 the lands beyond the seas; who have sailed up the broad 
 and beautiful Rhine, where ivy-covered castles crown the 
 rugged cliffs; by fair and storied Bingen; and to where 
 the silvery Main joins the mighty stream; where Ger- 
 mania stands guard, and tradition and legend enriches the 
 romance of it all; ye who have stood in Venice on the 
 bridge of the Rialto, or have sailed on Naples' far- 
 famed bay and watched from there the smoke ribbons 
 that stream from the mountain top, fabled as the Cyclop- 
 ian forge, whence came the thunderbolts of Jove; ye that 
 have wandered among the wonders of the world and the 
 tokens of the ages, where the mighty pyramids and the 
 silent sphinx stand mute yet eloquent witnesses of Ptol- 
 emic history. Ye who have loitered amid the ruins of 
 druidical masonry; along by the Isles of Erin, and by the 
 lochs of Scotia ; lazed where the sun glints the minarets of 
 mosques and lounged beneath the banyan's shade; ye 
 who have crossed the ocean and the Alps, if you have not 
 seen the rose and vine and orange grown shores of the 
 placid Pacific, down the coast of California, you have
 
 DUNCAN'S RETURN 131 
 
 only been led by books, and tales, and have not seen the 
 beauty of entrancing nature at her best, and have not 
 known how genial may be her smiles. 
 
 Along that coast, associated with what seems to be 
 almost ancient lore; amid the old missions of the early 
 padres whose adobe walls are falling now, at one point 
 lies the splendid bay of Monterey, an almost encircled 
 pool of old ocean. 
 
 Near the opening from the ocean on the south side 
 stands the old seaport town, with its air of sabbath quiet. 
 Further toward the east and north, back a decent distance 
 from the white and easy sloping beach, stands a glorious 
 and modern pile the Hotel del Monte. 
 
 Giant, listless, scattering and scraggy oaks stand here 
 and there, grim and superannuated, waiting with con 
 temptuous contemplation their end, amid such company . 
 as fstered and petted palms and voluptuous groupings 
 of other trees and flowers, plants and vines. 
 
 The somewhat gently imposing structure lifted among 
 varied and unfamiliar foliage, is a delightful resort, not 
 only because of the strange yet charming surroundings, 
 the genial climate and the air of modern romance, but be 
 cause the people one meets there, unless of your own
 
 132 DUNCAN'S RETURN 
 
 party and importance, are nearly sure to be total 
 strangers to one another. Familiarity is confined to 
 groups; and yet there is an atmosphere of freedom and 
 an absence of supercilliousness. 
 
 One hardly expects that in such a place can be such 
 a sordid thing as the business of running the hotel. 
 But hotels never run, in these days, and probably never 
 did in any other day, without those unromantic details. 
 
 There is a saloon; but the liquors are sold in the usual 
 business way, and are measured and mixed just as they 
 are in any other gin mill what a horrid word in such a 
 scene and there are kitchens, and cooks, dishwashers, 
 laundry people, the barber shops, and in and through 
 all the details of the great hostelry are the favorings, the 
 bickerings, the complaints, and the petty meannesses that 
 exist in any other big hotel, or other great domestic ag 
 gregation and establishment. 
 
 Among this help was the Pugh contingent. The 
 father had a fairly soft thing in tne matter of being a 
 general help, or a sort of aggrandized chore-boy, aside 
 from his bathing suit business, because he was handy 
 and had once helped to pull the general manager of the 
 hotel out of the debris of a railway wreck and tended him
 
 DUNCAN'S RETURN 133 
 
 at a nearby station while he lay with a broken leg waiting 
 for the fractured bone to knit together sufficiently to pre 
 vent its being jarred apart in the process of transportation 
 to his hotel home, whither he took with him his faithful 
 nurse. 
 
 It was thus that Mr. John Pugh, with his domestic ag 
 gregation, became established at the Hotel del Monte. 
 
 A windfall, however, of a few dollars, a change of base 
 to a young city built in a distan forest, the fortunate turn 
 of some score of town lots, altered to a remarkable de 
 gree the social standing of Mr. and Mrs. John Charles 
 Pugh and their two engaging daughters. It had made 
 the difference between renting, washing and mending 
 bathing garments for hire to the habitues of a seaside 
 resort and occupying the position of imposing lights in 
 the firmament of a parvenu society. 
 
 Quite a difference!
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 Another Rip Van Winkle. 
 
 We've had some ups and downs in life, 
 
 And growin' sorter old, 
 With hearts as warm as ever, 
 
 And they never will git cold, 
 So fur as him and me's consarned; 
 
 Not even over thar, 
 When aft are called to answer 
 
 At the final jedgement bar. 
 
 Old Mart and Me. 
 
 The railroad had not done all for St. Movadu that the 
 place had expected, and that had been promised by that 
 corporation. 
 
 An undercurrent of anxiety and fear had begun to be 
 felt. Some of those who had "made their stake" were 
 quietly "going to the springs" and not returning. Sev 
 eral business failures had occurred, and old Dan Duncan 
 had drifted back to St. Movadu to see something about 
 the town lots he had bought in that place, out of the 
 vast amount of land which he had once owned and sold 
 to be the site of a city. 
 
 (134)
 
 ANOTHER RIP VAN WINKLE 135 
 
 Major Stamina with all his pluck and perseverance had 
 fought with a bravery that was his own the threatening 
 depression, and many had been- the serious and anxious 
 consultations between himself and sanguine Van Waters, 
 who never for a moment had dropped his roseate ways of 
 presenting in his newspaper the beauties, and possibilities 
 of St. Movadu and its surroundings. 
 
 Nevertheless the fact that bad news always travels 
 swiftly had by this time reached those most deeply in 
 terested. 
 
 It had been generally understood in the city that Dan 
 Duncan, unaccustomed to the use of large sums of 
 money, had in San Francisco and other cities ridden like 
 the proverbial beggar on horseback to the devil, and that 
 there was nothing left of the one hundred thousand dol 
 lars that had been paid to him for the land upon which 
 this ambitious city had been built, saving the few lots he 
 had bought at Major Stamina's suggestion. 
 
 Duncan, however, had a wiser head than he had been 
 generally credited with; and yet he had a still tongue. 
 Upon his arrival he took quarters at the Woodworth 
 house, the same hotel where Jack Lacy was dom 
 iciled.
 
 136 ANOTHER RIP VAN WINKLE 
 
 Lacy took an interest in the old man. He saw that 
 there were signs of weakness and illness about him, and 
 used his influence, which was almost the same as that of 
 a son, with the old proprietor of the house to place Dun 
 can in a room adjoining his own. 
 
 In his Bohemian way, despite his faithful work as a 
 reporter on the "Times," and as a writer of novels and 
 poems, he always found plenty of leisure, and thus he and 
 Duncan w-andered much over the city, the old man in 
 constant wonder at the changes that had been wrought. 
 
 Here was, in truth, another Rip Van Winkle, but better 
 than Irving's old man, for here and there he had on the 
 plat which he carried with him, obtained from the town- 
 site company, dotted with much pleasure to himself the 
 Httle pieces of ground that were all his own. 
 
 One day Duncan, in a backward and bashful sort 
 of way, denied himself the ordinary round about the city 
 with his new-found friend. That day and all the next he 
 moped about the office of the Woodworth house, and on 
 the third day did not leave his room. He persisted in 
 declaring that he was not very ill, but Jack, anxious about 
 him, brought Dr. Somerset to see him, and the doctor, 
 with perhaps more interest in Jack Lacy's concern than
 
 ANOTHER RIP VAN WINKLE 137 
 
 in the old man's health, gave the ancient rancher a closer 
 attention than he perhaps otherwise would have done, 
 believing that Duncan was notJ seriously ill. 
 
 Old Duncan's weakness increased, however, until he 
 became actually bedridden, and then Lacy told Ada 
 Benson all about him, and meekly suggested that she 
 come and see him. 
 
 This she was quick to do, and at once became inter 
 ested in the invalid, with an earnestness that even aston 
 ished Lacy. 
 
 "I am strangely drawn toward your old friend," she 
 said, "and I want him to get well." 
 
 But Duncan became weaker as the days went by. 
 
 He seemed grateful, in his simple wav, for her atten 
 tions, and would call Lacy and Ada "son" arid "honey." 
 
 This illness of the old man's, under the constant atten 
 tion of the lovers, had gone on perhaps a week, when, not 
 withstanding the fact that he had often heard the name of 
 "Ada," he arose upon his elbow one evening strongly ex 
 cited, when, perhaps for th^ first time, he had noticed her 
 additional name of Benson. 
 
 He gazed for a moment, wildly, into her face a.nd, then
 
 138 ANOTHER RIP VAN WINKLE 
 
 falling back upon his pillow, overcome by weakness, 
 
 beckoned to Jack and said: 
 
 "I want to talk with you, when I'm stronger, upon a 
 serious subject of importance to you and your sweet 
 heart." 
 
 And that was the beginning of the end.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 An Opera Opening. 
 
 'Neath this broad dome night after night 
 
 For many a coming year; 
 'Neath all the golden, dazzling light 
 
 From yon bright chandelier, 
 Shall come the man, the maid, the dame, 
 
 To drink from pleasure's cup, 
 And see the actor strive for fame 
 
 And hold the mirror up. 
 
 A Modern Temple. 
 
 The lovers of art, they of Bohemian pastes, who were 
 
 * 
 
 not a few in St. Movadu, had watched the construction of 
 the new opera house, from the day "ground was broken" 
 for the excavation of its basement, until the facades rose 
 high, handsome, chaste and commanding. 
 
 The interior of the imposing building was finished in 
 the excellent woods, fir, cedar and pine, of the region, 
 while other lands had been drawn upon for the great 
 plates of glass, the carpetings, tapestries, draperies, light 
 ing and ventilating apparatus, and general furnishings of 
 this temple of the muses. 
 
 (139)
 
 140 AN OPERA OPENING 
 
 Every step toward the completion of the superb edifice 
 had been anxiously watched, and the day of its opening 
 and dedication had at last arrived. 
 
 This was a gala day in St. Movadu. Nearly every 
 adult person in the city, and those who were nearing 
 manhood and womanhood, were deeply interested; most 
 deeply those who were lovers of art, for such a theatre 
 is always a nucleus of many arts. The highest art in 
 architecture had been called to the construction and 
 ornamentation of the superstructure, in this instance; 
 the art of weaving beautiful hangings and carpets for the 
 interior furnishings; the art of painting grand pictures 
 that were hung upon the walls; the art of carving marble 
 into the imagery of breathing life for the statues and stat 
 uettes in niches about the foyer. Then were to come the. 
 arts of music and acting, and with these, whatever of art 
 that was necessary in the mechanical and scenic accces- 
 sories of the operas and dramas to be produced. 
 
 Thus the art loving element of St. Movadu was wide 
 awake for the occasion. 
 
 The settlement of western cities draws from the popu 
 lation of the enlightened world. And even from some of 
 those portions of this mundane ball that do not come
 
 AN OPERA OPENING 141 
 
 with good warrant, under this complimentary head. Sons 
 and daughters of excellent families, sometimes financially 
 strained, have frequently, under the advice of the Chappa- 
 quan sage, gone to western often very far western 
 towns and cities, in search of health or fortune, or both; 
 taking with them the accomplishments and excellent 
 tastes acquired in the pure and wholesome homes they 
 had left in the rose-tinted and magnolia bowered south, 
 or the prim and intellectual east. Thus St. Movadu, 
 with its ten thousand stirring people, had a large contin 
 gent of those lovers of art and good taste and a still larger 
 contingent .of the nouveaux riches, that, parvenu-like, 
 made much pretense in the same direction. Far more 
 pretense indeed, than others; for their assumptions in this 
 direction were all pretense; except in a few individual in 
 stances, where the mania for show and the constant 
 attempt at arrogance had not been able to overcome 
 the in-born artistic proclivities of some young member 
 of such a household. 
 
 Besides those who were delighted over the completion 
 of the opera house because of the pleasure it would bring, 
 were those who regarded the handsome building as an 
 architectural addition that would, in its way,advance their
 
 142 AN OPERA OPENING 
 
 pecuniary interests, as an attractive ornament to the 
 
 young city. 
 
 In that was a sort of patriotism, and selfish though it 
 generally was, it was far more commendable than the de 
 light of the purse-proud and affected parvenus who could 
 see in the new and glorious building only another field 
 where they could spread themselves, as a strutting pea 
 cock does the prismatic colors of his tail feathers, and 
 lord it over their betters. 
 
 It was the opening night of the St. Movadu opera- 
 house, and the gorgeous auditorium was a blaze of light 
 from a thousand incandescent lamps, with which the pro- 
 cenium, the dome, the pillars, the boxes, the balconies, 
 the foyer, the reception rooms, the door-way arches, and 
 all seemingly available places of the interior and en 
 trances, were trimmed. 
 
 Occasional showers came down about the time the audi 
 ence was gathering, and in front were heard the com 
 paratively suppressed noises of vehicles and the calls of 
 their drivers, taking their turn at the port-cochere, where 
 were alighting the superbly dressed people of the wealth 
 ier class that came in carriages, with now and then some 
 over-brave and gallant clerk, who was expending a
 
 AN OPERA OPENING 143 
 
 week's salary in escorting in this manner, to the opera, 
 the stylish young lady whom he affected and who was 
 willing to have him strain his finances while buzzing 
 about her, until she got ready to marry some other man, 
 whose establishment was far more permanent. 
 
 A dense umbrella-covered crowd was at the main en 
 trance, slowly obtaining ingress, and the foyer was full 
 of men in evening dress, with much display of shirt front, 
 collars and cuffs, waiting for their ladies, who were de 
 positing wraps in the reception room, obtaining a glance at 
 a mirror, petting a rebellious bang, or training a straying 
 lock, smoothing a ruffled bit of lace the momentary ad 
 justment of feminine pieces of adornment. 
 
 The theatre was filling, the cigarette young men were 
 inanely chatting and posing in the smoking room, and 
 the proscenium boxes were receiving their parties of dif 
 ferent kinds. 
 
 The three boxes on the left two below and one above 
 were occupied by the creme-de-la-creme of parvenu 
 society the ultra leaders of "The Four Hundred" so to 
 speak. 
 
 There had been much flutter, for several days before, 
 in securing the use of these boxes for the Pu^hs, the
 
 144 AN OPERA OPENING 
 
 Phelpses and the K*eens, in order that the exclusiveness 
 of their very exclusive set should not be encroached upon 
 by such a "mixed gathering" as would attend the opera 
 on this special occasion. 
 
 Jack Lacy because he was the author of the dedica 
 tion poem, that was printed in the program book, an ex 
 quisite souvenir brochure for the opening night, and be 
 cause he was the intimate friend of the manager had 
 been offered a box; but had preferred seats elsewhere, 
 for himself and Ada Benson, in order that he might see 
 the performance on the stage without the conspicuity of 
 a box. 
 
 The other boxes were occupied by parties of men about 
 town, the clerks and their stylish young ladies before 
 mentioned, and others. 
 
 The theatre was filled in every seat, and, from the stage, 
 the dress circle and balcony seemed a great human bou 
 quet, when the first swell of harmony from the orchestra 
 rolled out into the auditorium, the notes seeking echo 
 among the nooks and corners that had been strange to 
 other music than the tap of hammers and the usual 
 sounds of house-building. 
 
 There was much rustling of the pretty programs a.
 
 AN OPERA OPENING 145 
 
 they were eagerly perused by hundreds, and that were 
 afterward carelersly preserved, Hy most of the people, as 
 souvenirs of the occasion, and 1-: the future reading of 
 Jack Lacy's dedication poem, which was as follows: 
 
 Not many short and fleeting years, 
 
 With all their hopes, and joys, and fears, 
 
 Have marched unhalting to the dead, 
 
 With steady, stern and silent tread, 
 
 Since o'er the hills and valleys here 
 
 The red man chased the panting deer. 
 
 And by the blue Pacific's tide , 
 
 The warrior wooed his dusky bride; 
 
 Not long ago, where now we stand, 
 
 With blessings rich, on every hand, 
 
 The war-whoop through the forest rang, 
 
 Among the pines the wild winds sang; 
 
 The screams of eagles in the air 
 
 Met echo in the gray wolf's lair; 
 
 The bison, with his shaggy mane, 
 
 Grazed, all unharmed, upon the plain; 
 
 The paddle of the light canoe 
 
 Flashed where the water-lilies grew; 
 
 In nature's garb the land was drest, 
 
 From mountain's foot to craggy crest, 
 
 And all was fresh, untouched and wild,
 
 146 AN OPERA OPENING 
 
 The free home of the forest child. 
 But soon, from toward the rising sun, 
 Was heard the white man's axe and gun; 
 The forest bowed before his hand, 
 And as a garden bloomed the land; 
 Fair cities decked the boundless west, 
 And here, the fairest and the best 
 Sprang up, as if the builder's arm 
 Was aided by a magic charm. 
 
 The rarest of the glist'ning gems 
 
 That deck the city's brow 
 The brightest in her diadem, 
 
 Is this we're setting now; 
 And 'neath the sun, no fairer shine, 
 
 Since Delphi, lost so long, 
 Was ever lifted to the Nine 
 
 Of Art, and Soul, and Song. 
 
 'Neath this broad dome, night after night, 
 
 For many a coming year 
 'Neath all the golden, dazzling light, 
 
 From yon bright chandelier, 
 Shall come the man, the maid, the dame, 
 
 To drink from pleasure's cup, 
 And see the actor strive for fame, 
 
 And hold the mirror up.
 
 AN OPERA OPENING 147 
 
 The waking thoughts of Avon's bard, 
 
 His hero, king and clown, 
 His guileless maid, and bearded pard, 
 
 And monk, in cowl, and gown, 
 Shall often picture on this stage, 
 
 The passions, loves and hates, 
 Of every nation, land and age 
 
 Outside the pearly gates. 
 
 The soldier, lady-love and king, 
 
 Who came at Bulwer's call, 
 Shall make their gallant speeches ring 
 
 And echo through this hall, 
 And birds of song their notes shall trill 
 
 'Mid orange groves and palms, 
 And every heart shall feel the thrill 
 
 Of music's potent charms. 
 
 & 
 
 Here England's pursy Knight shall wince 
 
 Before the Windsor fays, 
 And Denmark's melancholy prince 
 
 Shall call his mimic plays, 
 And handle Yorick's fleshless pate, 
 
 And break Ophelia's heart, 
 And taming handsome, shrewish Kate, 
 
 Petruchio'll play his part,
 
 148 AN OPERA OPENING 
 
 Here Lear, "every inch a king," 
 
 Shall wear his monstrous woes, 
 And Juliet to her lover cling 
 
 Till death's releasing throes; 
 Macbeth shall rue his murd'rous deeds 
 
 In crime's entangling mesh, 
 And Shylock, with revengeful greed, 
 
 Demand his pound of flesh. 
 
 And hunch-back Richard, cruel, vile, 
 
 Shall meet his Richmond here, 
 And on great Caesar's fun'ral pile 
 
 Shall fall the Roman tear. 
 The jealous Moor shall send above 
 
 Sweet Desdemona's soul, 
 And Pauline prove that woman's love 
 
 Outweighs the power of gold. 
 
 Bright tears of joy shall dim the eye 
 
 For Darling Jessie Brown, 
 Who hears, while others 'round her die, 
 
 The welcome slogan's sound. 
 Here poor old Rip shall totter in 
 
 To seek his little cot, 
 And find how, in Life's rush and din. 
 
 We are so soon forgot.
 
 AN OPERA OPENING H9 
 
 The earth, the sky, the boundless sea, 
 
 And every race and age, 
 Before these scenes shall gathered be 
 
 Upon this spacious stage. 
 Here Pleasure with her smiles shall bring 
 
 Surcease from daily cares, 
 And dullen Sorrow's sharpened sting, 
 
 And lift the woe she bears. 
 
 Little Miss Fan Pugh leaned over the velvet uphol 
 stered arm that separated the box of the Pughs from that 
 of the Phelpses and remarked to Miss Madge Phelps, 
 with what she intended for an aristocratic curl of the lip, 
 but which resulted in producing an expression of olfac 
 tory offense : 
 
 "I think it a great pity that nothing can be done in 
 this city without some of that horrid Lacy's would-be 
 poetry." 
 
 "I think so too," replied Miss Madge, in simpering 
 sympathy. 
 
 It was always evident, when Miss Madge said any 
 thing, that she was simply following the opinion of some 
 one else, no matter how weak the opinion, or the person. 
 
 "It's awful rot," interjected the callow young man who
 
 150 AN OPERA OPENING 
 
 sat so close to Miss Madge that it seemed he was afraid 
 
 she would get away. 
 
 The young man was in immaculate evening dress, and 
 yet one felt in looking at him, that there was but little of 
 him besides his collar. That was to all appearance a 
 long linen cuff, and it seemed now and then as if it would 
 slip over his head. 
 
 These three indulged in some other remarks of similar 
 
 character concerning the poem, which none of them had 
 
 read, nor would have appreciated, if they had, and they 
 
 were exceedingly annoyed, they said, because such a 
 
 " beautiful program had been spoiled with such trash. 
 
 "Fan is so observing," Mrs. Pugh whispered to Mrs. 
 Phelps, "and such a critic." 
 
 To which Mrs. Phelps responded, that Madge was too, 
 thus betraying the source from whence Miss Madge had 
 derived her striking originality. 
 
 The stage bell tinkled, and the curtain rose upon the 
 opera, Wagner's "Lohengrin" presented by an excellent 
 traveling troupe. 
 
 Those of the audience who appreciated the opera en 
 joyed it in the quiet way that such people usually dp, 
 while those who were really bored but who were of the
 
 AN OPERA OPENING 151 
 
 class that attend operas because it is fashionable, were the 
 most demonstrative in their applause, and thus the boxes 
 on the left gave ample evidence of the witlessness of their 
 contents. 
 
 Mrs. Pugh had much to say of the "robustness" of 
 Wagnerian music, and used other terms concerning the 
 opera that she had memorized for the occasion, and Mrs. 
 Phelps "thought so too." 
 
 The opera and the opening were over, and the people, 
 as they slowly emerged from the theatre, seemed to be 
 anxious to crowd close to each other for a greeting 
 word; to let each other know they had been there; to 
 indulge that indescribable desire for close proximity 
 among people at their best in dress and feelings; human 
 gregariousness; to get a breath of fresh air; to get 
 homeward again. 
 
 The noises of the cab-drivers and their cabs was greater 
 than at the coming. The streets in the immediate vicinity 
 of the opera house were suddenly filled from the out 
 pour, like the amusement quarter of a great metropolis 
 at such an hour. 
 
 The cabs and hacks rattled away, suggesting risks that 
 many on foot would be run down by the Comanches of
 
 152 AN OPERA OPENING 
 
 the city, the drivers; the street cars that had blocked as 
 near to the entrances as the lines ran, waiting to catch 
 the crowd, buzzed off in their different directions, like 
 great lightening bugs, leaving s their distance increased, 
 a sound like the mournful hum of the big old Southern 
 spinning wheel; the lights in the theatre went out; dark 
 and quiet fell upon the scene that a few moments before 
 had been one of light and life. 
 
 Nearly all the people who had attended the opera 
 were at home within the hour; but a few young men, still 
 in evening dress, had assembled at Kingsbury's to talk 
 over the event of the night; to criticise or commend the 
 performance, to gossip about who were there; to drink 
 intoxicants and smoke cigars; to soothe the suppressed 
 excitement of it all. 
 
 Major Stamina and Jack Lacy desiring a cigar and a 
 little quiet talk together, had just arrived at the vestibule 
 of the main entrance to the saloon and had let down their 
 streaming umbrellas. Stamina was inside, and Lacy was 
 crossing the threshold just as Charlie Polk, the callow 
 young man who had escorted Miss Madge Phelps, was 
 remarking, with intended innuendo, as if in reply to some 
 thing that had been said immediately before:
 
 AN OPERA OPENING 153 
 
 "Yes, they seern to be much in love; one kind of love; 
 but Lacy is no spring chicken." 
 
 At that instant the distance between Polk and Lacy, 
 which was about twelve feet, was covered by a bound, 
 and before one blow of Lacy's clinched hand the tall and 
 callow young man fell sprawling, bleeding, stunned; h's 
 slandering tongue silent, until he should be resuscitated. 
 
 Lacy, with the look of the angered tiger that was his 
 when thus aroused, stood glaring at the others, and 
 Major Stamina exclaimed: 
 
 "Bully for you, Jack! That will do for him! Le's go 
 in and smoke ; you have licked your home-made dude." 
 
 And they went in and smoked.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A Freeze-Out. 
 
 I'd been undone 
 
 By reptiles that, like other cowards, dare 
 Smite but the helpless; and the vision taught 
 
 A lesson that perchance is old to me: 
 Build all you may, 'twill crumble into dust, 
 
 But love and thought and song will ever be, 
 Though temples fall and riches come to naught. 
 
 Renaissance- 
 
 Cole, the business manager of the "Times," knew his 
 business in the sense that he lost no opportunity of turn 
 ing everything that would yield revenue into his own 
 pocket. He saw to it that "they came his way," when 
 ever he had a chance to guide "things" in that direction. 
 And in his present position he had. 
 
 An insinuating manner combined with a certain 
 amount of what may be called unctuousness, for want 
 of a better term, predominated largely in Cole's make 
 up. He was crafty, possessed of a fox-like cunning 
 and an apparent sincerity on the surface, which would 
 
 (154)
 
 A FREEZE-OUT 155 
 
 lead those brought into contact with him for the first 
 time, to set him down as a "hustler," a man who would 
 "get there" in spite of all difficulties; qualities that were 
 considered virtues in the flush days of St. Movadu. 
 
 Originally Cole had been a printer; then a farmer; he 
 had dabbled in politics in Missouri and secured a post- 
 office as a result. He had been a miner, and then a patent 
 medicine vender, and had bought and sold real estate in 
 several railroad towns ci the middle west. 
 
 In each of his varied occupations, however, he had al 
 ways overreached himself and shaken the confidence of 
 his erstwhile friends. 
 
 But his confidence in himself was of the supernal kind. 
 It never wavered, for while it might suffer, temporarily, 
 it still knew how to be strong. It was Cole's stock-in- 
 trade, and he used it for all it was worth. He had struck 
 a rich pasture and he knew it, and he resolved to crop the 
 sweet herbage on every side. His manner became more 
 unctuous than ever before, and his thin lips took on a 
 more sanctimonious smile than was their wont, while his 
 sharp, beady eyes noted every condition in the rising 
 town, and each was turned to his advantage. 
 
 He affected many virtues; he attended the most fash-
 
 156 A FREEZE-OUT 
 
 ionable church of the town; he drank little in public, 
 but would sometimes consent to take a drink only in the 
 most exclusive saloon in the town, but even this was done 
 in a deprecating sort of way, intended to lead the stranger 
 into the belief that here was a model man, as men go, 
 who simply, as an act of good fellowship, would for a 
 moment lay aside his temperance convictions, and talk 
 of the future of St. Movadu over a social glass with the 
 capitalist or the stranger who visited the town, either 
 from curiosity or with an eye to investments. 
 
 So the world went well with Cole. His position on the 
 "Times" gave him an opportunity to gain the confidence 
 of the business men; his apparent piety gave him a standing 
 with the church element of the young city; his affability 
 in the saloon when he entered it caused him to be solid, 
 or not a bad fellow, after all, but perhaps a little straight- 
 laced for such a hustling, bustling town as was St. Mo 
 vadu, where everything was "rim wide open." And so for 
 a time Cole's star was in the ascendant, and he gathered 
 about him lots and lands, which he never attempted to 
 improve, but held for speculation. 
 
 As his worldly prospects brightened and his wealth in 
 creased, Cole's humility took on an even deeper shade.
 
 A FREEZE-OUT 157 
 
 It was more flexible; he unlimbered himself. He was the 
 same Uriah Keep, to be sure, but he began to stretch out. 
 Feeling himself somewhat secure, he longed for more 
 power, and a broader field in which to browse. The suc 
 culent grasses of St. Movadu were now grown to him a 
 necessity. 
 
 Cole, who had come to St. Movadu with Van Waters, 
 therefore began to lay his own plans. They were entirely 
 in keeping with the man. Van Waters, it was, who had 
 first given him the chance to lift himself from poverty to 
 plenty. With his usual forgetfulness of self when others 
 were concerned, Van Waters had pushed Cole to the 
 front. And Cole was determined to stay there, so, with 
 all the craftiness of his nature he sought to build himself 
 up by the sacrifice of everybody and everything that lay 
 between himself and the control of the "Times." 
 
 At the first his protestations of friendship for Van 
 Waters were innumerable. In the streets and at the 
 club, he heralded his praises, but now that the horizon of 
 his hopes had become enlarged, flushed with the con 
 scious pride of a parvenu whose newly found wealth had 
 given him an importance in his own eyes, at least, Cole 
 thought that the honor and credit and glory were being
 
 158 A FREEZE-OUT 
 
 bestowed upon the wrong man. He therefore began to 
 extol himself; he blew his own horn lustily, yet with a 
 certain degree of caution. He did not want the windy 
 blasts to disturb too much those who Cole well knew ap 
 preciated him at his true merit, and there were many that 
 did. 
 
 On the outside, Cole never used profane language; if 
 he swore at all it was confined to the business office of the 
 "Times," and the nearest he ever approached to anything 
 like a profane expression was "gosh durn it" or "dog 
 gone it, anyhow." 
 
 But now even these careless expressions were care 
 fully eliminated from his vocabulary of expletives. He 
 began to pay marked attention to Grayhunt, a man of 
 negative virtues himself, whom the assumption of piety by 
 the business manager of the "Times" impressed pro 
 foundly. Mr. Grayhunt was one of the stepping-stones 
 Cole intended to use in his march to still further great 
 ness. 
 
 "There are 'scads' of money to be made yet in St. 
 Movadu," he said confidentially to a business acquaint 
 ance, "and I'm going to get my share. I might as well
 
 A FREEZE-OUT 159 
 
 have some of old Grayhunt's wealth while it is being dis 
 tributed, and I'm after it." 
 
 He was indeed. His conferences with that gentleman 
 grew more numerous. Cole's unctuousness increased 
 day by day, observed by all who met him, and even 
 marked by Van Waters, who was not fashioned in a 
 mould to think evil of others. 
 
 The patches and pusillanimity of Cole's character were 
 known to the live citizens of St. Movadu. But to Gray- 
 hunt alone he was the painstaking, conscientious model 
 business man, whose habits were as methodical as those 
 of Grayhunt himself. And Grayhunt was a model citizen, 
 a lay figure, conspicuous for several small virtues. 
 
 The business management of the "Times," to Cole was 
 a sinecure, in fact, though to all appearances he was de 
 voted to his duties. 
 
 His plans were now about completed. He had wormed 
 himself into the confidence of Grayhunt; he had, he be 
 lieved, established his reputation firmly, and there only 
 remained the coup d'etat, which was to send his success 
 as high as possible for it to go in St. Movadu. 
 
 One more strike and Cole would be in a position to
 
 160 A FREEZE-OUT 
 
 laugh at all his enemies, and he was not so devoid of 
 
 common sense that he did not know he had many. 
 
 With the "Times" in his sole control, he would be en 
 abled to lay aside a part of the unctuous mien he carried 
 about with him daily; for it began ^o be a burden even 
 to Cole. It had long been painful to the citizens of St. 
 Movadu. 
 
 While Cole was thus working to the front, living in 
 rooms that belonged to the "Times" free of rent, using the 
 fuel, water and lights of the "Times" establishment without 
 expense to himself, surreptitiously accumulating property 
 and paying other of his necessary bills by the use of the 
 "Times'" advertising columns; having exclusive control of 
 the books of the establishment, he managed to bring this 
 wonderfully money-making newspaper enterprise out in 
 debt to himself about the time that St. Movadu took its 
 first downward start. 
 
 Van Waters, on the contrary, who had paid no at 
 tention to the books of the concern in fact was incapable 
 of business details had implicitly trusted Cole, and in~ 
 stead of securing property advantages from the "Times," 
 had gone on trying to make it the successful newspaper 
 that it really had been, He bought and paid for out of his
 
 A FREEZE-OUT 161 
 
 limited means and by his salary saving the home that he 
 built, but even that was heavily mortgaged. 
 
 This was the situation when, through the manipula 
 tions of Cole, backed by Grayhunt, Phelps and the en 
 tire outfit, Van Waters found, one day in the summer of 
 St. Movadu's second year, that they had, together, worked 
 ascheme to "freeze him out" of his interest in the "Times," 
 and even his salary as its editor. So, 'twas with a heavy 
 heart, he started for his home on the hillside in the early 
 dawn of the next morning after his last night's work as 
 editor of the "Times," the greatest factor, next to Newton 
 Morse's money, in the up-building of the remarkable city 
 of St. Movadu." 
 
 "Ship Ahoy-oy-oy!!!" 
 
 That is what chanticleer seemed to say to the wearied 
 and worried journalist and Bohemian, who had worked 
 for months with brain and nerve, with a yearning desire 
 to help in the building of a great city and a great news 
 paper. He had almost succeeded and had done much 
 more than his share. 
 
 It was nearly daylight when he reached the eminence 
 upon which his cottage stood, and which toward the latter 
 part of the trudge was approached by tortuous windings of
 
 162 A FREEZE-OUT 
 
 plank walk across some small gulches and along the hillside. 
 
 Almost breathless and beaten; every nerve trembling 
 in its taut tension as if they were the vibrations of violin 
 strings, he had thrown himself upon his bed, alone in his 
 chamber, and it was late summer time. 
 
 A window at his pillow was open and the breezes came 
 in softly, rustling the light curtains and even playing 
 among his long locks of dark hair. 
 
 With that sound which seemed a sea shout of "Ship 
 Ahoy," he was half aroused from what would have been 
 a gentle sleep. He had read in stories of the cheery cry 
 "Ship Ahoy!" and though he had often been to sea had 
 never heard it before. 
 
 With this awakening he listlessly turned his eyes to 
 ward the glorious bay lit by the stars, and over the city in 
 the foreground below, lit by the electric lamps that he 
 with his pen had helped to light. 
 
 A great steamer came ploughing over the placid har 
 bor. Gracefully careering it turned with the majestic 
 sweep of a wide semi-circle toward the largest dock. 
 
 With jingling of bells and eccentric puffs ; backing and 
 filling, and with the cluttering and dabbling of paddle- 
 wheels, it was made fast at last, and then pigmy-looking
 
 A FREEZE-OUT 165 
 
 deck-hands ran out a gang-plank to the top of the wharf 
 and pigmy-looking passengers, gripsack, package and 
 umbrella-laden, went single file ashore, and pigmy-look 
 ing stevedores and longshoremen rolled little boxes and 
 barrels of freight over another gang-plank, below, to the 
 slips and up to the main floor of the wharf. ' Then the 
 great steamer with more of the jingling of bells and the 
 dabbling of paddles backed out from the dock and sailed 
 gracefully from the harbor. 
 
 Wearily and yet with an interest, Van Waters, who had 
 toiled for the city's good, amid the trickery and treachery 
 about him, unknowing of it all, had watched the 
 movements of the steamer and its people, wondering no 
 more, why that startling cry of "Ship Ahoy!" 
 
 He turned upon his pillow and saw, as in a dream, a 
 mighty city growing that he had wrought to start. 
 
 But in it all he had unselfishly overdone himself. 
 
 A grand buf sombre angel came and with gentle finger 
 touched his heart; it ceased to beat, and his work, yet 
 unfinished was done. 
 
 Chanticleer rose tip-toe again, clapped his wings and 
 cheerily screamed to the morning, 
 
 "Ship Ahoy-oy-oy!!"
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A Setting Sun. 
 
 I gazed, enraptured, on the scene 
 
 Below the vale; beyond the town 
 Just peeping through its leafy screen 
 
 And stood there till the sun went down, 
 And darkness gathered all around. 
 
 My Village Home. 
 
 % 
 
 Tom Fuller was a Chicago newspaper friend of Van 
 Waters who had been visiting him for a few weeks and 
 was his guest. He was some sort of distant relative of 
 Mrs. Van Waters and she and Grace were exceedingly 
 fond of him, as he was of them. 
 
 Van Waters had given standing instructions in his 
 house that he was not to be disturbed in his daytime 
 sleeps. His calling had made him a "night hawk," and 
 for years, having retired generally about the time day 
 workers were thinking of getting up, he usually slept 
 until noon. Tom Fuller, Mrs. Van Waters and Grace, on 
 the morning Van Waters died, went out on a sailing 
 excursion with some friends on the bay, not knowing 
 
 (1*4)
 
 A SETTING SUN 165 
 
 that they had left the lifeless body of Van Waters in the 
 closed apartment above stairs. 
 
 They did not return until toward the middle of the 
 afternoon, and when Lottie, the maid of all work, in 
 formed Mrs. Van Waters that the master of the house 
 had not arisen at his usual time, the three, Tom, Nan and 
 Grace, gave each other a startled look, and led by Tom 
 hastily ran upstairs. Tom knocked vigorously at the 
 door, crying, "Get out, old man, or you will lose 
 your breakfast, about dinner time." Of course there was 
 no reply, and the three faces blanched. Fuller took a 
 stepladder that stood in the attic and climbed over the 
 transom, saying, "He must be very ill; perhaps it is a 
 swoon." 
 
 Lightly swinging himself from the transom to the 
 floor inside, he was quickly at the bedside of the dead 
 man, and instantly became aware of the truth. 
 
 Fuller and Van Waters had loved each other, even 
 more than brothers ordinarily do, from their childhood, 
 and the appalling truth that he had discovered smote him 
 a terrible blow. He turned to the door, unlocked it, and 
 Nan and Grace rushed quickly into the room, Tom's 
 blanched face bringing from both exclamations of pain.
 
 166 A SETTING SUN 
 
 Tne awful truth dawned upon the two women, and the 
 
 three fell sobbing upon the dead man's couch. 
 
 Fuller was first to comprehend that something else 
 must be done, and calling Lottie, he directed her to ring 
 for a messenger, while he proceeded to the telephone and 
 informed Major Stamina of the situation. In a few min 
 utes later the major and Jack Lacy arrived in a 
 
 
 
 carriage, and shortly after Ada Benson and Mrs. Dawson 
 came also. 
 
 Pending the final arrangements for the funeral, hun 
 dreds of sympathizing friends, as well as many others im 
 pelled by curiosity, visited the Van Waters home. 
 
 Possibly for some fancied fashionable reason of their 
 own, among the visitors were Mrs. Phelps and Mrs. 
 Pugh, with the latter's simpering and affected daughters. 
 
 This party, after taking a look at the dead man, 
 were seated a few moments in the hall, and as if for the 
 ear of Jack Lacy, as he passed, Mrs. Pugh, with affected 
 pathos, remarked to Mrs. Phelps: "He was really quite 
 a good man, and I have often thought what a pity it was 
 that he did not belong to the Episcopal church." 
 
 Lacy, knowing that Van Waters and his people for 
 generations past had been Episcopalians; that his friend
 
 A SETTING SUN 167 
 
 had been the chief factor in the inauguration and estab 
 lishment there of St. Paul's parish, and that he and his 
 family had lately been driven from attendance at the ser 
 vices of that church by the snobbish and parvenu con 
 ventionalities that had grown into the congregation, at 
 the hands of these people, and their followers, very few 
 of whom, especially these, had ever been inside of an 
 Episcopal church, until that which had been erected into 
 the temple of the pitiful "400" to St. Movadu, was so in 
 dignant when he heard the remark that it seemed im 
 possible for him to hinder his lips and tongue from say 
 ing to Mrs. Pugh: "Did you join the Episcopal church 
 at Monterey?" 
 
 Without waiting for a reply, Lacy, knowing that his 
 shot had hit the mark, hurried on, and the Phelps and 
 Pugh party shortly afterward drove away in their car 
 riages. 
 
 The funeral of Van Waters brought out one of the rul 
 ing passions of a great many men Van Waters was a 
 member of several secret societies, Masons, Elks, Knights 
 of Pythias, etc., and these organizations turned out in 
 large numbers. He was universally liked among the 
 people of St. Movadu and the cortege that followed his
 
 168 A SETTING SUN 
 
 remains to the cemetery was by far the largest and most 
 imposing that the new city had ever seen. Indeed there 
 had not been more than ten burials in their "City of the 
 Dead," and the opportunity for parade was taken advan 
 tage of almost gladly. And yet the sincere mourners 
 were unusually numerous. 
 
 A few days after the funeral, Arthur Campbell, a young 
 lawyer whom Van Waters had always consulted in the 
 few legal affairs necessarily coming in his business, ac 
 companied by Major Stamina, and one or two other of 
 Van Water's intimates, met for the purpose of looking 
 into and straightening out the dead man's estate. They 
 found a very brief will, in which Van Waters had made 
 Major Stamina his executor. The will simply gave to 
 Nan, his wife, whatever of property, personal and real, he 
 might die possessed, and to Grace, his daughter, a life 
 insurance of $10,000. 
 
 It was further discovered that every piece of real es 
 tate Van Waters had owned was heavily mortgaged, and 
 that Cole, Grayhunt, Phelps and Company, had become 
 possessed of the "Times" newspaper and printing estab 
 lishment, leaving Van Waters' estate absolutely bereft of 
 any interest in that. The home was so heavily mortgaged
 
 A SETTING SUN 169 
 
 that it was utterly out of the question to think of retain 
 ing possession of that; and Grace being under age the 
 fund left her through the life insurance policy could not 
 be used in its defense. Besides, the stricken wife was 
 anxious to go back with her daughter to the old home in 
 New York state, where she could be among her relatives 
 and those of the husband she mourned, and Tom Fuller 
 took them away. 
 
 Cole, now entirely in charge of the "Times," patroniz 
 ingly offered the editorship of the paper to Jack Lacy, 
 who quietly and firmly refused the distinguished honor, 
 saying, perhaps unnecessarily, but in his candid way, that 
 the "Times" would never be edited again. 
 
 Cole had never liked Jack Lacy, but he was acute 
 enough in business to know that Lacy was the best 
 man he could obtain then, in St. Movadu, and it was his 
 intention to place Lacy in the editorship, but only until 
 he could bring a man of his own kind from somewhere 
 else, when he would unblushingly discharge Mr. Lacy. 
 
 Jack not only believed that this was the plan of 
 Cole, but he had a disinclination to take the position 
 vacated by the death of his friend, and he had also other 
 matters of importance, to himself, that woiiJd distract his
 
 170 A SETTING SUN 
 
 attention to such an extent that he would be unable to 
 do himself justice in that work. 
 
 Some weeks after the incidents just related a queer 
 affair occurred. 
 
 For years Lacy had carried in his purse a curious 
 button, exquisitely wrought by some East Indian artist. 
 He was desirous of presenting this to Ada Benson on the 
 recurrence of her birthday, which was then a few weeks 
 away; but it was necessary that for the purpose of a 
 brooch, into which shape he proposed to have it altered 
 for his sweetheart, a pin and bar be placed upon it, with 
 some tender words engraved thereon suited to his fancy. 
 
 To DeWolf, the leading jeweler of the city, he took the 
 button. The jeweler, who was well informed in his art, 
 and who was also a scoundrel, a fact known to but few 
 people, comparatively, at once saw that the trinket was 
 of great value, indeed far more valuable than Lacy had 
 ever thought, for he had treasured it more for its beauty 
 than its intrinsic value. 
 
 DeWolf was much infatuated with a gypsy-like and 
 fascinating courtesan, whom he was solicitous should 
 wear the jewel. Deftly he sounded Mr. Lacy and 
 offered to purchase it of him, at a most astonishing price,
 
 A SETTING SUN 171 
 
 Lacy, however, refused the jeweler's importunities, and 
 finally told DeWolf that the button was not for sale at 
 any price and that he couldn't raise money enough to buy 
 it. So the exquisite thing was left in the hands of the 
 jeweler with instructions how to mount and engrave it. 
 
 So determined was DeWolf to possess the jewel that 
 he deliberately set at work and produced a counterfeit of 
 ft, mounted as directed, and when Lacy came for it, 
 delivered to him the counterfeit and retained the original. 
 It was early in the evening when Jack received the little 
 case containing the brooch, and being somewhat hurried, 
 without examining tne contents of the box, he placed it 
 in his'pocket, paid the jeweler's bill and hastened away. 
 
 The business that called him was with Major Stamina, 
 and having reached that gentleman's office, the gift for his 
 sweetheart being uppermost in his mind, he immediately 
 produced it, for- the purpose of exhibiting it to the en 
 thusiastic major, who declared it to be the most beautiful 
 thing he had ever seen. 
 
 By the absence of some little mark that Lacy had 
 frequently observed upon the original button he discov 
 ered the counterfeit, and disclosed that fact to Major 
 Stamina, who had often seen the button before in Lacy's
 
 172 A SETTING SUN 
 
 hands, and quickly the two repaired to DeWolf's estab 
 lishment, but to find that the wily jeweler had closed his 
 establishment for the night. 
 
 A warrant was at once secured for DeWolf's arrest, and 
 accompanied by a policeman, Lacy and Major Stamina 
 repaired to the house of the fascinating courtesan, where 
 they found the culprit and he was placed under arrest. 
 He offered to return the original jewel in consideration 
 of his release; but Lacy, wildly indignant over the fraud 
 that was about to be perpetrated against him, and es 
 pecially his sweetheart, refused DeWolf's overtures, and 
 the rascally jeweler was placed in jail. A search warrant 
 was obtained, however, and DeWolf, in jail, was informed 
 of this writ, and advised by Major Stamina, that rather 
 than have 'his establishment ransacked the best thing he 
 could do would be to reveal the hiding-place of the jewel, 
 which idea the jeweller craftily saw would be to his ad 
 vantage, and produced the button from his purse. 
 
 Lacy asked him if the courtesan had even seen or 
 handled the button, and being assured by DeWolf, the 
 circumstances corroborating his declarations, that he had 
 not had time to exhibit it to his charmer, and that he had 
 in fact intended to mount it and present it to her as a sur-
 
 A SETTING SUN 173 
 
 prise, Mr. Lacy felt much relieved; for had he learned 
 that the jewel had ever been contaminated by the touch 
 of the harlot, he would have been unable to present it to 
 the pearl of a woman whom he almost adored. 
 
 The button having been thus secured, Lacy left the 
 rascally jeweler in the hands of the law. On the following 
 day the fellow obtained a bond and was released from 
 custody. Having thus obtained temporary freedom the 
 jeweler made great haste to dispose of nis establishment, 
 and left St. Movadu, for the time intervening between 
 that and the day set for his trial. That came about a 
 month afterwards and the jeweler, thinking the matter 
 had blown over, made his appearance in court for trial. 
 
 In the meantime, Lacy and Stamina, having fully con 
 sidered the matter and Jack being deeply anxious lest in 
 the trial the name of his sweetheart might be brought 
 into court, decided not to appear. The district attorney, 
 who was Lacy's intimate friend, possibly appreciating 
 Jack's feeling in the matter, entered a nolle prose qui; 
 DeWolf was released and soon after left the city for 
 good and also for the city's good. 
 
 DeWolf's rascality turned out to be a most fortunate 
 thing for him, financially, "after ail. At the time of his
 
 174 A SETTING SUN 
 
 departure he was able to dispore of his jewelry establish 
 ment at a very good price a thing which he could not 
 have done three months afterwards. 
 
 The failure of the Baring Brothers had by this time 
 begun to affect the financial world. Hard times began 
 to creep over the country; some changes by a great rail 
 road king, in affairs that affected St. Movadu, gave the 
 young city a stunning blow. People began to close out 
 their business and depart by tens, then by hundreds, 
 then by thousands, from the unfortunate city. 
 
 The "Times" newspaper became a four-page sheet in 
 stead of an eight-page publication; its columns were 
 filled largely with ready-print matter; the general print 
 ing business fell off in an appalling way, and now, in 
 stead of a staff of editors and reporters, several employees 
 of the business office and twenty-five or thirty men and 
 boys in the composing and press rooms, the entire force 
 dwindled down to five people, a cheap editor, an ama 
 teur reporter, Cole in the business office, and two printers 
 who set the type and then printed the emaciated issue 
 upon the press, thus doing double dutv, and even in that 
 consuming but little of their time. 
 
 St. Movadu became a city of shreds and patches. En-
 
 A SETTING SUN 175 
 
 tire squares were vacated, and eventually, for months, 
 and even for years, the streets were deserted, and the 
 situation became painfully pathetic. 
 
 The "Times" was at last consolidated with another little 
 daily that had been established in the latter days of St. 
 Movadu's prosperity, and the two were turned into 
 one weakly weekly. 
 
 The change had reduced Cole to poverty, and with a 
 few dollars in cash that he had kept hidden somewhere, 
 he left on a steamer one morning, ostensibly for a visit 
 to a neighboring city, but the places about St. Movadu 
 that knew him knew him no more thereafter. 
 
 St. Movadu's first sun had set.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 An Aristocratic Democrat. 
 
 x 
 
 Now list the music of his shell, 
 And hear his raptured accents tell 
 
 Of pure and noble things. 
 With minstrel's art and poet's heart 
 He fills the bowl that soothes the soul, 
 
 And plays upon its strings. 
 
 The Poet King-. 
 
 Major Stamina and Arthur Campbell sat upon the 
 marble steps of the First National 1 ank of St. Movadu 
 on a glorious morning in late autumn of the young city's 
 second year. They saw Jack Lacy, with Ada Benson' 
 seated beside him, drive by in a handsome phaeton drawn 
 by an honest-looking bay horse. 
 
 Both men arose, lifted their hats and saluted the 
 couple with pleasant words and cordial smiles. 
 
 Of course that was not enough for Major Stamina, for 
 with the return, from the phaeton, of their salute, the 
 major yelled out in his exhuberant anc 1 hearty way: 
 
 "Now you look something like, young man. Keep up 
 your lick! Go it strong! That's the way to win! He's
 
 AN ARISTOCRATIC DEMOCRAT 177 
 
 all right, Miss Ada! Stick to him and you'll be wearing 
 diamonds all over your bonnet, first you know. Going 
 to see the old man? Good luck! Give him my regards. 
 Good-bye. See you later," and he sat down again beside 
 Lawyer Campbell, who had already resumed his seat on 
 the marble, remarking as he did so: 
 
 "That young fellow is coming out strong. I always 
 knew he would. St. Movadu seems to be going to the 
 dickens just now, between you and me, but she'll come 
 out again. Mark my words, she'll come out all right, 
 star-spangled and with the scream of the eagle. Got to 
 do it. It's here. Everything's here to do it. But there's 
 going to be a squall, I'm telling you; mighty bad squall, 
 too. It's in the air. This young man, though this Jack 
 Lacy he's right in it. They tell me that mine of his, 
 up in the Oro district, is just simply a whizzer. Besides, 
 the old man Duncan has been giving him a lift to develop 
 her. The old man warn't near as bad broke as folks 
 thought he was. But he's mighty close to Jordan's 
 stormy waters " 
 
 "Have you known Lacy long?" Campbell broke in. 
 
 One had to break in to get in a word edgewise when 
 the major got started on a prolific theme, and nearly all
 
 178 AN ARISTOCRATIC DEMOCRAT 
 
 themes were prolific to him, or at least such as he chose 
 
 to talk on. 
 
 "Know him, I should say I have known him. I knew 
 him before he was born that is to say, I knew his 
 father and mother before they were married used to tike 
 a sort of a shine to the old lady young lady then long 
 before Tom Lacy, Jack's dad, ever thought of her, 
 and" 
 
 "What sort of people were they?" Campbell inter 
 jected again. 
 
 "People? Finest on earth. Tom Lacy came from old 
 Scotch-English stock had a De on the name De 
 Laceys, you know. Walter Scott's got something about 
 some De Laceys in one of his novels, you know same 
 stock, I reckon; good stock, anyhow, but Tom was born 
 and raised in Virginny; didn't like any fool'shness, you 
 know, so he just took a corn knife or something and 
 whacked the De right off, and they've been going it 
 plain Lacys ever since." 
 
 "Jack has much of the courtly gentleman about him, 
 but he doesn't look it," said Campbell. "He seems to me a 
 strange mixture of aristocrat and democrat. How do 
 you account for that?"
 
 AN ARISTOCRATIC DEMOCRAT 179 
 
 "Easy as falling off a log," confidently asserted the 
 major. "If ever a man's face belied him it's that same 
 Jack Lacy's face. His mother was about the finest look 
 ing young woman I ever saw; her hair and eyes as black 
 as night; face like a princess, with a nose on it that had 
 a little bit of a Roman hump to it, and she was blooded, 
 too, you hear me; old French Huguenot stock that settled 
 in the Carolineys and Virginny. And Tom was a mighty 
 sight like her handsome as a Messenger horse; but he 
 had red hair auburn, some call it, and was built like a 
 prize fighter. Jack must have bred back, or forwards, or 
 something. He don't look like what he is them long, 
 white eyelashes and that sort of a muckle-berry-dun 
 head of his, and that scattering moustache but did you 
 ever notice his eyes? Look into those blue eyes of his if 
 you want to see all there is in that man. Game as a 
 wildcat; kind as a woman; sharper than a steel trap; heart 
 too big to fit him; bright, smart, and still as innocent as 
 a lamb. Don't know a lick on earth about conniving. I 
 remember one time out in Missoury. We both lived 
 in St. Joe eighteen years ago. Jack, was only a kid then, 
 but he was a mighty handy reporter on a newspaper, and 
 blamed if he wasn't all mixed up in the big whisky ring
 
 180 AN ARISTOCRATIC DEMOCRAT 
 
 of that time and didn't know 6*f its existence till they 
 had his employers and about five or six more of the big 
 business men, that he associated with every day, in jail. 
 They had been sending telegrams by Jack and making 
 him handy, and him as innocent as a lamb. They were 
 men that stood so high socially, commerciallv and finan 
 cially that he never would have suspected them of any 
 thing but being straight as a ruler. And the fact is some 
 of them that were arrested were as honest men as ever saw 
 the sun. Then, again, some of them weren't. But all of 
 them seemed to think that they had a rie r ht to beat the 
 government out of whisky tax. They were distillers, 
 wholesale dealers in the truck, and government officials 
 inspectors, gaugers, warehousemen and the like. And 
 they just doted on little Jack." 
 
 "But if they doted on him so, why didn't they give him 
 a slice of the big money they were making?" 
 
 "Well, tell you how it was. Jack was talking to the 
 king of the ring one day, in Chicago, years after the 
 thing was over. This boss had been a particular admirer 
 of little Jack's and Jack asked him the very question 
 you've asked me. Joking, rather, he said, 'Why didn't 
 you let me in on that scheme?' The ex-king, who had
 
 AN ARISTOCRATIC DEMOCRAT 181 
 
 served about half his three years' time and was pardoned 
 by President Hayes, said, 'Well, to tell you the truth, 
 Jack, we thought you were too honest to trust.' Just 
 think of that, Cam. Too honest to trust? Now, wouldn't 
 that kill you? Then the king went on to say, 'Do you 
 remember, Jack, the time I asked you if you wouldn't 
 like to be a government warehouse-keeper at eight dol 
 lars a day, and you said, no, you didn't want to be fool 
 ing around a whisky warehouse? Well, my son, if you 
 had taken the place I was going to give you, the chances 
 are that you would have been mixed up somewhat in the 
 ring and you would have had stripes running like a zebra 
 on you before you got out of it. But none of us thought 
 then that we were going to get into any trouble.' It was 
 lucky for Jack that he was too honest to be trusted, 
 wasn't it?" 
 
 "Well, rather," replied Mr. Campbell. "But you 
 haven't explained to me how Lacy comes to be aristo 
 cratic and democratic both." 
 
 "That's easy. Ask me something hard," returned the 
 major. "You see, Jack's blooded. I told you that before. 
 He came from away up stock on both sides. French 
 nobility, British knighthood, through the old Virginny
 
 182 AN ARISTOCRATIC DEMOCRAT 
 
 blood of the best kind, and he just simply inherited aris 
 tocracy. Besides, he's as brave as Julius Caesar and as 
 gallant as Dick the Lion-hearted; but he's all American. 
 He's got a sense of justice that would have helped even 
 old Judge Marshall, and he's a believer in the nobility of 
 skilled labor. I have heard him say when he was a boy 
 and read English history the first time, there were two of 
 the old-time kings that particularly struck his fancy. 
 One of them was Alfred, who could shoe his own horse, 
 and often did it, and the other was Edward III., who, 
 when he picked up a woman's garter at a court ball and 
 a courtier sneered, turned to him with some sort of a 
 parley voo talk, that I don't remember and wouldn't if 
 I could but which meant, 'That woman's under my 
 protection and I'll see you later. I'm king!' Jack can 
 go into a blacksmith shop and make as good a horse 
 shoe as Jim Purvis can, to save him, and did you ever 
 see him hit the 'pianner forty' and the banjo? Look at 
 his poetry, and look how he loves that girl of his'n. And 
 don't you remember, the other day, when he wanted to 
 find out if that woman of DeWolf's had ever had her 
 hands on that button for the brooch. If she had, Jack 
 would have ground that costly thing under his heel before
 
 AN ARISTOCRATIC DEMOCRAT 183 
 
 he would have given it to Ada Benson, but he would have 
 bought her something twice as expensive to make up for 
 it. That's just a little pointer on Tack Lacy's gallantry. 
 He's all silk, my son, and as wide as the earth." 
 
 "Well, I'm glad to hear all this about Lacy. I al 
 ways liked him, and I think I like him more than ever 
 now." 
 
 "You can't like him too much, I'll tell you that, old 
 man, for he's as good to tie to as the Goddess of Liberty, 
 or the north star, and I'm mighty glad that he has 
 struck it rich, especially when all tne balance of us here 
 are going) temporarily mind, I say temporarily to the 
 bow-wows. By the way, Cam, come walk up home with 
 me, I want to show you some roses. You never saw any 
 roses. Hush, now don't try to say anything. I tell you 
 you never saw any roses " 
 
 "But, I" 
 
 "Yes, I know you think you have, but come right 
 along with me, I want to prove to you that you never did 
 know any more about roses than a cat does about San 
 scrit. And The major brought that "and" out with 
 a rising inflection and a long stretch of it for emphasis, 
 "A-n-d maybe I'll show you some other things."
 
 184 AN ARISTOCRATIC DEMOCRAT 
 
 Campbell was glad.to go. St. Movadu was moribund. 
 Litigation had almost ceased, as had all other kinds of 
 business. He had more leisure than anything else, ex 
 cept almost worthless town lots, for he too had been 
 caught in the downfall of the city, so ne arose, assisted 
 in a playful way by a pull from the major's strong hand, 
 and as they stood upon the steps both looked up and 
 down the almost deserted streets and heaved big sighs 
 in concert. 
 
 Indeed the scene was pathetic. 
 
 There were whole squares in the business part of the 
 city, that a few months before was instinct with com 
 mercial and social life, now almost entirely deserted. 
 Hundreds of handsome homes along the hillsides were 
 tenantless, and there was an air of desertion and loneli 
 ness that one sometimes observes about a crossroad 
 hamlet on a holiday, when all the people of the place have 
 gone, early, to a neighboring town to celebrate. But 
 the mercurial Major Stamina, always as full of hope as 
 the firmament is of stars on a clear night, came out 
 strong with the remark: 
 
 "You could shoot a Catling gun down that street and 
 never hit anything but a dog, unless it's Phelps still I
 
 AN ARISTOCRATIC DEMOCRAT 185 
 
 don't take back the dog. But it will be all right after 
 awhile, Cam. This thing ain't a going to last. The re 
 sources are too big. We've got the site, old man, and 
 she'll whoop up yet, I'm telling you." 
 
 The two walked on toward the major's home, six or 
 eight blocks away, and up the picturesque grades, talk 
 ing of St. Movadu's past and of its future prospects, possi 
 bilities and probabilities, until they reached the house to 
 which they had started. 
 
 The cottage was not a large one, and it was quite plain 
 as to architecture, its principal ornaments in that line 
 being a bay window at the front and another on the east 
 side, with a porch beside each window; but over windows 
 and porches there was a wealth of running rose-bushes, 
 honey-suckles and other vines that, almost hid them, and 
 late autumn as it was, -these vines were all bending with 
 a wealth of bloom. 
 
 Proudly the major handed his guest up the short flight 
 of steps that led to the front gate, and without a thought 
 of entering the building, led the attorney through the 
 grounds from one clump of brilliant foliage to another, 
 all the time chattering away in his enthusiastic and some* 
 tinier extravagant manner,
 
 186 AN ARISTOCRATIC DEMOCRAT 
 
 "Look at that Marechal Niel," he said. "Did you 
 ever see anything like it? Didn't I tell you, you never 
 saw any roses? Look here talk about the yellow rose of 
 Texas how's that for a yellow rose? Come, give it up 
 now. Did you ever see any roses before?" 
 
 "Don't think I ever did, major," meekly and admir 
 ingly the lawyer admitted. 
 
 "That's right, Cam, always tell the truth. It might 
 bother you a little professionally at times, but we won't 
 count that. How's that for La Frances," and the major 
 lovingly put his arms half way around a golden, glowing 
 and lusty specimen of that kind of a rose tree. 
 
 "Takes me to raise roses, Cam," he continued. " 'Bout 
 four feet down there I piled in broken stone, for about 
 two feet; keeps it damp down there, you know, and gives 
 the roots something to cling to. Then I filled up with 
 rich dirt, and there you are roses see 'em? But ain't 
 they roses? Look at that vine. I brought a slip of that 
 from my old home, out here. My mother taught me how 
 to raise roses. I wouldn't take a house and lot no joke 
 meant I wouldn't take a mint for that rose vine. I'll 
 bet that for the last four months I could have cut a thou 
 sand roses a day on these four lots, Now take a little
 
 AN ARISTOCRATIC DEMOCRAT 187 
 
 peep in here," and the major pulled back the foliage of 
 some currant bushes of which there was a long row be 
 side the walk around the house. The amber arrd crim 
 son fruit hung in great bunches on the bushes. 
 
 "No currants in there," he went on ; "not a single cur 
 rant. Can't see any currants, can you?" pulling back 
 bush after bush and exposing the berries in all their beau 
 tiful plenty. "They've gathered currants from those 
 bushes to make jam and jelly enough to feed an army 
 small sized army and now there are none left. Can't 
 see a darned currant, can you Cam?" 
 
 Then the jolly major turned to the strawberry patch 
 The leaves of the plants had for the most part turned 
 yellow and crimson; some green leaves were left and 
 here and there a great belated berry peeped out. 
 
 "There's a piece of ground fifty feet square. There are 
 about five hundred plants on the space. I'll bet you a 
 horse against a box of pills that we took ten bushels of 
 strawberries off of that piece of ground this season. And 
 say, my son, some of them were as big as a tin cup pint 
 cup, mind you. Lots of them were eight and nine inches 
 in circumference and weighed near half a pound apiece."
 
 188 AN ARISTOCRATIC DEMOCRAT 
 
 "I know that," Campbell agreed; "I saw a few of 
 them down at Kingsbury's." 
 
 "Yes, I sent a few of them down there," the major ex 
 plained, "as the best place for folks to see them. Never 
 sold any of them. Never sold a cent's worth of any 
 thing that the good Lord gave me from the bosom cf 
 Mother Earth in my life. Raise enough stuff for my 
 family, balance goes to whoever will come after it, if 
 they are respectable people. Tramps not admitted." 
 
 "Here, Bulger!" 
 
 A big dog came bounding toward the major. "Tramps 
 not admitted, are they, Bulger? Look over yonder, Cam. 
 Don't see any cabbages, do you. Krout enough for 
 St. Movadu. More than enough if people don't quit 
 going away. Oh, no! no cabbages, and turnips and 
 rutabagas, and beets and carrots and things, oh, no! And 
 say, Cam, now admit again. Did you ever really see any 
 roses before?" 
 
 "Cam" admitted again, and the major said, "Come in, 
 let's get a drink of water." He led Mr. Campbell through 
 the back hall and into what the major called his "den," a 
 room that was a curiosity in itself, besides being crowded 
 with innumerable other curiosities. There were elk
 
 AN ARISTOCRATIC DEMOCRAT 189 
 
 heads, carraboo heads, moose heads, taxidermized. Sea 
 shells, a chair made of the long polished horns of Texas 
 cattle, a big wagon load of healthy looking and solid old 
 books, ranged on open shelves. There was a rag carpet 
 on the floor. "Mother made it," the major said, meaning 
 his wife, and 
 
 Oh, well, let's not stop to enumerate and catalogue 
 the contents of the major's den, except to say that there 
 were also, besides the major's desk, and some large 
 and comfortable chairs, and a lounge, a hospitable look 
 ing side-board. 
 
 The two were seated, and the major in his stentorian 
 voice called out "Mother!" 
 
 Almost in the same moment a pleasant-faced and smil 
 ing matron of about forty entered, in the home garb that 
 she usually wore when about her household duties, ex 
 cept the gingham apron that she had laid aside when she 
 found a visitor was in the house. 
 
 Mrs. Stamina bore in her right hand a pitcher rilled 
 with water and some ice that jingled refreshingly against 
 the inside of the vessel. In the other hand were a 
 couple of big goblets held at the stems by her ample 
 fingers.
 
 190 AN ARISTOCRATIC DEMOCRAT 
 
 "You've met Judge Campbell?" said the major. 
 
 "Oh, yes," from both Mrs. Stamina and the lawyer 
 all lawyers were "judge" with the major on such occa 
 sions. 
 
 The two shook hands, Mrs. Stamina offering some 
 words of welcome that were received with polite re 
 sponse by the lawyer. 
 
 "I heard you ask Mr. Campbell to come in and get a 
 drink of water," said Mrs. Stamina, with a knowing smile, 
 "so I brought it with me, you see," and she pointed to 
 the pitcher of ice-water that she had deposited on the 
 table. 
 
 "Water is an excellent drink," quoth the major in a 
 serio-comic way, "but an eminent physician once gave 
 me a prescription by which I could very much improve 
 water. Mother, I'll bet a lot in Worrell's addition that 
 there isn't a sprig of mint on earth, especially in this 
 neighborhood," and again the major looked humorously 
 serious. 
 
 "Come on, Teddy, come," said Mrs. Stamina to a 
 sturdy "chunk of a boy" whom the major and wife had 
 taken from a foundling house seven or eight years before 
 and adopted as their own, not being blessed with
 
 AN ARISTOCRATIC DEMOCRAT 191 
 
 offspring their very own. And Ted came almost in 
 stantly afterward, bearing a big bunch of mint that he 
 had gathered almost under the window of the major's 
 den. 
 
 Meantime the major was looking through his desk for 
 that "prescription to improve water." "But," he said, 
 "you know it by heart, mother; please concoct it for us," 
 notwithstanding that the good lady had already begun 
 the delightful task. Anything she could do for Major 
 Stamina and his guests was a pleasure for that excellent 
 wife. 
 
 The major continued, however, to search for the "pre 
 scription," "because," he declared, "I want Judge Camp 
 bell to have a copy of it. Why, it may save his life some 
 time. Ah! here it is," and the major unfolded a some 
 what brown-with-age piece of manuscript and gave it to 
 Mr. Campbell, who read from it as follows: 
 
 "Sacch. alb zii 
 
 Cum. aqua font, quant, suff. 
 
 Cognac fort. zip. 
 
 Spir. frumenti quant, suff. 
 
 Fol. menth. vir. vel pip. ad lib, 
 
 Fiat infuswm et add,
 
 192 AN ARISTOCRATIC DEMOCRAT 
 
 Glacies pulv. quant, stiff. 
 
 Omnia misce. 
 
 Repeat dose three or four times a day until cold 
 weather sets in. 
 
 The "prescription to improve water" being filled, the 
 major and Mr. Campbell accepted one each from Ted and 
 Mrs. Stamina and proceeded to take the "dose" from the 
 goblets in light sips, as per directions, and the conversa 
 tion proceeded increased in fact for one of the names 
 of that prescription is "conversation water." 
 
 Mrs. Stamina and Ted had left the room, bent upon 
 some important errand to the yard, which was probably 
 the collection of a big boquet for Mr. Campbell, and let 
 us, dear reader, leave them there awhile with that "pre 
 scription." 
 
 Thus we would be coadjutors in Major Stam'.na's 
 hospitality. 
 
 With a mint julep, isn't a bad place to leave a couple of 
 friends.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Reminiscences. 
 
 More fit for me a sweet refrain 
 
 Of home and long ago 
 Harp of the south, I strike again 
 
 The dear old quaint banjo. 
 
 Harp of the South, 
 
 I've heard it in the evening 
 
 Within a quiet home, 
 Sing "Suwanee River" till the bees 
 
 Came humming round the comb. 
 
 The Governor's Violin. 
 
 In that region of country along the Pacific coast of the 
 United States from the northern part of California on the 
 south to the British possessions on the north, and west 
 of the Cascade range of mountains, the variations of tem 
 perature from one year's end to another are compara 
 tively even. For the most part the inhabitants wear 
 nearly the same thickness of clothing all the time, adding 
 in winter the rainy season a mackintosh or other water 
 proof wrap. But rarely do snow and ice come in the val- 
 
 (193)
 
 194 REMINISCENCES 
 
 leys to great depth or thickness, but rarely, and seldom 
 in summer is there much heat. It is never intense. Some 
 times an entire winter will pass without snow or ice, and 
 often summers without greater heat than that of a balmy 
 day in springtime in the middle and eastern states. Rut 
 generally the winter months and the first two of spring 
 weep almost incessantly with light rains, to which the 
 people become inured and which they rather like. 
 
 It was about two months after the incidents related in 
 the last chapter that the winter rains set in on St. Movadu 
 and all the region described. The young city had become 
 more and more pathetic in its deserted state. From a 
 population of ten thousand or more it had dwindled to 
 less than two thousand souls, and many of these remained 
 because they could not get away. The few that could 
 have gone had their entire capital, great or small, invested 
 in city property that was utterly unsalable at any price. 
 Some who had been purse-proud and arrogant were as 
 humble as the patient cows that proud dames, thereto 
 fore, were now milking twice a day, and glad for them 
 selves and their children that these docile beasts yielded 
 much of their sustenance. 
 
 The gambler and his female companion, like the first
 
 REMINISCENCES 195 
 
 rats to desert a sinking ship, were all gone. Every 
 drinking place but one, of the more respectable class, 
 were closed. There were yet one or two of the viler 
 groggeries in the lower portions of the abandoned city 
 that continued to eke out a squalid existence by the occa 
 sional sale of a "jolt" of fire and liquid damnation to a 
 pitiful 'hanger-on. Nearly all the retail stores and shops 
 presented locked and barred front doors, the stocks hav 
 ing been moved to more prosperous places. 
 
 In short, St. Movadu was as dead as it seemed possible 
 for such a place to ever become. Even the spirit of 
 friendliness was dead that had existed between those of 
 the people who belonged to either of the classes prom 
 inent during the city's prosperity; the brain and brawn 
 that had been the working bees of the hive, and the 
 "nouveaux riches" that had assumed parvenu airs. 
 
 There were exceptions to this among very small co 
 teries or couples. The times had brought the test of 
 friendship. When money was plentiful and all who were 
 possessed of strength and ambition were prosperous, it 
 was easy for men to be liberal, accommodating and ap 
 parently generous; but when the depression came, the 
 true nature of every individual was unveiled. Thus men
 
 196 REMINISCENCES 
 
 who had appeared to be benevolent and public spirited 
 were seen to be small, stingy and selfish. The true hearts 
 were of course unchanged. 
 
 The sincere friendships that had been in the days of 
 prosperity or that were forged together in the trials of ad 
 versity, grew even stronger and more conspicuous, and of 
 these that between Major Stamina, Jack Lacy, Dr. 
 Somerset and Arthur Campbell would have delighted the 
 most perfect optimist and astonished the most intense 
 pessimist. 
 
 Campbell and Stamina were almost inseparable. Lacy 
 was not so much with them. He was the one prosperous 
 man of the city. His mine was paying handsomely, even 
 in the process of its development, but it was not samuch 
 the exactions of his business that kept him out of the 
 desired company of his two friends as his remarkable 
 devotion to old Dan Duncan who was now a confirmed 
 invalid, confined all the time to his rooms and for the 
 most part to his bed. 
 
 Lacy had grown fond of the old man, long before that 
 passing pioneer had unbosomed to the Bohemian his 
 secret not only the secret of his wealth, but another in 
 which Lacy was more interested.
 
 REMINISCENCES 197 
 
 Lacy's noble sweetheart, Ada Benson, continued also 
 to give the old man every attention that maidenly mod 
 esty and her spare hours from school would permit, and 
 there grew a tie between the invalid old man and the 
 bright, handsome and healthy woman that was the more 
 astonishing when the disparity of their ages and the great 
 contrast of character, bearing and attainments were con 
 sidered. And yet the old man betrayed a gallantry, now 
 and then, that would have been a credit to a courtier. 
 
 "I don't want you to be hampered up in that thar 
 school, that's my turn turn," he sometimes said in almost 
 a whine or whisper, the tone induced by his illness and 
 weakness, and in the remnant of East Tennessee dialect 
 that had clung to him through all the years of his semi- 
 hermitage at Duncan's Cove, using occasionally a word 
 from the Siwash jargon familiar to him for twenty 
 years. "Thar ain't no use fur it. Jack's go'; enough to 
 keep his fewter wife out of the rain, goin' and comin', and 
 then bein' cooped up thar with them young ones all 
 day" 
 
 "But I like it, Uncle Dan," she had long ago asked 
 and obtained permission to call him 'Uncle Dan'. "They
 
 198 REMINISCENCES 
 
 are bright children generally, and they love me and I love 
 
 them. It is a pleasure to teach them and 
 
 "You would not rob her of what little pleasure she can 
 find in St. Movadu, would you?" interposed Mr. Lacy. 
 
 "N-o-o," the old man drawled. "But I think I know a 
 heap better reason in her mind than the sorter one she 
 gives," he continued. "Lhances are she don't want to 
 take yo' money till she's married, Jack. I know the 
 critters. But she'll make it fly then," with a feeble laugh 
 the old man ended. 
 
 "I have other pleasures, Jack," Miss Benson declared. 
 "It is a great pleasure to be allowed to come here to see 
 Uncle Dan, and it will be a greater one to see him get 
 well and out again. But with all this rain, I- am afraid it 
 wouldn't be safe for him to go out for a long time after 
 he is well." 
 
 "I wouldn't keer for the rain, honey, if I was well; 
 that's skookum for me; but I don't much 'spect to get 
 well till summer comes agin, if then." 
 
 While this visit was proceeding Major Stamina and 
 Arthur Campbell, who were also frequent visitors at Dan 
 Duncan's rooms, had decided, as a matter of reminis 
 cence, to visit the apartments of the Ajax club once more.
 
 REMINISCENCES 189 
 
 They called at the office of Tom Hammond, a lonesome 
 real estate dealer without deals in the same building, 
 who had possession of the keys to the club rooms, being 
 the last secretary of that innocuous organization. 
 
 Having obtained the means of entrance to the unused 
 place, they climbed the stairs and admitted themselves to 
 silent halls that had been the scene of many a gay and 
 brilliant gathering. 
 
 They found a feather dusting-brush that was very 
 dusty. Campbell took it gingerly by the feathers and 
 knocked it against a wall until the dust had been jarred 
 from the handle, which he also wiped with his handker 
 chief, much to the detriment of that piece of linen, and 
 then he brushed the dust from two of the ample chairs 
 and from a small table. Still armed with the brush, he 
 proceeded to another room where stood the superb side 
 board, and dusted about that until he could read the 
 labels on some wine bottles, from which he selected one 
 that contained a pint of old, pale sherry. Securing a pair 
 of goblets, he washed them under the hydrant-tap in the 
 room, and the major, having found some clean napkins in 
 a drawer of the sideboard, dried the glasses with them, 
 and the two went back to the great reception room, drew
 
 200 REMINISCENCES 
 
 the table toward a window that looked out on the main 
 portion of the city, and with few words between them, 
 sat at the table, tersely remarking "How," while they 
 touched their glasses and drank. 
 
 As if by the same impulse, both started up and separ 
 ately began a tour of the place, inspecting, as if they had 
 never seen them before, the many excellent paintings and 
 engravings that hung almost dust-veiled against the 
 frescoed walls. 
 
 They wandered into the billiard room with its tables 
 under their black covering of rubber cloth, that were 
 now gray with a depth of dust upon which some other 
 visitor had lately written, with a finger, his name and 
 the date of his call; then into the card rooms and the 
 office, through a drawing room and back again to the 
 grand reception hall, where the major who had never 
 been quiet so long before in his life, ejaculated: "Say, 
 Cam, this is pretty nigh awful." 
 
 "Yes," responded the lawyer, 
 
 "I feel like one who treads, alone, 
 Some banquet hall deserted." 
 
 "That's about the size of it," the major laconically re-
 
 REMINISCENCES 201 
 
 plied, and moved toward the bottle of sherry again, from 
 which he took another hearty draught. 
 
 "I'll join you," said Campbell, and after following the 
 major's example as to the sherry, the two resumed the 
 seats they left and gazed out of the window over the sad- 
 looking city and toward the broad bay that was bereft of 
 sail, or any craft, save one little stern-wheel steamer that 
 always kept close to shore and navigated a small river, 
 the mouth of which was at an estuary on the St. Movadu 
 side of the bay, two or three miles away. 
 
 One or two persons came to the front door of one of the 
 groceries left and looked up as if astonished to see peo 
 ple in the Ajax club rooms. 
 
 "Can't do justice to the subject," was the major's some 
 what obscure remark. But Campbell understood it as 
 applying to. the present condition of St. Movadu, and he 
 wisely offered the suggestion: 
 
 "Don't try to do it, major." 
 
 "Say, lemme tell you," the major continued, "this is a 
 sort of dispensation of Providence against them dad- 
 ratted fools that got too big for their clothes when things 
 were humming in these parts. But I don't see why all 
 the balance of us have to take their punishment, Still, I
 
 202 REMINISCENCES 
 
 can't help but say that it made me feel rather good to see 
 that Phdps woman coming down the other day with a 
 cake she had baked to have it sold at Pete McGowan's 
 restaurant; people got to eat, you know, and it's my opin 
 ion that the Phelps woman can bake better than she can 
 do anything of a social nature." 
 
 "The most painful thing to me, major, is to see those 
 Pugh girls slaving away down at Small's little one-horse 
 laundry. Their father is utterly poverty-stricken. Went 
 his length and more too on the Bay View addition, and 
 Grayhunt has foreclosed on him and cleaned him up." 
 
 "Well, I've suffered more acutely from other causes 
 than that," remarked the major, "and I'll bet a house and 
 lot no joke meant against a jug of buttermilk that they 
 will be able to stand it. They've got hands as broad as 
 charity, and that look like they would cover a wash-board 
 to a nicety." 
 
 "They are not washing, however: they are only iron 
 ing," Mr. Campbell explained just as Jack Lacy en 
 tered, carrying a japanned cash-box by the top handle. 
 
 "I've been chasing you two half an hour," said 
 Lacy, "and probably would never have found you if I 
 hadn't happened to run against Tom Hammond, who told.
 
 REMINISCENCES 203 
 
 me you had got the keys to the club. What on earth 
 brought you up to this souvenir of busted parvenuism?" 
 
 "Just came up to take a retrospective view," the major 
 answered. 
 
 "You wouldn't take a glass of sherry, would you, 
 Lacy?" from Campbell, politeness mixed with depreca 
 tion. 
 
 "I should say not," the major promptly responded for 
 Jack. 
 
 "Both of you are wasting your politeness and solic 
 itude," Jack said in a tone of mock severity. 
 
 "There is no danger of my going into that sort of 
 thing again. The Keeley cure is all right, and when 
 added to the Lacy cure it's a specific." 
 
 "The Lacy-Benson cure," laughed the major. 
 
 "Well, put it that way if you choose," said Lacy, who 
 had been manipulating the feather duster over the piano 
 lid and the keys. Then seating himself at the instrument 
 he struck a chord and sang: 
 
 "Down the winding river drifting 
 
 I am coming, love, to you; 
 Through the trees the moonlight's sifting, 
 
 'Cross my dug-out, gum canoe;
 
 204 REMINISCENCES 
 
 Coming, honey love, to you. 
 In the deep, dark woods a hiding 
 
 Pipes the whining whip-poor-will, 
 All the other birds a-chiding 
 
 With his 'plaining 'still, be still,' 
 Like my heart, old whip-poor-will. 
 
 Now my mocking bird sing true, 
 
 Though the old owl hoots 'to who?' 
 
 And the ring-dove says 'not you.' 
 So the mock-bird's softly trilling 
 
 From his trembling heart and mouth 
 That sweet song my soul is thrilling. 
 
 For my honey 'way down south, 
 
 For my honey 'way down south." 
 
 "My, but ain't that pooty! ' the major exclaimed. 
 
 "It has the fragrant breath of the old south," the 
 lawyer declared, and Jack closed the piano, remarking as 
 he did so: 
 
 "I have got to like the little thing myself because Dan 
 Duncan is so very fond of it. I often sing it for him with 
 the banjo, and he says it take3 him back to old Tennessee 
 and his boyhood, when he used to float down the French 
 Broad in his canoe on a visit to his sweetheart and paddle 
 back by the moonlight. That old man is as full of senti-
 
 REMINISCENCES 205 
 
 ment as one of Tom Moore's poems. In his illness and 
 weakness, he seems to think of little else than his youth 
 and young manhood in his southern home of that time, 
 and talks and dreams of them day and night. That and 
 his love for Ada Benson and myself, are deeply touching 
 to me, and the word-pictures he makes in mixed Siwash 
 and southern dialects would be masterpieces of art and 
 song if they could be painted and sung." 
 
 "How's the old man getting along?" Major Stamina 
 asked. 
 
 "I think he is near the end," Lacy replied, "and he 
 wants to see you and Campbell this evening if you can 
 possibly get there. This box," tapping it with his finger, 
 Lacy continued, "is his. It was in the National Bank 
 vault, and he sent me to get it. I think it is concerning 
 its contents that he desires to see you, Campbell, as an 
 attorney and the major as witness. Probably his will. 
 Can you come?" 
 
 "I'll be there, sure," the major replied, and bring Cam. 
 with me. You'll go?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "And Ada Benson," quoth the major.
 
 206 REMINISCENCES 
 
 "You are a great guesser, major," from Lacy. "Till 
 then good-bye," and Lacy hurried away. 
 
 Campbell and Stamina resumed their seats at the little 
 table and consulted the sherry bottle again, yet both were 
 unusually temperate men. Their Samples of the seductive 
 old wine were small enough, and there was a sadness 
 about the deserted club and the deserted city that they 
 could see from the windows, with the soughing of the 
 wind; the sobbing of the sea swells on the beach; the 
 dripping of rain upon the window sills; the air of an 
 tiquity that the deep-settled dust upon the furniture 
 gave to their immediate surroundings; the gravity of the 
 times, to give a blue tinge to their thought and talk that 
 would have taken more pale sherry than that one de 
 canter held to disperse it all. 
 
 "Old Duncan's got money, and heaps of it, if you hear 
 me," the major said, almost mysteriously, "and he will 
 give it all to Jack and Ada, I'll bet a game hen, and 
 somehow I'm depending on Jack to lift things here. Say, 
 man, that fellow's sharper than a razor. Blame me if he 
 ain't been buying a whole square right plump in the heart 
 of this place, according to the town plat that vacant 
 square north of the Woodworth hotel ; and he got it at a
 
 REMINISCENCES 207 
 
 price that a year ago wouldn't have bought a front foot. 
 I know, because I worked the deal. Don't mention it. 
 He is keeping it still for reasons of his own that I don't 
 understand, and I know that he is picking up lots here 
 and there wherever he can get them. That's why he 
 helped many a starving fellow to get out of town, and in 
 that way assisted in decreasing the population. But he 
 said that's all right. * 'Fellows,' he said, 'that come here to 
 do nothing but wait for a rise on a piece of ground ain't 
 no good anyhow/ and blame me if I don't think he's O. 
 K. on that proposition." 
 
 "He has half seriously and half jokingly said to me, 
 several times, that he expected to need my services as 
 consulting attorney pretty soon," Mr. Campbell confided. 
 
 "And blow me for a windmill," the major exclaimed, "if 
 he didn't tell me that he wanted these same club rooms 
 for his private offices. But Jack's a joker as well as a 
 mighty smart fellow and a jolly good one. Visionary, 
 though, old man visionary as sure's you're born. That's 
 the only trouble with Jack, he's visionary." 
 
 They closed and locked the main door of the club 
 house and descended the staircase, having arranged to 
 meet at the Woodworth house office at eight o'clock that
 
 208 REMINISCENCES 
 
 evening to call on Duncan, the invalid, and when they 
 
 had reached the first floor the major declared with some 
 
 vehemence: 
 
 "If I had to go up there often I would insist upon an 
 'alleviator.' " 
 
 "More puns like that and you'll soon be on the lift." 
 
 "Au revoir, major." 
 
 "Good-bye, Cam." .
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 "The Kicker" Again. 
 
 Big, warning drops, like skirmishers 
 
 Rattle amid the bowers: 
 The wind weeps through the pines and firs 
 
 In stillicides of showers; 
 I sit in the hut and harken 
 
 To the voices of the storm 
 And I watch the mountain darken 
 
 While I keep thy memory warm. 
 
 Miner's Memory. 
 
 It was verily a winter of discontent that was drawing 
 on. Overhead lowering clouds, sending down rain. 
 Rain, continually rain. While on the deserted streets 
 of St. Movadu nothing could be seen save a semi-occa 
 sional electric car, a disconsolate and lonesome looking 
 straggler of the human species; now and then a wet, be 
 draggled dog. The laitter never seemed to be absent 
 from the scene; for in a way, the saying of old holds good 
 as well toward a town as toward mankind, the dogs in 
 crease with its poverty. 
 
 (209)
 
 210 "THE KICKER" AGAIN 
 
 In this winter of discontent one afternoon that was 
 blustering and cold, with a raw wind blowing off the bay, 
 and continual showers swishing against the windward 
 side of the houses, a knot of men were standing inside 
 the front doorway of Kingsbury's saloon moodily looking 
 up and down the deserted streets from over the top of the 
 ever-present screen. 
 
 The place did not bear any appearance of bustle and 
 spirit. All that had long since departed. So would 
 have Kingsbury himself, but for the fact that what he 
 possessed on earth, himself and family included, was tied 
 up in his business, which consisted of the little remnant 
 of trade that pertained to his saloon and its fixtures. The 
 remainder of his fortune lay buried in the town lots, of 
 which he was the owner, in St. Movadu. To be sure the 
 massive safe that he had bought in the days of the boom, 
 and which had many times held small fortunes of cash, 
 deposited by the real estate men in neighboring offices after 
 banking hours, still contained a large bundle of I. O. U.'s 
 for the ever-ready tens and twenties lent "until morning" 
 in the good days. 
 
 Lacy once remarked that if Kingsbury should ever be 
 advised to travel for his health he could do no better than
 
 "THE KICKER" AGAIN 211 
 
 to take that bundle and start out in search of the men 
 whose signatures were represented there, with the full 
 assurance that he would hit all the four corners of the 
 globe in his search. 
 
 The side door was suddenly pushed open, in an ag 
 gressive manner, and while the loungers turned about to 
 see who came, a man with the cape of his coat over his 
 head, and a badly demoralized umbrella in his hand, blew 
 in. After unsuccessfully struggling to close the umbrella 
 he threw it in a corner with an expression of despair, 
 and turned toward the front of the room, disclosing trie 
 features of Mr. James Hiram Young. 
 
 "Huh," he growled with an expression more discon 
 tented than usual, "who but a- driveling idiot would 
 stay in such a place as this? I wish I could get my hands 
 on the man who wrote about the Italian climate of this 
 country." 
 
 "Hello, Young." 
 
 "How are ye, Jim Hiram?" 
 
 "How goes it, old man?" came from the crowd. 
 
 Kingsbury leaned back against the inside of the bar 
 watching Young with an expression on his face- that was 
 difficult to analyze.
 
 212 "THE KICKER" AGAIN 
 
 "What do you stay here for, anyway?" he asked. "It 
 rather seems to me that if I had as much to kick about 
 as you can always find, I would remove the light of my 
 countenance to some more favored community." 
 
 This provoked a laugh from the men about the room, 
 while Young's face took on even a deeper expression of 
 disgust. 
 
 "You fellows give me a pain," he growled. "Here 
 you are, all of you, standing around here doing nothing 
 but watching this town going to the devil. If you had 
 any life in your blamed skins you would have got out of 
 
 here long ago; or else done something, to keep things 
 
 
 
 up a little bit. What did I tell you a year ago, gentle 
 men, when you were talking about a thousand dollars a 
 front foot for lots on the avenue here. You were all 
 idiots, gentlemen that's what I said and I struck it 
 plumb." 
 
 "See here, Hiram," spoke up one of the men, "do you 
 know I think this town has a Jonah or a hoodoo 
 and I'm not far from right in thinking he is a man about 
 your size. What did you ever do, when money was as 
 plenty as rain is now; when everybody had it; and when 
 you got a whack at it, too? What did you do except sit
 
 "THE KICKER" AGAIN 213 
 
 around and growl, and back-cap every play you couTd 
 with that kick of yours? What did you " 
 
 "Hold on there, suh," Hiram broke in; "didn't I tell 
 the truth? Didn't it pan out just as I said it would? 
 Haven't all you gentlemen lost what money you put into 
 this deal? And ain't you standing around here, suh, just 
 looking for a chance to get away?" 
 
 "Well, then, Hiram," queried one of the men, "what are 
 you still blowing away about? Why don't you some 
 times let up? You ought to be satisfied. It has come 
 out as you said, and even if you were the original Jonah 
 yourself, things couldn't suit you better." 
 
 "Say, mer son, don't get too fresh. You might get 
 swallowed like Jonah was," said Young, and his face 
 took on a look that boded ill to anyone who might go too 
 far. 
 
 "Don't be a whale," said one young fellow that Young 
 was very fond of, and who patted "the kicker" familiarly 
 on the shoulder. 
 
 This somewhat mollified Jeems Hiram, and before he 
 could frame a good humored reply a hearty laugh came 
 from the doorway between the front and rear parts of the
 
 214 "THE KICKER" AGAIN 
 
 establishment, where stood a young man calmly smok 
 ing and evidently enjoying the scene. 
 
 He nodded to Kingsbury and the men collectively, and 
 stepping forward said: 
 
 "Pardon me for interrupting you, gentlemen, but won't 
 you join me in a smile? This is the first sign of life I 
 have seen since I struck St. Movadu this morning." 
 
 The invitation was readily accepted. Filling their 
 glasses the men tossed off their drinks with a nod toward 
 the stranger, and the conventional "how." 
 
 "You'll pardon my breaking in on you," he remarked, 
 "but man is a gregarious animal, and I never was so 
 lonesome in my life. Struck here this morning hoping to 
 sell a big bill of goods, and found no one to sell to. Here 
 I am, till the boat goes this evening, stranded on a wet 
 and desolate shore. When I was here eighteen months 
 ago you were lively enough. I sold a bill of two thou 
 sand dollars in an hour to one dealer now I can't even 
 find the man, much less his store." 
 
 "What line are you in?" asked Kingsbury. 
 
 "Furniture," he replied. "I travel for a Chicago house, 
 and this is my second trip to the coast. But what is the
 
 "THE KICKER" AGAIN 215 
 
 trouble here? What has become of the people? Where 
 is the business I saw when I was here before?'' 
 
 That was Jeems Hiram's chance. 
 
 To get hold of a real fresh subject upon whom he could 
 pour all his pessimistic theories, was rarely vouchsafed 
 him nowadays, and it was needless to say he grasped the 
 opportunity with a suddenness that jarred. 
 
 "Lemme tell you, suh," Mr. Young said. "It's about 
 this way, suh. These Land Company gentlemen came in 
 here; bought a lot of land from old Duncan; advertised 
 all over the country what a wonderful place this was, snh; 
 got suckers here in herds; sold 'em lots for five hundred 
 dollahs a foot that ain't wuth five clollahs an acre; pock 
 eted the bundle, suh, and then told the poor deluded 
 devils to go right on living. Told them they wouldn't 
 charge them anything for the air they breathed, and that 
 they could walk up and down the streets without paying 
 a cent. They, never started a factory or a farm, suh, and 
 there's nothin' for most of the suckers to do now by 
 which t!-ey can keep on eatin'. The most of 'em got 
 tired out and disgusted, so they flew away, as well as they 
 could them that could git away; and the Land Com-
 
 216 "THE KICKER" AGAIN 
 
 pany scoops in the lots again on the un-paid contract. 
 That's what's the matter, suh." 
 
 ''Sorry to hear it," replied the drummer. "This place 
 strikes me as the best chance on the coast for a town, and 
 it has been much spoken of in the east. Pardon me if I 
 seem too curious, but do you own much property here?" 
 
 Hiram glared ; while a subdued snicker ran around the 
 room. 
 
 "Me, suh? Me buy any such stuff as this? Well, I 
 should think not. Not if he knows himself does Jeems 
 Hiram get mixed up in a deal like this. When I was a 
 young man I larned something that has always stood me 
 in good turn; and that was never to play against another 
 man's game." 
 
 "Oh, I see," said Mr. Drummer; "you are like the 
 chorus in a Greek play. You just stand around on the 
 back of the stage and come in once in awhile with advice 
 and admonition." 
 
 "You can bet your life on that," responded Mr. Young, 
 "but lemme tell you, the time is coming after this place is 
 rid of all the shams, shoddyism, booming and real estate 
 trickery, that fortunately are fast going, St. Movadu will
 
 "THE KICKER" AGAIN 217 
 
 be the best town and the biggest one on the Pacific 
 coast." 
 
 At this unwonted and optimistic expression of Mr. 
 Jeems Hiram Young, who had been so long known as 
 "the kicker" the crowd exhibited in various ways their 
 well warranted astonishment. 
 
 "Join me again, please," said the commercial angel, 
 motioning toward the bar. They joined him. 
 
 And the angel flew away.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A Wedding. 
 
 So long as truth shall live, and song shall tell 
 His name is thine, and thou shalt wear it well, 
 
 Thy beauty and thy grace. 
 And from his hand, as master at the feast, 
 He'll give thee glowing days from out the east, 
 
 To light thy lovely face. 
 
 Tacoma. 
 
 When Arthur Campbell and Major Stamina reached 
 Duncan's rooms at the Woodworth that evening, as 
 agreed, they found the apartments presenting an appear 
 ance very different from that of the room of a sick man. 
 On the .contrary the place bore a cheerful aspect as did 
 the persons collected there. 
 
 A gentle and tasteful woman's touch was upon every 
 thing; an air of neatness not too neat, but just neat 
 enough pervaded the place. 
 
 With the simplest contrivances, art had assumed a 
 presence in the room, mingled with an atmosphere of 
 clean Bohemianism. 
 
 Ada Benson's kind and loving hand had touched cur- 
 
 (218)
 
 A WEDDING 219 
 
 tains and draperies in the deft and sweetly effective way 
 that only a true woman's' soul and taste can suggest, and 
 the vase of rich roses, pinks and pansies, whose perfume 
 redoled the apartments, had been placed upon the mantle 
 by her. The general arrangement of things, beyond the 
 mere cleaning work, done by chambermaids, was hers. 
 Even the fleecy, and comfortable, and handsome woolen 
 robe, trimmed at cuffs and collar in purple silk, that en 
 veloped old Dan Duncan's feeble form as he reposed in 
 an ample arm chair, was the handiwork of this refined and 
 womanly \yoman. The little organ that Ada or Jack 
 often played upon and sang with, to soothe the old man, 
 had been placed there by Lacy, and the banjo with small 
 coins set under the feet of the bridge to soften the twang 
 ing of the strings, was Jack's, and with that instrument 
 he sometimes sang the plaintive and minor songs of the 
 Old South to please the invalid. 
 
 Campbell and Stamina met there, upon their arrival, 
 Ada and Jack and two doctors one a doctor of medi 
 cine and the other of divinity. They were Dr. Price, 
 who was still in charge of what was left of the tabernacle 
 flock, and Dr. Somerset, both men of breadth and brains 
 in their callings.
 
 220 A WEDDING 
 
 The clergyman was one who did not preach for the 
 sake of proving himself so brilliant and ''fashionable" 
 that he would get the loud "call" of a largely increased 
 salary somewhere else, but soulfully and manfully pur 
 sued his calling as an humble follower of the Nazarene, 
 and while he taught charity he practiced also that saving 
 virtue, without which "all is as sounding brass and a 
 tinkling cymbal." When he went to visit Dan Duncan, 
 it was not to fill the invalid's rooms with dolor and mel 
 ancholy, but to cheer with the hope of a future "beyond 
 the range," and to talk with him in pleasant \vays upon 
 any subject that the old man trended toward, or along 
 the delightful paths of thought where he, as a man of 
 large and varied information, could lead the old man. 
 
 The medical man was much like the clergyman, gen 
 erally, in the matter of breadth and liberality. He was 
 one who called a. mustard plaster by its name, to his 
 patients, and without the desire to mystify the ignorant. 
 He told them that such a plaster would burn and "make 
 red" the skin ; instead of speaking of it as a "rubefacient." 
 He knew that the simplest things and the simplest words 
 were best in his practice. Though, among his scientific 
 brethren, in their conventions or other convocations, he
 
 A WEDDING 221 
 
 was as able as any of them, in the application of big- 
 sounding technicalities to all things, from materia med- 
 ica, through diagnosis, prognosis and symptoms, to prac 
 tical anatomy and even medical jurisprudence. He knew 
 and admitted that there was much of charlatanism in the 
 practice of medicine, in all the schools, but held for the 
 science of surgery as a positive one, and as an art that 
 outvies that of the sculptor or limner. He was deep in its 
 mysteries and was blessed with those powerful aids of 
 surgery, the hand of a woman, the heart of a lion and the 
 eye of an eagle. 
 
 Jack Lacy had been wise enough to surround the old 
 man with such people, his gentle and beautiful sweet 
 heart and these men who did not always "talk shop," but 
 who could minister to the mind as well as to the soul and 
 body. It was such a company as this that Stamina and 
 Campbell found. And what a glorious company of 
 friends they were. 
 
 The old man was glad to have them, and after pleasant 
 and familiar greetings all around, some music, and gen 
 eral conversation upon the subjects that all were inter 
 ested in, old Duncan signified that he desired to tell 
 something important of which he wished them to be wit-
 
 222 A WEDDING 
 
 nesses. Seating themselves conveniently, with Jack and 
 Ada on either side of him, the woman caressing the old 
 man's thin hand, he said to the lawyer: 
 
 "In addition to my property in St. Movadu, the 
 deeds for which are in that little box," pointing to the 
 japanned chest that stood on. a table near by, "worthless 
 as they may be," he continued, "there are certificates of 
 deposit for $90,000, and with them my will, that gives the 
 whole kit and bilin' to Mr. Jack Lacy here, suh, and my 
 daughter Miss Ada -Benson here, suh." 
 
 Such a look of astonishment as that which took pos 
 session of all the other faces present, is seldom seen. But 
 it was one of delighted astonishment, and Ada gently 
 folded her arms about the old man's heck and head, en 
 veloping him in such a way that his further speech was 
 stopped for a moment, and he placed his feeble arms 
 around the slender waist of his daughter. 
 
 We will not attempt to describe the scene that was pre 
 sented for a few moments ; the congratulations ; the tears 
 of joy; the air of exceeding satisfaction that took pos 
 session of all. But while it seemed so strange, no one 
 had the slightest doubt of the truthfulness of the old 
 man's claim upon the girl as to their relationship.
 
 A WEDDING 223 
 
 Then the old man told his story, which was in effect 
 just as has been told in this true chronicle. Though he 
 did not mention the faithlessness of his wife and the 
 death of her paramour. 
 
 "My real name," he said, "is Daniel Benson, not Dun 
 can. When I left home I had good cause, and it was 
 fittin' to my safety to change my name. Ada was then a 
 mere toddler, and to leave her gave me the worst pain of 
 it all, though it pooty nigh broke my heart to have to go. 
 I come to this place by degrees, and you all know the 
 rest. The papers in the^box will prove everything all 
 skookum. Ada's mother died when my daughter was 
 little I hope it warn't through any doin's of mine and 
 heruncle, an Ingeaner, took her and done for hertheright 
 part. I leave it to her and Jack to do right by him and his'n. 
 
 "They are goin' to git married, Jack and Ada, and I'm 
 glad of it. That's the reason I will 'em my stuff, and I 
 hope it will be more of a blessin' to them than it has ever 
 been to me, though I never had a slippery dollar in my 
 life, nor nothin' else that I didn't git square." 
 
 The box and its contents were, after the proper in 
 spection by all present, turned over to Lawyer Campbell, 
 and he, with Major Stamina and Dr. Price retired from
 
 224 A WEDDING 
 
 the room and took their way down town. 
 
 Dr. Somerset remained to keep the old man com 
 pany while Jack escorted Ada home to procure some 
 necessary night apparel and toilet fixtures, after which 
 they returned, and until her father's death, which oc 
 curred a few weeks afterward, the young lady occupied 
 a room adjoining that of the old man. She loved him 
 now more than ever, since their relationship had been 
 revealed; the fact seemed to have astonished her less than 
 it did the others, for she had from the first been strangely 
 drawn toward this somewhat uncouth old man by, per 
 haps, the psychological force that has been often known 
 to assert itself under similar circumstances. 
 
 So it was arranged, and one day, about a week after the 
 scene described in the first part of this chapter, the wed 
 ding took place in Benson's rooms, witnessed by a few 
 friends, among them Major Stamina, Campbell and Dr. 
 Somerset. Dr. Price officiated and Benson gave away 
 the bride. 
 
 The happy couple took up their residence temporarily 
 at the Hotel Woodworth, sweethearts wedded and sweet 
 hearts ever after. 
 
 Thus for once the course of true love ran smooth.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 "The Colossus." 
 
 The rarest of the glistening gems 
 
 That deck the city's brow 
 The brightest in her diadem 
 
 Is this we're setting now. 
 And he who gave the temple name 
 
 Shall crown the beauteous queen, 
 And coming years shall sing his fame 
 
 And keep his memory green. 
 
 A Modern Temple. 
 
 Old Dan Benson was thereafter the happiest invalid 
 known to history. He sat day after day in his big arm 
 chair, tenderly watched, comforted and ministered to by 
 his gentle and loving daughter and his little less gentle 
 and loving son-in-law. He heard with closed eyes and 
 an expression of quiet pleasure upon his face, the voice 
 of his daughter in converse and song. 
 
 Jack's banjo "Harp of the South," with the plantation 
 songs the young man sang, carried him back to the home 
 of his youth, till he, in fancy, sat again in the doorway of 
 
 (225)
 
 226 "THE COLOSSUS" 
 
 the house where he was born, or by its great hearthstone, 
 and heard the drone of the spinning-wheel, or rambled 
 among the summer-clothed woods, or gathered the yel 
 low paw-paws, and caught 'possums that hung caudal- 
 pendant to the boughs of trees, in, or close to those lus 
 cious orchards. 
 
 One evening, within the month that comprised the 
 scenes of the unfolding of Benson's secret and the wed 
 ding, Jack and Ada had been softly singing together at 
 the little organ, and they ceased when they thought the 
 old man had fallen asleep. Approaching him to more 
 comfortably adjust the clothing and wraps about him, 
 they found he had fallen asleep, indeed, but it was the 
 sleep that knows no waking this side of the Great Un 
 known. 
 
 Poor, old Dan Benson had gone beyond the memories 
 that give pain or pleasure; far away had his spirit taken 
 flight, and upon the dead face there yet lingered a smile 
 that was the token of the blissfulness of his last moments. 
 
 Ada fell upon her knees at the feet of her dead father 
 and sobbed with the grief of a loving daughter who had 
 been so long bereft of parental care and affection, but 
 who had just found, for a little while, all the deep and
 
 "THE COLOSSUS" 227 
 
 tender love of a father, uncouth though that father was, 
 but none the less appreciative of her, and now taken 
 away forever. 
 
 Gently did her husband raise the sweet wife and grief- 
 stricken daughter, after a few minutes, and he led her 
 away to her own apartments, to remain until he could 
 have the proper steps taken for the care of what was left 
 on earth of that frail tenement that had so long held within 
 in the quiet, unobtrusive, self-sacrificing and yet manly 
 soul of the Tennessean; one who had lost his own wife 
 in the bitterest way, and with her the childish love and 
 his own care of their little one, a daughter found at last 
 in the strong and beautiful woman who had eased his 
 evening hours to the shores of that bright river that runs 
 this side of the flowering meadows and fair fields, whose 
 dews are the balsams of eternity. ' 
 
 The funeral of Daniel Benson was as imposing as St. 
 Movadu, in its stricken condition, could make it. Dead, 
 he was the hero of the day. Every civic society in the 
 city turned out to do his memory honor. The ranks were 
 decimated by absentees, but a nucleus of each was in the 
 cortege. There had been no effort on the part of the im 
 mediate friends of Benson to have such a demonstration,
 
 228 "THE COLOSSUS" 
 
 but as it was spontaneous and evidently sincere, it was 
 allowed to proceed, and thus, followed by nearly every 
 adult and many of the children of the city, the body was 
 borne to the little cemetery on the hill and there depos 
 ited to rest until the last great day, when the heavens 
 shall roll back as a scroll, the trump of the archangel 
 shall sound, and Jehovah in all His unspeakable power 
 and glory shall appear to judge the quick and the dead. 
 
 Jack Lacy did not wait long for a more convenient 
 time, nor did he ask aid from those who did honors with 
 banners, and regalia, and a procession, to mark the spot 
 where the pioneer was laid, but proceeded at once to have 
 erected above the grave, a plain marble monument, upon 
 which was engraved the name of Daniel Benson with the 
 date of his birth and death and the words: 
 
 "He was the pioneer of St. Movadu." 
 
 Lacy meant that those words should mean more in 
 the future than then. 
 
 During all this time Lacy had not been inactive with 
 all his increasing interests. He developed his gold mine 
 that was now producing handsomely. His great and 
 growing fortune was carefully and systematically placed 
 where it would do the most good and to be held in re-
 
 "THE COLOSSUS" 229 
 
 serve until the "hard times" should blow over, that had 
 been inaugurated by the failure of the Baring Brothers, 
 and had continued to increase, until it seemed that the 
 world was bankrupt. 
 
 To use a western phrase, the west was "whip-sawed 
 through the deal," and this continued several years, until 
 not only St. Movadu was a town of shreds and patches, 
 the pallid ghost of a city, but every city and town on, the 
 Pacific coast was seriously and almost ruinously de 
 pressed in a business way. 
 
 Then came strikes and boycotts, the march of the 
 commonwealers; more strikes the throes of the people 
 in deep distress. 
 
 At last there came a time when flesh and blood could 
 stand it no longer. The people spoke, through press and 
 forum, on the streets and through the pulpit the mighty 
 vox populi and as if in echo, came the awful Vox Dei, 
 appalling the worshippers of the golden calf, who seized 
 their yellow god and fled to where they could worship it 
 without danger from the people of America; legislators 
 were brought to a sense of right and justice, and a fear of 
 the people that overcame the love of lucre fell upon them. 
 
 The repentance for them was too late, however, for the
 
 230 "THE COLOSSUS" 
 
 people chose truer men than many who had been chosen 
 
 before. 
 
 Through these sterling men, American independence was 
 again declared. Independence of foreign control through 
 commercial and financial influences. The nations were 
 told that they should take the money that the govern 
 ment of the United States guaranteed or they could keep 
 the goods they desired to sell. 
 
 At first such governments threatened that they would 
 buy nothing from this country, but our wise statesmen 
 asked them if they had ever bought a pound of anything 
 from us that they did not very much want, and they could 
 but answer "No." 
 
 "There is only one thing men ever buy that they do 
 not need," Jack Lacy was wont to say, "and that is too 
 much whisky. Nations are not even so foolish as men 
 about that. They do not buy what they have no use for, 
 or that they cannot re-sell, at a profit, to their own 
 people." 
 
 The new order of things brought prosperity rapidly to 
 the whole of the American nation. With the increase of 
 money it came to pass that men preferred to own property 
 mills, manufactories, farms, homes, cattle. Everything
 
 "THE COLOSSUS" 231 
 
 was worth more than money and the production of every 
 thing that men could use for comfort, luxury or pleasure, 
 was done in America, and rail and sail were kept busy 
 transporting to and fro, hither and yon, the products 
 of millions of hands; the fullness of the earth, of the forests, 
 of every possible resource, and foremost among the busiest 
 and most prosperous of all the states, in all of this era of 
 prosperity, was the grand young commonwealth of Wash 
 ington. 
 
 Here were such forests of cedar, fir, spruce and hem 
 lock as are not known to exist so extensively elsewhere, 
 on the face of the earth; mountains of iron ore, and vast 
 treasures of coal unsurpassed in the world; deposits of 
 gold and silver in the mountains beyond the wildest 
 drjpams of men, when these mines shall have been fully 
 developed ; agricultural, horticultural and general resources 
 the greatest under the skies; climate of perennial joy and 
 a scenery the grandest poem that was ever sung to the 
 full diapason of nature's mighty organ, whose pipes are 
 these canyons and gorges and eternally snow-capped 
 mountains. 
 
 These were the attractions for capital and energy and 
 enterprise, and they drew a mighty armv of workers and
 
 232 "THE COLOSSUS" 
 
 the employers of work, and the vast area of Washington 
 and all the Pacific northwest became as a crowded human 
 hive, busy, earnest and happy. 
 
 Lacy had used his gold to assist in developinggoodwill, 
 as well as in other ways. He had all along been mindful 
 of the charities, those that can overlook a brother's fault, 
 and those that can fill a brother's stomach and keep him 
 warm. He had built cosy cottages on many of his lots 
 in St. Movadu. Sometimes they were terraced tenements 
 that were rented at reasonable prices to his employees 
 as they came. He established numerous manufacturing 
 and producing enterprises, among them a great sawmill 
 for making the best lumber at the least possible cost; a 
 tub and barrel factory to work up the unequalled cedar 
 that stood in seemingly inexhaustible forests upon thou 
 sands of acres near St. Movadu. He built a blast fur 
 nace to produce iron, and a smelter to reduce silver and 
 gold ores, and at the head, as chief superintendent of all 
 these enterprises, next to Mr. Lacy himself, stood Major 
 Stamina with his offices in the rooms of the old Ajax club, 
 approached by the "alleviator," for Lacy had long ago 
 purchased the entire building and was using it as his 
 general headquarters.
 
 "THE COLOSSUS" . 233 
 
 With Lacy's enterprise, and the return of good times, 
 
 St. Movadu awoke once again. The docks were crowded 
 
 more than they had ever been, in the old boom days, with 
 
 vessels from every coast and port. 
 
 A transcontinental railway, a direct thoroughfare of 
 com aerce across the North American continent, had 
 made its terminus at St. Movadu and a line of great and 
 gallant steamers had been established to run to the ter 
 minus of the Siberian railway on the Asiatic coast. 
 
 The narrowing, as toward the point of a horn, of the 
 Pacific ocean northward, made the trip across the Pacific 
 from St. Movadu to Vladisvostock many hundred 
 miles nearer than by the old routes of steamers. Thus 
 the ocean trade of America, with Asia, and much of 
 Europe and Africa, was largely transferred to the Nprth 
 Pacific ocean, where a vast fleet of American ships were 
 engaged. Russia also had her fleet of merchant ships 
 there, and Great Britain was forced for the protection of 
 her own commerce to enter into the rivalry. All this at 
 tracted, like butterflies, many vessels of other nations. 
 Travelers found this the quickest and safest route to the 
 . capitals of Europe, and westward the tourists of the na 
 tion took their course to find the east.
 
 234 "THE COLOSSUS" 
 
 The words of Benton, the statesman, were verified, 
 when in the senate chamber nearly half a century ago, 
 he pointed toward the west and said: 'There lies the 
 east; there lies India." 
 
 St. Movadu became the depot of American trade with 
 Asia and the transit port for Asia's trade with America. 
 The city grew with a wondrous growth. Its business 
 houses rose in vast and almost palatial piles, and Lacy's 
 wealth became enormous, almost beyond compute, but 
 with it all he was the same happy-hearted, poetic, tender 
 and chivalrous man that he had been when he was only 
 "Jack Lacy, Bohemian," and his Ada, the acknowledged, 
 ideal of a gentle and womanly woman, was his partner in 
 mighty and pervading charities, as well as the queenly 
 head of his elegant though simply conducted home es 
 tablishment. 
 
 As St. Movadu was growing to be the mighty metrop 
 olis of the Northwest Pacific coast, Lacy proceeded to 
 the erection of the one monument, designed by himself, 
 to be one that would give aid and comfort to thousands 
 and be an architectural crown of the city he had re 
 deemed. -
 
 "THE COLOSSUS" 235 
 
 On the square he had reserved, opposite the 
 Hotel Woodworth, now in the very business heart of the 
 city, with Major Stamina in charge of the construction, 
 he proceeded to build a mighty structure that should 
 occupy the entire space. "The Colossus," he called 
 it, in honor of Opie Read's novel of that name, 
 and it arose with a great dome at the center, while spires 
 and minarets decorated its corners and the archways to 
 its arcades ran through its first floor like the arms of 
 a Latin cross, east and west, north and south. Of 
 stone, iron and glass it became a grand mart of retail 
 trade, in every line possible and there was a theatre in 
 the dome, reached by many elevators of great carrying 
 capacity. The theatre was provided with the most elab 
 orate orchestrion that genius could produce, and that 
 gave forth the truest music befitting secular or sacred 
 events, for the theatre was also designed to be used as 
 the starting point of a universal religion based upon the 
 "Golden Rule," that should be for the healing of the 
 nations. 
 
 Major Stamina was installed, because he was a just, 
 generous and noble man, at tne head of all this, and when
 
 236 "THE COLOSSUS" 
 
 everything was in perfect running order, he and his wife 
 and Ted, Jack, Ada, Campbell and the two doctors made 
 a trip to trie old world to see its wonders. 
 
 And they sat in the shadow of the silent Sphinx. 
 
 (THE END.)
 
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