raMNHItittMl&MMMHI 
 
 * 
 
 
 EMERSO 
 CIFFORD 
 TAYLOR
 
 THE UPPER HAND
 
 W. W 
 
 The Upper Hand 
 
 By EMERSON GIFFORD TAYLOR 
 Author of "A Daughter of Dale," etc. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 A. S. BARNES & COMPANY 
 1906
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY 
 
 A. S. BARNES & COMPANY 
 
 Published liar, 1906
 
 TO THREE DEAR CRITICS 
 
 2138561
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. AN INTBUSION 1 
 
 II. JEAN 9 
 
 III. THE REBEL 22 
 
 IV. A MAID ERBANT 42 
 
 V. A CONVERSION 60 
 
 VI. MB. WARDEN'S HOMECOMING 74 
 
 VIL CONVERSATIONS 90 
 
 VIII. A CHANGE OF MIND 109 
 
 IX. A SKIRMISH 122 
 
 X. A FLANK ATTACK 133 
 
 XI. JEAN GOES ON AN ERRAND 149 
 
 XII. THE LEDGES 160 
 
 XIII. THE PABLOB 174 
 
 XIV. CONTAINS LIGHT AND DABKNESS 185 
 
 XV. PRINCIPAL AND INTEREST 202 
 
 XVI. THE TEST 221 
 
 XVII. THE BEGINNING OF THE END ^r- .... 238 
 
 XVIII. A CRISIS 249 
 
 XIX. A WAY Our 261 
 
 XX. IN THE OPEN .......... 276 
 
 XXI. JOURNEY'S END 287 
 
 XXII. ULYSSES 302 
 
 XXIII. OUTWARD BOUND 313
 
 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 AN INTRUSION 
 
 WHEN the sleepy servant opened the door of 
 Squire Warden's parlor that morning she 
 received a shock. Outdoors clear cool 
 daylight was flooding the world after a night of wind 
 and rain; yet here was the hanging lamp still burn- 
 ing, though it sputtered dingily, and the heavy cur- 
 tains were drawn tight matters in themselves 
 strange enough, in all conscience. But what made 
 Mandy actually cry out in real alarm as she looked 
 in was the sight of the Squire himself. There was 
 not a man in the whole of New England more regular 
 in his habits, more careful of appearances, more 
 scrupulous in observing what he called, " his duty as 
 a respectable member of society." He had been 
 proud of his ancestors and of his old home long before 
 the Sons and the Daughters arose to remind us how 
 necessary such a feeling is to every pious descend- 
 ant ; and he tried his best to live up to their traditions 
 by making himself as rich as possible with the least 
 possible discredit, and often indeed at the expense of 
 
 1
 
 2 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 less worthy men than himself. KingSxord was in- 
 terested in two such cases especially, and on both oc- 
 casions was glad that Mr. Warden was the winner. 
 One was when he announced that he had drawn Ziba 
 Wilder's will himself, when nobody supposed that 
 the old fellow had thought of such an instrument, and 
 by its terms he inherited all the money instead of 
 Ziba's son, the worthless cheat-the-gallows James. 
 The latter only smiled when the disappointing news 
 was told him; said that maybe Warden would give 
 him a little out of charity, and drifted away down 
 the world. The other case was when the Squire fore- 
 closed on shiftless French, the miller, who was ruin- 
 ing the property anyhow. His ways were change- 
 less. The rules and order of his house were rooted 
 as deeply as the great Warden elms, were as serene 
 as the old Warden garden. So when Mandy took in 
 even the most obvious of the unusual sights the par- 
 lor showed her, she arrived at the obvious deduction 
 instantly. 
 
 " Goodness me ! " she exclaimed, her voice running 
 up in a squeak. " Is yo' dead, Marse Warden? " 
 
 She might well ask it, for the Squire was lying 
 back in an arm-chair with his eyes closed; his thin 
 face chalk white in the low light of the dying lamp. 
 His collar and clothes were rumpled and his white 
 hair disordered. 
 
 " I yo' dead ! " Mandy cried again, with rather 
 more interest than anxiety. 
 
 At that he opened his eyes and stared at her. For
 
 AN INTRUSION 3 
 
 a second he looked wild and frightened, as though he 
 had just waked from some disquieting nightmare: 
 then his expression changed. He sat up straight, 
 and whipped his right hand behind his back. 
 
 " Anything the matter, suh ? " 
 
 " You get down to work later'n I like, that's all. 
 Up up here in the North we begin the day early," 
 Mr. Warden replied with an effort. " I've been down- 
 stairs quite a while already," he added in a tone of 
 mingled bitterness and whimsical humor. 
 
 " It's only half past six," poor Mandy began. 
 
 " We won't talk about it." The Squire's tone cut 
 like acid this time; and Mandy felt inclined to weep. 
 " I'll fix this place up myself this morning." He 
 raised his head, noticed certain details in the state of 
 the room, and then hastily extinguished the lamp. 
 " Don't wait," he said, less sharply, though his voice 
 in the semi-darkness still sounded queer. " You can 
 find plenty to 'tend to somewhere else." 
 
 " All right, suh." She was considering how to get 
 away without any more scolding, when her master 
 spoke again. And this time honest Mandy got a 
 start she thought she never would get over. 
 
 " I want you to set another place at the breakfast 
 table," he said slowly, and with an evident effort. 
 " That'll do. And, Mandy, I " 
 
 "What, suh?" 
 
 " What's that noise out in the hall? Is anybody 
 ?* 1 he demanded sharply. "Is there?"
 
 4 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 The gin wheeled about, and looked blankly out of 
 the room. " No, Marse Warden." 
 
 " Humph ! Very strange. I thought I heard 
 well, let me see." The old man listened again. " No, 
 of course nobody could be there. Now what was I 
 saying, Mandy ? " 
 
 " Yo' was mentionin' a place at breakfast, suh," 
 she suggested. 
 
 " A visitor arrived in the evening," .the good gen- 
 tlemen went on quietly, though he watched to see the 
 effect of his announcement. " Rather unexpectedly." 
 
 " That was the racket I done heard," cried Mandy, 
 thinking she had been half waked once or twice by 
 something like a cry. " Somebody was a-hollerin'." 
 
 " There was no noise," the Squire answered swiftly. 
 " Not a sound. Nothing you could have heard 
 possibly. Now go." 
 
 Left alone and he waited till he heard the girl 
 at work in the dining-room, he withdrew his hidden 
 hand, and readjusted, wincing with pain, the rough 
 bandage that was tied around the wrist. The strip 
 of cotton and its stain of liniment seemed, like Mr. 
 Warden's disordered dress and the pain in his face, 
 out of place in this parlor of his ; but there were other 
 bits of evidence which seemed to point to some recent 
 and rude violation of the room's usual air. A chair 
 was upset ; over by the wall, in a hastily cleared space, 
 stood a little travelling trunk all stained with the 
 night's rain, and there hung all about the place a pro- 
 faning reek of dead tobacco and the lees of a cloudy
 
 AN INTRUSION 5 
 
 glass of rum. Mr. Warden closed the door into the 
 hall. As best he could, with his pain and his fatigue, 
 he set about putting things to rights. The windows 
 were flung up, squeaking and rattling. There drifted 
 in a breath of lilac and syringa, fragrant after their 
 drenching. Next, the furniture was set straight ; the 
 ashes and ends of cigars were cleared up, which some 
 careless smoker had sprinkled or dropped on the table 
 where the big Bible lay. Even the fire in the stove 
 was rekindled, and the square of zinc underneath it 
 was brushed up clean. So much the Squire could do ; 
 but then he hesitated. A shudder of sickness swept 
 through him. He shut his eyes, as though not to see 
 the task that remained. Three times his hand failed, 
 although Mr. Warden, as all Kingsford knew, had 
 nerves of steel and a heart of ice. Three times he 
 turned from his task sick and faint. Yet what he 
 had to do was simple enough. It was merely to pick 
 up and put in its place, the thin iron poker. It had 
 unaccountably fallen across the room from the stove, 
 and, falling, had burned a deep scorch in the heavy 
 carpet. A stained bandanna handkerchief was 
 twisted around the handle. 
 
 When at length his work was done, " It'll be his 
 turn next time ! " cried Mr. Warden half aloud. 
 " This is the end. Forever," he promised, looking 
 round the room. " The rest is mine, mine, mine." 
 
 The cool air from outdoors solaced him. From the 
 window-seat, for he lacked the strength just then to 
 go upstairs and change his dress, he watched the early;
 
 6 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 morning activities of the village streets, and the burn- 
 ing ache in his wrist, like the dull fire in his heart, sub- 
 sided a little as he surveyed the young morning's quiet 
 life, with his head pressed against the glass like a 
 child's. Then his tired eyes closed and his head 
 drooped; but even in his drowse Mr. Warden's face 
 did not lose its look of fear and chagrin. Consider- 
 ing that he was Kingsford's most eminent citizen, as 
 well as the richest, he did not cut much of a figure 
 in that early morning light. 
 
 The rattle of the door-knob awoke him with a start 
 after about an hour of broken, fitful rest. 
 
 " Who's there? " he cried, rising up. " Is that 
 you, Mandy ? " 
 
 " No, sir," a very soft, little voice answered. " It's 
 me." 
 
 " What d'you want? " asked the Squire resentfully. 
 
 There was silence for a moment ; then there came a 
 light and listless knock on the door. " May I come 
 in, please? " the voice asked. 
 
 Mr. Warden glanced swiftly round the room, closed 
 and locked his desk, and stuffed deep into the stove 
 a corner of the bandanna handkerchief which he had 
 untwisted from the poker, but had not destroyed. 
 Then with a sigh, he unlocked the door and pulled it 
 open. 
 
 A little girl was standing there in the hall a child 
 about twelve years old, whose color seemed a part of 
 the morning's, so bright was the hair, so delicate the 
 rose of her cheeks, so like the windy sky the grey of
 
 AN INTRUSION 7 
 
 her eyes. She carried herself daintily erect ; and there 
 was a promise about her of beauty, faint but clear 
 like the dawn's. All this even Mr. Warden could see ; 
 and he realized it even before the fact that the little 
 girl was dressed in deep mourning 
 
 " It's you, then ! " he exclaimed huskily. " Did 
 you want anything? " 
 
 The child was checked by the old man's abrupt ques- 
 tion ; and her eyes lost their hopeful smile. " No, 
 sir," she said slowly. "I I only thought maybe 
 you'd like to have me come. I just wanted to say 
 good-morning." 
 
 " Oh ! " growled the Squire, extending his left 
 hand. "How d'ye do?" 
 
 " Very well, thank you," she answered sedately. 
 " I hope you are well." 
 
 " I didn't sleep very well, since you ask. My 
 rest," he said bitterly, " was kind o' broken last 
 night." 
 
 " Is Captain Barker here still? " she asked. " The 
 funny gentleman that brought me? " " He was aw- 
 fully nice, I thought." 
 
 " Nice ! " Mr. Warden's laugh was not pleasant. 
 The child looked at him doubtfully. " Oh, he's a 
 very nice man. I have to thank him, too. For 
 bringing you to cheer my old age. It was very 
 thoughtful in Captain Barker." 
 
 " Father wanted me to come. He said so before he 
 died. He said you were his dearest friend. And so 
 the Captain "
 
 8 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " Obeyed orders, eh? " 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Warden," she answered very faintly, 
 edging away. " And and I guess I'll go and find 
 him, if he's only outdoors. Don't you think," she 
 added, with a smile that was very lovely, " that he'd 
 be glad to see me? " 
 
 " Surely. But I want you to stay here," he snap- 
 ped. " Come back." 
 
 " Will he be here soon ? " the child persisted. 
 
 Mr. Warden wet his lips. " Oh, yes," he rasped 
 out, his cold eyes taking fire. " He'll come again 
 soon enough."
 
 IB 
 
 JEAN 
 
 SO it happened that as a result of an evening's 
 talk with a stranger whom nobody remem- 
 bered to have seen come or go, Andrew 
 Warden went out into the placid life of Kingsford 
 with a red scar on his wrist and a secret that smoul- 
 dered in his breast. Just what happened on that 
 stormy night behind the closely drawn curtains nobody 
 ever rightly knew ; and after a little a year or two 
 even the gossipy village stopped wondering about 
 Captain Barker and about the strange way in which 
 Jim Wilder's little girl was brought into the Warden 
 household. People thought that the Squire had acted 
 very handsomely for once ; that he would never regret 
 that piece of pleasant charity. Besides this, the old 
 man was told that he might feel mighty proud at 
 having a youngster like Jean growing up in his 
 charge. And the serene quiet old town rejoiced in 
 Jean on its own account, as it watched her lithe 
 young beauty flicker up and down the shady street like 
 a point of light, glad, too, that in her promise there 
 was removed the shadow which had lain on her family 
 name ever since her renegade father had drifted away 
 
 9
 
 10 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 years before with the suspicion of a great crime hover- 
 ing over him. 
 
 " She is very dear," one of the ladies would say, 
 touching her hair as she might touch a piece of old 
 lace, " and quite one of us now." 
 
 " Entirely," Mr. Warden assented. " And I guess 
 she's happy too. Eh, Jean ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." She colored deeply under her warm 
 tan, for it had needed some of Uncle Warden's tart- 
 ness to bring her grey eyes back from straying be- 
 yond the prim parlor to the dusty sunny street. She 
 looked up with a little quivering smile. " Uncle," 
 she stammered, " May I please go over to the Ledges 
 this afternoon ? " 
 
 " Lord bless me ! " ejaculated the Squire, while 
 his visitor sighed and smiled together. " Certainly 
 not. Go and play in the garden." 
 
 She faded like a wild-flower. " The garden ? " 
 
 " Exactly. Most young ladies 'd find it large 
 enough." 
 
 " I think," said Jean slowly, " that I'd rather 
 have been my mother than one of your ladies. She 
 lived," the child explained to Mrs. Gregory, while her 
 grey eyes grew big, " on an island in the Spanish 
 Main." 
 
 " Martinique, " Mr. Warden contrived to say, as 
 Jean flashed from the room. 
 
 " But she is a dreadful pretty child," the gentle 
 visitor cooed, anxious to relieve her old friend's mor-
 
 JEAN 11 
 
 tification, " and you do so much for her, I should 
 think she'd be as grateful's she could be." 
 
 " Of course. I want to do right by her. I con- 
 sider her a a sacred trust," said the Squire slowly. 
 
 But try as gentle Kingsford would to tame her, 
 and the gentry tried every approved method, Jean 
 grew up a friend of the wild things on the Ledges, 
 knowing the haunts of the earliest arbutus and of the 
 slyest foxes. Day after day she would be found 
 only after long search stretched luxuriously like a 
 young panther in the sun, and once an affair that 
 ended in sordid whipping they came upon her, 
 naked as Eve, splashing in the deep swimming hole be- 
 hind a screen of young willows. She would make no 
 outcry ; she would not trouble her guardian by so much 
 as a word or a mutinous look ; but sure enough, once in 
 so often, say after school had been in session for a 
 couple of weeks, off Jean would slip clear of the vil- 
 lage, to come home, late at night sometimes, under 
 the stars or through the rain. 
 
 " I can't be but just so good," she explained pa- 
 tiently, after she had been brought home from a 
 trip over the great drawbridge, when the ice was in 
 the river, and a northeaster with snow in it set every 
 truss and girder vibrating like a fiddle string. 
 
 " But I can't spend all my time worrying, child," 
 her guardian replied tartly. " Take off your wet 
 shoes." 
 
 " Don't worry." Her strong young arms slipped 
 around his neck, and her eyes smiled bravely at him.
 
 12 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " I must keep you safe and sound, my girl. For 
 your father's sake." The stern old face grew sterner. 
 
 " But but not in prison," Jean answered, loos- 
 ing her hold. " Even a nice prison like your house. 
 Father didn't mean that." 
 
 The Squire laughed then, as he had on the morn- 
 ing when Jean came into his room for the first time. 
 " No," he chuckled, " that idea wouldn't please him, 
 I guess not a prison." 
 
 The region where Jean considered that true de- 
 lights were to be found, were the round backed jumble 
 of low wooded ridges of pink granite, called the 
 Ledges, which shut in Kingsford on the eastern side, 
 and formed for Jean the boundary of the world. It 
 was just the place to cry in when one felt a bit lonely, 
 for not a soul could hear or see except one's favorite 
 venerable oak or friendly fine lady birch; while if one 
 were gayer, here were ever so many gay little com- 
 panions, like the young leaves or the honest squirrels, 
 with whom to pass a jolly day. Of course Jean never 
 told what she did or what she thought of on these days 
 afield, for Kingsford would not understand and might 
 possibly laugh. The secret little pagan rites, where- 
 in her young blood and the smiling sun and the bird's 
 song all took part, were never handed down. Part of 
 the joy of them was their secrecy. But once Jean 
 found that she was not the only worshipper ; and that 
 was a day she long remembered. 
 
 It was mid June, and directly after breakfast she 
 had slipped out and away before the Squire could get
 
 JEAN 13 
 
 her to tell him her plans, because she felt that he was 
 going to disapprove of them. She had endured al- 
 ready some of his bitter complaints he had worn his 
 blackest look when she came downstairs, much the 
 same as on that day she first came to Kingsford. 
 For an hour or so she lay out on a warm, mossy ledge 
 in the sun, her head pillowed on her hands, watching 
 the sail of the clouds, when she heard a stone slip 
 from its place in the path below her. In a second 
 she was up and away ; and when, screened behind some 
 thick cedars, she looked back, her surprise was great 
 when Mr. Warden's soft white hat appeared over the 
 edge of the ridge. He was following a faint old cow- 
 path which Jean supposed she alone knew about, and 
 which would lead him directly past her hiding-place. 
 It ended, she remembered swiftly, at the abandoned 
 house where the murder had taken place years before ; 
 and Jean had time to wonder what in the world her 
 utterly precise guardian could find to do in so des- 
 olate a spot. She did not breathe as he passed her by. 
 He walked painfully, looking flushed and uncomfor- 
 table in his stiff clothes, and his expression was like 
 nothing she had ever seen, though she had weathered 
 more than one of his storms. 
 
 But curiosity overcame her first fear that Mr. War- 
 den was searching for her. She waited till he was 
 well by her place of concealment, and then, cautious 
 as an Indian and light footed as a panther, Jean 
 crept after him, not in the path but through the pines 
 to the right, where the brown needles made the walk-
 
 14 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 ing noiseless, and the clumps of mountain laurel 
 would afford her excellent cover, in case he should 
 happen to turn around. For a good quarter of a 
 mile she followed along, sometimes losing sight of the 
 white hat, which was her guide, but when again she 
 caught a glimpse of it and the Squire's spare figure, 
 it was to feel the surer that the old gentleman had 
 some particular business at the tumble-down house. 
 
 At last the trees opened out on a rough clearing, 
 mostly overgrown with huckleberry bushes, but show- 
 ing some traces of former occupancy besides the little 
 story-and-a-half dwelling in the middle. The Squire 
 stiffly passed a ruinous rail fence, and with a steady 
 step, like a man bent on business, wound his way 
 through the knee-high growth right up to the door. 
 Here he stopped and slowly looked all around the 
 clearing. Jean's heart was in her mouth when his 
 keen eyes rested for a minute on the thicket behind 
 which she was crouching, but it was plain that Mr. 
 Warden thought he was quite alone. He fumbled in 
 an inner pocket, and drew out an envelope. Then 
 and at this point Jean's conscience began to scold her 
 for playing the spy he heaved up that one of the 
 rough sandstone slabs which was next to the door- 
 step, thrust the letter, whatever it was, under the 
 stone, and replaced it, taking great care not to leave 
 any evidence that it had been moved. 
 
 Before he had quite finished this queer perform- 
 ance Jean had fled. A panic picked her up bodily. 
 What she had seen frightened her, for it was
 
 JEAN 15 
 
 uncanny to think that her staid and starchy guardian 
 would go through an act that had in it a quality 
 sinister, somehow, and certainly furtive. She was 
 sorry she had seen him put his letter in that deserted 
 post-office; and, though she wondered all the time 
 what it could mean, Jean ran from the scene like a 
 deer. Down another little wood-road she fled, with 
 many a look back over her shoulder. She never 
 thought of her Ledges as harboring anything but 
 what was dear and gentle, yet she seemed to have 
 stood in the presence of some very different divinity. 
 
 Her eyes were still wide with fright and her color 
 was high as she broke out of the woods, to find her- 
 self in a little circular dell or glade, which was banked 
 solidly around its rocky margin with the pink glory 
 of the mountain laurel. Her path lost itself here, 
 and to get out into the open she had to force a way 
 between two of the glowing, exquisitely delicate 
 bushes. 
 
 " I'll be very careful, dears," Jean said to the flow- 
 ers, for they were among her favorite friends. 
 " Will you let me put you one side so very 
 carefully? " Stooping a little she lightly turned 
 back one of the sprays, so as to pass without marring 
 its perfect beauty ; but even as she touched it with her 
 slim fingers, she drew back a step and the warm glow 
 in her cheeks deepened a bit. 
 
 A young man was there, not five yards from her, 
 and Jean was sure he must have heard her, though 
 he was apparently hard at work with his palette and
 
 16 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 brush before a fairly large canvas evidently one 
 of the painters who the year before had come to the 
 village. The next second he glanced up quickly, and 
 their eyes met. 
 
 " I was hoping you'd come," he said coldly. " I've 
 waited for you so many times this last week or so." 
 
 "For me?" 
 
 To her certain knowledge the man had never laid 
 eyes on her before, but she could not help answering 
 him. 
 
 " Vera dea," he replied in a tone of conviction. 
 " I think you're the spirit of the laurel which I've 
 been trying to call. There are wood-gods left, you 
 know," he added, with a whimsical cock of his round 
 head, though his eyes and mouth were wholly serious. 
 
 Jean nodded. " They're friends of mine," she 
 said gravely. " All of them." 
 
 " Of course," he replied. " But I don't see them 
 very often, being nothing but a painter. If I'd been 
 a shepherd now, like those old fellows in the Latin ! 
 However," he continued hopefully, " you came at 
 last." And he added to himself: "If she'll only 
 keep that pose, if she'll only stay just as she is ! Just 
 for half an hour. That pink and white and gold 
 and good Lord ! " he concluded lamely, but with 
 entire enthusiasm. " You have a sister who lives in the 
 spring just below the big white oak. Her name is 
 Arethusa." 
 
 Jean felt a queer pleasure in the man's talk. All 
 her training rose up to forbid her standing to con-
 
 JEAN 17 
 
 verse with a young and unvouched-f or artist ; but she 
 answered, quite calmly: 
 
 " She is my oldest sister." 
 
 " And what shall I call you? " asked the man. 
 
 " Names are such stupid things," Jean replied. 
 " Don't you think so? We can get along perfectly 
 without them, Painter." 
 
 " You'll stay then? " 
 
 " This is my part of the woods," she said, serenely. 
 " And and I think I will let you paint the laurel, 
 if you want to." 
 
 " That means you," said the artist warningly. 
 
 Jean looked down at the spray of blossoms, then at 
 the young man, then over her shoulder. She was 
 afraid somebody might see her the Squire, for in- 
 stance; but the next second she was ashamed to have 
 been afraid. 
 
 " Why do you want to paint me?" she asked curi- 
 ously. She could not understand why the man should 
 spend his time over her when the beautiful laurel was 
 so much prettier. 
 
 " Because you are a part of the day and a part of 
 that pink and white stuff all 'round you. Also be- 
 cause you've been running. Can you stand just like 
 that for a few minutes, please? " 
 
 " But I'm all my hair's all " she began, with 
 a remorseful look at her dress and a hasty brush at 
 the light tendrils of pale gold that lay on her 
 temples. 
 
 " Don't touch it ! " he begged her, and forthwith'
 
 18 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 broke into a little song of many verses and a quaint 
 jolly air. 
 
 " That's French," said Jean judicially. " I know- 
 just a little. The teacher at school used to sing that 
 when she was in her room, and didn't think anybody 
 was listening." 
 
 " Oh, no! " the man cried. " Don't you remember 
 where you really heard it? It was in a little village 
 called Giverny. You inhabited the garden of the 
 greatest painter in the world; and once I sang the 
 whole thing through, as you stood or at least I 
 thought so and smiled at me while I painted his 
 hollyhocks. That was because the picture really had 
 some sun in it." 
 
 " I remember," said Jean, thoughtfully. " I like 
 sunshine, Painter." 
 
 The half hour slipped by unnoticed, for this broad 
 shouldered, clear eyed man who loved the gods of 
 wood and garden had much to tell of his own world, 
 and his voice was as mellow as honey. There wasn't 
 a particle of harm in listening to him, Jean assured 
 herself, for he was very nice about keeping himself 
 anonymous, and seemed content to believe that she 
 really and truly was a dweller on the Ledges instead 
 of Squire Warden's ward with two years more at Miss 
 Stafford's school. 
 
 At last he withdrew a dozen steps from his easel, 
 and to Jean's surprise did not return as he had before. 
 
 "Would you care to look?" he asked doubtfully,
 
 JEAN 19 
 
 though his face was bright with perfect satisfaction. 
 " What d'ye think of it? " 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Jean, hardly believing what she saw. 
 " Was it really like that? " 
 
 " Better," said the painter. " It always is." 
 
 The canvas glowed with delicate pink tones 
 against the forest background a glory of sun- 
 warmed color, and through the midst of it came a slim 
 figure who the next instant would be off and away, so 
 fugitive was her attitude, so instinct with movement 
 every line of her tender figure. She looked at Jean 
 half shyly, half smiling, under her wide white hat 
 very young and entirely lovely in her confidential 
 youth. 
 
 Jean turned away after a breathless minute. For 
 the first time in her life she had been told how she 
 looked. Loving the beautiful things of the world, 
 she rejoiced to know that she, too, was beautiful, like 
 the laurel and the June sunshine, and she knew that 
 she ought to thank this man for showing her this. 
 But she crimsoned with mortification also, for it 
 seemed as though he had somehow caught her un- 
 awares. An older woman would have been pleased 
 enough at the portrait, but Jean was only sixteen 
 or so, you see. 
 
 " D' you like it, " he asked. 
 
 " Yes," she said, almost in a whisper. " Only ^ 
 
 " It's the best thing I ever did," the man volun- 
 teered. " I'm sure of it." 
 
 "Really?"
 
 20 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " And I've worked to get it," he added, in a sudden 
 flare of temper. " So many years ! But we've done 
 the trick now for it's your picture as much as 
 mine. I wonder if you know how grateful I am ? " 
 
 " Did I truly help? I tried to stand still. But I 
 enjoyed it ever so much. It was fun," explained 
 the wood nymph hastily. " I'm glad if I helped you, 
 Painter." 
 
 "Mayn't I see you again?" he asked confusedly, 
 for Jean was going. He followed at her side. " I 
 want to thank you. I " 
 
 " No," she answered. She could not bear the 
 thought of " seeing him again." " We I I 
 must be going home now. Thank you. Good-bye." 
 And the stranger fell back instantly. 
 
 She wished that she had a clinging long train 
 and a majestic presence as she crossed the little glade, 
 for she could feel that the artist was watching her; 
 and it was hard to look dignified, like Miss Staf- 
 ford, unless one looked like her in other respects. 
 
 " How foolish I am ! " she said to herself after 
 about ten steps. " One'd think I'd done something 
 awful." 
 
 And just then the man called out: " The laurel's 
 fading already, Swift-foot." 
 
 " But it will bloom again ! " she replied, trumpet- 
 ing through her hollowed hands. " Then come, 
 Painter." 
 
 And neither of them believed that they ever would 
 see each other again, for their ways were very dif-
 
 ferent the one leading to Paris and success, the 
 other back to the dull school where one was taught all 
 that a young lady should know.
 
 m 
 
 THE REBEL 
 
 REFLECTING Kingsford sentiment, Mr. War- 
 den was willing to have people believe that 
 the current of his life, even in the years in 
 which Jean was growing up, ran as smoothly as the 
 little river's. That was what a summer boarder once 
 said about it, and the truth of the comment was not 
 only never questioned by anybody in town, but only 
 at certain infrequent intervals by the Squire himself. 
 " There may be Satan's own lot o' rocks and rapids 
 just a little below the top," he silently mused, when 
 the saying was repeated to him. " But, Lord, it's 
 only the top that shows. So what's the use o' worry- 
 ing?" 
 
 His days and nights followed one another as un- 
 eventfully as the stars follow the sun, though all the 
 time he was understood to be growing richer ; and all 
 the time he certainly grew harder and harsher ex- 
 cept toward Jean. For her he seemed to have a feel- 
 ing akin to respect. He never loved her, that was 
 sure, though he did his duty perfectly. She had 
 been sent in due time to the famous school. She had 
 everything a girl who is very young and very beauti- 
 ful and, according to Kingsford, very wild, could
 
 THE REBEL 23 
 
 want; but between herself and the old man who was 
 her guardian, there was a barrier that could not be 
 thrown down. Perhaps she perceived dimly some of 
 the trouble below the calm surface; but she did not 
 ever think of setting a name to it, even though she 
 might have dreamed of some mystery which wrapped 
 their two lives together. No, Squire Warden led as 
 pleasant a life as the next man, so far as the keen- 
 eyed, shrewdly-guessing village could see, until the 
 winter that the trouble began at the wool-mill, along 
 with the preaching of young Sebastian French. 
 
 Kingsford had never bothered its head much over 
 labor questions. It had always seemed natural that a 
 man should pay his help what was fair and square 
 and that the help should put in a good day's work. 
 That was as far as the village had progressed until 
 the return of French from his job in the city. From 
 then on, however, there was stir enough; and this it 
 was which, for the first time, made a difference in 
 Squire Warden's looks. That any talk about " the 
 rights of labor " or " minimum wage " should come 
 from his mill and his hands seemed a kind of disgrace 
 to the good gentleman, to whom the old ways in poli- 
 tics and religion were the best ways. His fixed res- 
 olution to fight to the end a single newfangled notion 
 was based on the idea that he was master of his own 
 mill ; it did not spring, as French strove to show, from 
 a rooted hostility toward the workingman. 
 
 So the spring passed of that year which Kingsford 
 can never forget, it was so full of strange happen-
 
 24 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 ings. And at last, on a certain heavy cloudy June 
 morning that came to pass which everybody had ex- 
 pected, but which led in the end to certain things 
 being said and done which the most experienced 
 prophet could hardly have foreseen. 
 
 When Mr. Warden came out of the house he saw 
 Jean standing by the hitching-post, talking softly to 
 Katie, the old white mare. A musical little ripple of 
 laughter, gay as a bird's song, drifted up to him. 
 Katie nodded her wise old head and pawed the earth, 
 pretending that she was young and full of ardent 
 spirits. 
 
 " I was asking her a question," Jean explained, 
 turning to the Squire. " Would you like to know 
 what it was? " 
 
 " What was it? " There was something in the 
 girl's presence that warmed the cheerless old man in 
 spite of himself, like spring sunshine. Nor could he 
 help a feeling of pride in her delicate beauty, noting 
 approvingly her slim, upright poise and the burnished 
 hair as it rippled smoothly upward above the small 
 pink ear. For a moment he forgot the trouble that 
 the day was almost sure to bring him. " I suppose 
 Katie answered you ? " he remarked. 
 
 "Yes, indeed; and just as she ought to. She 
 said," Jean whispered mysteriously, " that I could 
 come with you this morning." 
 
 She laughed again, but a bit uncertainly, as if 
 her nonsense masked a deeper feeling. Her grey
 
 THE REBEL 25 
 
 eyes under the dark lashes were full of anxious en- 
 treaty. 
 
 " Uncle, dear, may I go? " 
 
 " That's a queer wish," he said suspiciously. 
 " Why d' you want to go to the mill ? " 
 
 " I'd so love it ! " she exclaimed. " It would be so 
 exciting if they tell you that they're going to strike. 
 And everybody says that Sebastian French is so 
 dangerous, that I'd like to see him or hear him. 
 And I'd like to see you defy them to do their 
 worst. And " 
 
 " You want to hear French, eh?" 
 
 " Yes, uncle. Everybody's talking about him," 
 she repeated, less hopefully, as she saw the Squire's 
 bitter smile. 
 
 " I guess he don't need any encouragement." He 
 unhitched the mare, and clambered into the buggy. 
 " There won't be any scene. He won't make any 
 speech this morning." 
 
 " But, uncle, I'd so love to go." 
 
 Mr. Warden laughed shortly as the best way of 
 answering. There was no real reason for his refus- 
 ing to take Jean with him, except his desire to make 
 as little of the strike as possible (if it really should 
 be declared), and the feeling that somehow her pres- 
 ence would make young French believe himself really 
 important. 
 
 " Please ! " begged Jean, walking beside the buggy. 
 
 " Impossible, child. Another time."
 
 26 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 Jean sprang away with a little gesture of im- 
 patience. The Squire pulled Katie up. 
 
 " Then I'll do something else just as desperate," 
 Jean announced, " as listening to the socialist orator 
 challenging the tyrant." Her smile could not dis- 
 guise her resentment. " I shall run away again." 
 
 " No ! " he replied vaguely. 
 
 " The minute you're out of sight," she insisted, 
 real mutiny in her eyes. " Uncle, it will be so dull 
 here all day long." 
 
 Mr. Warden shook his head, and gathered up his^ 
 reins with a sigh. " Let's have no oddities, at any 
 rate, please, young lady. I'm not strong enough to 
 carry any more worries." 
 
 With that he drove away, leaving Jean to look 
 after him up the deserted street. It was not till the 
 crook in the road by the post-office hid both the 
 hooded buggy and the white mare that the girl left 
 her place, and then with another queer little gesture* 
 she turned and went wearily into the big house, slowly 
 as any prisoner returning to his cell. 
 
 Mr. Warden's face wore its bitterest and harshest 
 expression as he descended from his carriage and 
 anchored Katie to the great chestnut tree which 
 shaded the whole of the yard in front of the mill. He 
 stood listening intently. There was a murmur of 
 voices nearby, but that was all. From the great 
 overshot wheel, which should have been thundering 
 briskly, there came no sound. A dozen bales of wool, 
 which some farmer had brought to be washed, were
 
 THE REBEL 27 
 
 still piled high on the battered wagon. The doors 
 and windows of the mill stood wide open, so that it 
 was plain that the foreman at least had been here ; but 
 of him or his men there was not a trace, except the 
 stream of talk which the Squire could hear running 
 briskly somewhere near. 
 
 The talk sounded louder as Mr. Warden went in- 
 side; and he was a bit puzzled to locate it, since the 
 mill was as empty as his hand. Then, after he had 
 crossed the building to the further side and came 
 close to a window, he stopped short and listened 
 keenly, his jaw thrust out and his brows drawn down. 
 
 A number of men outside were laughing, but with 
 an angry note in their mirth. Then an eager, shrill 
 voice broke in on them, as though it had paused just 
 for a second. 
 
 " I tell you it's true ! " the speaker cried. " God 
 didn't mean for the land to be owned by just a few 
 men. It's for everybody. Ain't that right? I can 
 prove it. And God didn't mean for all the money to 
 belong to one class the same as Warden owns 'most 
 everything here in this town. We do the work, don't 
 we? We get the wool scoured and the corn 'n' gar- 
 den stuff planted. Well, then! We're goin' to get 
 the profits. We're goin' to go on shares not on 
 the slave wages of the money-kings! It's got to 
 come, I tell you ! " 
 
 Mr. Warden listened carefully a bit longer. A 
 kind of grim smile came into his face, as on a sudden
 
 28 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 resolve he climbed the rickety stairs, and looked out 
 of an upper rear window. 
 
 Below him, lounging on the grass along the edge 
 of the sluice-way, lay his workmen, and on a plank 
 that was stretched across the rushing water stood a 
 slab-sided young man, whose dark, pale face was all 
 alight with some fire of feeling. 
 
 " They can't resist us," he cried with a savage 
 gesture, " if we rise in our might ! " 
 
 " You don't say so," drawled the Squire quietly 
 from his place in the window. " I want to know." 
 
 Some of the men scrambled to their feet at once, 
 with a sheepish laugh; and all of them turned away 
 from the orator at the sound of the old man's twang- 
 ing voice, just for a minute; and then they looked 
 again to their leader. The young man stepped back 
 a pace. The plank he was standing on shook. 
 
 " Be careful not to get your feet wet, Sebastian 
 French," the Squire affably resumed. " You look 
 kind o' foolish teetering on that board." 
 
 French flushed hotly at the low laugh that followed 
 from some of the men. 
 
 " Better come onto dry land before you rise in your 
 might. It's dangerous to try that unless you're sure 
 of your footing." He waited till the other had 
 crossed the plank. " What holiday's this, boys ? " 
 asked Mr. Warden. 
 
 French whispered hastily to a couple of the older 
 men, then looked up. " We'd like to confer with 
 you, sir. Will you listen ? "
 
 THE REBEL 29 
 
 " For three minutes," said the Squire. " No, 
 don't stir. Stay down there right where you are." 
 
 The old man had them at a disadvantage. He 
 chose to lean out of the upper window, so that 
 French had to address him from far below, and at 
 such a distance that the latter was obliged to shout 
 vigorously. 
 
 " Louder, please," quoth Mr. Warden, shaking his 
 head. " You forget that I'm a little deaf." This 
 after the young man had delivered his ultimatum in 
 tones that thrilled every other man present. " II 
 didn't catch the last part." 
 
 " An eight-hour day ! " shouted French, perspir- 
 ing. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " An increase of twenty per cent in the pay ! " 
 
 " I hear." 
 
 " And at the end of the fiscal year " 
 
 "The what? Physical what?" 
 
 " The fiscal year the business year ! " 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 " The mill to be run on the co-operative plan. So 
 we can share the profits. Do you hear me ? " 
 
 " Perfectly," replied the old man. " You speak 
 very plainly. Is that what you all want, boys ? " 
 
 A murmur of assent ran through the staring 
 crowd. 
 
 " Never complained till now, did ye ? " The 
 Squire paused between each sentence. " Thought 
 you were lucky to get a steady job. Now you lay off
 
 30 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 to hear that rattle-headed boy talk nonsense, and 
 think that it's going to pay better." 
 
 He paused for a moment, while his pale eyes 
 searched the faces of the confused, heated crowd. 
 There were not many that could meet his sneer and 
 scorn. 
 
 " I've got a word to say in this conference, too." 
 
 Again he halted. Then he darted out his arm, and 
 pointed straight at French. 
 
 " You're discharged ! " 
 
 He tossed out a brown envelope, which somebody 
 picked up and handed to the leader almost mechan- 
 ically. 
 
 " There's your pay. I had it ready," he said 
 contemptuously. His anger seemed to flame up in a 
 flash. " Leave my premises this minute ! " he com- 
 manded in a voice that branded like an iron. " If 
 you come back without my permission, I'll jail you 
 for trespass. I'll have no anarchists in my pay." 
 
 French flushed deeply, but his expression was not 
 that of a beaten man. 
 
 " It's your mill, sir," he replied. " Just for 
 now," he added. 
 
 " Quite so," rejoined the Squire. " Leave it. 
 You'd better learn," he went on, turning to the men, 
 " that 7 run this place." 
 
 French had taken a couple of steps up the bank 
 toward the gate while Mr. Warden spoke ; but the low 
 murmur that rumbled through the crowd, and broke
 
 THE REBEL 31 
 
 out into the excited cry of some man or other, 
 checked him. 
 
 " None o' that ! " he ordered sharply, when he 
 heard what the fellow was bawling. 
 
 "The miU ain't Warden's not by right," the 
 man repeated, and shouldered his way through the 
 little group. " Tell us how you got it, old man, if 
 you dare. I ain't afraid of ye." 
 
 " You stole it ! " cried another voice. " You 
 skinned John French out of it ; you screwed him when 
 he couldn't pay, and took all he had on airth." 
 
 It was a woman who screamed the taunt from the 
 fringe of the crowd down by the sluice-way. 
 
 " And now you fire his son, jest for talkin' salva- 
 tion to us poor folks. Jest for meanness, / say. I 
 know the promise y' made to get rid on all the 
 Frenches. Beggars, y' called us. I'm one on 'em. 
 Beggars we be, but we ain't dirt mean like some folks. 
 And I hope to God Sebastian '11 get even with ye! 
 Fire him, if y' wanter, y' old white bearded thief. 
 He's got friends as '11 stay by him. He has. He " 
 
 " Ssh !" from the crowd. " Shut up, Mis' Garth ! 
 Don't y' say no more." 
 
 "Anything else?" inquired the Squire coolly, 
 though he looked like death. " Some more testimony 
 from the mourners' bench ? " 
 
 " Just a word, sir," French cried. " I don't be- 
 lieve what that woman said." 
 
 " It's true as Gospel," the old man replied. " I 
 took your father's mill because he couldn't pay me
 
 32 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 what he owed ; and I'm discharging you because " 
 
 " For spite ! " yelled the woman. 
 
 " For spite," echoed Mr. Warden. " Exactly. I 
 think you're a nuisance. Out with you ! " 
 
 The men surged forward, urged on by Mrs. Garth's 
 whipping words. 
 
 "We'll go with French!" they cried. "We'll 
 stand by you, Sebastian." 
 
 French struck an attitude. " God defend the 
 right ! " he cried. 
 
 " God help you when you're hungry," retorted the 
 sneering old voice in the window. And without an- 
 other word he watched them climb the bank and pass 
 around the corner of the mill toward the exit. The 
 water in the sluice-way chuckled as it slipped past 
 the idle wheel. The woman who had spoken looked 
 back as she turned the corner, and with a laugh that 
 was very mirthless, spat into the little stream. 
 
 " That's what I think of you ! " she cried. " Y' old 
 miser ! " 
 
 In an hour the news had gone all through Kings- 
 ford, for the mail was being distributed as the little 
 band of strikers came down the street, and everybody 
 was on hand to hear their story of how their demands 
 had been met. 
 
 "Who'll join us?" suddenly asked French of the 
 few farm-hands who were loafing on the platform. 
 "Who stands for better times in Kingsford? D'ye 
 think your dollar and a half a day's enough, boys? 
 With work from sun-up till dark? Jake Flanders,
 
 THE REBEL 33 
 
 your boss has fired all his help at the mill. Will you 
 take his money ? " 
 
 The Squire's man stared. " He hain't said nothin' 
 to me abaout gettin' through," he replied. " I guess 
 you fellers 've been givin' him some back-talk, ain't 
 ye?" 
 
 " You come along," interposed one of the strikers. 
 " We're goin' 'cross the river, Jake." 
 
 A slow and happy smile crossed Jake's face. 
 " Who's treatin'? " he asked. 
 
 " No getting drunk, Bill," said the leader. 
 
 " Aw, nonsense ! " The man moved off happily, 
 with the crowd around him. " We're jest goin' to 
 show Jake what he'd oughter do. We're goin' to con- 
 vert him." 
 
 French yielded, but with a sigh, watching his fol- 
 lowers drift down the street. " A good time don't 
 hurt anybody now and then," he declared, masking 
 his disappointment. " They're good boys." 
 
 " An' it's you that'll help 'em to be better," cried 
 Mrs. Garth. There came a volley of remarks from 
 Colonel Gregory at that, who was Mr. Warden's 
 sworn ally, but though the day before the woman 
 would have retreated before the old gentleman's wrath 
 in confusion, now she waited till his speech was ended, 
 and took French by the arm. 
 
 " Look at me," she commanded. " He calls you a 
 rascal, Sebastian. This is what your friends think 
 of you." And she kissed him on the cheek. " God 
 bless you, boy."
 
 34 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 The young man laughed, and good-naturedly freed 
 himself from the woman's grasp. 
 
 " Be sure 'n' come to the meeting tonight," he 
 said. A singular light shone in his black eyes. He 
 shook back his hair. " Give God the praise for all 
 the mercies," he whispered, looking up through the 
 high elms to the sky, " shown to us poor folks today." 
 He had come back to his native Kingsf ord to find, now 
 that the years had opened his eyes, that conditions in 
 the village were worse than he had fancied. He saw 
 houses back on the hills empty and desolate, and the 
 brush and weeds covering the rocky, little fields; he 
 heard the whimper of hungry children, the shrill 
 scolding of wives at husbands whose work as farm- 
 laborer or mill-hand brought home so little money. 
 The empty, hangdog faces of the boys, the girls' 
 laughter from dark places of an evening came to op- 
 press the young man like a nightmare. Alone in the 
 street at night, he had looked into the softly lighted 
 houses of the gentry, and bitterly cursed the easy 
 selfishness of their smooth lives. He could not wor- 
 ship in a church like Kingsf ord's, where the rich sat 
 apart from the humble, both lulled by a gentle dis- 
 course on the duties which, cried French, were long 
 forgotten. He choked when one of his rough com- 
 panions once touched his hat to Squire Warden, as he 
 drove by. 
 
 " Do you call that man your better? " he demanded 
 fiercely.
 
 THE REBEL 35 
 
 " He's a lot richer'n I be. I don't know. I allus 
 does it." 
 
 " It's wrong," the reformer cried. " The whole 
 system." 
 
 " Guess you won't change things much. There 
 ain't any chance for a feller in the country nohow." 
 
 The big eyes glowed. " You think so? Not in 
 New England? " 
 
 " No," the other replied dully, and fell again to 
 grinding his nicked axe. 
 
 " We'll see," said French. " We'll work for our 
 people, Bill." 
 
 The gentry, recalling the heavy-browed pale boy, 
 who brought them fish now and then, or helped pick 
 the strawberries, laughed lightly when first the young 
 man began to preach to their field-hands or kitchen- 
 maids. Later, when they overheard the talk at the 
 post-office of an evening, when there came from the 
 windows of the abandoned Methodist meeting-house, 
 declarations concerning the rights of the laboring 
 man, Colonel Gregory and his friends, like Mr. 
 Warden, told one another that Sebastian French was 
 a revolutionary, dangerous fanatic. 
 
 " The comforting thing is that he can't accom- 
 plish much," said Mr. Warden. 
 
 " D n him and his mission," roared Colonel 
 Gregory. " The blasphemous rascal says that Christ 
 was the first socialist." 
 
 The minister, to whom this speech was addressed,
 
 36 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 smiled uncertainly. " How very strange ! " he mur- 
 mured. 
 
 The last house toward which French headed on that 
 hot morning after the scene at the mill was set just 
 above the bank of the little river, which bounded the 
 village on the west. The place was like a dozen 
 others he had visited, and here he lived, though a 
 good many jokes were made about a reformer's board- 
 ing with Mrs. Bannard and Jessie. The white paint 
 was scaling off, some scrawny, ragged chickens stalked 
 about the door-yard, affecting great dignity; in the 
 upper windows more than one pane was stuffed with 
 newspaper. A broken wheelbarrow had been left to 
 rot away under an apple tree. 
 
 A girl's laughter, shrill and loud, and the end of a 
 song trolled out by some deep-lunged baritone 
 brought French around the corner. Here was an 
 arbor covered thinly with a straggling grapevine; 
 and thither he picked his way along a weedy brick 
 path. 
 
 " Jess Bannard ! " he exclaimed. " What are you 
 doing? " 
 
 " Posin'. Like it? " 
 
 In her brown eyes and on her lips remained traces 
 of her laughter; the hot sun, breaking through the 
 arbor, dappled her yellow hair and warm skin with 
 dancing light; her round throat and firm breast, a 
 white waist, loosely hooked and worn threadbare, re- 
 vealed more than concealed. She was standing quite
 
 THE REBEL 37 
 
 still, but there hovered about the girl some suggestion 
 which breathed a sunny, lazy wickedness. 
 
 " I'm sorry to see this," said French, a bit uncer- 
 tainly. It was hard for him to define the impression 
 he got from her. " Today of all times." 
 
 " I ain't doin' any harm," she whined, for the fresh 
 defiance in her voice quickly faded, as he stood re- 
 garding her. 
 
 " I don't say so. But," said French somberly, as 
 he turned from Jessie to the man who sat before a 
 light sketching-easel set up in a corner of the arbor, 
 " harm is being done to you." 
 
 " Look here," said the painter, as the striker faced 
 him, " I think you'd better go away." Jessie 
 screamed as the artist rose to his feet. He motioned 
 her to be quiet. " What do you want, anyway ? " 
 
 " To save that child's soul," replied French reso- 
 lutely. 
 
 " She's mine for these two hours," the artist re- 
 plied, crisply. He had resumed his seat. " Come 
 again, Mr. " 
 
 " French," said the other, seeing an opportunity. 
 " You've heard of me ? " The man's breast swelled. 
 
 " Indirectly," came the answer, chilling as frost. 
 " But I'm glad to meet you. My name's Dana 
 Grey." 
 
 " You won't stand in my way," continued French 
 eagerly. " Let me appeal to your better nature 
 as a man, sir. Don't you see how you're undoing the
 
 38 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 good by by painting a picture of what's bad in 
 her? " 
 
 " So, so, so," Grey whispered, busy again with his 
 brush, as his model laughed once more. " If she'll 
 only keep that " 
 
 French tossed his head, shaking back his heavy 
 mane of black hair, and then deliberately took a seat 
 in the corner of the arbor opposite his enemy. He 
 waited a moment, till he saw some of the girl's as- 
 surance fade again from her face. She shifted her 
 pose a trifle. He heard her sigh. " All your prom- 
 ises forgotten, Jessie? What does God think of 
 you?" 
 
 She crumpled slowly like a flower. 
 
 " What wrong does God think of her? " cried Grey 
 impatiently. " You're a bit high-handed, Mr. 
 French. Come ! " 
 
 " How came that devil's look on her face ? " the 
 other retorted hotly. " That mockery, that " 
 
 " Nonsense. She's a piece of the sunlight. And 
 as a study those warm tones on the flesh and in the 
 hair are tremendously interesting. They " 
 
 " She's going to peril her soul by standing there. 
 I know. I can see. Let her go, Grey. Let her 
 come to me." The air seemed to quiver with the 
 passion of French's pleading 'voice. As he talked, 
 the painter worked with less fervor; and when at last 
 he paused, Grey laid down his brushes and palette. 
 
 " Come here," he ordered brusquely, and Jessie 
 walked to him. He took her hand and looked up at
 
 THE REBEL 39 
 
 the clouded brightness of her face. " Is it true that 
 you've been a bad girl and tried to go straight? 
 Or," he turned her to look at the glowing sketch on 
 the easel, " do you think that's prettier ? " 
 
 " No, no," she cried, hiding her eyes. " I want to 
 be good. I want O, Sebastian ! " 
 
 " You may have been partly right," said Grey to 
 French. " I didn't think. If I've done any wrong 
 here, forgive me. Both of you." And with no more 
 words he took his paint-rag and scrubbed the canvas 
 into a colorless smear. 
 
 " God bless you for helping ! " cried French. " I 
 knew you wouldn't put a stone in our path, if you 
 only understood." 
 
 " Of course not. Half a minute," said Grey, 
 watching the pair closely. " Here's the pay for the 
 time you posed, Jessie." 
 
 She recoiled a couple of steps. " I'll not touch it," 
 she said. " Not now." And then she went up the 
 path to the house. 
 
 "Fine!" the artist exclaimed. "That's first 
 class." 
 
 " She might have done some good with it," French 
 remarked. " Perhaps " 
 
 " You take it, then." 
 
 " Thank you very much," said the preacher, 
 pocketing the silver. " It's for the Cause." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 A little look of contempt crossed Grey's face.
 
 40 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 French looked around the corner of the arbor after 
 Jessie. She waved to him, then disappeared. 
 
 " I guess I was too prompt in blamin' you, Mr. 
 Grey," he said. " She's very pretty." 
 
 "You noticed it?" 
 
 " Couldn't help it, could I? " 
 
 Grey was getting the straps around his sketching 
 outfit, and tugged hard to slip the tongue of a buckle 
 into place. At length he looked up, a bit flushed. 
 
 " Do you know that you're a very interesting crea- 
 ture, Mr. French? You'll do a good deal in your 
 world, but " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " demanded French redly, 
 getting to his feet. 
 
 " Your cosmos is still chaos," drawled the painter, 
 as he strode out into the sunlight. " Think that over 
 when you have time." 
 
 Jessie was waiting for him, when French came out. 
 
 " I guess you'd most forgotten me," she sighed. 
 The eyes flashed up to his, then dropped. She 
 studied her fingers. " You haven't hardly spoke to 
 me this week." 
 
 " You think you need me? " he asked, smiling at 
 her, " Thank God my words helped you." 
 
 " Won't you stay a minute? " 
 
 " Can't do it, Jess. I've got to tend to things." 
 
 " Did they really strike ? " she asked with a show 
 of interest. 
 
 " Well," said French, " I wouldn't wonder if old
 
 THE REBEL 41 
 
 Warden got kind of shook up just a little before 
 we're through." 
 
 He shook his head confidently, and hurried away 
 again up the weedy lane*
 
 IV 
 
 A MAID EBRANT 
 
 JEAN had no more than closed her heavy front 
 door behind her, after watching her guardian 
 drive away, than she was confronted by Mrs. 
 Marsden, the housekeeper a garrulous soul im- 
 ported from Vermont after the reign of Mandy and 
 her sister had passed away. 
 
 " Whatcher goin' to do today ? " the woman 
 asked. 
 
 " I shall be busy," Jean replied, vaguely enough, 
 " all the morning." 
 
 " See anybody ? " 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " But you say you're goin' to be busy," the house- 
 keeper persisted, blinking. 
 
 Jean moved irresolutely toward the staircase, with 
 a laugh that told of nerves stretched taut. At the 
 lowest step she turned. Mrs. Marsden was watch- 
 ing her like a hawk, and from the walls four or five 
 Warden ancestors stared at her, too, from their dark 
 backgrounds. There was only one of them whose 
 eyes were kindly a debonair damsel in a straw hat, 
 great-aunt Sylvia, whom Copley painted as a bride 
 after her scandalous runaway with Captain Jack
 
 A MAID ERRANT 43 
 
 Gregory; but all the other Wardens stared down at 
 Jean disapprovingly, and you could see how con- 
 tented they were to be respectable worthies with 
 revolutionary forbears and a lot of money in the West 
 Indian trade. 
 
 " Look away all of you ! " cried Jean suddenly 
 to the portraits and the housekeeper. The latter 
 gasped in amazement and righteous indignation. 
 " What makes you all follow me so? " 
 
 " Well," Mrs. Marsden whined, " you needn't be so 
 cross, just because I try to look out for you. 
 " That's what Squire told me I was to do, the fust 
 minute I come here." 
 
 Again the riddle of the old gentleman's careful 
 watching! At times it seemed to spring from sheer 
 love of her this when the question came on the 
 heels of one of his queerly lavish gifts; again Jean 
 felt the Squire's eyes as a guilty man feels the 
 searching glance of the quiet fellow who is ever be- 
 hind him in the street. But when she taxed him with 
 it, now in resentment, again in a kind of gratitude, 
 Mr. Warden would deny that he watched her ways 
 for a moment. 
 
 " Suppose that I did keep an eye on you," he once 
 said (and this was the only time he was near acknow- 
 ledgment), " you're more valuable than you have 
 any idea of, Jean." 
 
 " They why can't we be friends, Uncle? " she 
 asked plaintively enough, for she had felt very lonely. 
 
 " You are Jean Wilder," he answered vaguely,
 
 44 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 and I am myself. That's all." Nor could she 
 coax from him another word. 
 
 She was to stay for always in Kingsford; she was 
 to live the life which was suitable for the adopted 
 daughter of a venerable and opulent village race. 
 She was to grow into a second Miss Whittaker, and 
 at the thought her young limbs stretched as if fet- 
 tered ; standing there in the hall with all the dead and 
 worthy Wardens, Jean felt her blood's eager course. 
 The next moment took her from the staircase foot to 
 the long glass; and there, ignoring Mrs. Marsden, 
 she studied her beauty deliberately, inch by inch, from 
 the soft crown of hair down to the supple lines of 
 hip and thigh as they showed beneath her skirt. And 
 because she found herself still so young and so lovely, 
 Jean looked out of the old house into the world where 
 for a fair and spirited maid might wait adventures, 
 just as when she was a little girl. Out on the Ledges 
 she whispered traitorously, the dull day might seem 
 less leaden. At least, from a place she knew up 
 there on the highest ridge she could see stretched out 
 the whole of the surrounding country, and could 
 dream happily of what lay beyond the misty horizon. 
 
 " I think I'll go out for a little while," she said 
 to Mrs. Marsden, turning abruptly from the mirror. 
 " It's too fine a day to stay in the house." 
 
 " Why, Miss Jean ! " The woman was fairly 
 shocked. " It's li'ble to rain any secont." 
 
 " You think so? " Then she stopped, raised her 
 head, sniffed suspiciously, and looked a startled ques-
 
 A MAID ERRANT 45 
 
 tion. " Mrs. Marsden, I'm not sure, but it's possible 
 that something's scorching on the range." 
 
 " My land alive ! " The dumpy little woman 
 fairly leaped into the air. " If I don't spile that 
 there cook's peace o' mind. I but, be you really 
 goin' out ? " She queried as she scuttled up the 
 hall. 
 
 " Hurry ! " cried Jean, pushing her along. 
 " Never mind me. Think of that caramel ! " she 
 
 urged, as Mrs. Marsden seemed to hesitate. " Now 
 
 . 
 
 then ! " And in a second the housekeeper disap- 
 peared, to have the door locked behind her. 
 
 " She must be able to tell uncle that she didn't 
 know just where I did go," Jean said aloud. Turn- 
 ing to the pictures again : " And it would shock you 
 all so terribly," she went on, in a mildly explanatory 
 voice, " to see me choosing to leave this honorable 
 mansion that I'm just going to relieve your minds. 
 It's no sight for respectable eyes." 
 
 She slipped into the dining-room, and when she re- 
 turned it was to carefully hang big napkins over the 
 faces of all the ancestors. It was a long up-stretch, 
 even from the chair she dragged about to stand on, 
 and the total effect was impossible to describe; but 
 Jean went about her task very seriously in spite of the 
 smile in the corners of her mouth. Only great-aunt 
 Sylvia was left uncovered, for in her brown eyes was 
 laughter and gentleness. Jean leaned up and stroked 
 her cheek. 
 
 " You understand," she whispered. " You ran
 
 46 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 away yourself, sweeting. I'll tell you all my ad- 
 ventures every one, and we'll laugh about them to- 
 gether tonight. Good-bye." 
 
 Then, silent as a mouse, she slipped out the front 
 door, and in a moment more had skirted the lawn be- 
 low the lilacs and syringas, darted down the lane past 
 the great barn, and set her face eastward to the dis- 
 tant Ledges. The wind was cool on her cheek and 
 her bare brown throat, and the struggling sunshine 
 lodged in her sunny hair. 
 
 It was toward evening before she turned home 
 again. She had followed for some time a patch 
 which led northward along the crest of the ridge, in- 
 tending to enter the village at its furthest extreme, 
 the longer to delay her homecoming. But at length 
 when the narrow track forked, Jean's wilful resolu- 
 tion forsook her, and she chose that branch which led 
 westerly; for, though the other was the longest way, 
 and would bring her through deep woods and within 
 the sound of a brook's rushing course, it was also the 
 direct road to the tumbledown farmhouse of evil 
 legend, where on that June day six years before she 
 had watched Mr. Warden leave his letter under the 
 slab of sandstone. It was there that the dreadful 
 murder was done. Once or twice she had been near 
 the place, but she never liked to approach it, for her 
 fancy painted ugly pictures of the scene the man" 
 writhing under the murderer's knotted fingers, and 
 then stretched out, as they found him, under the cold 
 flight and the stormy day. Even now, realizing the
 
 A MAID ERRANT 47 
 
 nearness of it all, she shivered a little, and hurried on 
 the faster. She was almost running when a stealthy 
 step and the light crashing of underbrush sounded in 
 the thick woods beside her path. 
 
 Jean swerved like a startled horse, and stopped 
 short. It scarcely reassured her to have the noise 
 stop when she did, and to begin again as she went on 
 her way. Somebody was evidently following her, 
 who had happened to see her when she was passing 
 along the bare part of the ridge. For a moment 
 she thought of returning the way she had come, for 
 in the open she could at least see who her tracker might 
 be; then she remembered the village's most outlying 
 farmhouse, not a quarter of a mile further down the 
 path, where she would find refuge. 
 
 " Don't run," came a voice from the thicket. 
 " There ain't a mite o' danger." 
 
 She halted instinctively, and faced the woods with 
 her head high, though the beating of her heart hurt 
 her. 
 
 " Who are you? " Her voice had a sorry quaver 
 in it. 
 
 " Me? I ain't got any special identity. I'm 
 just an old rascal," came the perfectly affable answer. 
 
 " What are you following me for? " She thrust 
 her hand into the front of her blouse on a sudden in- 
 spiration. " Keep your distance, there. I've got a 
 revolver," said Jean, fibbing desperately. 
 
 " Let's see it." And the man in the bushes
 
 48 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 laughed as the girl merely kept her hand hidden. 
 " You wouldn't need it anyhow." 
 
 Her first fright, melting into a kind of resigned 
 helplessness, gave place at the sound of the hidden 
 man's whole-hearted laughter to a kind of curiosity. 
 The voice was not exactly that of a rough tramp; 
 rather did it have something of sadness in it and old 
 age. So Jean held her ground, sensible that she ran 
 some danger, yet not much frightened, and wholly in- 
 terested. . 
 
 " So long as you stay in the brush," she announced, 
 on hearing the twigs crackle again, " I " 
 
 " Here I stay," came back the emphatic answer, " if 
 you'll only keep a-lookin' my way, same's you be now. 
 I s'pose," the voice continued slyly, " that I couldn't 
 guess your name." 
 
 " My name's nothing to you." 
 
 " It's a whole lot. Beggin' your pardon. When 
 I seen you back yonder, and cut down the hill the 
 short way to head you off " 
 
 " So you're not a stranger here ! " she exclaimed, 
 trying to place the man. 
 
 " Ahem ! Partial stranger. I was wonderin' 
 could that young lady with yellow hair and straight 
 figger be Andrew Warden's ward. That," he added, 
 " is a hint." 
 
 She smiled a little. " You may have been right." 
 
 " Great dee!" The ejaculation came sudden as a 
 rifle shot. " Jean ! Little Jean ! " 
 
 Then fright picked her up again like a hawk. She
 
 A MAID ERRANT 49 
 
 heard the strange old man, if such he was, start for- 
 ward crashing through the bushes; she heard her 
 name called again hoarsely; then with a little scream 
 all woman now she fled down the wood-road at 
 top speed. She only ran the faster when again 
 somebody hailed her. She had had adventures 
 enough for one day 
 
 " Swift-foot ! Swift-foot ! " cried a strong, mellow 
 voice. 
 
 That was not the old man. She half turned her 
 head to listen. Somebody was running behind her; 
 and when Jean looked around, breathless with fright 
 and surprise, it was to see before her a tall fellow, 
 turned of thirty, whose mouth under his clipped mus- 
 tache was firm, whose eyes, blue and dark, were very 
 honest and full of quiet laughter as he caught up 
 with her. 
 
 " I was perfectly sure that I'd find you, if I only 
 kept searching," he said without any preamble, fall- 
 ing in with her long light step, for she had stopped 
 for only a second, and now set out again at a quick 
 walk. " And I knew you at once." 
 
 " The Ledges seem full of my acquaintances," said 
 Jean, trying not to betray herself, though she felt 
 anyhow but calm. " You say you know me," she 
 went on, " and just now somebody called me by name 
 who was hiding in the bushes. Will you please let 
 me go on alone ? " 
 
 " After just meeting you? " 
 
 " I think your best way into town is down that
 
 50 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 path," said Jean shortly, pointing to another little 
 trail that forked around a great oak and disappeared 
 to the left. 
 
 The stranger laughed, but, to her great relief, 
 actually turned into the path she spoke of. "I re- 
 member," he said rapidly. " It's the prettiest path 
 in this part of the world. Once I saw coming down 
 it through the laurel somebody who seemed like one 
 of the laurel blossoms, for she was pink and white 
 and fresh as June itself. I'm going there now 
 again. For she told me to be there in the little clear- 
 ing, when the " 
 
 " Painter ! " she cried, kindling into a flashing 
 smile. 
 
 " I couldn't help speaking to you, Swift-foot. 
 For I wanted you to know, you see." 
 
 " That " she began. 
 
 " That I remembered," he said quickly, " after six 
 years. You'll forgive me ? For remembering ? " 
 
 " What if you had forgotten ? " 
 
 " We won't consider that at all," the man replied. 
 
 " He is thinner," Jean was saying to herself ; " his 
 mustache has grey in it ; his face is full of lines which 
 show that he has been in trouble and hard at work. 
 He looks like a man who has gone through the fire 
 and come out all the better. And oh, how queer ! 
 he must be the great man who Mr. Duncan said 
 was coming to Kingsford and could paint better than 
 any of them. When did you come back? " she asked 
 aloud.
 
 A MAID ERRANT 5! 
 
 " Last week, and " 
 
 " I think you must be Dana Grey," said Jean ques- 
 tioningly. 
 
 " And sometimes you choose to be called Jean 
 Wilder. But really," he added, " you are the last of 
 old Pan's company. Here is where you are most 
 yourself, I know deep in these old woods or up on 
 the highest ridge yonder. Please don't deny it." 
 
 " They are very dear the Ledges ! " she ex- 
 claimed softly, and her eyes rested on him approv- 
 ingly. " You must think so too, Painter." 
 
 " I've come here every day since I've been in Kings- 
 ford," Grey replied. But just as Jean had begun to 
 resent a bit what sounded like a rather gross compli- 
 ment, he added with enthusiasm : " The Ledges are 
 the most paintable country in America." 
 
 And then Jean did not know but what she felt more 
 resentful still. 
 
 " I'm glad you happened along today just when 
 you did after all," she said. " For another rea- 
 son. I was more than a little scared, I'm afraid, for 
 I had the queerest encounter." And she told him 
 more about the voice that spoke to her out of the 
 thicket. " You didn't mean to do it, and at first I 
 wasn't sure but what you were another giant seeking 
 what you might devour, but as a matter of fact, you 
 rescued me most gallantly." 
 
 Her earlier fright came back to her a little, and 
 she glanced about her, still a bit uneasy, for once or 
 twice during her quick talk with Grey she fancied to
 
 52 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 have heard again that clumsy step on the dry leaves, 
 and the noise of parting bushes, as though the un- 
 seen man was still close by them. " I haven't thanked 
 you yet." 
 
 " It was nothing," he stammered. " I was coming 
 home this way anyhow." 
 
 At that she laughed outright, though her grey 
 eyes dwelt on him a moment. 
 
 " I wish," said Grey remorsefully, " that I knew 
 how to talk with people who don't belong in my shop." 
 
 " It's easily learned," she replied. " You should 
 flatter them first of all." 
 
 " Let me paint your portrait again," he suggested, 
 on the heels of her last word. " How's that? " 
 
 " Like most flattery, very unoriginal. Every art- 
 ist in Kingsf ord has said the same thing even Mr. 
 Duncan, whose specialty is painting fog." 
 
 " But I mean it," cried Grey impetuously. " You 
 can't imagine how interesting a problem it would be. 
 It'd be keyed very high just full of light, you 
 know, like the other ; and with some white dress, clingy 
 and long " 
 
 Again she laughed, and the painter stopped short, 
 surprised. 
 
 " It would take a deal of study," he went on, " but 
 once the thing was caught, by heavens, it'd be 
 lovely ! " 
 
 She had never heard a man talk like this before. 
 Studying her as he walked at her side down the for- 
 est path she could feel the burning of his look
 
 A MAID ERRANT 53 
 
 Grey talked only as if Jean might stand for him as 
 a model. And yet she saw plainly enough that the 
 man believed he was doing her great honor. 
 
 " Really ! " Jean exclaimed. 
 
 " Please don't think me rude," he cried, suddenly 
 contrite. " I grow silly when the picture notion gets 
 into my head." 
 
 " I'm not angry at all," she replied, after a mo- 
 ment's thought. " I think that you're being very 
 polite to me. It's because you thought of me as a 
 part of your work," she said, thinking aloud. 
 " Thank you, Mr. Grey." 
 
 They came, after some more talk about matters 
 more indifferent, to the main street, and here Jean's 
 way lay southward. For a few steps Grey kept 
 along beside her; but soon he lagged a bit, and 
 glanced up at the lowering afternoon sky. 
 
 " Will you excuse me if I don't go with you any 
 further? " 
 
 " Do you want to leave me? " she asked. 
 
 His answer, according to the rules, should have 
 displeased her sadly ; it was not at all that which an- 
 other man would have spoken. 
 
 " I'm anxious to get down a memory of the marshes 
 out beyond the Ledges," he said, simply as a child. 
 
 "It's work, then?" 
 
 " While the light lasts," he replied, accepting her 
 dismissal before it was given. 
 
 Jean held out her hand, and Grey, being trained 
 to see, noticed how strong and brown it was, and how
 
 54 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 well-kept. "Good-bye then," she said. "Thank 
 you for a pleasant half hour." 
 
 " The pleasure," he stammered, " was all mine." 
 And with no more words he posted northward toward 
 the quarter of the village his tribe was camped in, 
 while Jean, with a queer little smile, continued on her 
 way down the main street. 
 
 She was in her most buoyant mood. The sense of 
 nearness to the big, clear out-door world, which she 
 always felt after a day on the wooded ridges or the 
 whispering salt-water, lifted her out of herself. She 
 seemed to grow in grace at the touch of wind and sun. 
 And the queer adventure with the unseen man, the 
 queer talk with honest Grey had given her a whim- 
 sical pleasure tdo. She felt recklessly superior to 
 prim, well-mannered little Sallie Gregory, who joined 
 her at the Colonel's gate, and offered to walk home 
 with her. 
 
 " You ought to come walking with me some day," 
 she said in answer to Sallie's gentle complaint of 
 a headache. 
 
 " I don't see why you like it so just being in the 
 woods all day or or tramping." 
 
 "Really?" Jean's surprise was honest enough. 
 " I don't know," she said, considering. " I suppose 
 I like queer things." 
 
 Sallie laughed a little tartly. She was just pretty 
 enough and just enough well-regulated to frankly 
 envy Jean's evasive, woodsy beauty and to disapprove 
 of her behavior.
 
 A MAID ERRANT 55 
 
 " The next thing we know you'll be going to the 
 anarchy meetings instead of to church," she contin- 
 ued. " Look there." 
 
 On the door of the abandoned Methodist meeting 
 house a man was tacking up a roughly printed notice 
 of a meeting to be held that evening. As the girls 
 passed, he looked around, and they saw it was Sebas- 
 tian French. 
 
 Sallie flushed. " I hope he didn't see us looking 
 at him," she murmured swiftly. " Oh, dear ! " 
 
 " Let's go to it," said Jean. " Will you? " 
 
 "Why, Jean, how dreadful!" 
 
 " They say that they're great fun. Did you see 
 what time it began ? " 
 
 " Jean, you wouldn't dare go ! " 
 
 The other shook her head, then leaned back to look 
 up at the dull twilight sky through the elms. " All 
 the Warden ancestors dared me to desert the front 
 porch and play gipsy on the Ledges," she replied 
 softly. " I'm not to be trusted when it comes to pro- 
 priety." 
 
 " Jean ! " Sallie's stock of exclamations was lim- 
 ited, but her sincerity was unbounded. 
 
 Then the girls laughed together and strolled on. 
 Once Jean looked back but instantly turned her head, 
 instinctively, when she saw that young French had 
 come down to the edge of the street and was staring 
 after them. 
 
 Grey did not stop till he came to his studio. This 
 had been contrived from an ancient outbuilding,
 
 56 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 which, when a great window had been let in on the 
 north side, he found served every purpose of a work 
 room. Within were three or four chairs huddled 
 under the window, and the battered remains of a 
 carved mahogany sofa. In a corner stood the heavy 
 easel, suggestive somehow of a guillotine. It was 
 entirely a work-room, bare as a carpenter's. Tubes 
 of paint lay scattered on a rickety old washstand; a 
 sketching-kit, half unstrapped, was dropped under it ; 
 a two-quart tin milk-pail held a thick sheaf of 
 brushes; from a nail hung the great palette with its 
 riot of bright colors. 
 
 Grey fastened in place a clean canvas. " Now 
 let's see," he muttered, and studied with half-shut 
 eyes a curiously numbered and swiftly scored-in pen- 
 cil sketch which he tore from the last page of the 
 letter he took from his pocket, and finally pinned on 
 one of the uprights of the easel. " There's light 
 enough left," he added, still aloud, with a haggard 
 glance out of the window and another at his watch, 
 " to get the thing down, anyhow. What made me 
 waste the morning with Jess Bannard and the re- 
 former, I wonder? " 
 
 Then came some more study, the hand tracing im- 
 aginary shapes on the canvas; then, in a rush of 
 work silent, rapid, almost savage, a suggestion of 
 watery meadows, misty hills and clouds that hung 
 low and still emerged into being out of blankness and 
 chaos. 
 
 Somebody knocked smartly on the door, but Grey
 
 A MAID ERRANT !57 
 
 paid no attention. He even suspended his work to 
 keep the more rigid silence. 
 
 "Oh, Dana!" 
 
 Grey looked toward the door, then at the swift, 
 splendid draught, then at the sky through the win- 
 dow. 
 
 " Not in," he said. " Go away, Byram." 
 
 " I will not. It's getting too late for decent work. 
 You must stop, my son." 
 
 Once Byram had come upon Grey when the latter 
 had driven himself eight hours a day for nearly a 
 week, with the drug to make sleep come at night; 
 and since then he had played guardian to him, break- 
 ing in relentlessly, at whatever cost to himself, at the 
 end of all days like this. 
 
 He examined the already glowing canvas, when 
 Grey let him in, and sighed. " It will do for a 
 start. Got it up by the Ledges, I see. And you 
 had to rush home to get it down." 
 
 " Straight. One can't afford to forget. It was 
 too good." 
 
 " But," Byram interposed, " you worked at Jess 
 Bannard all the morning." 
 
 " Work ! It isn't work, boy," the other replied 
 hotly. He laid down his tools and dropped into a 
 chair with a groan. " It's the keenest pleasure some- 
 times when you make things, you know," he ex- 
 plained vaguely. " Or else it's a day in hell. We 
 know more about the hell part, I guess, all of us 
 who are worth anything. Heavens ! " the painter
 
 58 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 exclaimed, " how this takes it out of a man, Byram ! " 
 
 "Tired? Aha!" 
 
 " I confess. But," cried Grey, " I'd have killed 
 anybody who tried to stop me from posting back here 
 this afternoon." 
 
 " Did anybody try? " the younger man asked the 
 question purely for the sake of keeping the talk go- 
 ing, and of giving it a twist to some lighter subject. 
 
 " I met Miss Wilder coming home," said Grey 
 sedately. 
 
 " You'd have stopped your work all day for her, 
 if she had suggested it." 
 
 " Like the rest of Kingsford so far's I can judge. 
 Like you, boy, if you were wise. But she sent me 
 home, the minute I told her that I wanted to go." 
 ' " She certainly is " 
 
 " Think of her all that she is -. my God, By- 
 ram, what color ! prisoned in this forsaken village 
 with the Squire for company ! Wish she'd let me 
 paint her again." 
 
 " You'll make a sketch of the lawyer's nose and 
 whiskers on the back of your will, I believe." 
 
 " Very probably," said Grey. " I like to paint." 
 
 "But not too long at a stretch, old man. 'For 
 that," added Byram, coming to the other's side, 
 " makes you as white as you are this minute." 
 
 " And you're a good lad to warn me off. But you 
 see," cried Grey, rubbing his fists into his eyes, " I've 
 nothing else to think about, boy." 
 
 " Who'll ransom a painter from becoming a crotch-
 
 A MAID ERRANT 59 
 
 ety brute because he paints all day and dreams color 
 all night? " Byram shouted to the world through the 
 open door. 
 
 But Dana Grey, whom men looked up to as the 
 coming painter of landscape, grew fiercely indignant 
 with Byram, who dared to contend in discussion after 
 supper, that even a painter should think of other 
 things beside his art. 
 
 From a ruinous bench built along the side of the 
 abandoned house on the Ledges, an old man watched, 
 solitary and silent, the coming-down of darkness over 
 the village.
 
 V 
 
 A CONVERSION 
 
 AT dusk the sagging clouds dissolved in a steady 
 downpour, which wet like the rain of a thun- 
 derstorm without its honest violence. The 
 sandy roads gradually turned to bogs, lowland to 
 swamps, two or three of the village's roofs to sieves. 
 But French's party somehow felt the happier for 
 this weather. It gave them a sense of superiority to 
 the gentry, for not one of these would think of ven- 
 turing out on such a night. They held their faces 
 up to the rain, as they splashed along the street 
 toward the meeting place and their " love-feast," as 
 French called it. Since the collision at the mill 
 rumors had gone through the town ; the postmaster 
 had overheard some talk between Mr. Warden and 
 Colonel Gregory, just after the Squire had driven 
 back from the battlefield, which he had promised to 
 repeat, so that nearly all of working Kingsford had 
 crowded into the little hall. There was one man, 
 however, who, coming late, did not go inside, but took 
 up a stand outside under the drip of the eaves, and 
 peered cautiously through an open window, as though 
 he wished to see without being seen. 
 
 The room was very bare. A few kerosene lamps 
 60
 
 A CONVERSION 61 
 
 in brackets around the white walls shed a dull glim- 
 mer. From a leak in the corner of the roof great 
 drops spattered noisily into a pail set to catch them. 
 The damp gusts which blew in whenever the door 
 squeaked open did not much dispel the air, musty 
 from the audience's steaming clothes and warm 
 breath. And at first some influence from the place 
 seemed to deaden the spirits of the congregation also. 
 The men whispered raucously to one another little sen- 
 tences a couple of words long, while the women sat for 
 the most part pensive and restless by sudden turns, 
 contemplating the cracks in the floor, or flouncing 
 about to look at the noisy clock over the entrance. 
 Eight o'clock sounded. The man outside grunted im- 
 patiently. 
 
 " I don't see why our leader's not here," remarked 
 an elderly man, getting slowly on his feet. " But 
 he'll prob'ly be here in a second. S'pose we begin 
 without him." He peered over his glasses at the 
 woman seated at the little parlor organ. " Ready, 
 Jane Perry ? " 
 
 " Let her go ! " whispered the stranger encourag- 
 ingly. 
 
 "What shall I play?" 
 
 " I think ' Nearer My God, To Thee's ' a sweet 
 tune," hazarded another of the women. 
 
 " This here's a love-feast," the outsider chuckled. 
 
 " It's pitched pretty high," the organist replied, 
 " but I guess maybe we kin fetch it."
 
 62 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " Amen," from the first speaker. He had contin- 
 ued standing. " Now then." 
 
 " Don't let it drag," the player cautioned, jamming 
 hard on the stiff keys of the organ. " First 'n' last 
 stanzys is enough." 
 
 " You're right, daughter. More'n that'd be too 
 many for me! " 
 
 The singing droned to an end, one alto taking her 
 part with such loud and aggressive precision that the 
 rest of the voices counted for little. 
 
 " A prayer, sisters ? " suggested Root, grinning 
 toothlessly. " On this day of rejoicin'? " 
 
 " Well, I'll try." It was Mrs. Garth who arose, a 
 thin little being, with a sensitive mouth and a com>- 
 plexion like wax. She closed her eyes and gripped 
 the seat in front of her. The others bowed their 
 heads. The silence continued a moment longer, 
 broken only by the steady drip of the rain from the 
 eaves. The onlooker took the occasion to peer around 
 the side of the window, wondering what caused the 
 sudden stillness. 
 
 " O God ! " she exclaimed fervently, clasping her 
 hands. " Thou knowest who and what we be. Thou 
 knowest how we're sinners, and " Again she 
 stopped, and this time for so long that the heads 
 came up from their supports on the backs of the 
 benches. 
 
 " You ain't took faint or nothin', be ye? " asked 
 Jane Perry anxiously. 
 
 " No," replied the little woman, shaking her head,
 
 A CONVERSION 63 
 
 with a frightened look. "But I can't make it go, 
 somehow. Say, there ain't nobody peekin' in them 
 windows, is they ? " 
 
 " Try again. There ain't nobody listenin. We 
 ain't goin' to hurry ye none, Mis' Garth." 
 
 " No, no," she replied. " It ain't any use a-tryin'. 
 I just know I couldn't pray a single solitary word. 
 Thinkin' that I saw a face in the window made me so 
 nervous, I - well, / think, it'd be nice to sing again. 
 How about " Coronation," Jane? " 
 
 The organist turned the leaves of the hymnal, 
 studied the score for a moment with puckered brows 
 and hands that groped in fancy after the more diffi- 
 cult chords, then nodded vigorously for them to be- 
 gin. 
 
 " Now things is movin'," one of the men remarked 
 to his neighbor under cover of the noise. 
 
 " Once more ! " called Miss Perry, whose thin cheeks 
 were aglow. 
 
 " Amen ! Amen ! " they cried, swinging again into 
 the tune. 
 
 " 'Nother verse, friends ! The Lord's on our side." 
 
 " Arise, Lord ! " roared a big fisherman, spreading 
 out his arms* and facing them from his place near 
 the front. 
 
 " And let thine enemies be scattered ! " chorused the 
 rest, all but Mrs. Garth, who still kept her eyes on th'6 
 window. 
 
 " Let 'em be destroyed ! " 
 
 " Who seek after my soul to take it away." And
 
 64 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 a roar of approval followed the fisherman's gesture 
 toward the quiet, high-pillared house across the street. 
 
 " They'll rob you," he cried hoarsely. " They've 
 robbed our young ones. Why won't they give us 
 livin' wages? Why, I ask? 'Cause they're all ty- 
 rants like Warden and the sons of tyrants, I say." 
 
 A little man burrowed his way up the aisle, breath- 
 less and wan. He panted like a dog. 
 
 " Let me speak ! " he cried. " Down in front." 
 
 " All down ! It's the postmaster." 
 
 " The ladies' man of the town," said the unseen 
 spectator, again venturing to look in. " Now what's 
 he got to say? He looks like 'Before Takin.' ' 
 
 The little man looked up and down the packed 
 benches, where men wiped the sweat from the fore- 
 heads, and women, whose eyes glittered like panthers', 
 could hardly be made to keep their seats. 
 
 " He's goin' to hire some other men," stammered 
 the speaker, breaking desperately into the middle of 
 his speech. " I heard him. A thousand dollars, he 
 says he's got ready to beat French 'n' the rest of you. 
 He's goin' to get in some outsiders. I heard old 
 Warden " 
 
 " Damn him for a miser ! " cried a man from a dark 
 corner. 
 
 " He's been doin' the business all day," the orator 
 went on. " He's got the cash ready, so he says, 
 standin' in my place o' business as cool's a cucumber. 
 He'll bring f urriners " 
 
 " That's so, is it? " Once more the bearded work-
 
 A CONVERSION 65 
 
 man arose. He deliberately bared a hairy, knotted 
 arm, hard as an oak bough. " Well, God help the 
 man I find on any job I mighter had." 
 
 " You're all right, Bill." 
 
 Then the door opened, but one of the noisy crowd 
 perceived it. The newcomer had time to strip off his 
 tight overcoat and stand listening for a moment. 
 What he heard evidently displeased him, for his heavy 
 brows puckered and he shook his head in a decided neg- 
 ative. 
 
 " That talk must end right here ! " 
 
 The voice, clear and high, smote the heavy air like 
 a bell. 
 
 "French!" 
 
 They made for him with cries of delight, upsetting 
 the benches in their eagerness to get at his hand. But 
 he waved them back. 
 
 " He's no friend of mine who talks o' violence and 
 murder, Bill Curtis. God don't love the thoughts in 
 your heart, my friend. Think a minute." 
 
 He made his way forward to the pine reading desk, 
 the crowd falling back confusedly. 
 
 " I'll have no outsider take my job," Curtis re- 
 peated slowly, " no matter what you say. And 'twas 
 you that started the whole strike business. If you 
 want to back out " 
 
 " Shame ! " from the crowd. 
 
 " I say * no violence,' " said French firmly. " But 
 as for the rest " he turned swiftly from Curtis to 
 the congregation ; his voice rose and strengthened,
 
 66 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " we'll fight this thing to a finish. Let Warden spend 
 his money for outside help, if he wants. He'll be 
 sorry. But," he cried, " don't you know that God 
 won't bless you unless you deserve it? Unless you're 
 good?" His eyes fell on Jess Bannard, who had 
 pushed forward to a seat just in front of the desk. 
 " Pve tried to help more'n one o' you in the past 
 week. I've made mistakes; I've done wrong. But, 
 God," he cried, looking up, " forgive me what I done 
 wrong, 'n' strengthen my feebleness." 
 
 The quick-coming emotion swept the reformer up 
 and away. His prayer flowed from him, rough and 
 powerful and broken as the great river in spring. 
 
 " Who'll be next? " he asked, sweeping the benches. 
 Jessie stammered a few breathless syllables, while the 
 crowd strained forward to hear. " Who else can tell 
 about God's mercy and love? Who's got a sin to con- 
 fess, or a blessing to give thanks for? " 
 
 The voice was compelling tender and stern at 
 once ; but there came no reply. The men and women 
 smiled encouragingly at one another, but sat fast. 
 
 " Ain't there nobody ? " He laughed gently. 
 " Maybe," he went on, (but his eyes now were bent 
 on something far beyond the scene just before them), 
 " it's because you've somehow missed the meanin' of 
 things. Sorrow 'n' joy! It'd be a mighty poor life 
 if these weren't a man's hourly shadow and his hourly 
 light, friends. The the reality of things! Let's 
 think about that for a minute or two." 
 
 Not one of them now, though he understood only a
 
 A CONVERSION 67 
 
 part, but was eager to listen ; not one but felt the little 
 thrill which followed this young man's words concern- 
 ing the great things of life and death. They knew 
 that at any moment such promises for the poor and 
 hopes for the needy might be shown them as had 
 marked his other talks. The silence was absolute, 
 save for Jessie's quiet sobbing ; their regard was fixed, 
 rigid and strained, with eyes that shone. Some sat 
 back with arms locked close and jaws set these the 
 older men; others leaned forward as though ready to 
 start up at the preacher's least command to any duty ; 
 not a few hid their faces in their hands bowed forward 
 on the back of the bench in front of them. 
 
 Suddenly the door squeaked again, then slammed to 
 on some back draught, and for an instant the spell was 
 broken. Mrs. Barth sprang to her feet. A quick an- 
 ger whirled the crowd about to face the intruder re- 
 sentfully. This was a young woman. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," she murmured, confused by 
 the lights and the rough crowd's attention. " The 
 door " 
 
 " Ssh ! Ssh ! " from half a dozen angry tongues. 
 "Go on, French!" 
 
 " 'Twas a man that I saw," cried Mrs. Garth ; but 
 nobody heard her. 
 
 The girl bit her lip. But in the next second she 
 mastered herself and slipped into a seat on the first 
 vacant bench. She did not even glance up till the 
 little disturbance which her entrance had caused was 
 quieted, and the congregation was once more all at-
 
 68 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 tention on their leader. Then she raised her head and 
 looked him full in the face. Ten seconds later she 
 dropped her eyes, this time with a smile, for the ex- 
 horter had colored under her cool regard. 
 
 The girl seemed to realize how fair she was and how 
 singular her appearance in that crowd of shabby or 
 slovenly working people. But, far from any feeling 
 of discomfort, she looked about quite at ease. There 
 was something about her impertinent and well-bred 
 at once. She might have been a princess incognito at 
 a rag-fair. This for five minutes. Then her grey 
 eyes grew serious. 
 
 The speech rolled on to its end. One last appeal, 
 and young French bade the crowd to its knees. His 
 face was white with emotion, and his eyes were twin 
 fires. One word of prayer and a benediction, then 
 dismissal. 
 
 Before the end the girl was sitting very still, breath- 
 ing deep. She remained on her knees a moment 
 longer than the others; when at last she rose to her 
 feet, her face showed a brighter light. 
 
 The congregation looked from her to French, and 
 back again. There was a deal of sudden, eager whis- 
 pering. 
 
 " Jean Wilder ! " It was Bill Curtis who cried the 
 name, with a note of triumph that pealed out like a 
 trumpet's. " You've fetched her, French ! " 
 
 " She's seen the light ! " a woman cried, flinging up 
 her thin arms. 
 
 " She's laughin* at you now," sneered a man.
 
 A CONVERSION 69 
 
 " Back home with you, young lady." And half a 
 dozen others echoed him. " She's old Warden's spy." 
 
 " That is not true ! " Jean exclaimed, standing up 
 to her full height, and facing the angry eyes defiantly. 
 " That's not so." 
 
 They crowded toward her. " You're on our side ? 
 Say it, if that's what you mean." 
 
 " Why, yes," she answered simply, and with a sin- 
 cerity clear as glass. " I enjoyed being here very 
 much." 
 
 A cheer, irregular and unchecked but given with a 
 will, made the lamps jump in their brackets. They 
 did not press close to her, something in her bearing 
 kept the crowd away as they would have edged back 
 from a princess ; but they shouted her name as though 
 it was a war-cry ; they had another cheer for French, 
 when, half heard in the tumult, he cried some words 
 of happiness and prophecy. The girl looked on, not 
 quite understanding. She even laughed a low little 
 laugh of sheer amusement at the babble and confu- 
 sion, but nobody saw her mirth, and a quick anger 
 seemed to burn out from the medley of voices. 
 
 French raised his hand. The place fell quiet in- 
 stantly. " Grant, O God," he prayed, " that what 
 we hope to be true may in Thy Providence come to 
 pass." 
 
 " Amen ! She said she was with us." 
 
 The man outside the open window chuckled sardon- 
 ically. The congregation filed slowly out. There 
 were whisperings and a grin or two. But Jean
 
 70 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 watched as if at a kind of show, until they were all 
 gone and she was alone with the lanky young preacher. 
 " Thank you," she said quickly, standing up as he 
 came down the aisle. " Thank you ever so much. I 
 waited to tell you." 
 
 " No, no," French protested quickly. His breath 
 still came pantingly. " I ought to thank you. Don't 
 you see how your bein' here will help us? Yours? " 
 " I only came to laugh," she protested in turn, her 
 cheeks scarlet again. " I came just because Sallie 
 Gregory dared me. It was like going to the theatre. 
 And and may I apologize ? " 
 
 She was so handsome, bearing herself so daintily! 
 The man was so ungainly and pale! Perhaps the 
 contrast did not escape him. 
 
 " You won't think so again ? " he asked eagerly, 
 following her to the door. " God's here. This is 
 His house just as much as " 
 
 " I know ! " she cried. " Please don't scold me. 
 Not but what I deserve it. For Oh ! " she cried ex- 
 citedly, " I'm so much better for " 
 
 " For having heard what I said ? " he demanded 
 eagerly. 
 
 Jean hesitated. " It was all very interesting, I 
 thought," she answered in a less enthusiastic key. 
 
 They were outside the meeting-house now, standing 
 in the dark, the rain sifting down on their faces. 
 
 " I only hope the others profited ever so little," 
 the reformer stammered. " For for I try my best,
 
 A CONVERSION 71 
 
 you know. Will you come again? Sunday? Oh, 
 the j oy of this evening ! " 
 
 She was busy with the buttons of her rain-coat. 
 " You're very good to ask me." 
 
 " Not at all. If only you'd come ! Maybe," he 
 said eagerly, " I could show you the other side of the 
 labor question." 
 
 She drew away. " I always enjoy a good sermon," 
 she replied, a little stiffly this time. " But I don't 
 care to be converted to anarchy." 
 
 " We have right on our side. You ought to let me 
 show you. These workingmen ! And you say you 
 were on their side." 
 
 " What made them rant so ? " she asked. 
 
 He actually barred her passage, and did not see 
 how she shrank from his possible touch. " Be brave. 
 Show Kingsford that you're willing to help the cause 
 o' freedom. Let me ask two questions." 
 
 " I must go, please. My uncle will be home by 
 now." 
 
 " Old Warden ! Will you tell him you've been 
 here?" 
 
 " Certainly. Why not ? " She smiled, as some 
 thought struck her. 
 
 " But but he's against us. The war's declared," 
 said French. " We've struck ! " 
 
 "What?" Jean drew back, and her face grew 
 serious at once. 
 
 " Of course you knew it ? "
 
 72 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " Not a word," she said rapidly. " I've been away 
 all day." 
 
 " Now will you tell where you've been? " he asked 
 half tauntingly. 
 
 " More than ever. Certainly," she repeated firmly. 
 
 " Well, that's something gained," said French, fall- 
 ing back, unable to understand. " And my talk really 
 pleased you ? " 
 
 " Yes." For a moment she paused. " I like men 
 to do things well. Even," Jean added, so quaintly 
 as to rob the speech of all offense, " if he's doing 
 something very wrong." 
 
 And with that she vanished into the darkness and 
 rain, leaving French motionless on the door-step, 
 straining his vision to follow her. In the hall the 
 lamps had burned so low as to smell foully; and the 
 pail had overflowed, making a pool of water in the 
 dust of the floor. 
 
 "How could I have hoped for this?" cried the 
 young man, lifting up his eyes. Again a smile trans- 
 figured his lean, pinched face. " Lord," he half 
 chanted, " now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in 
 peace. Jean Wilder at a meetin' of strikin' mill- 
 hands! And she said she enjoyed it." 
 
 Along the street the congregation discussed the in- 
 cident excitedly. 
 
 "She's a spy," cried Mrs. Garth. "The impu- 
 dence of her ! " 
 
 " But she was near cryin' when I seen her," her com- 
 panion insisted.
 
 A CONVERSION 73 
 
 " 'Twill be all over town in the morning. I'd like 
 to see old Warden get the news." 
 
 " Him 'n* his thousand dollars ! " snorted Mrs. 
 Garth. " Say, didn't none of you see nobody peekin' 
 in at the window? "
 
 VI 
 
 ME. WARDEN'S HOMECOMING 
 
 WHEN at length French came out again into 
 the darkness whither a quarter of an hour 
 earlier he had followed Jean, he could hear 
 still the voices of some last group of the faithful sing- 
 ing up the street. 
 
 " When the roll-call's counted, 
 She'll be there." 
 
 " That she will, please God ! " he exclaimed aloud. 
 "Our Jean!" 
 
 " I'd like to hear about that," a voice made answer 
 from the black night and the rain. " That was what 
 I'd call a rousin* meetin', by dee." And the voice 
 chuckled. 
 
 " .Whoever you are," French cried jubilantly, as he 
 descended the steps and wrestled with his umbrella, 
 " I'm glad you heard our service. I'm glad " 
 
 " There, there, my son. I'm glad that you're glad ; 
 but don't run over me. And never shout your opin- 
 ions out loud. There's some folks in this sinful world 
 as don't care a dee what you think, or how you feel." 
 A heavy, strong hand caught French as he was push- 
 ing through the narrow gate, and held him during 
 
 74
 
 MR. WARDEN'S HOMECOMING 75 
 
 this speech. " And now walk along with me, so's we 
 can talk sensible. Mebbe," the voice continued shyly, 
 " I'm li'ble to git converted ; and I'm for the down- 
 trod masses every time." 
 
 The speaker's figure was burly and square, though 
 many wrappings and coats added some to his bulk, 
 and he seemed a man past middle life. More than 
 that French could not distinguish, on account of the 
 rain and the thick darkness under the elms. 
 
 " My name's Bassett, my title's Captain, I'm corn- 
 in' here to live, mebbe. I'm a friend o' the poor an* 
 needy; and I heard you carryin' on back there, so I 
 stopped and listened. * There's a man,' says I, ' as 
 puts things straight.' It was like beer to the thirsty ; 
 it was like steak and onions to the hungry that 
 there speech o' yours," the stranger cried in a mag- 
 nificent burst of enthusiasm, quite ignoring the re- 
 former's feeble protests. " And who," he asked cas- 
 ually, on the heels of his flattery, " was the young 
 woman as came in late ? " 
 
 " Jean ! " cried French to the sky, his spirits flash- 
 ing up like lightning. " Jean Wilder I " 
 
 " And she is ? " 
 
 " You don't know her? " It seemed incredible that 
 anybody could say that. " You don't know what her 
 coming of her own free will, mind you to my 
 our meeting means? " 
 
 " I told you I was new to this town," replied the 
 other. " I'm a stranger here, by dee, in a strange 
 land. Also a sojourner, as all my fathers were.
 
 76 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 Which seems a hard name to call the old folks," he 
 added in an undertone. 
 
 At that moment a white horse splashed by them, 
 drawing a closely hooded buggy. 
 
 " There he goes now ! " exclaimed French excitedly. 
 " That's the beginning of the whole story." 
 
 " And who's that, if it ain't a secret? " 
 
 " Jean's guardian. Uncle, she calls him. Old 
 Warden." 
 
 " Hey there ! " bellowed the stranger after the car- 
 riage. " Warden, you dog ! " And then he fell into 
 a great and scandalous laughter. 
 
 " That's no way to talk," French remonstrated. 
 He began to feel sorry that he was obliged to keep the 
 company of this noisy old man. 
 
 " It ain't a mark to the way I can talk," was the 
 calm answer. " Once I'm good 'n' cross. Now tell 
 me about things. I want to hear it all." 
 
 He learned that great things had happened in 
 Kingsford. No longer was one man the master of the 
 mill and the rest mere slaves. A living wage and 
 union hours were to be given to the workingman, first 
 in the mill, later, French prophesied, to even the farm- 
 hands. The fight was on, and so far victory lay with 
 the party of freedom. It was true that the men's 
 reasonable demands had been refused, true that out- 
 side labor was to be imported, paid for by Mr. War- 
 den. 
 
 " Warden's a fighter," French explained, putting
 
 MR. WARDEN'S HOMECOMING 77 
 
 another parenthesis into his stammering, jumbled 
 story. " He is that, sure enough." 
 
 Him against you. I see. And Jean ?" 
 
 " She's his ward, I said." 
 
 " Ex-actly. She's his ward, and oughter stick on 
 the money-power's side, but tonight she comes into 
 your camp." 
 
 " That's the victory ! " French's cry was like a 
 trumpet. " She sat there for half an hour, and lis- 
 tened to my talk. She told me she liked it, that she 
 didn't understood before what our cause was. She 
 said she'd come again." 
 
 " Well, well ! But / didn't hear her say no such 
 thing," commented Bassett under his breath. 
 
 " Brave, true girl ! That's what she is." 
 
 " Right ! " the old man exclaimed heartily. " And 
 now let's talk about somethin' else." 
 
 It was impossible. To the young preacher a kind 
 of heaven, vaguely discerned, but felt as bright and 
 beautiful, seemed in the past hour to have opened. 
 He could not leave the subject. 
 
 " One'd think she was in love with you, to hear you 
 go on," remarked the stranger in a moment's pause 
 in French's excited talk. " I guess you kinder hope 
 that you scored a hit as well's the cause o' Christ and 
 labor." 
 
 " You've got to excuse me," panted French. " I 
 get swept away sometimes." 
 
 " Rubbish ! " grunted Bassett. " It all I mean 
 you all will get swept away sooner or later. I know
 
 78 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 how you feel. Pve been swept away myself. Swept 
 clean away." His voice changed like a heavy, cracked 
 bell. " Only I came back again." 
 
 " That's a queer thing to say." 
 
 " I'm a queer man. And here I'll leave you. Go 
 in and win, young Mr. Striker. Warden ain't a party 
 to be encouraged, I don't believe." 
 
 "You agree with me then?" 
 
 " I'm glad I come to town just now," the strange 
 man replied, backing away, for they had come to 
 French's door. Things look very interestin'." 
 
 All the way down Kingsford street, Mr. Warden 
 wondered who it was that had hailed him by name 
 from the side-walk in a voice like a fog horn. At the 
 moment he was going to pull up ; but then he told him- 
 self that, whoever it was, the man had only to walk 
 a short quarter of a mile to catch him at home, if the 
 business was urgent; so he slapped the mare vigor- 
 ously with the wet, heavy reins, and he blundered on 
 through the mud. It had been a good day, he re- 
 flected, in spite of all the trouble of the morning, for 
 he had sold some utterly waste land for nearly five 
 hundred dollars to a New York man who wanted a 
 site for a summer place. 
 
 " And this He shall never lay finger on ! " cried 
 Mr. Warden aloud, with a sudden ring of hate in his 
 thin voice. He shifted the reins to his right hand so 
 as to feel inside his coat. There lay the pocket-book 
 warm and dry, stiff with new bank-notes. The broker 
 had paid a good amount down to bind the bargain.
 
 MR. WARDEN'S HOMECOMING 79 
 
 " Mine, by the Lord ! " swore Mr. Warden, quite out 
 of his accepted character as the leading citizen of a 
 God-fearing village. " Mine, mine." 
 
 But a moment later, when he was in the barn, he 
 realized that, for all the genuine pleasure the after- 
 noon had brought, he had to reckon with the un- 
 doubted facts that the driving rain had soaked him 
 through, and because Jake too had apparently struck 
 the fool ! he must spend a painful half hour get- 
 ting the old mare dry and clean. Even the warmth 
 of the pocket-book failed entirely to cheer him, as the 
 old man set his shoulder to the heavy sliding door of 
 the carriage room. He sighed as he looked around, 
 and saw he had omitted to hang up the harness and 
 spread the lap robe out to dry. He was very tired, 
 and eager for his deep chair. 
 
 He had been working the best part of an hour, cold 
 and damp, and lamed by the strange work, when the 
 door that led from the barn to the adjoining lumber 
 and work-room, and thence through a series of offices 
 to the house, was pushed open. Mr. Warden, per- 
 versely cross by now, made no answer to the voice 
 which called to him, clear and mellow. 
 
 " Uncle Andrew ! " the voice persisted ; and, after a 
 pause, added : " I don't believe he's here." 
 
 " Suppose I was here," he growled, emerging from 
 the dark stall into the light. " What about it ? " 
 
 Jean lowered the lamp, which she was holding high 
 in the doorway, and turned away with that queer little
 
 80 
 
 shrug of the shoulders, which seemed an inheritance 
 from no New England ancestor. 
 
 " Nothing at all, unless you care. It's only Mr. 
 Bailey." 
 
 " Tell him I'll be right in." 
 
 But she hesitated. Mr. Warden sighed over the 
 heavy hostler's work; he coughed once or twice, as 
 though the dampness of his clothes had begun to chill 
 him. 
 
 " Let me do all that," said Jean impulsively, setting 
 down the lamp. " I'd love to, Uncle Andrew." 
 
 " You think you won't forget anything? " 
 
 " Not a thing," she laughed back, sweeping the 
 dirty harness from his hands, strong and quick as a 
 boy, for all her delicate beauty. " You'll never know 
 but what Jake fixed the stable up himself. But I 
 can't do it justice if you stand and watch me. Go 
 away, sir." 
 
 The grim old gentleman relaxed a little under her 
 infectious gaiety. And he was vaguely conscious per- 
 haps of a certain pride in the young grace and supple 
 strength, just now so prettily devoted to his service. 
 For a moment his eyes dwelt on her as they had that 
 morning. 
 
 " Much obliged, Jean," he said walking stiffly to 
 the door. " I am pretty tired and wet. It's been a 
 hard day." 
 
 " Mr. Bailey will revive you. Besides, there's a 
 letter."
 
 MR. WARDEN'S HOMECOMING 81 
 
 " Who from? " The question came with an odd 
 quickness. 
 
 " I wish I'd opened it so I could tell you," Jean 
 replied, smiling. " I'll do it next time. And this 
 looks very interesting." 
 
 The queer look that flickered across the old gentle- 
 man's face was gone in a breathing space. 
 
 " Uncle Andrew ! " cried Jean, as if in a little alarm. 
 
 " A letter ! " He recovered himself instantly. 
 " It's probably a a seed catalogue." 
 
 She nodded assent, reassured as her uncle took the 
 lamp up and opened the door. Glancing over his 
 shoulder, Mr. Warden saw that the effect of his in- 
 voluntary outcry was gone. 
 
 " Where did you put the letter, Jean ? " 
 
 " It's propped up against the clock in the living 
 room." 
 
 " It can't be of any importance," he went on hast- 
 ily, afraid of the possible questions she might ask. 
 
 " I begin to think there's some awful mystery in 
 that seed catalogue," Jean laughed. " Remember 
 that I'll cross-question you like a regular lawyer when 
 I come in. Unless," she added solemnly, " you go 
 instantly to the house, change into some dry clothes, 
 and pay a visit to the top shelf of the medicine cup- 
 board, where your tonic stands." 
 
 He made off, half grumbling, half chuckling. 
 
 "Remember!" Jean called after him. "Three 
 fingers of tonic or I'll probe after secrets." 
 
 With the girl's light laughter in his ears, Mr. War-
 
 82 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 den, limping through the range of dairy, tool-room, 
 and summer kitchen, confessed in secret that rather 
 than have Jean ask certain questions, he would drain 
 the brown bottle at one gulp, for all that he was a 
 temperance man. He reached the door of the living- 
 room in a fine flutter; and swore again that nobody 
 in all Kingsford should ever call at the post-office for 
 his mail. He had barely time to compose himself a 
 little before he found himself face to face with Mr. 
 Bailey. 
 
 The latter sought, then avoided Mr. Warden's eye. 
 " I hope you've got some good news," he said point- 
 edly. 
 
 " I think I've got some men. By what the old 
 Governor used to call Christian guile. It's not sure, 
 though." 
 
 " I hope so. Them strikers is talkin' mighty stub- 
 born." 
 
 " Well," rejoined Mr. Warden, " we'll see." 
 
 This exchange took place in the interval of Mr. 
 Warden's entrance and his progress across the room 
 to the shelf over the bricked-up fireplace behind the 
 stove. But Bailey did not perceive that his host was 
 talking against time. From all he could judge, Mr. 
 Warden spoke about these important matters as ear- 
 nestly as ever, although somebody less interested could 
 hardly fail noticing that the Squire's eyes leaped past 
 Mr. Bailey to the mantelpiece the moment he had 
 greeted his visitor, and that all the time he was talk- 
 ing the old man edged nearer and nearer, till he could
 
 MR. WARDEN'S HOMECOMING 83 
 
 take down the letter that was propped against the 
 clock. 
 
 " I hope the good weather will come back," ob- 
 served Mr. Warden, looking up. His voice shook ; he 
 kept turning his letter over and over as though some 
 secret or message might be written on the back of the 
 envelope! "It'll be" 
 
 " What'd you say ? " asked the visitor, after wait- 
 ing for Mr. Warden to finish. 
 
 " I think so too," the other replied slowly, staring 
 now at the far side of the room, heedless alike of Mr. 
 Bailey and of his own damp clothes steaming in the 
 warmth. " We've got to stand together in this busi- 
 ness." 
 
 " Wai, we always look to Squire Warden to do 
 what's right," Bailey returned heartily. " Must be 
 some responsibility bein' Kingsford's law cmd gospel, 
 same's as you be, sir." 
 
 " Thanks," said the Squire rather grimly. 
 
 As Mr. Warden talked, he recovered himself com- 
 pletely, his eye kindling, his jaw shutting hard. 
 Mr. Bailey looked at him with something like rever- 
 ence; but at the same time found himself wondering 
 at his leader's sudden abstraction over the letter. 
 
 " He was mighty keen to get the thing, too," 
 mused the good farmer, remembering swiftly. Then 
 he rose. " Musn't keep you from readin' your let- 
 ter," he added. " I see you got it all right. Miss 
 Jean stuck it up there so's you couldn't miss it." 
 
 " Did she? Jean put it there? "
 
 84. THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " Yes, sir. Hope it is not bad news." 
 
 " Nothing important," the Squire said blandly, 
 again studying the envelope. "A a seed cata- 
 logue, or some broker's advertisement of mining 
 stock." 
 
 " Wrong shape," returned the other, boring 
 through the envelope with his little eyes. 
 
 "Think so?" And Mr. Warden, though his 
 hand trembled excessively, slit the wrapper with his 
 knife. 
 
 At that moment Jean broke in on them, coming in 
 like a stream of warm light or a fresh breeze from 
 the south. 
 
 " Uncle Andrew, you didn't obey me ! " The 
 Squire arrested his work, and glanced down at his 
 clothes. " I told him to change his things under 
 penalty." 
 
 " Ho, ho ! Makes ye mind, Squire, does she ? We 
 were talkin' about the strike," Bailey explained, 
 with the instinctive deference of his race for a woman 
 whether she was old or, like Jean, as young as the 
 spring, " but your uncle had to get his letter read." 
 
 "The mysterious letter!" she cried. " It'll be 
 part of his fine to read it out loud. Begin, Uncle 
 Andrew." 
 
 " Read my letter? " 
 
 Bailey grinned and seconded Jean's commands. 
 They made quite a joke of it, and pushed harder 
 when Mr. Warden seemed to grow a little angry. 
 
 " To an old friend ! " teased the farmer noisily.
 
 MR. WARDEN'S HOMECOMING 85 
 
 Mr. Warden flared up. " It's none of your busi- 
 ness, Bailey. Now that's enough. Understand? " 
 
 " I didn't mean to bother you, sir." 
 
 " It was nothing. Mr. Warden shook his hand. 
 " Thankee for your sympathy," he said. " Good 
 night." 
 
 When Jean came back from escorting their visitor 
 to the front door for so much comfort seemed due 
 him after his rebuff, it was to find her uncle standing 
 just as she had left him. He looked beaten and sick. 
 
 " There's some worry ? " she asked gently. " Can 
 I help? This letter ?" 
 
 " What of it? " he demanded. 
 
 " I didn't mean to bother," Jean replied quietly, 
 though her hands clenched as they hung at her side. 
 
 " What about my letters ? " the old man repeated, 
 vaguely. " Don't pry so." 
 
 She sprang back, all on fire in a second at his 
 needless suspicion. " I wish I'd never touched or 
 seen your mail ! " cried Jean passionately. 
 
 " So do I. Not that it makes any difference," he 
 added lamely. 
 
 " You are so unfair, sir." 
 
 " I please myself. Tell me," he ordered, slowly 
 crumpling the letter in his fist, " what you've been 
 doing today." 
 
 She had promised herself that she would confess at' 
 once that she had gone to the meeting of French's 
 congregation of strikers. There had been a kind of 
 taunt in the young man's voice as he took leave of her
 
 86 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 on the steps. She must show no fear, were there to 
 be any consequences of her escapade. But perhaps, 
 Jean thought, as she reviewed the matter, her uncle 
 would laugh grimly, finding some amusement in what 
 she saw now was sheer, madcap heedlessness. She 
 had promised to tell at once ; but now the look of him 
 daunted her. 
 
 " I went over to the Ledges just after you'd gone," 
 she began uncertainly. 
 
 " Indeed ! Alone, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." Here her head came up. " But I 
 came home with Mr. Grey." 
 
 " That artist? " 
 
 " He came to my rescue," Jean went on rapidly, 
 for her uncle was using the tone which drove her to 
 talk more recklessly than she meant to. " The queer- 
 est adventure! I was coming along by the lower 
 path, for I didn't want to go by the " 
 
 " The old house ? Yes, yes. I understand." 
 
 " And all of a sudden somebody called to me from 
 the underbrush. It wasn't a voice I knew, so I was 
 a little scared." 
 
 "Some tramp?" 
 
 " No," said Jean, " it sounded like an old man's 
 rough and gentle both. And he called me by name." 
 
 A quick closing of Mr. Warden's fingers crushed 
 the letter into a shapeless ball. " This stranger 
 called you by name? " he repeated slowly, and with 
 a visible effort to control himself. " What then ? " 
 
 " I ran like a deer," laughed Jean, seeing the quick-
 
 MR. WARDEN'S HOMECOMING 87 
 
 est way out of the examination. " And then Mr. 
 Grey saw me, and escorted me home like a troop of 
 cavalry." 
 
 " And I think both of you showed uncommon sense," 
 Mr. Warden replied, easily enough, though he sighed 
 even as he spoke, " You to run, and Grey to follow. 
 You say that you didn't know the voice in the 
 bushes? You've never heard it? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 "Never?" 
 
 " Mystery again," cried Jean. " Uncle, you love 
 a romance." 
 
 " I do. I'm mighty fond of romance. It makes 
 first-class reading." He waited a moment, then 
 asked again with an air of resolve to hear the worst: 
 " You've done nothing else ? Where have you been 
 this evening? " And he pointed to her skirt, the 
 edge of which was still dark with wet. 
 
 It had come at last. But she met the question 
 more easily than she had expected, her courage hav- 
 ing risen under her uncle's questioning. 
 
 " I went to hear Sebastian French," said Jean 
 calmly. 
 
 " You what? " 
 
 She repeated the words exactly, but with a trace 
 of defiance, which leaped out like sword from sheath 
 to meet the old man's querulous anger. 
 
 He nodded his head a moment. " You are aware 
 of my of our position ? You know that I'm going 
 to fight this strike?"
 
 88 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " But it did no harm, Uncle. And I didn't know 
 they'd struck." 
 
 " Harm! Are you blind, child? I can hear those 
 fools rejoicing over their new convert." 
 
 " It was careless," she murmured, for the thought 
 of herself as the talking-stock of French and his 
 crew hurt. 
 
 " Jean Wilder at the feet of a foolish anarchist ! 
 Jean Wilder so much as looking at the fellow that 
 every gentleman in Kingsford is going to fight tooth 
 and nail ! " 
 
 " I only went for the fun of it," she protested 
 miserably. 
 
 " And you laughed at the beggar? " cried the old 
 man hopefully. " That'd be rude; but" 
 
 " No," she replied steadily, facing him again. " I 
 stayed till the end. It was splendid. And the poor 
 people were so pathetic." 
 
 "Bah!" 
 
 " It was the best sermon I ever heard." 
 
 " I suppose," Mr. Warden said, picking his words, 
 " that you found the preacher handsome, too. I 
 daresay you'll be telling me that you want to marry 
 him next." 
 
 Jean turned from him deliberately. 
 
 "Stand still!" cried the Squire. "Let me tell 
 you again, young lady, that there are certain things 
 you cannot do." 
 
 " Too many ! " Her color was high, she stood 
 straight as a column. " You'd like to prison me."
 
 MR. WARDEN'S HOMECOMING 89 
 
 " I'd like to very much. Four stone and steel 
 walls would keep you from gadding, at any rate. 
 There'd be no more meeting strangers on the Ledges, 
 or the enemy of your best friends in a den of an- 
 archy." 
 
 She drew toward the door. " May I go now? " 
 
 " The sooner the better." 
 
 He watched her as she went away head high, a 
 grim little smile stiffening her tender lips. Then, left 
 by himself, Mr. Warden smoothed out his crumpled 
 letter. It was one line long, written on the cheap 
 blue lined paper of the third rate hotel across the 
 ferry, in a hand which anyone could see was elabo- 
 rately disguised. There was no signature, nothing to 
 show who the Squire's correspondent might be. But 
 as Mr. Warden read the scrawled line, his face hard- 
 ened to stone. He looked toward the open door, 
 listened, then carefully tucked both letter and envel- 
 ope into the stove where the blaze was fiercest. 
 
 "Again!" he sighed. "Why did he have to 
 choose this special time? "
 
 VII 
 
 CONVEESATIONS 
 
 IT was not a very respectable apparition that 
 showed itself on Kingsford street the morning 
 after Jean's day of adventures. At least its 
 outward seeming was very different from what was 
 familiar to the greater part of the village. Captain 
 Bassett, as he proclaimed himself, was neatly dressed 
 in blue, with a black string tie; his hands seemed to 
 be resting after a life of work white, but knobby, 
 and thick and broad in the palm. He was bowed 
 some with rheumatism, and carried a heavy walking- 
 stick. All this was well enough, could one forget 
 the wicked nose red, swollen, happy, and the husky 
 voice turned partly by salt air and fog, partly by 
 gin, of which the old fellow smelt consumedly. There 
 was too a curious giggling note in his laughter that 
 sounded cruel. It was the laughter of the school- 
 boy or the savage ; and this was both captivating and 
 unpleasant. 
 
 Quite early in the day he appeared, stumping up 
 the street from the direction of the station; and, ar- 
 rived at the post-office, he asked the direction of 
 French's house, just as though he had not walked 
 thither the night before. 
 
 90
 
 CONVERSATIONS 91 
 
 u A day of joy for the cause o' labor," he said to 
 the postmaster, who asked questions. " Cap'n B. 
 has come to take observations. A day of holy calm 
 jest that 'n no more, by dee." 
 
 And without another word he made off down the 
 lane. 
 
 " What is it you wanted ? " asked French, as he 
 opened the door to him. 
 
 " The joy of talkin' with you," replied the Cap- 
 tain beamingly, quite ignoring the dark look on 
 French's face. " A man in a thousand ! " Then he 
 turned his smoked glasses on Jessie, who had ap- 
 peared the moment she heard the talking. " Don't 
 you think so, my dear? Ain't French a daisy? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed," she faltered. 
 
 " Humph ! " The Captain studied her. " Is the 
 young lady strong on the rights of labor? " 
 
 Jessie nodded, but looked at French. 
 
 " Great hand at preachin', ain't he ! " 
 
 " Yes, indeed," the girl answered. 
 
 " Make ye believe most anything. I heard him. 
 There, says I, is a born leader. Also good lookin'." 
 
 "You'll make me very conceited," the preacher 
 laughed, shaking back his hair. 
 
 " 7 guess not. There's no making you con- 
 ceited." The old fellow's tone conveyed no hint of 
 double meaning. " You are what you are, my boy." 
 
 " My cosmos is chaos, according to Mr. Grey." 
 
 " That's a name I'd take from nobody."
 
 92 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " He was just horrid," Jessie broke in. " Ain't 
 you goin' to come an' sit down? " 
 
 " Not me," grinned the Captain. " I somehow 
 guess I ain't needed not here." 
 
 French's mouth tightened. " Sure you are 
 Jessie ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't care." She laughed mirthlessly. 
 
 "Thankee," said Bassett quickly. "I'd like to 
 stay first-rate. I want," he added, with a roll in his 
 words like an orator, " k> get in touch with all the 
 the factors of the labor problem." 
 
 In the ragged grape-arbor, whither they repaired, 
 French began to discourse. There was no need to 
 despair, he said, even if Mr. Warden had put up so 
 bold a front. 
 
 "Why not?" Bassett asked. 
 
 French smiled and looked away from Jessie's burn- 
 ing eyes. His dark brow had cleared- " I had a 
 vision last night. I know that things'll turn out all 
 right." 
 
 Jessie gave a little sigh. 
 
 " It is Jean," said the preacher, " that'll fix up the 
 differences between us." 
 
 The girl stiffened in every fibre of her body. 
 
 " No ! " cried the Captain sharply, slapping his 
 hand on the seat. " Jean won't have nothin' to do 
 with you." 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes ! " cried French. " I feel it. She's 
 good, she is ; she ain't cruel like the old man ; she 
 remembers the poor folks. She Shall I tell you
 
 CONVERSATIONS 93 
 
 what I dreamed last night? " He was on his feet 
 now, looking down on his listeners. 
 
 " Well? " The Captain was watching him close. 
 
 " I dreamed that Jean Wilder raised me up, when 
 I went to her on my knees. I dreamed that she kissed 
 me" 
 
 An oath tore itself loose from Jessie's lips, and 
 some sobbing abuse. 
 
 " She's taken you away ! " the girl sobbed. " And 
 and I done all I could to please you, Sebastian." 
 
 She left them in a moment, and her shoulders 
 shook with the savagery of her grief. 
 
 " Jealous like 'em all ! " was the Captain's com- 
 ment. " You ain't very experienced, my son. 
 What'd she mean by that last? " 
 
 " Nothing at all," French replied promptly. 
 " She oughter use her sense." 
 
 " How about that vision ? " was the old> fellow's 
 next question. 
 
 " It will come true. Jean and I " 
 
 " You don't say so ! " For a moment he paused. 
 " Jean and you ! The idea wouldn't please some 
 folks, I guess." 
 
 " That man Warden'll have to learn more than one 
 lesson," the dreamer replied sombrely. " Nobody 
 can stand against what's right forever." 
 
 " He must be awakened ! " How had he been able 
 to catch French's tone? " He must hear reason. 
 And perhaps he will," said Bassett, sinking his voice 
 tragically, before he broke off to laugh. It was the
 
 94 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 same mischievous giggle that had annoyed the peo- 
 ple uptown a half hour earlier." I wonder when 
 he'll meet the new men they say he's goin' to hire. 
 It'd be interesting to find that out. Fun to watch 
 him, eh? " 
 
 " God forbid that he should do it at all," returned 
 French. " But," he added, smiling, " he's goin' to 
 give in." 
 
 " Ah! One o' them visions again? " 
 
 " I dreamed that Jean said she loved me," French 
 repeated almost in a whisper. 
 
 " Goin' to convert her too, be ye ? I tell ye, old 
 Brigham Young was a teetotaller beside you, son. 
 Here's this Jessie girl, and yonder's the young lady ; 
 and say, how many more ? " 
 
 The old fellow was shut off with an angry gesture. 
 " This ain't a joke, my friend." 
 
 " That's just what worries me. You're so cussed 
 serious, my son. Say, you don't really mean that 
 the young lady's goin' on a strike too." 
 
 " Dreams come true now 'n' then," the striker de- 
 clared, his face lighting up again. 
 
 " But this'd be a nightmare. There's this Jessie 
 girl," the pirate repeated. " A nightmare, by dee. 
 I tell you that, after seem' her for three minutes." 
 
 " Much obliged for your advice, Cap'n." The 
 young man got up from the arbor seat. 
 
 " Which was shoved on you most offensive, says 
 you. And off I go," he concluded, without a trace 
 of embarrassment, " immediate, Stoppin' just long
 
 CONVERSATIONS 95 
 
 enough to press the hand of an honest toiler in the 
 Cause. Or the rights o' labor. I always get them 
 things mixed. Likewise we must certainly get ac- 
 quainted with Squire Warden." 
 
 " Don't see why," French answered, completely 
 mystified. 
 
 " I know he ain't much after you," the old fel- 
 low admitted. " But it's jest possible I might find 
 out a thing or two for the side of honest labor." He 
 broke off suddenly and got nimbly to his feet, as he 
 saw French start up quickly. The sound of voices 
 came to them. " What's that? " 
 
 French's fine eyes glowed. " Listen ! " he orderedf 
 gently. "Hear her? She's come here to me. I 
 knew she would. Hear her voice? Come and speak 
 to her." 
 
 The Captain nodded. " Go ahead," he replied 
 slowly. "You're sure it's Jean?" 
 
 " Think I could make a mistake there? " the young 
 man laughed; and hurried out of the arbor and up 
 the path. For part of the way his visitor followed 
 him; but when they had come nearly round to the 
 front of the house, the Captain slackened his gait 
 and stopped. 
 
 " Go on," he whispered. " I'll join you in a min- 
 ute." 
 
 But no sooner had French turned the corner than 
 the old man wheeled about, and, running clumsily 
 down to the back of the weedy garden, vanished be-
 
 96 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 hind the high-standing corn. Nor did he come out 
 into the lane till he was a hundred yards away. 
 
 When Jean had proposed her little errand of 
 charity to her uncle after breakfast she had hardly 
 expected him to give her leave, after the scene of the 
 night before. But he had made no objection to her 
 visiting poor Mrs. Bannard and trying to help Jes- 
 sie, who had been so idle. That she would probably 
 encounter French did not occur to either of them as 
 especially important. 
 
 She found Jessie was languidly going through the 
 motions of doing some washing on the bench under 
 the big maple tree ; and the girl seemed tired, though 
 not surely by much exercise at the scrubbing-board 
 and wringer. Her " Good-morning " was hardly 
 audible. 
 
 "I wanted you for some work at the house," Jean 
 said, after a bit of preamble. " Do you think you 
 could come, Jessie ? " 
 
 "Is it for you?" 
 
 " Partly." The young lady's eyebrows went up, 
 for she was not used to parleying with those paid to 
 work for her. " Some of the linen needs mending, 
 and I remember how beautifully you did it, when I 
 engaged you before." 
 
 The girl was hesitating over some reply when Jean 
 glanced up, to meet a look of beaming happiness and 
 surprise from French. He came forward with ex- 
 tended hands. 
 
 " This is a pleasure ! " The right he thrust at
 
 CONVERSATIONS 97 
 
 Jean, who nodded a, greeting, and the left he let 
 Jessie take, who dropped it instantly when she saw 
 the way Jean met him. " To think of finding you 
 here!" 
 
 " Why not? " asked Jean, searching his sallow 
 face. 
 
 "It's a flag of truce?" cried French joyously. 
 " And I hope the message from our friend the ene- 
 my's, a peaceful one ? " 
 
 " I had some business with Jessie. And she was 
 just going to answer me when you came." She could 
 not bear the man's presence now, by daylight, when 
 the fiery orator of the little dingy meeting was 
 changed to a person with greasy manners and a 
 wheedling smile. She sought the girl, who had gone 
 back to her pretence of work, and was rinsing some 
 piece of clothing, her cheeks aflame and her head 
 drooping. " Jessie ! " 
 
 No answer. " Miss Warden spoke to you," ob- 
 served French. 
 
 The child looked up then. " I can't come," she 
 replied dully. Her eyes, now sombre that by nature 
 were so sunny, clung to French. 
 
 " So generous in you to offer it ! " he remarked. 
 " I'm sure Jessie'll go." 
 
 " You want me to ? " she cried sharply. 
 
 " I'd be glad if you or anybody else did Miss 
 Wilder a favor." 
 
 " It's to please Tier then that you want me to go? " 
 she repeated.
 
 98 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " I'd do anything for Miss Wilder, after last 
 night." 
 
 " She doesn't want to come because of the strike? " 
 Jean asked confusedly. 
 
 French's smile broadened. " Possibly." 
 
 " There's no other reason? " 
 
 " Any other is too foolish to even speak of." 
 
 " What is it? " she demanded imperiously. 
 
 " I wanted to show her its foolishness. Please 
 don't ask me." 
 
 She caught the meaning of the man's half compla- 
 cent, half apologetic air, and sickened with anger 
 and disgust. 
 
 " Jessie ! " she said swiftly. 
 
 " Yes'm ? " came the whimpering reply. 
 
 " Come to me at nine tomorrow morning. And 
 and I won't have you speak my name in Mr. French's 
 presence," she added, too angry to give much direc- 
 tion to her words. 
 
 " It's him as does the talkin', Miss Jean. All the 
 morning it's been you this and you that. And " 
 The sobbing choked off the rest of the miserable little 
 speech. 
 
 French followed Jean to the gate, full of protest 
 and supplication. " Jessie's so jealous," he com- 
 plained. 
 
 "Of what, please?" she demanded imperiously. 
 
 " Well, you can't blame me for feeling happy, af- 
 ter what you said and did last night, can you?" he
 
 CONVERSATIONS 99 
 
 went on, feeling that he was being badly treated. 
 
 " I'm sorry I came. Very." 
 
 " You praised me, you praised my - our cause," 
 the man cried. " You talked with me alone right be- 
 fore all of 'em. If you meant nothing, you shouldn't 
 have said nothing. But you can't fool me." As on 
 the night before, he stood between her and the gate. 
 " I read into people's souls, Jean Wilder." 
 
 " Really ? I thought you tried to save them." 
 She laid her hand on the gate; without a word he 
 opened it for her and stood aside. His sudden, 
 clumsy civility made her a little ashamed of her rude- 
 ness. " Forgive me," she said, " for saying that." 
 
 " It's true enough," French answered. " You 
 know what I'm going to do before I'm through, don't 
 you?" 
 
 Jean retreated a little, troubled now by the look 
 in his eyes, which was half entreating, half threaten- 
 ing. 
 
 " Anyway," she said, " I think you're sincere." 
 
 "Then you believe in me?" He followed at her 
 side. " But I know you do. God sent me a dream 
 last night. He showed me you were on our side; he 
 told me we'd win, and that Jean Wilder'd help us. 
 You can say all you like," he cried, as Jean exclaimed 
 aloud ; " but you can't take that vision away from 
 me. You can't go against God. You've got to obey. 
 He led you to our meeting last night. He sent you 
 here this morning. We " 
 
 The two had come by now to the corner of the
 
 100 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 lane. A hundred yards away was the post-office and 
 Jean could see the usual crowd gathered for the 
 morning mail. A moment more, and all Kingsford 
 would see her walking with the leader of the strike. 
 Her uncle's remarks of the evening before came back 
 to her. She glanced around in desperation, and 
 caught right of a broad-shouldered, erect figure com- 
 ing down the street from the upper end of town. 
 
 " We're in God's hands ! " French was crying, but 
 Jean did not answer. 
 
 " Don't tell me that Kingsford won't think you're 
 on my side," the man went on rapturously. " Seein' 
 us come along together after last night why, God 
 has jest made things come right." 
 
 " Mr. Grey ! " Jean hardly knew her own voice as 
 she called. 
 
 The painter hurried up to where she was standing, 
 and wondered what had given her beautiful eyes their 
 frightened, troubled look. 
 
 " Will you would you mind walking along with 
 me a little way ? " she asked quickly. Then a little 
 laugh escaped her. " I'm like the distressed damsel 
 in the story-books again." 
 
 Grey looked from her to French. 
 
 " Are you bothering Miss Jean? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " No, indeed," Jean echoed quickly. " Only I 
 want to speak to Mr. Grey," she said to French, as 
 gently as she could. " Good-morning." 
 
 French laughed sombrely. " All right. Only re-
 
 CONVERSATIONS 101 
 
 member," he added, " that you'd better join the win- 
 ning side when you're called. Lest haply you be 
 found to fight against God. And the same to you* 
 Grey. You gave in to me yesterday; now don't do 
 nothing foolish today." 
 
 " Shall we go? " Jean asked, moving away a step 
 or two. 
 
 " See you later," Grey said to the other man. 
 
 " Any time you say," was the answer. " Maybe 
 you'd like to talk to me down to the post-office." 
 And with that he went down the street. 
 
 The exchange was so quick and so low that Jean 
 did not hear it. Or at least so Grey had to believe, 
 for she showed no sign of any feeling but sheer em- 
 barrassment at the situation she had invoked. 
 
 " I hated to have to walk with him," she explained. 
 " After last night." 
 
 " How was that? " 
 
 " I'm glad there's one person who hasn't heard of 
 my disgrace," she laughed, glancing up at him and 
 then away. And she related with spirit her adventure 
 at the meeting. " Between my dear uncle and Mas- 
 ter French I never expect to hear the last of it." 
 
 " / can't help being glad about it," Grey succeeded 
 in saying. " It's not often that I have a chance to 
 talk with you like this." 
 
 "And the fault is whose?" she asked lightly. 
 " But at least you're always on hand when I seem to 
 need help. Thanks for another rescue, Mr. Grey." 
 
 " But where are you going now? "
 
 102 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " On a dozen errands ! Uptown," she explained 
 vaguely enough. " Good-bye." 
 
 And before Grey could get out the first of the ques- 
 tions he wanted to ask she had gone. But he watched 
 her exquisite figure and strong, light step till Jean 
 was reduced to a mere point of color in the distance. 
 
 He passed the post-office with only a half conscious- 
 ness that French was here, in eager talk with a little 
 knot of shabby men who looked after him with a sneer 
 and a taunt of some sort. He would be very foolish, 
 he thought, to follow up any quarrel with that crowd. 
 Ten steps further he was wishing that Jean might 
 have no part in a squabble over mill-hands' wages. 
 He ran through his scene with her, then through their 
 odd meeting of the day before. He thought of the 
 way he had left her for his work, and here he sur- 
 prised himself acknowledged that he had been very 
 uncivil to her. He would have to make amends. 
 
 " I wouldn't care if it hadn't been Jean," said 
 Grey to himself in conclusion, when a touch on his 
 arm startled him from his reverie. 
 
 " What do yvu, want? " 
 
 " Now," said the other, " don't get mad at me. I 
 jest wanted to tell you, if you don't mind, that you're 
 wuth the hull town biled down. You're all right." 
 
 Grey grinned. " You don't belong in Kingsford, 
 then?" 
 
 "Belong? No." He spat fiercely. "Adopted? 
 Maybe. That's as might happen." 
 
 They came during this interchange of courtesies,
 
 CONVERSATIONS 103 
 
 by the little office, a detached wooden building, to 
 which Mr. Warden resorted for the transaction of bits 
 of business. It was quite the same as his father had 
 left it, the hard old sire, lawyer and landlord. 
 
 " * Amos Warden,' " he said, stopping short to 
 read the signboard. " ' Andrew Warden, Successor.' 
 That last looks pretty fresh 'n' gay. A prosperous 
 man, surely. Let's sit under the eaves of the rich." 
 
 So saying, he took the artist by the arm, and with 
 him mounted the top of the steps, where without fur- 
 ther prelude they sat down. Grey was already ready 
 at idle times like this hour to seek adventure, or at 
 least experience; and here was a personage, he 
 guessed, worth knowing. He yearned to the old fel- 
 low also with a queer sense of comradeship. 
 
 " Touchin' upon Kingsford now," the old fellow 
 began. " Would you call it a likely town? Meanin' 
 as one could live here? " 
 
 " It's a no-license place," the painter replied, with 
 a laugh. 
 
 " That's a pity. But there's the Eagle Hotel just 
 across the ferry. So a man could, if he wanted any- 
 thing. Eh? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. Most everybody does, too. Yes, I 
 guess it's a good enough place, if you can get along 
 with the people. I can't, confound 'em." 
 
 " Just the word, but far too feeble. I was ashamed 
 of the way Mr. French spoke of you just now. I 
 was just goin' to speak up for you though I never
 
 104. THE UPPER HAND 
 
 seen you before when you got past. But I move 
 pretty slow since Gettysburg." 
 
 " Soldier? " 
 
 " And sailor. I guess there ain't much of the 
 world I ain't seen. I was married to a Kanaka till 
 she died, then to a Greaser woman. Only she didn't 
 count, being wishful to knife me. Then to the last. 
 And she's dead, too, a whole lot of years ago. And 
 I thought I'd come to Kingsford," he concluded 
 lamely. 
 
 " Got any friends here? " 
 
 The soldier-sailor spat again. " Not a dee one, 
 'cept the Cap'n of the strikers. I seen him at the 
 meetin', after they'd struck." 
 
 " Stranger to it all, eh? You'd better turn artist. 
 We painters don't rightly belong to Kingsford, 
 though we do live here." 
 
 " That ain't a bad idea." The man grinned hor- 
 ribly, but his attention was quickly diverted. He 
 nudged Grey and pointed. " Who's that girl? " 
 
 The painter drew down his brows. It seemed un- 
 desirable that this relict of many wives should have 
 named her that passed them like a piece of the sun- 
 light, like the breath of a rose-garden. So when he 
 repeated his question, squinting across the broad street 
 after the girl, Grey quietly told a lie. 
 
 " Not know her? " the old fellow chuckled. " All 
 right. I only wanted to make sure of my eyes. At 
 a guess, I sh'd say that was Miss Jean Wilder."
 
 CONVERSATIONS 105 
 
 Grey turned on him. " I thought you said you 
 didn't know anybody here." 
 
 " They told me her name in the crowd just a min- 
 nute ago," the other answered quietly. " So you 
 don't know her? " 
 
 " No." Grey felt a little foolish. 
 
 " Perhaps then I kin make you acquainted some 
 day. But I'd 'a* thought she'd speak to you there 
 when you was standin' next her yonder, Mr. Grey." 
 
 The artist laughed. " My name, too? " 
 
 " If you want to hide it, don't print it on the band 
 inside the hat you're holdin' in your hand. Readin's 
 easy for me in spite of my many infirmities." 
 
 " You owe me yours, now." 
 
 " My name," said the pirate slowly, as if by an 
 effort of memory, " is Captain Leonidas J. Bassett. 
 I have plenty of money," he showed a roll with an 
 elastic band round it " and I come from distant 
 lands." 
 
 " I'm very glad to meet you, Captain." Grey saw 
 many happy hours of talk with this sea-monster 
 ahead. He must not lose him. " And here's just the 
 man you need to know if you want to find out about 
 Kingsford. He's cross, but don't you care." 
 
 " I'm as good as him," the Captain replied confi- 
 dently. " I don't care." 
 
 Grey was watching Mr. Warden, who took leave 
 of Colonel Gregory and came across the street with 
 his morning mail in his hand. Perhaps only Grey, or 
 one of his tribe, would have noticed that the Squire's
 
 106 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 air of composure seemed forced a bit beyond his usual 
 manner. But he surely looked the New England 
 gentleman, the more perhaps for the presence of 
 dingy old Bassett. 
 
 " Good morning, Mr. Grey," he said, when the 
 painter had scrambled to his feet, but not till then. 
 For the pirate he had not so much as a look. He 
 fumbled with his keys. " How are all our friends 
 up in your artists' quarter? " 
 
 " This is a friend of mine," he said whimsically, 
 indicating his companion. 
 
 " Of yours, Grey ? " Mr. Warden's tone lost its 
 airiness. " That man is a friend of yours? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. Captain Bassett." 
 
 " Leonidas J.," the old ruffian announced with a 
 giggle, and sat quite at his ease. " At your service, 
 Mr. Warden. I've come to Kingsford to live. I'm 
 a teetotal stranger, for out of all that handsome 
 crowd of your acquaintances at the post-office that I 
 mingled with so gaily just now there wasn't a one that 
 could set a name to me. Funny, wasn't it ! " 
 
 "You're coming here to live?" Mr. Warden re- 
 peated slowly. 
 
 " To live. Captain Bassett, the new citizen. Per- 
 haps you'll give me some p'ints as to conduct and be- 
 haviour. I need 'em, for I ain't over respectable. 
 And you're, I guess, the virtuousest man in town. 
 Goin' to be in this evenin' ? " 
 
 Mr. Warden looked away. " Possibly." 
 
 " Couldn't see you sooner? "
 
 CONVERSATIONS 107 
 
 " Yes," replied the Squire. Grey was struck by 
 the sound of the shaky voice. 
 
 " When do you meet your new hands? Wish I 
 could see you do it. Pay 'em in advance, will ye ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Well, I hope it'll come off soon. Would it be this 
 aft'noon? Ain't got a letter there, have ye? Good 
 resolutions are jest like gold dollars fine things to 
 keep. Anyhow, I'll see you later, Mr. Virtue 
 Warden, I mean." 
 
 " At any time, sir," the old gentleman replied. 
 " I'm always at the disposal of Mr. Grey's friends." 
 
 " And French's, too? " 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Warden unsteadily. " When they 
 come well recommended." 
 
 And with that he ascended the steps, and locked 
 himself into the little office. 
 
 " I thought you said he was cross," was the Cap- 
 tain's comment. 
 
 " I wish he was in the sea," Grey returned, for he 
 had not relished Mr. Warden's manner. 
 
 " Oh, no! " exclaimed the other. " That wouldn't 
 do at all. Good-bye," he added suddenly. " I think 
 I'm goin' to like you. Also my day of observation- 
 ing is now done. French have I looked upon and 
 there's a man ! Also the most finest appearin' female 
 in town, whose name we know but will not speak, 
 wishin' to be respectful. Also Mr. Grey; also Mr. 
 Warden, who appears not so cross as some." 
 
 " Who in thunder are you ? " asked the painter.
 
 108 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " An old rascal," said the pirate. " And don't ask 
 me no more, for that's the hull story."
 
 VIII 
 
 A CHANGE OF MIND 
 
 JEAN could not remember to have seen her guard- 
 ian look as troubled and vexed as when an hour 
 or so later she came into the house. 
 
 "It's you, eh?" he rasped out, and his look had 
 in it a degree of hatred the girl could not measure. 
 To her it appeared no more than a bit of irritation 
 because the door had slammed behind her. " Where've 
 you been ? " 
 
 The usual question, and she answered it, as al- 
 ways, straightforwardly. 
 
 " And again it was Grey to the rescue," she 
 laughed, as she unpinned her hat. " I don't know 
 what I'd have done otherwise. I could see your 
 face," she continued gaily, " as I came marching down 
 Kingsford street escorted by French. Tell me, Uncle, 
 are the new hands really coming this afternoon? " 
 
 " I telegraphed for them. They're coming. Yes. 
 I hope you haven't got any objections." 
 
 His tone and manner lit up a gay fire of teasing 
 within her, though a moment before she had resolved 
 to try to coax the crotchety old man into a better 
 humor. 
 
 " It'll cost a good deal, won't it? " Jean asked 
 109
 
 110 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 sweetly, busy with the garden roses, which she found 
 at that moment needed resettling in their jar on the 
 book-case. " / think " 
 
 " You think and you think ! " the Squire snarled, 
 catching her up in the midst of a sentence. " Who 
 are you talking to, young lady? What affair's it of 
 yours ? " 
 
 " Hiring new men, do you mean ? " 
 
 " One'd think you could plan some better use for 
 my money mine," he said, trying to appear at his 
 ease, though her apparently innocent question made 
 him wonder if somehow she had learned certain 
 things. 
 
 " I could, easily," she answered promptly. " You 
 could spend it so much better and more justly." 
 
 " What do you mean? " he cried, jumping up with 
 an exclamation of fear and dismay. 
 
 But she laughed aloud, not perceiving the old man's 
 agitation, though it was plain enough. In thought 
 she had gone back from the question of the strike to 
 Dana Grey. She had liked his honest, rugged face, 
 and his blunt talk. She had heard some gossip con- 
 cerning the less than usual success attending his last 
 exhibition ill-luck nobody understood in so well- 
 known a painter. 
 
 " I know a young person youngish, that is," 
 Jean explained, blushing a little, " who deserves a 
 share of your money anyway." 
 
 "He told you?"
 
 A CHANGE OF MIND 111 
 
 " Hardly." Again her teasing laughter chimed 
 out. 
 
 "You knew him? That man? So changed?" 
 
 " He's always looked the same to me," Jean replied 
 innocently. 
 
 Mr. Warden bared his teeth in a wolfish smile. 
 
 " I shall be rid of you both before long, please the 
 
 " As soon as you like," she cried gaily, with another 
 Lord." 
 
 blush which made her a delight to see. And she fled 
 from the room, with the echo of her gay laughter 
 lingering behind her like a delicate perfume. 
 
 For the first time in many months the old man did 
 not go directly to his little office from his noon meal. 
 He limped instead to his chair by the window, and 
 fell to studying with curious care every one of the few 
 passers-by. It was true that during the last few 
 years he had indulged this odd little habit of scouting 
 each time he left the house, but today he was so long 
 about it that Mrs. Marsden, the housekeeper, thought 
 his idling worth her comment. 
 
 " Too tired to go up-street? " 
 
 " I was just leaving." Again he glanced out- 
 doors, and this time dodged back quickly. A bent 
 figure in blue was stumping briskly by, the same old 
 fellow who had appeared upon the office steps with 
 Grey. But now he carried, tucked under his arm, a 
 mahogany box, like those which train conductors car- 
 ry for their tickets, cash, and reports.
 
 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " Who's that man ? " asked Mrs. Marsden, follow- 
 ing her master's stare. 
 
 " I don't know. I never saw him," he protested 
 quickly. " I guess I'll stay home after all today." 
 
 " You seem kinder upset." 
 
 " Not a bit of it." Mr. Warden braced back his 
 shoulders. " No, I guess I'll go. There are one or 
 two things to attend to, probably." 
 
 "Postin' books?" 
 
 " Something to do with accounts. Yes." His 
 mirth was like a groan. " Something to do with 
 my accounts," Mr. Warden repeated. 
 
 He found Captain Bassett installed, not out by the 
 door where the casual visitor usually sat, but in be- 
 hind the stove the place for Mr. Warden's inti- 
 mates, since from here extended, at right angles to 
 the rest of the office, a kind of alcove or shallow ell 
 where stood the safe, the Squire's own desk and 
 swivel-chair. 
 
 Perched on the edge of another chair was Farley 
 the clerk, who suspended work on Mr. Warden's book 
 to watch in amazement and uncertainty the coolness 
 with which the venerable invader had made himself 
 at home, feeling the while that to thrust Captain 
 Bassett forth upon the street would not exactly an- 
 swer. 
 
 " This gen'l'man," Farley announced severely as 
 he descended swiftly from his perch, " said he was an 
 old friend of yours, sir."
 
 A CHANGE OF MIND 113 
 
 The Captain giggled. " Let him deny it," he re- 
 plied invitingly. 
 
 " I'm glad you made yourself at home," said Mr. 
 Warden to him slowly. " Just a minute, while I 
 speak to my clerk here. I want you to drive over to 
 Harmonville, William," he continued coolly. " I 
 want you to see how well you can buy that seed-corn 
 of Joe May's. Take the brown horse and the Con- 
 cord." 
 
 And Farley disappeared with decent haste, while 
 Captain Bassett snickered. 
 
 " Got a clerk, I see." 
 
 " You haven't been here lately. Things happen, 
 even in Kingsford." 
 
 " Some of 'em most surprising. If only the pa- 
 pers could have got hold of 'em." 
 
 Mr. Warden limped to his chair. " The papers 
 may get hold of them some day. And there'll be 
 questions asked." 
 
 " You don't say ! " exclaimed the Captain incredu- 
 lously. " What, for instance ? " 
 
 " I guess you know well enough," the other replied 
 vaguely, and trying to appear cool, though his hand 
 shook as he unlocked his desk. 
 
 The Captain sat perfectly still, hugging his knees, 
 watching like a cat. 
 
 " Take your hands out of that desk drawer, 
 Squire ! " he commanded suddenly. 
 
 "What d'ye think's the matter?" Mr. Warden 
 continued to fumble among some papers.
 
 114. THE UPPER HAND 
 
 t 
 
 " Take them out! Hands up! " 
 
 The mahogany box clattered from the Captain's lap 
 to the floor, while an uncompromising revolver was 
 pointed straight at the Squire's body, making him 
 shrink away with a swift intake of his breath. 
 
 " Now pull that drawer out as fur as 'twill go. 
 So's I kin see." The stranger peered through his 
 glasses. " I kinder guessed you might be keeping 
 something handy there," he observed complainingly. 
 
 " It's for burglars," said Mr. Warden. " Did you 
 think it was for you? " 
 
 "For me? So that was why the clerk was sent 
 away. * No witness,' says you ! But I'd no idea you 
 was violent, Mr. Virtue. I suppose," the Captain 
 went on argumentatively, with his head on one side, 
 " you'd kill me for ten cents." 
 
 The Squire gabbled something. " I'm not the kind 
 that does murder," he got out at last. 
 
 " Keep your weapon handier, if you ever want to 
 do one," advised the Captain. " Shut the drawer 'n% 
 lock it. Now we kin talk things over cool and col- 
 lected." He picked up the box. " I'm coming here 
 to live, friend. Up at the old house." 
 
 " With me? " Mr. Warden asked blankly. 
 
 " No, no. Up on the Ledges. Th' old French 
 place. You know where. I was there this morning. 
 There I be goin' to live and see Kingsford all day 
 long. Also the sea to the east'ard." 
 
 Fear, anger, puzzlement, blank dismay chased 
 over the other's face like heavy clouds on a windy sky.
 
 A CHANGE OF MIND 115 
 
 He broke out in a stream of objections, threats, and 
 entreaties, while Captain Bassett only giggled. 
 
 " Nobody's goin' to know nothing about one thing 
 or the other, Virtue. I'm just Captain Bassett, re- 
 tired from the life of a mariner, livin' on a pension 
 furnished by my beloved friends. A modest pension, 
 Squire, for the most part of the money is for another 
 purpose." 
 
 " You didn't come back to tell? " asked Mr. War- 
 den after a pause. 
 
 " No, indeedy. I've got my own way to arrange 
 things, same as you know about." 
 
 Three o'clock clanged out. 
 
 " Just one thing before I go," remarked the Cap- 
 tain, after another silence, during which Mr. War- 
 den's face grew old and haggard. " This business 
 about hirin* new hands. I always was a friend of 
 honest labor," he grinned, " French is the man you 
 really ought to back up." 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 " A thousand dollars ! " mused the Captain. " And 
 you've got it ready to spend on these new workmen. 
 You give it away to others as easy as spittin'. 
 Where is it? In the bank or in your pocket?" 
 
 " It's mine to give, wherever it is." 
 
 " Not this special thousand, Virtue. That be- 
 longs," cried the old rover, dropping his smooth talk, 
 " in the famous mahogany box." 
 
 There came no answer from the man in the swivel 
 chair. He did not seem to hear, but a slow red suf-
 
 116 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 fused his forehead and temples, and a sudden swelling 
 showed in the blue knotty veins of his hands. The 
 buzz of the drunken flies in the sunny window sounded 
 very loud ; one could hear the drip, drip of some leaky 
 water butt outside at the side entrance. The quarter 
 hour struck. 
 
 " They're liable to be here in a minute," remarked 
 the Captain. " Remember what I say." 
 
 Voices coming along the street carried to the rear 
 of the quiet store, and Mr. Warden pulled himself 
 up in his chair. 
 
 "If I refuse?" 
 
 The Captain showed his pistol lying in his lap un- 
 der the edge of his coat. 
 
 " If you don't send these fellers straight back the 
 way they come, you'll never live to get home, Virtue. 
 That's my promise." 
 
 " They'll hang you for it. You'd ought to have 
 been hung long ago." 
 
 " Then I'll meet you Down Below," whispered Cap- 
 tain Bassett, leaning forward with a genial smile. 
 
 Mr. Bailey and Colonel Gregory, with a half dozen 
 working men in their Sunday clothes, clattered in, to 
 find Mr. Warden turning over the leaves of a ledger, 
 much bored, as it seemed, by a long story which a 
 venerable pirate was telling as he sat in a corner of 
 the little office. 
 
 " And that's what I said all along," this latter 
 concluded triumphantly. " There's reserved seats 
 even in Hell, I said to him."
 
 A CHANGE OF MIND 117 
 
 The newcomers eyed him askance, nodding indif- 
 ferently to his salute, which was vaguely military as 
 he caught the Colonel's eye. 
 
 "Sit down," said Mr. Warden. "Glad to see 
 you." 
 
 " It's a happy occasion," Mr. Bailey returned. 
 " And it don't need my saying so to make it so." 
 
 The Colonel whispered. 
 
 " You won't mind our talking business, Cap'n Bas- 
 sett ? " asked the Squire, scarcely aloud. 
 
 " If these gents don't object, I'd like to sit here 
 very much. I'll just look at your paper before I go 
 along." 
 
 " Cap'n Bassett's thinking of settling here in 
 Kingsford," Mr. Warden gabbled, turning to the 
 others. " He's going to live in the old house on the 
 Ledges. He's just quit seafaring. He he'll make 
 an addition to our " 
 
 " Never mind me," interruped the other. " You 
 want to talk business, you said. You men are in for 
 a first class job, I guess," he said to the new hands. 
 " Here's the Squire famous for his bein* so generous, 
 also nice to work under. I'm jest glad to see him 
 hirin' such fine lookin' boys, too. I tell you but, 
 great dee ! " He made a gesture as if to take him- 
 self out of sight. " Here I am obstructin' the high- 
 way! Go on 'n' hire your outside help, sir. I say, 
 let me see you do it; and down with all strikers, 
 b'jolly!" 
 
 He beamed jovially on them all, quite unabashed
 
 118 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 by the amazement in the faces of the workmen and 
 the mistrust in the bald Colonel's. 
 
 Mr. Warden hesitated a moment. He did not look 
 at his visitors. He stabbed his pen-knife lightly into 
 the top of his desk again and again. 
 
 " You came pretty promptly, didn't you ? " he said 
 uncertainly, half resentfully. 
 
 " Wai, you said's how you wanted us," replied the 
 foremost of the new men. " And 'twasn't fur to 
 come." 
 
 The Squire smiled then. " I'm glad it wasn't any 
 further. It'd be a pity to 've had a long trip here." 
 
 " How d'ye mean ? " 
 
 " Why, you won't have so far to go back," he ex- 
 plained. " In case " 
 
 " But, Warden, my God, you know ! " broke from 
 the Colonel. " You don't mean that you ain't 
 damme ! I know it's your own business, but it's for 
 old Kingsford that you're acting as well as for your- 
 self. Ex-cuse me for speaking out, but Bailey ! " 
 
 The farmer looked wonderingly from one of his 
 superior officers to the other. " It ain't for me to say 
 a word, Squire " 
 
 " No. Thank you. It's all my lookout, Bailey. 
 Now," he went on, stabbing faster with his knife, 
 " the truth is that you boys came just a shade too 
 soon. I I'm not quite sure I'm ready. Maybe 
 it's just as well to go a little slow, and " 
 
 " Warden ! " cried the Colonel. " You're not go- 
 ing to back down."
 
 A CHANGE OF MIND 119 
 
 "How do I know about your work?" he asked 
 querulously. " You're not used to my ways at the 
 mill. And and anyway " he bent his head low- 
 er over his desk, as he caught a look from the silent 
 Captain, and murmured : " I'm a little short of 
 money just now, too. I'm half willing to close the 
 mill for a while. I " 
 
 Mr. Bailey advanced a stride, his fat face flaming. 
 " You ain't going back on your resolve, sir? " he de- 
 manded swiftly. " You're thinkin' o' takin' back 
 them fool strikers?" 
 
 " There's a good deal to be considered," came the 
 feeble answer. " I'll do what's right. Only nothing 
 hasty. And," he dove into his desk, " here's your 
 expenses, men. I'll see you later. I guess you were 
 in too much of a hurry." 
 
 The Colonel laughed. " You mean you've backed 
 down, eh? " 
 
 He protested vaguely; and the stranger giggled 
 over some joke he found in the paper. The Colonel 
 turned to him. 
 
 " I'm sorry you're by to hear this." 
 
 " I suppose Mr. Warden's got a good reason for 
 not spendin' his hard earned money on these outsiders, 
 sir," the other retorted briskly. " Ain't that so, 
 Squire? " 
 
 " Yes, yes," gasped the victim. " A good reason." 
 
 " Then there's nothing for us to say or do," cried 
 the warrior. " We may as well go, Bailey."
 
 120 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 The farmer retreated, staring and gasping. 
 The thing was preposterous. 
 
 " Warden ! " he repeated, " you ain't really going 
 to back out ! " 
 
 The other man nodded, waved them away, and 
 locked the desk tight. Then, "Bailey!" he called 
 shrilly, when the men were gone. " Wait, wait ! " 
 
 But the pirate pushed him back into his chair, 
 spent and gasping. The sweat poured from the old 
 man's white face. 
 
 " You should 'a' told 'em," said Captain Bas- 
 sett judicially, " that charity begins at home. He 
 heapeth up riches and cannot tell who shall gather 
 them. One p'int more, Virtue, and we'll consider the 
 incident closed. So far, so good." 
 
 " You'll get nothing." 
 
 "No? Remember what happened that time?" 
 And he laid his finger on the terrible burn scored 
 along Mr. Warden's wrist. " That ain't a circum- 
 stance to what I kin do." 
 
 " I haven't a cent." 
 
 " You always was a liar, though polite, Andrew. 
 The desk ? " Here he shook the mahogany box, 
 which gave out a faint rustle and chink. There was 
 a slit in the top, and the corners were bound in brass. 
 " Any trifle, friend. The thousand dollars ? I'm 
 'most sure there's cash on hand. That was why you 
 was so ready about hirin' help. 'Twill be a fine thing 
 to die with clean hands and a pure heart ? " 
 
 There was more talk, though not much, before Mr,
 
 A CHANGE OF MIND 121 
 
 Warden, with the fear of death in his old heart, un- 
 locked the desk again, and one by one dropped some 
 bills into Captain Bassett's box. 
 
 " Now go," he groaned. 
 
 The Captain rose and buttoned his coat. " You 
 was surely foolish to act the way you did, Squire. 
 Time was when you might 'a' met your old sire on 
 Abraham's bosom for certain. But now," he con- 
 cluded easily, " I guess you'll keep company with the 
 other rich man. And I guess livin' here ain't goin' 
 to be none too pleasant for you. Which is exactly 
 like it should be." 
 
 With that Captain Bassett stumped out of the of- 
 fice, and for the rest of the day Kingsford knew him 
 no more. Not till the peace and quiet of blackest 
 midnight lay upon the village did the burly figure 
 with the box reappear, and then it was from the di- 
 rection of the Eagle Hotel across the ferry. It 
 chuckled gaily as it went; it took prodigiously high 
 and long steps; it fetched wide sweeps around the 
 simplest obstacles. It halted in front of Mr. War- 
 den's little office, stood for a moment deep in contem- 
 plation, and then with an energy that was as great as 
 it was uncertain of aim, the strayed reveller under- 
 took a work of thorough destruction. His schoolboy 
 giggle profaned the silent night.
 
 IX 
 
 A SKIRMISH 
 
 NEXT morning at mail time Kingsford consid- 
 ered just two subjects, although the New 
 York papers had front pages given up to a 
 Jewish massacre and the testimony of a girl on trial 
 for murder. On the bench out on the platform where 
 the gentry disposed themselves on pleasant days, or 
 on the counters and barrels inside the emporium, 
 Squire Warden's queer backdown and the splendidly 
 complete wreck of the windows in his little office took 
 precedence over every other matter to be settled. 
 The questions were so beautifully tangled! They 
 were meaty to debate, since they had as many sides 
 as the debaters had points of view. Colonel Gregory 
 had begun to pound the platform with his stick by 
 way of helping out his somewhat choked utterance, 
 and Mr. Duncan, the chief of the artists, was grow- 
 ing supercilious, when a solution seemed to present 
 itself in the person of Mr. Warden himself. 
 
 It was curious to see what a look of relief lighted 
 up his face as the Colonel fired his question at him. 
 As the Squire came up, he had appeared as it were 
 uncertain of his reception. He was evidently an- 
 noyed when one of his strikers hailed him from in-
 
 A SKIRMISH 
 
 side the post-office with a bit of praise for sending 
 away the new hands, and glanced with a nervous 
 smile at his friends on the bench, as though dreading 
 what they might betray to him of their opinions about 
 the leader of old Kingsford having weakened ever so 
 little before a foolish enemy. But what Colonel 
 Gregory demanded was an answer to a different ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " Oh, that! " exclaimed the Squire, and some 
 strength came back into his face. " No, I don't 
 know who broke my windows. I wish you'd tell me." 
 
 " It was those dam' mill-hands, of course," the war- 
 rior snorted, smiting down his black-thorn. " Dun- 
 can, don't you dare say the contrary." 
 
 " If you know that's the case, why that's all there 
 is to it," the artist sneered, with a provoking lift of 
 his eyebrows, which he could raise to an extraordinary 
 height. 
 
 " I don't know anything," shouted the Colonel. 
 
 " Oh, yes," Duncan protested lightly. " Some- 
 thing, Colonel, something." 
 
 " I'd like to get on the track of the rascal, Mr. 
 Warden went on rapidly, his voice getting back its 
 old hard ring. " I'll fix him if I catch him." 
 
 " Is that a fact, Squire? " inquired an unfamiliar 
 voice. The gentlemen looked around to see Captain 
 Bassett standing in the door, a scarcely lovely vision 
 in the strong light, with his generally rumpled ap- 
 pearance and his hollow fiery eyes. " D'you really 
 want to catch the vandal ? "
 
 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " Yes, sir." Mr. Warden seemed anxious to keep 
 on the one line. " It was an outrage. I don't care 
 how often or how long French and his friends try to 
 make trouble for me and for themselves but " 
 
 " Then why " began Bailey, who had lain awake 
 trying to figure out the explanation of the other mys- 
 tery. 
 
 " But I won't submit to an outrage like this win- 
 dow-smashing ! " The Squire announced, riding over 
 the farmer's interruption rough-shod. " I propose 
 to find out who did it, too." And he looked about, 
 breathing hard. 
 
 " In what way ? " asked Bassett. 
 
 " This way, sir." Mr. Warden answered, with 
 such a complete recovery of his old manner and tone, 
 that Bailey found he could hardly believe that he 
 had seen this same leading citizen cowed and nervous, 
 going back on his own resolutions, only the afternoon 
 before. The Squire peeled a five-dollar bill off the 
 neat bundle in his pocket-book, and held it up to 
 public view. " This is the way I propose to use." 
 
 " A good way," commented the pirate. " For in- 
 formation leadin' to the arrest and conviction of the 
 guilty party? The best way. It works. Hand it 
 over, Squire." And he extended a slightly tremulous 
 hand. 
 
 " To you? " Mr. Warden seemed to lose his cour- 
 age. 
 
 " To me." He smiled sunnily, though the
 
 A SKIRMISH 125 
 
 effect was disconcerting, and crooked his fore-finger 
 invitingly. " I need it more'n anybody present." 
 
 " But what d'you know about the matter? " stam- 
 mered the Squire doubtfully, trying not to under- 
 stand the meaning of the man's bland smile, hoping 
 that nobody else would understand it. 
 
 " Tell the Squire," ordered Colonel Gregory. 
 
 "Surely. Only not C. O. D." And again the 
 stumpy finger crooked commandingly. " A bill in 
 the hand ah, thankee, Squire ! is worth a hun- 
 dred out of it." 
 
 " Well, sir? " demanded the Colonel, who had taken 
 out of Mr. Warden's mouth any speech he may have 
 had. 
 
 " My memory ain't what it was," the pirate ad- 
 mitted. " And last night was awful foggy." 
 
 " It was not." 
 
 " Ex-cuse me. The hull length of your main street 
 from the ferry landing up was wrapped in in im- 
 penetrable mist. I know," sighed the Captain, seat- 
 ing himself carefully. " But when you speak of a 
 window bein' busted," he continued, in the same tone 
 of melancholy meditation, " it does seem to me that 
 I saw the feller throwin' them stones mose careful. 
 Every pane he busted easy enough, all but one. Say, 
 Squire, did the critter fetch that corner pane up near 
 the top, or didn't he? Oh, he did? Wai, there's 
 nothin' like keepin' forever at a thing." 
 
 " Who was he? Why didn't you stop him?" the 
 Colonel and Mr. Warden asked together.
 
 126 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " Stop him ? " echoed the pirate, cocking up his 
 watery eye at the Squire. " How could I? Wasn't 
 it myself that done the bustin' ? " he quavered weakly. 
 " Arrest me, Mr. Warden. Behold the villain. Only 
 really it was rum Hooker's rum at that which 
 done it. I'm awaitin'," he added patiently. " Bear 
 witness that I ain't tried to escape the law, gen'l'men." 
 
 The Squire laughed woodenly, trying in that way 
 to carry off the situation, and with an air of amused 
 condescension tapped the pirate lightly on the shoul- 
 der. 
 
 "I I'll not press the charge," he said gaily. 
 "Consider yourself discharged, Captain. Lack of 
 evidence, you see," he said to the others by him, who 
 were a bit in doubt as to whether the Squire really 
 did forgive the old fellow his trespass, or was afraid 
 to do anything else, as Bailey could not help suspect- 
 ing, absurd as the supposition was. 
 
 By this time the platform was fairly well filled with 
 people coming for their mail, most of whom stopped 
 to see what the fun was, when the little group around 
 the Captain broke out in a laugh at Mr. Warden's 
 expense; and the doorway framed French and a 
 couple of his friends, who had followed old Bassett 
 out. Upon all these spectators he turned his smile. 
 Then he contemplated the five dollars, then squinted 
 at the Squire. 
 
 " I don't feel like keepin* that money," he said. 
 " It come too easy. I tell you what we'll do. I'll 
 celebrate my escape from jail, thanks to the Squire;
 
 A SKIRMISH 127 
 
 he shall celebrate bein' such a virtuous 'n' godly man 
 without a black mark agin his name; and the rest o' 
 you shall drink to better days in general." 
 
 " Good ! " cried French from the door. 
 
 " Come in ! " ordered the Captain, scrambling up, 
 and shepherding them all into the Emporium. " Set 
 out some pop, Burns, if you das'n't show what you 
 keep in the patent med'cine bottle under the coun- 
 ter." 
 
 " With pleasure ! " Mr. Warden said, as he poured 
 out some potent ginger ale a moment later. He had 
 accepted the joke in apparently high good humor. 
 
 " It's your money," replied Bassett. " French, 
 you're drinkin' on your boss. Squire, you can't 
 spend your money better than on these boys o' yours. 
 Don't you feel sorter extra virtuous this minute, 
 thinkin' of the good your money's doin' ? Think 
 how I'm enjoyin' myself! " he chuckled, as he drained 
 his molasses colored sarsaparilla. " Hey ? What's 
 the matter, Colonel?" he asked suddenly. "Ain't 
 you got a glass? " 
 
 " I came in for my morning mail, sir. Nothing 
 else," replied the ex-soldier. " Pray enjoy your- 
 selves without me." 
 
 " Can't be done," said the other positively. 
 " Burns, give the Colonel some nerve-tonic. Will you 
 jine us, sir? Same as the Squire? " 
 
 Colonel Gregory glared at him through his glasses, 
 then at Mr. Warden over them. " I can't under- 
 stand, Squire, how you can do that that! " : he gab-
 
 128 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 bled, pointing at his friend's glass. " I suppose you 
 have some reason or excuse for drinking toasts with 
 your striking mill-hands and their piratical friend 
 here ; but as for me, sir," he went on addressing Bas- 
 sett, " I never drink with rebels, sir. And that's what 
 French is." 
 
 " Sir? " asked the Captain mildly. 
 
 " I never did and never will drink with a rebel." 
 
 " Then," said the other, " the time has come for 
 you to explain a part o' your record, Colonel. As 
 an old soldier " he saluted " I think you kinder 
 owe it to us all. / seen you, Colonel, when you was 
 set on drinkin' with a rebel, and a Johnny Reb to 
 boot." 
 
 The Colonel exploded, but when the air cleared the 
 retired mariner was still smiling, and perched entirely 
 unmoved on the counter. 
 
 "It's a fact," he reasserted. "Shall I tell 'em 
 about it? " 
 
 "Tell 'em? Tell what? Go ahead. Tell what 
 you like. But if you " 
 
 "There, there," cooed Bassett. "I won't tell 
 about nothin' to make you uneasy one bit. I hate 
 to see a man git so red as you be. Won't take not 
 even a finger of tonic? You do look so het up? " 
 
 " Never mind that, sir." The Colonel clapped 
 himself down into a backless chair, bristling in every 
 gray hair, and thundering distantly concerning liars 
 and rascals. 
 
 " What I was thinkin' of," explained the Captain,
 
 A SKIRMISH 129 
 
 " was a few minutes I spent with the commandin' of- 
 ficer of the Sixty-Fourth Connecticut when him and 
 his reg'ment along with mine the, wal, never 
 mind," he said unblushingly ; " name's is nothing 
 was ordered to fall back from the firm' line to a cer- 
 tain small cross roads town in Virginia. The shell 
 fire was too thck." He paused for a moment, and 
 the little crowd hung breathlessly on his words; for 
 Kingsford had not outgrown its love of the old war 
 stories, and was more or less glad, if the truth be 
 told, to hear them from the lips of another veteran 
 than their own Colonel, who lacked imagination and 
 waxed angry at the least inattention. " I don't for- 
 get that retreat. 7 ran," the Captain confessed. 
 
 " D'you mean the retreat on Johnsburg? " de- 
 manded the Colonel, trying to recall his four cam- 
 paigns. 
 
 " I knew you'd remember," the narrator said 
 quietly, as if a bit annoyed at the interruption. 
 
 " Well, we got into the town ; and every minute or 
 rather second you'd hear a cussed shell come singin' 
 along, and " 
 
 " What'd they sound like? " gasped a boy. 
 
 " Hope you'll never hear 'em, son. And rip, smash, 
 bang! down'd come some chimney or other, or the 
 smoke 'n' flames'd come a-pourin' out of some house. 
 And them boys in blue tdk'm' it! Standin' there in 
 the streets for a quarter of an hour, 'cause they hadn't 
 no orders what to do. * What'll we do ? ' I says to an 
 officer, for I wanted to git away quick. ' Do? ' says
 
 130 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 he. * Find the Colonel if you can. He's lost sora- 
 'eres.' ' Thought I seen him go into the hotel yon- 
 der,' I says. ' Then look him up,' says he, ' and give 
 him Major Bird's compliments and what in hell's goin' 
 to happen?' says he." 
 
 The Colonel began to swear, but Mr. Warden 
 checked him. " Wait a minute," he whispered. 
 " 'Twas a rebel town of course we was in, you under- 
 stand Johnsburg, Virginia. Well," continued old 
 Bassett, " I lit into that tavern fast, 'n' just then 
 smash went a shell in the street. Killed six men. 
 Then I lit in faster. Got into the bar-room, ker-bang 
 came another. Got the range dead. Gen'l'men, I 
 was scared, I admit. Says I : ' The cellar's the 
 place for me. The brave old Colonel can stay where 
 he likes, but I'm goin' to hide.' Down the stairs I 
 went lickity jump, and there I see a candle burnin'. 
 There I see three or four bar'ls o' whiskey; there I 
 see the landlord scared white, holdin' a glass o' liquor 
 in his hand so's to comfort himself, 'n' there I see 
 also," the story-teller concluded, the " Colonel of the 
 Sixty-Fourth Connecticut, while outdoors, where his 
 sojers were, them shells was droppin' and bustin'. 
 Now, sir," asked Bassett of the scarlet warrior, " if 
 you wasn't in that there cellar to take a drink with 
 that there Johnny Reb landlord, what was you there 
 for? " 
 
 In the roar of laughter that went up, and under 
 cover of which the Captain made his escape from 
 the Gregorian wrath, nobody sounded better pleased
 
 A SKIRMISH 131 
 
 than Mr. Warden, though he kept his merriment a 
 little separate from that of French and the rougher 
 sort, as one might say. 
 
 " Dear, dear ! " he chuckled, when the rest had 
 quieted down; and that dry little cackle set them off 
 again. He looked more than a little satisfied at not- 
 ing how they followed his lead, even Bailey. 
 
 " I'm afraid that tale damaged your reputation 
 pret-ty bad, Gregory," he said. " Not much left." 
 
 "Warden!" the Colonel gasped. " Warden 1" 
 Then he stopped for breath, for he was thoroughly, 
 perfectly enraged, beyond old Bassett's most hope- 
 ful dream. That was why his next speech exceeded 
 all bounds, considering that he and the Squire had 
 been friends all their lives. 
 
 " If you think that the trumped-up yarns of an 
 old renegade rascal can injure me in the eyes of 
 Kingsford, sir, I'd like your judgment on your own 
 status, sir, after yesterday's performance. We 
 thought you were our leadin' citizen; we reckoned 
 you'd be man enough to block off your rebels at every 
 turn ; but you backed down the first chance you had. 
 Now, sir, can you tell me why? Afraid of some- 
 thing? " 
 
 " We won't discuss it," replied the Squire, with 
 great indifference. 
 
 " I want to know." 
 
 " In good time," said Mr. Warden, shortly, still 
 smiling gamely. " I'm sorry if I teased you, 
 Gregory. Shall we be going ? "
 
 132 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " Good-bye," called French from his perch on the 
 cracker boxes. " You're going to lose, old man. 
 You showed good sense, backin' down, / say. Also 
 the right feelin'. Let me tell you, I " 
 
 " Come on, for Heaven's sake," interjected the Col- 
 onel. " Haven't you had enough for one day ? " 
 
 " More'n enough. But that old rascal Bassett ! " 
 laughed Mr. Warden gently, but so that everybody 
 heard. " I can't help chuckling when I think of 
 him. A joke on the Colonel " 
 
 " And five dollars out of you, for that matter ! " 
 
 " Five dollars ! " echoed the Squire blithely. 
 " Dear me, I'm afraid I'm what they call an easy 
 mark."
 
 A FLANK ATTACK 
 
 FROM that day forth Captain Bassett received 
 the freedom of the town. Anybody could see 
 with half an eye that he was entirely un- 
 worthy of that honor, Kingsford being a most re- 
 spectable village and proud of being so to boot; but 
 from Squire Warden down the various subtle grades 
 of society received the old fellow with open arms. 
 Following Grey, the painters hailed him with delight, 
 and spent hours making studies of his wicked old 
 head; and even the gentry (except Colonel Gregory, 
 who continued unappeased) enjoyed starting him on 
 one of his magnificent lies about the ships and the 
 women and the battalions he had commanded. But 
 most of his time, of which he had a vast stock, he 
 spent in the company of the striking mill-hands, for 
 some reason which the patient and imaginative gossips 
 tried to figure out in vain. Not so French and his 
 friends however. For them it sufficed that the Cap- 
 tain should declaim frankly piratical sentiments con- 
 cerning Mr. Warden in particular and rich men in 
 general, all of whom, according to the Captain, were 
 thieves imperfectly disguised. And it was not two 
 days after his triumphant advent into Kingsford so- 
 
 133
 
 134 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 ciety that he was advising the strikers what to do in 
 this or that projected line of action, so intimate had 
 they become. A week later they were appealing to 
 him as an oracle. 
 
 " You don't know what to do? " he asked in ap- 
 parent surprise one day when the revolutionists had 
 met as usual at the Eagle Hotel and as usual talked 
 without much coming of it. " I'm afraid you ain't 
 very smart men. Ain't that so, Mr. Hooker? " 
 
 " What'd you have 'em try ? " the landlord re- 
 plied, countering gently, for the Captain had proved 
 too good a customer to risk offending. 
 
 " Mind you, / hain't any interest in this thing," 
 the other warned them. " If I have any advice for 
 you but no, I guess I won't say it. You'd balk 
 prob'ly." 
 
 " We wouldn't neither, Cap'n." 
 
 " Sure?" Bassett puffed at his frayed cigar till 
 it nearly burst into flame. " Of course, I don't really 
 know much about the case, boys." 
 
 They were eager enough by now. They were fast 
 on the hook; and all he had to do was to draw them 
 ashore like so many bullpouts. 
 
 " When you've got a man down," he explained 
 modestly, " you punch him ; you finish him so there 
 ain't any fight left in him. Understand? Now 
 Warden's partly beat anyhow. Mind you," he in- 
 sisted, " I like him myself. He's been kind to the 
 poor stranger. I'm only talkin' 's though I was one 
 o* you. But when your man's down, you'd oughter
 
 A FLANK ATTACK 135 
 
 punch him, boys. I tell you that as a veteran of 
 many battles public and private." 
 
 " We'd like to punch him all right," French 
 laughed noisily, a little ill at ease in his unfamiliar 
 surroundings. 
 
 The pirate contemplated the speaker at some 
 length. " I guess we'll send you back to work with 
 him, General." 
 
 " I guess not! " 
 
 " Think so? Well, now, listen, Senator. I've 
 been talkin' some to Squire Warden. I've got a way 
 of puttin* a thing to him and others quite clear. 
 He backed down on hirin' the new hands, didn't he? " 
 
 ** You didn't make him back down." 
 
 " No, Commodore, no. Of course not. But I've 
 told him a lot o* facts about you gentlemen since, 
 judgin' him by that to be open to argyment. / fol- 
 lowed up the advanage. Ahem! Which no one else 
 of you did. Now the Judge here " 
 
 " What about me? " inquired French resentfullly. 
 
 The Captain sighed. " I guess I ain't goin' to 
 bother about you fellers no more. You seem kinder 
 hopeless. That is, if you're all like the the 
 Bishop." 
 
 Protest and rough apology came quick enough 
 then, and, after some further preamble, Captain Bas- 
 sett dictated a letter which Hooker the landlord en- 
 grossed in his most flourishing hand. 
 
 " Reads all right, does she? " asked the Captain,
 
 136 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 with a fine air of aloofness, when the composition was 
 finished. 
 
 " First class. He won't do nothin' about it 
 though," sighed a weak-kneed member. 
 
 "Maybe not. But 'twon't hurt nothin'." The 
 old man read the document through again with some 
 satisfaction, then glanced up with a queer smile. 
 " The undersigned," he quoted. " Would you boys 
 mind if I set my name down too? Just as a friend o* 
 labor? " 
 
 Grinning still, he scored his signature blackly un- 
 der the others, then folded the paper and put it in 
 his pocket. 
 
 "I'll mail it myself," he cried. "Labor's ulti- 
 matum! That's the way to do business. And now 
 we'll all have a drimk on me. I like you boys. 
 You're all so intelligent after all. And none of you 
 knows how useful a blessin' he is, 'specially the Boss." 
 
 " You and them seem pretty good friends, Cap," 
 the postmaster remarked, who crossed the ferry back 
 to no-license Kingsford with the strikers' new coun- 
 sellor. 
 
 " Their cause is a noble one," the other returned. 
 " That's what you said yourself just now." 
 
 " Yes. And they'll win out too. Hah ! War- 
 den a friend of yours? " 
 
 " Couldn't say. I never talked to him only twice 
 no, three times in my life. When I went to 
 rent the old house, and and on business. And once 
 when "
 
 A FLANK ATTACK 137 
 
 " You sat and heard him back down on keepin' out 
 his old mill-hands for good. They say you was there 
 all the time." 
 
 " Exactly." The pirate smoked unconcernedly. 
 " On'y that was the time I hired the house." 
 
 " Ain't seen him since? " 
 
 " There ain't any reason for my talkin' much with 
 Mr. Warden," he explained blandly. " He don't 
 seem to think I'm up to his mark in the virtue line. I 
 ain't. But it don't matter a dee." 
 
 They walked on some few minutes in silence, for the 
 road sloped sharply up from the ferry. 
 
 " I wonder how the old boy's back-down'd hit 
 French," Burns remarked, as his companion rested for 
 a moment, mopping his brow. " S'pose he takes him 
 and the rest o' the strikers back again, like that letter 
 asks." 
 
 " Don't know." 
 
 " It might help the boy with Jean," pursued the 
 postmaster. 
 
 " That sallow beggar? " Captain Bassett's red 
 face took a purplish hue. " That half-baked help 
 him with Jean? He ain't dreamin' that he's goin' to 
 marry her, does he ? " 
 
 "Didn't you know about it?" Burns cried. 
 " Why, he's talkin' about her like she was some angel 
 or other. Took him kinder sudden, after she came to 
 the meetin'." 
 
 The Captain raced through his vocabulary of epi- 
 thets with extreme passion. It took him some min-
 
 138 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 utes to complete his delineation of French as Jean 
 Wilder's lover, but when the picture was done it was 
 clear enough. 
 
 " You don't seem to like the idea," said Burns, a 
 little nettled. " But I'd like to know what business 
 it is of yours anyway." 
 
 " You would, hey ? " was the Captain's explosive 
 answer. Then he drew a deep sigh, which seemed 
 to blow away his anger, and patted his companion on 
 the back. " Don't get mad, my son. It's no busi- 
 ness of mine at all. Him bein' so yellow, and and 
 Miss Wilder's bein' so good lookin', made the match 
 seem kinder ondesirable. I'm fond of good lookers. 
 Ever tell you the story 'bout me an' the girl down to 
 Santos? She that was married to the harbor-mas- 
 ter? " 
 
 And so the scene passed, for the story was so long 
 in the telling, that it was not quite finished when the 
 two parted in front of the store. 
 
 " You're a queer old boy," said the postmaster. 
 " I wish I knew more about you. Look here, what 
 made you get so mad about French just now? " 
 
 " Just talk," the other replied, meeting the post- 
 master's eye. " French can go to the devil for me." 
 
 " But he can't make no eyes at Jean Wilder? " 
 
 " That's for her to say. And she's too nice a girl 
 for her name to cross the lips of you and me, who 
 ain't virtuous and don't care a dee. Po'try, b' 
 jolly ! " And with that the old fellow bore up for
 
 A FLANK ATTACK 139 
 
 the beginning of the lane that leads eastward, leaving 
 Burns to stare after him lost in a brown study. 
 
 "There's something queer!" he ejaculated; and 
 added with a laugh, " I guess he's Cap'n Kidd him- 
 self." 
 
 The pirate's motions showed less than his usual de- 
 cision. At first he followed the lane along steadily 
 enough; but, coming to a bank of soft turf at the 
 roadside, he sat down and took out the letter he had 
 promised to mail. This he studied over again, and, 
 even more carefully, the other short note this not 
 signed, by the way which he had written during 
 the discussion at the hotel, and folded inside the offi- 
 cial document. 
 
 " That'll fetch him," Captain Bassett said aloud, 
 grinning again. " Lord, what a good time I'm 
 havin'!" 
 
 But still he hesitated. Here was a ready way to 
 win for himself many a good laugh; he considered, 
 too, that he was by way of rendering his own kind of 
 justice. But for a long time he sat on the turf 
 studying and questioning, because of what Burns had 
 said about Sebastian French and Jean. There might 
 be a grain of truth in what the man retailed from the 
 village gossip. He had heard French's vaporing, 
 had seen Jessie's jealousy. And granted the Squire's 
 double surrender to the strikers, and the wild possi- 
 bility of Jean's being won by their general, the suc- 
 cess of those honest rebels would be practically en- 
 sured.
 
 14Q THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " By dee, but his pride'd come down a peg ! " 
 ejaculated the pirate gleefully. " Only that there 
 French is awful yellow. Him 'n' Jean ah ! " 
 
 For sometime longer indecision held him; and it 
 was with a countenance as anxious as it was compla- 
 cent that Captain Bassett, retracing his steps, passed 
 up the drowsy sunny street to the post-office. 
 
 This time there was a little group on the porch. 
 One of the women glanced over her shoulder at the 
 Captain's approach, smiled a little, and whispered to 
 the others. Jean was there, too, very lovely in her 
 cool, frilly dress and broad hat, and the Squire also, 
 starchy, immaculate, his face like ivory and silver. 
 
 " It's that funny old Captain," the pirate heard 
 Mrs. Berkeley saying as he came up, hot and red 
 from his walk, his clothes dusty, reeking with the beer 
 he had been enjoying. 
 
 " Hello, Warden ! " exclaimed Captain Bassett, 
 checking his hurry at the foot of the steps. " Hot, 
 ain't it? " 
 
 " Rather so. Mrs. Berkeley, can I help you into 
 the carriage? " And with not another glance at the 
 red-faced stranger, he turned away to the waiting 
 surrey. 
 
 The Captain's heavy brows came down like a pair 
 of thunder clouds; he breathed hard as he stumped 
 into the post-office. The wheels crunched on the 
 gravel, there was a flash of pale, cool color as for a 
 second the sun struck the carriage and its occupants ; 
 and then beautiful Mrs. Berkeley had whirled away
 
 A FLANK ATTACK 141 
 
 both Jean and her uncle down the long avenue of 
 elms. 
 
 " Fine lookin' outfit," observed the postmaster. 
 " Warden's a well kept old boy." 
 
 " Very," said Captain Bassett. " And he knows a 
 good lookin' girl." 
 
 " He don't make many mistakes of no sort, 'cept 
 this strike business." 
 
 " Wai," grumbled Captain Bassett, " I sh'd say 
 Mr. Warden had made one mistake at least. Gimme 
 a two-cent stamp, please." 
 
 " Oho ! " said Burns, who was pottering about be- 
 hind the screen that enclosed the office. " Dropped it 
 in, did ye? " 
 
 " The boys asked me to. I forgot it till just now 
 till I spoke to Warden. How soon'll it get to 
 him?" 
 
 " I'll put it right in his box now," said the post- 
 master, getting out his postmark stamp. " There she 
 lies." And he slipped the letter into the Squire's box, 
 which was one of the large ones in the lowest tier, 
 while Bassett stooped down and peered through the 
 glass front. 
 
 " I seen you do it " he remarked. " Wai, it'll 
 make him sit up, that letter will. I wonder will he 
 come 'n' get it this evenin'." 
 
 " Most likely. He usually does come." 
 
 " Also I wonder how he'll take it," mused the Cap- 
 tain. " It'd be worth seem'. By Hen ! " he added
 
 14)2 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 explosively. " I ain't had so good a time since I 
 started the life of a mariner." 
 
 Toward nine o'clock that evening Jean, who was 
 sitting alone on the porch, was startled by the click 
 of the gate-latch from the idle dreams that were her 
 only company. Her thought had drifted to French. 
 She saw again his mean figure and yellow face trans- 
 figured into a presence that was nearly noble, as he 
 passionately appealed to his followers at the meeting ; 
 he found herself repeating some of his striking 
 words. She remembered the reports of his work in 
 the houses of the poor people, and the two or three 
 cases where, they said, he had done real good. Just 
 for a minute her fancy invested the man with a kind 
 of greatness. Certainly, as she had told him that 
 night that they stood together in the rain, she liked a 
 man who did things well. Then came the memory of 
 his person and his broken, eager voice as he urged his 
 cause upon her; then the memory of his ardent face 
 and confident, braggart smile that morning they had 
 met at Jessie Bannard's. He had almost touched her, 
 and Jessie " Ugh ! " whispered Jean, shrinking 
 back into her chair, every sense tingling with abhor- 
 rence. 
 
 It was at that moment that the gate clicked, as she 
 thought. She looked down the walk, but could see 
 nobody, the darkness was so thick ; nor could she hear 
 a sound. For a minute she was all attention, then, as 
 nobody appeared, Jean settled down again. 
 
 " I wish," a voice suddenly remarked from the end
 
 A FLANK ATTACK 143 
 
 of the long piazza, " that you'd hitch your chair a 
 leetle more forrader into the light. If it's agreeable, 
 that is." 
 
 The girl sprang up. But she made no sign of 
 fear, although the voice was husky and harsh. 
 
 " Who are you ? " she demanded. Then, as a 
 chuckle replied, Jean cried out in quick recognition: 
 " I know. You're the man in the brush." 
 
 " Now ain't that a pity," the voice smoothly re- 
 plied. " I hate to contradict a lady. But the man 
 in the brush I most surely am not. It's a wonder," 
 it continued plaintively, " that you don't call me 
 Moses in the bull-rushes. That'd be closer, too, come 
 to think of it ; sence he was doin' some navigatin' at 
 the time. Only Moses was a river-boatman. Ever 
 see the Nile? " 
 
 " No," Jean replied, without thinking. 
 
 " There's queer sights in them parts," came sol- 
 emnly out of the darkness. " Also doings. But," 
 the man sighed, " so there do be in Kingsford. Will 
 you please set down, and in the light from the win- 
 dow?" 
 
 " You're the man they call Captain Bassett," the 
 girl said, after a moment. " Now I know. Why do 
 you stay off there in the dark ? If you wish to speak 
 to me or to Mr. Warden " 
 
 " Who's gone uptown," the caller interjected. 
 " About ten minutes ago." 
 
 " Come and sit in a chair, and tell your errand." 
 She tried to pierce the darkness, leaning forward so
 
 144 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 that her lovely head came into the mellow light from 
 the lamp indoors. " I don't think I'm afraid of you 
 a bit." With that she resumed her place, and drew 
 her chair out of the shadow. " Won't you sit down, 
 Captain?" 
 
 " I'm a-doin' it already. Over here in the dark. 
 And here I'll stay, beggin' your pardon for the same, 
 respectful, by dee, and respectable, fairly, that is. 
 Though I ain't up to the Squire in that line." The 
 harsh old voice betrayed a queer mixture of mockery 
 and envy. Jean thought it sounded regretful. For 
 a moment it fell silent, then Captain Bassett remarked, 
 " So you don't think you're afraid of me a bit? " 
 
 Jean's laugh was serene enough. " Why should I 
 be?" 
 
 " No reason," said the pirate with a strange ear- 
 nestness. " Only I'm glad to hear you say it." 
 
 " I think," she went on, for something about the 
 lonely, garrulous, old rascal made her feel sorry for 
 him, " that I like sailors the deep-sea kind be- 
 cause my father was one, and I remember having such 
 a good time when he took me on a trip with him 
 once." 
 
 " He did, eh? I want to know. And you rec'lect 
 it!" 
 
 " Oh, yes." She hesitated. " I try to remember 
 all I can about him, you see. He was so good ! " 
 cried Jean, " so good a man ! " 
 
 " I take it as how he's dead?" the man inquired, 
 with what delicacy he could muster.
 
 A FLANK ATTACK 145 
 
 " Oh, yes," sighed Jean. " When I was a little 
 girl. It was then I came here to be with Mr. War- 
 den. He and my father were old friends." She 
 checked herself hastily, with a sudden, uneasy sense 
 of having talked too intimately with this nameless old 
 vagabond. " I'm not afraid, because you're a sailor 
 too. Like my father," she concluded feebly. 
 
 " Usually," the Captain vouchsafed airily from the 
 darkness, " I've been loved for myself alone. But if 
 you'll not be skeered of me 'cause I'm a mariner same's 
 your Pa was, why, there's somethin' gained. If I 
 looked like him, now, I'd be more hopeful." 
 
 " I don't remember him that way at all," Jean re- 
 plied shortly. 
 
 Some noisy singing broke in on the quiet of the 
 summer evening. It came from up the street, and 
 was a hymn tune. 
 
 " As usual ! " exclaimed the pirate. " There's my 
 friends. Ain't they godly-soundin' ? They're maybe 
 expectin 5 you to come over, Miss Jean." He giggled. 
 "Be I keepin' you?" 
 
 " I think Kingsford's tired of the labor question," 
 she made answer indifferently, " Sebastian French " 
 
 " Yes ? " There was no mistaking the eagerness 
 with which he waited for what she might say. 
 
 " He thinks he's too important," exclaimed Jean, 
 in a sudden gust of anger. " To think of his making 
 all this trouble ! That man ! He should be put down, 
 I think. So we could have some peace again." 
 
 " Just let your uncle refuse everything they ask,
 
 146 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 and the cause o' labor'll go on the rocks inside of a 
 week," the buccaneer said crisply. " I know. I've 
 been with 'em. I'm the friend of the workingman, 
 all over. And and you wouldn't be pleased to see 
 our young friend succeed? " 
 
 " He's the most disagreeable man I ever saw ! " 
 Jean replied. " I don't like to think of him." 
 
 " But you the meetin'? " 
 
 " I'd rather not talk about him, Captain." She 
 rose, angry with herself for having expressed any 
 opinion at all about French or his doings, especially 
 to this stranger. " And I must go in, now. I'll tell 
 my uncle you were here. He'll be sorry to have 
 missed seeing you." 
 
 " Think so? Well," the Captain allowed, " he V 
 me have found a good many interestin' things to talk 
 over. Say, will you do something for me, please? 
 Will you say once again as how you ain't afraid of 
 old Leonidas J. ? " 
 
 " Then Leonidas mustn't boast of being a friend 
 of the honest workingman all over," laughed Jean, 
 as she disappeared within doors. 
 
 It was less than ten seconds before the squat, burly 
 figure of the Captain pushed through the gate, and 
 made off at top speed up the street. He was swear- 
 ing softly and steadily, only now his remarks con- 
 cerned nobody but himself. " Why didn't I talk to- 
 ner first?" he groaned, as he hurried along. "But 
 maybe it ain't too late. If only Virtue stopped to 
 gossip somewheres."
 
 A FLANK ATTACK 147 
 
 The post-office was dimly lit by a foul lamp that 
 hung in the rear part of the room beyond the stove, 
 and just at the moment of Captain Bassett's breath- 
 less entrance there was apparently nobody about. 
 
 " This," he whispered, noiselessly shutting the 
 door, " is first rate." 
 
 He stood by the counter, listening with the keenest 
 attention, but Burns's Emporium was quite deserted. 
 He stooped to look into the Warden post-box 
 through the glass front; and there was the letter he 
 had mailed. The Captain sent a look over his shoul- 
 der, another into the darkness in the back regions of 
 the store, noiselessly slipped around the counter to 
 the rear of the boxes. But just as he came into the 
 little enclosure, he was greeted by the most malicious 
 chuckle, save his own, in all Kingsford. 
 
 " Well," casually remarked the postmaster. " You 
 appear to be lookin' for somethin'." 
 
 " And I've found it," the other replied instantly. 
 " You're it." 
 
 " Huh ! What was you lookin' into Warden's box 
 for? I guess there might 'a' been trouble if I hadn't 
 been standin' here to keep my eye peeled. That's 
 what / guess, Cap'n B." 
 
 " The trouble'll come all right, son. Now, just 
 between man and man, you a gentleman and me like- 
 wise, you couldn't shut your dark blue eyes for a 
 second, could you ? " 
 
 " I guess you're a desperado, Cap'n. An' I can- 
 shut my eyes till you clear out of Uncle Sam's
 
 148 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 territory. Git out thar by the stove or the sody 
 fountain, an' I'll shut 'em tight. But, honest, I 
 can't let you rob the mails." 
 
 A step sounded on the platform outside. The 
 door rattled. 
 
 " For God's sake, give me that letter I mailed to 
 Warden, Burns ! Quick ! " 
 
 " You must think I'm a queer postmaster," the 
 other replied. " Of course I won't." 
 
 Then the door opened, and Mr. Warden came in. 
 He looked up, saw the two men behind the counter, 
 and nodded to them with a faded smile. 
 
 " Good evening, gentlemen." 
 
 " Same to you, sir," said Bassett. The Squire 
 unlocked his box and took out his mail, which he 
 stuffed in his pocket, without looking at it. " Pleas- 
 ant dreams," the pirate added gaily. 
 
 " Say," asked the postmaster, when Mr. Warden 
 had gone again, " what made you want to take his 
 letter anyhow? " 
 
 " Just wanted to change about three words at the 
 end of it. It wa'n't expressed quite right. Labor's 
 ultimatum ought to be handed to him exactly so, and 
 no other way. But he's got it now," Bassett con- 
 cluded. And with no more words he stumped out of 
 the store. 
 
 " Wish the boys hadn't let him meddle with their 
 own business," grunted the postmaster, trying to see 
 from the grimy window which direction the queer 
 visitor took. " I wonder why he really wanted that 
 letter."
 
 XI 
 
 JEAN GOES ON AN ERRAND 
 
 THE cool breeze off the sea which had set the 
 elms swaying lightly an hour or so after sun- 
 down tempted French to stay outdoors on 
 his return from the meeting, and after the rest of his 
 oddly assorted household had gone to bed. Mrs. 
 Bannard, who was what Kingsford calls " a harm- 
 less," had been safely locked into her den-like room 
 under the eaves, where she sometimes raved angrily 
 for a while, but was at all events in no danger; and 
 Jessie too had taken herself off to bed with a sleepy 
 smile, and a look that clung to French lazily and 
 warmly. Once she had called to him gently from 
 the head of the stairs, but when he answered and 
 came indoors, she giggled and with a little scream 
 hastily blew out the candle she carried. The young 
 man caught a glimpse of a bare round neck, teeth 
 that shone between parted lips, and a confusion of 
 white and pink clothes. 
 
 " Sebastian, you didn't see me ! " she laughed out 
 of the darkness. 
 
 " What did you want, Jessie? " he asked curtly. 
 
 " Oh, nothing." Silence for a moment. " I 
 149
 
 150 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 think I forgot to lock the kitchen door," the girl said 
 sedately. 
 
 "I'll see to it. Good-night. Is that all?" 
 
 " I guess so. Shall I come down 'n' tend to it? 
 Shut your eyes then." 
 
 " Don't bother," he answered, thinking to do her 
 a service. " I'll fix it." 
 
 If he wondered a little at finding the door both 
 locked and bolted, he had plenty else to think about, 
 and dismissed Jessie from his mind. He threw him- 
 self down on an old bench that stood under the maples 
 by the front gate. For a half hour he sat alone in 
 the darkness, when suddenly he perceived a woman 
 all in white coming rapidly down the lane. As she 
 stopped and felt for the latch of the gate, French 
 jumped up. 
 
 " Who's there? " asked the white figure in a voice 
 he knew. 
 
 " Only me. Great heavens, it's come true ! It's 
 Jean come again ! " 
 
 " Mr. Warden wants to see you," she said briefly. 
 " Will you come right away, please ? " 
 
 " And you, came to get me ! You ! " whispered 
 French rapturously. 
 
 " There was nobody else," came the cold answer. 
 " Shall we be going? But perhaps your newest prin- 
 ciples won't let you be seen with me in public. We're 
 liable to meet people, you know," Jean said bitterly. 
 " Maybe I'd better go alone, if you will come after- 
 wards."
 
 JEAN GOES ON AN ERRAND 151 
 
 " Of course not," he protested. He looked swiftly 
 back at the house; but Jessie's curtain was pulled 
 down tight. And so the pair set out along the rough 
 road. 
 
 He had all he could do to keep up with Jean's fly- 
 ing pace.- She had declined the support of his arm, 
 and hurried along, looking straight ahead, edging 
 away a little whenever French came close to her side. 
 
 " It's you that always brings happiness," the man 
 said after a while. " First you came to our meeting 
 and d'you remember what you said to me after- 
 ward? Then you showed that you didn't have no 
 bad feeling when you tried to help Jessie Bannard. 
 And here you are! Ain't it wonderful? " 
 
 " Please understand," she returned swiftly and de- 
 cisively. " You haven't any reason to think I'm 
 trying to help your cause, as you call it, in any way. 
 You're not doing right to let those foolish men think 
 so. I won't be talked about so. I oh ! " Her 
 voice broke with indignation. 
 
 " There's a higher power workin' at the thing 
 higher'n we can guess." The man's tone was sombre 
 and dogged in its conviction. " You've helped us 
 whether you wanted to or not. And so it'll be every- 
 where!" he cried, with sudden jubilation. He 
 stopped short, and all unconsciously Jean did the 
 same. He was holding out both hands to her. 
 
 " I seen it in a dream, Jean. It's you 'n' me that's 
 got to set these poor workingmen, you 'n' me work- 
 in' together. Let's help God, Jean."
 
 152 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 She set out again at his last words almost at a run, 
 he following close behind with some more of his wild 
 hopes and promises. 
 
 " Tell me you will ! " French cried. " You're so 
 beautiful 'n' good ! " 
 
 " You're not likely to help your cause by such silly 
 talk. If my uncle knew that you would insult 
 me" 
 
 " I didn't," French said passionately. " I'm just 
 pleadin' with you to give in to God's will." Their 
 rapid pace had brought them by now within sight of 
 the post-office, which still was lighted up. And from 
 the steps came some rough laughter. But Jean paid 
 no heed till her companion broke out in a fervent 
 ejaculation of delight. " See how He works! Those 
 men on the steps'll surely see us go by together." 
 
 " No ! " She swerved from him, but he caught 
 her by the arm. 
 
 "You've got to!" 
 
 " This is cowardly. You're a coward." 
 
 French instantly let her go. " Afraid to pass 
 them, are you? With me?" 
 
 " I'm afraid of nothing in the world. Not even 
 you." 
 
 The men's talk broke up in a chorus of exclama- 
 tion, as the man and girl came out of the darkness 
 into the light in front of the store. They did not 
 stop; Jean's look was fixed straight ahead; the men 
 caught only a fleeting glance at her. But French 
 looked over his shoulder at them with a smile that
 
 JEAN GOES ON AN ERRAND 153 
 
 was full of triumph, and his big eyes fairly glowed. 
 
 " The Squire sent for me ! " he cried. 
 
 The men called back some confused answer. 
 French had passed; his words were thrown over his 
 shoulder as he hurried along. 
 
 " And she came herself to get me ! " 
 
 It was as though the young man was proclaiming 
 the victory of his whole life. 
 
 While Jean had gone on her errand to French, 
 and how bitter that duty was for her the Squire 
 could well understand he was sitting with Colonel 
 Gregory. The good soldier was too old a friend to 
 allow himself to be troubled by Mr. Warden's vaga- 
 ries, though they certainly were hard to overlook. 
 And it was because Mrs. Gregory had given vent to 
 some remarks about the decline of the proper spirit 
 among New England gentlemen in general that the 
 Colonel had stormed over to his neighbor's in just the 
 half hour when the Squire had no desire to see him. 
 
 They sat indoors, though the night was beautiful. 
 From the dining room the front door was invisible. 
 The Squire sat at the head of the table where he 
 could command the hall, and all the time the Colonel 
 was talking, his pale eyes wandered from his guest's 
 face to the open door. For company's sake he had 
 opened a bottle of madeira, about the last of the 
 little stock some light-minded Warden grandfather 
 had laid down in the old days of Kingsford deep-sea 
 trade. 
 
 " Well," exclaimed the Colonel, " that is a wine ! "
 
 154 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " So they tell me. But you've got to begin young 
 to understand such things," returned the other, rais- 
 ing his eyebrows at his old friend. 
 
 " Confess, though, that I've had more fun than 
 you, Warden ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes. Much more. My life's pretty quiet." 
 
 " All the same, you've managed to give us a good 
 deal of excitement just lately, you old rascal. Con- 
 found it, I didn't mean to say a single word on that 
 subject." 
 
 " Your very good health," said the Squire, filling 
 and sipping from his glass. 
 
 " Yours, sir ! " Colonel Gregory was a bit more 
 flushed than common, and his eyes were very bright. 
 " And damn all rebels, sir ! " 
 
 Mr. Warden studied for a moment the grain of 
 the mahogany table; then glanced over his shoulder 
 out of the open window and seemed to listen. 
 
 " Was that a toast, Gregory ? " 
 
 " I didn't mean to be rude, old man. I " 
 
 " Was that a toast for me to drink, I say ? " 
 
 The Colonel gabbled incoherently. 
 
 " Damn all rebels ! Especially," said Mr. War- 
 den, leaning forward as he set down his glass, " those 
 in Kingsford." Then he sat up straight to meet his 
 friend's puzzled, delighted smile. 
 
 " You mean that, Warden ? " 
 
 A nod for an answer, followed by a second quick 
 glance out the window as a puff of wind made the 
 shade rattle.
 
 JEAN GOES ON AN ERRAND 155 
 
 " But but the back-down ? We're in the thick 
 of it now, you know. So you really didn't mean to 
 encourage those cussed strikers? " 
 
 " If," replied Mr. Warden, " hating could kill 
 everybody connected with the strikers, mine'd have 
 done for 'em long ago." 
 
 " Thank the Lord for that! " cried Colonel Greg- 
 ory. " But no more queer doings, old man ! Prom- 
 ise, confound you ! " the Colonel laughed, though he 
 looked too eager for laughter. There came the 
 sound of the front door opening. " Promise ! " he 
 insisted. 
 
 But Mr. Warden rose and pushed back his chair. 
 A rustle of skirts came along the hall. 
 
 " Who's there? " he asked sharply. " Jean? " 
 
 The girl's face was pale as death, and her eyes 
 were hard and bright. 
 
 " Jean ! " exclaimed the Colonel. " What's wrong, 
 child?" 
 
 She smiled, but the gaiety that played across her 
 face was not her own sunny sort. " It's only a 
 friend of my uncle's come to call better late than 
 never," she announced. " Uncle ? " 
 
 " Who," he asked, his voice singularly light, " did 
 you say wished to see me? " 
 
 " It's the famous Mr. French," replied the girl, 
 with a flourish. 
 
 "Tell him" 
 
 " You won't see the fellow ! " shouted Colonel
 
 156 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 Gregory hotly. " It won't do, Warden." The war- 
 rior stood up, breathing hard. " Not after " 
 
 " Tell the man," murmured the Squire, with his 
 chin on his breast, " that I I will see him with 
 pleasure." 
 
 She vanished instantly; the Colonel came around 
 the table and laid his hand on his friend's shoulder. 
 " You'll explain this, Warden? " 
 
 Mr. Warden crumpled tight the letter he took from 
 his pocket, as if afraid that his guest should see. 
 " You seem to trust me very little, Gregory." 
 
 " Not that, old friend. Only the times are so 
 confounded queer ! " Again steps sounded in the 
 hall. " I beg you to excuse me ! " said Colonel Greg- 
 ory. 
 
 " Good-night. See you in the morning? " 
 
 The soldier hesitated. " Yes," he said at length. 
 " Yes. Of course." 
 
 And he charged through the doorway that led 
 into the parlor as Jean re-entered from the hall with 
 French at her heels.. 
 
 The young man had freshened himself into a kind 
 of nondescript neatness. But, shaved and brushed 
 as he was, fine as were his eyes and brow, he looked 
 mean enough in the presence of the starchy old man 
 standing there at the head of the table. 
 
 " I'm very glad to see you," said Mr. Warden 
 slowly. 
 
 " Thank you." The reformer was still standing. 
 It seemed even to the champion of democracy quite
 
 JEAN GOES ON AN ERRAND 157 
 
 necessary to wait the old man's invitation to a chair. 
 
 "You have come ?" he began at length, when 
 French had disposed himself. 
 
 " It was about our letter that you wanted to talk? 
 Just received? " 
 
 " Yes Sebastian." He laughed oddly. "I 
 I've been considering what the boys ask here for some 
 time, you see. I they must understand that I'm 
 quite well disposed toward them. Quite, quite, quite, 
 quite. This letter now ! " 
 
 The enclosure dropped to the floor, and Mr. War- 
 den pounced on it like a hawk, too quickly for French 
 to aid him in its recovery. Once more he read it be- 
 fore cramming it deep in his pocket again. 
 
 " You really believe, sir, that we workers have some 
 right on our side ? " 
 
 " Some," he admitted, seeming to have in his mind 
 certain obscure distinctions. " Some right, you 
 know. Living wages, you understand. Does that 
 old Bassett fellow still train with you boys ? " 
 
 " Not to their good," French replied rather short- 
 ly. " He's taught too many of 'em how to drink, 
 sir." 
 
 "Possible? But he's a very agreeable man. 
 Kindly remember me to him when you see him. I 
 don't meet him often, you see." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " So," the old gentlemen asked after a long pause, 
 " I am to take back my boys on their own terms, 
 eh? "
 
 158 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " On yours, sir, if " 
 
 " If they're what pleases your foolish union, or 
 whatever you call it? " For a second the fire flashed 
 up, then died miserably. "I I guess we can 
 agree easily enough. And there's some distinction 
 in the fact that Kingsford cradled a labor-union," 
 Mr. Warden babbled. " Will you take a glass of 
 wine ? " 
 
 " No, sir, thank you." 
 
 The talk ran along on subjects less exciting then; 
 for some time they discussed things and men remote 
 from Kingsford, and the old man seemed by slow 
 degrees to recover himself; though, still unlike the 
 man who treated opinions younger than his own with 
 placid contempt, he was nervously anxious to agree 
 with whatever his visitor propounded. 
 
 Then the end came. 
 
 " Most old lives are very lonely," Mr. Warden was 
 saying. 
 
 " Yours even, sir? " 
 
 " Mine too. Yes, French. Miss Wilder doesn't 
 count exactly. We we're fond of each other, very. 
 That goes without saying. And she's like a daugh- 
 ter. But " 
 
 " Then you could give her up, sir ? " French' 
 leaned forward at his sudden question and studied 
 his host's querulous face, his heart pounding at his 
 ribs. 
 
 " How do you mean ? " 
 
 " To a man that wants her." The words leaped
 
 'JEAN GOES ON AN ERRAND 159 
 
 from him without forethought " That's what I 
 mean." 
 
 " French ! " whispered the old man, as if struck 
 down by a strong arm. " You ? How do you dare 
 even to think of it? " One more flare-up of dull 
 embers. 
 
 " I ain't worthy, you say? " 
 
 " Oh, yes." His surrender was pitiful. " A 
 good enough fellow, I guess. And Jean must decide, 
 after all. I didn't ever think of such a thing. But 
 she may be willing. You must ask her. We we 
 old folks don't count for much nowadays." 
 
 " Tell me that you won't stand in my way." If 
 French wondered himself at his daring so direct a 
 challenge, he wondered still more at the answer he 
 received, for though Mr. Warden covered his face 
 just for a second, he reached to the young reformer 
 a right hand that shook like a leaf. 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said French. 
 
 " Pay your thanks to some devil in Hell ! D'ye 
 think I'd give Jean willingly ? " 
 
 French drew back, not knowing his ground. 
 
 " Forgive an old man," he heard Mr. Warden 
 murmur, for his head hung down. " An old man 
 who's likely to be very wretched." 
 
 This was the writing on the enclosure, which was 
 burned in one of the candles the moment the visitor 
 was gone: 
 
 See you do everything French asks.
 
 XII 
 
 THE LEDGES 
 
 TE atmosphere was mellow and cool, the sky 
 full of breaking, lazy clouds and teasing 
 blue. Grey packed his sketching traps to- 
 gether the narrow color box with the names of the 
 French and Flemish town scratched on the cover, the 
 light easel and clumsy umbrella, and strode off to 
 the Ledges amid the jeers of the idler members of the 
 artist company. 
 
 He had marked for his own the place where the 
 narrow valley of a little sedgy river began to widen 
 out into meadow and then marsh; where a couple of 
 chestnut trees, outposts of the army up on the Ledges, 
 looked across to the distant shining of the Sound. 
 Here the painter set his easel and fastened up his 
 panel. Five minutes later was singing lightly to 
 himself, and, loving the beauty of the world, he sang 
 like a lover at his lady's smile and tender blushes. 
 
 He was working with the utmost care, watching the 
 sky and his panel like a cat a touch here, a line 
 there, a jump back to see clear, keyed very high in- 
 deed, when a voice broke the spell. He swore softly 
 and laid in another bit of his heavy cloud before 
 looking around. But a whistle shrilled; a riotous 
 
 160
 
 THE LEDGES 161 
 
 Irish setter came crashing out of the brush. Then 
 the voice sounded again, and this time Grey turned 
 from his work. 
 
 " Ahoy ! " he shouted. " Isn't she splendid 
 though ! " he added under his breath. 
 
 The sun turned Jean's hair to pale gold, and she 
 smiled the gayest greeting. It was a pleasure to 
 watch the agile grace of the figure, the quick atti- 
 tudes, like a leopard's crouch and leap, as she sprang 
 down the tumbled rocks by which the hill merged 
 into the meadow. She carried her small head daintily 
 erect; and her eyes when she came up were like gray 
 stars. 
 
 " Good-morning," she said, with a touch of quaint 
 formality in her little bow. " May I look at the 
 sketch, Painter? I just want to look over your 
 shoulder for half a second, and tell you how nice your 
 picture is. I know how you all hate being dis- 
 turbed." 
 
 " No, no," Grey protested hotly. " I'm not busy 
 anyhow." 
 
 The house had been intolerable that morning. 
 Jean had suffered some roughness from her uncle 
 a spurt of sarcasm that burned like acid, and in her 
 blood she felt again the clamor of the gypsy spirit; 
 her heart cried for the hills and the free wind. Like 
 a child, she thought she could be happy looking east- 
 ward from the Ledges out toward the sea. Now 
 she had chanced on the man whose talk could be vital, 
 and whose life linked her to the big world of men and
 
 162 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 women. Small wonder that Jean needed only a little 
 persuasion to linger, and that she stayed two long 
 hours, listening while he told her of Paris and Al- 
 giers. 
 
 She was sweet to see, lying propped on her elbow, 
 or half sitting against the mossy boulder, her beauty 
 changing like the day from bright to cool. Sweet 
 too was her pity and sympathy, sweet as her anger 
 was swift at some other tale of wrong or cruelty. 
 Grey found that she interested him hugely this 
 young lady of quality whose heart was full of fire, 
 this lithe beauty, whose home all her life, save for a 
 year or so at the famous school, had been a corner 
 of Kingsford village. 
 
 " But you mustn't stop painting," said Jean, with 
 sudden concern. 
 
 Grey laughed. Insensibly he had come to look 
 more at her than at tones and values; and now he 
 deliberately laid down his palette and brushes. 
 
 " It's as good as done," he declared. " Any more 
 work would spoil it." 
 
 "I didn't disturb you?" 
 
 " Nonsense ! " But he could hardly tell the truth. 
 " If I hadn't wanted you, I should have said so." 
 
 She seemed not much reassured; but looked at him 
 with troubled eyes. 
 
 " I mean it," said Grey. " And you're not going 
 to leave me now? I tell you," he went on, kindling 
 with a new thought, " stay out and have lunch with 
 me. I'm on an all day's trip. Up on the Ledges.
 
 THE LEDGES 163 
 
 There'll be things to see and hundreds to talk about. 
 It'll be a regular picnic." 
 
 His eyes were eloquent. She sprang up at once, 
 clapping her hands, and hurried his packing with 
 many little exclamations. This was a real holiday. 
 And the fact that she had run away made more de- 
 lightful the hours of talk with some one different 
 from the rest of Kingsford. 
 
 The eggs, bread and butter, the cold chicken dis- 
 appeared. They sat at ease under a great tree, with 
 the fair world spread before them. Grey's pipe was 
 drawing freely. 
 
 " How are things going about the strike ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 Her bright face clouded. " Not very well, I'm 
 afraid." 
 
 " They'll win, you mean? " 
 
 " Of course you can't have heard," Jean answered, 
 eyeing him doubtfully. A little shiver ran over her. 
 " My uncle has surrendered again. It happened 
 only a few nights ago." 
 
 " What now ? " He made the mistake of laugh- 
 ing as he asked the question. Like all his tribe, he 
 found tremendously amusing the tiny battle between 
 the blundering laborers and the stiff-necked Squire, 
 the followers of French the flighty and the champion 
 of ancient order, so he was surprised to see that Jean 
 could scarcely conceal her impatience. On her side, 
 the girl felt that her heart would burst at the mem- 
 ory of the morning after French's call, when her
 
 164 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 uncle announced that the hands were coming back 
 to work on their own terms. Jean looked seaward 
 with burning eyes. 
 
 " My uncle thought best to give in. Why, I don't 
 know," she could not help adding. 
 
 " A good thing ! " cried Grey, thinking so to please 
 her. " I wish Kingsford had more men like your 
 uncle, progressive, you know." 
 
 She smiled a bit sadly. " Thank you. What are 
 you going to paint this afternoon ? " 
 
 And from here the talk branched off till Jean was 
 laughing again. Grey was counted a stiff hand at 
 conversation; and Jean could be shy as a hawk, yet 
 here they were, fit subjects for the gossip of all men, 
 chattering away like a pair of sparrows through a 
 whole day. Grey's sketching was shirked, and Jean 
 thought no more of leaving him to his work. For 
 one of them could tell a young prisoner of Kings- 
 ford about arms and men, and the other charmed a 
 lover of the beautiful by every turn of her head. 
 
 But a sudden gust of cold air and a grumble of 
 thunder brought the picnickers back to earth. At 
 the upper end of the valley the trees were tossing, 
 the leaves turning to dull silver as the wind twisted 
 them backwards ; a little further away the whole land 
 was only dimly discerned through a veil of rain. 
 
 " We must run for it," cried Jean. 
 
 Grey was catching together his traps. " You'll 
 be drenched," he said remorsefully. " It's a good 
 mile and a half back to town."
 
 THE LEDGES 165 
 
 She sprang down the rocks. " Come along ! " 
 
 " The old house ! " he called, scrambling after her, 
 cumbered with his box and easel. " That's only a 
 little way." 
 
 She halted, irresolute for some reason he could not 
 guess. Some pale lightning flickered across the cop- 
 pery sky, and made her wince a little. 
 
 " It's the only place," he urged. 
 
 " I hate to go there." 
 
 " Afraid ? Old Bassett's harmless enough." 
 
 " I'm afraid of nothing except lightning," she 
 replied, dodging again. " It's only fancy. Go 
 ahead." 
 
 And not another word could he get from her, 
 though he was curious and impolite enough to ask a 
 couple of questions. 
 
 They had to go directly in the teeth of the storm, 
 now leaning against the gale as they followed the 
 bare crest of the ridge, the tumbling clouds almost 
 crowning them, again in the deep woods through the 
 tangled grapevines and bull-briars of the swampy 
 hollows, hearing the wind's gallop through the trees 
 high overhead. The thunder rolled louder, the roar 
 of the rain was clear enough; a few great drops 
 splashed noisily on the leaves around them. 
 
 " Here we are," cried Grey. 
 
 Jean, following him, vaulted the broken fence like 
 a boy, with a glance first to see her guide was looking 
 away, and with a half laugh caught up with him just 
 as they came into a bit of clearing. Remains of
 
 166 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 some stone foundations were to the right; to the left 
 a well curb, recently repaired; and just ahead stood 
 Captain Bassett cheering them on with many ges- 
 tures, from the doorway of a weather-beaten ancient 
 house. 
 
 " * Lift up your heads, O ye gates ! ' " he cried, 
 " ' And the King of Glory shall come in ' also the 
 Queen. It's going to be a dee of a shower, with the 
 young lady's permission." 
 
 They charged in, laughing and exclaiming, just in 
 time, for the rain came in a rush and a roar, and the 
 lightning flared incessantly. 
 
 It was a poor place, but, oddly enough, scrupu- 
 lously clean. In a corner stood a cot bed neatly 
 made up, the piece of carpet lay exactly square in 
 the middle of the room, and through the open door 
 which led to a kitchen there showed rows of canned 
 provisions ranged precisely on a couple of shelves, 
 while below them cooking utensils hung on hooks, 
 nicely graded in size from a big broiler down to a 
 corkscrew. Over the chimneypiece was a print of the 
 familiar group of Lincoln and the Union captains, 
 flanked right and left by two heavy revolvers in 
 holsters. Two or three chairs one deep and cush- 
 ioned completed the furnishing, these and a lit- 
 tle table piled high with novels and newspapers. 
 
 " Small but complete, just like my old steamer 
 Barham Hall," commented the Captain, with a sweep 
 of his hand. " It was me and that vessel as made 
 possible a revolution. It was in Nicaragua, that
 
 THE LEDGES 167 
 
 was," he continued easily, " and a dee fine revolution 
 too." 
 
 " Was that on the same cruise that you helped the 
 Captain-General's niece to elope from Havana? " 
 
 " The same year" came the ready correction. 
 " Just before the Hayti business. Ever tell you 
 about that ? " A vivid flame and ripping crash filled 
 the outside world. " My soul, but that struck near 
 us! And now we'll all have a drink." 
 
 Jean's eyes asked some question of Grey, to which 
 he replied by pointing out to the rain. She nodded 
 acquiescence, and sat back in her chair, but was evi- 
 dently ill at ease and eager to be gone. Indeed the 
 old man's demeanor was hardly reassuring. He had 
 evidently been drinking already, and now poured out 
 for Grey and himself two huge measures from a bot- 
 tle of gin, and then a third which, on Jean's refusing, 
 he drained on the heels of the other. And all the 
 time he kept his dreadful red eyes full on the girl. 
 
 " Your health and good fortune, young lady ! " 
 he exclaimed, with many nods and winks. " We'll 
 see that things come right in the end. It's our 
 secret. We won't tell. Not even Grey." 
 
 " An old friend ? " asked the painter, willing to 
 humor him. 
 
 "Humph! Well, we'll see. Jean " 
 
 " Miss Wilder ! " Grey's mouth set hard as a 
 trap. 
 
 " Jean, I say ! " The Captain brought down his 
 fist. " Who's a better right to call ( her that than me,
 
 168 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 eh ? " Jean drew back from his approach. He saw 
 the gesture, and stopped short, shaking his head. 
 " Steady ! No, Leonidas, no. I'm a foxy old coon." 
 
 " What are you doing nowadays? " asked Grey, 
 by way of diversion. " Isn't it dull after being so 
 long at sea? " 
 
 " Not a bit. Want to know why ? " He studied 
 their faces shrewdly, but was no whit discomposed by 
 Jean's evident boredom and Grey's mocking smile. 
 On the contrary, the pirate for so he seemed 
 sank his husky voice to a melodramatic whisper. 
 " I've got a ghost to talk with. The ghost of this 
 house." 
 
 Jean stood up. " Can't we go now, Mr. Grey ? " 
 
 " She knews ! She's heard of him ! " cried the 
 Captain delightedly. " But he ain't nothin' to be 
 afraid of." 
 
 He turned from them and plucked back a corner 
 of the carpet. There was some kind of inscription 
 carved freshly on the planking of the floor. Grey 
 stooped to see. 
 
 " I'm going, Mr. Grey." And indeed she was at 
 the door when again the lightning drove her back 
 with a little cry. The Captain drank again, this 
 time from the bottle. 
 
 " Ghost don't come out till night," he said, as if 
 to reassure her. " And he's ca'm. He's an awful 
 old ghost now. He's awful dead." 
 
 " Don't come near me ! " cried Jean. " Keep him 
 away, Mr. Grey."
 
 THE LEDGES 169 
 
 The painter looked up sharply, and caught the 
 pirate by the arm; but the old man plucked himself 
 away with a twist; and fell back grinning. 
 
 " No harm in the world, young lady. I'm just a 
 poor old man of vicious habits one of which is 
 drink, the other being generous and fond of my own. 
 Read that there carvin', Grey? I done it. ' Joseph 
 Dix, strangled on this spot A.D. I860.' That's what 
 it says. That's where the ghost lives," chanted the 
 old man. " 'J?. 7. P.,' which is a lie, for his sperrit 
 is uneasy as be dee'd. She's heard about it ! " he 
 went on, levelling a stumpy finger at Jean. " Only 
 it's nothin' to be afraid on, sis." 
 
 She mastered herself. " Isn't it lonely living with 
 a ghost, Captain ? " 
 
 " I love it," he replied unctuously. 
 
 They all fell to a silence, the visitors staring curi- 
 ously even Jean at the inscription on the floor. 
 The letters, cut deep, showed bright in the pale yel- 
 low of the fresh wood. Captain Bassett seemed un- 
 able to take his eyes from Jean ; a kind of benignity 
 was behind them no hint of rudeness ; and at the 
 same time it was plain that the man was under an 
 intense strain of some kind. His flightly talk and 
 extravagant gestures seemed to relieve him, for after 
 a moment's quiet, during which he painfully replaced 
 the carpet, the Captain broke out in a round oath 
 and announced that he had something else to show 
 them.
 
 170 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 Grey looked for Jean's permission, when the Cap- 
 tain made his proposal. 
 
 " It may be amusing after all," she whispered, 
 while their host was gone for candle and matches. 
 " And we can't decline exactly, for the old thing 
 means well." 
 
 He liked her the more for her answer, for many a 
 girl would quite fail when it was a question of follow- 
 ing this venerable vagabond to his secret lair, no 
 matter what the fun might be. But Jean merely 
 picked up her skirts and followed him, her breath 
 coming just a little faster, down a dusty, rickety 
 flight of steps to a little cellar under the kitchen. 
 
 " They call me Captain Kidd up the street," said 
 their host thickly. " Le' me show you somethin'. 
 Hold the light, young lady." 
 
 Jean took the candle mechanically, and was aware 
 that in the half darkness Grey was standing so close 
 to her that her shoulder touched his arm. But she 
 stood fast, watching the old man with wide eyes. 
 
 The Captain waved his hand, then started out from 
 the foot of the steps and with one hand touching the 
 wall at arm's length worked his way forward, care- 
 fully putting heel to toe as he went. 
 
 " Nine," he announced. " Nine of my feet. Now 
 see ! " He turned to his left and measured six feet 
 more. 
 
 " I could find the place in one jump with my eyes 
 shut," he said, as if apologizing, " but I'm roman- 
 tic by natur', an' this is like the books. This is the
 
 THE LEDGES 171 
 
 way I done in San Domingo. Then the cache was so 
 far in from the big rock N.N.E., so far, then S.E. 
 And where's the boat's crew that helped me hide it? 
 Rottin' on the beach, where I shot 'em down." 
 
 " Oh ! " from Grey. The candlelight showed him 
 grinning. The old man saw it, and his bushy brow 
 came down. 
 
 " This is for Jean. You can look or not. If you 
 tell about this, I'll kill you." 
 
 "So serious?" 
 
 " If you hadn't come with Jean, you'd never see it. 
 But I guess I want you for witness." His excite- 
 ment fairly shook him. He was sweating profusely, 
 and he dashed the moisture from his eyes. " Now 
 look." 
 
 He tilted up and rolled aside an old cask, then, 
 with a trowel which he had brought along, com- 
 menced digging furiously in the soft earth of the 
 cellar door. 
 
 " Laugh, will you ? " he cried, peering up at them 
 through his dim eyes. " I'm just an old lyin* rascal, 
 eh?" 
 
 His hoarse voice was truly terrifying, but not so 
 much as his manner, for he went at his task like one 
 digging for a friend who was buried alive, cursing 
 softly the while and growling like a savage dog 
 over some ancient feud they could not understand. 
 Presently he stopped. The trowel struck something 
 hard. 
 
 " Jean must see ! "
 
 112 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " It's a treasure chest ? " she hazarded. Grey 
 could have sworn that somehow she let herself be 
 carried away, and really entered into the scene. Her 
 eyes were very big, and her lips parted as she leaned 
 over the pirate's shoulder and threw the candle light 
 into the shallow hole. 
 
 " True, girl ! " He scraped away the loose earth 
 and dragged up a mahogany box a foot or so square 
 with a slit in the lid, over which a strip of paper was 
 pasted. " Treasure ! Great dee ! " 
 
 There followed the click of a lock, the lid fell back, 
 there was revealed, scattered loose, a great sheaf of 
 banknotes twenties and fifties mostly, though 
 there were several of a hundred, and two small canvas 
 bags of jingling coin. Into all this the old man 
 plunged his hands, tossing and fondling the rustling 
 paper and crying out, with a horrid laugh, that i 
 was the price of blood. 
 
 " A friend gave it me ! " he stammered. " Old 
 friend, my very good friend ! Wait, wait a second ! " 
 he went on, getting on his feet, for now Jean hur- 
 riedly set down the candlestick and, with a word to 
 Grey, was retreating. She halted at the foot of the 
 stairs. The old man lurched toward her with his 
 hands full of money; but he tripped, swayed, and 
 fell, the bills showered about him. Grey gave a look, 
 saw that the old man was unhurt, and then bounded 
 up the steps. Jean was already clear of the house. 
 
 " Do come ! " she pleaded. " Oh, it was so dread- 
 ful!"
 
 THE LEDGES 173 
 
 " I'm so sorry " he began. 
 
 " You couldn't help it. But, O Mr. Grey, would 
 you mind if we ran ? " 
 
 And she fled along the path like a deer, with a 
 look back every other second full of stricken terror. 
 Nor did the fright seem to leave her till they came 
 to the fork of the highway and she was through the 
 bars of the lane that led to her house.
 
 XIII 
 
 THE PARLOR 
 
 JEAN hurried up the lane, with a medley of the 
 pirate's croak and the painter's laugh jangling 
 in her ears. She was both frightened and 
 happy. But when she had arrived at the lower end 
 of the wet garden, she read herself a little lesson. 
 She would need all her coolness to meet her uncle, 
 who would be as savage as usual at her playing run- 
 away. 
 
 The house, when she entered, was quiet and dark. 
 Except for the singing in the kitchen, where the cook 
 bore a mellow but fitful alto to Mrs. Marsden's hymn, 
 the old place seemed quite deserted. Jean glanced 
 into the parlor, but the lamp was not lighted, nor 
 did a sound come from the little apartment where the 
 Squire kept his books and wrote at the high old secre- 
 tary. She was startled when she came downstairs 
 again, after changing her dress, to find Mr. Warden 
 sitting alone by the parlor window, staring into the 
 street. 
 
 " I thought you were out," said Jean. " I looked 
 in just now, and didn't see you at all." 
 
 " Will you sit here with me ? " he asked, without 
 turning his head. " It's rather pleasant here in the 
 
 174
 
 THE PARLOR 175 
 
 dark." She assented, marveling greatly, for she had 
 expected a storm. " Where's my truant been all 
 day ? " Still the gentleness of tone, rallying rather 
 than accusing. Jean studied his thin, worn old face 
 in the twilight. She was aware how deeply he was 
 sunk in his high-backed chair. 
 
 " Over on the Ledges," she replied, unconsciously 
 lowering her own voice. " I met Mr. Grey; and we t 
 got caught in the rain." 
 
 " You must be wet." 
 
 " Oh, no. We ran into the the old house. It 
 was horrid, Uncle Andrew. Oh, that dreadful old 
 pirate thing ! " 
 
 Mr. Warden gripped the arms of his chair. 
 " You've talked with him? " he cried fiercely. " Never 
 again, Jean. I forbid it absolutely." 
 
 Another time she might have made some rebel an- 
 swer ; but the sordid horror of the afternoon the 
 Captain's drunken, grisly jokes, the carved memorial, 
 the scene in the cellar, made her more than ready to 
 obey her uncle's order. 
 
 " I was so frightened," she confessed. 
 
 " Did did he say anything? " 
 
 " He's crazy. He went through a lot of mummery 
 over what he called a box of treasure." 
 
 Ah!" 
 
 " What's the matter, Uncle? " 
 
 " Nothing. Did he comment on your being there 
 with Grey?" 
 
 " No, indeed. As though he could ! "
 
 176 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " And yet," the old man pursued, half to himself, 
 " It would only be natural under the circumstances." 
 
 It seemed to Jean that she would betray what 
 glowed in her heart if she cried out too vehemently 
 at her uncle's hint. She knew that her color had 
 crept high ; the next moment she was sure that silence 
 would also be the stupid part; but the announcing of 
 supper relieved her embarrassment. She had left 
 only the surprise at her uncle's curious manner 
 his outburst at the mention of Captain Bassett, 
 coupled with his listless quiet. 
 
 Through the meal his eyes were never off her. 
 Time and again it was evident that he had something 
 to say of importance ; but at each pause in their light 
 talk Mr. Warden, catching her bright look of inquiry, 
 would color a little and busy himself with his knife 
 and fork. 
 
 " Mr. Grey was asking about the mill-hands," Jean 
 remarked abruptly in the last of these waits. " And 
 I told him how you " 
 
 " Surrendered? That's what you called it, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 " Of course you knew best." 
 
 " There's a great deal to be considered, my girl. 
 More than you guess. And that reminds me of some- 
 thing." He laid aside his napkin, hesitated, then 
 came half way round the table, and stood looking 
 down at Jean with glowing eyes. The hand shook 
 painfully that he rested on the back of a chair. " I
 
 THE PARLOR 177 
 
 I think it possible that Sebastian French may be 
 here again this evening." 
 
 Jean scarcely heard her guardian's words; all she 
 noticed was the agitation of the man who usually was 
 as calm as flint in winter. 
 
 " He'll come early," the Squire said thickly. " He 
 wishes to see you." 
 
 " Me? Why does he come here? " 
 
 A dozen times in the last week she had encountered 
 the young reformer at the post-office, under the elms 
 of the street, or in the stuffy little library. They 
 had greeted one another pleasantly enough. She re- 
 called vaguely and swiftly the various occasions when 
 as boy and girl, or as " grown-ups," they had talked 
 together. He had sent her away from a sermon 
 tingling with enthusiasm for his cause. She felt 
 again the discomfort which his mere presence brought 
 to her the dampness of his lean hand, his oily, 
 heavy hair. These matters and certain others, swiftly 
 recalled with a shudder, made Jean wonder what there 
 was for French to tell her. 
 
 "You'll see him?" he asked eagerly, without re- 
 plying to her own question. 
 
 " I don't like him, Uncle Andrew." 
 
 " Ah, but you mustn't say that ! " he cried, throw- 
 ing up his hand as if to shut out some horrid sight. 
 " And to think that I should come so low ! " 
 
 A swift instinct of pity for one in such evident dis- 
 tress, whatever the cause, sent Jean to his side. If 
 she could not understand, at least she could help
 
 178 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 soften the sorrow, the shame, and fear, which were 
 betrayed in the man's voice and bearing. She helped 
 him to a chair, and he suffered her. 
 
 For a minute or two Air. Warden sat still, blinking 
 at the candles on the table, and holding fast to Jean's 
 hand. "Captain Bassett said nothing about me?" 
 he inquired feebly. 
 
 " Nothing that I remember, uncle." 
 
 " I forbid your seeing him again," he repeated, 
 with a touch of his old asperity ; but added, gripping 
 her wrist tight, " Help me, help me, Jean ! This 
 young French! Jean, he's a good fellow underneath 
 his roughness." He peered up fearfully at her, and 
 twitched her arm. " Hey? " 
 
 " It's a great pity that he makes so much trouble, 
 then," she could not help replying. 
 
 Mr. Warden glanced over his shoulder. The win- 
 dow was raised a little. " I like the boys, really," he 
 replied. " They're good boys, Jean. We're too old- 
 fashioned here in Kingsford. We've got to change 
 some of our ideas." 
 
 " O, uncle ! " The traditions of her whole life rose 
 up to forbid her acquiescence. " Not that ! " 
 
 The door-bell jangled. 
 
 " There he is now. Hurry, Jean." 
 
 The parlor was a large room, but French's long 
 body and arms seemed to fill it. Jean was mainly 
 conscious of this and of the man's fine eyes, as she 
 entered; and tonight his dark face showed the marks
 
 THE PARLOR 179 
 
 of poverty and a deal of thinking more clearly than 
 ever. 
 
 " You're surprised to see me ? " he asked bluntly. 
 
 " A little. Though my uncle said you were com- 
 ing." 
 
 " Did he tell you what I wanted ? " The man had 
 worn this look, all eagerness and doubtful fear, when 
 he had told her about his dreams. 
 
 " Is your message so very important ? " she asked 
 idly. She made herself listen backward toward the 
 door, as though somebody had called her, then turned 
 to the young man with an air of apology, which did 
 not in the least soften the tone of her remark. " My 
 uncle was taken a bit faint just now; and we had a 
 good scare. He's been sadly worried these last few 
 weeks," said Jean. " Please excuse me for interrupt- 
 ing you, Mr. French." 
 
 " Mr.? " 
 
 " Sebastian, then." 
 
 " You've known me all my life, anyway," returned 
 the other, shifting his ground so as to follow her. 
 
 " I'd call you Stumpy French now, if I dared, just 
 as the boys used to. If you weren't the distinguished 
 socialist reformer that we hear so much about." She 
 was feverishly anxious, she knew not why, to keep 
 French from his subject, whatever it was. She rat- 
 tled on, teasing and joking, so different from herself 
 that she hardly knew her own speeches. But with it 
 ;all it was clear enough that French simply waited' 
 quietly,
 
 180 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " We did have good times. Oh ! " sighed Jean, 
 out of breath. 
 
 " I like to think you haven't forgotten them." 
 
 " And Kingsford's as dear now as it was then. I 
 only wish " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " That there were no difference between us. Just 
 as when we all went to the little school." She had 
 drifted into his intimate strain almost unawares, and 
 the thought angered her beyond endurance. 
 
 " There needn't be any difference," he exclaimed, 
 his voice hardening. " Why not all work together, 
 Jean? Laborers in one vineyard. Let's make Kings- 
 ford the happiest village in the world, and its people 
 the best. We can't stand still. God don't want us 
 to, I tell you." He caught fire from his own words; 
 their light talk of the moment before was swept off 
 like dead leaves before a gale. He shook back his 
 black mane and stood up. " You believe that? Think 
 of the country boys. Their life ain't any sort of a 
 life such a chance for the right men ! I'm young 
 and I don't know much ; but I'm goin' to do my best. 
 My own race, my own friends! There's my life 
 work." 
 
 " I like to hear a man talk so ! " she cried, in spite 
 of herself. 
 
 " You do? " Again he paused, and a smile bright- 
 ened his sombre face as he caught her eye. " You're 
 young, and mine's a young man's work; you're full 
 of life and courage, and the work means something;
 
 THE PARLOR 181 
 
 real. Of course you ain't against what I'm a-goin' 
 to try 'n' do." 
 
 " Surely not." 
 
 " Tell me that again." His gesture was appealing. 
 
 " You're finely in earnest, I mean," she went on. 
 " And that's splendid." 
 
 " Then come and help me in it ! " French cried. 
 " I want you by me. Together together we could 
 do so much. You know what I asked you before. I 
 love you; I want you." 
 
 " No, no." 
 
 " Your uncle promised he'd say a word for me," 
 he said after a moment's tense silence. " Did he ? " 
 
 So this was what Mr. Warden had hinted. Keep- 
 ing this wild promise was the thing that had over- 
 come him just now. The girl's cheeks flamed. " Do 
 you think it possible? Mr. Warden would die sooner 
 than see me marry you." 
 
 The man flung up his head. " I ain't so far below 
 you as that." 
 
 She made no answer. His look was ugly now. All 
 the exaltation of the moment before was clean gone. 
 
 " You think I ain't quite good enough for you, I 
 suppose. Well, I'll tell you something. Ask Kings- 
 ford about your father. Just a couple o' leadin* 
 questions. Don't pretend you don't understand." 
 
 "My father?" She never looked more splendid, 
 though her heart seemed to stop beating, and a sense 
 of physical sickness took away her strength. 
 
 " Whose father was it that ran away 'cause he
 
 182 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 was afraid to stay here? Tell me that. Whose father 
 died God knows where, 'cause Kingsford was growin' 
 too hot for him ? It wa'n't mime. He died poor after 
 the Squire had robbed him of the mill. But he died 
 honest, Jean Wilder. I ain't a criminal's son. But 
 you are, by the Lord ! " 
 
 " That's not true ! " she gasped in spite of herself. 
 " I won't hear such things." 
 
 " In-deed ! Then it's because you know 'em by 
 heart." He came up to her again. She shrank from 
 his approach. " Jean ! " he cried passionately, for 
 she had lowered her beautiful head. " I didn't mean 
 to speak so rough ! " 
 
 She could keep back her tears no longer. The hu- 
 miliation was more than she could bear this old 
 taunt about the father she had loved from this bully- 
 ing, greasy suitor. She turned from him in a tem- 
 pest of anger and shame, to see Mr. Warden standing 
 on the threshold. She ran to him with a cry. 
 
 " Tell him it's not so, uncle ! " 
 
 He stayed her with his feeble arm. " Tell him 
 what, my dear ? " 
 
 " Uncle, you didn't want me to to marry that 
 man! Tell him you never dreamed such a thing. 
 Oh!" 
 
 " I believe that French's a good fellow, Jean." 
 The answer was tremulous, but the Squire went 
 through with it. " You must decide, dear. I did 
 not know I was intruding on a scene of this sort.
 
 THE PARLOR 183 
 
 But " he looked at French " the thing wouldn't 
 displease me, if anything came of it." 
 
 It was too incredible. Jean, through her tears, 
 could only look blankly from one man to the other. 
 
 " Thank you, sir," French said, low and steady. 
 " But she must choose for herself." A clumsy chiv- 
 alry gave him an indistinct light. " And and so 
 I'll say good-night now. Maybe you'll think over 
 what I've said, Jean." 
 
 She saw something vaguely admirable in his pres- 
 ent conduct, and murmured her gratitude. French 
 bowed clumsily, and quitted the room; the closing of 
 the front door left her alone with her uncle. From 
 the moment of his entrance Mr. Warden had kept 
 his place in the doorway, moving only when French' 
 passed him with a muttered apology. Only his eyes 
 were alive, which glanced swiftly from one to another 
 of his companions; for the rest, he slowly stroked 
 his beard with a motion regular and mechanical as 
 clockwork. 
 
 But with Sebastian's going he drew a deep sigh of 
 disappointment. Jean turned to him with brimming 
 eyes. 
 
 " What does it all mean, uncle ? " she cried. 
 
 " That this young man wants to marry you, I 
 should judge. That's not surprising." He had re- 
 sumed his familiar bitterness. " It is the penalty 
 young women pay for being good to look at." 
 
 " That's not what I wanted to ask. It's your help-
 
 184 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 ing him, Uncle. He may be a good man, but but, 
 oh, Uncle, isn't there any pride left? " 
 
 " No," replied Mr. Warden, slowly and solemnly. 
 " Not a bit." 
 
 She recoiled as from a blow. " Is it true what he 
 said about my father? Is it true?" she demanded. 
 
 He waited till the new storm of tears was spent 
 before replying; and then he did not meet her ques- 
 tion. Perhaps some of the emotion that made the girl 
 bury her face in an agony of grief crept into his own 
 voice to make it husky and shaky. 
 
 " It's it's because you don't understand, Jean. 
 Some day " he sighed again " you'll learn why 
 I want Jean Wilder to stretch out her hand to Se- 
 bastian French." He paused for a moment. " There's 
 no chance? " The prostrate form on the sofa made 
 no reply. " Not a word ? " 
 
 " Please don't ask me," she said faintly. " I hate 
 him."
 
 XIV 
 
 CONTAINS LIGHT AND DARKNESS 
 
 AN ill-concealed nervousness hung about the 
 painters' colony. Without a word being said, 
 all the artists made for their little work-shops 
 directly after breakfast. There was long and anx- 
 ious consideration as to which were the best pictures 
 of the year; there was much despair on the part of 
 the men who painted by preference the cool and 
 misty hours of the Kingsford days; rejoicing by 
 Holder and Byram, whose canvases glared with noon- 
 day light or glowed with the sunset. From all the 
 little studios which, like Grey's, had been improvised 
 from the lofts and outbuildings in the rear of the 
 great old house where the painters lived together, 
 arose song or sigh. And this was because old Dun- 
 can, the leader of the band, had received a letter in 
 the previous evening's mail from the famous million- 
 aire who loved good pictures; and because the day 
 bridge-tender, coming uptown after his work, had 
 reported that the Gumevere, splendid among steam- 
 yachts, had anchored in the mouth of the river. 
 
 But when Dives asked to be shown to Grey's studio, 
 and was reverently conducted along the overgrown 
 garden paths to the door, the place was found locked 
 
 185
 
 186 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 and silent. The potentate showed real disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 " Of course I shall see his work in New York this 
 winter," he said. " But I'd set my heart on having 
 a real first choice up here in Kingsford. I suppose 
 there's no chance of catching him? Well, let's have 
 another look in at Byram." 
 
 No chance at all, O Dives! Your man slipped 
 away the moment the coast was clear, though he 
 knew with the rest of the millionaire's visit, and of 
 the Guinevere lying below the drawbridge. And 
 while his brothers-in-art were showing their beautiful 
 wares, and with them charming three cheques from 
 the deep pockets, Grey was patrolling the Ledges 
 north and south, with an eye for the end of every 
 rough path from the village, when it did not search 
 the shining edge of the world out yonder across the 
 water. He knew well enough that it was chiefly for 
 him and one of his canvases that Dives had stopped 
 on his way to Newport, yet he spent his morning a 
 mile from the studio. He was thirty-five years old, 
 but he drew a sigh of content deep as any mettled 
 boy when he spied Jean Wilder. 
 
 How he had come to be there, he could hardly 
 have told. Only a few weeks before he would have 
 been angry with anyone who so much as hinted in his 
 presence that between Dana Grey and his art would 
 come another interest. Simple and straightforward, 
 he would not even have understood how such a thing 
 could be possible. It never occurred to him that
 
 CONTAINS LIGHT AND DARKNESS is? 
 
 there was anything for him to think about but color 
 and form and self-expression. The iron of his art 
 and it branded deep had entered into his soul. To 
 Grey a man was interesting as having a picturesque 
 head, or as a possible buyer to be tolerated (however 
 bon b&urgeios), or as a fellow craftsman; a woman, 
 as beautiful, or commonplace, or grotesque. Morals 
 meant not doing anything mean or base, religion was 
 to paint at all times one's very best. Fifteen years 
 of rigid exclusion of all that the world means to those 
 who are not painters had done their work. 
 
 Perhaps it was for this very reason that the sudden 
 change had come. The starved soul cried out in pain. 
 The gorged intellect demanded new fare. Grey 
 thought that he had gone seeking Jean on the Ledges 
 that morning in the spirit of a runaway schoolboy; 
 just as on the occasion of their other meeting he had 
 turned from his loved work to spend the day with 
 her, first in a spirit of idle amusement. He did not 
 analyze. He always did as was his constant profes- 
 sion, what he liked. Really, however, he was im- 
 pelled to his truancy by the restless cry of his inmost 
 being ; but if he considered at all, which was unlikely, 
 he would have said that he ranged the Ledges that 
 day " just because he wanted to." The inconsistency 
 never struck him, or if so, would hardly have inter- 
 ested him. 
 
 The girl was ascending a steep pitch of hill, and 
 so had crossed Grey's path. She was above him and 
 to the left, following a tiny trail through a tangle
 
 188 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 of huckleberry bushes and outcroppings of sunny 
 warm rocks. 
 
 " Where shall we go? " she asked abruptly, as 
 Grey caught up with her. " For you can come with 
 me if you like." 
 
 " Where were you heading ? " 
 
 " To the Look-Out. Anywhere. I wanted to get 
 away." 
 
 She could not, any more than her companion, or 
 perhaps was afraid to, define her impulse. A tearful 
 night and waking, sick anger at her uncle's strange 
 words and acts, indignant wonder at the temerity of 
 the young reformer, and pity for him too with his 
 sickly face, had left Jean eager for a chance at the 
 open, quiet world with its air and sky. But half way 
 to the Ledges on this morning she stopped short, 
 awaking to the fact that her eager eyes were search- 
 ing every foot of the landscape for Dana Grey's 
 pongee umbrella. For a moment she checked herself. 
 Then Jean looked over her shoulder. If there had 
 been a soul in sight she would have returned to the 
 village instantly. But nobody was by save the cows 
 and the crows, and so, with a blush, she lowered her 
 head and ran on, half ashamed, half a-quiver with 
 delight. 
 
 " It's too beautiful a day to stay home," she added, 
 looking straight ahead, though she felt Grey's eyes 
 on her. 
 
 " Yes, indeed," the painter replied with an air of
 
 CONTAINS LIGHT AND DARKNESS 189 
 
 entire unconcern. " I never can endure a roof and 
 walls on a day like this." 
 
 " And the Ledges are about the only walk in 
 Kingsford." 
 
 " They are. The the roads are so dusty." 
 
 And with these statements, remarkable for their 
 untruth, the pair of them won the top of the hill and 
 came to the outcropping of granite, from which one 
 can see so many miles over the leafy country and shin- 
 ing sea. Neither of them perceived that it was Cap- 
 tain Bassett who dodged into a bit of thicket on their 
 approach. Here, for Jean appeared a bit fatigued in 
 spite of her protests, they camped on a bit of turf 
 to draw breath and look about them ; and when they 
 had settled, the old man crawled inch by inch to the 
 edge of the open, where he lay listening to their talk 
 with his hand to his ear. 
 
 Jean and her companion surveyed a fair world at 
 their feet; another, had they dared look into each 
 other's eyes, was open to them fairer still. Of this 
 latter they guessed only a little, and that little only 
 what they had seen alone. Grey would have denied, 
 and Jean would have scarcely acknowledged even to 
 herself its shadowed possibility. But stealthily Jean 
 measured the lithe, clean-limbed figure lying at ease 
 on the turf beside her, and hastily withdrew her eyes 
 when Grey raised his head to ask why she was so 
 silent. 
 
 " I was wondering," she said slowly, " who you 
 were. It's so queer to me to think of anybody in
 
 190 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 Kingsford whose life and family and history aren't 
 common knowledge. But the painters " 
 
 " Are nothing else. That's the beauty of it. So 
 long as I paint a good picture, that's all you or any- 
 body cares to know." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 He studied her. " You'd like to hear, Swift- 
 foot? " 
 
 MMffj 
 
 " Of course. If it's interesting," she contrived to 
 say. 
 
 He began in a vein of burlesque; but before he 
 knew it Grey was nearly eloquent. The secret strug- 
 gles of the old days he had buried almost from his 
 own knowldge. But today, with this girl to ask 
 questions, whose eyes responded to his every appeal, 
 the painter spared not a detail. 
 
 " I ran away, you know," he said, a little shame- 
 facedly. " And my father thought he had done so 
 well by me. He made me one of his bookkeepers. I 
 wish I could have seen him again." 
 
 "He died?" 
 
 " Almost immediately. He went bankrupt, you 
 know, and it killed him. Never indorse anybody's 
 paper, Jean? " 
 
 " Oh, no," she replied, not understanding. " And 
 then?" 
 
 " I was a reporter ; I painted stage scenery ; I did 
 lettering on signs; I induced my only rich friend to 
 let me design his book-plate. That gave me a start. 
 J worked in the school days, and tended bar nights.
 
 CONTAINS LIGHT AND DARKNESS 191 
 
 That's how this scar came on my forehead. The 
 night part wasn't very respectable, Jean." His voice 
 hardened as he went on. " Paris came next ; and 
 there was a hard time. I don't think I ever can for- 
 get that first winter. I nearly died of hunger." 
 
 " You, Painter? " 
 
 " Truly. Also other things happened." 
 
 She was hardly breathing now. 
 
 " Have you ever gone without a meal for a day ? 
 Of course not. Well, at the end of one February I 
 hadn't eaten a thing for more than two ; it was rain- 
 ing hard, and I slept on a pile of aprons that the 
 students left in one of the schools. The patron gave 
 me two francs for sweeping up each day, you know." 
 Grey laughed rather bitterly. " You want to hear 
 more? " 
 
 " I think it was very brave," she answered softly. 
 He would have gone on, if only to watch her profile. 
 Her head was turned to look over-sea; and he had 
 never caught her in repose before. 
 
 She had built up for herself a thousand heroes. 
 Now it was a prince in ermine and purple who came 
 to demand her hand; again her hero was a cowboy, 
 who stood off the Indians circling the buffalo-wallow 
 he and she lay in ; he appeared in Jean's rarer 
 moods carefully dressed in traveling clothes, and 
 laughed with her as the dainty bridesmaids and jolly 
 ushers threw the rice after their carriage. Once he 
 had been a silken diplomat who showed her the life 
 of courts and castles, brilliant officers, and nights
 
 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 when the Tsiganes set one's soul aflame with their 
 pulsing waltzes. But these were dream heroes. 
 Really, as Jean was discovering, he was a man whose 
 strong face was lined with sorrow and success, who 
 grew shy and silent when she sang for him the praise 
 of his lifework that all men sang. 
 
 " I'd give it all for another year of the fight, 
 Jean ! " he cried suddenly. " Ah, it was so fine ! 
 It's the fighting that keeps a man in trim. Out yon- 
 der in the world. See? Out beyond that schooner. 
 I wish I was aboard her." 
 
 " Some day you'll try it? " 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 As is the way, the two reverted quickly from their 
 talk of high things to those of their daily life. The 
 great emotions pain terribly when we cannot cry out 
 under them. Tears, the rough oath, the lyric, the 
 war-call, being forbidden to this man and girl, as to 
 all of us that have grown up in a polite world, they 
 came swiftly down from the heights where enthusiasm 
 and compassion and their fellows rage and rule 
 stormily. Grey's voice choked once or twice, and 
 Jean's eyes were eloquent. It was with relief that 
 they heard the dinner horns twang out from two or 
 three of the nearer farm houses. 
 
 " You must go? " asked Grey, as Jean stood up. 
 
 " Noon-time, sir. And my uncle will be waiting 
 for me. He's not at all well. He's had a great deal 
 to trouble him."
 
 CONTAINS LIGHT AND DARKNESS 193 
 
 " Do you know," asked Grey slowly, " how very 
 good you are to that old flint? " 
 
 She turned away. 
 
 " It's the truth," he cried. " That house is a tor- 
 ture for you every day. I wish " 
 
 She waited for him to finish, without looking at 
 him; but the quick clasping of her hands betrayed 
 her. 
 
 " Some day it will be over and past," the painter 
 went on in an undertone, as though he was talking 
 to himself. 
 
 " Some day ! " she echoed, with a tragic note in 
 her voice that came because she did not think what 
 she was saying. 
 
 " You're in some trouble, Jean ? " 
 
 " No. I must not tell about it anyhow," she cried, 
 breaking through her restraint. The vision came 
 back to her of a lank, black-coated figure, awkward 
 and yellow ; she felt again French's cold hand on her 
 wrist; she heard her uncle's gabbling persuasion. 
 
 " And I've no right to ask." 
 
 The girl made no answer. Grey never knew what 
 for a brief second her eloquent eyes begged of him. 
 
 " But O, Jean, I'd like to help if I could," he said. 
 
 " Thank you for that," she murmured, lowering 
 her head. Her loneliness mastered her. " I think 
 you're a very good friend Dana." She stretched 
 out her brown, boyish hand to him, gripped his hard, 
 and without another word stood up and made down 
 the hill.
 
 194 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " Jean ! " he called after her. 
 
 She went on a dozen steps before stopping. Then 
 she looked back. " Till tomorrow morning ! " Jean 
 cried, smiling up hardily. " In the Glade." 
 
 Ten minutes later Grey was making his way north- 
 ward along the top of the ridge, his thoughts whirl- 
 ing. This Jean who had betrayed a grief to him 
 Grey; who had exchanged with him the hand-clasp 
 of friends; who looked back even as she fled away 
 from him! This Jean, so fair and so mettlesome! 
 Suddenly he heard his name called. It was Captain 
 Bassett, who came up, wearing his broadest smile. 
 His knees and elbows were stained as though he had 
 been lying face down in the grass. 
 
 " Heart o' gold, as the poet says, I'm glad to see 
 you," he chuckled. Something seemed to have 
 pleased him immensely. " Come along with me. 
 What's doin' in the woods this mornin' ? " 
 
 " Just out for a walk," Grey replied. " What are 
 you doing? " 
 
 " Me? I've been en joy in' the ways of natur' and 
 the workin's of Providence," he laughed. " Humph ! 
 What about the money-king as is in town to see the 
 artists ? " he asked abruptly. 
 
 " He's got to call again, that's all." 
 
 " Shiftless but lovable ! Just like Leonidas J. Bas- 
 sett. Only not so old, and more virtuous. / know, 
 or at least I hope under present circumstances." 
 
 "You don't say so!" 
 
 The Captain laughed again, long and loud. " Just
 
 CONTAINS LIGHT AND DARKNESS 195 
 
 the same as me, boy. And I wish you success; may 
 you grow more like me and not less. Po'try again! 
 But I can't help it, and I won't. Say, that was a 
 nice call you and Jean Miss Wilder paid me. 
 It's a pity I fainted away. I enjoyed seein' the two 
 of you together." 
 
 " You were drunk as an owl and most disreputable, 
 good sir." 
 
 The Captain sighed. " I ain't never been well 
 since I was on the old Hartford. ' Damn the torpe- 
 does,' says Farragut, but let me tell you, them Rebels 
 fired awful hard and straight. I was pilot, you 
 know, and a dee easy mark." 
 
 " So I've heard." 
 
 " You have ? Well, I was some brave, I guess. 
 You'll find Pilot Bassett in all the history books." 
 
 The way was rough, up and down, across slippery 
 rocks when it did not lead through wiry bushes. 
 The sun beat down hot, and the mosquitoes followed 
 them in clouds. It was no time for hurry, but Grey 
 found that insensibly the pirate had quickened his 
 gait almost to a run. He panted on ahead, but never 
 let up for a second on his string of splendid lies. 
 Finally, fairly beat, Grey cried for mercy. 
 
 " Sorry," the Captain flung back over his shoul- 
 der, " but I don't want to be late. I've an appoint- 
 ment. My landlord," he said, turning and walking 
 backward a couple of steps, " is goin* to pay me a 
 visit." 
 
 " In that case I guess I won't go any further,"
 
 196 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 said Grey. " I can turn down to the village any- 
 where along here. We're past the swamp." 
 
 But the other insisted almost angrily on Grey's 
 company. His mood had quite altered. " It ain't 
 far now," he urged. " It ain't fifty rods. Say, I 
 want you to come, if it ain't for more than a minute." 
 
 The man spoke with a strange earnestness. Grey 
 could think of no earthly reason for this display of 
 feeling, but because he hated to disoblige anybody, 
 and was a bit curious too as to this meeting at the 
 old house, he suffered the pirate to persuade him. 
 
 " Thank the Lord!" the latter ejaculated, taking 
 off his hat. " Remember you'll see us together, me 
 and Andrew Warden." 
 
 " It won't be much to see." 
 
 " Prob'ly not," replied the Captain mildly. " But 
 there do be surprises in this world. I was surprised 
 not an hour ago, only that was a pleasant one." 
 
 They had reached a point in the wood-road now 
 from which they could see, through a thin screen of 
 trees, the little clearing with the lonely old house in 
 its centre. The Captain peered ahead like a scout. 
 
 " Look at him sittin' there on the steps ! " he ex- 
 claimed in a whisper, pointing. " That's him. And, 
 say, I guess you jest came up to get them paintin' 
 things you left here last week. Hey ? " 
 
 Quite confounded at all this parade of mystery, 
 Grey assented. 
 
 " Good again ! That'll make your bein' here more 
 kinder likely. And remember," the old fellow added,
 
 CONTAINS LIGHT AND DARKNESS 197 
 
 warningly and pleadingly together, " that you seen 
 Mr. Warden an' me together at twelve-thirty this 
 day." 
 
 He bellowed a hail to his visitor from the edge of 
 the woods; Grey saw the Squire stagger to his feet, 
 and feebly wave his hand. Even at so many yards 
 the face, clear in the hot sun, looked terribly white 
 and drawn. The man put a hand to his head as they 
 crossed to him over the springy turf. 
 
 " Sorry I was late," Captain Bassett began, with- 
 out any greeting. He appeared flustered and em- 
 barrassed. 
 
 "I that's all right," the other replied dully. 
 " I was glad to get a little rested. How are you, Mr. 
 Grey?" 
 
 The painter could not take his eyes from the old 
 man's face. Its granite lines seemed to have melted 
 away, as it were, into chalk and wax. He had aged 
 terribly, and in so short a time. 
 
 " I hope you are well, sir." 
 
 " Oh, yes." Still the dull tone and the eyes con- 
 tinually shifting back to the pirate at Grey's side. 
 " My head bothers me a little, that's all." 
 
 " Might's well set down," remarked the Captain, 
 nudging Grey. " Here in the shade, on the old bench. 
 So. It's hot walkin' this mornin'." 
 
 "I can't stay long," the Squire objected queru- 
 lously. " I've got so much to do." 
 
 " A busy man ! And virtuous. I wonder do you 
 admire this gen'l'man like I do, my boy." He gig-
 
 198 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 gled, turning to the painter. " It'd be in the fam'ly. 
 I guess you admire his ward all right." 
 
 " Like everybody else," Grey replied, though his 
 blood boiled. Still, it was not for him to forbid the 
 ribald old rascal, when Jean's guardian was by. 
 
 " I think it possible," faltered Mr. Warden ab- 
 ruptly, looking from one to another, " that I'm going 
 to lose Jean." 
 
 " How do you mean ? I saw her not an hour ago," 
 cried Grey in alarm. The pirate grinned silently. 
 
 " I expect that she's going to be married maybe," 
 said the old man ; and now his eyes seemed to beg for 
 some sign of approbation from the old vagabond sit- 
 ting on the bench beside him. " Married." 
 
 Captain Bassett sat up straight, and suspended 
 filling his pipe. " Who to? " he demanded, with a 
 brutal oath and a covert glance at Grey. " Who to, 
 in the name of God ? Not French ? " 
 
 " Don't curse and swear so, Cap'n. French is a 
 very worthy young man. And and I understood 
 he was a friend o' yours." 
 
 " French ! " exclaimed the painter. So this was 
 the trouble she had spoken of; this was why she had 
 scarcely been able to hide her tears from him. Jean 
 given to that lean baboon ! " It's impossible, Mr. 
 Warden ! " 
 
 "What is it to you?" 
 
 " It's a shame, sir," the answer came, like a rifle- 
 ball. " She couldn't do it." 
 
 "Think not? Well," said Mr. Warden, looking
 
 again appealingly to the pirate, " we'll have to see." 
 
 Captain Bassett, though his face was like a torch, 
 nodded sagely. " I suppose it's what they call fam- 
 ily reasons as made you choose that that French? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes," chattered the Squire, visibly re- 
 lieved. " You're very discerning. Yes, family rea- 
 sons. You know the young man, Captain, I think ? " 
 
 " He preaches to wake the dead. Likewise the 
 friend of labor. Same's me," was the non-committal 
 reply. Bassett seemed for once quite at a loss. 
 
 " I'm glad if you're pleased," Grey interrupted, 
 springing up. " But I'm very sorry for Jean, if she 
 accepts him. And she won't ! " 
 
 " So, boss, so ! " cooed the pirate. " You ain't got 
 very good manners, my boy. Guess you'd better get 
 them paintin' traps now. Guess there ain't much 
 you can do or say 'thout irritatin' my valued friend 
 here. Good day. Help yourself to a drink there in 
 the house." 
 
 The two old men sat in silence till Grey had 
 emerged from the house, marched across the clearing, 
 and so out of sight down the wood-road. The 
 pirate smoked unconcernedly; Mr. Warden stared 
 before him into the quiet, sunny forest. 
 
 " I don't suppose," the Captain said, speaking to 
 his pipe bowl as he twisted it about in his hand, *' that 
 you could possibly guess why I ahem ! requested 
 your presence, sir." 
 
 Mr. Warden writhed. " You've taken nearly 
 twenty thousand dollars. And they're wondering all
 
 200 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 over town why I sold the lots on the river. You've 
 got enough. God, but I wish you were dead ! " he 
 cried in a quick burst of passion. 
 
 " Dead? Well, I won't deny it'd be money in your 
 pocket, Virtue." 
 
 " You've had your share." 
 
 No reply. The Captain relighted his pipe and 
 leaned back comfortably. The two old figures grew 
 as immovable as the trees in the wood before them; 
 their silence became a part of the quiet sunny hour. 
 They seemed as placid as the clouds. 
 
 " You've had your share, I say," murmured Mr. 
 Warden at length. 
 
 " Think so? We're goin* to the bank in New 
 Liverpool this afternoon. It's that I wanted to see 
 you about." 
 
 " Never ! I'll let the whole thing out first." 
 
 "What's that?" Bassett laid aside his smooth 
 chuckling tone and his pipe together. 
 
 " Not today, anyhow," the old man replied, feebly 
 protesting. " Oh, please don't ! Please ! " 
 
 For the pirate caught Mr. Warden by the throat. 
 He bent him backward across the bench, and held him 
 there helpless, though he struggled like a wildcat. 
 
 " How about it? " he growled, releasing his hold. 
 " Like it ? That's what they say somebody else got, 
 right in this place. Now get up. Sit up, I tell 
 you!" 
 
 He dragged his victim to a sitting posture, disap- 
 peared with many curses into the house, and came
 
 CONTAINS LIGHT AND DARKNESS 201 
 
 back with a glass of brandy and water. Mr. Warden 
 reached out his hand for it, hesitated, shook his head. 
 
 "Think it's poison?" 
 
 The other nodded maliciously. 
 
 " It ain't, though. See here." And the pirate 
 drank half the glass. " Now finish it. You need 
 some courage. I wouldn't kill you for anything 
 yet. Only you've got to clo things my way. You 
 had your turn, your chance, and you missed it, Vir- 
 tue. And now I ain't a-goin' to let up till I see you 
 started in the straight 'n' narrow way for keeps. 
 I'm doin' you a favor, really, if you only knew it. 
 Y* see, Warden, you've been so cussed mean."
 
 XV 
 
 PRINCIPAL AND INTEREST 
 
 TWO hours later the broker in New Liverpool 
 was protesting vehemently when, after some 
 parley, Mr. Warden ordered him to sell cer- 
 tain securities that were hard to get and of gilt- 
 edged quality. He had time to wonder also at the 
 curious figure that accompanied his patron, an 
 elderly man with a smack of the sea about him, who 
 carried a square mahogany box bound with brass. 
 It was the Captain's way to leave strangers in doubt 
 as to whether they ought to fear or like him. 
 
 " Really want to sell ? " asked the broker again. 
 
 " Right away," the Squire insisted. "I have 
 another use for the money." 
 
 " Well, you know best, sir." The man of business 
 spun about in his office chair. " And I'll tell you 
 what I'll do. I'll buy one of the Gas Fours myself. 
 It's too good to lose, a chance like that, now I've a 
 little money loose in the bank." 
 
 " All right." 
 
 The seafaring man coughed loudly. 
 
 " Could you let me have part of the price down? 
 Right away?" asked Mr. Warden eagerly. 
 
 The broker laughed. " Surely."
 
 PRINCIPAL AND INTEREST 203 
 
 " I know it's a little queer we knowing each 
 other so well," he went on, all in a tremble. " But the 
 fact is well, I need five hundred dollars this after- 
 noon, and " He sat back, with the sweat thick on 
 his forehead. " I'd like a drink of water, please." 
 
 The stranger produced a flask. " Try this," he 
 said affably, and unscrewed the top as though his 
 friend's health was precious beyond price. 
 
 " Thanks.'* Mr. Warden gasped over the raw 
 liquor. " I'm not very well today. I oughtn't to've 
 come into town. But I couldn't help it very well," 
 he added. 
 
 " Better rest awhile," the broker counselled. " It's 
 the sun, probably," he added, nodding at the Captain. 
 
 " Oh, yes, the sun. I guess that must be the mat- 
 ter," that worthy replied amiably. "He'll be all 
 right in a minute."' 
 
 The next hour passed for Mr. Warden in a kind ; 
 of dream. He took the broker's cheque and signed 
 a receipt precisely enough; but of what happened 
 after that he never remembered any detail. He re- 
 ceived no definite impressions at all. He walked about 
 mechanically, his arm clutched tight by the Captain. 
 The brightness of the streets dazzled; the street cars 
 and the rattling carriages frightened and confused 
 him; his head sang with the whiskey; his whole frame 
 ached from the wrestle on the bench at the old house. 
 The bank teller started at him from behind bars that" 
 were yards away; the old man was half conscious of 
 some delay, of something like a quick conference be-
 
 204 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 tween the teller and the cashier, of a few words which 
 he exchanged on topics of the day with both officials, 
 and an " All right," which the cashier muttered to 
 his subordinate, before they cashed Mr. Burney's 
 cheque and the Squire's own for five hundred dollars 
 more. 
 
 "Feeling well today, Mr. Warden?" the cashier 
 had asked. 
 
 " Oh, yes," he had replied as briskly as heart could 
 desire. " I'll take it in hundreds, please. And 
 and how is Stella, Meredith? Remember me to her." 
 
 " Good work," Bassett whispered, when they were 
 out of the bank once more. " I was afraid they 
 wasn't goin' to give it to you. I ain't had so much 
 fun in a long while." 
 
 They came into a quiet street lined with houses 
 set well back among smooth lawns and trim shrub- 
 bery. There was not a soul in sight, for awnings hid 
 the broad piazzas, and the heat had driven from the 
 sidewalk everybody but themselves. They halted in 
 the shade of a maple tree, one of the row along the 
 curb, and the Captain held out his mahogany box. 
 
 " Don't take it." The Squire found his voice. 
 " I'll give it to the church. It'll help save our souls. 
 It's what I ought to do." 
 
 " Most train time, Virtue. Don't make so much 
 talk. Nobody's lookin'. It'll pay you to be good, 
 friend. Mind that." 
 
 With a sob, the old man drew one bill off the roll
 
 PRINCIPAL AND INTEREST 205 
 
 in his hand, and pushed it through the slit in the box. 
 
 " One ! Keep the good work goin', sinner." 
 
 Another followed, the Squire's fingers shaking so 
 that he could hardly fold the paper up. 
 
 " Two ! You're leavin' Satan further behind at 
 every jump, Squire. 'Nother burst o' speed like that, 
 and " 
 
 " Much good may it do you ! " 
 
 " Me ! " cried the Captain hoarsely. " It's for an- 
 other purpose, like I've told you all along. I ain't 
 fit to be what I am, but I can do the right thing 
 when the time comes, I guess. Now then, Squire ! " 
 
 The rest of the money was crowded into the box. 
 
 " You're a rascal," snarled Mr. Warden. 
 
 " Oh, no! " smiled Captain Bassett. " I'm jest an 
 Unworthy Instrument." 
 
 They were on the train. For many minutes there 
 had not a word passed between them. Mr. Warden 
 had time to think out the plan which had flashed with 
 wicked clearness into his mind as they climbed up the 
 steps of the rear car. He had noticed then that the 
 gate on one side was not in place; and now, as he 
 sat in the almost empty car (for by some chance only 
 a few were westbound that evening), a setting of 
 rear platform all dark and unguarded, the swaying 
 train, and the sharp rock ballast of the road-bed, 
 framed a scene that seemed not impossible to com- 
 pass, though the idea fairly frightened him. 
 ,; Nothing could be proved, his evil genius whisperecl.
 
 206 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 Who indeed would suspect him for a single instant ? 
 The only difficult point was to have the Captain put 
 down the box for a moment, and even this, as Mr. 
 Warden thought it over, seemed possible of accom- 
 plishment. His whole story how he left his ac- 
 quaintance alone on the back platform only to find 
 him missing when the train came to Kingsford; how 
 the Captain, drunk, as he would tell it, insisted on 
 taking the air, was worked out rapidly and carefully. 
 The world would be well rid of a rascal, he added, 
 fortifying himself. But the next second, he shrank 
 back in an agony of horror from his own plot, for it 
 meant murder and nothing else. 
 
 Broad Beach was passed, and Pequod. At Eas 
 Kingsford the last of the passengers alighted. 
 " Kingsford the next stop ! " yelled the brakeman 
 from the front door. 
 
 " I guess I'll stand out on the back platform," said 
 the Captain suddenly. " The car's too hot. Want to' 
 come ? " 
 
 Perhaps it was the utter simplicity of the request 
 which made it so shocking to the miserable, sick old 
 Squire. 
 
 "No, no," he gasped, looking away. "It it's 
 too dangerous." 
 
 " Come out, you old fool." The pirate jerked him 
 by the arm. " D'ye think I want to kill you? I 
 don't. You're too good to lose, even if you are a 
 lying old coward." 
 
 " All right." Mr. Warden shut his teeth together.
 
 PRINCIPAL AND INTEREST 207 
 
 All the vital force in him turned in that moment to 
 cold hatred, and the desire to kill with his bare hands 
 as he passed down the rocking, swaying car. At 
 every jolt he smiled happily; he was glad that the 
 engineer was making up time. It would simplify 
 matters perhaps. 
 
 The door shut behind them on its stiff spring. 
 Darkness had come down. The heat was made the 
 more stifling by the clouds of sandy dust and cutting 
 cinders which showered thickly on them. The heavy 
 roar of the train drowned all other sounds. The 
 place was an inferno of discomfort and danger. 
 
 " Fine air ! " yelled the pirate ; and Mr. Warden 
 grinned for answer, measuring chances. He had con- 
 trived to post himself on the secure side of the plat- 
 form, leaving his companion a narrow standing place 
 at the head of the unguarded steps. This was good ; 
 but better, in his view, was the fact that the Captain's 
 left arm was employed in holding tight the mahog- 
 any box, while with his right hand he was forced to 
 clutch the derby hat, stiff and a size too small, which 
 he had mounted in honor of the day. He could 
 steady himself only by bracing his feet wide apart 
 and leaning back hard against the car. 
 
 But suppose he himself should fall along with the 
 other! Suppose, worse still, he should make his at- 
 tempt only to fail! A wave of sick weakness mas- 
 tered him. 
 
 " I guess I'll go back," the plotter shouted shrilly. 
 
 " What's the use ? We'll be home in a minute.
 
 208 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 And I like this way of ridin'. You're a sandless old 
 woman. Look at me ! " The man smiled horribly at 
 the half -crouching figure and white face of his com- 
 panion. He kept his perilous place as though he 
 was standing at the steering-oar of a surf boat, his 
 knees supple, his ungainly shape giving to every jerk 
 and heave of the train. There was that in his pose 
 and confidence which set the Squire's blood boiling 
 again. This seemed the last touch. In every way 
 stronger and more ready ! The mocking laugh and 
 the taunt sealed the destiny of the Captain's next 
 few minutes these and the whistling of the engine 
 signaling its coming into Kingsford. 
 
 " I'm going inside," said the Squire, licking his 
 thin lips. 
 
 The pirate looked the other way ; the old man 
 crept a step nearer. At the next lurch of the light 
 train around a curve he would do it. He would sim- 
 ply have to kick the man's foot out from under him 
 and drive against him with all the weight and strength 
 he possessed. He could hear his own breath come 
 and go shrilly through his nose. Closer still, and 
 suddenly Bassett turned his head. " It'd be easy to 
 push me down them steps," he shouted, with a giggle 
 of sheer malice. " Why don't you try it, Andrew ? " 
 
 But with a hoarse, dreadful cry the Squire recoiled 
 and burst through the door back into the car. He 
 sat bowed together, nerveless and weak. It was no 
 consolation that he had not actually done the busi- 
 ness; he was as guilty in the sight of God as though
 
 PRINCIPAL AND INTEREST 209 
 
 the pirate was lying now, all broken and cut, on the 
 rock ballast, with his soul gone out of him. 
 
 He waited some minutes, not daring to look up, 
 hardly to listen, lest he should meet the accusing eye 
 and mocking grin of his companion. 
 
 " But he couldn't have known it ! " something cried 
 within him. " He wouldn't think it was in you." 
 
 Then the train rocked and lurched again. And 
 now Mr. Warden started from his seat with a wild 
 look of unreasoning hope on his haggard face, for 
 these certainly came sharply to his ears another cry 
 like that of a man in sudden mortal fear and the 
 clatter of something falling. He dashed down the 
 aisle and tore open the car-door, to find the rear plat- 
 form empty. 
 
 The usual little coolness, which crept in from the 
 sea after sundown, brought all Kingsford outdoors. 
 Usually, after mail-time (when everybody, high and 
 low, turned out for a long half hour), the street was 
 quite deserted; but tonight, the houses being too 
 much like ovens for endurance, little groups paraded 
 up and down, the girls laughing shrilly at the boys' 
 jokes, while the elders lined the broad porches, if 
 they belonged to the gentry, or sprawled on the steps 
 of the stores and the post-office, were they working 
 folk. 
 
 Jean, like her neighbors, deserted the house the 
 moment she had finished her solitary meal. Her un- 
 cle had not yet returned. With the day's terrible 
 heat, a good deal of Ihe passion in her heart had
 
 210 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 vanished. She had gone to the Ledges rebellious and 
 sick, eager for she knew not what; she had hurried 
 back with a new hope and a new fear, more tumultu- 
 ous than any emotion of her life. All through the 
 long hot afternoon she had dreamed, sometimes with 1 
 a smile on her lips, again with troubled eyes. But in 
 the evening, when the calm stars shone and the per- 
 fume of new cut hay freighted the breeze from the 
 sea, she felt a sense of relief that was a part of the 
 hour's sweetness. 
 
 A figure slouched up the walk, after closing the 
 gate with meticulous care. 
 
 " Good evenin'," he said, halting at the foot of 
 the broad steps. " Busy ? " 
 
 " Why, no." Jean was surprised enough to see 
 the man after what had passed between them, but 
 for the moment she was taken off her guard. "I 
 Pm glad to see you," she said, and was annoyed to 
 see the little start of pleasure French gave at the 
 way she spoke. 
 
 But in her present mood the fellow mainly amused 
 her, though on their other various meetings he had 
 either interested or angered her; and after five min- 
 utes Jean was rather enjoying herself, although it 
 must be confessed in a way hardly worthy of her. 
 In five minutes more, seeing the man's confusion under 
 her light artillery of careless chatter he who 
 had dreamed, as he said, that the two of them had 
 some great mission she thought she had found the 
 best way of turning away from her for ever the look
 
 PRINCIPAL AND INTEREST 211 
 
 of this clumsy, dreaming madman. She deliberately 
 lay back in her long chair and folded her hands be- 
 hind her head; and in the dim light French could 
 see that all the time he was stumbling along through 
 his speeches Jean was smiling at something she seem- 
 ed to see up among the burning stars. 
 
 His voice dwindled and stopped. He could not go 
 on. Until now he had never felt the magic that was 
 about her; but at this moment the entirely feminine, 
 . physical charm that was Jean's her perfume, her 
 .lazy, graceful pose, the warm light in her eyes, the 
 voice, the delicate dress lay hold of the man to 
 his confusion. He sighed restlessly. 
 
 " I never knew you to be like this." 
 
 " How like this ? " she asked innocently. And 
 before he could reply, " Do you like me like 
 this ? " she had the hardihood to inquire, with a little 
 laugh. She hated herself for doing it. 
 " " I can't say," he stammered, looking away. 
 
 " No? " The idle, teasing voice spurred him. 
 
 " You're all right to look at," he replied slowly. 
 Jean lay still, always with the tender, tricky smile. 
 " Only well, I thought you was kinder different, 
 somehow." 
 
 " Tell me something about your work," .she said, 
 indifferently. 
 
 The street was growing quiet again. From the 
 distant darkness, whence an occasional low grumble 
 told of welcome showers, came a steady, cool wind, 
 just enough to set the leaves rustling. They heard
 
 212 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 the whistle of the train from the east. Jean thought 
 of the morrow. It would be a whole day, she prom- 
 ised herself, alone with Grey. They would go far 
 afield, and he would tell her again through long 
 hours all about Paris or Venice. It would be rare 
 indeed, if the north wind held, lying out yonder 
 under the trees. 
 
 " I like to hear a man talk who has seen things 
 and done things," she said to French, at the close of 
 one of his stories. 
 
 He did not know that she was dismissing him, 
 comparing him with another for whom, she said, ex- 
 ulting in the thought, she would wait for on the 
 morrow. 
 
 Then, all <& a sudden, there entered from the 
 darkness Mr. Warden. 
 
 " Uncle ! " cried Jean. French scrambled to his 
 feet. " Where have you been all day ? " 
 
 " I had to go to town rather suddenly. How-do, 
 French? Some errand to Mrs. Marsden brought 
 you, I suppose. Just going? Good-night." 
 
 A great surprise held both of them. This was 
 the tone of the old Warden, not of the man who had, 
 for unknown reasons, submitted to the strikers and 
 listened to the demand of their champion. The two 
 young people, for different reasons, simply stared; 
 and the silent pause seemed to irritate the newcomer. 
 Full of his own thoughts, the Squire could hardly 
 appreciate the effect of his sudden entry.
 
 PRINCIPAL AND INTEREST 213 
 
 " Good-night, sir," returned the reformer. 
 "Jean, I" 
 
 " Miss Wilder won't keep you, I'm sure. My 
 dear, will you get me a chair? I'm pretty tired to 
 stand any longer." 
 
 " I hope I'll see you again soon," she said to 
 French, carelessly enough. 
 
 " I guess you know what that means to me," he 
 whispered back. 
 
 She withdrew her hand instantly. " Good-night," 
 she said briefly, 
 
 " Oh, that absurd man ! " 
 
 "So he came around again, eh?" ejaculated Mr. 
 Warden. 
 
 " He was properly encouraged," Jean replied, half 
 resentfully. " / don't blame the poor thing." 
 
 "Nor I." The old man laughed. "But seri- 
 ously, you know, he can't really expect that you 
 would marry him." 
 
 "Not even with your permission?" 
 
 He tapped her arm. " All moonshine, my dear, 
 all nonsense." 
 
 She leaned forward to study his face, when to her 
 huge surprise her uncle caught her by the wrists and 
 drew her down to kiss her. 
 
 " There ! If I had to be polite to French and his 
 crowd for a while, it's all over now, I guess. I think 
 so. It was business, Jean, just a bit of manage- 
 ment, you know. I'm sorry I had to drag you in."
 
 214. THE UPPER HAND 
 
 He spoke very rapidly and nervously, peering be- 
 tween each sentence into the darkness. 
 
 " I suppose that was why you went to town to- 
 day," she said. 
 
 He sighed and shook his head. " An expensive 
 trip, Jean. But " (he did not address her now), 
 " the money's well spent. And it may possibly be 
 recovered. Jean," he cried aloud, " I'm my own 
 master now. I think maybe I'm my own master." 
 
 " I'm still in the dark, Uncle." 
 
 " Never mind that. Take my word for it. Kiss 
 me good-night, my dear. Some day perhaps I 
 good-night, Jean," he said. 
 
 Half afraid, wholly uncomprehending the old 
 man's words and behavior, for indeed he was not him- 
 self, Jean did as he asked with a mere brush of 
 tight lips across his forehead. Then she escaped 
 upstairs to her room at the extreme rear of the 
 rambling ell. 
 
 Alone here, the doings of the evening slid out of 
 her concern very easily. In the street or below- 
 stairs she could think herself a part of the village 
 life; in her own room she became the heroine of 
 dreams, a part of some distant life over-sea. Partly" 
 undressed, Jean opened her window and leaned out, 
 raising her face to the cool, gentle wind. The night 
 was very peaceful and beautiful, full of stars. The 
 land swept off mysteriously, yet felt to be alive: 
 easily fancied as some great quiet creature lying out 
 there under the wheeling planets. And beyond the
 
 PRINCIPAL AND INTEREST 215 
 
 level rose the solemn, massive Ledges huge, shoul- 
 dering, bulky things, which hemmed in Kingsford 
 Valley, yet were the gates of the fair eastward world. 
 
 " I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills," Jean in- 
 toned in a whisper, earnest as at prayer, " from 
 whence cometh my help." 
 
 It was saying over her creed, her formula of hope. 
 She gave her fancy rein when she dared be the real 
 Jean, and dreamed of the happiness hidden for her 
 somewhere among the rocks and the ancient trees. 
 She looked to the Ledges again, but with a smile this 
 time and a heightened color, for Jean thought now 
 of Grey, the man whom God, she whispered, had sent 
 from nowhere thus suddenly into her lonely, prisoned 
 life, and the happiness of the next day. She 
 thought that perhaps a part of her dreaming was 
 about to come true. 
 
 She had been asleep some time, when a hurried 
 knocking at her door, and Mrs. Marsden's twittering 
 accents, brought her out of bed in a second. 
 
 " Such a night, my dear young lady! That hor- 
 rid old Captain with his sprained arm! Oh, and the 
 awful cut on his head ! And the Squire gone crazy," 
 Mrs. Marsden sobbed out. " And me as had to get 
 the doctor myself, and not decently clad." 
 
 She slipped on a loose wrapper and slippers in no 
 time, frightened but trying to keep cool. She asked 
 no questions, nor was there need, for poor Mrs.' 
 Marsden was pouring forth a steady stream of 
 broken narrative : How she heard loud voices in the
 
 216 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 front room, and then a groan; how she went in, to 
 find the Squire staring such an awful look ! at 
 that old wretch of a Bassett lying back and bleeding 
 all over everything, with his clothes torn; how the 
 Squire stammered something; how she called Dr. 
 Harper. 
 
 " Jean ! " called a voice down the hall. It was the 
 doctor himself. " Come at once ! " 
 
 She hurried, and, seeing that the two front rooms 
 were open and a light in each, turned to the right. 
 
 " Here," snapped the doctor from the other. 
 " Your uncle's here. Go in to him, Mrs. Marsden. 
 Jean," he added, coming out into the hall, " I want 
 to see you a minute." 
 
 " O tell me," she begged, for Mr. Warden's voice 
 was dreadful to hear. Dr. Harper shut the door; 
 looked into the other room and shut that door also. 
 
 " Why should Mr. Warden be scared at seeing this 
 old Bassett?" Jean stared at him. "It's a fact, 
 however." 
 
 " Mrs. Marsden said he was all bloody that 
 he was hurt," she whispered, half questioning. 
 
 " He was. And not pretty. I admit that may 
 have surprised and shocked." But the good man's 
 brow remained puckered. 
 
 "Tell me more." 
 
 " It appears that the old fellow tumbled off a train 
 coming from town, and when he got here was too 
 weak to go further. The Lord knows how he man-
 
 PRINCIPAL AND INTEREST 217 
 
 aged it even that far. There was a scene of some 
 sort." 
 
 " Where is he now ? " 
 
 " In there. And his mahogany box too. He 
 wouldn't let it go for a second. I've fixed him all 
 right. He'll sleep." 
 
 " Anything you want ! " came shrilly from the 
 Squire's room. " Have pity on me." 
 
 " Ahem ! " said the doctor, turning quickly. " I'll 
 fix him too." He took Jean by the chin and turned 
 her face up, looking deep into her eyes. " My dear, 
 I think you may hear something that we may have to 
 promise to forget. And I think you wish your uncle 
 well?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," she whispered, frightened now. 
 
 " Come in then," he ordered, pushing open the 
 door; and Jean entered at his heels. 
 
 This was the spare room, and Jean could but no- 
 tice how strangely the sudden intrusion had affected 
 the place. Only half herself, she almost laughed at 
 the scene. Around the walls the few pictures were 
 swathed in cheese cloth, the chairs were hidden un- 
 der their holland slips, the air still was heavy from 
 the room's long disuse, and strong from the camphor 
 which emanated from the press, hastily thrown open, 
 where blankets and woolens were stowed for the sum- 
 mer. Yet all about sprawled her uncle's clothes; a 
 lamp glowed hot and bright on the table, and across 
 the room Mrs. Marsden was panting and praying in 
 an effort to keep her employer beneath the covers of
 
 218 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 the bed. The shadowy corners were dead and cold, 
 while the centre of the room shocked with its dis- 
 order and evidence of struggle. 
 
 " Jean ! " called a cracked, shrill voice. " You 
 here? " 
 
 She went to the bedside, forcing back her repug- 
 nance. " I thought you might want me." 
 
 " Good girl, good girl ! I did. I O Jean, it 
 all depends on you. He didn't say so. He only 
 laughed. But I know it, I feel it. It all depends 
 on you, d'ye hear? " he croaked, grabbing her arm 
 savagely. 
 
 " Ahem ! " from the medical man. " I wish to 
 look at my other patient. Mrs. Marsden, will you 
 help me ? " 
 
 The woman glanced from one to the other. " I 
 must stay by the master. There's a dear, good 
 soul," she went on swiftly. " Just you lay down, 
 and" 
 
 " Mrs. Marsden ! " Jean's voice was peremptory 
 under its sweetness. 
 
 " I ain't a-goin' to stir." And indeed she had no 
 such intention, vaguely perceiving that great things 
 were coming to pass. 
 
 " Leave this room at once ! " Jean blazed up in a 
 flash. 
 
 " Not till " 
 
 " You get out of here. I want Jean, not you." 
 The old man pushed the woman away, and scared 
 her to tears by a volley of curses. He watched her
 
 PRINCIPAL AND INTEREST 
 
 shuffle away, watched Dr. Harper out of the room. 
 The latter, taking advantage of the Squire's storm- 
 ing, repeated his caution to Jean. 
 
 " I promise," she said, heedlessly. 
 
 " Anything he asks. He must be got quiet. Re- 
 member." 
 
 Mr. Warden sank back on his pillow, still holding 
 Jean's hand. His eyes burned in his head. 
 
 " Where is He? " asked the old man. 
 
 " Asleep," she answered. " Never mind him, Un- 
 cle. You were sweetly kind to shelter him in his 
 pain and weakness. It was brave. I am so glad 
 you took pity on the poor old Captain." 
 
 He had a fresh access of swearing and crying, 
 which shocked her. 
 
 " All the more to your credit if you dislike him," 
 she tried to say. 
 
 " In my own house ! " he quavered. " Don't let 
 him come near me. Hide me, Jean. Think I'm safe 
 here?" 
 
 The fit of terror passed like his impotent rage, 
 leaving him limp. It was some time before he rallied. 
 
 " Never mind," he whispered, drawing her back. 
 " I'm kind of nervous tonight. I it's about 
 something else I wanted to speak before you went to 
 bed. I'm glad you were so nice to young French 
 just now. He's a fine fellow, girl. Handsome too, 
 eh? Bound to get on. I'll help. He's just the 
 man for Kingsford church. What's the matter?"
 
 220 
 
 Jean had recoiled on a quick impulse she could not 
 possibly control. He sat up in bed. 
 
 " Nothing, Uncle, nothing," she murmured. Must 
 she bind herself? Could she dare refuse this sick old 
 man? Was it fair? Would French dare ask her 
 again ? 
 
 " Jean," he quavered, " you'll not disappoint me? 
 Jean, it's a good match." His voice strengthened. 
 " Who are you to pick and choose ? It's time you 
 were married. Here I've kept you all these years " 
 
 " You're unjust, Uncle," she cried, in spite of her- 
 self. 
 
 " I didn't mean it ! " he shrieked, scrambling from 
 the bed. He kneeled to her, grovelling there in his 
 poor, lean undress, the tears blinding him. He 
 caught the edge of her wrapper. " Promise ! Jean, 
 please say you will marry French. Jean, for God's 
 sake ! " 
 
 She hid her face from the sight, but could not 
 shut away his babbling, pitiful madman's prayers. 
 The doctor came in again. In a quick second she 
 saw the pleading in his eyes, she caught his gesture 
 of command. And the poor old creature holding her 
 skirt chattered on. 
 
 " Yes ! " cried Jean, in a passion of tears. " Help 
 me, Dr. Harper ! "
 
 XVI 
 
 THE TEST 
 
 THE slow night wore away to a dawn of rose and 
 pearl-clear sky and low hanging mist. For 
 tedious hours after the doctor had gone, 
 Jean sat alone in the living-room between trips to 
 the foot of the stairway to hear any stir from above. 
 She was sick with fatigue and the press of fears 
 which her rash promise, so harshly extorted, laid on 
 her. At length she must have dozed, for suddenly 
 she was aware that the lamp was sputtering low, 
 and that the air Was choking with the fumes of dead 
 oil. She extinguished the struggling flame, and in 
 despair was planning how to refill the lamp, when all 
 at once she perceived that the square of each window 
 showed pale. There was light outside, faint but 
 clear; and then Jean heard the birds. 
 
 Hot and aching, she flung open the wide front 
 door; she stretched and shivered delightedly at the 
 touch of the morning's coolness. For a moment she 
 stood still, wondering at the western sky all violet 
 and deep, warm gray, wherein a delicate moon still 
 shone & little. There was nobody around to see her 
 disarray, so Jean stepped past the corner of the 
 house for the look eastward. 
 
 281
 
 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 A mystery different from that of the night 
 shrouded the land. Under the darkness, even the 
 familiar meadow and upland took on a character 
 which awed her a little, even while it lured; the land 
 at night had the beauty of dark women. But in the 
 fresh cool of this sunrise hour, gemmed with dew, 
 lazy under its thin garment of clinging mist, it 
 smiled back at Jean with the charm of her own 
 youth. 
 
 It was a little pagan prayer she repeated at that 
 hour. A thrill of companionship made her heart 
 bugle back an answer to the calling of the wood- 
 gods. For many minutes she stood there facing the 
 dawn; and the hot, tired thoughts of the night died 
 away. 
 
 But at a stage-whispered, raucous call from Mrs. 
 Marsden, the spell which the young day had cast 
 upon her vanished like the mist in the borders of the 
 forest. 
 
 " Good-bye," Jean murmured. She actually 
 waited a moment for a reply. But none coming, she 
 obeyed the housekeeper's querulous summons. 
 
 " Your uncle wants you," the woman said. 
 " Hear him ? " They were standing in the hall now, 
 at the foot of the stairs. 
 
 " Jean ! " It sounded weak as the cry of a sick 
 child. " Jean ! " the voice whined pleadingly. 
 
 That note of feeble helplessness roused her from 
 dreaming quicker than anything and she sped up- 
 stairs instantly. Her uncle's room heavy with dark-
 
 THE TEST 
 
 ness and close air. Without speaking, she started 
 to open the windows and blinds the moment she 
 crossed the threshold; but another whine from the 
 sick man forbade her. 
 
 " No light. I'm not ready for the light yet." 
 
 " You called me ? " asked Jean. " Have you been 
 asleep? " 
 
 " Sleep ! " he echoed sombrely and scornfully. 
 " Sleep ! " 
 
 " You'll feel better for some air." she persisted 
 gently. " It's a beautiful morning. So cool ! " 
 
 " Well, then." He beckoned her silently and 
 secretly to his bedside as soon as the blinds were 
 open. " Is that man here? Close the door." But 
 she had hardly obeyed, when he changed his mind. 
 " I I think it had better be open. I want to 
 to see things. Captain Bassett ? " 
 
 " Hush, hush, Uncle dear." 
 
 But he sat up in bed, wide-eyed with something 
 akin to terror. " Why so? What's wrong? " 
 
 She made haste to soothe him as well as she could ; 
 and after a little the old man dropped back on his 
 pillows. The pity for him, which the first word he 
 spoke started up in her heart, now completely mas- 
 tered her, when she saw the state into which the 
 mysterious shock of the night before had brought 
 him, coming as it did on the heels of other matters 
 which had affected him powerfully. She said noth- 
 ing, for indeed she could hardly trust her voice; but 
 busied herself with freshening the room, with spong-
 
 224 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 ing lightly the Squire's thin hands and iace. When 
 his eyes were shut he looked like a dead man. 
 
 " Thank you, my dear," he whispered. " God 
 bless you, Jean." 
 
 " Uncle ! " she cried, and sank to her knees by his 
 bedside. " I am so sorry." 
 
 He smoothed her bright hair tremulously, and she 
 remained motionless under his feeble caress, crying 
 softly. She was conscious, through the confusion of 
 thought which raced through her mind, that the old 
 man was murmuring some little endearments, such as 
 she never before had heard come from him. But 
 suddenly they were arrested, and the hand was with- 
 drawn from her head. For a second or two Jean 
 waited, then raised herself, and saw that her uncle 
 was staring across the rooom at something behind 
 her. A fear-struck smile distorted his face. 
 
 " There's no need to disturb yourselves," came 
 hoarsely from the doorway. It was Captain Bas- 
 sett who stood there, a dreadful apparition with his 
 bandadged head and unshaven face. His torn 
 clothes were huddled about him somehow, his arm 
 was in a sling. " I've been admirin' of you." 
 
 Jean sprang up. She felt vaguely that she must 
 protect her uncle from this man, and stood between 
 them. But he bade her stand aside. " I hope 
 you're feeling better," he managed to say at last, 
 the dreadful grin still on his thin lips. 
 
 " I looked in to tell you so," the pirate replied. 
 " I guessed you'd be glad to hear it."
 
 THE TEST 225 
 
 " Of course. Anything that I can do, I 
 Jean?" 
 
 " Yes, Uncle? " Her arm was round him in a 
 second; and Bassett laughed. 
 
 " Be sure that that this gentleman has every- 
 thing done for him." For a brief moment Mr. 
 Warden's old manner came back. " I'm sorry 
 I can't give you my personal attention." 
 
 " Well," said Bassett slowly, as he fingered his 
 bandages, " any little favors'll be gratefully re- 
 ceived." 
 
 When he was gone, and his heavy tread was heard 
 recrossing the hall immediately, Jean once more dis- 
 posed of her uncle comfortably, and sought to quiet 
 him by praise of his kindness to the battered old 
 buccaneer. " And I'll help all I can," she went on 
 brightly, though her heart was not in her speech. 
 " Poor old thing ! I don't wonder it gave you a 
 shock to come upon him so dreadfully hurt." 
 
 "You'll help me?" 
 
 " Of course I will. I'd be ashamed enough not to. 
 It's the merest charity to do what we can for the old 
 man." 
 
 " Everything? " he persisted. 
 
 " Everything," she repeated gaily. 
 
 " Then I shall worry no more," said Mr. War- 
 den, and lay down with a sigh, closing his anxious, 
 old eyes. 
 
 The doctor came and went again, leaving orders 
 that the two old men should return to their beds.
 
 226 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 Mr. Warden was to take the " sleepy powders " a 
 little later, and to remain absolutely quiet. 
 
 " What shall 7 do? " Jean asked of him. 
 
 " For the patients? Oh, Mrs. Marsden can attend 
 to them. You'd best go out into the air, child. 
 Get somebody, and take a good walk." She made no 
 answer, but looked away with that vague, strained 
 attention which betokens embarrassment. " Go out 
 on the Ledges," the doctor was advising. " I wish," 
 he laughed, " I was young enough and idle enough 
 to go with you." 
 
 " I can't go there," she said half aloud. " To- 
 day." Had the painter waited for her? she won- 
 dered. 
 
 " No place so good. Rest awhile under those big 
 trees, and see if you don't feel made new all over. 
 I shall wait," declared Dr. Harper good-humor edly, 
 " till I see you started, alone or in company." 
 
 " I couldn't go to the Ledges," Jean answered, 
 meeting his eyes now with a look which he could not 
 fathom, " till I'd finished writing a note." 
 
 " You oughtn't to waste an hour of this beautiful 
 day, child." 
 
 Her smile was tragic. " A wasted hour ! " she ex- 
 claimed. " No," Jean added slowly, " I don't thinE 
 it's wasted. It's " 
 
 " Well? " 
 
 " It's the keeping of a promise," she replied. And 
 she walked away with her head low. 
 
 The queer little letter was written, but only after
 
 THE TEST 227 
 
 long hours, during which Jean told herself that she 
 was arranging her whole life. Once or twice the 
 tears blinded her as Jean drove her pen along; but 
 each time she checked them gamely, believing that 
 she was doing her duty. 
 
 " Mr. French," the note ran. Any other address 
 was impossible for her, though she tried three or 
 four. " / am sorry that our very pleasant evening 
 together was ended so suddenly. I write in the hope 
 that you will come again soon and receive from me 
 personally my excuses; for I am unwilling that our 
 new acquaintance should suffer any needless trial." 
 
 A breath of air scented with woodland crept into 
 her hot, shadowy room. Jean looked up, and drank 
 in the perfumed coolness thirstily. This for only 
 a moment. Then she bent again over her desk and 
 put her note in its envelope, just as the twilight fell. 
 
 A knock at the door startled her. It was Mrs. 
 Marsden. " Mr. Grey," she announced acidly, for 
 she did not approve of artists in general. 
 
 " I want to be excused," she replied after a pause, 
 and the answer hurt. 
 
 " Yes'm." 
 
 " No ! " cried Jean, and all her resolution fled 
 from her. " Ask Mr. Grey to wait." 
 
 For Dana Grey also the night of Jean's vigil had 
 been sleepless. He was on fire with the thoughts 
 which he had carried away from the morning's ad- 
 ventures on the Ledges. He recalled her every 
 graceful pose as she rested beside him in the shade.
 
 228 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 the way her eyes spoke in ready sympathy and ap- 
 plause when he told her the story of his lean years. 
 She had sighed with him, he could swear, when he 
 had cried aloud for another ride along the out-trail. 
 And when he guessed that sorrow and the restraint of 
 some secret bond fettered her young life, which 
 should be so free, Jean Jean who carried her head 
 so high had confessed it to him, even while she 
 was fighting not to say a word. She had left him 
 with a promise of another meeting, covert like his 
 morning's, lover-like, he dared believe. Then, with 
 no space between, followed the remembrance of her 
 uncle, cringing to Captain Bassett's least word, his 
 curious announcement that Jean was to marry Se- 
 bastian French, the Captain's queer dismay at the 
 news, Grey's own outbreak, his mortified retreat. 
 
 He breakfasted alone and hurriedly, so as to avoid 
 the careless chatter of his mates. They would not 
 understand his mood, nor could he explain it; and 
 Grey knew how easily an outbreak of temper would 
 blaze up from him, how he might say or do what 
 later he would bitterly repent, if anything occurred 
 which should cross him. He was keyed up too tight 
 for company ; he needed to be alone with his thoughts. 
 
 Reaction came when he returned from a two hours' 
 wait in and about the Glade for Jean. The kaleido- 
 scope changed its pattern and its colors. The world, 
 and Grey's place in it, seemed different from what 
 it had been earlier, since it was apparent that Jean 
 had merely amused herself with him for a day.
 
 229 
 
 After all, the painter declared to his hot heart, a 
 man's work, the following of his vocation, the reso- 
 lute refusal to allow a moment's interruption or dis- 
 traction, this is the world's best, this the man's 
 duty and happiness. He had bothered himself with 
 the affairs of the Kingsford squires and the life of 
 pretty Jean, with what result? Nothing, he swore, 
 except a set of shaky nerves and a pair of tired 
 eyes, and savagely lopped off the daisy heads with 
 his cane. She had not even thought of keeping her 
 appointment. At any rate, Grey was a fool to have 
 believed for a moment that he might win her regard ; 
 he was a bigger fool even to have wasted his time 
 thinking of the child at all. For him now, the lover 
 of his art, the joy of creating beauty and the pains 
 of setting it forth. And he burst into his studio as 
 into a city of refuge, bolting out the world on the 
 other side of the door. 
 
 The storm which swept through him left him 
 nerveless, though full of feverish, futile activity. 
 At first, in the strength of his renewed purpose, he 
 drove at some work, recklessly scraping out a part of 
 a big canvas, which at that moment appeared mere 
 paint instead of thin mist. The studio was baking 
 hot. He tore off his collar and shirt, then stripped 
 his great body to the waist. He smoked till his pipe 
 sputtered foully and his throat was dry. 
 
 " It must come right ! " he groaned aloud, study- 
 ing his work. " But that's not it." 
 
 The dinner bell rang; he heard Byram's voice as
 
 230 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 he passed through the garden to the house, and 
 cursed both sounds as distracting. Again and again, 
 with infinite care, calling to mind every trick of 
 mingling color or of brush-work, Grey laid in touches 
 here and there on the irresponsive canvas, baffled and 
 not understanding when after all his pains the water 
 in the picture remained opaque and the mist became 
 cottonwool. But his mood held. The man asserted 
 over and over that even in this failure was pleasure, 
 that he tired his brain and body just as another 
 might tire them in the hunting field; now and then 
 as he worked, he tasted the higher delight which the 
 scientist feels when he watches the action of his chem- 
 icals in a new experiment. But the light faded ; and 
 Byram came pounding on the door. He was faith- 
 ful to what he knew was duty. 
 
 " You can come in," said Grey, shooting back the 
 bolt. His voice sounded strained. 
 
 Byram puckered his lips as if to whistle, as a 
 first glance showed his friend's weary eyes and 
 flushed, haggard face. But he said nothing, only 
 stepped across the studio to get a look at the pic- 
 ture. Grey was scrubbing his palette clean. 
 
 "Well?" he growled after a moment. 
 
 " You've been working on the sky," Byram ob- 
 served. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " It's coming along, I think," said the other cau- 
 tiously. 
 
 " It's doing nothing of the sort," Grey retorted.
 
 THE TEST 231 
 
 " Thank you just as much, son. It's a day of 
 utter failure all round." 
 
 " / don't see it." 
 
 " No? Well, perhaps you hardly could under- 
 stand." The big fellow drew on his clothes again, 
 and flung himself face down on the old sofa, Byram 
 looking on quite without surprise. He knew hfs 
 friends dark hours. " Suppose," Grey went on, al- 
 most inaudibly, " that I'd painted today a great 
 picture." 
 
 " It would have been like you." 
 
 " I mean : what would have been gained ? Eh ? " 
 This was new.. Byram had no idea how to meet it, 
 so ventured no reply, since all that came into his 
 mind seemed either silly or indiscreet. " A thousand 
 dollars maybe, and some more reputation," Grey went 
 on. 
 
 "Isn't that enough?" 
 
 " Is it? I wonder sometimes." 
 
 " It'd please most men." 
 
 " So our art's all selfishness then ! n Here the man 
 sat up, and a moment later was pacing up and down 
 the narrow room. " Today I make a botch of it, 
 and that's good discipline," he continued, in a hard, 
 jangling tone. " Tomorrow I do well, sign the pic- 
 ture, ship it away, sell it, or get a medal. And 
 again 7 get the good I alone. My vanity gets a 
 puff, eh? Selfish pleasure or pain, Byram. That's 
 not all that there is to life."
 
 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " No, indeed." The other confessed his feeble- 
 ness. 
 
 " I'd like to be doing something that would help 
 somebody, do some good or other. I don't mean 
 giving money. Real help, JQU know. Oh, my God, 
 Byram, but I am so lonely in this art of ours ! " The 
 big fellow's outburst left the little room vibrant with 
 passion. It was because Grey was usually so quiet 
 and calm that Byram felt his words strike like shot. 
 " So selfish and alone ! " 
 
 " But the work itself is a joy," he said, taking a 
 sentence from Grey's creed. 
 
 " Is it the greatest? " 
 
 Byram looked out the window. Some pictures out 
 of his own life were here, invisible to all but him, and 
 the sight of them set his face in lines nearly as hard 
 as his friends. 
 
 " Call it the greatest solace then," he replied. 
 
 " That may be true. But that means you've tried 
 some other piece of life and felt it crumble. Show 
 me where life is, boy." 
 
 A curtain was snatched away from before Byram's 
 eyes, and what in fancy he saw beyond it seemed to 
 have the answer to Grey's entreaty. " You've found 
 the road," he heard himself murmur. Stories of 
 Grey's mornings in the forest when he fancied him- 
 self alone the ready gossip of the village were 
 remembered ; and Byram took a great chance. " It's 
 to be found along the road to and from the Ledges," 
 he said, and retreated.
 
 THE TEST 233 
 
 " Come back ! " ordered Grey. But Byram had 
 fled, and the artist was left to meditate in the gather- 
 ing shadows. For an hour he lay there on the sofa, 
 almost motionless, but at length raised himself. Out- 
 doors he looked up to the sky, which at that twilight 
 hour seems so vastly remote, and almost unconscious- 
 ly folded his hands. And praying there, with his 
 fine strong face upturned, the man spoke of a hope 
 and a promise which were to change for him the 
 whole world, if only they could be realized. 
 
 The white-faced woman who answered his ring at 
 the Warden's later in the day, said that she would 
 call Miss Jean; and would he step inside? The 
 house was quite dark, and had about it some vague 
 odor of drugs, while outdoors the black night and 
 the summer warmth caressed one. No, he would wait 
 on the piazza, Grey replied. 
 
 It was long before she appeared. As he took the 
 hand she extended him out of the darkness, and 
 this in a queer silence, he perceived that Jean wore 
 still a morning dress, which vaguely surprised him, 
 accustomed to think of her as changing her colors 
 like the day's different hours. 
 
 " I came to quarrel," Grey announced. 
 
 "With me?" 
 
 " With the young lady who failed to keep her ap- 
 pointment for a runaway along the Ledges this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 " An appointment ? With you ? " asked Jean 
 a bit faintly, and after a pause. " Oh, no," she
 
 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 protested; but he could have sworn to the tremble in 
 her voice. 
 
 " Then I was quite wrong," he made haste to say. 
 " Please excuse me for the mistake. I have no quar- 
 rel at all." 
 
 " You waited? " Jean faltered. Such a queer 
 little hopefulness ran through her question. 
 
 " I was sketching anyway," Grey answered, his 
 evil genius prompting him when he only tried to re- 
 assure her. " It didn't make any difference." 
 
 " I couldn't have come," said Jean, " in any case." 
 And then she told him the tale of the accident, of 
 her uncle's nervous seizure, of her playing nurse. 
 
 Grey listened with a curious intentness, for the 
 story seemed in some remote way the sequel to a 
 scene he had witnessed the noon before. To hear of 
 the two old men under the same roof, both ill and 
 spent, seemed strange, and interesting too, after the 
 picture of them on the bench in the hot sun, when 
 fear rode Mr. Warden, and a queer elation inspired 
 the buccaneer. 
 
 " I shall be glad when the old Captain's out of the 
 house," Jean was saying. 
 
 " It's strange that he should have come into it." 
 
 " My uncle could not let him die on the street, Mr. 
 Grey. It was mere charity." 
 
 " Of course. And I honor him for it." But Grey 
 was thinking now of the first time that the two men 
 had met, on the day of Mr. Warden's manifesto. 
 " Charity's rarer than we think."
 
 235 
 
 " Captain Bassett ," Jean began again after a si- 
 lence ; but the artist interrupted her. 
 
 " Who is he anyway ? " 
 
 She laid her hand quickly on his arm. " Hush, 
 hush ! " she whispered. But he twitched loose from 
 the light restraint. 
 
 " Tell me," he almost ordered. " Why do your 
 uncle and he meet in the woods ? " 
 
 " O Dana ! " Her strength seemed to flow from 
 her. 
 
 " I saw them. Yesterday. Why does your uncle 
 tell him things? Why should your name ?" 
 
 " My name? " she repeated on a quick intake of 
 her breath, " mine? " 
 
 He could hold back no longer. All the rage of 
 the day before swept over him at the memory of the 
 men's talk. " They talked of your marriage 
 yours. Ah, say it's not true, Jean." 
 
 " You're very good," she said, drawing back, " to 
 care about it, but " 
 
 " I've no right. I confess it. I'm merely im- 
 pertinent in your eyes." 
 
 " No, no," she cried quickly. " Not that. I said 
 that I believed you were my good friend." 
 
 " It must not be so ! " he stammered, hot and blind. 
 " The thing must be made clear first. I don't like 
 it now. There's too much mystery. Where's your 
 uncle?" 
 
 " He would not see you. He wouldn't allow you 
 to speak of it. And I forbid it, too."
 
 236 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " I'll not obey you then," he retorted. " Let me 
 help, Jean. This wretched mystery ! " He leaned 
 forward in an endeavor to see her better, but Jean 
 drew back the deeper into the shadow. " Will you 
 listen to me just for a moment?" She made no 
 answer, though Grey waited for it. The silence of 
 the place weighed down like lead. " It's about 
 myself I want to speak," he added. 
 
 " You mustn't. You shouldn't have come here." 
 
 " This much," whispered Grey, hoarsely. " I will 
 say it. Come away with me, Jean. There's another 
 life waiting for us out yonder, just for you and me. 
 Here everything's so dark! It's you I need, Jean. 
 And I can show you so beautiful a world so differ- 
 ent from these mysteries and the unhappiness here, 
 Jean. I'm not fit for you. I've lived hard and 
 rough sometimes, but " 
 
 " That's nothing," she said quickly, as if her 
 thoughts sprang into life. " But I oughtn't to lis- 
 ten." 
 
 " Come then ! Let's play the runaway from it all. 
 Come into the sunlight where love is, little Swift-foot, 
 and honesty and clean life. I want you. I want 
 you, sweetheart. So lovely and good ! " 
 
 " I can't answer," she murmured ; and then her 
 tears came. 
 
 " Not that ! " he begged, tortured by her grief. 
 
 " I can't answer," she repeated, half aloud, as she 
 fought down her sobbing. 
 
 " Just a word ? " He saw in her hands something
 
 THE TEST 237 
 
 white. " What's that, Jean ? Aren't you listen- 
 ing? " 
 
 " You mustn't ask," she cried, springing up. 
 " You must go away. Please go," she begged piti- 
 fully. " I can't tell you tonight. I must think. 
 I oh, please leave me, Dana." 
 
 "Tomorrow then?" he persisted. "Some day?" 
 " Tomorrow at noon," said Jean, turning from 
 him with the same words and the manner of leaving 
 him she used the day before. " In the old place 
 our place, painter." And with that she disappeared 
 into the dark house.
 
 xvn 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END 
 
 FOR two whole days Kingsford had throbbed 
 with rumors and surmises; and never, since 
 Colonel Gregory came back from Antietam, 
 since Ziba Wilder died and left a will, or since the 
 new drawbridge was built, had the town so thor- 
 oughly enjoyed itself " talking it over." There was 
 so much to make good stories of the kind that are 
 worth hearing and passing along with some extra 
 trimmings! The Colonel had stormed out of the 
 Warden house, in a state bordering on apoplexy, 
 leaving the Squire in parley with the strikers' com- 
 mander-in-chief. Mrs. Marsden, as in duty bound, 
 entertained all her friends with the most vivid de- 
 tails all in strictest confidence of the pirate's 
 bloody apparition and her master's nervous break- 
 down. And after Burns announced that Jean herself 
 
 looking very sad and proud, he declared critically 
 
 had mailed a note to French, Kingsford talked 
 itself tired but happy. 
 
 Vaguely it was seen that something was wrong, 
 if one considered matters from the standpoint of the 
 gentry. It was the beginning of the end. The 
 Squire was breaking through traditions that were as 
 
 238
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END 239 
 
 old as the village itself, and Kingsford found itself 
 losing a little of its faith in its leading citizen. 
 Those who knew him best (and everybody knew 
 Squire Warden well) hinted with a melancholy 
 shake of the head at the possible reason for his queer 
 actions. They recalled significantly the legends of 
 his granduncle Barzillai, who insisted that he was a 
 helpless baby and had to be cared for like one up 
 to the day of his death. 
 
 " But he's never shown a sign of it," Colonel 
 Gregory protested feebly. 
 
 " You can't tell me that something isn't wrong," 
 his wife replied, calm in her convictions. 
 
 " Well," the old warrior sighed, " I'm, kind o* 
 afraid that something's going to happen one o' these 
 fine days. I will say that much." 
 
 And as a matter of fact the events which set Kings- 
 ford gossip going in a wave that seemed likely to 
 roll on forever, took place the very next morning, 
 beginning with the time that the mail was distributed. 
 
 The little sliding window, which was closed while 
 the sorting and stamping went on, was shoved up, 
 and the postmaster peered out anxiously. His face 
 brightened however, as he caught sight of French. 
 
 " There's a letter for you, Sebastian," he called 
 out, after a few minutes' rapid work with the boys 
 and girls, who always crowded up closest to the win- 
 dow. The lull that followed the first excitement was 
 exactly the right moment for his announcement, and
 
 240 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 Burns succeeded perfectly in his effort to speak cas- 
 ually. 
 
 French looked up in some surprise. "For me?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. And I should judge," the postmaster 
 continued with another supreme effort to appear un- 
 interested, " that 'twas writ in a lady's writin'. And 
 it's postmarked Kingsford." This last was delivered 
 loud enough for everybody in the place to hear. 
 
 French turned a dull red under his sallow skin, 
 and took the square envelope uncomprehendingly. 
 He grinned sheepishly as he caught the eager look 
 on the faces of the men; but as he tore it open and 
 glanced down the page, his expression grew steadier; 
 and his embarrassment changed to a delight that 
 spread over his uncouth face like sunshine. By this 
 time the postmaster had found it absolutely neces- 
 sary to get a quart of pickles out of the barrel by 
 which French was standing. 
 
 A choked exclamation from the young man made 
 every head turn his way. He waved his letter clum- 
 sily over his head. 
 
 " Perhaps you'd like to know what I've got here," 
 he said to the others. " I only wish old Gregory 
 was here, and everybody. I it's quite interesting. 
 It's" 
 
 " Read it out, why don't you? " queried Burns 
 with an attempt at a joke. 
 
 " It's the greatest thing that ever happened," 
 French cried, laughing a little wildly. " It it 
 don't seem possible. I can't hardly believe it's so,"
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END 241 
 
 he said to Burns desperately. " D'you think it's 
 true? Ain't it some joke or other." 
 
 " I guess maybe 'tis," the postmaster replied craft- 
 ily. " Let's hear it." 
 
 "It's true!" French retorted hotly. "It's her 
 own doin'. She " 
 
 " Will you read it out? " Burns cried with start- 
 ling distinctness. " Whatcher talkin' about any- 
 way?" 
 
 " Listen then," the other ordered. " Every one of 
 you." 
 
 And as the men drew in close around him and the 
 women craned their necks to hear all they could, 
 French declaimed aloud, though he made a sorry hash 
 of his reading, the first letter he had received from 
 the girl he had sworn he loved. But that part of 
 the matter did not occur to him. 
 
 "What d'ye think of that?" he cried triumph- 
 antly, with a roll in his voice. " From Jean Wilder ! 
 Are they on the side of the laboring man now? " 
 He thrust the letter into his pocket. " Ah ! well, I 
 rather guess ! " 
 
 " S'pose you ain't likely to keep that 'pointment, 
 eh ? " the postmaster remarked gleefully, with an 
 ecstatic wink to the others. " Say, I wish I had a 
 girl to write me a letter like that, boys." 
 
 The men chuckled grimly, which was their extreme 
 limit of mirth, and Burns felt more than repaid. 
 
 " You ain't handsome enough, Jacob," said one
 
 242 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 of them. " It takes us young fellers to get along 
 with the girls." 
 
 But French did not hear this, for the moment he 
 had finished Jean's note he hurried out of the door 
 and down the street. His happiness was made com- 
 plete, when he saw coming toward him the man of all 
 others he wanted just then to meet. 
 
 " I've got some news for you" he said, as Grey 
 drew near. There was something in the painter's 
 troubled look that made it easy enough to " rub it 
 in," as French promised himself joyfully that he 
 would do. " You guessed you was about the only 
 one in Kingsf ord the other day, didn't you ? " 
 
 Grey very deliberately set down his sketching kit, 
 and with equal deliberation looked the striker all over 
 from his shining eyes down to his shapeless shoes 
 and up again. 
 
 " What are you talking about? " he asked, though 
 a queer nameless apprehension sprang up in his 
 heart. "What day?" 
 
 " When you was so fresh 'n' rescued Jean Wilder 
 from bein' seen on the street with me," French replied 
 rapidly and tauntingly still, though an angry 
 shadow crossed his face. " You thought she was all 
 for you that time." 
 
 " Well? " The quiet man was dangerously quiet. 
 
 " Pretty fresh, wasn't you ? " 
 
 " If I did Miss Wilder a service then, I'm very 
 glad of it," Grey responded evenly, " and if you 
 bother her again, and I hear of it," he said, " I'll
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END 243 
 
 give myself the pleasure of licking you good and 
 hard. Is that clear? " 
 
 He hoped that French would strike at him right 
 then, for he was hot at the thought of this man's 
 so much as looking at Jean out of his black, dream- 
 ing eyes. And all the morning he had been haunted 
 by the sorrow which she could not hide from him as 
 they talked through those feverish minutes in the 
 dark, in which he felt that French had some unknown 
 share. He felt his muscles tauten, he marked the 
 place on the lean jaw that he would strike at. 
 
 " Miss Wilder is through being troubled by you, 
 understand? " he asked. 
 
 French broke out in a cackle of laughter, and Grey 
 perceived dimly the trap into which he had fallen, 
 though he could not believe his own fear. 
 
 " I'm goin' to the house this minute," French said. 
 " And Jean asked me to come." Some instinct told 
 Grey that the fellow was not lying. His thoughts 
 were in a whirl. 
 
 " She wrote 'n* asked me last night." 
 "Last night?" 
 
 The words came to his lips before he could check 
 them. But the dear memory of what she had said 
 and the way she had borne herself could not be 
 abated. Still he doggedly refused to believe; still 
 she would meet him in an hour in their own place, as 
 she had promised. 
 
 " I kinder thought you'd like to know about this
 
 44 
 
 letter of hep's," French went on exultingly, drawing 
 it out, " same's everybody else." 
 
 "The same as ?" 
 
 " No good hidin' good news, you know. The 
 boys was glad enough when they heard it." 
 
 " D'you mean you read Miss Wilder's letter to 
 anybody ? " 
 
 " Sure I did," cried French. " Got any re- 
 marks ? " 
 
 " You cad ! " whispered Grey. " Oh, you utter 
 cad!" 
 
 " I'll tell her how you took it," the other said, 
 grinning. " But you'd better climb down and git 
 into the band-wagon when you can, Mister Artist. 
 You ain't got a chance in the world." Swiftly 
 French folded the letter and put it up again, and 
 even in that short moment, the man's mood changed. 
 The malice faded out of his face, and his old look 
 of enthusiasm and confident hope returned the look 
 that Jean had seen at the " loveTfeast." " I'll win ! " 
 he said, looking Grey in the eyes. " Don't try to 
 stop me. You can't, for I'm bein' led by God him- 
 self." 
 
 For a moment Grey watched him as he walked 
 away. He watched till he saw French turn in at 
 Squire Warden's gate. 
 
 " But I must be there, if she comes," he said, sud- 
 denly waking. He turned abruptly into the lane to 
 the Ledges. " And she will come. Make her come, 
 my God!"
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END 245 
 
 For Jean the bright lazy morning was dark 
 enough. She had wakened limp and tired. The 
 memory of what she had gone through with Grey 
 lay on her like the marks of a beating ; and she knew 
 well enough that French would not delay to reply in 
 person to her note. She moved about her prison- 
 house restlessly, doing her small duties with a sort 
 of eager care ; but flying to the front windows every 
 other minute after the time that she knew the mail 
 would be distributed, for if French came, Jean wished 
 to see him and endure hearing whatever he had to 
 say all alone, without disturbing her sick old uncle. 
 The latter, she knew, was talking comfortably on the 
 side piazza with the queer old buccaneer, who was so 
 friendly, yet somehow fearsome at the same time. 
 
 She had the front door open before French had 
 ascended the steps, and stood on the threshold with 
 the ghost of her old smile to receive him. 
 
 " See here ! " he cried, and dragged out from its 
 place Jean's note, which now was crumpled and wet 
 with sweat. " At the beginning you wouldn't have 
 written this." 
 
 " So much has happened," Jean answered, " since 
 then." 
 
 "Really? 
 
 " More," she said looking away, " than you can 
 ever guess perhaps." 
 
 " The Wardens converted ! " he exclaimed. " And 
 you first! It was you that came to the meeting; 
 it was you that wrote this note."
 
 246 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 She regarded the paper curiously. It seemed as 
 though she was hearing a story about other times 
 and other people, from whose lives this stained sheet 
 was a curious relic. 
 
 " Give it to me," she demanded impulsively. She 
 wished to study the handwriting of this girl she was 
 hearing about. 
 
 " No, indeed," French restored the letter to its 
 place. " I'm going to keep it always. How things 
 turn, out ! This was good V useful this morning, I 
 tell you." 
 
 Jean held herself so tense that she trembled. 
 " Oh ! " she cried softly, as though somebody had 
 struck her. " Oh ! were there were there many 
 people in the office when you read my letter? " 
 
 " A crowd ! I tell you, it hit 'em ! " 
 
 " Oh ! " she cried again. " To think of their dar- 
 ing to listen ! " 
 
 " You see? " French asked benignantly. " There 
 can't nobody reckon how much I owe to you. At 
 every turn it's Jean alone Jean ! " he exclaimed, 
 closing his eyes, " what helps me ! " 
 
 She could not trust herself to utter a word. 
 French, on his side, fell into one of his day dreams, 
 and sat for a moment looking out into the street 
 without saying anything. A couple of laborers 
 slouched past, saw him, and laughed together as 
 they waved their hats. Their action roused him. 
 " That's good," he said, half aloud. " They trust 
 me oh, I'm sure they trust me, Jean," he went
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END 247 
 
 on, coming erect again. " I'll win. I always win," 
 he declared. " I fight for the right ; or I try to, 
 'n' God'll strengthen me. But I talk too much about 
 this," he broke off with. "It ain't all o' my life, 
 Not the nicest dream." He hesitated, cleared his 
 throat. " This letter of yours ! I wonder what it 
 meant." 
 
 " You've already made good use of it," she could 
 but throw at him. 
 
 " But not the best use I hope." 
 
 " I wanted," Jean babbled, again seeking a de- 
 fence, " to explain about the other night. My uncle 
 was ill. The heat, you know. His head " 
 
 French nodded, then looked at her fully. " I 
 guess I'm pretty sure of Mr. Warden's good will. 
 Ain't he showed it? It ain't him I'm uncertain 
 about. It's you that counts most." He leaned for- 
 ward and searched her face. " I said I'm sure to 
 Vin. But I won't have won not half unless 
 I get you. And I want an answer. I came for it. 
 I'm goin' to fight for it. I want to know why you 
 wrote this note. Jean," he cried, " tell me you 
 meant that maybe there was a chance for me ! " 
 
 " Even though my father's what you once told 
 me?" 
 
 He missed clean the bitterness of her tone. 
 " What difference' d that make ? Don't you care a 
 bit. I'd marry you if your father was in jail this 
 minute."
 
 248 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 A shiver ran over her. Her fingers were knit so 
 tight that they were bloodless. 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 " When a man's in love he don't think of such 
 things." 
 
 She turned then with a queer little sobbing cry. 
 
 " No more now," she said. " I can't listen. I 
 want my uncle to hear. I oh, uncle, I never 
 dreamed it would be like this ! " 
 
 And she fled into the dark house, whither French 
 hotly followed.
 
 XVIII 
 
 A CRISIS 
 
 TE Squire and his guest were having a quiet 
 session on the side piazza, where the breeze 
 was coolest and the sun warmest. The Cap- 
 tain had not appeared until after breakfast, for he 
 had taken extreme delight in having it served in bed, 
 where he reclined in state. It gave Mrs. Marsden an 
 uneasy quarter of an hour that breakfast, for at 
 first Bassett beamed upon her from his pillow as be- 
 nignantly as the blessed sun (though more disconcert- 
 ingly), and then insisted that she alone should open 
 the eggs and chip up the bacon. 
 
 " None o' your hired help for me," he said to her 
 with fine indignation, " s'long as the lady of the 
 house is up 5 n* about. Madam," he continued, in an 
 easy conversational tone, " should the thought of 
 marriage ever brighten your horizon " 
 . " No danger ! " she snapped, but not unkindly. 
 
 " So? How do I know? Look at the late Mars- 
 "den." 
 
 " I mean now," the widow explained, smiling at 
 the cream pitcher with her head on one side. 
 
 " I am the most heartless old rascal alive, my dear 
 madam this is entirely between us; but when I 
 
 249
 
 250 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 seen that tray of breakfast, served in bed, and you 
 there a bringin' it in the door great dee, Mrs. 
 Marsden ! " cried the Captain in a voice of thunder, 
 propping up his bandage which had slipped over 
 one rolling eye. " Danger indeed, madam ! Will 
 you marry me when I get up ? " 
 
 "Oh, Captain!" 
 
 He lay back, staring at her. " I mean, when I 
 get clear of present incumbrances," he hastily 
 amended. 
 
 "Oh, Captain!" 
 
 " I won't hurry you," the mariner assured her gal- 
 lantly. " When folks get to be as old as you V 
 me " 
 
 Mrs. Marsden made an inarticulate sound in her 
 throat, and her eyes glittered. 
 
 " Years of discretion years 'n' years 'n' years," 
 he went on, " real old people, they don't want to do 
 nothing rash." 
 
 " There's no danger I will," she exploded with, 
 finding her voice. " None. And there never was no 
 danger. Now ! " 
 
 "Cruel girl!" ejaculated the Captain; and when 
 the housekeeper had vanished, " in two days ! " he 
 said, " or less ! I must get away quick ! If 
 there wasn't more'n the one reason." 
 
 Then he finished his breakfast, clapped his hat 
 down over the bandage, took his mahogany box under 
 his sound arm (for the other he insisted on keeping 
 in a sling, though he had received only a sprain in
 
 A CRISIS 251 
 
 his fall from the train), and for an hour or more 
 went on some errand or other to his house on the 
 Ledges. Then he came back and camped on the 
 piazza. 
 
 " This, by dee, is comfortable," he vouchsafed, as 
 he lit a cigar, addressing the world in general. He 
 had removed his blue reefer and sat in his shirt- 
 sleeves. He regarded with a bloodshot but wholly 
 benevolent eye the trim garden just beyond the lawn, 
 sniffed the honeysuckle, settled deep into his chair. 
 " All yours to look upon and observe, Squire, day by 
 day. I guess there ain't many as have such a com- 
 fortable life's you do. But then, there ain't only a 
 few as is so virtuous." 
 
 " I wish you'd think up another remark about 
 me," the Squire replied. 
 
 " Meanin' as this one ain't true ? " The old fel- 
 low rolled his cigar over his tongue and set it firmly 
 in one corner of his mouth. He squinted genially 
 through the smoke that got in his eyes. "Wai, 
 you're in the way of being made virtuous anyhow," 
 he said easily. " And that's a good deal. Only " 
 he cocked his head on one side " you've still one or 
 two details to 'tend to. You see you oughtn't to 
 have played that there trick on a certain party. 
 Honest, as between man 'n' man, that was a mistake, 
 same as I've said before. Squire," he went on plead- 
 ingly, with a fine tremor of correction in his voice, 
 " don't never forge a will again. Please don't." 
 
 " God knows I've suffered enough," sighed the
 
 258 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 other sadly. " And so many do the same and worse 
 without caring." 
 
 " That's because they ain't got no God A'mighty 
 livin* in the same town what knows their secrets," the 
 Captain explained. " So long's I'm 'round, you'll 
 keep repentin' good *n' lively." 
 
 " It's paid you well, my friend." 
 
 " The interest was consid'able, Squire. But I 
 guess the box is 's full's need be now." 
 
 Mr. Warden looked up. " You're done with me? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " I jest hated doin' it," Bassett replied. " But it 
 wouldn't never've done to let you enjoy them ill- 
 gotten gains, would it? They belonged to some- 
 body else, you see." 
 
 He spoke very gently and smoothly, as if he were 
 remonstrating with a fractious child. 
 
 " I might 'a* sued ye for the money, Squire," he 
 went on, " but I guess Andrew Warden was pretty 
 safe 'gainst anybody like me at the time. But 
 there was another way." 
 
 " Blackmail ! " whispered Mr. Warden. 
 
 "Exactly. Ah!" The pirate sighed. " To find 
 out that a virtuous party forged a certain Pa's will 
 so that the unvirtuous son of said Pa should get 
 nothin', and virtue get it's reward ah ! And to 
 make virtue pay up for fear it'd all get in the papers 
 ah ! " His sighs were profound and vast sighs. 
 " There's a career for a deep sea mariner ! "
 
 A CRISIS 253 
 
 " N>ow it's over ? " Mr. Warden asked, in the same 
 querulous tone of doubt. 
 
 " It's a pity you've been so high 'n' mighty all 
 your days, Squire. It's really too bad. It kinder 
 grates us poor folks. But I'm hoping to cure ye of 
 it." Again he sighed as though bowed by a weight 
 of responsibility. 
 
 Mr. Warden did not say anything for some time. 
 He sat blinking at the sunlight as it came shimmer- 
 ing through the honeysuckle the merest shadow of 
 the alert, wiry, starchy old man whom Kingsf ord had 
 thought so entirely above sorrow or care. 
 
 At length he said, still blinking : 
 
 " Why don't you kill me and have done with it? " 
 
 " There wouldn't be no fun in that, friend," his 
 tormentor explained patiently. " Besides, that cus- 
 sed pride of yours stands in your way of growin* 
 really virtuous. Guess we'd better take that down, 
 eh? Just a little more? " he asked insinuatingly. 
 
 " All right." 
 
 " I just hate to do it." 
 
 " All right." Only his lips moved. 
 
 " Say, don't you take no more interest? If that's 
 so," Captain Bassett added, when Mr. Warden made 
 no reply, " I'll think something up as'll wake you 
 good 'n' lively. Let's see." And he pretended to 
 sink into profound thought, though all the while his 
 little eyes twinkled happily. " I guess we'd better 
 make the surrender to French a dee thorough busi- 
 ness, Squire. Him on top 'n* you down way
 
 254t THE UPPER HAND 
 
 down underneath. Ever so far down, you dam' 
 old thief," he cried in a sudden burst of anger. 
 " That'll be only square, you see, you tyrant. And 
 I'm a just man." 
 
 " Tell me what you want, for God's sake." 
 
 " There, there," the pirate rejoined soothingly. 
 " Nothing ain't a-goin' to kill nobody, I guess, 'cept 
 he was too proud same's you be. But if what I do 
 su'gest is kinder hard, Virtue, rec'lect that Provi- 
 dence has still got consid'able of a bill for you to 
 pay. Now listen." 
 
 But before Captain Bassett had more than out- 
 lined the course of action which was desirable for his 
 old friend to follow, the scene on the quiet, sunny 
 side piazza was interrupted. 
 
 A minute before, Captain Bassett had pointed his 
 cigar at Mr. Warden like a kind of truncheon. 
 " D'you understand? " he asked. 
 
 The Squire nodded, and in turn indicated the butt 
 of the army pistol, which protruded insolently from 
 the pocket of his guest's reefer on the floor. 
 
 " Yes, by dee ! " the other exclaimed, with a roar 
 of laughter. " It's ready for you, Warden, if you 
 fail in a single p'int. Just remember that." 
 
 " I'm going to do it. I it's only fair to you 
 and to French, anyway," the Squire babbled, trying 
 miserably to appear at ease. " I can see the justice 
 of it. I'm ready any time." 
 
 " Then I'll bring French right 'round."
 
 A CRISIS 255 
 
 " Just wait a a minute! " Mr. Warden pleaded. 
 " For you're asking a pretty hard thing of me." 
 
 "Asking?" Captain Bassett scowled. "Ask- 
 ing? Great Hen!" 
 
 But he had no time for further talk, for just then 
 Jean threw back the blind-door, and stepped out with 
 French at her heels. 
 
 " Uncle Andrew ! " she said at once, as if on some 
 impulse nothing could check. But she did stop as 
 she saw the haggard wretchedness on the Squire's 
 face. 
 
 " You came in just right same's a play," said 
 the pirate blithely. " Mr. Warden was just wishin* 
 that French'd come 'round. Ain't that so? " 
 
 " Yes," he replied dully. 
 
 " He was just hintin' to me," the old fellow went 
 on, watching his host narrowly, " that he had some- 
 thin' most surprisin' and pleasin' to remark about 
 the mill business. Ain't that so ? " 
 
 " Yes," murmured the other. " Something," he 
 added with a weak smile, " that'll please all concerned 
 all friends of honest labor. I " 
 
 " Hear me first ! " said Jean. Her eyes were on 
 fire; her lips trembled as she spoke; her hands were 
 clinched tight. " This he has made me an offer 
 of marriage." 
 
 " Great dee ! " The Captain's oath flew out like 
 a cannon shot. " The impident black-snake ! " 
 
 " I suppose I ought to be glad of it," Jean went
 
 256 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 on, trying to speak hard and quick. " My father 
 was a criminal." 
 
 "Who said so?" asked Captain Bassett, with a 
 dark look at French. 
 
 " But I told her it didn't make no odds with me," 
 the latter said to Mr. Warden. " It's Jean I want." 
 
 The Squire's face slowly took on a mask of bitter 
 aversion, which gave place in turn to his prevailing 
 look of fear. 
 
 " Jean's father is dead," he replied. " He died 
 at sea." Then suddenly his anger overflowed him. 
 His cheeks reddened. " How d'you dare come here 
 again ? " 
 
 " Because I asked him," Jean said swiftly. 
 
 "You? Why, for God's sake!" cried the Cap- 
 tain. 
 
 " Because I made a promise to do all I could to 
 help and please my uncle." Then her courage left 
 her, and she came forward with a pitiful little cry. 
 Sinking down, she hid her hot face on the old man's 
 knee. " Oh, I didn't think it would mean all this. 
 Uncle, don't tell me that I must." 
 
 " Just wait a second." 
 
 Captain Bassett whirled about, and stood with 
 trouble and perplexity written all over his face. 
 
 " I'm a teetotal stranger here," he said rapidly, 
 " 'specially to the young lady. So I feel kind o' em- 
 barrassed. But, Squire, don't you say no more 
 about the need of youth 'n' beauty takin' up with
 
 A CRISIS 257 
 
 poor but honest mill-hands till I'm out o' hearin.' 
 Understand ? " 
 
 " There, there ! " whispered Mr. Warden to Jean, 
 stooping over her. Go into the house. I've got to 
 talk with French here." 
 
 " You've got to give me an answer first," French 
 said doggedly, standing between Jean and the door. 
 " I ain't going to wait any longer. I tell you not 
 to resist God neither. He's ordered me to take 'n' 
 have you. Now will you come gentle 'n' easy ? " 
 He waited with his chin on his breast, looking at her 
 from under his heavy brows with a light in his black 
 eyes that was lurid and wild. 
 
 Jean shrank away, unable to meet his stare. 
 " No ! " she answered incoherently, but with every in- 
 stinct in arms against this dark-faced man. 
 
 " Then I'll wait a while," he replied. " For you 
 can't hold out much longer," he added in an under- 
 tone in which puzzlement and resignation were 
 queerly mixed. " God has promised you to me." 
 
 " The workings of Providence ! " murmured Mr. 
 Warden when Jean had gone indoors. " Well, per- 
 haps it is. But the whole story isn't written yet." 
 
 French mopped his brow and sat down with a sigh. 
 For quite a while neither man spoke. The squire 
 had changed his chair while French was talking, and 
 now occupied the pirate's. . He had picked up old 
 Bassett's blue reefer, and laid it across his knee. 
 
 "What did you want to see me about?" French 
 asked at length.
 
 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 Again the Squire looked at Captain Bassett, but 
 that worthy made no sign. He was watching French 
 like a cat. 
 
 " About the mill. About our differences. I've 
 decided to end 'em," he said abruptly. " I've given 
 the matter a good deal of thought. I'm a just man, 
 too, Sebastian." 
 
 French made no sign, though the old man seemed 
 to demand an answer to an implied question. 
 
 " How'd you 'n' your friends like to run it your- 
 selves ? " Mr. Warden asked, after another pause. 
 
 " What ? " the strike leader sprang up. 
 
 " As partners. I I'm a fair man. And I want 
 to keep up with the times. Things can't be run as 
 they used to be. Times have changed. And I'm 
 tired so tired of it all. Maybe I could stay on 
 a salary, just to keep the books or something," the 
 Squire concluded. The last sentence he fairly wrung 
 from his heart. The whole speech sounded like the 
 cries of a man on the rack. And when it was fin- 
 ished, Mr. Warden leaned back, spent and white. 
 
 "D'you mean all that?" French gasped. "The 
 mill's mine ? " 
 
 " And your friends'." In the presence of inso- 
 lent joy that blazed from his foreman's face the 
 Squire revived a little. " You do the work, and you 
 ought to have the profits," he added with just a tang 
 of malice. " I'm converted." 
 
 "Thank God!" the other ejaculated. "I knew 
 it'd come." He looked down at the old man crum-
 
 A CRISIS 259 
 
 pled in the chair, and a burst of scorn and pity and 
 boastfulness carried him away. " You poor old 
 fool! You were bound to lose. I tell you God has 
 run this whole business. You thought you were so 
 rich V proud that nothing couldn't ever touch you; 
 but you've come down. You got your blind eyes 
 opened at last. You had to see what was right and 
 you had to do what was right. God made you." 
 
 " Yes," said the Squire, swallowing a lump in his 
 throat. " God made me.' 
 
 " He hath exalted the humble 'n' meek ; 'n' the 
 rich he hath sent away empty ! " observed the Cap- 
 tain piously. 
 
 "That's right!" 
 
 " I will repay, saith the Lord ! Ho, ho ! Dear 
 me, Warden." 
 
 " He will," the Squire echoed, speaking low and 
 quick. 
 
 " Old Warden surrenders to his strikers ! Old 
 Warden asking 'em for a job! I've not lived in 
 vain, b' jolly." 
 
 " I hope you'll give me one. Those that won't 
 work, must starve, you know." 
 
 " And it'll be done 'cording to law. You'll sign 
 a paper?" asked French. 
 
 " I'd do it now if I had one," Mr. Warden replied, 
 still in the same curiously reckless, hurried tone. 
 His thin hand fumbled now in the pirate's coat. 
 
 " I've got you down! " cried the striker. " It's 
 the workingman's turn now."
 
 260 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " I hope that you'll live long to enjoy it." 
 
 " Now for the other happiness ! " cried French, 
 turning from him and the watchful pirate. " Where 
 Mr. Warden goes, Jean goes too. She's got to give 
 in same's you have. Pve got you down, 'n' I'm goin' 
 to bring her down too. Watch her come. Jean ! " 
 he called, springing to the open door. " Come out 
 here!" 
 
 No answer from indoors. Bassett very softly set 
 one side a light wicker chair which in a manner 
 fenced him it. He kept watching the Squire, for 
 the tatter's hand was still hidden under the pirate's 
 blue coat, and his eye was full of hate. Frencli 
 turned back to them with a wild look of triumph. 
 
 " I've got you down ! " he kept saying, over and 
 over. " But no hard f eelin', Warden. See here ! " 
 He crossed the piazza, with his hand out. " Shake, 
 you old money-king ! " 
 
 "Stand back!" snarled the Squire. "Don't 
 touch me ! " 
 
 " You've got to shake hands," cried the man, mak- 
 ing for the other. " You've got to do everything I 
 want," he cried, half laughing, half angry, wholly 
 violent, and he kicked aside the chair behind which 
 the Squire had suddenly sprung at his first outcry. 
 
 " Look out ! " yelled Bassett, but the black revolver 
 was out from under the coat. 
 
 " Keep away ! " Mr. Warden muttered, and pulled 
 the trigger. But there was no flash and report. 
 There was only a sharp click and then another.
 
 xrx 
 
 A WAY OUT 
 
 4 4 ^T^HAT'S a pretty poor gun ! " said French 
 through his clay-white lips, as the Squire 
 dropped the pistol with a groan. 
 
 Bassett snatched it up instantly and threw open 
 the chamber. It was empty. 
 
 " Not loaded? " French asked in a queer, con- 
 strained voice. 
 
 " Not loaded ? " Mr. Warden's expression was 
 that of a soul receiving its sentence to hell. 
 " Not " 
 
 " No ! " cried the pirate. " And it ain't been 
 loaded, not for ten years." * 
 
 " You devil ! " the Squire muttered. He had no 
 thought of French now; he only remembered with 
 shame and bitterness the times he had looked past 
 that black muzzle into his master's uncompromising 
 eye to quail and ask for mercy. And it had been 
 empty all the time! He thought till now that he 
 had reached the lowest point of degradation. 
 
 Bassett winked at him. But instantly his atten- 
 tion jumped back to French. 
 
 " Steady, boy, steady! " he cautioned loudly. 
 
 " He you saw him he tried to kill me ! " the 
 261
 
 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 man cried out. " He did his best and I had my 
 hand out. He pulled the trigger. He thought 
 'twas loaded. You saw him do it ! " 
 
 "Careful, French!" 
 
 "I tell you he tried to kill me. And he's goin' to 
 pay for it good. I call you to witness, Cap'n," 
 he cried, and turned sharply at a little noise like a 
 sob from the doorway. Jean was there. 
 
 " You saw what he did ! " cried French. " You 
 too." 
 
 " No ! " shouted the pirate. " She saw nothing." 
 
 But Jean covered her face with her hands. " Oh, 
 uncle ! " she murmured. " I couldn't help it. Some- 
 body called me. And just as I came " 
 
 " He tried to kill me ! " French repeated. He 
 caught up his hat and was out on the lawn in a single 
 movement. " And Squire Warden's going to pay 
 for it, if there's justice in Kingsford. It'll be a jail 
 sentence for him?" he cried; "and then 
 
 " What then? " asked Bassett, with a threat in his 
 voice. 
 
 " There'll be just one reason why I won't prose- 
 cute," French replied. " There's just one person 
 who'll have the say just one." 
 
 "Who's that?" 
 
 " It's Jean Wilder," he replied with one of his 
 flourishes. " That's who 'tis." And he hurried 
 down the driveway to the street, only to encounter as 
 he charged out of the gate about the last person in 
 Kingsford he thought of meeting.
 
 A WAY OUT 263 
 
 " He's been tryin' to shoot me ! " said French 
 breathlessly, so excited that he would have told his 
 news to the trees in default of any other listener. 
 " Old Warden ! " 
 
 The other caught hold of him as he was dashing 
 past, but French twisted out of his grasp in a trice. 
 
 " Go 'n' see for yourself," he panted, as he fell 
 away. " See what kind of a story they tell. See 
 what Jean " here he came back and shook his thin 
 fiist in the other's face " I've got 'em ; God's put 
 'em in my power now for good. And Jean knows it, 
 my rescuin' friend. She's mine after this. The rich 
 man's down to stay there." 
 
 The news sent Grey along on the run. In a sec- 
 ond all the angry, resentful thoughts which he had 
 brought with him to Jean's gate vanished away, 
 though he had been as wrought up as never in his 
 whole turbulent life at her failing him a second 
 time. His long wait in and about the Glade had 
 brought him pretty far down into the depths, and 
 he came back to the village cursing himself for a ro- 
 mantic idiot who had been rightly served. But here 
 was some trouble in which Jean was concerned; and 
 the angry one forgot himself. 
 
 The scene on the piazza hardly was realized the 
 Squire sank in his chair, the pistol still on the table, 
 Jean's scared, proud face, before Grey was pounced 
 on by the Captain. 
 
 "Thank God you came!" the buccaneer ex- 
 claimed. " It's quick work now all 'round. Under-
 
 264 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 stand? I'm in command here. There's certain 
 things as must be done, before French 'n' the crowd 
 comes back. Go 'n' get a coat 'n' hat," he ordered, 
 turning to Jean. " You must, I say." 
 
 " She must be got away," he said to Grey, as Jean 
 withdrew, seeming to be in a kind of waking dream. 
 " She saw the old man try it. She damn it, d'you 
 think she'd marry French to save th' old un- 
 cle? But she won't have to choose. Not if Grey, 
 you'll do your best? It's only you that can help. 
 And, Grey come out here further," he ordered, 
 " so the Squire won't hear. Understand ? " he asked 
 fiercely, when he had whispered two sentences. 
 " There she is now." 
 
 " She must choose," Grey replied, looking at the 
 lovely figure leaning over the spent and battered old 
 Squire. 
 
 " Well, you make her choose right," said Bassett. 
 
 As they came back to the piazza Jean came to meet 
 them, and the tears were in her eyes. 
 
 " Go ! " Mr. Warden was saying to her, and his 
 hands gripped tight the arms of his chair. " Go 
 and stay ! " 
 
 " Uncle dear ! " she murmured. " You don't mean 
 that." 
 
 " I'm through with you all," he rattled on vindic- 
 tively. " Never any trouble till you came. And 
 now look at me. Now look at my God, but I'm 
 being made to pay, for it all. So hard, so very 
 hard!"
 
 A WAY OUT 265 
 
 " Leave him to me," said Bassett reassuringly. 
 " I'll see to him, sweetheart." 
 
 " Will you come with me? " Grey asked her. 
 "Just for a little while?" 
 
 " For a little while," she answered so low that he 
 scarcely heard her. And without another word she 
 came to his side. 
 
 " The old place? " he said to her. 
 
 " Yes," Jean answered, just breathing the word. 
 
 They had hardly passed through the garden and 
 down the lane before French returned, and with him 
 most of Kingsford village. 
 
 So here was Grey at Jean's side again; nor had 
 the girl declined his help! He had once more 
 gained the right to be with her; but, in all the 
 time which followed, Grey, to his credit, thought not 
 once of singing Te Deum for his good luck. His 
 whole heart went in pity for Jean, who had seen her 
 old uncle try to shoot a man down. The great 
 things which might come from his day with her the 
 painter refused to consider for a moment; his only 
 hope was to make a little easier her hours of agitation 
 and distress. 
 
 And he was afraid of his task, not having, as he 
 knew, the tactful readiness of men who live in the 
 world. He did not know what to say to her/ All 
 the way down the lane he followed silently at Jean's 
 side. It was at the bar-way that he spoke first. 
 Here Jean, silent too, set a nervous hand on one of
 
 266 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 the rails to let it down for her passage, not waiting 
 for his aid. 
 
 " Just a second ! " Grey exclaimed. " Let me do 
 it. The bars are so heavy ; and sometimes they get 
 jammed." He wrenched the rail loose, and then two 
 more, so making it possible for her to pass through 
 without stooping. " That's better." 
 
 " Thank you," she replied, and went on, without 
 waiting for him to replace the bars. He under- 
 stood, and let her go, following as quickly as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 Again, when they came to the deep swale which' 
 one must cross to win the heights beyond, the 
 painter showed the same care as to little things. It 
 was more eloquent perhaps than another's fluent 
 sympathy. " Let me go ahead," said Grey. And 
 with no further word he led the way into the narrow 
 trail. How careful he was to put aside the twigs 
 and hold them from flying back at her! How he 
 kicked aside every tripping stone which lay in the 
 path! How he tore down the tendrils of the wild" 
 grape vines which, here and there hanging across it, 
 might make her stoop too low! He set her across 
 the swampy brook and the fallen spruce log beyond 
 as though she was glass, with never a word, but with 
 an arm ready for her to lean on, or a strong hand 
 to guide and steady. 
 
 They came to the high ground, and paused to 
 take breath in the shade of a spreading chestnut. 
 
 " Would you like to rest a minute ? " the man
 
 A WAY OUT 267 
 
 asked. " It's hard work coming through the swamp 
 on a hot day." 
 
 His coat was off and spread on the turf in a sec- 
 ond, and Jean sat down. 
 
 " Thank you," she murmured. " You are very 
 kind to me, I think." 
 
 " It's little enough that I can do," Grey replied 
 simply. " I only wish I could be of some real help." 
 
 " Thank you," she said for the third time. " I'm 
 sure you would, if there's anything to do. You 
 know what happened ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Tell me he did right ! " she demanded fiercely. 
 " I want to hear you say so." 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " You're only trying to please me, to " 
 
 " It's the truth. I'm glad he " 
 
 " Shot at him? Tried to kill him? " asked Jean, 
 with the same tragic eagerness. " You ought to 
 hate both of us." 
 
 " You think it possible for this ? " 
 
 " And I oughtn't to be here," she cried, sudden 
 tears choking her. " I oughtn't to accept your 
 help." The next moment she was on her feet. 
 " I'm going back. I must." She faced him, white 
 with her new resolution. " They mustn't look for 
 me." 
 
 It was no easy matter to persuade her. Again 
 Jean's sense of duty made her hard to meet. She 
 could not play the coward, she repeated proudly.
 
 268 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 Against this Grey contended with what eloquence 
 was in him, but it was not till he flung his prudent 
 arguments to the winds that he prevailed. 
 
 " Listen to me," he ordered at length. They had 
 descended the hill by now, and were at the beginning 
 of the homeward path. " You remember what I told 
 you last evening when when I lost my head ? " 
 
 She made no answer. 
 
 " You must believe it was true. You must trust 
 today to the man who loves you, Jean, heart and 
 soul. Do you think I'd tell you to do something 
 wrong? Do you think I'd let you so much as think 
 of anything which was not for the best? Trust me 
 just a little, Jean. Won't you trust me? I don't 
 ask for anything more. I tell you that there's no 
 sense or use in your going back. And, Jean, it's 
 true," he cried passionately. " I'd let you go this 
 minute, if there could any good come of it." 
 
 " You're sure? " she asked. 
 
 Again he pleaded with her, repeating with new 
 fervor all the arguments he had used before. " Stay 
 only an hour. Till you hear something definite," 
 he begged. " Till old Bassett comes out." 
 
 " It seems so cowardly," she repeated. 
 
 " Prove to me that you believe I'm your good and 
 loyal friend." 
 
 " Yes," sobbed Jean. " I do believe that, Dana." 
 
 " Come along then," he said. " Old Bassett told 
 me to wait at his house." And with that he led her 
 along the ridge to the north.
 
 A WAY OUT 269 
 
 The next hour passed very slowly. Time and 
 again Grey went from the pirate's house across the 
 clearing, so as to see a little further down into the 
 woods; time and again Jean asked with her eyes for 
 some news; once she broke out into another resolve 
 to wait no longer, but to go back and face the world 
 bravely. 
 
 It was a cruel hard hour for Grey. She had 
 trusted herself to him; from her whole manner and 
 bearing, if not from her words, the man divined her 
 tender dependence on him, mask it as closely as she 
 could. But not by so much as a hint or a look could 
 he tell her what he longed for. If in a moment of 
 desperation he had used his love for her as a last plea 
 for her right-doing, he could not again. He could 
 not take advantage of his opportunity. He was 
 there as her guard and adviser, nothing else. He 
 had to hear her sorrowing with only the common- 
 places of comfort and sympathy ; he had to deprecate 
 politely her fears for what was in store for her uncle. 
 For minutes at a time he would leave her, afraid to 
 stay lest he should betray the rage in his heart, for 
 to see her beauty faded by tears, her spring gone, 
 the dancing light in her eyes dimmed, put Grey be- 
 side himself. And from the last of these absences he 
 was about to return with a cry on his lips that she 
 would play the runaway with him, that he would hide 
 her, when the pirate's voice hailed him. 
 
 Flushed with his rough scramble up the wooded 
 hillside, breathless from running, the old rover stag-
 
 270 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 gered across the open space before the house and 
 dropped on the bench by the door. 
 
 " Got her? " he gasped. 
 
 " She's inside." 
 
 "Thank God!" ejaculated the pirate. "I was 
 afraid she'd come back, or somethin'." 
 
 " I wouldn't let her. She wanted to go." 
 
 " Good for both of you ! " 
 
 They were aware then that Jean stood beside them. 
 " Captain Bassett " she began. 
 
 The pirate looked up. " No news, sweetheart. 
 That is, in a way. 'Cordin' to my way of lookin' 
 at things, things'd be better the way they might 'a* 
 been." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " cried Grey. He had 
 sprung to Jean's side, on some vague impulse of help 
 should she need him. And he thrilled when he felt 
 her hot palm clench his as it hung by his side. 
 
 " I mean," stammered the Captain, " I mean " 
 
 The old fellow wavered a little where he stood. 
 " Help me," he muttered. " Let me sit down, quick. 
 I hurried too fast, I guess." 
 
 Together Grey and the girl assisted the Captain 
 to a seat on the bench, and then, quick as the wind, 
 she brought a pail of the icy water from the well, 
 with which they made him splash his face and head. 
 This, and a mouthful of brandy which Grey found 
 in the house, freshened him. He drew a quick sigh, 
 shook his head, then looked up with a mortified smile. 
 
 " I ain't so spry's J was, youngsters," he said, and
 
 A WAY OUT 271 
 
 was going on when he became aware that Jean was 
 trying to thank him for his good offices. 
 
 " It's so little that I can say," she faltered, turn- 
 ing to Grey for help. 
 
 " Hear her ! " whispered the Captain, treasuring 
 the girl's hand gently. " Jean Wilder thankin' an 
 old rascal like me! Don't you think it's fun for me 
 to do things or say things as'll make you happy, 
 honey? Aain't I been tryin' to do that very thing 
 for well, it don't make no odds," he concluded 
 hastily, releasing her. " But it's for quite a while." 
 
 " My good friend ! " cried Jean, near tears again. 
 
 " Not the only one," the Captain corrected, with 
 a half look at Grey, who for a moment had turned 
 his back. 
 
 " And my uncle ? " demanded Jean. 
 
 " Couldn't say." 
 
 " I think," said Grey, studying the old man's des- 
 perate attempt to look unconcerned, " that you've 
 something more to tell." 
 
 " Can I go back now ? " she asked. 
 
 " Go back ! " cried the Captain suddenly. 
 " Where? " 
 
 " Home," said Jean. 
 
 He fell to studying the palm of his left hand. 
 " There there ain't any home now, Jean. It's all 
 over, sweetheart." 
 
 " My uncle ! " she gasped, vaguely terrified. 
 
 The pirate nodded. " Just that. He he's off 
 by now. The crowd came. He had the pistol when
 
 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 the dep'ty took him. Honey, I didn't mean to tell 
 you so sudden, but it's all over," he repeated huskily. 
 " All over. They was takin' him away when I left." 
 
 She did not fall to sobbing and crying, as the two 
 men thought she must. She stood perfectly still and 
 silent for a moment, staring into the woods, her 
 breast rising and falling like a stormy sea. Her 
 hands clasped in a quick, convulsive gesture; she hid 
 her face. 
 
 Grey's expression grew stern and tender both. 
 " Leave me alone with her a minute," he whispered 
 to the pirate. 
 
 But the old man detained him. " You you'll 
 do the right thing? What I'd do if I was young 
 and decenter?" he entreated, almost savagely. 
 " You'll get her clear away ? So she'll be happy ? ' f 
 
 " She must choose." 
 
 " Yes, yes. But, Grey, it's just got to be you. 
 She can't go back. She couldn't do no good. Don't 
 you see? Her telling what she saw'd send th' old 
 man up the road for good." 
 
 Again the Captain started to speak, but could not 
 find the words. Then he walked away to the house. 
 
 " Jean ! " said Grey, and waited for her to look 
 up. 
 
 He could have counted twenty before she uncov- 
 ered her eyes, and even then she kept them from 
 him. Her face was like marble. 
 
 " I haven't the right to ask anything. And it's 
 unfair to speak to you like this now besides."
 
 273 
 
 He did not see that Jean raised her head ever so little. 
 " I didn't intend to say a word when I took you 
 away. But this isn't a time for doing what people 
 call the proper thing. You understood what the 
 Captain said, Jean ? " 
 
 No answer. 
 
 "And what it means?" 
 
 " It's so dreary an end," she murmured brokenly. 
 " There never was disgrace before." 
 
 "An end!" he exclaimed. "An end of the old 
 life, that's all. Jean, dearest, can't you see this is 
 really only a beginning? Jean," he cried, and his 
 voice strengthened, " you haven't forgotten what I 
 said to you last night. You listened to me," the man 
 cried. " But you made no answer." 
 
 She looked up. " I couldn't answer, Dana." 
 
 " But now ? " 
 
 " My best friend ! " said Jean simply, and smiled 
 up at him just a little, like a glimpse of sunshine 
 through mist. 
 
 The Captain broke in on them. " I saw it all," 
 he announced, smiling too. " You'll go with him? " 
 he asked of Jean, with an odd hurry and tremor 
 under his question. 
 
 " If he will take me," she replied. A soB choked 
 her. " I've nobody in the world now." 
 
 "Not that!" cried the Captain. "Jean, don't 
 think that, honey I ain't very virtuous, but, Jean, 
 I'm one as'll give his old life to pleasure you. And 
 I'm goin' to, may be. Jean, you're goin' away
 
 274 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 and, Grey, you see there ain't no delay nor bother 
 and you won't never see me no more." 
 
 " Yes, yes," she cried, moved by the old renegade's 
 clumsy emotion. " Of course I shall. But, oh, I 
 must go back ; I can't be disloyal ! " 
 
 " I say no ! " The Captain smote his fist into his 
 palm. " I've done my level best for you. And I 
 tell you the truth. It's over now, all by an' finished. 
 If you go back, you'll be a witness. Who for? The 
 state, I reckon. Without you it's self-defense. 
 D'you want to send th' old man to jail? Or do you 
 want to keep French offn him by marryin' him ? " 
 
 There was something pitiable in the old rascal's 
 bearing and in his shaky voice. Jean looked at Grey 
 doubtfully. 
 
 " Captain's right," he said. " You must keep 
 away, Jean. You must. I " 
 
 " One thing more," the Captain went on rapidly. 
 He took from his pocket a slip of paper directed to 
 her. "Take this. Will you, Jean ?" She started 
 to unfold it. "Not yet. When I'm gone. It's 
 only just a present." 
 
 " I'll keep it always, Captain." 
 
 "Promise?" 
 
 " It'll remind me of a very kind and good old 
 man," she answered. 
 
 The Captain hesitated a moment, then looked at 
 Grey. " Remember that I trust you, boy. Will 
 you ? Remember that she's worth, well how 
 much? More'n you can guess, most likely. I know.
 
 A WAY OUT 275 
 
 I've watched careful, Grey. Not money, but good- 
 ness." 
 
 " Good-bye," said Jean. 
 
 " It's forever, sweetheart." 
 
 Before she could answer, the old pirate touched 
 her cheek with his lips, and then, with a kind of cry, 
 hurried across the clearing and plunged into the 
 woods.
 
 XX 
 
 IN THE OPEN 
 
 4 4 'mil THAT did he mean? Who is he?" 
 cried Jean, when the noise of the old 
 man's footsteps on the leaves and dry 
 fallen twigs had ceased. " What made him kiss 
 me? " 
 
 Grey was as surprised as Jean herself, for the 
 pirate dealt with her not at all with his usual air of 
 vulgar gallantry. There was something both digni- 
 fied and tender, there was a sort of benediction, in 
 the way he had kissed the girl. And brazen it as 
 he would, the old man had not been able to conceal 
 a sorrow that seemed very real when he turned from 
 them to plunge into the woods. 
 
 " You did not mind ? " she asked. 
 
 " That was the queerest thing about it. The old 
 rogue seemed to have a right to. Any way, he's 
 been a good friend today, Jean." 
 
 " Yes, yes." She hid her face on Grey's shoulder 
 as if to hide from all that the day had shown of 
 horror and sorrow. " It was so dreadful. Oh, 
 Dana, I couldn't do that. Even for my uncle. Tell 
 me that I'm doing right. Oh, Dana, take me away 
 from that man." 
 
 276
 
 IN THE OPEN 277, 
 
 He caught her closer in his embrace. " The past 
 is past, sweetheart" 
 
 Jean looked up at him. " You will be very good 
 to me? I'm all alone, Dana." 
 
 " Trust me," he replied huskily. " My very best, 
 Jean." 
 
 A moment longer she hung about his neck, study- 
 ing his eyes. Then, leaning up to him, she kissed 
 him. 
 
 Imperceptibly the shadow of the forest crept half 
 way across the clearing. The day went by, yet they 
 perceived nothing of its passing. They were to- 
 gether and far from the world, tasting the top of the 
 cup of happiness. Small wonder that it was ever so 
 long before either of them thought to remember all 
 the Captain's injunctions. He had directed them to 
 get away at once, but they lingered till Grey's watch 
 marked four o'clock and after. 
 
 " But listen," Grey said at length, " we must start 
 now. This minute." 
 
 Jean sprang up. "Which way?" 
 
 Grey laughed from sheer delight. They had only 
 the clothes on their backs and fifteen dollars in his 
 pocket book; adventures of all kinds might be in 
 store for them; their whole runaway project had not 
 a smack of reason about it; but he welcomed it like 
 a boy. 
 
 " Whichever way the head of the stick falls," he 
 replied, setting up his cane on end. " Watch ! " 
 The stick tottered and fell.
 
 278 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " East ! " cried Jean. " That's as it should be. I 
 think the world's best lies over there beyond the last 
 of the Ledges. It's where the sun comes from, you 
 know." 
 
 " And New Liverpool's there too. Which means 
 the bank and some money for us. Perhaps we'd best 
 hurry a little," he added, again consulting his watch. 
 " We can catch the way train at Pequod." 
 
 As they struck into the overgrown wood road 
 which led from Captain Bassett's dwelling to the 
 highway over beyond the forest, Grey outlined his 
 plan for their escape, for so they persisted in calling 
 it. They were to board the train at Pequod, stop 
 over night at New Liverpool in a little place he knew 
 of where they could dodge anyone who might know 
 them. Next morning he would go to the bank. 
 
 " Also to the jeweller's," said Gray sententiously. 
 
 Jean looked up in surprise, caught unawares. 
 
 " Then," he went on, ignoring her, " to the town 
 clerk's, then to the parson's." 
 
 She stopped his chattering. " Really ? " 
 
 " Just that," said Grey. " That is, if the young 
 lady's willing." 
 
 "We forgot the Captain's present, Dana," said 
 Jean, stopping short when they were a good way 
 down the forest road. 
 
 " Let it go," he replied. " We're late now, Jean." 
 
 " Oh, no. Please not. It won't need any time to 
 find it. And I'd feel so ungrateful not to take i 
 Please come back."
 
 279 
 
 She was very earnest in her pleading, and dearer, 
 thought Grey, than ever, because she remembered to 
 do what the old pirate had asked of her. So, though 
 he reckoned that the gift would but scantily reward 
 them for the lost time, the painter assented. They 
 hurried back up the road and turned into the woods 
 at the rock with the white arrow painted on it, just 
 as their hastily consulted slip of directions bade 
 them. A few feet further, half hidden in the coarse 
 ferns, which grew rankly, they found a pair of white 
 birch saplins carefully trimmed and laid V-shaped 
 together. 
 
 " He's a picturesque pirate " quoth Grey. " Now 
 what, Jean ? " 
 
 She read from the paper. " * Ten paces straight 
 from the birches, then eight right to the loose pink 
 stone,' it says. I'm sure it's treasure, Dana." 
 
 " It ought to be." But for all his indifference, 
 the man enjoyed himself hugely. It seemed a piece 
 of the day's doings to spend precious moments hunt- 
 ing for a mythical present from a half mad but 
 benevolent Captain Kidd. With scrupulous care, 
 Jean counting with him, Grey measured off his dis- 
 tance, then turned to the right for eight paces more. 
 At the last step he found underfoot, deep down in 
 the crushed brakes and half buried in loose earth, a 
 slab of shiny pink four-square granite from the 
 quarry over the river. Their hands met on it. 
 
 " Lift it, Dana." 
 
 The man got hold of one edge, straightened back,
 
 280 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 and tilted the stone back from its bed. There was 
 disclosed underneath a square object, wrapped tight 
 in white oilcloth and corded round and round. 
 
 " See the writing ! " Jean cried. " What does it 
 say ? " 
 
 " It's for you. Look here ! " 
 
 Sure enough, in one corner Jean's name was 
 printed with many flourishes, and in another, less 
 elaborately portrayed, was this inscription : In 
 this is to Wit. 1. Help in time of trouble. 2. An 
 Angel. 3. A Thing for Cold Days. All for Her 
 and D. G. if she Wants to Give Him Any. 
 
 Grey was indignant. " What rubbish ! Chuck it 
 down, Jean, and come on." 
 
 " Leave my present ? I will carry it wherever I 
 go. No, indeed," she cried, as Grey tried to take 
 the bundle. 
 
 And there was nothing for Grey to do but to fol- 
 low at her side down the wood-road, which now was 
 in twilight. 
 
 For some time they hurried along. Every few 
 minutes Grey consulted his watch, and came to smile 
 rather dubiously in answer to Jean's unasked ques- 
 tion. They had covered about three miles along the 
 highway; they were just pn the last stretch to the 
 little flag-station, when they heard the whistle, and 
 then the roar of the train as it swept through. Two 
 minutes more would have done their business. 
 
 " Let's think it out," said Grey. " We can rest a 
 while now." And, so saying, he led the way to the
 
 IN THE OPEN 281 
 
 side of the road, Jean following without a word. 
 She dropped on the grass with a little sigh. 
 " Tired? " asked the man. 
 
 " Not a bit." 
 
 Her courage was near bringing tears to his eyes. 
 She had come through the fire; not a moment since 
 morning but had meant much to her, either for sor- 
 row or fright, or for heady happiness ; she had eaten 
 nothing, she had traversed rough trails and dusty 
 highway. But still she had a smile for him when 
 he tried clumsily to sympathize. 
 
 " I have you," she whispered, nestling close. 
 " And I still bear the Captain's present." 
 
 " Which reminds me that our honest train is now 
 some miles away and running easily." He felt her 
 draw away from his clasp ever so little, and she 
 looked down. " But I'm not sorry a bit, after all," 
 Grey added hastily. 
 
 She came back to him. " Truly? " 
 
 ** I mean it. I've a better plan, if you want to 
 try it." 
 
 To enter the crowded car would have meant meet- 
 ing anybody and everybody from Kingstford. Could 
 they have slipped off early in ihe day, this would 
 have made no difference; but nW> v/iih the whole 
 village ringing with the news of the Squire's arrest, 
 with the probable search for her already under way, 
 it was imperative that Jean should not be recognized. 
 It would be better to keep close to the open country, 
 and avoid as far as they could the places where Miss
 
 282 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 Wilder was well known. They must run for it now, 
 and 
 
 " The open ! " cried Jean, interrupting. 
 
 " Just for a little while." Grey thought he had 
 frightened her. 
 
 " The gipsy life ! A real runaway ! It would be 
 the very best. O man of mine, if you knew how I've 
 longed for it ! Can we really go 'cross country ? " 
 
 She had dreamed of this so often, and so often 
 had been caught back to shelter and dull comfort, 
 that what the painter suggested seemed incredible. 
 She had in secret, while loving the man's cherishing 
 thought of her, demurred at his program of trains 
 and a hotel, and the streets of the town. There she 
 would meet some one who would remind her of what 
 was behind, she would see a newspaper, she might 
 have to spend an hour or so of loneliness and fright, 
 prisoned in a room, while Grey went abroad on his 
 errands. But she looked out over the darkening 
 countryside with a sense of coming joy. Alone with 
 her lover under the smiling stars, alone with him over 
 some bread and milk at the farmhouse door; the lazy 
 rest through the noon hours in this bower or under 
 that arching roof i of ancient trees, the watch-and- 
 watch through the calm night all this first, and 
 then the guarded secret of their sailing, with Europe 
 yonder their land! She could not speak for her 
 hope of happpiness. 
 
 " And we'll start now," Grey was saying. " If 
 you're not too tired. We'll beg a lodging at a
 
 IN THE OPEN 283 
 
 good-looking farmhouse just like tramps. And to- 
 morrow " 
 
 " Never mind tomorrow," she murmured. 
 
 Grey had not chosen his course entirely at ran- 
 dom. He felt very keenly the responsibility, and 
 planned each step, as he thought with scrupulous 
 care. It would be best, he decided, to spend the 
 night at some friendly farmer's, passing themselves 
 off as brother and sister on a walking trip along the 
 Sound. They could fetch New Liverpool the next 
 day: he could hide Jean at Ransom's, the painter 
 who had a box of a house up back of the town. So, 
 a stage at a time, they could make Boston in time 
 for the Cunard boat. He tramped along, breath- 
 ing deep the joy of the hour, bewitched as who 
 may not be that loves the best of the young world? 
 by the spell of the free road, of the evening air, 
 so cool and heady after the drugging day, of the 
 girl's presence who walked by his side. 
 
 Lights shining in the occasional houses, and the 
 fading of the sky from gold to violet, brought them 
 down to a more sober sense of reality. But even 
 here was food for romance. They made a thousand 
 speculations as to what might happen when they 
 asked for shelter; on this or that pretext they voted 
 against the first two houses they passed; but at the 
 third, which was big and square and neat, with barns 
 stretching away behind it, they decided to try their 
 luck. 
 
 " I know all about 'em here," Grey declared, " I
 
 84 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 did some sketches up yonder in the woods last sum- 
 mer." 
 
 " Let's try then." 
 
 The side door opened a crack at Grey's knock, 
 letting out a gush of yellow light; and a woman's 
 voice demanded his business. 
 
 " I want to know if I can put up here over night," 
 he said, in his silkiest tones. " A room in the house 
 for for my sister here. And perhaps I could 
 sleep in the barn." 
 
 "Tramps, be ye?" 
 
 *' Yes," Jean's voice replied jubilantly from the 
 darkness. 
 
 " Perhaps," Grey hastened to interpose, " you re- 
 member me. I did some painting here, and " 
 
 " That ain't so," the woman retorted mildly. 
 " We always have Mr. Hosley from Pequod. And 
 the place ain't been touched in two years." 
 
 " We're tramps gypsies, begging a night's 
 lodging." Jean spoke with a kind of elation. 
 
 ** Tramps ain't any business not here." 
 
 The woman's tone had no anger in it, only a mild 
 reproof. And perhaps it was this, as well as the 
 fact that she was little and fondled all through the 
 parley a comfortable cat lying in her arms, which 
 suddenly induced Jean to emerge from the shadows 
 and push into the little kitchen. Grey saw her teeth 
 flash in the lamplight as she smiled. In total amaze 
 the little old lady faced her. . 
 
 " I don't know's I asked you in."
 
 IN THE OPEN 285 
 
 " You would have, if you understood." Jean, 
 towering above the other, set her hands lightly on 
 her shoulders, studied her for a second, then glanced 
 back at Grey waiting dumbly on the threshold. She 
 whispered in the old lady's ear. 
 
 "You don't mean it!" 
 
 Again Jean whispered, then released her hold with 
 a little laugh which changed to a look of real en- 
 treaty. 
 
 "Elopin', be ye?" 
 
 " Runaways," said Jean. She turned away as she 
 added : " From so much sorrow." 
 
 " Elopin'," repeated Mrs. Patterson. " Think it's 
 quite respectable ? " 
 
 They took courage as her eyes kindled into 3im 
 mirth ; and Grey came in, bearing the pirate's clumsy 
 gift. 
 
 Slowly they won their way through the hour which 
 followed, but at length the old lady's inquiry slack- 
 ened, and, still with a show of reluctance, she made 
 off to prepare the room she had promised Jean should 
 have. As for Grey, she would none of him. He 
 might camp in the hay-mow. 
 
 Left alone, the lovers slipped out doors again from 
 the hot kitchen; and for another hour they lingered 
 looking across the broad country side from the door- 
 step. 
 
 ** This is best," Jean whispered in the darkness. 
 
 "Not afraid?"
 
 286 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 "With you near me?" The answer, a challenge 
 to the world, warmed him like a cordial. 
 
 " I'm little enough, sweetheart." 
 
 " Hush, hush ! The life outdoors and you, 
 Dana. Such a happy ending." 
 
 " And it is an end," he promised. 
 
 " Oh, it must be ! No more of this old world for 
 us, Dana; no more living except for you and me 
 alone. It will be different somehow? Simpler and 
 gentler, dearest? As we are now. Quiet stars and 
 quiet air. Oh, the outdoor world and the things like 
 it are so dear to me ! " Her voice trembled like the 
 echo of a silver chime. 
 
 " Yes, yes," he whispered. 
 
 " A blessing," Jean suddenly whispered, very 
 soberly. But his heart was too full for reply. Si- 
 lently he knelt beside her as she bowed her head, and 
 looked up into the vast reaches of the sky. And so 
 the day ended, the first of their lover-life.
 
 XXI 
 
 JOURNEY'S END 
 
 WHAT started him from his uneasy sleep 
 that morning after their runaway Grey 
 could not tell, but he was aware of a 
 steady breeze with a touch of chill in it sweeping 
 through the dusty hayloft the moment he sat up. 
 Outdoors he looked to the east ; and saw there a pale- 
 ness barred with horizontal clouds. Loosening his 
 collar, he splashed his head and face in the icy water 
 he drew from the well. Some vigorous gymnastics 
 brought the kinks out of his shoulders and hips ; and 
 he made a queer figure, stooping, swinging his arms, 
 like a windmill, and finally running at top speed the 
 length of the yard and back, all in the face of the 
 solemn dawn. 
 
 The grey streaks grew white, then faintest rose. 
 The birds commenced singing like mad things. 
 Loath to disturb his companion, even though the day 
 was come and they were to be early afoot, the painter, 
 his exercise over, perched on the fence at some little 
 distance. He was traitorously content to wait a few 
 minutes. Nay, he even prayed that Jean would sleep 
 on. And this was because he found the sunrise be- 
 hind the clouds to be what his tribe calls in the 
 
 287
 
 288 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 patronizing way " interesting," and the silhouette of 
 the thin screen of hemlock against the eastern glory 
 " decorative." So on the back of an envelope he 
 set about noting roughly with a pencil tones and 
 values subtly divided, mere hieroglyphics to the lay- 
 man, but to him a picture in the making; and on the 
 front he made a drawing of the hemlocks' pattern. 
 This he could not help doing because he was a land- 
 scape painter of parts as well as guide and lover to 
 Jean Wilder. 
 
 It was the change of the sky's color which brought 
 his occupation to a close as much as Jean's call. 
 
 " I didn't wish to disturb you, sir." 
 
 He made many apologies, but she would have none 
 of them. 
 
 " If you had missed the sunrise, you'd have been 
 false to your vows. That's the delightful thing 
 about us. Your first love, which is painting, and 
 your your new love can live together in the nicest 
 way in the world. It's a very pleasant arrangement; 
 though unusual," Jean remarked. " And now," she 
 added, " tell me what's going to happen next." 
 
 She seemed so entirely rested (indeed she confessed 
 that she had slept in her queer little room without 
 stirring the whole night long), that Grey made no 
 scruples of telling her the plan of campaign he had 
 outlined for the day, long as the march and vexatious 
 as the various obstacles might well seem to be. They 
 must make for New Liverpool of course, since there 
 Grey could touch his money; but the town was not
 
 JOURNEY'S END 289 
 
 much short of twenty miles away; they must avoid 
 observation as far as possible, this day of all others, 
 since the morning papers would print prominently 
 their runaway and the tragic happenings of the day 
 before; the eyes of all the curious world, if not those 
 of the police itself, would fix themselves too readily 
 on any vagrant couple, especially where the girl was 
 very beautiful and the man big even in a crowd. 
 
 " Can you stand it? " Grey asked, doubtful after 
 all. 
 
 " Of course. I've done as much as that in a day 
 more times than I can count. And, really, I feel 
 just as fresh as can be." 
 
 There was a pause for breakfast; there followed a 
 somewhat breathless leave-taking of their ancient 
 hostess, whom mystification, fear, and a love of the 
 girl's gentleness, had rendered by turns officiously 
 curious and entirely speechless. They beat a retreat 
 down the road. 
 
 " Now," Jean declared, coming to a halt at a place 
 where a great elm shadowed their way, " we must 
 open Captain Bassett's present." 
 
 "Think best, Jean?" 
 
 " I must see what's inside this oilcloth wrapping. 
 He said I could, you know, today." 
 
 Without waiting for Grey's permission, which per- 
 haps was wise, for he regarded the scenery with puck- 
 ered brow, Jean set about untying the knots in the 
 heavy cord ; and, though they were many, it was only 
 a minute before the last of them was picked and
 
 290 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 twitched loose and the oilcloth cover unfolded. Grey 
 swore in sheer surprise at what was revealed to them. 
 
 " His treasure chest ! " he exclaimed, sinking to 
 his knees beside the girl. 
 
 " Here's the key," she said, trying to speak at 
 ease, " tied to the handle." 
 
 It was the same mahogany box which the old 
 rascal had unearthed for them in his cellar that after- 
 noon on the Ledges. They had had only a glimpse 
 then; but it was impossible to mistake the dark rich 
 wood, the heavy corners and hinges of bright brass, 
 and the slit in the top of the handle. 
 
 " You open it," Jean begged, handing him the 
 key. 
 
 " No, no. It's yours. Don't you remember what 
 he said that day when he showed it to us? But," 
 Grey added, with an air of doubt not too convincing, 
 " I fancy that it's like most pirates' treasure, real 
 only in the story-books." 
 
 " Oh ! " she cried. " That is sucli calumny. I 
 believe in my old admirer." Here she held the lid 
 down with both hands. " Guess ! " she ordered. 
 
 " It may be diamonds, or canned salmon, or as- 
 sorted liquors, or " 
 
 " Look then ! " throwing back the cover suddenly. 
 " Which is it?" 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " muttered the painter. "I 
 I apologize." 
 
 The sight of the chest's contents was indeed enough 
 to surprise anyone. Stretched across it diagonally
 
 JOURNEY'S END 291 
 
 lay a bottle of California brandy, with the glorious 
 label of its makers flashing up at the runaways in 
 gold and black ; on one side of it a red book ruled for 
 accounts was tucked in ; on the other lay a flat, small 
 pasteboard box with a couple of rubber bands around 
 it. And underneath, a bed for the other things, 
 was spread, in the wildest confusion, a litter of bank 
 notes tens, twenties, fifties, with a couple of buck- 
 skin bags, which jingled when they were displaced. 
 
 " It's some mistake. He never meant " 
 
 " It's here," Grey retorted, " addressed to you." 
 
 " But I can't take it." Jean ran her hand under 
 the layers of bills. " There must be five hundred 
 dollars at least. I can't accept anything like that 
 from him." 
 
 " Suppose," said Grey, drawing a long breath, 
 " we look in the little pasteboard box. Possibly " 
 
 " Very well." And she had it open in a jiffy. 
 
 There were two enclosures. From the first, which 
 was a closely twisted knot of soiled white tissue paper, 
 Jean drew out a pair of gold earrings of old fash- 
 ioned design, and on these she gazed with an absorp- 
 tion Grey could hardly understand. At length she 
 glanced up, and her face was blank with amazement. 
 
 " My cross ! " she stammered. " Look, Dana." 
 At her neck she was in the habit of wearing a tiny 
 cross, sometimes pinned, sometimes dangling from a 
 delicate little chain; a decoration which seemed 
 quaintly ecclesiastical for her youth and full blooded 
 beauty. But Grey could not remember ever to have
 
 292 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 seen her without it; she set some special store by the 
 little bauble. "Don't they match?" 
 
 She held the earring up under her chin beside the 
 cross, and, sure enough, it was easy to see that once 
 the two pieces had formed one set. 
 
 " The cross was my mother's," Jean whispered. 
 
 Neither of them dared to hazard the guess which 
 trembled on their lips. " What's in the other pack- 
 age?" asked Grey. 
 
 It was a photograph of a young woman, faded 
 and battered, but Jean herself, you would swear, 
 tricked out in the stiff and curious clothes of an older 
 generation, Jean herself, except that the eyes were 
 sadder, the mouth and chin rather feeble. 
 
 " There's some writing on the back," the painter 
 observed. 
 
 In a delicate, running hand, the ink turned brown 
 and rusty, was inscribed : " Martinique, November, 
 1875; " and below this, rough and sprawling, though 
 apparently traced with laborious care, some one had 
 written : " Jean Wilder's Mother. Attest him that 
 knows most about it. Handle with care." 
 
 "My mother!" cried Jean softly, just touching 
 the faded image with her lips. " I've never seen her, 
 Dana." 
 
 "Dead?" he asked. 
 
 " Long ago. When I was a little baby." 
 
 He waited a moment, pretending to count some of 
 the money in the box. " Your father's dead too, 
 Jean, I understand."
 
 JOURNEY'S END 293 
 
 " Just after I was brought to Uncle Andrew's. 
 He died at sea." 
 
 Still Grey played with the bills. " So I've always 
 heard," he said. " Old Bassett must have been some 
 friend or other." 
 
 For a moment nothing was said, Jean still study- 
 ing the photograph, while Grey picked up the little 
 red account book. 
 
 " There may be something here," he said. 
 
 " I hope so. Open it, Dana." 
 
 Page after page was blotted with what was ap- 
 parently entries of moneys received, with the date 
 and an occasional note, two items only on each page. 
 They ran over several years, the dates at first wide 
 apart; but toward the last there was an entry for 
 nearly every week. " June 18 from sale of C. P. R. 
 stock (so he said) 3700 dols. A good day," one of 
 them ran. An earlier entry, some years back, was 
 as f ollows : " Explained about Jean. 21$ dols. 
 Burned him good on the arm." 
 
 " That was the time I came to uncle," she whis- 
 pered excitedly. " Turn over to the end, Dana. 
 Quick." 
 
 " All in," the last page ran. " Total, 25793.28 
 dols. Her share. Nearly done up, but he didn't 
 get the box." 
 
 " He fought, perhaps? He did all this for me? " 
 she asked, trying to understand. 
 
 " He had your uncle where he wanted him, ap~ 
 parently."
 
 294 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " Is there any more? " 
 
 Grey turned the leaf. " Poetry ! " he exclaimed. 
 And sure enough, carefully written on pencilled lines, 
 the capital letters shaded, were inscribed these verses: 
 
 TO JEAN 
 
 The time has come when I must go 
 
 And leave these scenes of Joy. 
 
 I have fixed things up the way they ought to be 
 
 For the girl (it might have been a boy). 
 
 These acc'ts make you square with Uncle A . 
 The money's all Yours, I hope you will enjoy it, 
 He owed it to you and he had to pay 
 What was your just due every last bit. 
 
 And so Good-bye, I must depart 
 
 Probably never to return a gam. 
 
 I am not virtuous but I have a kind heart 
 
 And do not wish to give pain. 
 
 rtt' 
 
 To Jean the dear young lady fine 
 
 I now must say farewell 
 
 On February Fourteenth you are my Valentine 
 
 And at other times the same as well. 
 
 Your affect. Friend, 
 
 Leonidas. 
 
 " That tells us almost everything," Grey declared, 
 handing Jean the book. " It's an inheritance
 
 JOURNEY'S END 295 
 
 just like a story ! The old Squire kept it back from 
 you somehow, and the pirate " 
 
 " Captain Bassett ! " said Jean. 
 
 Grey colored; but she was hardly fair to him, he 
 thought. 
 
 " Won it back for you. I'll bet that queer busi- 
 ness with French came into it somehow too. But 
 why should he work that way for you? Jean, he 
 can't be your father ! " 
 
 " Of course not ! " she exclaimed. " My father 
 was very different. But this dear old Captain! So 
 loyal and brave! So poor and shabby, but keeping 
 it all for me! Probably it was money that Uncle 
 Warden kept from my father." She sprang up 
 " I must go back. I must thank him. I I can't 
 leave him without a word, Dana." 
 
 In all the days that followed Grey never had to 
 strive with her as on that morning. Impetuous, 
 quixotic, headstrong, in doing that which a generous 
 impulse declared was a duty, Jean was all for going 
 back to Kingsford and the pirate's side; nor could 
 the painter prevail until he took, as once before, an 
 unfair advantage. 
 
 " You do not wish me to go ! " she exclaimed after 
 him, breathlessly. " You wouldn't come between me 
 and my good friend? My father's friend?" 
 
 His eyes met hers. She stood for a moment in 
 tremulous silence. " I need not forget him ? " she 
 asked gently. " Even though ? "
 
 296 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 He was mastered in turn. " Don't I owe him mj^ 
 happiness, Jean ? " 
 
 " I am content," she whispered, as he took her in 
 his arms. " If you and he both wish it." But her 
 lips trembled and her eyes shone mistily, just for a 
 moment, as they replaced the photograph and the lit- 
 tle book in the box. Again, just for a moment, Jean 
 hung back to blow a kiss back toward distant Kings- 
 ford, when Grey gave the signal for the road. 
 
 For a couple of hours they marched along gaily 
 enough. Little children playing by the roadside 
 giggled at them ; while the mothers, summoned to the 
 door, smiled tolerantly at the last queer fashion of 
 spending a day which city folks had taken up 
 tramping like gypsies in the dust. The day was 
 bright, and livened by a sea breeze, tumbling clouds 
 gave pleasure; occasional elms made cool shade to 
 rest in ; the road was hard and dry ; the top of every 
 hill showed in the distance the shine of the blue and 
 silver Sound. 
 
 But by degrees their talk dwindled. Grey began 
 to shift the mahogany box from one side to another; 
 the cord cut his fingers if he carried it so, the edges 
 pressed sharply against his sides if he tucked the 
 thing under his arm. Jean was powdered with dust, 
 but she smiled brightly at Grey's anxious query. 
 
 "Tired?" she echoed. "Not a bit. And we 
 must be nearly there." 
 
 " Brave one ! And," he added, his expression
 
 JOURNEY'S END 297 
 
 changing, " you wish it might always be like this? 
 Still? No fear, Jean?" 
 
 "You ask!" 
 
 " Ah, one must be so sure ! It's for a whole life- 
 time, sweeting?" 
 
 " With you anywhere," Jean whispered, repeating 
 her creed. " To the world's end." 
 
 They were common words, the phrase was one the 
 girl might have learned from any of the story-books, 
 but they spelled for her truth, and Grey felt the 
 thrill that tells the lover he has won his battle. He 
 had feared in dark minutes that Jean had followed 
 him, because he could lead the way for her into a 
 light brighter than that which illumined her narrow 
 home; now he had no fear, for Jean breathed her 
 soul into his as she leaned up for his kiss. 
 
 She had given herself to him in her deepest prom- 
 ise. The falcon had come to earth. If at first, as 
 Grey had guessed, Jean had listened to his tales of 
 over-sea and the life beyond the Ledges as to a spell, 
 if ever she had looked to him as the Knight who was 
 to wind his warhorn in challenge to the Giants who 
 held her captive, it was long ago. It was the man 
 himself now, so simple, so roughly gentle, that com- 
 mended her, into whose hands she surrendered herself 
 body and soul. 
 
 " And it's not for my beauty that you want me ? " 
 she demanded suddenly. 
 
 " That was at first," he replied. " Then because
 
 298 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 life was empty and barren. There was nobody to ac- 
 complish things for." 
 
 " And now ? " she insisted. 
 
 " Who will tell what love is ? " was his broken an- 
 swer. 
 
 They came in another hour to a white painted, 
 decent, German sort of place, on the edge of the lit- 
 tle city, deserted of custom apparently at that hour 
 of the day, and boasting in the part of the house 
 which the landlord used as a dwelling a couple of 
 upper rooms which, after some misgiving, Mr. Hertz 
 thought they could have. 
 
 The queer luncheon, served them by his wife, who 
 was voluble in praise of her potato salad, was mixed 
 up with sending for a cab, in which Grey was to 
 transport the mahogany box and its freight of money 
 to the bank; and it was interrupted finally by the 
 landlord, in whose mind had awakened vague ques- 
 tionings as to the identity of his lodgers. And when 
 Grey at last returned from his errand, reporting that 
 he had not encountered a soul he knew, Jean met him 
 with some news that troubled and a plan of retreat 
 which set the crown on the day's happenings. The 
 troubled look was in her eyes again. 
 
 " This man knows about us, I'm sure," she said 
 breathlessly. " Lock the door, Dana." 
 
 "Knows?" 
 
 " Guesses, then," she added quickly. " His wife 
 brought me up this paper. It's marked. See? 
 And she grinned so horridly."
 
 JOURNEY'S END 299 
 
 She waited till he had run the column down. It 
 was an afternoon edition, and contained details of 
 the Kingsford scandal. 
 
 "Isn't it dreadful?" she cried, out of herself for 
 a second ; but checked her passion instantly. " How- 
 ever," Jean went on, " there's something else in the 
 paper that's more pleasant. On the third page, sir, 
 is an item concerning the good ship what's the 
 name? Housatonic," 
 
 " Jean ! " He flung down the paper after a 
 glance at the local shipping news. 
 
 " May we? " 
 
 "Just the thing for us. You're willing?" he 
 asked, in a sudden anxiety. " She's only a 
 freighter." 
 
 " Don't you see ? " came the answer. " There 
 won't be any other passengers." 
 
 " Ho for a wedding then ! " he laughed, but his 
 mirth was eloquent with a sober joy. 
 
 " Yes, yes," Jean replied, radiant too. 
 
 Again he must leave her for an hour, for there 
 was the steamship office to visit, and the bank again 
 for getting the letter of credit, the jeweler's for buy- 
 ing his present and the little hoop of gold, the town 
 clerk for a license, the priest's for an appointment. 
 And then he came back. 
 
 " Ready ? " he asked her. 
 
 She stood up to meet him, and reached out her 
 hands to be led away. 
 
 The big church was empty and quiet, save for the
 
 300 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 grumbling of the organ under the gentle touch of its 
 master, who was practising, and the twitter of spar- 
 rows under the eaves. A light, all pale gold and 
 softened reds, flooded the pavement, a faint, linger- 
 ing aroma of incense weighted and spiced the air. 
 Their heavy shoes clicked sadly as they made their 
 way up the aisle; unconsciously Grey dusted his 
 sleeve. But Jean went serene and clear-eyed, though 
 her clothes were wrinkled, and her blonde hair loos- 
 ened. It was her new born fancy so to appear at 
 her wedding. Like all her mates she had planned a 
 score of times the details of it the delicate flowers, 
 the dress of heavy white, the bridesmaids, the jolly 
 breakfast, and the drive away. But Grey had taken 
 her just as she was; he had again the dreaming! 
 caught her up to his saddle-bow ; for a day and 
 a night they had been companions of the highway; 
 of their brief life together the most had been passed 
 on hilltop or in forest. Jean rejoicing in all this, 
 could not be false to herself. It was part of her 
 pleasure now to come to her wedding in the garb of 
 the outdoor adventures of her love's life. 
 
 The oddly sorted make-up of the couple that he 
 found waiting when he emerged from the sacristy in 
 his vestments puzzled the clergyman; and he asked 
 one or two kind but searching questions. He could 
 not quite reconcile Jean's beauty and bearing, or 
 Grey's clean-cut figure and honest eyes, with their 
 rusty clothes and air of furtive haste. 
 
 There's no reason," said the painter, "why we
 
 JOURNEY'S END 301 
 
 shouldn't tell you our names. This, sir, is Jean 
 Wilder, and I am Dana Grey. We ran away from 
 Kingsford yesterday, and came 'cross country." 
 
 " Kingsford ! Then you are the ones concerned 
 in that sad affair? " 
 
 " And you'll help us," asked Jean in turn, " to put 
 all the sadness away forever? " 
 
 The organist smiled to himself as he touched the 
 stops. The soft half melodies he had been impro- 
 vising resolved themselves into life, and as the priest's 
 voice, solemn and gentle, commenced the service, there 
 was poured through the empty church the very spirit 
 of youth and young hope, as the great Spring Song 
 rippled upward.
 
 XXII 
 
 ULYSSES 
 
 L ^^ HE never guessed the truth, not for a miw- 
 ute," muttered Captain Bassett through 
 his set teeth, as he made his way 
 through the woods back to Kingsford. " I kissed 
 her, and she never knowed the difference. I have 
 fought the fight, I have kept the faith," the old man 
 quoted, looking back on his trail through the hem- 
 ming, silent forest; and he added, with a laugh half 
 bitter : " I, that am chief of sinners. Amen. It 
 turned out all right. She never guessed who 'twas 
 that helped her." 
 
 And then came sorrow in the midst of his exulta- 
 tion. He had pronounced his own sentence; he was 
 all alone. The light had gone out of his life. He 
 had sent happiness away, had given it to another 
 man. Should he go back and claim her? 
 
 For a moment he stopped, breathing hard, turned, 
 stepped forward along the path he had followed, 
 turned again. 
 
 As he passed the post-office, Colonel Gregory hailed 
 him. 
 
 " Have you seen Jean ? " 
 
 " No," replied the Captain.
 
 ULYSSES 303 
 
 " Any idea where she is? " 
 
 " Not a bit. Why? Hasn't she come back yet? " 
 
 " Not yet. And it was right after this this 
 dreadful affair that she slipped away." 
 
 " Slipped ain't the word, Colonel. I made her go. 
 She was all broke up." 
 
 " That was quite right, sir. But she should be 
 here now. They need her, you see. This is a shock- 
 ing matter, Captain Bassett." The old soldier 
 seemed eager for such details as an eye-witness could 
 furnish. " Is it true that ? " 
 
 " Haven't got a minute," declared the Captain, 
 " I'm due back at the house. I kinder feel's though 
 I belonged there, bein* mixed up in the business. See 
 you later." 
 
 " Poor Warden ! " 
 
 " That's right. I guess we'd 'a' done the same, 
 though. Good day." And he hurried on. " A 
 good end ! " he murmured blithely. " A good end 
 of the whole business ! " 
 
 His task was finished. He must get away, far 
 from this village where he had suffered, and made 
 another suffer, far from the scenes of a dreary sum- 
 mer. The world stretched before him ; he was strong 
 and sound; he had money in his pocket and a clear 
 head on his broad shoulders. Yonder smiled the sea. 
 
 " Groin' west? " asked the ticket agent, as the Cap- 
 tain laid a five dollar bill on the little counter before 
 the window. " I see you lookin' at that Union Pa- 
 cific adv'tisement. Say, them prairies "
 
 304 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 " That's a part way to Alaska," the old man replied 
 musingly. "Ever do any minin', Joe?" 
 
 "Me? Naw!" 
 
 " That's so. You ain't that kind exactly," said 
 the Captain, regarding the young man who was 
 curled and oiled, buc pimply. 
 
 There came a vision, slowly unfolding, of rough 
 icy trails, revolvers drawn, long hard days on the 
 claim; of nights in the steaming dance halls; of sud- 
 den wealth, and the treacherous luck at the green 
 tables. A man might do well there. It was a place 
 in which to forget one life and start another. 
 
 " Where d'ye wanter go? " snapped the agent. 
 " Guess you're kinder woozy-headed after seein* the 
 shootin'-bee. Where to, old sport? " 
 
 " I don't just figure it out," the Captain replied. 
 
 He left the money where it lay and walked to the 
 door. The breeze swept in cool and fresh from the 
 salt water, and the old man drank deep of it. The 
 station platform changed in his fancy to a narrow 
 bridge; he was peering over a canvas screen; the 
 green marshes melted into shoal water; a couple of 
 fence posts yonder became the channel buoys, further 
 still was the open. The tow-boat whistled good-bye 
 as she sheered off astern. 
 
 " Train's comin'," said Joe. " On time today. 
 Hear her tootin' for the river ? " 
 
 " East," the Captain replied, answering an earlier 
 question. " The sea's a-callin' me, Joe."
 
 ULYSSES 305 
 
 " Go on ! " this with fine derision, for Joe was a 
 literal person, "Boston?" 
 
 " New Liverpool," said the Captain craftily. 
 " I've got to do a couple o' errands." 
 
 " Comin' back tonight, I s'pose. Don't see how 
 you can leave just now anyway. Why " 
 
 The train thundered in, and stopped with a sigh. 
 
 " Good-bye, Joe. The sea's in my blood, I guess." 
 
 " Blood's mostly rum, his is," was Joe's comment, 
 as the old man boarded the train. " I guess he won't 
 be heard of, not for a week. Acted kinder sprung 
 already." 
 
 East or west, little did the old man care, so long 
 as he was foot-loose once more. The world over he 
 was bound, he told himself. East or west. But 
 the song of the sea witched him first. Perhaps he 
 would be happiest there ; surely he would be freest. 
 
 " New Liverpool ! " the brakeman yelled. 
 
 " I guess," said Captain Bassett, " as how I'll go 
 a little further." 
 
 It was the comfortable seat and his card game with 
 the men he met in the smoking car that tempted him 
 this time. The sea was always there, always ready. 
 Now, after the tense weeks it was pleasant to talk 
 big against the yarns of other men, to feel one of a 
 light-hearted, easy-living crowd. 
 
 " I'm just ridin' for fun," he laughed. " I ain't 
 really stretched my legs since spring." 
 
 "Have a drink, Cap.?" One of the strangers
 
 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 unscrewed his flask. The smell of the whiskey 
 weighed the smoky air still more. 
 
 " I guess you'll have t' excuse me." 
 
 Not on this day, as he said fiercely to himself. 
 Not on this day which was dedicated to Jean. He 
 had kissed her not an hour before. 
 
 The train carried him on mile after mile, through 
 rock-strewn pastures, scant gardens, smoky, dirty 
 towns. It was extraordinarily pleasant; he made the 
 regular roar of the wheels fit into an old song; he 
 won three dollars at euchre with delight, and bought 
 with it cigars and bananas from the train boy with 
 equal pleasure. To travel far, to have around one 
 noise and dirt and humankind, instead of the still- 
 ness of the Kingsford woods, were joys beyond ex- 
 pression. 
 
 Then came Boston, and loneliness after the rough 
 companionship of the train. The old man found 
 that he was tired and hot. From a saloon came a 
 cool air and an aroma of mint mixed with the scent 
 of liquor. Some music-machine was playing. 
 
 " No ! " he cried again. " Not the land for me. 
 I'd go to pieces on the land. And you mustn't do 
 that, Cap. You mustn't begin today. Sea's safest, 
 I guess, if she wants me again." 
 
 He looked up and saw the white clouds tumbling 
 before the twelve knot breeze high above the land's 
 grime. 
 
 " Sea's best," he repeated. " It's free out there. 
 Also cleaner."
 
 ULYSSES 307 
 
 And, turning on his heel, the old man regained the 
 station and the train which would carry him back to 
 where the ships lived. He might have found them 
 where he was, but feared the streets between him and 
 the water. 
 
 " Straight livin' while I can," he muttered. 
 " That's what she'd like me to do." 
 
 He had no definite plan, for his heart and brain 
 were tired. Only to be among the seafarers again, 
 to hear the rattling donkey-engines hoisting in cargo, 
 to watch some schooner towing down the harbor, to 
 hear the tale of this smashed rail and splintered bow- 
 sprit, or the remarks of a mate concerning fogs, 
 crowded channels, and stove bowplates this sufficed 
 for now, this would help to quiet a man's heart-ache. 
 
 Toward dusk, but not till then, however, did the 
 Captain make his way to the water side. One would 
 have expected him, when once the ships and the 
 wharves were at his elbow, so to speak, to go at 
 once into their company. But the old man knew 
 better than that. It was more fun to linger over his 
 greasy supper at the long counter in the railroad 
 dining-room, from where one caught glimpses of the 
 harbor through the rows of waiting cars, or now 
 and then a sight of the whole panorama of water and 
 shipping, when the switching engines would shift the 
 trains away for a minute or two. In the station also 
 there would pass, now a couple of sailors from a rac- 
 ing yacht, or a smart young Jackie rolling back to 
 fcb? warship from shore leave, or a chevroned marine,
 
 308 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 quiet and dapper, or one of those deep sea nonde- 
 scripts, brown, hairy, clumsy, too heavily dressed for 
 September ashore a dozen of the sea folk, his 
 brothers. Up in the town the old man purchased a 
 yachtsman's cap, with its gilt device of a foul- 
 anchor, and jammed it on hard, tossing his stiff derby 
 into the first ash barrel he met. He bought a news- 
 paper, and, sitting on a bench in a little park, read 
 the shipping news, what was cabled from Antwerp 
 or London Docks, or Rio; what reports the home- 
 coming captains brought concerning derelicts dodged, 
 or disabled steamers sighted. So the afternoon 
 passed in a careful savoring of the pleasure later to 
 be tossed off in a draught. 
 
 Only at sunset did Captain Bassett trudge down 
 to the water's edge, just when the cannon from the 
 fort and the yacht-station announce the day's end, 
 and the riding lights flashed out from a score of ves- 
 sels anchored up and down the lovely harbor. The 
 better to enjoy it all, the old man picked his way 
 out to the end of a long dock, from where, as he 
 guessed, he might see up and down from the draw- 
 bridge to the lighthouse, but which proved in the 
 event the theatre of a scene very different from that 
 which he had come to view. 
 
 He was recalled to something practical by the con- 
 versations of two men just around the corner of the 
 pile of packing-cases against which he was leaning. 
 
 " Why Bradley sent this stuff here beats me. He,
 
 ULYSSES 309 
 
 ought to know the right dock. How'm I to git it 
 all over there tonight? " 
 
 " I'll send down some teams. It's got to go 
 aboard, that's all." 
 
 The two drew nearer the edge of the wharf as 
 though to look across to the next. The buccaneer, 
 from his place peered out also; and covetousness 
 sprang full-grown in his heart. 
 
 Yonder lay a little steamer, say a thousand ton, 
 brand new, he would swear, from keelson to truck, 
 fresh and clean, free from dent or rust even at the 
 hawse-holes. Painted black she was, with olive green 
 deck-houses and yellow funnel, just like a French 
 war-ship, and the low light made brilliant the lavish 
 brass on her bridge. She was trim as any liner. 
 You would take her, with the low free-board and 
 raking masts, the Captain swore in his heat, for a 
 yacht, if you did not see the crane and the engine 
 working away forward, or the dingy line of figures 
 aft who were trundling hand trucks up and down 
 narrow gang planks. There was comfort, however, 
 even here. The Housatonic (for that was the little 
 steamer's name) was no collier. The cargo was in 
 cases and crates, neat as pins and as easy to stow. 
 
 " You'll have good nice quarters aboard her, 9 * re- 
 marked the man who had spoken first. He was about 
 four-and-twenty, too carefully dressed for dingy 
 docks, and might from his face be either clever or 
 easily deceived, so featureless was it and the blue
 
 310 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 eyes so mildly inexpressive. " Better'n on the old 
 Tunxis, I guess." 
 
 " Tunxis! " exclaimed Captain Bassett under his 
 breath. " Then this one's old Garraway's new boat, 
 prob'ly. Dee ! " 
 
 The mate's very next words made him listen still 
 more carefully. " A feller can't tell nothin' 'bout 
 a trip, 'less he knows his cap'n, Mr. Garraway. 
 Queer the new one ain't come, ain't it ? " 
 
 The young man was very young indeed. Instead 
 of checking Mr. Safford's curiosity, he swore aloud. 
 
 " Wish I knew where he was. Father's nearly 
 wild. Sick in bed and can't stir a foot. We've wired 
 and wired but can't get any answer since yesterday. 
 Then Starbuck said he'd send him right along." 
 
 "What's he like?" 
 
 " Comes well recommended. He ran the Persian, 
 Coronet Line, for six years. Been all over, they say, 
 and always did first-rate. Bull's his name. Silas 
 Bull. Yankee as you want. And get this stuff over 
 right away, Mr. SafFord." 
 
 Captain Bassett thought at desperate speed. The 
 old man was out of the way, there would probably be 
 only this cockerel to deal with, and about him the 
 last ten minutes had made all clear. Yonder lay 
 ready and waiting the new Clyde-built steamer, the 
 pride of the old freighter's heart ; his newest specula- 
 tion, off to the world's end the moment a master took 
 the bridge. 
 
 " Sewing machines," young Garraway was saying.
 
 ULYSSES 311 
 
 " Also a lot of saucepans and and, I guess these 
 must be axes from the Allis Company. Yes, that's 
 right. She'll bring back olive oil and wine." 
 
 " Genoa ! " whispered Captain Bassett. " Or 
 Marseilles perhaps. Suits me, all right." 
 
 His face expressed a very lively degree of satisfac- 
 tion as he walked back along the wharf. Here was 
 an adventure ready made ; and his mind was made up 
 instantly. Suppose he should fail! Well, no great 
 harm would come of it, as he reckoned ; whereas, if he 
 succeeded in his splendid scheme of capturing the 
 Housatonic there would be subject for a year's talk 
 with much laughter along the water fronts of every 
 harbor. And if he carried the ship through success- 
 fully, it might mean the life of the sea made his for- 
 ever. 
 
 But there were difficulties in his path. Bull must 
 be found and kept below hatches somewhere, should 
 he arrive; there were the long interview to be had 
 with the owners, the securing of his papers, money- 
 chests, manifests and books, the risk, this the worst 
 bother that somebody in the office might know him 
 or ask questions concerning Captain Bull's connec- 
 tions here and there. If he tripped once, the whole 
 fabric of his piratical plans would crumble and fall 
 around him. There was even, perhaps, danger of 
 arrest. 
 
 The Captain halted under a street light to review 
 the situation. But a look and a listen back drove 
 from him any momentary hesitation. He heard the
 
 312 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 clanking start-and-stop of the cargo engine, the 
 shrill whistle-signals of the second mate. The masts 
 showed black against the dark sky ; and from the es- 
 cape pipe there twisted up a little curl of steam, white 
 and delicate. A dull glow marked the open hatches. 
 The whole was full of suggestion. It means readi- 
 ness for the blue water. The great holds were nearly 
 full; steam was making; the house-flag blew out 
 straight from the main truck. 
 
 " You're mine, old lady," muttered the Captain. 
 What was the risk of an hour when a sea-bride like 
 this trim Housatonlc was to be won by it ? And with 
 eyes fixed on his prize-to-be, inspired and strength- 
 ened every moment by the look of the craft, the old 
 pirate stood still until his plan of campaign was com- 
 pletely marked out.
 
 XXIII 
 
 OUTWARD BOUND 
 
 AT that hour the office of Garraway and 
 Company was tenanted only by the junior 
 partner. The street had left off work some- 
 time since; in the neighboring shops and office build- 
 ings the lights were out, except those in front of the 
 safes. But young Mr. Garraway held the fort, 
 yawning nervously over an evening paper when he 
 was not staring into the street. He had to await 
 the expected captain. To him entered so quietly 
 that he did not hear the door click, a short, broad old 
 fellow, who wore a yachtsman's cap and carried a new 
 traveling bag. Mr. Garraway brought his feet 
 down from the desk with a crash. 
 
 "Don't tell me you're Captain Bull!" he ex- 
 claimed, with well assumed anger. " If you existed, 
 you'd have been here long ago." 
 
 " I see," said the stranger slowly. " Suppose, 
 though, I sh'd tell you that I was Captain Bull. 
 .What then?" 
 
 " I should answer that Fm glad to see you at 
 last. Couldn't get here earlier? " 
 
 " Missed my train. But," the old fellow added, 
 " there's no reason why you need to take me for any 
 
 313
 
 314 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 Captain Bull, for I lost my grip and all the letters 
 of introduction. I ain't got a thing to prove that I 
 ain't lyin' to you." He studied the young man's face 
 anxiously. " I guess Starbuck wrote ye I was comin'. 
 Didn't he?" 
 
 " Yes, yes." The junior partner was a bit flus- 
 tered at this introduction. " What line have you 
 been with, Captain ? " 
 
 " Six years master of the Persian. Coronet Line, 
 sir. 'Twas her that I took through the that storm 
 down off the Banks, year before last. I wish," the 
 stranger sighed, " I had my owner's letters by me." 
 
 " I guess you don't need 'em," replied Mr. Gar- 
 raway. " You sound like our man all right." 
 
 " Sound travels far at sea," the other laughed ; and 
 mopped his brow. " When can I see the craft I'm 
 booked for? I wonder now, if she's the Housa- 
 tonic? " 
 
 " That's the one." 
 
 " I'm mighty glad o* that. One of your other 
 cap'ns told as she was 'bout ready. Remember 
 Cap'n Roper? " 
 
 There was some more talk behind the big desk, 
 from various compartments of which Mr. Garraway 
 pulled the ship's papers. The customhouse, in re- 
 sponse to a frantic appeal by telephone kept open 
 long enough for them to rush thither and get the 
 ship and cargo cleared. 
 
 " It's a queer way to take a ship on faith," pro- 
 tested the new master ; " but if you're satisfied, I am.
 
 OUTWARD BOUND 315 
 
 I ain't seen my ship, 'n' the ship ain't seen her skip- 
 per, so I guess we're square enough. I'll be 'round 
 bright 'n' early." 
 
 " Good. I'm sorry my father couldn't see you 
 sail." 
 
 " I heard he was laid up. Give him my regards." 
 
 And with that he parted from Mr. Garraway at the 
 corner of the street which led to the station. He 
 wanted to be sure, quoth the captain, that a friend of 
 his did not miss him who might come in on either of 
 the two evening trains. 
 
 He ran his quarry to earth with less pains than he 
 fancied ; the dispatching of him was a pleasure. To 
 the real Captain Bull, as he descended from the smok- 
 ing-car, mariner unmistakably from head to foot, ap- 
 peared an old chap who called himself Bassett, and 
 announced that he was deputed by the Garraways to 
 see that Captain Bull was made comfortable and snug 
 for a couple of hours, and that the head of the firm, 
 ill in Boston, required his new skipper's attendance be- 
 fore the Housatoriic's sailing. 
 
 " You're to take the train at eleven," Bassett re- 
 ported, " and find the old feller at this address in Bos- 
 ton tomorrow morning." 
 
 "Hunh!" grunted Captain Bull. "Queer he 
 ain't here in N'Liverpool." And he expressed a de- 
 sire for food and drink. 
 
 " The very thing," said Bassett, with a grin. 
 
 Captain Bull had a grievance to tell about; his 
 companion had seen all the world and could talk of
 
 316 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 it; they differed in politics. Captain Bull also for 
 once broke through his rules of temperance, first with 
 decent apology, later with enthusiasm. And when, 
 after two hours, his new friend bundled him into the 
 Boston express, Captain Bull was convulsed with 
 laughter at the idea of going to find a ship by rail, 
 yet grim in anger at the owner who kept his skip- 
 pers out of bed to pay him calls. 
 
 " I'll talk to him! " he promised, leaning from the 
 car window. 
 
 " There'll be a whole lot o' talk tomorrow first 'n' 
 last," replied Bassett; and he fingered lovingly the 
 indorsements from the Coronet Line's directors and 
 president which Captain Bull, pressing them on him 
 to read, had forgotten in his vinous enthusiasm to de- 
 mand back again. 
 
 New Liverpool harbor is always full of life. Prom 
 colors to sunset, or, if tides or winds serve, the whole 
 way round the clock, there is a steady come-and-go of 
 steam and sailing craft. Splashing side-wheelers with 
 decks black with excursionists, dingy coal schooners, 
 yachte of all sizes, an occasional warship, are forever 
 coming to or breaking out their anchors. So the 
 sailing of the Housatonic called forth no particular 
 attention. A couple of tugs helped her from her 
 berth and turned her nose down the harbor; there 
 was a rough salute from the wharf laborers, and the 
 wave of a handkerchief from young Mr. Garraway. 
 For a moment she ran with the tide. 
 
 The new Captain glanced at the impassive pilot,
 
 OUTWARD BOUND 317 
 
 and at his nod set the engine room telegraph to " half 
 speed ahead." The screw lashed the water into foam. 
 
 " Take her yourself, please," he said, and waved 
 from the wheel the sailor who had held it. 
 
 " Glad to be afloat again? " asked the pilot. 
 
 " Glad ! " The Captain's eyes shone with happi- 
 ness. " I'd go to sea in that mud-scow." 
 
 The pilot laughed. " Got any passengers ? " 
 
 " I was goin' to have a couple. But they didn't 
 show up." 
 
 The man was in no mood for talk. He wanted to 
 be alone with his happiness. He wanted to plan the 
 brave days to come, all the routine he would es- 
 tablish, as rigorous as on any liner, his boat and col- 
 lision drills, his meeting with the other officers two 
 on deck and two in the engine room. He walked 
 from one end of the bridge to the other, noting the 
 brass which needed a bit of polish, looking forward 
 where the watch was busy clearing, under Mr. Saf- 
 ford's eye and lashing tongue, the disorder around 
 the donkey-engine and the still open cargo-hatch; 
 then aft, past the rows of boats to where the snowy 
 awning was stretched tautly over the quarter-deck. 
 He had won her! She was all his, this trim, well- 
 found little craft. There were three weeks of sum- 
 mer weather before him, and the open water. 
 
 Down the harbor step by step. The city had be- 
 come a blur of purple, lighted here and there by a 
 new tin roof or a bit of glass which caught the sun.
 
 318 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 The pilot held the steamer for the last of the channel 
 buoys. 
 
 Suddenly from the tugboat, which accompanied 
 them to take the pilot back, came a hail. 
 
 " Ahoy ! " roared the Captain. 
 
 " Look astern ! " 
 
 It was a second tugboat, heading down the harbor 
 with a bone in her teeth straight on the Housatorwc's 
 trail. She was painted in government colors, white 
 with yellow upper works and funnel. 
 
 The Captain bit his lip. " Revenue ? " he asked 
 the pilot, trying to force unconcern into his voice. 
 
 " What'd a revenue boat want with you ? " 
 
 The Captain looked away. " We're all right, I 
 guess. But she wants us, I sh'd say. And there 
 go the flags." 
 
 Sure enough, from the stumpy mast which the tug 
 carried fluttered out a string of signals. 
 
 " That's queer. What does it say? " 
 
 " Read 'em," replied the skipper. " Glass is in 
 that box." He took the wheel and held his eyes on 
 the distant buoy. His heart's beating pained him. 
 " Make 'em out? " he inquired feebly. 
 
 With surprising ease the little pieces of bright 
 bunting were spelt out and interpreted. The pilot 
 shut up the glass and reported. 
 
 " They want you to stop." 
 
 " Stop, hey ? " He leaned forward, and caught 
 the handle of the indicator. The tug was only over- 
 hauling them very slowly. One notch more speed,
 
 OUTWARD BOUND 319 
 
 and it would be left behind for good. " Old Uncle 
 Sam wants me to stop, does he ! " 
 
 The pilot lowered the glass. " It ain't the reve- 
 nue tug," he said. " It's only the Amy G., Blake's 
 boat. I guess it's from your owners ! " 
 
 "What's the odds?" cried the pirate bitterly. 
 " Owners or revenue, it's all the same." 
 
 The tug was whistling furiously now, and the sig- 
 nal flags showed quite plainly. The pilot stared at 
 his companion. 
 
 " What's wrong? " he growled. " Why don't you 
 slow down? Ain't crazy, be ye? " 
 
 Still the captain kept his eyes seaward. He fon- 
 dled the spokes of the brass wheel, as though he could 
 take from them some of the life the ship had to give 
 him. They made the buoy. 
 
 " What's the course from here? " he asked thickly. 
 
 " The course? " 
 
 " Just supposin' the Housatonic was goin' to sea.'* 
 
 " I'll show ye. Say," the pilot continued, anx- 
 iously and politely both, " of course you're the boss ; 
 but it ain't usual even for deep sea freight cap'ns 
 to disobey orders. I'd hate to risk things like you 
 do." 
 
 " Risk ! Well, may be you'll understand some 
 day." 
 
 He saw in fancy the eager pursuers Garraway 
 of course, the real Captain Bull, the harbor police- 
 men with their handcuffs and locust clubs ready for 
 him if he should struggle. Less clearly he could
 
 320 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 picture the trial could they try him ? the mock- 
 ery of the sea-folk. And this chattering pilot spoke 
 of the risk of a run for the blue water! Then an- 
 other thought flashed to him; and, for no reason at 
 all, since Jean could have felt shame for him a hun- 
 dred times before, the fear lest he might not meet 
 his defeat like a man, and so prove unworthy of her, 
 bore the balance down. Without a word, he stepped 
 to the telegraph and set the pointer to " slow," and 
 then to " stop." He blew two quick blasts on his 
 whistle. 
 
 " Cap'n's compliments to Mr. Safford," he said to 
 the man who came to get his order, " and he will lower 
 the stabbord gangway. Owner's comin' aboard." 
 
 He would do the thing handsomely at least. He 
 would receive Garraway on the bridge, his throne 
 while his reign endured. 
 
 The tug ranged alongside; its heated skipper 
 leaned from his wheelhouse ready to express an opin- 
 ion of the steamer's master. But Captain Bassett 
 gave no heed. Rather did he walk to the other end 
 of the bridge, and, leaning on the rail, kept his eyes 
 on the sparkling sea in the distance, without a look 
 at what was going on aft at the gangway. 
 
 He heard not one of the questions and comments 
 of the pilot; he could not bring himself to look 
 around. His whole strength went out in an effort 
 to mask the bitter disappointment that gnawed at 
 his heart; his last moment on board must be a con- 
 tinuation of the dreamed life out yonder on the sea.
 
 OUTWARD BOUND 321 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir," said a new voice at his elbow. 
 
 The end had come. The Captain turned about 
 deliberately, and gravely acknowledged the sailor's 
 clumsy salute. 
 
 " Mr. Safford's compliments, and the gangway's 
 s'cured, sir." 
 
 " Anything else to report? " 
 
 " Passengers come aboard, sir. Gen'leman 'n' 
 lady, sir." 
 
 " No one else ? " He hardly knew his own voice. 
 
 " Nossir. They was late to the dock, sir, 'n' took 
 the tug." 
 
 "That'll do." 
 
 He waited a moment longer before he addressed 
 the pilot, whose honest, keen face was eloquent of 
 conflicting thoughts within. 
 
 " Take the wheel, sir," said Captain Bassett, and 
 with steady, caressing hand he once more set the sig- 
 nal for his engineer. This time it was " full speed 
 ahead." 
 
 " Now ! " he exclaimed. " Now we'll see ! " 
 
 All day he kept his watch on the bridge. At first 
 he was content to let the pilot steer, for his happy 
 dreams sufficed him. It was sufficient to hear the 
 water hiss along the sides, to feel reawaken the ap- 
 preciation of each tiny point of meaning in this 
 schooner's damaged gear or that steam yacht's swift 
 progress. It was joy to watch from his place, with 
 a sense of intelligent criticism, the way the men were 
 going at their work about the decks; a pleasure to
 
 322 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 find he remembered every trick of the Sound's tide, 
 so that the course he laid in his mind for the Housa- 
 tonic coincided with the pilot's. But the keenest de- 
 light came later. 
 
 They had passed through the last of the narrow 
 openings from the Sound to the sea. The low in- 
 lands were behind them. 
 
 " I guess I'm through," said the pilot. " Nothin* 
 left now but reg'lar navigation, Cap'n." 
 
 Once more a brief slow-down, the coming up of 
 the pilot's tug, a quick hand-clasp and a farewell. 
 
 " Any word to the owners ? " 
 
 " Tell 'em that I'm enjoyin' myself first-rate," 
 laughed the Captain. " Good-bye." 
 
 Evening began to come down, but still he kept his 
 watch. Every few minutes his silver whistle would 
 bring a sailor, who was dispatched with a command 
 or ordered to bring a report. In the morning he 
 would make his inspection, and settle the routine of 
 the daily life aboard. There was time enough. He 
 would not leave his bridge his ! even at dinner- 
 time, but had a cup of coffee and some bread brought 
 up. He must drain to the last drop this joy of his 
 sea life's first day, the sheer pleasure in the salt 
 smack of the air and the lift of the boat under his 
 feet, as he laid her into the beginning of the long 
 ocean swell. He laughed aloud as some spray doused 
 him, flying back from the bow. 
 
 Footsteps lighter than any sailor's on the deck be- 
 low the bridge, and the sudden peal of a girl's mellow
 
 OUTWARD BOUND 323 
 
 laughter, startled the old pirate from his thoughts. 
 
 " We can go forward all right," cried some man. 
 " Come ahead." 
 
 " No," whispered the pirate hoarsely. " Not her! 
 Spare me that temptation, Lord ! " 
 
 " Jean ! " her companion exclaimed. " Coming ? " 
 
 And suddenly she appeared, with another laugh 
 and a catch at her hat as a little gust tilted it. The 
 wind moulded her clothes about every line of her. It 
 was the same Jean, and Grey with her to lend a hand 
 till they came to a perch on the great riding bitts on 
 the forecastle deck. Here they sat, and for long 
 minutes the old man on the bridge watched them, with 
 his heart on fire. 
 
 The Nantucket lightship showed, a dim blot on 
 the horizon. 
 
 " She must be free, free, free," the pirate kept 
 repeating. " She must be free. But, God," he ex- 
 claimed, straining his whole body up toward the 
 evening sky, " 'twasn't playin' fair to let 'em choose 
 this boat. It wasn't quite the square thing, good 
 Lord." 
 
 The couple in the bow were very close together 
 now. The man slipped his arm about Jean's supple 
 waist, and with his free hand pointed eastward. The 
 lightship showed its warning flashes. The darkness 
 was coming down fast. 
 
 " How close he's heading her," Grey remarked. 
 " He wants to show the crew his new steamer, I guess.
 
 THE UPPER HAND 
 
 Cabin boy said he was so proud of her, he hasn't 
 left the bridge for a second all day long." 
 
 " That's how a captain should be," murmured 
 Jean, lazily happy. " Oh Dana, dear, you'll never 
 leave me? Just like that old captain and his ship? " 
 
 " Shall I promise again? " he asked in return. 
 " Mine, sweetheart, all mine always." 
 
 Steady and true the steamer held her course. She 
 would pass the lightship not a hundred yards away. 
 The old man on the bridge raised his eyes, stooped 
 and lashed the wheel. He rose, stooped again and 
 kissed it like the lips of some woman who owned his 
 soul. A moment later he ran aft along the empty 
 deck, and as the little freighter ploughed past the 
 lightship, Captain Bassett dove from the rail. 
 
 The lightship crew, who had suspended their list- 
 less work to stare at the Housatonic passing them so 
 near, found a real excitement in pulling on board 
 the old fellow whose shout for help came out the 
 steamer's boiling wake. 
 
 " Tumbled overboard? " inquired the light keeper 
 coolly. 
 
 "Would I jump, think likely?" 
 
 " Not 'thout ye had some reason." 
 
 " Well," replied the pirate, looking after the 
 steamer steadily making for sea, " I was always 
 kinder foolish in some ways." His voice lowered 
 sombrely. " But I done what was right, I guess. I 
 done the right thing." 
 
 Out into the darkness went the Housatonic. There
 
 OUTWARD BOUND 325 
 
 was a flurry when the Captain's absence was discov- 
 ered, men shouting orders, a boat cleared, dis- 
 patched, recalled. Then the first mate took the 
 bridge, the engines resumed the steady song; and the 
 lovers, sobered and thrilled into a deeper sense of 
 life's sweetness by what they thought was death's 
 nearness, watched over the bow the glories of the 
 starry night. 
 
 "What's your name?" asked the lightship's mas- 
 ter. 
 
 " The feller that went overboard off the steamer 
 was James Wilder," replied the rescued one. " And 
 his daughter's name is Jean." 
 
 " Have some more coffee," said the other. " I 
 guess you must be kinder cold." 
 
 " I am cold," answered the old man sombrely.
 
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